Oh dear.

hypocrite3During my pre-teen and teenage years, time at university and probably for two decades after that I loved popular culture. Even the most blinkered know that the 60’s and 70’s were the golden decades for pop music. The success of the Beatles and those that followed had an impact on the growing influence of American pop culture.

Here I have to offer my first of many caveats. Criticising corporate-led, socially engineered, paedophilic and totally inverted American pop culture does not mean I am anti-American. My biological father was a US Air Force major. I have spent six weeks in America, most of my spiritual heroes are American and space does not permit me to list all that I admire of the I AM RACE (for the uninitiated this is an anagram).

“I only read women. I know that men write books. But their lives are so limited. It’s such a small and narrow experience,” the prolific Irish author said during an event at the Southbank Centre to promote her latest novel, Grown Ups…”Their literature just really can’t match anything written by a woman. I just think ‘**** off’.”

Marian Keyes, bestselling author.

The second caveat. To discriminate against someone because of the colour of their skin, their sexual orientation, their gender and all the other “fault lines” is beneath contempt. As a heterosexual white male who was confused about his gender and orientation 50 odd years ago I know in the current climate my voice may be limited to the wilderness.

Try as I might to avoid it, we are now totally immersed in the most insane period I can ever recall in my lifetime. You cannot pick up a newspaper, switch on the radio or watch the television without at least one “story” that has to do with victimhood. Most often, my response to what was once fringe “woke” insanity, but now seems to be mainstream, is laughter. If we satirise and refuse to take seriously American women paying $2500 to be told they are racist and millionaire actors accepting awards from the very industry they lambast also for being racist maybe we can turn back the tide.

Third caveat. My hero during my late teens and early 20’s was David Bowie. I used to dye my hair and dress up as Bowie. I encountered discrimination. Most of my life as someone proud to be working class, I have experienced subtle and sometimes overt discrimination. But no, not on a regular basis, nor has it ever got physical and I have not been murdered. It is of no consequence in the grand scheme of things. It is impossible to diminish the impact of discrimination on certain people and on certain groups. Read my post on The Windermere Children.

Not everyone is aware of “woke” insanity. Some of my friends think I am exaggerating. They may indeed be right. Regardless, this is something I feel strongly about simply because it is yet another tool to divide us. And whilst we are pre-occupied with victims and being a victim, what chance do we have of seeing the world as it really is, and can become? The algorithm age, the saturation of “social media”, the placing of “reality TV stars” (wtf?) on pedestals, the instant “talent” industry (Pop Idol…), “de-platforming”, “hate speech”, “safe spaces” and the lemming-like scramble to see who is the most oppressed victim (and what group they represent) are all signs of a world- as it is now- in terminal decline. But before you stop reading, thinking this eternal optimist has given up, stay with me.

Fourth caveat. During my time in local government in the 80’s I was personally responsible for enlightened recruitment policies, practices and education around gender, race and disability in two major local authorities. In those days it was safe to be a heterosexual white male and working with people who had suffered lifetime discrimination was a massive learning process for me and a wonderful privilege.

That’s enough caveats. I’m not even sure they are relevant, because if my arguments are valid I don’t need to lay out my credentials.

We are all one. A recurrent theme on this website. We are all walking round in a biological spacesuit that comes in many shapes and sizes, sometimes with appendages, sometimes not. To be judged and valued purely on the basis of the spacesuit is insane. Before the woke explosion we had homophobia, racism, anti-Semitism, misogyny and discrimination in all its forms. We still have it.

I still cannot process the mind-set of those who accuse all white men of being racists and incapable of writing anything worth reading. If those who make these ludicrous statements are incapable of seeing their own racism and their own toxic worldview which worsens the situation they purport to want to remedy then get the handcarts ready because we’re all going to hell.

On BBC Radio Five the other day, a broadcaster who I quite admire casually wrote off actor Laurence Fox’s position on “woke” and condemned anyone who agreed with Fox to the ranks of bigot (my interpretation. And Fox is now subject to all kinds of vilification). The same broadcaster has so bought into the climate change cult that it isn’t even up for discussion. He is not alone, this is the position of the BBC.

Anyone who has not yet been micro-chipped will find the closing down of free speech problematic. Rugby player Israel Folau has views I find abhorrent. Unfortunately we live in an age where criticising any discriminated group is a recipe for career suicide.

“Islamic scholars continue to teach that same-sex relationships are a sin, too, and Sheik Mansour, owner of Manchester City, is part of the ruling family in a country in which homosexuality is against the law. Yet this is where liberal western beliefs and commitment to religious freedom collide.”

