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35 YEARS
INTO
THE WILD
INTO
THE WILD
TO PRESERVE ONE'S OWN LIFE AS THE WORLD FALLS INTO DARKNESS, IS TO JEOPARDIZE ALL THAT TRULY MATTERS, INCLUDING YOUR SOUL
Hoka Hey,
I can't help but wonder--even onto now,
are we but earthly born bodies grasping to find spiritual meaning,
or rebellious heavenly spirits allowed the lusts of this flesh for if we pass or fail?
I can't help but wonder--even onto now,
are we but earthly born bodies grasping to find spiritual meaning,
or rebellious heavenly spirits allowed the lusts of this flesh for if we pass or fail?
WE'VE BEEN DUMBED DOWN OUR ENTIRE LIVES TO BE NOTHING BUT SPOILED, PERPETUAL CHILDREN FOREVER PLAYING WITH TOYS
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MAIN TRAILS
- BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN (front page)
- In The Time of Losing It All (blog, paradigms & observations)
- Wilderness Survival Skills Prophecy (blog, spirit & visions)
- The Lost Cache Journals (blog, life & times)
- Visions of Paradise (short stories, fiction & non)
- When The Candle Flickers (poems & vinettes)
- PRIMITIVE VOLITION (novella, fiction)
- Table Of Contents
- Author Bio
- Contact
SIDE TRIPS
RECENT POSTS
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<> <> <> <> <> THE GHOST DANCE IS COMING <> <> <> <> <>
| Around A Fire |
|
Look, as I've said many times, I've done enough bad, thoughtless, selfish or just plain mean things in my life that I for damn sure must have a big glass house by now--it's not that I even want to say or think the things that I do. But the simple fact is, I look at life different from most that I know, that i just have to say some things I've been thinking. I've went from buckskins, trapping fur, guiding hunts, shooting black powder guns and striking fire with flint and steel--to wearing shorts, barefoot and working off a laptop--7 days a week turning convoluted PHP, bloated jpegs and elemental fiction into complex content, fast reading graphics, and leaned down code--uploaded via FTP on a T1 interface to the web. By my measure about 200 years on the evolutionary scale--that'll screw anybody’s sense of belonging all to fuck, and gives one such thoughts outside the box ... all that can be said in such instances is good luck living a normal life, which falls far short of the mark. I've been in this sort of Ghost Dancey, semi-monastic, Christian circled, zen-like Hoka Hey, bop-till-you-drop, existential, patriotic turmoil of what's going on in my world for some thirty-odd-years on my count by now, had my first medicine pipe and vision quest a full decade earlier. Made me just over twenty-one when I finally got my belly full and rode off for the mountains, horseback, dressed in buckskin, primordial and rugged, as free as a man could be, or so I thought. There's decades of scars on my body to remind me I was already in the borderlands before most of you reading this were even out of the friggin' tube, myself so already clued to history by that stage, I saw academia for the overt manipulation it is (and get this straight I'm not condemning real knowledge (like the stuff they suppress), I'm referring to the obvious dumbing down of the American people, but more on that later. Just realize I am talking about the present US Ministry of Indoctrination, a.k.a., the United States Department of Education, instituted in 1964, after the Junta that hijacked our Country iced JFK and launched the NWO-- They've been conditioning you since preschool by the way--all the way, if you've got one, through some Bull Shit Ph.D. sheep skin (as much as I still think they are cool). And all so a few can live as kings and queens as you slave away your substance bound in by cubicle walls. No matter what they look like from the inside. Don't you get, it ain't no prize. Stop acting like it is! You're doing the same motherfucking job bean-counters and secretaries have always done, just no longer in one big open room with 50 machines competing like race horses at a canter. I might remind you, beware any time your Government wants to educate you--especially when you see yourself getting dumber the longer they're at it, witness grown men dressed in their chosen team's uniform carrying on like stupid young boys at a home game trying to impress the girls; in front of the TV, hooting, almost spurting in their pants as they holler when there's a basket or a T/D. Yeah! I'm talking about men in their fucking forties, mabe older. Where is their decorum? WTF! But then, that's what you get for idolatrizing what they peddle if you buy into what they sell. Meanwhile I was taking another one in the nuts trying to stay on this stupid, twisty, crazy ass trail till it would all make sense enough that I'd know what to do with my lifetime, and finally come to peace. You see I saw this shit coming back in the "70's, maybe even the '60's, and did what I did because of it--I was just over 30 years too early in doing so. And several years too late. But I really had no choice, I didn't get a normal childhood you know, (at least not by today's pc-ness standards). I started hunting, owning a gun and taking responsibility for my own thoughts before ever I went to school, and thankfully when I did was so beyond the brainwash that they just let me be--ok, don't freak out-- We didn't have pre-school back in those days, so I'm talking the reasonable age of five when I learned to be independent (under my Dad's loving tutelage), owned my own gun, and in a sense began rejecting their dogma prima facie--blissfully unaware, even then oblivious to what they were trying to teach me. Were they kidding? It couldn't hold light to what I already knew. What do you expect, my Dad would take me out of school at least once a week so we could go hunt ducks and pheasants and such all through the Fall. Another cool aspect to that mix back in those days