colonials' ancestors

 Participating in an event devoted to "those before" revealed for me a fundamental actuality connected to the dissociation in which we colonials with progeny dwell: we fear that we will be forgotten as we forgot our ancestors...

We belong to nature. Somewhere along the lines our roots were abandoned. We dwell not where they dwelt. Walk not where they walked. Ate not where they ate. Pissed not where they pissed. Shit not shat.

We seek connection and we feel abandoned but it is they who were abandoned.

In our search we can strive to discover the union of all things. In so doing our fears may be allayed.

mymob.au was running a "web app". Most of the stuff is now at wayway.au

It's been very rewarding to pick up old skills (along with old habits) to develop an interface whereby bills in parliament can be presented to punters and they get to aye or nay them.

I've spent a ridiculous amount of time building it. I've pushed it out to a few and got the attention of some tertiary course providers looking for project material for their students.

Today I zoom with one such group!

Meanwhile, we have every reason to anticipate an independent candidate winning the seat in this area in the 2025 election. Their platform includes "doing democracy differently". This has been my theme and I think I did get some of the idea across to these people in 2022.

Update to this:
Claude.ai has helped me with python and Flask. Several config matters later I am now focussed at democracy on tap 

Still no interest from the world at large.

de soto

 Funny how things happen. Not just shit.

Confluence - flow together....

oh gosh

How to stitch all these threads - weave.

Anyway, the meat in this sandwich must be apology - the nature and form thereof.

I am distracted right now but I'll be back.

Here goes: I had promised to try to get help to understand why, as a parent of a troubled adult child, I fail to understand the origin of my progeny's trouble. Quite a task!

It turns out that the best way to restore family relations is to heal myself! What a surprise! I am being directed back 10 years when I became blissfully aware that we all come from and are headed to the same place.

Anyway, Shelto gave me a nudge and that all came rushing back just at a time when I was focusing on the stuff of now which has been, and is, quite diverting.

At this time my recall is suggesting that I had always believed that the deSoto belonged to Linda and that she had left it in my care to try to sell it. Perhaps I should try to corroborate that legend.

I recall clearly a day at Coffs Jetty when there was a gang of "classic car" club tyoe people and I tuned up with a for sale sticker on the dusty deSoto only to be frowned upon.

If all that is wrong and it was Shelto's car, then maybe I owe an apology. I googled apology and discovered that a good way to cmpose such a thing is to imagine what I would like to receive in apology from someone who had trespassed against me. I am struggling to think of someone who owes me an apology. I guess that means I've been more of a trespasser than a tresspassee.

But I guess it would be along the lines of "Oh shit! Sorry".

next

 We sang and we sang - 10 meets. Enough for me to conclude I do NOT have the gift of leading song. At best I can roar along with the mob around the campfire.

However, nothing ventured = nothing gained.

I have found much to be enjoyed in participating with the singers of Bellingen. Hayley is attracting enough participants to make nice, albeit simple, harmonies.

I would like to be able to take a leaf....

The idea for a grant is viable.... but really?

Time will tell.

Savvy singers at camp creative is next.

community

 so singing at scotts head eh? voices @ scotts_head

That'll be a hoot!

And along the road I've met google buckets - big cloud

That was in getting people @ wayway going with wowonder.

and mcVic

Getting to like google more and more. The console actually offers a shell! Pretty intense.

mymob.au

Here's a thought: at mymob.au (registered, no worries) show a full list of mobs, each mobname as a link to

mymob.au/mobname

Then configure all those directories (which I'll now call folders) on mymob.au.

Aha - on to something here.

But:

BEFORE propogating all those folders, populate with defaults:

index.php,

image.jpg

protected admin folder with some tools (???)

other stuff....(???)

Once it's propogated 600 times it becomes a BIG JOB to manage each mob's site which should ultimately be delegated to the 600 mob's IT bods. So the capacity to delegate has to be built in too.

Might need a grant to do this! Who wants to pay? Who gets paid?

Wowzers.

But, but but: above works for web mymob.au/mobname but it would take subdomain mobname.mymob.au to provide email for person@mobname.mymob.au as well

And that would be worthwhile for every person in the mob!

I guess it could be done later with a redirect in every /mobname/ folder to /webroot/mobname/

So if there is a grant to pay someone to do this then why not do the subdomains first. Then propogate a bundle of goodies to each /mobname

There are cpanel tools for this kind of thing. So obviously there are people around who have the smarts to make that happen.

