i found myself using the word minging the other day. i can't remember the context, but i remember that it sprung forth unselfreflectively from my lips while conversing with a young girl from edinburgh. after i had pronounced it i commented selfreflectively that it had been a while since that word had crossed my lips. we were chopping garlic in the kitchen at the rainbow gathering, trying to get everything prepared so that we could have the food circle before dark. later by the fire i told her that i wanted to hear more about her journey here by sea. she had found the boat in italy, she said, but after a few days of sailing west, in the middle of the mediterranean, a massive storm overtook them. a part of the front of the boat broke off. the waves were eight metres high. everyone feared for their lives. everyone survived, and they got to the canaries, but on the next boat they found the skipper was crazy. they embarked in las palmas de gran canaria, with the intention of accompaning the boat to the carribean, but due to the madness of the skipper, realised she had to get off in tenerife, and now here she was at the rainbow. she did not furnish me with any details regarding the crazy madness of the skipper, simply saying that she had changed plans now, and had no intention of finding any more boats. with her eyes she communicated something uncommunicable akin to fear.
at the marina in santa cruz, most people tell me that most of the boats have now already left to cross the atlantic. the winds are usually favourable until late januray, february, but most people have already left in order to spend as much time as possible in the carribean before the hurricanes arrive in spring. hearing this, i have opened up my plans and tell myself: perhaps i will find a lift across the atlantic, but if not i will be happy to spend the winter here in tenerife. after wandering about the marina, speaking to the yacht-owners and investigating the new arrivals, i tell myself "i do not want another minute of my life to proceed without learning more German" and i stride straight to the municpal library, a great spacious modern building which stays open twenty-four hours a day, which is always filled with a great hushed studious atmosphere, propitious for learning. countless students are seated at illuminated desks, pouring over books, filling their minds with knowledge. i sit on the soft sofa in the corner and fill my mind with the word order and grammatical rules which govern the German language. the task of learing a new lanuage is always invigorating, keeping the mind ever vigilant and alert, ever interested in the diverse mechanisms which are employed within a particular language to express the diverse ideas which float through our minds.
every night i sleep wonderfully well at el Palmetum, a hill sticking into the sea where the municpal authorities have planted countless palm tress from all over the world. the space is divided into different continents: Africa, el Caribe, Asia, Sud America, and there are to be found wonderful diverse exemplars of the palm trees which pertain to each geographical region. the first time i slept there i was overcome with the peaceful vibrations of nature all around me, namely the industrious birds who busied around the seeds of the trees all night and dropped them half-nibbled into my hammock. in the morning i nibbled them too, but found them to be too bitter for me. later somebody told me that the palmetum was constructed on top of a massive rubbish tip, and that the decomposing air secretions might make it not the most salubrious place to sleep, but, in spite of knowing this, i still love the birdsong in the morning.
on Christmas day i realised that i had lost most of my material possessions. when i first left the rainbow and came to santa cruz, i thought that the main marina was near the darsena pesquera. there, the only skipper i met was affable portuguese enrique, who planned to take a month or more to sail to brasil. he said that he would be happy to take on extra crew, especially those who were prepared to contribute eight hundred euros towards food and boat oil. he was affable.
on christmas day i walked along the beach of san andres, strumming my ukulele, striding through the waves and smiling at everyone i passed. the beach was teeming with people, either lying in the sun, or swimming in the sea. the sand on the beach has yellow colour - a sand colour one might say. it is incongruous for tenerife, whose natural beaches are composed of honest grainy black sand, coming from the disintegration of the island's dark native volcanic rock. somebody told me that the beach had been created by transporting sandy-coloured sand from the nearby Sahara. after strumming and swimming and drying myself on the sand, i was on my way back when i sighted Stefano. the last time i had met him had been at the rainbow - which had the aim of eating only raw food. i had invited him to my dwelling - a ledge on the cliff where we had prepared and eaten olive oil curry powder chapattis over a fire - a pirate fire, as any fire was termed at that rainbow, which had the purpose of cooking food. that night he told me that we live our life as actors, and that only by recognising our role as actors can we construct a role for ourselves which corresponds to our genuine
sentiments.
something about the idea living-as-acting
and having true genuine sentiments,
- being-true-to-oneself
- having a self that is capable of true
seemed incongruous to me
but it sounded convincing when stefano said it.
