Sunday, March 1, 2015



comes from
within the

People live
their lives
controlled &
by the past

The more you have to protect
the less you will be able
to see things as they truly are.

Victims need the past
& the past needs the victims.


Thursday, February 26, 2015



Wisdom manifests out
of direct experience.
Where else can it come from?
It can't come out of books.

Stop chasing happiness &
let it chase you for a while.

The best you
can hope for
in duality
is a good
Built on the
foundation of love
it will take you
beyond duality.

All desire springs
from the desire to live.
The desire to live
is the messenger of death.

There's no one there
to get bored in the void.

Boredom in a sign
of shallowness.

Art is good
for the heart.

I am a very wealthy man.
I have what money can't buy.

If you didn't look
in a mirror for 20 years
how would you recognize
yourself when you did look?

If you
don't like
what you're
looking at,
stop looking.
Don't try
to fix it.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015


Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

One is their own God & Guru.
There is nothing else.


They've created
their own

There is
no profit
in peace.

Feelings of
the heart
are priceless.

The programming
stops knowledge
arising from within.

Tuesday, February 24, 2015



A master violinist played a first-class concert. After the concert, whilst in his dressing room, an important newspaper critic visited him.
"I would like to congratulate you on your concert." Said the critic. "That violin that you played is the best sounding violin that I have heard for many a long year."
The master violinist walked over to where the violin case was sitting. He popped the locks, opened the lid, put his ear to the violin and listened.
He turned around and said to the critic, "Funny that, I cannot hear a thing!"