I've just now come across google buckets! So there's no storage problem! Each mob gets a bucket. Or a folder in a bucket.

onandon

well into 2023 I find community to be significant. And singing. So, let's sing 

but also keep on trying to show how this big old net could work at the local level

Every community (mob) ought to have access to a net tool for communicating. 

I know, Facebook etc. But who wants to be at the whim of those megaloze. 

(Megalomaniacs - megalo's but I hate that use of apostophe - give z a go I say. z goze (goes).)

I asked the squatter if I can get mob.au - no response

I've also asked google about mob.net - that would be my preference. $20 a year! Not available.

Look here - mymob.au - just an empty lot so far.....

To save on hosting all those domains when only a redirect is needed for development, I've got it forwarding to gumbaynggirr.au which in turn forwards to a form at  gumbaynggirr.wayway.au which will find me.

There are about 600 mobs around. It's possible to have eg

gumbaynggirr.mymob.au for each and every one.

(I have mymob.au/* pointed to gumbaynggirr.au/ for now)

enough I say

Who would want to enter into a treaty with such a mendacious horde of invaders?

Enough of this pretence. There is no way this political edifice will ever deliver anything approaching equity.

There is no time left.

There is a time for every purpose - it is the season of environmental catastrophe. 

The member for Cowper

A model for the newly elected representative for the Cowper electorate:

Whether you voted for me or not, I gained more than 50% of votes in the last election and I have accepted the responsibility to convey to the parliament your intentions for how our community can contribute to and benefit from government.

My first task is to work towards establishing two way communication with each voter so that I can let you know what's happening in parliament and you can tell me whether I'm doing what you need me to do.

To do that effectively I'll have a couple of helpers. I'll introduce them to you when they are settled in.

As soon as I get to know my way around in Canberra - who does what and how - we will migrate this temporary home to cowper.gov.au - don't bother looking there yet - it's a vacant lot! It has remained untended by the local representative - a member of a conservative party - ever since .gov.au was invented - about 30 years ago.

Once we move in we'll offer each voter in the electorate a space of their own - cowper.mygov.au/space - and an email address @cowper.gov.au

You'll be able to redirect that email to your own private mailbox if you wish and set your preference for how you would like to interact with me - by email or by text if you want me store your mobile number.

What I propose is this:

Whenever a bill comes up for debate in parliament I will send you a link to a poll asking you whether you are in favour of the bill or not. You will be offered a precis of the bill with a link to a full description and prompted to respond with a simple yes or no. The poll will naturally have a closing date before the bill is presented in the house.

I will take the result of the poll into consideration when casting my vote in the house. If a majority of voters in the electorate have voted in favour or against the bill then that is how I will vote. If not, I will vote according to the platform on which you have elected me taking into account the poll result and any other information I can gather about the wishes of the people in the electorate who have been able to convey their wishes in other ways.

The tally of our poll will be shown on our web site and a history of all the polls we've held and how I've voted in the house.

Disclamer: I will vote against bills that are too convoluted and clumsy hoping they will be defeated forcing the proponent to redraft. (Some of the motions that are put to the house are bizarre to say the least!) I'll communicate this on the site but won't hold a poll.

Obviously this will work best if all or most of the voters in Cowper participate so when we get going whenever the opportunity presents I will be encouraging that (but I won't bomb your letterbox with glossy brochures!).

Our site will have other features which you will be free to use - along the lines of a "ning" as described at ning.com - so there is scope for a lot of discussion, articles of interest, publicity for groups - a lot of information can potentially be made freely available to the voters of Cowper.

Two thousand and twenty two

 So much angry. Best vent.

Slave owners rewarded their human property with barrels of salted pork.

A parliament is a group of people, or owls.

To control us our owners have created imaginary 'divisions' and periodically cunningly compile a list of names of people from which they demand that we choose one for each division to join their parliament where they are rewarded with wealth and privilege. Some even acquire power.

To justify their privilege these people present their notions for how to sustain their existence to the group. Those who persevere with having their notions accepted can see them embodied into rules that apply to everyone not in the group. But not to themselves. They make special rules for themselves.

Nobody from outside the group can participate.

