WHEN THE GREAT SPIRIT SPEAKS

         My last story/article based in the WAIT-A-BIT!
community, I'm told, was kinda gross. "With very
little redeeming value..." 
       Yeah,  well, that might be true... but if
there are a few laughs in the piece,or a few bits
that  make you smile... that's the redeeming value,
as far as I'm concerned.

       In the recent past, this community
of wild men and women,  had been so stunned by a bomb blast that no one can remember the name of
the old town we used to live in...when the town still had brick buildings in it...
      
      There are no longer any brick buildings   So far as any of us know, the village now has 16 people in it. Some people live in foxholes just below the surface.There are some women who live a full tier below the surface bunkers, I am told, so it seems  there are another 8 to 15 more villagers... too distrustful to ever venture up towards the surface.
                With the summer flies and the almost unrelenting ice, not many of us enjoy
much surface time... Though there is the ever-rolling river down the hill, and three canoes
... two you can paddle.... only one that is reliable
over any distance...
                I took a ninety mile canoe trip. I did it  once. Artie and I made it to a village south of
Inuvik, where we ate great autumn food and moose steaks. Then we got drunk and I seem to remember having sex with a strong gal on top of me. I lost all my socks ( six pairs) and Artie
lost his wallet...mostly for the pictures in it.
                   But I paddled away south of there
wearing  beaded leather pants
a lovely woman gave
to me.
                  This was when I had just arrived
in the Arctic, and I wasn't used to
women being quiet. She didn't say more than
ten words in three days, and I wasn't mature
enough in the ways of the North to realize
that this was a sign of love, respect and
exceptionally good breeding.
                Me, I talked too much
most of the time, I suppose. But never
once did I hear a word of recrimination.

                We live in cities and we think we know all there is to know. That visit deeper into the north
was my first learning experience. It was the
first time I realized I knew nothing at all.

                 We made it down to WAIT-A-BIT!
8 days later... And going south, we were paddling
upstream.
                 We paddled south into a glorious
crimson, orange and pink sunset
such as I never believed possible.
                 There are moments or Grace
and communion with the landscape up
here... It's difficult to write about such
moments, because these moments are born
out of times when the harsh living world
is kind to us. It is inevitable that such
moments are lived in solitude
and silence, utter silence when
the Spirit of the Great One speaks.




**************************************************
EDIT BELOW  -- (make below a separate story?)
But a
priest and a stripper showed up and 
took over the foxhole of a couple who
took off  east on a little dogsled jaunt.
             These were the "doers" and the "thinkers"
of the town. Their dogsled trip would be 3600 miles
 across the Arctic to Hudson's Bay...No one could agree on the exact mileage of the trip.
              No one could agree on the mileage
because the trip had never been done before,
not in the last three thousand years, anyway.
              The only person in recent memory
who  might have been crazy to try it is the Mad Trapper if Rat River, when the cops were after him.
(the RCMP redcoats, it's said they always get their
man... and maybe you can still say it...
because nobody can agree whether the Mad Trapper WAS a man. A man or a beast, that is.
              I see on a piece of municipal paper
that the population of the town was once 146.
Now it's 16. 
I can see these numbers on a piece of Town Hall paper, along with a picture of the town hall (R.I.P.) 

       Anything over a 3000 mile trip  is considered a long jaunt in the Arctic Winter. Of course,the same distance would be a murderous pilgrimage in the fly-mad summer. Such a trip would be something
only a madman would try.
        So only a few of my neighbours would
think of such an endeavour.
         (One of them's sleeping right across the
bunker from me)
           Hank's been thinking of dashing
east... thought about it all through last winter,
when he was digging that tunnel towards the east.
But the sun is shining and I can almost see
its glow through the triple screens. Why bring
up painful memories such as Hank's
psychosis?
        Yes, I'm sitting here on an old wooden
chair having a smoke, gazing at the noonday
sun through the "twilight screening". The
triple screens will turn even the brightest
sun into a romantic twilight. Think
of a candlelight dinner with someone who
appeals to you.
             I used to dream of moments like this
when I was locked up in those overcrowded
jails to the south.
             I went from being a jailbird in the
south - to mayor of a northern town. That's
why they call the north, "the land of opportunity."
Because anything can happen, and often does.
           Mostemaining
population took off after the BOOM of at least
two 2000 pound bombs and a few other
exploding surprises shot off in cruise missiles...
           All the rubble of the town on the
eastern edge of the northern Mackenzie River
was blown north of where the town had been...
so we who were left in the village ---
at least we had a place to dig! Twenty
feet deep rubble with re-bar included
and chunks of cement that would fit
in the hand of yer local Sasquatch
huge mad trapper men.
           (These types who have never
yet been heard to speak an articulate word)

            Where am I going with this?

