“He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure if he was from the house of lords” [Lennon/McCartney 1978].
We ran two healing workshops at the weekend. Brilliant. People originally from Brazil, Korea, Germany, Switzerland, Canada, China, Bulgaria and the UK. What talent, what a fabulous group of light workers.
You can get from Great Malvern station-yes the train actually starts the journey from here-to London Paddington in 2½ hours. It passes through the Cotswolds, and when light [we got the 6 a.m. train], the views are amazing. Get off at Paddington, two stops then on the tube to Maida Vale, and a short walk to Violet Hill [Therapy] Studios. Very nice place Maida Vale, and the Studios are about ½ mile from the famous Abbey Road Studios of Beatles fame. And yes, people were posing on the zebra crossing.
That night we stayed in a ‘Short let’ in West Kensington. Thought we would try it out instead of a hotel or B & B. Don't. Welcome to Agenda 21.
A couple of cats would have found this place cramped. The bed had one arm’s length of space above it. The ladder up to it was at about an 85 degree angle. You couldn’t bend down in the shower. An estimate of the space-excluding the bed area-was about 50 square feet, plus an outside ashtray where you could sit on two rusty chairs.
When I was a student, this would have been fine for a few nights. For 98% of humanity, it is the equivalent of battery farming. The bed space had no air circulating, and we woke up with a headache. A complete toilet.
Another great workshop followed on Sunday.
Got the 17.42 train back to Great Malvern. There were about 10 coaches on the train, three of which were first class, and had about six people in them. The cattle class was full. People queuing in the aisles. We were surrounded by about six young women. Delightful human beings in every way, and a credit to their parents. However, 2½ hours of this:
“Yeah, like, and it was like, weird, like. He came over like, and said stuff like, and like he left, like. And I was like, yeah, like cool, like. Like I don’t know like. Yeah.”
I have probably missed a few ‘likes’ out of that, but had I left them in, you may think I was, like, exaggerating. Like. Yeah. I was. And the above paragraph had substance, most of the conversations had none. Imagine that level of ‘discourse’ in quadrophonic sound. For 2 hours. If any of them learned anything from trying to out ‘like’ each other, I’ll be dipped in dogshit.
We got off the train, got in the car, and drove home. My mood lifted. It was-wait for it-like being released from hell, or waking up in paradise by comparison.
There is more to life than this. But only if you wake up to the subliminal takeover of consciousness, and the in your face consequences.
Do you want to live in a human hen shed? Do you want your mind programmed to speak utter drivel, without even knowing it? Do you want to live in an X-factor dream, totally oblivious to your immediate surroundings, cut off completely from a world not populated by your friends and their mobile phones? Do you want to become a human microchip? Queue here.
Thank God there is like another side to life. And how wonderfully well it is illustrated by Dobri, the saint of Sofia.
Switch the effing thing off and smell the flowers. Before they die.
Jack Stewart. Like.
A crowd of people stood and stared
They'd seen his face before
Nobody was really sure if he was from the house of lords” [Lennon/McCartney 1978].
We ran two healing workshops at the weekend. Brilliant. People originally from Brazil, Korea, Germany, Switzerland, Canada, China, Bulgaria and the UK. What talent, what a fabulous group of light workers.
You can get from Great Malvern station-yes the train actually starts the journey from here-to London Paddington in 2½ hours. It passes through the Cotswolds, and when light [we got the 6 a.m. train], the views are amazing. Get off at Paddington, two stops then on the tube to Maida Vale, and a short walk to Violet Hill [Therapy] Studios. Very nice place Maida Vale, and the Studios are about ½ mile from the famous Abbey Road Studios of Beatles fame. And yes, people were posing on the zebra crossing.
That night we stayed in a ‘Short let’ in West Kensington. Thought we would try it out instead of a hotel or B & B. Don't. Welcome to Agenda 21.
A couple of cats would have found this place cramped. The bed had one arm’s length of space above it. The ladder up to it was at about an 85 degree angle. You couldn’t bend down in the shower. An estimate of the space-excluding the bed area-was about 50 square feet, plus an outside ashtray where you could sit on two rusty chairs.
When I was a student, this would have been fine for a few nights. For 98% of humanity, it is the equivalent of battery farming. The bed space had no air circulating, and we woke up with a headache. A complete toilet.
Another great workshop followed on Sunday.
Got the 17.42 train back to Great Malvern. There were about 10 coaches on the train, three of which were first class, and had about six people in them. The cattle class was full. People queuing in the aisles. We were surrounded by about six young women. Delightful human beings in every way, and a credit to their parents. However, 2½ hours of this:
“Yeah, like, and it was like, weird, like. He came over like, and said stuff like, and like he left, like. And I was like, yeah, like cool, like. Like I don’t know like. Yeah.”
I have probably missed a few ‘likes’ out of that, but had I left them in, you may think I was, like, exaggerating. Like. Yeah. I was. And the above paragraph had substance, most of the conversations had none. Imagine that level of ‘discourse’ in quadrophonic sound. For 2 hours. If any of them learned anything from trying to out ‘like’ each other, I’ll be dipped in dogshit.
We got off the train, got in the car, and drove home. My mood lifted. It was-wait for it-like being released from hell, or waking up in paradise by comparison.
There is more to life than this. But only if you wake up to the subliminal takeover of consciousness, and the in your face consequences.
Do you want to live in a human hen shed? Do you want your mind programmed to speak utter drivel, without even knowing it? Do you want to live in an X-factor dream, totally oblivious to your immediate surroundings, cut off completely from a world not populated by your friends and their mobile phones? Do you want to become a human microchip? Queue here.
Thank God there is like another side to life. And how wonderfully well it is illustrated by Dobri, the saint of Sofia.
Switch the effing thing off and smell the flowers. Before they die.
Jack Stewart. Like.
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