Martin Samuel, Daily Mail Sports writer.

So it must be obvious that almost all Manchester City supporters are by default homophobic. Folau has been rightly condemned and he has agreed now to keep his views to himself. Perhaps this is not enough, as he has yet to apologise to the gay community. One of my heroes, gay ex-rugby player Gareth Thomas has no time for Folau.

Thank God things have changed. Before 1967, homosexuality in the UK was all but illegal. There are still 73 countries in the world where it still is. Presenter Phillip Schofield has now “come out.”

Yes of course I am a fully paid-up member of the patriarchy. As a white male how can I be anything else? What does this say about my character, my actions, my beliefs and values about things other than the fault lines used to divide us? Is Hitler (a vegetarian and animal lover) a poster boy for vegetarianism? Should you now stop listening to any Michael Jackson song? God forbid you should watch any film produced by Harvey Weinstein. And move out of, or at the very least don’t visit cities built on the slave trade like Bristol and Liverpool. Let us put all these things in the same pot. Hitler, Michael Jackson, Harvey Weinstein, Bristol and Liverpool. After all we have here the equivalent of the climate change fanatics claim that the “science is settled.” It surely is. Chances are Weinstein will get off, Jackson is dead and I think Hitler is too. No doubt a sizeable percentage of Bristolians and Liverpudlians are racists. Perhaps all of them. And to think I used to work in Liverpool, and shame of shame, I support Liverpool FC.

Time to breathe, time for sanity.

I’m sick to my very core (thank you GretaTM) of having my life hijacked by all this. But of course I’m not. Perhaps the triggers were reading that men can’t write (thank you Ms Keyes, I will now buy all your books) and hearing how brave and courageous Philip Schofield was in admitting he is gay. I’m going to avoid any more “woke”. So far (since January 31st) I have been an abject failure. I now identify as a failure. Can we put an “F” into the alphabet soup?

We need to unplug from the mainstream, we need to begin looking at each other as spiritual beings having a human experience. We need to judge each other on our character not the nature of the biological spacesuit. The only speech that should be limited is that which encourages hatred and division. If this were rigorously applied there would be no “woke” culture. We need to see each other as becoming, rather than label each other along the fault lines so beloved of those currently in charge of running the planet. My biological spacesuit is no better or worse than yours. If I hate and condemn yours, I’m doing the same to myself.

Let us love each other, yes Ms Pelosi we are all sparks of the Divine, even Donald Trump and the Iraqis (who you voted to bomb). If we see each other with new eyes, as opposed to the weaponised ways in which we are currently exhorted to follow, we can give the handcarts back and walk confidently together to a new dawn, to rediscover paradise and ignite the Divine light within.

Namaste, Jack Stewart, Friday, 07 February 2020, feeling so much better having got this lot of his chest!

Fireworks

obeliskHad a fabulous day today, still processing, still on a natural high. Maybe that’s the way the cookie crumbles or maybe something else is at work.

I find it impossible to believe anyone reading this has not had a series of incidents in their lives which could be classed as synchronistic or serendipititious. If you look these words up using the online Microsoft word dictionary (which is normally pretty good) you will find nothing that does justice to either of them. So let me try.

Imagine a life in which you are richly blessed, a life probably very little different from anyone else’s, but one in which you anticipate, you expect and sometimes you have a knowing that good fortune awaits you. Some people have described this as the Law of Attraction, but it is far more than that. I have no way of knowing whether I have had more or less of my fair share of trauma and bliss than anyone else. However if you get to a place where “good things” happen routinely, where things that really matter-you fill in the blanks-turnout the way you want them to then you are no different to the person who expects the worst and gets it. Except of course s/he couldn’t imagine a life like yours and you don’t get a life like theirs.

When I fully expect, which isn’t all the time, to get a parking place I invariably do. Part of me finds it difficult to accept 100% success so maybe I programme myself for a more comfortable 90%. But parking is small beer and if you can’t get a space near where you want one then it’s God’s way of telling you to walk.

So you expect something and you get it. You see connections between things which border on the outrageous. You are let down and you anticipate, after a suitable period of feeling less than ecstatic, a turnaround. The turnaround then happens.

You meet the very people you both want and need to meet. The experience of encountering the ones that you want to meet vastly outweighs the downside of meeting someone who teaches you an important lesson.