             I have no idea... I meant to talk
about another topic entirely.
town = villa  

((NOTE woman's rights as being the real substance
of the war between moslem and Christian.... the status of women
in the two civilizations)
                                  WRITE THIS DELICATELY)      

         My last story/article based in the WAIT-A-BIT!
community, I'm told, was kinda gross. "With very
little redeeming value..." 
       Yeah,  well, that might be true... but if
there are a few laughs in the piece,or a few bits
that  make you smile... that's the redeeming value,
as far as I'm concerned.

       In the recent past, this community
of wild men and women,  had been so stunned by a bomb blast that no one can remember the name of
the old town we used to live in...when the town still had brick buildings in it...
      
      There are no longer any brick buildings   So far as any of us know, the village now has 16 people in it. Some people live in foxholes just below the surface.There are some women who live a full tier below the surface bunkers, I am told, so it seems  there are another 8 to 15 more villagers too distrustful to ever venture up towards the surface.
                With the summer flies and the almost unrelenting ice, not many of us enjoy
much surface time... Though there is the ever-rollowing river down the hill, and three canoes
... two you can paddle.... only one that is reliable
over any distance...
                I took a ninety mile canoe trip. I did it  once. Artie and I made it to a village south of
Innuvik, where we ate great autumn food and moose steaks. Then we got drunk and I seem to remember having sex with a strong gal on top of me. I lost all my socks ( six pairs) and Artie
lost his wallet....
                   But I paddled away south of there
wearing  beaded leather pants
a lovely woman named Chris Macdonald gave
to me.
                  This was when I had just arrived
in the Arctic, and I wasn't used to
women being quiet. She didn't say more than
ten words in three days, and I wasn't mature
enough in the ways of the North to realize
that this was a sign of love, respect and
exceptionally good breeding.
                Me, I talked too much
most of the time, I suppose. But never
once did I hear a word of recrimination.

                We live in cities and we think we know all there is to know. That visit deeper into the north
was my first learning experience. It was the
first time I realized I knew nothing at all.

                 We made it down to WAIT-A-BIT!
8 days later... And going south, we were paddling
upstream.
                 We paddled south into a glorious
crimson, orange and pink sunset
such as I never believed possible.
                 There are moments or Grace
and communion with the landscape up
here... It's difficult to write about such
moments, because these moments are born
out of times when the harsh living world
is kind to us. It is inevitable that such
moments are lived in solitude
and silence, utter silence when
the Spirit of the Great One speaks.




**************************************************
EDIT BELOW  -- (make below a separate story?)
But a
priest and a stripper showed up and 
took over the foxhole of a couple who
took off  east on a little dogsled jaunt.
             These were the "doers" and the "thinkers"
of the town. Their dogsled trip would be 3600 miles
 across the Arctic to Hudson's Bay...No one could agree on the exact mileage of the trip.
              No one could agree on the mileage
because the trip had never been done before,
not in the last three thousand years, anyway.
              The only person in recent memory
who  might have been crazy to try it is the Mad Trapper if Rat River, when the cops were after him.
(the RCMP redcoats, it's said they always get their
man... and maybe you can still say it...
because nobody can agree whether the Mad Trapper WAS a man. A man or a beast, that is.
              I see on a piece of municipal paper
that the population of the town was once 146.
Now it's 16. 
I can see these numbers on a piece of Town Hall paper, along with a picture of the town hall (R.I.P.) 