Monday, February 23, 2015



We drove in silence that sunny morning. I was thinking about what the Cocky and his sons would be like. Jim was probably wondering who he was going to decide to work for. An hour or so later, we turned off the Lake Cargelligo road and drover over the cattle ramp into a property called Kia Ora.
As we went over the ramp I noticed the name on the 4 gallon tin mail box which read
We drove down the hard, dirt road which ran alongside the fence, then veered off towards a large well-built colonial house with a massive machinery shed along side of it. In the far corner of the house paddock was a big, new shearing shed and yards. Further over, in the corner was a large dam with a tall windmill. The blades of the mill were squeaking as the little bit of air gently blew them around.
Jim pulled up the old Holden Ute right in front of the big machinery shed.
“Old Dick should be around here somewhere. I arranged to meet him here.”
We both got out of the Ute and sat on the hood at the front. No sooner had we made ourselves comfortable, an iron gate clanked and a Cocky in a fine-quality squatters hat, walked over towards us. He was about 55 and had the usual weather-beaten lines in his face. Sticking out of his mouth was a cigarette holder with a Log-Cabin, hand-rolled in the end. He wore a pair of green King Gee overalls and a pair of McWilliams elastic-sided riding boots on his feet.
“G’day Dick.”, said Jim, as he approached with a couple of red Kelpies at his heels. The dogs gave a couple of barks.
“Sit down, ya stupid bastards!”, he said to the dogs. “G’day Smithy.”, he said to Jim. “How’re ya goin’ mate?”
“Not too bad Dick.”
“Bit hot for fencing Smithy, isn’t it?”
“Yeah Dick, ya not wrong there mate.”
“This is Yorky, Dick. He’s the lad I was telling ya about. You’ll like him Dick, he’s a real good worker.”
“G’day Yorky.”, said Dick Skipworth.
“G’day Mr. Skipworth.”, I said.
“The names Dick! We don’t stand on ceremony around here mate ‘cause we all work as hard as each other so there’s no need for it.”
“Alright Dick.”
“Who ya driving for this year Smithy?”
“Haven’t made mi mind up yet Dick. Whoever’s got the best gear and pays the most, I suppose.”
“That’s our place.”, said Dick. “I’m getting too old to drive the headers so they’ve got me driving the semi’s this year.”
“Oh well Dick, do ya good to ease up a bit mate. You’ve earned it after all these years.”
“Ease up mi arse. If I stop working I’d probably die in a few weeks so best not to stop, eh Smithy?”
“Ya might be right at that, Dick.”
I took mi two cases out of the back of Jims Ute. I grabbed the trumpet and rifle from off the front seat.
“Not a bad-looking pea-rifle ya got there Yorky.”, said Dick.
“Yeah, she’s not bad.”
“There’s plenty of Roos to shoot up the top end of my place, Yorky. Mi oldest boy Colin is always chasin’ them off of the crop. They’re a fucking nuisance, the bastards!”
The fact that Dick smoked and swore told me he was probably a good bloke.
“Alright Dick, I’d best be getting back. Don’t worry Yorky, you’re in good hands here. Old Dick will look after ya mate.”
“Less of the fucking ‘old’, Smithy!”, said Dick, with a big grin across his face.
“See ya in town sometime Yorky.”, said Jim, as we shook hands.
He got in his Ute and turned her slowly around and the last thing I noticed was a puff of thick blue smoke that came out of the window from the Monopole Midget cigar.
“Git out’a there ya mongrel fucking bastard!”, roared Dick.
I thought he was talking to me so I snapped to attention.
“Not you, Yorky. I was yelling at that fucking dirty dog of mine.”
“Why? What’s he done?”
Dick pointed to something behind me and when I turned around, his old dog Tim had pissed on one of mi good suitcases.
“Better pick those cases up Yorky before he claims the rest of ‘em. Give us the small case and the rifle. I’ll carry it across to the house for ya mate.”
Dick Skippie took off back towards the gate where he’d just come from. We went through the tall, tubular steel gate and into a backyard, which was all fenced in so the chooks couldn’t get out. The back of the Colonial-style house had a large veranda round it. We walked up a couple of steps, through the veranda and into the large kitchen area.
Dicks’ wife Ruby was busying herself in the kitchen when we walked in. She was a small, gray-haired lady around the same age as Dick. Her face was also somewhat weathered by Bush life but thankfully, for her, not as bad as Dicks’ was. Although she was slight of build, she had a good strong voice when she said ‘Gooday’ to me.
“Ya can stay in Colins’ room Yorky.”, said Dick. “There’s a spare bed in there and it’s a big room. You’ll be mainly helping the boys up in the wheat paddocks. That way you’ll both be able to get each other up if one sleeps in.”
