My journey.

Chapter 1.

I was first aware of my existence in the late 1950’s in England. My journey has been wide and varied but I can report that I have witnessed incredible change. That is the nature of being, to witness and make change. I have seen many battles, most of which were made from ignorance and greed. The societal changes vary from each individuals perception and perspective. Is any of it “the truth?” That is a tangent for endless discussion, so I will report on that which I have witnessed, as best I can.

There was a sea change that happened in the early 1960’s that I witnessed, lots of people became self aware and were acting out their quest for freedom and embracing the swinging sixties. I was too young to participate in much of it but it was heavily promoted everywhere, swinging Britain and the post second war boom was off and running. From a small boys perspective it looked exciting and despite some warnings from the older generation, I was ready to explore this new sensational pop culture. By the time I was 10 years old and England had won the World Cup, I thought innocently, that I was in the middle of a country that led the world in pretty much everything that was great. Fashion, music, art and culture were changing the face of stuffy old Britain.

There was a flip side of course, that still lurked in the background to all this free love and I was acutely aware of it, even at such a young age. The class system was still everywhere around me too. Naively hopeful that this would be flattened by the swinging sixties I set my course on life’s adventure. Boy, was I about to get a rude awakening.

In 1966 I was 10 years old, I believed pretty much everything I was told by anyone older than me. That was about to change as I became aware of a much wilder and wider world than my first decade had shown me. Almost all of that decade had revolved around me playing in nature, climbing trees, swimming in rivers, running around in parks and open meadows. Sure there were other aspects of my childhood that were bothersome like school or family chores etc. Whilst doing those I was always planning my next adventure. In my mind was a wild child running free, I was The Lone Ranger, I was Tarzan, I was Flash Gordon; I was anything other than me! That was it, that was my rude awakening, I became self aware, I saw me and I did not like it. No sir, I did not want to be me. I felt small and insignificant, a nobody going nowhere. I was devastated.

It’s hard to pin it to anything significant one thing that happened to me, the onset of puberty, senior school, older people being mean, recognition of the lies I had been told by people I had previously trusted. One event for me was a stand out though, around that time, my appendix almost burst and I was hospitalized. My prior visits to hospital were to the emergency out patients for falling from trees and other boyhood adventures where I or my brother were treated for some sprains, bruises, cuts and the odd broken bone, what I considered normal childhood rough and tumble. On reflection, it wasn’t that normal. My Brother and I were pretty wild. When my appendix was so swollen and I was writhing in agony, I was taken to hospital, I had a believed Doctors were kind, caring and somewhat magical. Mine was not, he examined me brutally, forcing his fingers inside me and making my anus bleed, he was rude and cruel, I felt like a slab of meat. I cried but he just told me to be brave and keep quiet. He barked at the nurse, prep this one for surgery. He left abruptly and the nurse came to my bedside. I was sobbing and expected some comforting attention, the nurse said no kind words and scolded me for upsetting the Doctor, who was “a very busy man” and added, “you are lucky to be alive.” I won’t give any more details but I was shaved, my abdomen was painted with iodine and I was prepped for the removal of my appendix. It was, what they at the hospital called a success, even telling my grateful parents when they visited the next day, how the great Doctor saved my life.

Even now, as I write this at 66 years old, it makes me wince and I feel very sad. I still equate it as a form of rape. Physically, I was tolerant of most pain, mentally and emotionally, I was thrown into the raging sea and told to swim! I remember the following weeks after surgery as an immersion into the blame game, I was witnessing it first hand, for the first time. I thought it was ugly and I still do, up to a point. My awareness of humans having the capacity to intentionally hurt others was born. A rebel was within me and I knew it. How I had changed within was to be my own struggle, I withdrew and started to sort my bloody life out.

Chapter 2.