Stefano was with bobby, and nina, and kieran. they had taken to calling me jungle jim. jim came from its alligator alliteration with jungle, and from the spirit of jim morrison which accompanies stefano wherever he goes. jungle came from jungle green, which was the colour i chose for myself the night we first met at the rainbow. we had all chosen colours, and danced around, allowing our colours to express themselves through us, and interact. stefano was royal blue, which somehow expressed itself through him regally strutting around upon an imaginary camel. we all embarked upon a journey with him across the vast expanse of the Sahara. i was jungle green, which permitted me to make organic wild gestures and give out lonely bird calls. nina was sexy orange. she slid around releasing her sparkling energy. her parents, incidentally, had named her after their love for nina simone, something which we were all pleased to hear. bobby was yellow, which corresponded well with the open simplicity of his sunniness.
as darkness drew near i invited them all back to the place where i was sleeping, in a barranco a little bit around the coast. i didn't know how to describe this place. i mentioned that there was a dead dog, lying with his face in a pool of water, his body covered by flies. i said that on the way there were many piles of rubbish, among which they could find matresses on which to sleep. it was only when i said that there was a lot of wood with which we could make a big bonfire, that the place began to appeal to them. the dead dog had also disturbed me a little - he looked plump and fresh and i could not discern his cause of death, but the place where i was sleeping was not within smelling-distance of the dog, and there we all went.
we arrived a little bit after darkness had fallen. it was then when i discovered that my rucksack, which i had hidden carefully under a bush, was no longer there. it was strange. there still seemed to be some kind of signifcant energy buzzing around the place where it used to be. i was lucky that stefano and bobby and nina and kieran were with me. they lent me some pieces of clothing, and we collected lots of wood, with which to keep the fire burning all night. trying to improve on my initial description of that place, i told them that it was like the wild west. there was a kind of frontier feeling. it was the end of civilisation, beyond the fringe of an industrial zone, where the dry land rose to some pointed rocky peaks. i told them that my only neighbours lived in a simple block of concrete, with whom i had tried to speak, but with whom i had never managed to establish a neighbourly "we live in the same place" connection. the first time i arrived there my eyes had been drawn to the darkness of the open doorway, where i seemed to feel eyes looking out at me. but the door had soon closed. even when i had got close, wanting to say "hola!", "do you know if the water from the river is good to drink?" or maybe "do you know if these plants make a good infusion?" there was no response. my companions began to feel unsure about sleeping there, but i reassured them. i told them how good it felt to be there with them, singing songs, making chapattis and filling the air with our good-meaning energy.
the next morning they went off to continue their personal voyages. i went up to the lonely concrete house, whose door i had seen open earlier that morning. even though there was no response, i stayed there for a while speaking, just in case i was being listened to.
"perhaps you have noticed me sleeping below?" i said, "well, my bag has disappeared and i wondered if you seen anyone yesterday, or if you know anything . . . "
Silence
"santo silencio" i commented.
"i only want everyone to be happy" i said after a while, to make my peaceful intentions clear.
then i heard a voice and perceived an old man climbing slowly up the hill. he was wearing a suit several sizes too big for him and like me, he was conducting a conversation with himself.
when we began speaking he apologised that he was half deaf. i asked him if he knew anything of my rucksack. an air of innocence surrounded his oversized suit as he told me that he hadn't seen anything and that he would never steal anything from a fellow poor man. he invited me to look anywhere i wanted inside his humble abode. the only thing i saw were his poor jeans hanging from nails on his poor walls.
"if you were God," isbrant invited me to consider, "if you had complete freedom to choose how to spend the whole of Eternity, what would you choose?"
how can Joy and Peace have any precious meaning for us, if they did not coexist with their opposites?
what if God - the Eternal One - choses to experience himself through millions of sparkling human beings, who all have to grapple with the intriguing mystery of inhabiting these finite material bodies? the temptation to become attached to the materiality of our little lives makes things interesting. and what if we realised that we are all God, manifested in our myriad individual ways? we ourselves have chosen to come and play the game of living our human lives.
thoughts of this nature were prompted in isbrant after listening to a talk by cosmic philosopher alan watts. it inspired him write a song which he entitled "the game of life", which he always sang with all his soul, sometimes closing his eyes, to better feel the song and other times looking at me with his clear wise sparkling eyes. i soon found it pretty catchy. he strums his ukulele, alternating between the chords of C and F in a kind of swingy reggae rhythm. i wrote down the words in my notebook before i left the rainbow. today i was sitting on a park bench - waiting for a particular shop to open - when i began strumming the song and getting enthusastic about it. soon i was surrounded by a little group of children who looked at me with fascinated shy eyes. after i finished each one came and handed over a few little coins. it felt like propitious beginning to the playful busking chapter of my life.
the game of life
go
and feel it,
play the game,
the game of man.
go
and feel it,
play the game,
the game of man.
i am home
just where i am
i am who i want to be
sharing where i can
walking the road of happiness
love is everywhere
in my head in my soul
even in my selfishness
and in the mask i wear
We´re all One
we're all one
doing what we like to do
playing the game of man
We´re all One (do you feel it?)
