Blog to email Hack
Several of my blog email subscribers and a few visitors were interesting in in the book I talk about in hack 37
Please understand it is a work in progress and the final version will be available on Amazon in July 2019.
I hope this email finds you in the arena of the well, now that winter is coming and Jon Snow knows something more then nothing, please find attached the new book I am downloading from my mind.
We gather around the gold-colored fire, our faces silhouetted against, the backdrop, of a starry night. We tell the same story, over and over again, enjoying it until it is cemented in our minds, never-fading like ball point ink. The oral off our tongue, flows, painting picture of story’s past, nothing added. Events en-grained deep in real-time. Our lives drama, carbon copied from mind to mind, generation to generation, molded by the heat of the fire into a stone scroll of truth.
The night weaves its invisible body out deep into the sky, bringing sparkle star disco to the heavens, and the women get up to dance, singing and calling for a story-teller, to take us back to the words of ancient ancestor. They stomp their feet upon the earth and shake the ground, sending vibrations deep into, we men our hearts. Palpitating, we take our hands and translate the sound to goat skin covered drums. Far and wide our sound travels, calling on neighbors, friends and foes. This message, the story-teller time has come.
Our mother earth shaken and awaken by our call back to the past, brings a single cloud above and smiles a small drizzle of rain on us. The cooling beads of rain touch one, and the story-teller is named. His voice brings silence to the night, and gently and gradually fills our minds, and the peace, of the word, of our ancestors, delivers us to our dreams.
Reset Return to roots
We lived on the land, by the law of the land. Then they came. They came and took it all. Before their arrival, Kaguma warned us, that we would lose our land. He then paved the way with bread crumbs in our oral tradition on how we would get it all back. We allowed them time in our land, to settle, perchance to dream. We learn their ways, their books and culture, and found our fight, rising and uprising, with hopes and dreams, of a return to the old ways.
These here, their buildings, we return to dust. These here, their roads we return to paths, pot-hole by pot-hole, we remove their structures. The old ways sing to us, calling us back to the land, back to the time, of equilibrium with the Mother Nature. When we won the war, they gave us power to govern, suits to wear in parliament, but refused to let go of their created economy. Our fight continued, and we took their economy, now we tear and break it, so it is no more, and we return to the soil. To the old ways with no carbon foot prints, no connection to the machine, looking to the sky with endless time, for the promise of rain.
At night we light fires to cook crushed maize seed, avoiding the electric grid which we are slowly bringing down. We don’t need their electric power; our light comes from the above. Early morning we rise and wake up the sun, walk out into our fields, and work our land, till the sun tires, and falls from the sky.
Reaping the dream
We arise to the vibration of dawn, stirring awake, through the vocal cords of the birds. We look out into the distance, beyond the horizon, and beckon the Sun. Gently it climbs, with its orange hue spreading across the land, penetrating and removing the dusk. We turn our backs to the majestic light and walk out, to our fields, to give mother earth, its morning meal of seed.
We dance and sing to mother rain, to quench mother earth’s thirst. The seeds give birth, to plants, the latter reach up and out, spreading their winged leaves to eat of the sun. We air the soil, working out the body and mind, and laugh at the past, our driving 2 hours to the gym, to work the machine. We are one, with our mothers of nature, as we give to them they give to us. In the distance cattle herders, whistle sweet notes to our stock of life, which graze with pride, fearing neither man nor predator. Our hoes strike the ground putting beat to our work song, as we all day long, tend our fields.
The earth moves the sun slowly and gently from east to west. The birds begin their homeward flight, the sun has moved from our backs to our eyes, so we turn after one last salute to the fire in the sky, and turn our backs to it, as we follow the bird’s home. The aroma of food flavored smoke greets our tired and stress free bodies as we, edge closer to our home, sweet home village. We smile, a full hearted smile, because we know as we work our fields, they also work us.
The Doctor Which
Our healer is a man of many herbs and spices. The power of his plants, finds the root of your ailment, and vacuums it out the system. The healer is also, the master of the mind, and knows what mental tools can guide it back to healthy thought. He tends our minds, like we tend our fields, carefully and thoroughly rooting out weeds, and planting seeds of good thought.
They came with their holy book, and in exchange for the book they took the land, minerals, cows plus etc. The book preached about brotherhood, they practiced segregation. The book preached above love, they practiced hatred. The book was the word of their ancestors, they told us not to communicate with ours.
Kaguma our healer, who had eyes on the past present and future at the same time, told us, let their will be done, for our kingdom will return, and our time will come. We gave them our sweat and toil, working with our eyes facing the sun.
Life is full of twist and turns, and now comes our time, we return to the land, to live by the land. The doctor witch tells us to forget about the white time, and focus on the present moment, be in the joy of the here and the now.