Very often, especially during the early stages of this life changing mind-set, there can be a time delay between the experience and the lesson. In other words the lesson is not always obvious. Of course another potential minefield awaits. You can become overenthusiastic about the good stuff, about the significant people or person you have met. For me, like everyone reading this, we have to find ways to value everyone’s life set against the tide of skewed information and bullshit which condemns us. I reckon part of my over-enthusiasm is my gratitude for this life, my appreciation of people I meet and, as quoted in the last post, the joy I feel in helping people feel worthwhile.

(Pause for reflection. I write almost all these posts using voice dictation software and having done this for some time it is frighteningly accurate. However someone local is setting off fireworks and every time I come to dictate the page jumps. Not sure what the lesson is here, I will perhaps offer an explanation at the end, assuming there is one.)

I’ve referred to the value of humour many times on this site and as the post nears closure what price would you give for an energy (an issue?) which invigorates you, makes you feel alive and gives you a fixed grin? The music for this post takes me back to when I was 20. I loved Gilbert O’Sullivan then and I still do. John Lennon was one of his greatest fans. There may be a message in this song but I’ve chosen the track just because I love it. Maybe like the fireworks which have now stopped there is no need for an explanation.

Dexy’s Midnight Runners most famous song may also be appropriate but that might give the game away.

Jack ‘smiler’ Stewart, November 1, 2019. As always, in perpetuity, but slightly more sure of it, richly blessed. Love to you all.

Etheric Bullets

curry“I love to hear those convicts squeal
It’s a shame these slugs ain’t real
But we can’t have dancin’ at the local county jail”

From Rubber Bullets by 10cc (Godley, Crème, Gouldman 1973)

Another surreal adventure beckons…

What do we know about the (good bit of, not the “lower astral”) spirit world? Paradise, the absence of earthly highs and lows, no wailing and gnashing of teeth, wisdom, a place of learning, inhabitants unencumbered by a body, permanently temperate weather, no wars, violence, Harvey Epstein, Brian Weinstein, lies and deception..?

But is there celebration “up there” when things go well “down here” or sadness when they don’t? And where is their focus, is it not in the moment, is it not Nosso Lar itself? Do they have elections?

Can we have dancin’ at the non-local Celestial spa?

Having considered these questions for many years, lived with and shared a fair amount of my time with those having a foot in this world and the next I’m still intrigued.

There is a time in most people’s lives, no doubt some research has been done on this, when “continuation day” (© Neale Donald Walsch) enters one’s consciousness. After birth, the most momentous step in everyone’s life, perhaps excluding Brexit. I knew someone a few years ago, Tony Roeber, he was in his 80’s, still exceptionally articulate and intelligent, his body wasn’t ready to give up, but he was genuinely looking forward to passing. At his funeral it was obvious he had the most incredible life but it was not without huge challenges. So was his perception of the afterlife, it could only be positive, such that it drew him in as opposed to his wanting to let go of any grief and trauma from this life? Or after 80 years was boredom the motivator?

There are quite a few of my friends and family now in spirit, another factor as we approach the evening of our lives. So it won’t be lonely there, Anne and Vanessa, Anne’s parents, Vanessa’s parents, my parents (three of them), Vanessa’s brother and uncle. To that add grandparents, aunts and uncles, close friends and companion animals. And brothers and sisters that didn’t make it.

“Down here” we are conditioned by our five senses. In writing this piece I might think I’m “informed” by the spirit world-I do-but it is relatively easy to write.

Do we “rage against the dying of the light?” Or carry on as if we were 20 and felt immortal? When do we blow our savings (if we are fortunate to have any) or hang on to them for a decreasing number of rainy days? It’s a bit like eating curry. If we get the rice/sauce proportions wrong, and haven’t ordered a Naan bread, then we can end up with dry rice on our plate or sauce that falls through our fork.

What about our legacy? Surely most of us want to leave the world a better place through our having been in it? For those with children most of that has potentially been done. I’m wondering if we could have some kind of posing-free Celestial X factor when those with the greatest legacy get the greatest acclaim. Hold on though, surely the afterlife is a place devoid of competition and obsessing what the hosts look like? Maybe the real heroes in Nosso Lar are the ones we call unsung here.

In writing a will it is reassuring to know those who we want to benefit from what we have acquired in this life do so. But I bet-let’s assume there are some tensions in Paradise-many who have passed “look down” with despair when arguments rage amongst their families about money and possessions.

The more you think about it, it might take more preparation than you had imagined as you approach the fateful day. But help is at hand. Maybe the self-fulfilling, condemnatory prophecies inflicted on us by the medical profession, “you have two years to live”, have merit after all. Like booking a trip abroad, at least you know the timescale to “get your affairs in order.”