Dick was right. Colins’ room was plenty big enough for the two of us. I slid my suitcases under the bed, along with the trumpet box and stood mi rifle in the corner after I’d double-checked that it was unloaded.
When I came out of the bedroom, Dicks’ wife had made me a good cuppa’ tea and a plate of homemade scones were sitting on the table in front of me.
“Help ya’ self to the scones, Yorky.” She said as I sat down. “There’s fresh butter there and a couple of jars of homemade jam.”
“Thanks.”, I said, as I reached for one of the scones which looked real inviting.
After a quick smoko, Dick and I went back out to the machinery shed.
“We gotta get all these headers checked over and repaired before the season starts, ‘cause once we start we won’t have time to stop for repairs. We’ll be flat out mate, like a lizard in the Sun.”
Dick showed me a few things that he wanted doing so I busied myself cleaning and greasing a PTO header. As I was working I noticed a fawn-colored Ute screaming down from the ramp, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it.
“Here comes our Kevin”, said Dick. “He always seems to be in a fuckin’ hurry the way he drives!”
The Holden, with a couple of red Kelpies in the back, broadsided to a halt right in front of the shed. The door opened and a young bloke of 23 got out of the drivers side. He was a younger version of Dick but with a much strong build. He wore green King Gee work pants, boots and a bush shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the elbows. His brown, hairy arms were quite thick and he wore a sweat-stained squatters hat, a slightly different style than Dicks’.
“G’day.”, he said as he walked over to us.
“G’day Kevin”, said Dick. “This is Yorky. He was workin’ for Smithy but it’s too hot for fencing now so he’s gonna help us out for the wheat season.”
“G’day Yorky.”, said Kevin, with a big, cheeky smile. “How ya goin’ mate?”
“G’day Kevin, good to meet ya.”, I said.
Kevin had a good, firm handshake and something told me we were going to be good friends for a while.
“Give Yorky a hand to git that tire off, will ya Kevin. We got to fix that puncture before we can move that header.”
“No worries.”, said Kevin as he grabbed a large wheel wrench. “Ya from Yorkshire are ya Yorky?”
“Yeah. I’ve been out here since May this year.”
“Is that old Smithy Bastard still chasing those fuckin’ parrots mate?”, he asked.
“Yeah. We got a lot a’ young ones this year. He’s building a big new Avery at the back of his house.
“Has he pumped another kid outta’ that young missus of his yet?”
“Well, he’s got 4 that I know of.”
“That horny old Bastard has got a few more kids scattered around the Bush in various places.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”, I said.
“Well, I suppose that’s his business but he’s a damn good fencer. He put a few miles of fence up around our top paddocks last year. Did a good job too. He knows his stuff when it comes to fencing, does old Smithy! Where did ya work before that Yorky?”
“Burt Booths’ place.”
“Jesus-fuckin’-Christ mate. How did ya git on with that mean ole Bastard?”
This gave us both a bit of a laugh.
“Not too good. He once chased me through the Mali with an axe. He was gonna split me in two.”
“Christ mate, you’re lucky to be alive! Old Burt’s gone through more Pommies than shit-house paper. I know at least 4 good blokes that pulled the pin on him.”
“Yeh, he made it pretty hard for me.”
“How long were you there?”
“Five and a half months.”
“Oh that’s not too bad. There was a good Pommy called Stan Grantham, he was there at least a couple of years. Did ya slip old Kay a length or two to make up for it Yorky?” He said with a huge grin.
“Don’t be silly mate!”, I said with a laugh. “She’s an old woman and besides she had too many gray hairs on her chin for my liking, Kevin.”
“That’s no problem mate, ya could have tore ’em out with ya teeth and banged her regardless!”
“Didn’t fancy old Kay Booth, Yorky?”, said Dick in a quiet, joking way.
“Not really Dick.”
“I don’t think old Burt does either.”, he said.
“He’s too tight to fuck her.”, said Kevin. She thought she was marrying a big-hearted generous cocky when she first started writing to old Burt but after a few years of livin’ with him, she got dried up, just like him."
“She wasn’t a bad-lookin’ woman for a Pommy when she first came out here.”, said Dick.
“Anyway, hurry up and git that tire off. I’ve gotta go into the Lake to order some spare parts so we’ve got a few on hand for the wheat season. Ya might take a quick run around those sheep across the road Kevin. I noticed a couple of flyblown bastards in ’em when I drove aqround last time.”
“Me and Yorky will have a look as soon as we’ve got this puncture fixed.”