Here's what I have been gabbing about of late:

To me the most important deficiency in our democracy is the absence of a charter of rights. As Geoffrey Robertson delights in reminding us, "real democracy only exists if politicians give the courts power to defend citizens against abuses of their human rights by governments and public servants". Among other things, this implies that we the citizens can oblige our parliament to hold referenda (and hence control change to the constitution) at our request. In the absence of this charter we remain forever slaves to those who seize and hold power. The Uluru statement needs a referendum. The government said no. That is intolerable!

Chapter 8 of the constitution contains a single section. 128. Mode of altering the constitution. It rules that the constitution can only be altered by an act of parliament* and that when a proposed law to change the constitution is submitted to the electors the vote shall be taken in such manner as the Parliament prescribes.

* The governor can override this if the law gets stuck between houses.

A member in favour of a democratic parliament can, with the help of a constitutional lawyer, put forward a bill to amend this section so that a plebiscite can demand that a referendum be held on a specific question. No ifs or buts.

I would like to see a mechanism to enable the will of the people to be able to be conveyed to parliament. This would be a change and a move to improve our parliamentary democracy. When an an elected member gets to the house they will be asked to engage in debate and to vote on bills. How will they know how we want them to vote? They can also present bills on our behalf but only if they know what we want.

Until now the mechanism has been trust and look where that's got us!

Here's another theme: a body - perhaps the aec or abs - should make an app available to the divisions so that citizens could create an account and vote on the bills that their rep is voting on in parliament.

I have a notion that representatives to parliament could run a ballot of all their constituents on every bill being debated in the house. That way they could vote according to the will of the people to the house - democracy.

All that is required is a database with a table, VOTERS, of up to 150000 rows with columns for an identifier and a binary for each ballot held and another table, BILLS, would hold the questions, one for each column in the main table.

Then an interface to create/retrieve a row and to present the current bill with a yes/no response prompt - and a progressive % tally.

Each ballot remains open from when the bill is presented in the house until it is predicted to be voted on in the house.

Of course the data for the VOTERS is in the electoral roll but it is doubtful that governments would make that available - too politically volatile - so it would be up to the rep to get constituents to sign up.The data for BILLS is in the parliamentary calendar for each sitting but it is subject to manipulation by the parties so would require constant monitoring to be kept up to date. Amendments etc.

Quite a challenge but, like online voting, worth investigating. If I was a rep I would feel obliged to provide my constituents with a mechanism to indicate their will on how they would like me to vote. That’s my job!

But it may be just pissing in the wind so don’t get excited about a new lead.

On the other hand, a good tool might generate interest and actually become part of the democratic process like electronic voting will one day.

Twenty, twenty.

I blog.

I choose to start this blog now. I have a need to own something

What I think about all the twittering:

china.cn takes me to https://cn.china.cn/

I can't read it but this is china's internet front door - the beach. Here is where you land when you come ashore in china. It's a shop!

https://www.gov.cn/ is the beach for the peoples' republic.

I can't read that either but there is https://www.gov.cn/english/

australia.au - This site can’t be reached

The large southern continent's front door doesn't exist! No beach!

https://www.australia.gov.au/ responds. Just now it's loaded with virus stuff and not much else.

https://www.gov.au/ offers a bit more if you like that sort of thing.

None of this has anything whatsoever to do with the zuckersphere where the twits are.

"social media" has many aspects which all amplify the message that "the medium IS the massage"

https://mcluhangalaxy.wordpress.com/2020/11/16/neil-postmans-prophetic-writing-about-media-society/

If it's "on tv" then it's all tv - the slime from the video

I'm warming to the theme... 

If it's twitter, it's for twits.

Katherine Murphy's assertion about an "official chinese twitter acccount" ... blah

So I posted this on facebook:

Scomo doesn't get it. There is no such thing as an "official Chinese government Twitter account". Twitter is a company owned by its shareholders. They love profit.

By squwarking about what some bird in the next tree is cackling about he just adds to the cacophony.

Hand me the cacophone.

Then I joined twitter. What a twit.

A GOG

Monday, 28 January 2013

Where to begin.... I guess back with dear old dad. Where else. Then mum. And that might get me in the flow. Even though there are sixty three years to discover, all the significant action is in the last few chapters. So to make it tolerable I will have to try to weave the view from the present into the tangled web of the past.