was an auto-acceptance of a child's fledgling eccentricities (if they were from a "good family", the country still populated by individuals, otherwise they were fucked {as unfair as that is]). A certain accommodation for my individuality seemed forthcoming from most of the students and teachers, some of them so cool with it, I'd gift them a brace of birds from our freezer (expertly gutted and cleaned by my brother and I) when I'd show up a couple hours late for school in my hunting clothes with feathers in my pockets and blood on my knees, a certain mystic communion with Mother Earth evident on my face. By those times I'd been at it for years, hunting I mean, and being me. At first it was pretty laid back, I had a gun, but had to leave it in the car all the time and just follow my Dad, watch how him and his hunting buddies (all the way from childhood) did things. Next--occasionally I would carry my single-shot .410 on a short flush, unloaded and broke open, but I damn sure better watch where I let the muzzle swing, if it even came close to another human being, my ass was grass--I'd be sent to the car as if I'd sinned. By the time I was six I was carrying it broke-open, unloaded, muzzle down all day long. By the time I was seven I did the same, but carried two shells in the lower fingers of my shooting hand. If a bird flushed I was so connected to what I saw as almost a Sacrament that time would stand still as I dropped one in the barrel, slamming it shut as I shouldered--Cocked for the shot, aimed and pulled the trigger, the bird tumbling out of the heavens as if mana from on high-- Lot of stuff to go through, but it was safe and I got pretty good. It was beyond cool. Yet it wasn't without pitfalls-- There was a TV show on at the time called Combat, about a platoon in WWII fighting a righteous war they, and we believed in, very patriotic ... anyway Vic Morrow, the Platoon Sargent was always popping off rounds from the hip with his Thompson submachine gun killing "krauts" and "Japs" Their words, not mine (they [the platoon] all did with their BAR's, M-1's and carbines, the famous .45 Colt ACP and maybe even a bazooka for all I can remember) and always a moral dilemma elucidated in the last five minutes of the hour to supposedly make us think. Anyway... We were walking down this dirt road--my brother was old enough that he was along that day, I think I was nine or ten and had just been given a Remington 31, pump 20 gauge to start using. Anyway we were getting lined up to work a patch of trees when I popped one off from the hip at a branch in the road as we walked. I was out front, my brother by my side--plenty safe--NOT! When my Dad barked out, "Was that accidental or on purpose, Mister?" I knew I was fucked. I don't know what I'd been thinking, but I do know either way I was in big trouble, we just didn't do things like that. I did learn, what you see on TV don't mean shit in real life, might even get you in trouble--and it did, I didn't hunt again, nor was I even allowed to go out in the field till the very last day of season that year. Yeah, I learned my lesson. I waited till I was an adult before I tried any of those moves again. But here's my point to this seemingly pointless story--I can't help who I have become, one is but a reflection of the sum of your experiences and how you related. The way I grew up is considered an anomaly nowadays, weird shit by some, or even something that should be made illegal by many in this modern age of "enlightenment". But don't misunderstand--my lifetime seems as fiction gone crazy, even to me, I suppose it's that way for most woodsmen, for we do what is considered abnormal. Choosing to turn our backs on society, so to go get connected to God through the Earth. Now I admit at times I have lived so reckless, so debauched and desperado as is evidenced by five for five on divorces to marriages, a minor rap sheet from a Government setup, and kids I barely know, that I figure I am lucky just to be here. And I damn sure prefer the woods. Yet, that this is my path became glaringly manifest over a decade ago, after a showdown with the lawdogs, another weird-ass breakup and some more assorted death threats-- Look, I'm no saint, way too self centered, and a crazy double Gemini with a horny Scorpio Moon in the rising, to ever kid myself that I'm above much of anything, including the animals and Mother Earth, so don't ever think that I'm talking down with my writing, like I'm any better even though that's the way it might sound. And you might even get mad with what I'm saying. Go ahead, it ain't going to change the fact that none, save but few in the deep bush and woods living right, have the right to any part of this world. That's what I've noticed so much in saying these things for the past four decades, people take it personal, 'cause I guess they should But hell I'm that much worse than most, or anybody for that matter, I knew the proper path decades ago, and strayed from it all the same, so much so that I lost most of my dreams, all of my mind and part of my soul in the process. Here's the thing, I have to write at this point after living from one extreme to the other like this. It made me Uitco-hey I'm trying my best to become as accomplished as I am able, and 'tis a daunting task. But as I've said before, "Thank God it's just fiction." Nothing more than a fictional character blogging about fictional things. No need to take it too personal, even though the very way we live is anathema to God, and no one gets out alive. Go on with your life as if nothing is wrong, like the way you live really makes sense to your spirit and you understand why you are here. I guarantee you'll be happier than I if you can--at least until the shit hits the fan. Always on the long trail, even when standing still, Tobias Stewart
August 30--2008 |
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