“That’ll do, the bastard!”, said Kevin, as he tightened the nuts on the wheel. “Unless you can tighten ’em a bit more Yorky.”
I put the large cross wrench on the nuts and gave a good heave on the handle. The nuts turned about a quarter of a turn each.
“Grand Streuth Yorky! You’re a strong little bastard for a Pommy.”, he said in his joking way.
“I’m gitting there Kevin.”, I said with a smile.
“It must have been all those Grass Parrots old Burt fed ya mate.”
“How d’ya know about that?”
“Peter Smith is a mate of mine. He just lives down the road aways. He was telling me about ya a few months ago. C’mon Yorky, that’ll do mate. Let’s go and have a look at those sheep that the old man was talking about.”
As we drove over the ramp, a gray Holden Ute turned into the driveway.
“Where ya going?”, said a tall, rough-looking, whiskery man of about 30. He wore a Squatters hat that was on its last legs. The crown had a large hole in it at the front and the sides were stained with sweat and oil marks.
“Going over the road to check on a few flyblown sheep.”, said Kevin.
“Hang on till I park mi Ute and I’ll come with you.”
“Hurry up then!”, said Kevin. “I ain’t got all fucking day Sport!”
The man drove past us and parked his Ute alongside the fence.
“Who’s that?”, I said to Kevin.
“It’s mi older brother mate, his names Colin.”
“He’s a rough-lookin’ character.”
“Yeh, he’s an ugly looking bastard too. He’s not as handsome as I am nor as modest for that matter but he doesn’t scub up too bad when he goes to town.”
“How old is he?”
“Oh, he’s about 33.”
Just then, my side door of the Ute opened.
“Slide over, ya bastard!”, said a loud ocker accent.
I slid over into the middle of the bench seat.
“G’day Sport!, My names Colin. How ya goin’?”
“Good.”, I said. “My name’s Yorky.”
“I know.”, he said.
“How d’ya know.”
“Everybody knows your name mate. All the Sheilas in town are talkin’ about ya.”
“Are they really?”
“No mate, I’m only jokin’ with ya. I just past the old man on his way to town and he told me ya name.”
He slammed the door of the Ute and we took off down the West Wyalong dirt road where the paddock gate was. As we were driving, the Kelpies in the back started to fight. Colin stuck his head out of the window and yelled, “Sit down ya mongrel fuckin’ bastards. There’s plenty of work for all of ya!”
The dogs went quiet as they watched the sheep.
“Get the gate Digger.”, said Kevin to his brother.
“Why don’t I get the gate Kevin?”, said his brother in response.
As Colin got out of the Ute to get the gate, I said to Kevin, “Why d’ya call him Digger?”
“Well mate, just look at the bastard, that’ll tell ya. Doesn’t he look like he’s just crawled out of the trenches of France?”
When I thought about it and watched him open the gate, I saw that Kevin was right ‘cause Digger was wearing a pair of old stained karkie army shorts and an old blue singlet with a few holes in it.
We drove through the gateway and Digger closed it behind us.
“I’ll ride in the back with the dogs.", said Digger. “It’ll be easier to spot the flyblown ones that way.”
“I’ll drive around the outsides of the Paddocks first!”, yelled Kevin. “Keep the dogs in the back till we spot one!”
Slowly we drove around the Paddock and the sheep started to run towards the center.
Digger called out, “There’s one Kevin, over in that small mob.”
“Send Joe out!”, yelled Kevin. “He knows what to do!”
Joe was a large, young red Kelpie with a white blaze down the front of his chest. He also had a white mark which ran up between his eyes to the top of his head and a small splash of white on the end of his tail/
Joe jumped out the back of the Ute and ran across the Paddock towards where the flyblown sheep were. He split the tail-end of the small mob off from the main, larger mob.
“Fetch ’em here”, yelled Kevin, who was now out of the Ute calling out orders to Joe who seemed to know exactly what he was doing.
“Come on Yorky!”, He said. “We’ll git behind ’em with Joe and drive ’em into that corner!”
“How are we gonna get the flyblown ones out Kevin?”
“There’s only a couple of ‘em in that mob Yorky, so as soon as we git ’em tight up in the corner we’ll run in and grab ’em.”
“I’ll go around this side and grab ‘em so they can’t make a break for it!”, said Digger. “Ya see that one over there Yorky with the flies all around his arse? When I tell ya, you grab him and I’ll grab this one over here!”
“Are ya ready Digger?”, yelled Kevin.
“Ready!”, yelled Digger.
“Alright, GO!”, yelled Kevin.
We ran towards the mob of sheep that were pushed up tight in the corner of the fence. My sheep tried to make a break for it so I dived on it as it tried to run past me. Kevin had forced his sheep up into the corner and was holding it with his knees and Digger had a hold of the back leg of another.
“Tip him over on his back Yorky and drag him over here!”, said Kevin .
As soon as I was close to Kevin with the sheep, he said, “I’ll hold ‘em both York. You run over to the Ute and get the hand shears and that large can of sheep dip. There’s an old rag tied to the end of it, grab that while you’re there mate!”
The shears, stick and sheep dip were right where Kevin said they’d be so I pulled ‘em out of the Ute and carried ’em over to the fence corner.
“Good on ya Yorky.”, said Digger who now had his sheep on its’ side, holding it down with his knee. “Give me the shears Yorky.”, he said, as he rolled the sheep on its back, against his legs.
Digger started to cut the wool away from the big Whethers tail. It was a dirty, black rotten color and it started to stink more as he snipped away.
Before long, it was easy to see how the blowflies can kill a sheep if it’s not caught in time. As Digger cut more wool away, it revealed a large patch of red, inflamed skin with tiny holes down into it. A few maggots were wriggling around on the surface of the skin and once Digger had snipped away all the dead-looking stinkin’ wool back as far as the good wool. He said, “Give me that can of dip Yorky.”
I unscrewed the cap off of the drum and Digger said, “Pour some of the dip over the bare spot and I’ll dab it on with the rag.”
No sooner had I started to pout the white-looking liquid on the sheeps’ arse, lots of small white maggots wriggled out of the holes in the sheeps’ flesh.
“That’ll fix the bastards!”, said Digger. “They don’t like that sheep dip. Pour some more over here Yorky, there’s a few more maggot holes just there.”
The sheep dip worked really well. As soon as it hit the sheeps’ skin, the maggots started to wriggle out.
“That’ll do.”, said Digger. “Stand back Mate while I let it up!”
Digger let the old Wheather go. It gave a few twists of its body as it tried to regain its feet. Once it got a grip with its toes it was up on its feet and away across the Paddock to join the rest of the mob. The same procedure was followed with the remaining two sheep and as soon as they were soaked with the sheep dip, they were released to join back up with the mob.
“I can’t see anymore Digger, can you?”, yelled Kevin as we drove on around the Paddock.
“No Sport!”, yelled Digger. “I think we’ve gotten ’em all now!”
“Let’s go home then and have a bite to eat. It’s about lunch time. Mum will wonder where we’ve got to, if not.”, said Kevin.
After a meal of mashed potatoes, cold mutton and tomatoes, we rested for half an hour and then went back to work in the machinery shed for the rest of the day.
All that week, Digger, Kevin and myself worked around the machinery shed to get the tractors and headers, trucks and augers up to scratch for the wheat season which was due to start any day now.
One morning, Dick Skipworth said to his sons, “I was lookin’ at that Paddock of wheat over at your place yesterday Digger. I think it might go today.”
“Yah reckon?”, said Digger. “I thought it was still a bit green.”
“She’s pretty close to going.”, said Kevin. “So why don’t we take the machinery over there and do a couple of rounds? We’ll be able to tell as soon as it’s in the bin.”
“Good idea”, said Dick. “You two drive the headers across and Yorky and me will go ahead in my Ute so we can git the gates for ya. Stick that 10 gallon drum of grease in the back of my Ute Yorky before we forget it.”
Once we got up to the Paddock, Kevin pulled into line first and set off to make one round of wheat stripping to see how dry the wheat was. When he got back to the start where we were all waiting for him, Dick pronounced the golden-colored wheat to be dry enough and the season began.

