To: K-list
Recieved: 2001/10/14 16:58
Subject: [K-list] Triantiwontigongolopes and other Bruisers
From: Christopher Wynter
On 2001/10/14 16:58, Christopher Wynter posted thus to the K-list:
A Meditation on several glasses of Home Brew
An ancient ancestor looked through my eyes and reflected at the
marvels of evolution - remembering how in his time, there were no
glass flagons, nor stainless steel vats -
but, the wine then did have an earthy vibration which is missing
from the current chemical vintage.
" There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,
And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;
It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,
But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.
Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .. "
As I chewed on a piece of pickled pork, a piece of bread and bit
into an olive, the same ancestor saw how much had been gained -
and how much simplicity was lost.
I wasn't sitting on an old stump in the open air village square -
I was standing in a room, well above ground level
in front of a stainless steel sink looking at thousands of other
houses through the glass window of my mountain vantage point.
The fire crackled in the cast iron heater - another evolutionary
marvel. Down in the garden I had just called on the same skills of
this man - or another - to dig a vegetable patch. At least, in a
month or so I won't have to eat the water pumped chemical fed
variety from the supermarket.
Another glass of home brew washed down the cheese.
" It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;
Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.
When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,
But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.
And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .."
My dad awakened this remembering. I guess I was fortunate in that
he, a bush boy, had the skills and the time to plant his own.
Memories - I remembered how the ground was dug and fertilised.
My mouth watered at the memories of the home grown tastes -
and the freshness of fruit and vegetables taken straight from the
earth
They had soul.
Down the local nursery, I looked at all of the new varieties of
tomatoes and talked to the old nurseryman .. yes, hidden away,
he still had the variety I remembered from my childhood.
All of the new ones, he told me, were developed for mass
production - to be pumped full of water, to be force fed with
chemicals, to ripen very quickly, to be stored in refrigerators
for long periods - and when dropped, they splattered.
So I tenderly brought home some of the oldest varieties
and planted them in the moist warm earth ..
Back in my ancestors' days, it took a long time for compost to
prepare - and a lot of hard work turning the heap of scraps. The
old eyes marvelled at the new polycarbonate tumbler and how it was
able to help mother nature speed her own process with so much time
saving ..
Yet, something was missing. It was the people - the family - the
other villagers sitting around sharing stories, sharing
responsibilities, watching their children climb the olive trees ..
The fruit and vegetables used in the Home Brew didn't come from
the supermarket. They came from Bio-dynamic farms where the growers
had learned to apply all of the skills of their ancestors ..
There was a familiar rightness to the third glass ..
the memories blurred and the awareness shifted ..
" It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;
It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.
If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,
But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its
name,
And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.
So try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .. "
What if a balance could be found between all of the advances of
the generations and we could still have the simplicity of the old
values?
We have learned so much.
Yet we have turned our wisdom into the destruction of the very
fabric of Life. The agents of war have become even more insidious.
The torture and treachery of the times of my ancestors is still
practiced except that tortured minds and bodies
now result from the mutations caused by chemicals from the
time of the gasses used in the first world war.
Yes - some people seem to live longer, but at what cost?
Now, the memories are so deeply and permanently ingrained in the
body that we need drugs to control the personalities created by
them. More chemicals - and from my high school days, I remember
that there are some chemicals one has to be very careful about
combining. I could buy simple stuff down at the local grocery store
and make a bomb.
So, the mutated male terrorist who is the result of generations of
toxins needs drugs to control his behaviour. Many of the females
have become resentful -
forgetting the fact that it wasn't so many generations ago that
they bred male children to hand over to the religious armies
so their own freedom could be preserved.
Now, the drugs used to control destroy the sheaths of the central
nervous system - and the walls of the vessels that carry the blood
of life - and the other half of the species looks like evolving
into a spineless creature.
Ritaloids gradually destroy the disks between the vertebrae -
can you imagine the pain of a spinal cord
without shock absorbers?
The Fathers of the next generation are the product of the war on
war itself - a mutation of torture and treachery .. maybe gene
therapy, the next evolutionary step will be able to produce
designer children without the imprints of the past ..
But, what about the planet .. the same effects are seen in the
scars on its surface as it rebels at the removal of the fluid
between its joints .. earthquakes and weather changes ..Mankind has a way of dealing with viruses and bacteria -
but will he ever evolve enough to design a drug
or be able to perform gene therapy on the planet ..
The old ancestor mused ..
back in his day the soil which grew his food
was lovingly nurtured so that the food had life ..
until some other group became jealous
because his land seemed richer ..
another glass of Home brew ..
" But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess
That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.
For there isn't such an insect,
though there really might have been,
If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle
green.
It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I
hope.
Oh, try:
Tri-
Tri-anti-wonti-
Triantiwontigongolope .. "
I wonder - what would happen if the lessons of the past were
turned towards a harmony of peoples and abundance for all?
Have you ever watched the simplicity and innocence
of very young children from different cultures and nationalities
playing happily together in the dirt -
before their parents start to panic about their nice clothes
getting dirty -
before they are sent to school
to learn about God and the mutation of truth -
and be taught to pray for the peace that was taken from them.
to rekindle their deep unconscious memories of torture and treachery
Children for whom THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE
was written by C J Dennis (1876-1938, Australia)
-- Christopher Wynter
christopherATnospamlifestreams.com.au
http://www.anunda.com
The material presented in this post is also archived for reference
on the open archive http://groups.yahoo.com/group/lifestreams
http://www.kundalini-gateway.org
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