we're all one
doing what we like to do
playing the game of man
we're home
anywhere we go
never alone
always in the flow
everything is always changing
and that will never stop
still we're taught to fear this
as we grow up
but the baby and the dog and the elephant,
the flower and the bee -
we all feel that we're part of it
we flow eternally
We all Thrive
we all thrive
doing what we like to do
playing the game of life
We all Thrive (do you feel it?)
we all thrive
manifestations of One Universe
playing the game of life
at the marina in santa cruz, most people tell me that most of the boats have now already left to cross the atlantic. the winds are usually favourable until late januray, february, but most people have already left in order to spend as much time as possible in the carribean before the hurricanes arrive in spring. hearing this, i have opened up my plans and tell myself: perhaps i will find a lift across the atlantic, but if not i will be happy to spend the winter here in tenerife. after wandering about the marina, speaking to the yacht-owners and investigating the new arrivals, i tell myself "i do not want another minute of my life to proceed without learning more German" and i stride straight to the municpal library, a great spacious modern building which stays open twenty-four hours a day, which is always filled with a great hushed studious atmosphere, propitious for learning. countless students are seated at illuminated desks, pouring over books, filling their minds with knowledge. i sit on the soft sofa in the corner and fill my mind with the word order and grammatical rules which govern the German language. the task of learing a new lanuage is always invigorating, keeping the mind ever vigilant and alert, ever interested in the diverse mechanisms which are employed within a particular language to express the diverse ideas which float through our minds.
every night i sleep wonderfully well at el Palmetum, a hill sticking into the sea where the municpal authorities have planted countless palm tress from all over the world. the space is divided into different continents: Africa, el Caribe, Asia, Sud America, and there are to be found wonderful diverse exemplars of the palm trees which pertain to each geographical region. the first time i slept there i was overcome with the peaceful vibrations of nature all around me, namely the industrious birds who busied around the seeds of the trees all night and dropped them half-nibbled into my hammock. in the morning i nibbled them too, but found them to be too bitter for me. later somebody told me that the palmetum was constructed on top of a massive rubbish tip, and that the decomposing air secretions might make it not the most salubrious place to sleep, but, in spite of knowing this, i still love the birdsong in the morning.
on Christmas day i realised that i had lost most of my material possessions. when i first left the rainbow and came to santa cruz, i thought that the main marina was near the darsena pesquera. there, the only skipper i met was affable portuguese enrique, who planned to take a month or more to sail to brasil. he said that he would be happy to take on extra crew, especially those who were prepared to contribute eight hundred euros towards food and boat oil. he was affable.
on christmas day i walked along the beach of san andres, strumming my ukulele, striding through the waves and smiling at everyone i passed. the beach was teeming with people, either lying in the sun, or swimming in the sea. the sand on the beach has yellow colour - a sand colour one might say. it is incongruous for tenerife, whose natural beaches are composed of honest grainy black sand, coming from the disintegration of the island's dark native volcanic rock. somebody told me that the beach had been created by transporting sandy-coloured sand from the nearby Sahara. after strumming and swimming and drying myself on the sand, i was on my way back when i sighted Stefano. the last time i had met him had been at the rainbow - which had the aim of eating only raw food. i had invited him to my dwelling - a ledge on the cliff where we had prepared and eaten olive oil curry powder chapattis over a fire - a pirate fire, as any fire was termed at that rainbow, which had the purpose of cooking food. that night he told me that we live our life as actors, and that only by recognising our role as actors can we construct a role for ourselves which corresponds to our genuine
sentiments.
something about the idea living-as-acting
and having true genuine sentiments,
- being-true-to-oneself
- having a self that is capable of true
seemed incongruous to me
but it sounded convincing when stefano said it.
Stefano was with bobby, and nina, and kieran. they had taken to calling me jungle jim. jim came from its alligator alliteration with jungle, and from the spirit of jim morrison which accompanies stefano wherever he goes. jungle came from jungle green, which was the colour i chose for myself the night we first met at the rainbow. we had all chosen colours, and danced around, allowing our colours to express themselves through us, and interact. stefano was royal blue, which somehow expressed itself through him regally strutting around upon an imaginary camel. we all embarked upon a journey with him across the vast expanse of the Sahara. i was jungle green, which permitted me to make organic wild gestures and give out lonely bird calls. nina was sexy orange. she slid around releasing her sparkling energy. her parents, incidentally, had named her after their love for nina simone, something which we were all pleased to hear. bobby was yellow, which corresponded well with the open simplicity of his sunniness.