Whilst all this may be challenging, it needn’t be depressing. Bucket lists, letting go of what people think, enjoying life, “going for it”, a “backstop”, and (sorry it’s that word again) “Brexit” free zone, being even kinder to all sentient beings and true intimacy in all its forms can balance the scales nicely.

Lately I have heard many people say that we don’t need to leave the earth plane to experience heaven or hell. We can all conjure up images and feelings about these polarised concepts. Maybe it’s time for another TV programme in which the public votes for the most popular heaven and the most feared hell. Gallows humour tends to gloss over the living hell that millions of our brothers and sisters on this planet experience daily. Pause while your creative juices are given free rein…

I’m going to leave the last words with Princess Diana, again from In the Stillness Everything Happens:

“And when things do go a little bit wrong just trust in us, we will be there. Because they don’t ‘go wrong’, they just show you another way.”

“Once you start again to connect with your source, to your giver of life, things will start to go on the right path for you.”

Your greatest legacy was being born, and being part of the grand scheme of things.

As always, love and blessings to you all. Jack Stewart, October 29, 2019. I suspect you’ve guessed the song.

I should have definitely ordered a chapatti, a cheaper option to Naan and it would have taken up any slack. Just its mere presence may have influenced negotiating the rice/sauce balance. Or mixed the lot together first. Or eaten fish and chips.

A Day of Serendipity

miceA few of my friends have lately been talking about dating agencies. One friend in particular was scathing about them. I have to be honest, and even things I detest, advertisements, take the proverbial out of this rather interesting technological courtship ritual.

So the thought occurred the other day; why isn’t there a film about this? And guess what? There is. And it has in it two of my favourite actors Ian McKellen and Helen Mirren. Not sure of the plot, and I’m not an avid cinema goer, but it looks promising. The Good Liar is out in November.

Surely a risky business dating agencies? How many of us like to talk about ourselves? How many of us like photographs of ourselves? In an era of forced gender fluidity I’m going to make a sexist comment. I have yet to meet a woman who is relaxed about having her photograph taken. Jazz hands all round.

What are people looking for? A fling, a serious relationship, a husband or wife? Reason, season, lifetime. Some people are with us fleetingly for a reason, “good” or “bad.” A lesson. Some last a little longer. The season may be a few months or a few years. They depart from our lives at the behest of either party yet may remain friends or they may not. More lessons.

A lifetime? The word has more validity perhaps for someone in their 20’s or 30’s. Those who use dating agencies, “mature” people, may find the word lifetime less significant.

My earlier memories of dating, 40+ years ago, were not good. I never knew whether to jump in too soon or play it cool. And for the life of me juggling several relationships would have had me in Gordian’s Knot.

A close friend who has been told his soulmate is “in the pipeline”, and he has met her, has rather amusingly joined a “Green” dating agency. I’m hugely in favour of environmental protection, of clean air, rivers and oceans, of free energy (which exists of course and has done for over a hundred years but is suppressed), of animal welfare and recycling. As may be obvious from several posts the man-made global warming scam needs to be exposed. Continuously. But my friend and I can laugh about it. I don’t see him glueing himself to anything, even a pork pie (Green but he loves and craves meat), any time soon.

Personally I find humour, taking the proverbial, the most powerful tool in not only my armoury but also in society generally to counter the insanity that besets us all. Political correctness, woke idiocy and snowflakes seem to be losing the battle to sanitise and crush genuine comedy. In fact I get the sense of a growing backlash. I hope and trust Good Liar has more than its fair share of humour. Life is serious, appalling things happen, but it also has to be taken lightly. Indeed my favourite fictional detective, Bernie Gunther, has a highly developed sense of the ridiculous and a very quick wit. And he is as politically correct as Bernard Manning, George Carlin and Chubby Brown. But his world is (Nazi) Germany from the 1920’s to the 1950’s.

max wallThis was never going to be a long post, and I wish I could infuse it with more humour, but for some reason I feel I’m skating on thin ice. So I will resist the temptation to fuse Extinction Rebellion, genuine environmentalism, Greta Thunberg, Greenpeace and green dating agencies. Surely there is some excellent material here but I suspect it is subscription only.

You are richly blessed.

Jack Stewart, no afterthoughts, no surrender. Sunday, 20 October 2019.

Glastonbury

GlastonburySign2

Avalon, a place of mystery and legend, steeped in history and of global significance. Do your research. I’ve been to Glastonbury about half a dozen times and it never fails to generate a mixture of emotions within me.