There are so many changes going on in a young mans mind during his early teenage years. I was no different, everything was confusing and overwhelming. I do remember some pivotal moments very clearly, one such moment happened when I riding my bicycle back from teaching myself to ride a horse like the jockeys I watched on TV with my Dad, who was an avid horse racing gambler. My former neighbor had a pony and his son, who was a little younger than me, was learning how to ride. I would trade an hours teaching for an hours riding for myself. Anyway, I was riding my bike back to my home past a large private school and I became aware of a car following me, I slowed down, it slowed down, I sped up and it sped up, I was definitely being followed. I glanced over my shoulder and could see a man driving. My heart started to race and an intuitive part of me took over, I had to get home. I took tiny side streets and alleyways on my bike but as I rounded corners somehow the car was still following me, I was panicking by now. I got within a mile of my home and swerved my bike down a narrow alley that ended at the top of my street, as I sped out of the alley, I looked behind me and along the street, no car. I pedaled as fast as I can for the last hundred yards down our street of terraced houses and was just a few yards away when the car turned into our street from the other end. I jumped off my bike leaving it in the middle of the road and sprinted to our front door, I banged on the door and started shouting and my Dad ran out into the street. I blurted out, this man has been following me and pointed at the car. I will never forget that look on my Dad’s face, I had seen it before and knew to get out of his way, it was blind rage. I was rooted to the spot as I watched my Dad grab this man through the open window in his car and drag him into the road, if it had not been for a neighbor I am sure the man would have been very badly beaten. I was now stood in the doorway with my Mum holding me, the shouts and screams were ringing in my head and I was sobbing. The neighbor from across the street and my Dad held the man down on the sidewalk and he just led motionless. My Dad walked to the mans car turned the engine off and grabbed the keys. Luckily, the neighbors wife had phoned the police and they arrived pretty quickly. My Dads rage had subsided a little and he was pacing back and forth as the police arrived. One policeman handcuffed the man, put him in the back of the police car and the other policeman took brief statements and drove the mans car away. By this time, I had gone inside and watched with my Mum through the front room window. I was still shaking and stared at the man as the police car pulled away, the man stared back at me smiling and I jumped back from the window, somehow I knew this was an evil man. For the following week I had horrible nightmares about being chased but eventually I buried the memory of it and got on with my wild youth.

It was about a week later that I learned through the local newspaper that the man was a known pedophile and had recently been released from prison.

I know it left scars on me but I buried them deep and got on with what I assumed was normal life.

Chapter 3.

Where was I? Cheltenham was a weird place to grow up in, “too many chiefs and not enough Indians” is a saying that comes to mind. I did not comply, of course, or did I? Was the seed of rebellious youth just another tool of the establishment? Yes, even in my late teens, I asked myself that sort of question. I had moved to stables near Marlborough and was making the newspapers and defining myself through sport, as a jockey. I knew it was a somewhat futile attempt at trying to win at a game so set in it’s ways but I was having fun bending the rules. I was young enough to take a few tumbles on the journey I chose.

Let me try and give you my reasoning from that time. I was third in line for a chance to ride as a jockey at a stable ran by a bitter old trainer. His Son was first in line, another jockey was second and I usually ended up riding the horses they did not want to. I knew it was going to be difficult but I knew how to find a workaround, something I still employ today when faced with obstacles. Most of the time, the trainer would tell me to hold the horse back in the race, not blatantly, of course but it was a known thing, then in the next race for that horse, either his son or the other jockey would ride it to win or at the very least, try and win. For those not familiar with that tactic, a horse gets handicapped based on its racing form, if it runs poorly it gets assigned a lower weight to carry the next time and also gets a better betting price from the bookmaker. Then the trainer and his cronies capitalize. Most young jockey’s comply in order to be in good grace with the trainer, who they hope one day will reward them with the chance to win. I had ridden one winner and I was quietly awaiting my opportunity to prove to everyone who had said “you’ll never make it” or “don’t get idea’s above your station” I was going to win again and show them. Foolish bravado was about to trip me up! (see above)

I had been riding Bird of Prey once in while in training, he was a good horse who had not been fully raced. I got the ride in the race because the trainer wanted him to “gain more experience” and my orders were to keep him in the middle of the pack and just “school him” round Ascot. I decided it was time, I was going for it. Fuck the consequences, I am going to win! We fell whilst in the lead at the last fence. We would have won. I was “unhurt” physically but my insides were devastated and my plan was in tatters. As I walked back towards the jockeys changing room, I saw the horse and knew he was okay. His groom was holding him and the trainer was taking off the saddle. I walked within earshot of them and said, “I’ll take the saddle” the trainer turned to me with obvious anger and told me to “fuck off!” I blurted “I can take the saddle back to the jockeys changing room” again and with more scorn, he replied “fuck off!” adding “get out of my sight.” I was nineteen years old and I wished the world would swallow me up. As I entered the jockeys changing room, a cheer went up, the other jockeys and the staff were watching the replay on TV of my fall and made fun of me. I rallied and said, “I will win next time.” More fucking bravado. I got dressed and left. I walked over to the place where the Trainer had parked, I had got a lift to the races with him, he’d gone. He fucking left me behind, the old bastard stranded me because he knew I had gone against his orders. I managed to get a lift from the Racecourse vet who lived 8 miles from the trainers stables, where I lived in a tiny flat converted from a stable. He didn’t offer to take me all the way, so I walked the 8 miles. I felt utterly dejected.