Mum always preserved and demanded respect for dad from us, his three sons, even though I suspect there were times when she doubted it was entirely warranted. That sounds harsh but in the times I think it was fairly common. I rarely felt close to him, but somehow I did know I was protected and valued. There weren't many opportunities for any expression of anything other than acknowledging his principal role as breadwinner and keeper of the family tradition of a kind of intellectual superiority handed down from his father. 'Grandfather', Frederick Athal, was, apparently, a gifted teacher and as such his vocation possibly isolated him from warm family relations. I know how that can happen.
and so on
I didn't get very far with that. I think it has taken the last couple of weeks for me to get to the point: where did the love come from?

[edit - is that the title of this whole blog?]

For me it has been through compassion. I first felt what I now realise was an 'awakening' when Mum had fallen and broken her wrist. When I visited a little while after that, there was Dad making breakfast. He was quite proud of his barely adequate efforts and had actually made specific effort to take control. Mum was applauding somewhat genuinely. There were pawpaws from the back yard so the meal did have some real content as well as the usual fare.

In the next few days I took over somewhat. Dad was happy to let that happen - once he'd shown that he had the capacity he rather lost the impetus - I know how that can happen. And I got some energy from 'the source' . There was a gentle glow that we kind of recognised but didn't acknowledge specifically. I only see it clearly now in retrospect - in light of subsequent things. But I may be just re-writing the script to suit my current agenda - although that is really just to try to put 'things' in a context.

There were a few echoes of that glow in the next while as little hints of 'the decline' seeped through to me via the 'news updates' which emanated from sources which were not really aware of the reality. But nothing actually ignited.

[edit insert here - just as I suspected, I'm already starting to re-write history]

Missed a whole year or more in the first effort. Next thing of course was when Mum was in hospital for I forget quite what and 'the ACAT team' wouldn't let her out without a 'carer' and 'aged care' paraphenalia in the house. I remember taking a deep breath and declaring that I was going to be it. That was a conscious action on my part but in the exhalation there was an acknowledgement of something bigger and, importantly, unconditional.

*** Echoes here from the time in Durban when I made a 'fork in the road' decision to return 'home' with Lyn & Lela. I immediately went into a few days of 'malaria fever'. There was something unconditional about that even though the conditions were very much in my face and were mine to be faced ***

The house stuff was a biggish task so we needed an interim comfort zone. That was my job, it seemed. And there was no lack of energy for it. Dad was easily brought to acquiescence - if he could blog I reckon he would acknowledge a fork in his road at that point - possibly our first 'him & me' moment. And possibly quite huge for him but he accepted readily and showed a lot of enthusiasm and proper grownup behaviour for a while. And he began to look at me differently - eye to eye. My wonky eye to his rheumy.

Quite a bit more to this insert still to come - before the Gulag days which I had jumped right to on first draft... I'm tempted to start cutting and pasting and trying to make this more ordered. That may have to happen, but not yet.

So it was on. With boundless energy and joy I leapt into creating the sanctuary. A veritable whirlwind. Every detail fell effortlessly into place. ACAT were at bay, a veneer of a new optimistic normality was applied and comfort and security prevailed in the new environment.

Over the next couple of months the cracks began to show but the objective had been achieved and there was fortitude available to ponder the way forward. There was a silent acknowledgement of the destination, glimpsed but still unknown.

Came the day of the crucial decision: to stay in the new but rather shaky sanctuary, seek an alternative, or return to the known (which needed serious upgrading). That day was as close as we (dad, mum and me) ever got to overtly sharing what was actually going on. We resolved on the latter - fix what was broken and return to the known. But as that moment of resolve was in the making mum asked a simple question of me - "why?" - and the three of us each knew the answer (which was 'love' - unconditional) but having never before seen a moment like this we had no way to do anything other than choke up a little and move to the business of the day.

So the whirlwind whipped up into a veritable maelstrom. The calm veneer was maintained in the sanctuary while work was planned and carried out for the return 'home'. The date was set (to fit the plumber's programme). And again, everything basically worked. There were plenty of peripheral 'issues' but progress towards the goal remained utterly focussed and to me it worked that way because of this extra-mural (off the wall?) force from a source that was increasingly evident.

The day of return home arrived and there was such relief and quite a bit of joy. The months that followed were almost idyllic. There were so many good things about it that the obvious shortcoming was overlooked: change. That happened in the form of dad's decrease in energy - the cause of which was only revealed much later.

I had thought that my work was done for the time being, and that maintenance and monitoring wasn't up to me. I was wrong. And distracted by my own agenda - I used the energy I had acquired to further my efforts in what I thought was my proper profession. And while my eye was off the main game there was a gentle decline in the effectiveness of the 'support systems' in place to which I wasn't paying sufficient attention. (Guilt and blame don't serve any purpose here but became another element in the subsequent events.)