Normally I ask Jonathan for one or two readings a year, just to keep me aligned with plans I made elsewhere. Lately of course my sanity has been maintained by weekly readings. These days if your loved one is away from home you stay in touch by phone, Skype or some other technological process. In a recent reading it was suggested I go to Glastonbury Abbey and sit with the Christ energy. I’ve been meaning to go into the Abbey for some time. It is truly wonderful and no trip to this special town is complete without it. Even if the weather, the greyness, the misery is more in keeping with an Extinction Rebellion celebration.

Some who visit here will dismiss the Arthurian and Joseph of Arimathea connection. It has even been suggested Jesus came here too. The history of the place, as stated in the narrative surrounding the exhibits in the museum is a combination of invention, truth, spirituality and licence. Believe what you want to believe. Feast on the legends and the incredible energies of this unique place or wander round like a fart in a trance and wonder why you bothered.

To stand any chance of communicating with spirit you have to do this mysterious process of raising your vibrations. To avoid yet another debate it means, for me at least, feeling upbeat and positive. Something I have been all my life but lately has been almost impossible. But not today.

Vegan and vegetarian food are the primary ingredients in most of the cafes and restaurants. What a fantastic change. To think over 35 years ago cheese and chips was the singular vegetarian meal of choice when eating out. And I can think of at least three cafes where the food is phenomenal. If your diet consists primarily of McDonald’s and Red Bull and for you shopping can only be done in the local retail park then stay away from Glastonbury.

Have you ever been anywhere that doesn’t have a downside? Sorry folks but the downside here is the large minority who have lost the plot. I personally don’t care how you dress but I do care if you strut about the town as if you own it. And look down upon people who don’t share your passion for clothes which look like a combination of a Tracey Emin afterthought, a straw bale gone walkabout and an explosion in a paint factory. “Precious.”

The second time I came to Glastonbury, haven of peace, a fight nearly broke out in the High Street between two blokes each trying to be more precious than the other.

Yes you can have too much of Wicca, Olde Shoppes, Witches, Druids and Vulvas. But in truth who cares. It is more than compensated for the things I’ve mentioned, for the glorious organic supermarket, genuinely good gift and bookshops and the surreal nature of the place. And it was worth every penny of the 20 quids worth of fuel it cost me to get here and back. And then some.

When I finally got into the Abbey grounds, which are huge by the way, I sat down at a table in the outside café for a coffee. I was definitely picking up a vibe. The central building-only one of the ruins has a roof-has a few benches on the ground floor and an altar all of which are sheltered from the rain. I sat down. There were about another half dozen people sat in respectful silence next to the altar. When I’m in contemplative mood in a sacred place I don’t want anyone too near me, and there wasn’t. As soon as I sat down I started to twitch. When I twitch involuntarily something is affecting my body’s energy field, and although it happens far less frequently than I would like, it is a sign usually of communication from spirit.

It is seven weeks and a day since Vanessa passed. Jonathan has regularly told me that she will only come through after she has healed and I am sufficiently free of anger and pain to be in the right frame of mind. Well it took all of 30 seconds after I sat down to know I was in communication with her. It was her. She came over just as she would have done when on the earth plane. Listening intently, in a good space, funny, intelligent and philosophical. I was rather emotional, shock horror. I struggle to remember what she said specifically, but what I do know is the truth that when we pass we let go of our issues, struggles, shadow and ego which can often wreck our lives “down here.” Having raised my vibration I too, for that blissful five minutes, was operating out of my higher self. For the hour that followed I have probably felt as good as I have done in 50 days of mostly simmering despair.

Whenever anybody asks me how I’m feeling my truth is that each day can be up or down but there is an underlying upward trend of feeling that little bit better. Yes, coming home to an empty house is occasionally purgatory, but my beautiful cats help ease the pain. Watching escapist nonsense on the TV is a suitable distraction as is reading any one of four books (mood dependent) before I go to sleep.

I’m told I’m doing rather well and I suppose there some truth in that. There are many things I have yet to experience in this life and some would scare me witless. No I cannot imagine what it is like to be a soldier in a combat zone, or to be incarcerated in Guantánamo Bay, or being given a terminal diagnosis. No one knows what it is like to lose one soulmate unless they have done so and very few know what it is like to lose two in four years. But of course so what? This is my path and my reality. I am dealing with it, I have to deal with it and I’m seeking no sympathy. I’m told I will come out of this a better person, and that the pain will eventually go away.

arthur GAWell thank you Glastonbury Abbey, thank you King Arthur, who of course never existed. And bless all you precious inhabitants of this rather strange place; you do add something to it despite the few times you make it exceedingly uncomfortable and give “Angry of Tunbridge Wells” a field day. But not today.