I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept thinking how I would be able to face up to the trainer and all the other people at the stable the next morning. Every morning we started early and exercised the horses. I fully expected the trainer to fire me and how I would deal with that. I convinced myself that I had already ridden one winner earlier that year and that was going to have to be enough to prove to myself and my naysayers that I can beat the odds. You have to remember that I was young and my determination was driven by testosterone, willfulness and inexperience. I put on my brave face and went to the tack room to see what horse I would be exercising, the other riders were jeering, cracking jokes and generally winding me up, I tried to ignore them. Then I looked at the exercise board and pinned to it was the front page of “The Sporting Life” (the horse racing bible) with the photo’s of me falling. Everyone knew I was going against “orders” and I was going to get shit for it. I got my horse ready and went about my business. That morning was awful, I had no one to talk to about it, I just had to suck it up and get on with daily life at the stables. The trainer did his best to hide his obvious anger at my disobedience. He gave me the silent treatment and after a couple of days of me considering just packing my bags and leaving, I had an idea of how I could turn the whole thing round. There were other racing newspapers publishing photos of my fall, the journalists loved the pun Bird of Prey goes flying etc. I cut them out and pinned them to the exercise board myself and joked at my own expense about them. The other staff at the stables joined in and eventually the trainer realized that he would look so vindictive and mean to completely ignore me and force me to leave. On the fourth day of him totally ignoring me, he came alongside me whilst we were out exercising the horses and barked at me “you got home alright then?” I had to hold back my anger and just replied curtly “yes” he glared at me, obviously angry and blurted out “you can ride that horse again next week” adding “and you better fucking win this time.”

Bird of Prey https://youtu.be/kzrT6TJK60I

If you suffer from negative external intrusions, as we all do if we interact with others, we must strengthen our positive internal self. Balance of my Physical, Mental, Emotional and Spiritual self has given me the strength to deal with many irregular and chaotic intrusions. My own way is to recognize my energetic frequency and know that it is fluctuating constantly. This is due to the individuality of my inner work, for I believe we are all frequency and light, creating our own human existence. My daily practice raises my ability to balance my own connection to the collective human reality and gives me a true sense of my eternal being. I tap into my own creativity and attune myself directly to a source that is way beyond my human perception. It has no name, it has no description I can put into words, it is the source of all things.

What is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? “I don’t know” is my only conclusion, I tried to find it and found myself in lots of strange places, did I find “the” truth? Nope. I kept finding pieces of “my truth” but never “the” truth. What did I discover so far? Humans are very inquisitive and tenacious in pursuit of definition for their actions/(excuses?) I can use the quotes of great men (see above) but I am trying to put into words my personal feelings, this requires a lot of introspection. Another reason for my unknowing conclusion is the limitation of language, how to describe in words things like my belief, faith, feelings, emotions, dreams and hopes? None of which will lead to anything but my own truth. The search of course will continue and defining my own truth may hopefully help me help others. Here’s an interesting observation, the more I let go of other people’s control, the closer I get to my own truth. The pursuit will continue but I am moderately content with allowing the mystery to unfold. One final observation as the numbers change to 2022, I believe that the speed of progress for humanity is largely dependent on the belief that progress is possible. I believe in love and peace.

For those that do not understand the heading, here is a link to some British Slang. https://www.effingpot.com/chapters/slang/

The dark one’s and their evil agenda have been recruiting meat robots and spiritual mercenaries for thousands of years. There is a new and desperate wave because the “c word” is not working fast enough for the Dark Lords. HRC’s satanic whisperings into Joe’s gormless corpse. We see them. Our tribe is gathering, weathering the storm, we will not fear, for this we were born. Gaia’s mighty army of warriors will not bow down to the darkness. I know we will win because we are tribe. The gypsy in me will always be. I am a tribal messenger, protected by warriors. Nigel of tunnelmental.