I may need to return here and keep inserting but I've caught up with where I deviated before. All that was about 18 months I reckon. Which started so positively but contained the seeds of degradation.

[End edit insert - back to the distorted first flow... this next paragraph is quite wrong: it wasn't the first time that I was aware of being directed by an energy that was somehow intrinsic. And the 'capacity for diplomacy' was a continuation of what I had already discovered and implemented.]

The next spark was quite bright. Dad had moved to 'the Gulag'. My appearance was anticipated. I arrived to find that I had a capacity for diplomacy but a solid inner resolve had taken hold. I was energised to preserve the appearance of everything being ok when I knew it wasn't. That energy came from outside of me and was exhilarating. It was the first time that I began to know how to do what I knew needed to be done and that it was me that had to do it. That knowledge also came from outside of my 'me' but it was so for me that it began to change my 'me'.

What I did was working and the glow returned but in a guarded way because it was now evident that things were going to be different in an unknowable way. Perhaps it would have been nice to have been able to settle in to that situation as the new 'norm' but of course that wasn't going to happen.

Break pause here - it's getting too much to scroll back over.
The gulag days
So. Dad's in the gulag. He was glad of the attention, and the oxygen. Made a brave attempt to assimilate - his wit and memory kept a few acolytes well entertained. But he was waiting either for mum to join him (she was horrified at that idea) or to be asked to move back home (mum similarly horrified).

Meanwhile mum was acquiring a very gentile calm with comfort and visiting carers.

Dad turned 88 in April of that year. One of the nurses gave him a fine pewter mug. On one of my visits we walked down the road to have lunch with mum. A fine sunny morning. He opened his eyes to his surroundings and was surprised at the brightness of the world 'outside'. The atmosphere of the visit was bleak! Mum was quite cold. On returning, dad fell on the grass - it ought to have been a drama but he was distracted by being so close up to earth - the grass outside - and we both felt that. It felt good! And we shared that for a moment before 'recovering'.

I had been staying in dad's room at home. I'd nip up the road and see him whenever mum was fed, watered and resting. One day I had a few errands to run so I was late to the gulag. Dad was wide-eyed and a bit panicked - "I needed you" came out of his mouth. We were both momentarily stunned, but again 'recovered'. Re-covered! All this covering was making us all miss out on the importance - the meaning - the significance - the love - in what we were doing - had always been doing - or not doing.

A period of accelerating intensity followed: mum was ill - an infection. She was quite delirious. Hospitalized and stabilised - doc wanted to prescribe anti-psychotics - the standard fix in this kind of case. But we managed to avoid that. There was more talk of rehab.

But suddenly dad was admitted into the next ward with some scary symptoms. I missed the subtlety of what followed - what he was feeling. He stuck to his line of rejecting invasive treatment and I backed that with the medico people. So the regime became palliative care - we were given some brochures. I spent a few days oscillating between the wards, somewhat high on the intensity of focus. I think mum was discharged first. Yes. Comfortably returned home.

Dad was discharged back to the gulag (mum hated it when he called it that). He wasn't quite sure where he was. The next few days were his last. On one visit I saw a nurse - very friendly and bright - squirting meds playfully into his open gob. I asked him what it was: "morphia". This had been his regime for a while it seems. A few days later it was changed to sub-cutaneous.

On the thursday I wheeled mum up the road with 3 cold stubbies. We had a beer. The last. On monday, early, the call came. I had woken before dawn that day - woken I think, by the grey heron alighting from the roof opposite and crawking as it flew overhead - about the time of the last dose. He didn't wake up after that 5 mg. Palliative.

It was all too simple for me to carry on as batman, deal with the practical things, keep calm. Under pressure too - months before mum had filled in the papers for a place at Legacy. As I wheeled dad's things back home, as I was passing Legacy, they rang! Mum was offered a place - had a week to take it or go to the bottom of the list.

Ouch. This is getting hurty. I'll be back.
Legacy
I didn't see whatever light was about in the days after dad's death. I didn't know what I was supposed to be feeling so I think whatever clarity was around - I'm sure there was much - was merged into the general mishmash of everyone's complicated consolations.

The only thing that brought me to attention was mum's favourite carer - she concealed a tear when I told her that mum had a place in legacy. But things rolled on anyway.