Love from a grey, wet and globally unwarmed, fact less and propaganda fuelled Malvern.

“King” Jack Stewart, October 11, 2019.

Slow down, you move too fast…

Welcome-to-Malvern quite.Malvern is a beautiful place. Drive or ride in from the east along Guarlford Road in the autumn and you will think you are passing through heaven. The hills are world-famous and there is even a view that this town is the centre of the universe. It is a place built on healing, water healing, which expanded the population from a hamlet to a small town in Victorian times. It is famous for JRR Tolkien, CS Lewis, Edward Elgar and Roget (of Thesaurus fame) to name just four luminaries. And the rail transport links to all points of the compass are rather impressive.

It seems there was quite an influx of hippies/characters during the 60’s and 70’s. You might now get an inkling of where this post is leading. Shall we say that the Malvern “demographic” is in the evening of its life? There is a wonderful little cafe I go to every week (there are several wonderful little cafes in Malvern) and the owner is in his 30’s. Some weeks ago he told me, after I had been critical of a small mobile sample of the ageing hippies, “Ah yes, Malvern, this is a place where people come to die.”

I love the characters in this town. The truly appalling, toxic and destructive (popular) culture which is being imposed upon us passes them by. Life is devoid of characters, of true rebels, nonconformists and eccentrics. A few months ago a man who used to spend a few hours a day, smoking his pipe, sat on top of green telecom box in the town centre, passed to spirit. Every time I drove past him he put a smile on my face and given the tributes which still adorn the telecom box I am probably in a majority. (Lounge) Toad, a man of indeterminable age, with fabulous long hair and a wonderful singing act is still with us. Tony Neate, someone I could call a friend, also passed last year. Tony set up the London based School of Channelling and was involved with the School of Psychic Studies. As I have said elsewhere this man’s contribution to humanity has yet to be realised.

There are dozens of others. And there are many more upsides of beautiful Malvern than what follows. I have already hinted at the challenging side of Malvern residency in my Bill Bollocks post. Indulge me.

The journey from my house to Worcester involves over a mile travelling through a pleasant, but nondescript little place called Malvern Link. The speed limit is 30 miles per hour but if you can manage that you are breaking the law because 95% of drivers stay below 25 mph. And there is of course traffic volume.

After passing the tip, which on a Sunday I would suggest you don’t, there is a traffic island. Turn right and a quarter mile later turn right again and you are in the retail park. The same shops you will find in just about every other retail park in the country. Even in beautiful Malvern there is built environment standardisation.

Take the second exit from the island and the speed limit goes up to 40. Amazingly most Malvern drivers adhere to this. Just under a mile further on and the speed limit rises to 60. Now it gets interesting. Having driven down this road probably hundreds of times I would again use the 95% figure to suggest that is how many drivers struggle to go over 50 mph.

Who gives a F***?

If you accuse me of being an inverted Bill Bollocks then you are probably right. Why does this get to me? Because it is a prime example of unconscious, conforming behaviour. The car in front of me is doing 50 miles per hour, so I’ll do the same. The car in front speeds up slightly, or slows down slightly, so I’ll do the same. About a mile and a half further down the road is a set of traffic lights and a 40 miles per hour speed limit. In Malvern drivers tend to drive to a lower speed limit ahead of the road they are on. Everything seems in slow motion. Walk up or down the High Street and you will miss completely any hustle or bustle or vibe. Some might say there is a relaxed vibe. I would say that just as the drivers have their beady eyes on the forthcoming lower speed limit, many of them are subconsciously processing the design of their coffins.

If anyone can run with gallows humour right now it’s me.

Before I forget there is another interesting feature of this intriguing place. It’s called Qinetiq, a private “defence” contractor. Shall we restrict ourselves to saying the kind of things that had gone on here (still does?) had some rather interesting effects on some members of the workforce.

I wish to strongly avoid any kind of “Crap Towns” hit piece. I’d like to think, despite the majority of drivers not needing cars with indicators, mirrors and transparent windscreens/windows I have given you enough to at least make you want to visit here and possibly live here. Ironically as a motorcyclist-perhaps it’s six years of defensive car driving-I feel rather safe. But I stay vigilant.

There is a brilliant theatre complex here and for reasons I can’t explain Worcestershire is very strong on the performing arts. If you like live music, plays and other kinds of entertainment, come to Malvern. In fact quite a few of the restaurants have pre-theatre meals.