       Anything over a 3000 mile trip  is considered a long jaunt in the Arctic Winter. Of course,the same distance would be a murderous pilgrimage in the fly-mad summer. Such a trip would be something
only a madman would try.
        So only a few of my neighbours would
think of such an endeavour.
         (One of them's sleeping right across the
bunker from me)
           Hank's been thinking of dashing
east... thought about it all through last winter,
when he was digging that tunnel towards the east.
But the sun is shining and I can almost see
its glow through the triple screens. Why bring
up painful memories such as Hank's
psychosis?
        Yes, I'm sitting here on an old wooden
chair having a smoke, gazing at the noonday
sun through the "twilight screening". The
triple screens will turn even the brightest
sun into a romantic twilight. Think
of a candlelight dinner with someone who
appeals to you.
             I used to dream of moments like this
when I was locked up in those overcrowded
jails to the south.
             I went from being a jailbird in the
south - to mayor of a northern town. That's
why they call the north, "the land of opportunity."
Because anything can happen, and often does.
           Mostemaining
population took off after the BOOM of at least
two 2000 pound bombs and a few other
exploding surprises shot off in cruise missiles...
           All the rubble of the town on the
eastern edge of the northern Mackenzie River
was blown north of where the town had been...
so we who were left in the village ---
at least we had a place to dig! Twenty
feet deep rubble with re-bar included
and chunks of cement that would fit
in the hand of yer local Sasquatch
huge mad trapper men.
           (These types who have never
yet been heard to speak an articulate word)

            Where am I going with this?

             I have no idea... I meant to talk
about another topic entirely.
town = villa  

((NOTE woman's rights as being the real substance
of the war between moslem and Christian.... the status of women
in the two civilizations)
                                  WRITE THIS DELICATELY)      


         My last story/article based in the WAIT-A-BIT!
community, I'm told, was kinda gross. "With very
little redeeming value..." 
       Yeah,  well, that might be true... but if
there are a few laughs in the piece,or a few bits
that  make you smile... that's the redeeming value,
as far as I'm concerned.

       In the recent past, this community
of wild men and women,  had been so stunned by a bomb blast that no one can remember the name of
the old town we used to live in...when the town still had brick buildings in it...
      
      There are no longer any brick buildings   So far as any of us know, the village now has 16 people in it. Some people live in foxholes just below the surface.There are some women who live a full tier below the surface bunkers, I am told, so it seems  there are another 8 to 15 more villagers too distrustful to ever venture up towards the surface.
                With the summer flies and the almost unrelenting ice, not many of us enjoy
much surface time... Though there is the ever-rollowing river down the hill, and three canoes
... two you can paddle.... only one that is reliable
over any distance...
                I took a ninety mile canoe trip. I did it  once. Artie and I made it to a village south of
Innuvik, where we ate great autumn food and moose steaks. Then we got drunk and I seem to remember having sex with a strong gal on top of me. I lost all my socks ( six pairs) and Artie
lost his wallet....
                   But I paddled away south of there
wearing  beaded leather pants
a lovely woman named Chris Macdonald gave
to me.
                  This was when I had just arrived
in the Arctic, and I wasn't used to
women being quiet. She didn't say more than
ten words in three days, and I wasn't mature
enough in the ways of the North to realize
that this was a sign of love, respect and
exceptionally good breeding.
                Me, I talked too much
most of the time, I suppose. But never
once did I hear a word of recrimination.

                We live in cities and we think we know all there is to know. That visit deeper into the north
was my first learning experience. It was the
first time I realized I knew nothing at all.

                 We made it down to WAIT-A-BIT!
8 days later... And going south, we were paddling
upstream.
                 We paddled south into a glorious
crimson, orange and pink sunset
such as I never believed possible.
                 There are moments or Grace
and communion with the landscape up
here... It's difficult to write about such
moments, because these moments are born
out of times when the harsh living world
is kind to us. It is inevitable that such
moments are lived in solitude
and silence, utter silence when
the Spirit of the Great One speaks.




***************************
                                                                 (C)2014 by W.G.Milne

FUN WITH HEAVEN AND HELL

           It is said there is a place called heaven and
a place called hell. But where are these places?
Do we really believe that heaven is above the
clouds and hell is beneath our feet?
       

THE WHIP AND THE CROSS

PAIN IN SEX AND THE FLESH........ COMPLETION IN THE SPIRIT...............HELL AND HEAVEN?.....TWO REALMS BUT ONE WORLD ONLY     

 

PAIN                                    SPIRITUALITY
IN THE FLESH                     IN THE FLESH
PAIN                                     SPIRIT


           There are not two worlds, there is only one.