This is getting quite maudlin. I am supposed to be tracking the awareness of love but I am getting lost in the details.

I'll post this and edit later when the way is less cluttered.

....

I felt a sense of achievement in migrating mum into her cot at the end of the corridor. It was an achievement, but utterly wrong. She stared out at us and said "So, is this it?" And it was. Downhill all the way. Absurd! There was cruelty! 8 months later none of it mattered. That last morning in july her pulse gently slowed and stopped gracefully.

There was a flurry of appearances but really, that was an end of things. Just the tidying up to do.
Inner working
At some time during all that I had been attracted to a 'learn meditation' event. I experienced soft warm bliss. I pursued it a bit and it felt pretty good. But to get up and walk around in that elevated state eluded me. And the 'trappings' of creed began to obtrude.

So I tackled 'mindfulness' and made a stab at being aware of and able to manage moods. I had acquired anger - just the feelings - the consequent thoughts trying to attach it to the world were absurd. So it was really just a matter of becoming aware of the feelings and allowing them to disperse in acts of conscious release.

With that working, I went for another dip in the cult dogma and was fortunate to encounter an acolyte with a gift. I was warmed. But didn't know the significance until later.

A few years later I picked up his (the acolyte's) book in which he had expounded precisely the nature of the gift. That was serendipitous.

Those times were relatively constructive. Having had some moments of real knowing - knowing what was needed, knowing that it was me who was going to provide, knowing what to do without knowing that I knew it - feeling guided, directed - I felt the strength to actually choose and act under my own judgement. And was fortunately situated so that I didn't have to deal with legacy burdens of real world distraction.

I got quite prideful - I felt very strong and able to give. I made some pretty wacky choices with great confidence and conviction.

One avenue of giving that became amplified around this time was through the choir and the quartet. Ian's last weeks were subtly empowering.

: this needs a bit of description...

Ian Cooper was a teacher of music. He was blind from birth. He played great jazz. His working life was spent teaching music including, and especially, to blind kids. He also ran an adult choir to which I was privileged to belong for many years. His funeral that year was a climactic recognition of his contribution to many lives, including mine. The sounds of that day were transcendental. Through music we were able to share joy.

Out of the blue - (well, not entirely - Gaby said at one time "we all knew he was a time bomb"!) Bruce suffered a severe blow which left him aphasic. I saw him a couple of times and it was easy to be there. His situation progressed according to diagnosis.

"That morning" - the first of quite a few subsequent momentous occasions - Nina and I had watched our vocal magic manifest in the wedding tableau. (O magnum mysterium!). That afternoon Stuart called - Bruce was in the hospice. Say goodbye.

I had monday to kill (trapped monday night) before going up tuesday. I realised, somehow, on monday, that I needed to re-read bits of Roger's book (the Brahma Kumaris acolyte) so I went in search and found it - "Mission of Love". Read most of it on the train on the way up on tuesday.

 I arrived to find Bruce in pain and fear with no effective means of communicating his need. We spent the day with music which seemed to bathe him in release from the horror of his state. I was getting some utterly subtle feedback. At the end of the day I was able to deploy some of Roger's words - basically that even though I didn't know precisely what Bruce's thoughts were, some of them must be quite distressing. And that perhaps we could, together, find ways to relieve some of that distress. Having got that out without either of us dissolving into emotional oblivion, he gave me a strong indication that we ought to have a go.

So I went off resolved to carry out this mission with my usual attention to detail. And the requisite energy kicked in. And ramped up over the next days into an astonishing climax. Or series of climaxes.

Which cannoned on, and on. And on.

Just how finely I ought to dissect all this here (I've already mashed it up in several contexts, both internal and external, in the last months) I don't really know.

But that wednesday night and thursday morning I was engaged in a profound experience which still resonates.

Love is all. There is only love. All that exists emanates from and is destined for that divine love.

I got it. I get it. I'm immersed in it. And it is utterly disarming.

*** almost a year later I am back. What's missing is the nittygritty of that day. Well, it was only my subjective experience of about 2 minutes. The morning had dawned and we were both pretty exhausted - he more than I, eyes barely open with just a tiny glimmer deep inside. Then the staff appeared to do a tidy up and left us with he swabbed down, propped up, wide eyed, headphones on - rainforest I think.

- interrupted in this again - jus not the time...
***

I am now engaged in a struggle with humility and faith. Jihad. Tao. Etcetera.
Cannot bear viewing in this cronoloco format any more.