I’m closing with a rather sheepish demeanour. If I keep going on too much about Malvern drivers it won’t be long before the insurance companies get wind of it. Or it may just be me…

Uriah Stewart, October 10, 2019.

Bless you all, especially those of you behind the wheel.

Zen and a Honda CBF1000.

cb1000f 1

This will be longer than normal and an intention for it to be better…

Forgive me for I know there is repetition in certain ideas and concepts but most of what I write is not fully formed until it is dictated.

Get on with it.

Let’s begin with the idea that our external world is an out picturing of our internal world. I’ve yet to find an explanation of how significant external events fit into this. I don’t need to list “significant events.”

0-60 in 3.7 seconds.

An example. My cat dies. Has nothing to do with me, in fact the cat has been given a wonderful life through my intervention. And if I could change things the cat would live as long as me. I suffer grief; my “lens” on the world becomes clouded. I find it difficult to smile and appreciate everything I normally appreciate. The world is a miserable place and I feel miserable. My “vibration” lowers. I am mired in five sensory “reality.” Any psychic and mediumistic abilities are muted and closed down. I attract more “negative” events and people to me. Things that would normally lift my spirits, raise my vibration, are lost. They are still there but I cannot perceive them.

But part of me doesn’t want this. I don’t want this misery; I want joy, beauty and happiness. But I must grieve…?

When I was 42 I enrolled on a NLP Practitioner course in Manchester, England. I had attended a half day “taster” during which I experienced a huge revelation and it shook me to the core. It related to my origins on this planet, unresolved emotions surrounding my adoption. Really big stuff, for me at least.

Catharsis. I rather like this definition:

An experience or feeling of spiritual release and purification brought about by an intense emotional experience.

Riding my new motorbike to Hereford a couple of hours earlier today, I had a huge grin on my face. Throwing a 1000 cc motorbike at speed down country lanes is a fabulous experience. My Honda accelerates quicker than almost all cars on the road except “supercars” and Teslas. My reflexes and sensory processing are insufficient to ride this bike at its maximum. Accelerating in top gear from 40 miles an hour to ** miles an hour creates a visual blur. It is intoxicating, risky and possibly illegal. A friend of mine has another bike, a stupidly expensive Ducati, which has twice (over 200 HP) the power of mine. The only place he can safely ride it is on a race track.

I’d been carrying “stuff” (anger, frustration, grief, loss, guilt, inadequacy, arrogance) around since I was born. A series of events, one notably when I was eight, hung over me like a cloud if ever I decided to pay attention to them. And often one or more of these emotions would just “pop-up” without any obvious cause.

Do you remember the halcyon early days of therapy? When it was okay to admit to feeling vulnerable, to feel motivated to release persecution, betrayal and victimhood? You don’t? But then why should you? It was the 60’s and 70’s I think. Mostly from America.

My blog post The Most Difficult Path explores the whole “We need to experience pain to grow” set off against therapeutic intervention to release past traumas, emotions and hurt.

There is a wonderful NLP process called “Looking Back and Laughing.” You may guess what purpose it serves. With some exceptions, there is always a time following grief or loss that we can look back and laugh.

Wandering round Hereford I heard the haunting sound of John Barker playing his trumpet. I came across John two or three years ago in Gloucester. The theme tune from Les Miserables (Bring Him Home) was choking a few hundred people up with emotion in the city centre. This man can play the trumpet. I think he will forgive me for including his performance royalty-free below:

Hearing John again I looked back and felt a mixture of emotions. I went over to him again, and given the fact he must’ve met thousands of people since, he vaguely remembered me buying a CD from him. I bought another CD. I remember that day in Gloucester, only the second time I’ve been to the city and I got lost. It has a fabulous cathedral but the town centre is depressing. Fleetingly today, speaking to John again, the emotions of being moved by his playing (sadness?), getting lost (anger, frustration?) followed by elation and then going home (love, pride, feeling special). Aren’t these a typical range of emotions you might feel in varying degrees during a “normal” day? Are you likely to go through the rest of your life dodging sadness, anger and frustration?