Standing at the gate, looking out over a 2,000 acre wheat Paddock was quite a sight. Let me tell you. The wheat was about 4’6" tall on average and it appeared to be an ocean as the gentle breeze blew it from side to side. The breeze made the wheat look like small, rolling waves as I stared off into the distance. My view was only periodically broken by the few, large shade trees that had been left standing for the sheep, once the Paddock was stripped.
Around Lake Cargelligo, all the Cockies used to sow clover seed with their wheat so the sheep would have something to graze on after the stalk had been burned off.
“Let’s go Yorky.”, said Dick.
“Where too?”
“We’re off back home to pick up the Semi and the flatbed. Then we’ll bring ’em back up the Paddock so the boys have something to auger out into.”
When we got back to the Homestead, Dick started up the Semi-trailer which had 2 large wheat bins on the back. As soon as it was going he said to me, “Can you drive Yorky?”
“I’ve only driven Jims’ old Bedford.”
“Christ Mate! If ya can drive that old piece of shit ya can drive anything! Hop in my new Ute and go ahead so ya can open the gates mate.”
“What’s the gears Dick?”, I said as I got in his Ute.
“Towards ya and down for 1st. Up to neutral and straight up for 2nd and straight down through neutral for 3rd. Reverse is towards ya and up.”
“Does the clutch need doubling Dick?”
“No Mate. This is a fuckin’ new Ute, not a fuckin’ old 40s’ relic like Smithy drives. We’re fuckin’ rich Yorky!”, he said with a wink.
I closed the door of the new Ute, turned the key and it came to life. The motor was so quiet compared to Jims’ vehicles that I had to listen hard to make sure it had started.
“Git a fuckin’ move on will ya Yorky?”, yelled Dick, out of the window of the Semi. “It’ll be fuckin’ dark before we get there at this rate!”
‘Towards me and down for 1st.’, I repeated to myself as I watched the hands pull the stick into gear. ‘Clutch out slowly and give her some revs.’
To my astonishment and great delight, the new Holden Ute cruised off as smooth as butter. ‘Click’, ‘Click’, up into 2nd a few more revs and a ‘Click’, ‘Click’, down into 3rd. A big shit-eatin’ grin stole across my mouth as the new Ute glided over the dirt track road.
The grin on my face turned to a big smile as soon as the Speedo hit 35 miles per hour!
Dick was right up my arse end with the big, red Semi; pushing and pulling it through numerous gears without the slightest sound of a grind. Just then, when I looked into he rear vision mirror, he was madly waving his hand for me to go faster. I took a deep breath to try and stop my happy heart pounding with excitement and pushed the accelerator
down a bit more
When I looked at the Speedo I was now doing 45 MPH. I checked the rear vision mirror again in case I was going too fast. Dick was still right up the arse end of the Ute, waving his hand madly and mouthing the words, “Git a fuckin’ move on Yorky!”
So I smiled even wider now as I pushed the peddle down another half-inch. I was now doing almost 60 and when I checked the rear vision mirror, old Dick had a smile on his face.
I was so ecstatic at being behind the wheel of a new Ute at 60 MPH that I forgot about the turn and drove straight past it! When I looked in the mirror, I saw the red Semi just disappearing up the turn off behind the row of pine trees.
“Oh shit! Scungy, fucking Bastard.”, I was so happy for a few seconds that I’d missed the turn off! What will old Dick say now? He’s probably opening the gate right this minute!
“Where the fuck have you been Yorky? I thought you’d decided to go to Sydney in my new Ute!”
“No Dick.”, I said. “I missed the turn.”
“Is your foot sore Yorky?”, he said to me.
“No Dick. Why?”
“Then tread on the fuckin’ accelerator a bit harder! Ya not gonna hurt the fuckin’ thing! We wanna’ got there today, not to-fuckin’-morrow!”, he said, grinning slightly around the cigarette holder.
At last we arrived back in the wheat Paddock. The timing was perfect. Kevin, who had m ade a full round of the Paddock was just coming down the last side. Pulling alongside the Semi with the 2 large wheat bins on the back, he brought the Auto-header to a stop and pulled the lever to activate the Auger. The cogs snapped into place which started the worm drive and a stream of golden Insignia wheat grain gushed into the bin making a sound like hail on a corrugated tin roof. As the golden wheat was transferred into the bin, the excess dust flew in the direction of the slight breeze.
Once Kevins’ header was empty, he pulled out into the wheat again and Digger, who was not far behind him, pulled the tractor-drawn header alongside the bin and the procedure was repeated.
Dick and I brought the other flat-top truck with one large bin onboard up the Paddock and positioned it a hundred yards away from the Header.
“Climb aboard, Yorky!”, said Kevin, after he emptied his load. “Ya can ride around on the header and keep me company Mate, until it’s time to grease her up.”
For a while we chatted about our backgrounds and lives. He told me he had been married for about a year now and that he lived in the Lake at a one-story house that his Mother-in-Law owned. Kevin was an easy-going young man who had been brought up on a wheat property all his life. He learned to drive as soon as he could see through the windscreen, which he said was around 8 years. He was a very adaptable character who seemed to be able to take things as they came. Once he said me, “What d’ya smoke those stinkin’ fags for Yorky?”
“Body habit Mate. I’ve been smoking since I was 8, just around the age you learned to drive.”
“Now I understand Mate. I learned to drive and you learned to smoke.”