I'm going local, on my pc with wp etc....

Perhaps I'll keep this updated in some way - maybe just a link to the full text in a time sequence that starts at the beginning.

So, bye for now

***
I went local for some months - wrote up all my love experience from the year dot - then lost the lot in an operating system reload. So this has been reconstructed as a single post in chrono order.
***

Easter /end blog/
Is that all I need?

Is it just odd that I got to here on the day between good friday and easter sunday? If the search was for an answer to 'where does the love come from' then... what was that about? - I think I remember that day - but not precisely what I was going to say about it.

I guess maybe that I had come to the days in the hospice and that strong blast that has left me agog.

A gog.

 2 years on:

Back up to the Tuesday. I had spent the day with Bruce and thought that I had made a basic connection along the lines of what Roger Cole describes. I went home thinking I could find someone who could help us to develop that into some kind of meditative state which may facilitate (make easy) the inevitable end. The someone I found turned out to be me. This was for me to do. All I needed was to stay open to being there. So I went back the next day to be there.

I'm still a gog.


I posted this on facebook vep.org

My friend had been pretty crook for over a year. He’d been given about that long to live after his brain began to morph, leaving him aphasic. I’d seen him a few times and his good cheer was gently eroding. Then he entered the hospice. I wasn’t sure he knew who I was. It seemed to me that he was experiencing pain, fear and anger. He would frown, clench his jaw and turn away from banal attempts to engage his attention. Music provided some relief and provoked some positive feedback in the way of eye contact and gesture. He gave definite feedback when I hauled in the attending nurse and asked her to observe his discomfort. His eyes bored into us both. She took his distress as being due to “difficulty breathing, normal at this stage”. She wasn’t able to alter the rate of administration of morphia without a doctor’s authority. A doctor was to do his rounds in the morning.

It was a long night. In the morning he was very tired, having had very little rest. I stepped out for a few minutes while the staff attended to his comfort - bathing, changing linen. When I returned he looked much more alert. We played a little music and watched the morning light. Then his demeanour began to change. His eyes widened and his features firmed. A few minutes later he stopped breathing. Shortly after a nurse entered and confirmed that his life was at its end. She left to call his wife.

That’s my attempt at an objective description of the events of a two day period that I have yet to fully fathom. I’m not able to be objective about my own responses, both during and after, to those fairly commonplace events.

My difficulty is that I know that what I have encountered is ineffable. In those few minutes in the early morning light I was infused with an immense awakening of my consciousness that has opened my mind to such awareness as I have never before experienced. What I saw and felt I accept as subjective and several attempts to describe the impact have been banal.

I have changed my living circumstances to try to accommodate this new knowing and made some decisions about moderating my reactions which, because the nature of this awakening is ineffable, include not noisily going about revealing what I have accepted as grace, a gift of love. I have made a few attempts to describe it but have always become ensnared by pride or such all too human character flaws.

I only persevere now because I have encountered others who grapple with similar experiences and are engaged in the politics of voluntary euthanasia. The case is obvious to me - to voluntarily opt for good death - who would demur? To be denied that by others and forced to endure bad death is torture. I offer this anecdote in support of those who strive to prevent torturing dying people.

My friend was in palliative care, the purpose of which was to provide relief from symptoms with the aim of improving quality of life. The attempt to relieve symptoms was by the administration of morphia and keeping him hydrated and as comfortable as possible.

In those last couple of days it was increasingly ineffective and the deterioration and eventual progression to end of life was accepted as inevitable and normal. This was a hospice. I suspected that a boost in the morphia drip rate might have eased the symptoms in the last twelve hours but the staff weren’t permitted to do that. We were at the tipping point where providing relief from symptoms was not going to improve quality of life - in fact attempts to relieve the symptoms by administering morphia would be likely to bring about the end of life, an outcome that was inevitable regardless.

Those last few minutes of my friend’s life was time beyond the tipping point. Would it have been the same had the doctor popped in and cranked up the drip? - moot point. 

I can’t resist a stab at effing the ineffable. The best Hamlet could do was:

“If it be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come — the readiness is all. Since no man, of aught he leaves, knows what is't to leave betimes, let be.”

I can do no better. It doesn’t matter what we do. Death transcends life. Birth transcends not-life. Both, and all important states of being, are the outcome of love, all that is.


I do believe it is an act of love to attempt what we can to relieve suffering.