I parked the motor bike on the pavement next to dozens of cycles. I’ve just ordered a new mountain bike. When I was in Skiathos, Greece, a wonderful bloke I met (Kelwyn) had hired a bright orange Cube Analog “hardtail” from a hire shop in the town. A couple of days later I hired one myself. Kelwyn recommended a particular journey around the island which involved normal roads and tracks. I’m reasonably fit for my age and a good swimmer. But I haven’t ridden a bike any distance for some months. Getting my excuses in for what follows. I must’ve pushed the bike for about half the distance of the recommended mountain track. Something told me my newly found friend had ridden his bike the whole way. Of course he confirmed this later. And he is only a few years younger than me…

You know what bike I’ve ordered. Using NLP terminology the bike has created “anchors” of elation, perseverance, mild frustration, determination, warmth and philoxenia. Riding a bike also induces mild to severe grief if I consciously choose to recall the times Vanessa and I went for rides. She loved bike riding and one of the first things she had to give up, owing to her condition was this.

So, do I create a list of all the anchors, positive as well as negative, and avoid the latter like the plague? Or do I go to the other extreme, and relive the intense experiences I miss most to allow me cathartic release? It must be bl****** obvious that what I’m saying here applies to any kind of loss, in particular relationships. What constitutes avoidance or distraction?

Back to Hereford. There was a really old bloke playing the spoons to reggae music, crouched down against a wall in a busy shopping street. In terms of playing spoons he was as good as John was with his trumpet. No CDs. He was dressed like a tramp and his white hair and beard stood on end. His keks (trousers) were ripped, old and dirty. I hadn’t got any change and I knew he didn’t do contactless. Another smile on my face. A fleeting thought of the injustice of the world. A talented man, nearing the end of his life, God knows how he got there. It was clearly all his fault.

Anger and frustration? Yep. All I needed to do was stoke up the fire about Vanessa’s (premature) passing and the still raw emotions. I could create a spectacle and put a hat down in front of me for coins. Not sure that a motorcycle helmet is the right kind of hat. It doesn’t suggest poverty or homelessness. Nor am I sure what kind of spectacle would ensue. An unlikely “pensioner” having a cathartic release (with a dance?) in Widemarsh Street would no doubt create a “dead zone” of avoidance and attract the men in white coats.

My ration of laughing and smiling has probably been exceeded today. Did you know there is the idea or myth, depends on your point of view of course, that a year must pass before you can start to live again. Not for me it doesn’t.

I’m sufficiently attuned to spirit to know that those closest to me want me to be happy. Wallowing in grief and misery is not something they would recommend. In the three readings I have had since Vanessa passed humour has been ever present. If you study the whole connecting with spirit process you will realise that for you to connect with a loved one you have to raise your own vibrations and being down and depressed doesn’t cut it.

We are moving around a bit today are we not? Malvern, Manchester, Hereford, Gloucester, Skiathos and Nosso Lar… Manchester beckons. It took me eight weeks to pluck up the courage and find the right opportunity (the NLP course ran for 10 months, one weekend a month) to have my cathartic release. Part of my reasoning was that the release would be so dramatic, so intense that I would have to be taken out of the room in a wheelbarrow.

Well it wasn’t. I wasn’t. Emotional, yes. Tears, a few. But what a release. Changed my life. Forever. Had I or have I fully, 100%, processed and let go of all emotions surrounding my adoption. Of course not. I met my biological mother in 2006. My biological father may have died before I got in touch. It is all a bit vague. Either he and/or his family don’t want to know. I have forgiven him. Part of me is blessed by being brought up by my adoptive parents and created and conceived by my biological parents. So there are a few emotions washing around. Are they destructive? Not anymore, and is the acid test that I can talk about this issue without getting upset? If it is I’ve passed it.

I’ve been to Hereford many times. With Anne a couple times, and with Vanessa at least six. Vanessa’s favourite cafe in Hereford is All Saints Church. I went there today. I leave it to you to guess or rather reflect on your own similar experiences whether or not this was a good thing. It would be nice to have heard John’s trumpet playing, but the Muzak in the church was more than acceptable. The cappuccino and the date slice were fantastic. The poor old spoon player would have looked a little out of place. But aren’t churches places of refuge rather than vegan quiches and free trade coffee?

Coming to the end now. I’ve had a great day. Riding a powerful motorbike when you are distracted or emotional is not recommended. It doesn’t take much to enjoy the experience, it drags you out of a negative state. Being in an embryonic good place, internally and externally is also therapeutic because the old you (assuming you’re not a miserable old sod) starts to emerge and feel powerful again. Background grief is background grief. Try and get your head around the spectacle of two amazing musicians, one playing the spoons the other trumpet to the sound and spectacle of an unconstrained cathartic release. I’m sure it will happen one day, no doubt when X-Factor meets Jeremy Kyle.

Or look back and laugh before the year is out.

Namaste, the light grows brighter.

Jack Stewart, October 2, 2019.