It's not the things you've done that have brought you to this place, it's what you haven't done. Apply that to Society as a whole & you will see the necessity of destruction.

What do you
want to prove
by living?

Life is an experiment,
but before you start
ask yourself, what result
you are looking for?
Otherwise you won't know
whether you failed or succeeded.

The Secret is
knowing the power
in yes & no
& not

Once you know
what you are
prepared to
die for,
fear will have
no influence
on you.

Belief systems are being
systematically destroyed.
Depending on how
heavily invested
you are in them
determines whether or
not you will survive.

Once you buy the bullshit
you will be stuck with it.
To get free of it
you will have to
find another sucker
willing to buy it.

You would
be surprised
at the bullshit
people tell me.

People who sell their soul to the devil, so to speak, are always on the lookout for another seller. Now, a man says that he, 'sold his soul to the devil'. "Oh', says I, "Are you telling me souls have become a commodity?"

God created man in His own image. That is why man has the power of imagination. God looked at the world and saw that it was good. That is why man has the power of sight. You can figure the rest out yourself. I'm not doing all the work for you.

I ended up like this
through hard work.
Whatever you earn
through hard work
you will

In the world of equality there are no VIP lounges.
In my world there is no such thing as a person
so in my world VIP lounges don't work.

Saturday, February 21, 2015



Knowing is within the mind.
Beyond the framework
there is nothing
to know.
It manifests as
Direct Knowledge.

Whatever has dimensions
is destructible.
Only Dimensionless Reality
is indestructible.