 So why this dichotomy? Why this major split in our morality?  Affairs of the spirit   vs   affairs of the flesh?
Is one realm morally superior to the other?

      It's where we place our FOCUS

       Where we focus our desires.

       Total focus on the genital region will
make this all-encompassing energy seem
as if it's a world unto itself. It's a sphere
all right, but it's not a world.
       The energy of the 1st chakra - HUMP!
HUMP! HUMP! Jack off like a monkey
at the zoo. Staring at the crotches of all
who pass...
       It's a transient world, but what isn't
transient?  The roots that clutch, the
hidden caverns of lust under the earth...
Is it a hell?  Not quite and not yet... it
depends on the intensity and the
duration of your focus.
        The problem with desire? Desire
is usually for something outside of
yourself - it expresses an incompletion
in the psyche.
   
         I WANT MORE

       This could be the motto for the
realms of desire. 
              Lovers chained together at
the ankle or groin.



     If you focus on the beginningless
and endless TAO... A completion resides
in this sphere.  If we're looking
for some kind of peace, peace resides
in the realms of completion.

        IT IS ENOUGH

      This could be the motto for the
realms of peace, the higher chakras,
the realm of completion,  the
heavens - the chaste and sacred realms -
the one who is creating us  uses male and
female in one crucible.
         "When you make the two one" a paragraph
in the Gospel of Thomas, "When you make the
male and the female into a single one..." 
           Desire then does not have to be for an external love.

              
                Is desire truly the powerful enemy of the soul?   (see Bhagavad Gita) "Arjuna, kill desire, the powerful
enemy of the soul."

         A few  thoughts on:

  THE WHIP   AND THE   CROSS 


                          Enjoy.

ROOM TEMPATURE FUEL CELL EXISTS

          I CAME across an interesting site this morning
called the "Carbon Capture Report". It's expertly run
and I recommend checking it out. 
       A company my family invested in 35 years ago
developed the Keefer Fuel Cell, invented by the son
of the Keefer family. The cell was able to take
energy from the effluent of a town and light
the town electrically with that energy.
  ENERGY CANNOT BE CREATED OR DESTROYED
 
         THIS IS THE MAXIM THAT APPLIES.

         They had a small car driving around with a big lit
light bulb on its roof. Some of the PHDs at University of Toronto swore that the process couldn't work - but there it was working!
       It was difficult to deny the efficacy of the process
then. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the U.S. Navy uses the process to illuminate deep sea buoys.       

THERE'S A CRAZY MAN UPSTAIRS WITH SOMETHING IN HIS HAND

                     There's a man sitting on a chair
in the middle of an empty room.                   


               

                     He's hearing  various voices, and talking
    to some of them.   characters he's drawn up - but very real to him...personalities he does not
wish to lose... that arise out of and return to
some plenum void of the unconscious. In his
head he's got  all the characters you might need
for a Shakespearean drama
              Characters all based on real people,
some of them are still alive; many of them are dead. Some of them have died quite recently.
Also, there are echoes he has hears of voices in
the night... some of them coming from
across the sea.
           What's worse is... the people downstairs,
the very real people are plotting to have him arrested....And he can hear their thoughts
                   The wife in particular is getting
annoyed that Charlie is constantly crushing his
medications... and snorting them... and of course
Charlie begins to get paranoid.
                  He endures waves of paranoid
fantasies, especially when he
is high from inhaling too many medicines.
 When he is high he has preternatural
hearing --- he can hear for miles, with a clarity
he can't explain...it is almost supernatural
what he can hear. 
         And he's hearing too much of the moralistic, complaining wife, droning on about calling the police. 

Charlie:  (growls in his throat)          "Or maybe   she's calling a priest," he thinks, " An S&M hooker priest with high heels and stockings... Yes,
have her read the sexual last rites to me while
 berating my name...Staring down at me
with that great ass!"
        (Charlie loves his landlady's ass)


She:  He's cutting up drugs up,
         there. That's all he's done for days

Husband: It's not  illegal. It's not cocaine... it's just 
         anti-depressants and other substances. He snorts them. 'Just to curb the hunger inside.'
That's what he said when I asked what
the fuck was he pounding and scraping at...