We take one last look at our past, the days of city, of car, of house. We see how selfish our nature had become, as we blinded ourselves to the natural balance, of land, Mother Nature and man, and chased the money instead. We drove nice cars as our brothers and sisters starved. We traveled to distant land, to return without presents, instead suitcases filled with profit in mind.
We lost respect for our elders, and looked for respect in our bling. We sat 4 by 4 in taxis, breathing in each other’s personal space, heading to towns, to search pavements for shops, with items we can sell to friends and family. We marked up everything, and sold on for healthy profits, instead of just telling friends where the product was available. Instead of waiting with eyes to the skies, dreaming of rain, we queued and queued, with eyes to the paper.
We lived intolerant, we lived selfish, we lived with hate, we lived with death. We lived with greed. We lived with Gluttony. We lived with anger.
Now we hold the red soil in our hands, we smear it on our faces, brothers are now one. The past travels to the pages of a history of our choice.
Those that turn to salt
The return to old ways brings comfort and joy. Those that look back to the colonized days, turn sour and bitter as the false joy of consumption creeps over the minds. They dream machine dreams and hope for light at the end of wrong thoughts, which might pave away back to a city. But the cities are gone now; we broke the buildings and killed the roads. We up rooted the monuments that pointed to our tormented past. No story teller can help heal the minds that find no joy in the land that provides, the land that nurtures the land of the children of Amai Afreeka. We let them pack and leave to chase their false dreams, knowing that the land will never see them again, and from land to salt they change.
WE HAVE BUT ONE MIND
We left the farms and gathered arms, to fight a liberating battle for our souls. Freedom was the desire; we conceived it and we believed it. Freedom came and delivered us to a new prison, a new farm, run by animals and ruled by corrupt pigs. The pigs turned our arms against us and made us pay for the privilege through a system of taxes.
But then a message circulated on the facebook owned whatsapp. The words were simple and delicate like the rain after the floods.
“Freedom is in an inside job!” Now something inside us, tells us, we will meet the fat pigs at the dining table!
WE ARE ONE
We focused on only the things that truly mattered. We learnt to know what did not matter, by their false impressions. For on many of our days, our minds, suffered by wondering in circle around troubled thoughts, leaked from our memory storage. The great idea we had is that if we close our minds with our own chosen thoughts, then the brain memory leakages stop. Then we realised we could stop the leakages with a single repeated word. The brain stores all our memory files in a hierarchical system based on emotion. The more emotion attached to event, the higher it is stored and thus the more chance of leaking from the brain into the mind.
Okay at this point, you are wondering why we appear to have changed the story. So what happens when you wonder your thoughts just as we have done to you. The brain automatically starts running calculations; each calculation result is stored in memory based on emotional outcome.
THUS LIBERATE YOUR MIND AND YOUR BODY WILL FOLLOW!
Meditation 20 has returned you here to this variable or address stored in your memory, if the brain has failed to computer the location of the memory address you may continue on to meditation 8.
This is Africa the mother of all of mankind. As we sit in the story tellers hands, he goes into silent mode. We wait with baited breathe when suddenly a side story pops in. The drums begin to boom and bang to full throttle and slow fade out as the new story begins. And she said “in our beginning, was a woman with skin the colour of night and she was with a man whose skin was the colour of snow. They had 21 children, of which 7 were male and 14 female. Of their seven sons the oldest looked like his father not in facial features, for all his sons looked like him, but they both had the snowy skin. The second born had the skin of his mother. The third son had a mix of the two.”
Here she pauses and the first story teller comes back, “oh you have heard the story before.” Our smiles respond “yes”. Then the story teller continues with the introduction of a twist, the TITLE OF THIS CHAPTER WAS USED TO TITLE THE PREVIOUS STORY.
So as fate would twist the story, one brother killed another brother, so the father imposed his first LAW. You can not kill your brother or your sister. This the beginning continues.
We think back to the time of office blocks with office work, and are reminded of the days when someone broke the air-con. We think how we broke the earth’s air-con by over consuming. But then the earth had its last laugh and finally broke us with its extreme heat and extreme cold.
IF we have one piece of advice, the best thing you can do with your life is plant a tree.
YOU ARE HERE
At this point in the story we sit and orate, at your point you sit and read, both always and ever in a time called the present. The previous chapters are now stored in your in brain, the higher the emotion the storyteller triggers in you, the higher the storage in the cells of memory. So in the present, the story teller knows how his words, can hack out a memory file from your brain storage, and transfer it to your mind and use it bring out an emotion and design it in a way that will help you let go of your logic and reason.