The world, in and of itself, has no reality whatsoever. It is your own private dream. It is your own creation. If you have a problem with it, do not blame. Ask yourself why you created such a world.

There is a world within every word. When you take your focus off of a few thoughts that you had, those worlds die and you don't even bat an eyelid.

The eyes blink
at 1/60th of a second.
Anything faster
than that
is seen
as magic.

When you want to know how the magician does it, you have to watch the illusion from beginning to end, without blinking. Guaranteed you will catch him.

comes along with

For those who are attract
to the destructible,
they are addicted to fear.
Those who are attracted
to the indestructible
are addicted to love.

I found the goldmine
within myself.
It gives off the most
incredible golden light
that I have ever seen.
The Power of the Sun
illuminates it.


Thursday, February 19, 2015



Funny, when you take the
'What If?' away it
becomes the real.

You know the
problem with 'aloneness'?
There's no one to thank.

A corridor in time
is the difference
between night & day.

Blame never
healed anything.

Had my life not been like it was
these words would be empty rhetoric.
As it is, they're infused with life force.

My loss is your gain.
Your part is the
courage to take it.

Life is a marriage. Find out what you're not & whatever is left is you & yours, for better or for worse, to love & to cherish, in sickness & in health, to have & to hold till death do us part. AMEN!

Wednesday, February 18, 2015



It's what you truly & what you stand for. Everything else is meaningless. It has no substance in it. Read my forehead. It's what I stand for. What will you stand for?

Only a dead man
can truly live.

It's the job
of the Shakti
to take care of you,
if you'll let it.

God is because you are
& you are because God is.

The Earth has become a godless planet.
Don't expect God or
anyone else to come back,
that's your job.

What great men do
small men follow.

Look after

You'll never hear
a starving man say,
"I don't like it."

The Guru is your benefactor.
Can you take what he has to give?

For a time-bound being
life is moment to moment.
To a timeless being it just is.

Looking through
the eyes of

The people are morally bankrupt.
The economy is bankrupt.
What does that tell you?

Manifesting unconditioned love
is the only way to survive.

A peaceful,
disciplined mind~
Calm waters.