as darkness drew near i invited them all back to the place where i was sleeping, in a barranco a little bit around the coast. i didn't know how to describe this place. i mentioned that there was a dead dog, lying with his face in a pool of water, his body covered by flies. i said that on the way there were many piles of rubbish, among which they could find matresses on which to sleep. it was only when i said that there was a lot of wood with which we could make a big bonfire, that the place began to appeal to them. the dead dog had also disturbed me a little - he looked plump and fresh and i could not discern his cause of death, but the place where i was sleeping was not within smelling-distance of the dog, and there we all went.
we arrived a little bit after darkness had fallen. it was then when i discovered that my rucksack, which i had hidden carefully under a bush, was no longer there. it was strange. there still seemed to be some kind of signifcant energy buzzing around the place where it used to be. i was lucky that stefano and bobby and nina and kieran were with me. they lent me some pieces of clothing, and we collected lots of wood, with which to keep the fire burning all night. trying to improve on my initial description of that place, i told them that it was like the wild west. there was a kind of frontier feeling. it was the end of civilisation, beyond the fringe of an industrial zone, where the dry land rose to some pointed rocky peaks. i told them that my only neighbours lived in a simple block of concrete, with whom i had tried to speak, but with whom i had never managed to establish a neighbourly "we live in the same place" connection. the first time i arrived there my eyes had been drawn to the darkness of the open doorway, where i seemed to feel eyes looking out at me. but the door had soon closed. even when i had got close, wanting to say "hola!", "do you know if the water from the river is good to drink?" or maybe "do you know if these plants make a good infusion?" there was no response. my companions began to feel unsure about sleeping there, but i reassured them. i told them how good it felt to be there with them, singing songs, making chapattis and filling the air with our good-meaning energy.
the next morning they went off to continue their personal voyages. i went up to the lonely concrete house, whose door i had seen open earlier that morning. even though there was no response, i stayed there for a while speaking, just in case i was being listened to.
"perhaps you have noticed me sleeping below?" i said, "well, my bag has disappeared and i wondered if you seen anyone yesterday, or if you know anything . . . "
Silence
"santo silencio" i commented.
"i only want everyone to be happy" i said after a while, to make my peaceful intentions clear.
then i heard a voice and perceived an old man climbing slowly up the hill. he was wearing a suit several sizes too big for him and like me, he was conducting a conversation with himself.
when we began speaking he apologised that he was half deaf. i asked him if he knew anything of my rucksack. an air of innocence surrounded his oversized suit as he told me that he hadn't seen anything and that he would never steal anything from a fellow poor man. he invited me to look anywhere i wanted inside his humble abode. the only thing i saw were his poor jeans hanging from nails on his poor walls.
"if you were God," isbrant invited me to consider, "if you had complete freedom to choose how to spend the whole of Eternity, what would you choose?"
how can Joy and Peace have any precious meaning for us, if they did not coexist with their opposites?
what if God - the Eternal One - choses to experience himself through millions of sparkling human beings, who all have to grapple with the intriguing mystery of inhabiting these finite material bodies? the temptation to become attached to the materiality of our little lives makes things interesting. and what if we realised that we are all God, manifested in our myriad individual ways? we ourselves have chosen to come and play the game of living our human lives.
thoughts of this nature were prompted in isbrant after listening to a talk by cosmic philosopher alan watts. it inspired him write a song which he entitled "the game of life", which he always sang with all his soul, sometimes closing his eyes, to better feel the song and other times looking at me with his clear wise sparkling eyes. i soon found it pretty catchy. he strums his ukulele, alternating between the chords of C and F in a kind of swingy reggae rhythm. i wrote down the words in my notebook before i left the rainbow. today i was sitting on a park bench - waiting for a particular shop to open - when i began strumming the song and getting enthusastic about it. soon i was surrounded by a little group of children who looked at me with fascinated shy eyes. after i finished each one came and handed over a few little coins. it felt like propitious beginning to the playful busking chapter of my life.
the game of life
go
and feel it,
play the game,
the game of man.
go
and feel it,
play the game,
the game of man.
i am home
just where i am
i am who i want to be
sharing where i can
walking the road of happiness
love is everywhere
in my head in my soul
even in my selfishness
and in the mask i wear
We´re all One
we're all one
doing what we like to do
playing the game of man
We´re all One (do you feel it?)
we're all one
doing what we like to do
playing the game of man
we're home
anywhere we go
never alone
always in the flow
everything is always changing
and that will never stop
still we're taught to fear this
as we grow up
but the baby and the dog and the elephant,
the flower and the bee -
we all feel that we're part of it
we flow eternally
We all Thrive
we all thrive
doing what we like to do
playing the game of life
We all Thrive (do you feel it?)
we all thrive
manifestations of One Universe
playing the game of life
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