BE WHERE YOU ARE
We lived we laughed, we suffered by the weight of past and collective memory. Always holding our past suffering, like an Anker and that held us back and brought words to mouth, that always sounded like complaining. Now we are back with the land and our sweat and toil drips into the land, and it is fruitful with bounties of note. We are right there with you, and you are right here with us.
We looked at our country’s status update and it simply said;
The code of the world, morphed from the network out into the world to grab our attention, bringing us to gather around its nucleus made up of a few social media giants. Our phones beeped and we responded with keen anticipation, like the addict farting before his hit of the crack pipe. They put the code in charge of our attention and the giants used the code to be privy about us. Nothing to hide, we opened our curtains for the code to look in, tug at our memory files, gather them and analyse them further for use in the creation of new programs of code to further control our attention. Extreme is good the programs were coded, thus they guided and pushed their control of our minds to mirror their extreme is good nature.
So now you sit and Google our words and wonder why Google results yield zero, well that is what you get when you use an advertising agency to search for answers on the internet.
THERE IS SUPERSTITION
We looked at writings on the walls as they screamed for our attention. “Stop corruption” some idiot spray painted on an old abandoned building late on Friday night.
FLOW AND EBB
Our emotions flowed downward into recession and we traded smiles on an emotional black market. We remembered petrol ques that moved at snail pace with a mushroom shape at the pump. Now we sit and wait for the honey bird, to come and sing us a sweat tune. Waiting in a zen moment, separating all the sounds around us until the honey birds sound is the only sound we hear. We follow the sound and it delivers us a feast.
We bow to the bees and offer a smoke treat. The Hive dances as the bees separate from the queen’s mind. The bees that are out mating the flowers get no message to return to the Hive. We take a small treat and offer the honey bird a prize. Time well spent. With our souls filled we return to our hive and share our spoils with our queens.
The first woman’s 6 remaining sons, had each 21 kids of which 7 were men and 14 female. And the father looked as their garden farm and asked of his sons, to ask their sons to venture further to spread the seed. Of the 42, new men, half refused, thus angering their six fathers. So the six fathers introduced a new law, which required that all the children honour and obey their fathers and mothers.
The story tellers lower their voices, knowing we want more, they hold us in suspended animation, we anticipate the drums will beat into action and new story teller shall emerge, but silence is introduced next. With the virtue of patience we enjoy the silence.
EVIL AND GOOD
The night claims the silence, a male lion roars in the distance protesting his hunger and awaking the hunting instinct in his females.
We reflect on the words of the story tellers and understand that the introduction of laws means the recording of the battle between good and evil.
Here we are reminded about the future, as time has not yet trapped us in its linear construct. We see one brother will break the laws of our father and enslave another. We see that out of the seed of evil will blossom a tree of hate which shall fruit envy and greed, which will taste like the fake sugar, of a zero pop soda and pretend like its pleasure. Sitting quietly, next to the zero pop soda, an extra large meal, waiting to gather around the waist of some poor lost soul.
FIRE AND ICE
We check our minds and move them into balance, for we are reminded about the dance between fire and ice which when in balance brings water. And we sit around the fire knowing the words we hear to be of a deeper truth. We look at our little world from a distance as the story teller moves our minds to a new place.
“Hello friend” the story teller chirps and this hacks our minds down to ground. We step on the ground with a fresh pair of eyes, and we see the emotions of fire and ice doing a dance within us.
We make water of our emotions and realise that water needs to do a balance dance with the plants and trees. Thus the storyteller guides us to understand the instructions for the dance. Too few plants and the water will attack the land.
THE GROWTH OF PLANTS
We feed our plants with twos part hydrogen and one part oxygen. The plants reach for the sky and an opposition force we name gravity tries to bring them down. We feed our plants as part of the water dance.
TWAS THE FEAR
A story teller emerged from the mountain top his Everest of solitude complete. He gathers his body around the fire and readies his speech. That we know why the Lion roars, we know when to run or stand our ground.
RINSE AND REPEAT
Read Meditation 7 again.
The story teller moves our minds and stores memory in our minds that serve as a beacon for our path to mental balance. It is systems of belief that keep us locked into our chosen world view. What system are you plugged into, could it be capitalist, command, or perhaps a shady grey mixture of both.
The story teller walks our minds to a place where it is revealed that the human mind can be programmed to believe anything as long as that belief system has a carrot on the one end and a lion’s roar on the other. Then we have those amongst us charged with control of the system and in their hands they hold a guiding technology which is used to lead us either to the carrot or the Lions roar.
The story teller then whispers so that our brains do not hear the information and that rather our minds which are in listening mode, create a virtual memory. Here we store the vital piece of the puzzle, that the carrot and the lion roar are not real they are merely illusions that are used to control us.
A dury of the people need to be added to the political system to hold the governing party accountable on a daily basis. The flaw of the current system is that the power of the people can only exercised every 5 years.