Peter Smith came back out to old Burts' place to see me. He pulled up in Burts' yard one evening and jumped out of his blue Ute.
"G'day Yorky.", he said, as he walked around the back of the Ute.
"G'day Peter. How're you going?"
"Good mate. I brought ya something."
He leaned over the side of the Ute and pulled out a large wheat bag that was tied with a lump of bailing twine.
"What's in the bag Peter?"
"Open her up and have a 'butchers' mate, but be clever."
He handed me the large sack and immediately whatever was inside started to move around.
"What's inside Peter?"
"Open the bastard up mate, if ya wanna know."
I undid the bow which kept the bag shut tight and when I peered down inside it, I saw a young joey kangaroo.
"It's a joey Pete!"
"Yeh mate. I thought ya might like it. It'll be a bit of company for ya. Ya just have to feed it a bottle of boiled milk morning and night but don't be surprised if it dies on ya 'cause they're a bit hard to raise most times."
"Where am I gonna put it?"
"Come on inside ya hut. I'll show ya how to do it mate."
When we got inside the tin hut, Peter opened the bag and stuck his hand inside and then pulled the young joey out of the bag by its' tail. It was quite scared of being out in the light so it started to kick and make a clicking sound.
"Stick him up ya jumper mate. He'll quieten down then."
The young joey crawled up under mi jumper, back into the dark and was quiet as a mouse again, once he made himself comfortable under mi armpit.
"Ya leave the top of the bag tied like this mate, then ya hang it on a nail. This one over here will do. Next, ya cut a slit along the bag, like so. Then it resembles its mothers' pouch. That's it. That'll do mate."
"How do I feed it Peter?"
"Ya git old Kay to boil up a small amount of milk and then ya put it in a bottle and ya put a small amount of burnt cinder powder in it. That'll stop him from getting the scowers. Ya put the rubber teet on the end and the first couple of times you'll have to hold him and force it in his mouth but as soon as he knows the bottle's full of warm milk he'll hold the bottle himself with his hands and feed himself. We'll go over and see old Kay. She used to have a pet too but it got too big and cranky so she let him go. She'll be glad to give ya a hand looking after it. It'll remind her of the time she got her first pet roo, mate.", he said, with a knowing, cheeky wink.
Peter was no mug. When Kay Booth saw the joey she was more than happy to help so old Burt couldn't say a word about it. Kay proceeded to tell us all about her pet roo which took about half an hour and when Peter and I got back to mi shed he said,
"I told ya sport. She's on our side now. Better to have old Kay as a friend. It'll make ya life a bit easier out here. How's things going anyway, Yorky?"
I told Peter about old Burt doing his nut and chasing me with the axe.
"Gawd Streuth mate! We've gotta git ya out of this place while ya still in one piece! I've got a place in mind for ya to go but the bloke is still waiting for a contract to come through and as soon as it does, ya outa' here. I'd take ya back to my place tonight but there's no room and there's no work so I can't do that. Ya think ya can hang on at this place for a while longer?"
"Yeh, I'll be alright. He's been a bit better since he chased me with the axe but I don't like old Burt. He's as miserable as chickenshit."
"Ya not wrong there mate and you're not the only one who thinks that. Anyway mate, I'll be back to see ya again soon so look after ya self Yorky and don't let the bastard git ya down, alright?"
"Alright mate. Thanks for the joey and thanks for looking out for me."
"No worries mate. I'd do the same for a white feller."
"Oh that's a good joke Peter. I'll save that one for old Burt one day."
After Peter left, Mrs. Booth came over with a bottle of milk with a lambs teet on the end of it.
"Do you want to see if he's hungry Richard?"
"Yeh, let's try him. They shot his mother along with the rest of the mob so he's probably a bit hungry now and he won't feel so frightened once he gets some warm milk into him."
The young joey kicked and scratched as he tried to get away from me when I took him out of his new pouch.
"Hold him firm while I get the teet in his mouth.", said Kay.
Once the joey tasted the warm cows milk, he started to settle down until he had finished three-quarters of the bottle. Then he pissed on mi trousers and started to struggle again so I put him back in the old wheat-bag pouch. As soon as he saw the tear across the front of the bag he hopped in headfirst and rolled over on his back then curled himself into a tight ball and went to sleep.
After a week or so, joey could get out of the bag himself. He could sit right up on his back legs and tail. Already he had learned to hold the bottle himself. He looked so sweet as he sat on the floor of mi hut feeding himself and looking around.
Sometimes at night I'd put him in mi bed but one night he pissed all over the sheets so sleeping in the bed with me was now out of bounds to him. Another week and he could hop up on the bed himself but he could not distinguish between the bed and the old dressing table so many a time he would hop up on the table and knock the photos and mi other knick-knacks all over the place. One night when he saw his reflection in the mirror he tried to kick it to death and almost cracked the mirror.
Joey was a lot of fun. Peter was right, it made staying at old Burts' place a bit more tolerable but life being what it is, it soon took joey away from me.
One cold morning at about 4 O'clock, I woke up with a start for some unknown reason. I switched on the one light bulb. Nothing seemed out of place but something did not feel right. Joey was sat in his pouch with his head out of the slit in the bag. His big black eyes were staring across at me.
"Put ya head back in mate, it's a cold morning.", I said but he never moved. "Git back in the pouch where it's warm, joey, or you'll git cold."
I got out of bed and walked across the cold oil-cloth to where joeys' bag was hanging. When I touched his furry head he was as stiff as a board and at once I knew he was dead.
"Oh fuck! Why did you have to go and die just when we were having a good time together?"
When I tried to get joey out of the bag pouch, I saw the reason for his death. A loose strand of bag had gotten twisted around his neck as he got back in his pouch, head first and as soon as he tried to turn around, the piece of frayed string had tightened around his throat and choked him. I had a good cry to myself as I cut the string from around his neck and pulled his stiff little body out of the bag.
Before breakfast, I showed old Kay what had happened and she was also quite upset about it. When Burt found out he said,
"They're pretty hard to raise. If they don't get the scowers they git a cold and if it's not any of those two things, it's something else."
"What do I do with him now Burt? Shall I bury him somewhere?"
"Na mate, just chuck his body to the pigs. It's no good to him now so the pigs may as well eat it. Everything has some use in the bush, mate. We''ll all end up as tucker for something one of these days."
For once, I could see that old Burt was right. Joey could no longer use a dead roos' body, so I hardened my heart and threw the dead body into the pigs pen and walked away.