Husband shouts: We hear it real clear thru the    floor!

She's shouting up at the ceiling:  "We hear you 
          when you masturbate, too!
Can't you take it easy with the grunts and pounding, and that slapping sound? 
 It's like somebody kicking a heavy bag...
What the hell is that?"

Husband: It sounds like he's whipping
               himself!

Wife: Let's call the cops.. He's making
        horrible noises! What is he puking
up... a lung?




Husband: No! No cops around here!  Last 
                time you called the cops on a
tenant, they almost took me away!

She grabs for the phone... 

WHACK!

Wife/she: OOWEEEEEEEEEEEE!

He: You can take a punch better than that! *

She: (crying, fondling a knife in her left hand,
        the hand Shaky, the husband, can't see).

He:  "He pays his rent real regular and we need it."

She: That crazy place  up the hill pays his rent.

He: Naw, he pays it. He don't want nothin more
      to do with the crazy house. By the way,
      They don't call them crazy houses anymore.
       They call them asylums...It's more polite.
           
  Brenda: swirls the olive in her drink, Says:
            "It'll always be the nuthouse to me."
            (pause...swirls the olive, one stockinged
             leg crossed over the other, high heel shoe
             slowly nodding in the air)
            
 She:          "I don't care what they call it.
If you start hearing voices, you should be
locked up.   These psychos can turn on you
at any time..Soon as they're off their
medication, their dicks work again!
That fucker upstairs, he's hearing voices all
the time!

Husband (Shaky): He's hearing your voice!
                            You can bet on that!

She: He looks at me, stares right at my crotch
        and he sniffs the air.HE SNIFFS THE AIR
        LIKE SOME KIND OF ANIMAL!And he
stares at my ass...with those red eyes of his.
Like some beast in the forest at night!

 Cassie, the wife,she continues: "Yeah, they get off their medication, then their dicks work again.
Then all they want to do is RAPE WHITE WOMEN!

He: I get it!  I understand!

She: You should see the way he looks at me! And I  can tell he's got something in his hand!





 
                            2


He: Hell, I look at you that way,too!
        You cut me off that pussy of yours 
for a month, I'm  running around with a tent pole
looking to fuck somethin'... anything warm.

She: Hey! Is that all you think I am
       a warm pussy and a gorgeous ass?

He:  slaps her ass, says: "I love that big ass
of yours. Right now,,, let me tongue your
ass hole.. Then call me a pig, tell me how
I'm weak, indecisive & obedient... and what a pig
I am. And how I have a small cock!

She: Honey, your cock is huge that's why
       I'm with you. It's sure not your personality.
       Ha! Ha!

He: Tell me it's small! Go ahead, insult me!

 She:  "You're a moron. You've got the job
            of a moron! And the salary to match!"

He:  Not like that! You know what I mean!
        (He's jacking off)

 She: "You're a premature ejaculator

He:    That's it!  (he pants)  What else?

She:   You've been soft 90% of the time all
this year..!

He... yeah, that's good! (beating off) Keep going!

She: And when you're not soft, your cock
        is too small to bother with...

He:    YES!                          


She: I feel that beast upstairs staring
        at me... I get all tingly between
         my knees...

He:  Yah?

 She: I want him to beat me the way
         he beats his meat. I want him
to beat my ass with a stick! Then
I want him to fuck me...

He:   (panting)

She: I want him to fuck me 'til I scream!

He:   (gasping. His hand is a blur it's
          moving so fast)
          
She: I can tell by his eyes that's he's
        got a big dick...And he knows how
to use it, too. He'd have no trouble
getting it in me. All the way in me. Deep!

He: (...  ...)

She: He might be crazy,
but some crazy people have huge cocks!
I just bet he's one of them... I want him
to fuck me with his huge cock!

He: (breathing hard) Don't stop!

She: Those rare times when you get hard...

He:  yah.................?

She: You last about a minute...

He:   "urf!"   (he's masturbating wildly... making
          high-pitched hooting sounds .... as if he's
           being goosed repeatedly)

She:  "What kind of a man are you? You crawl
          across the bed towards me....

He:    (panting)

She:   You try to mount me.... but you're too 
          pathetic to achieve penetration.... you
           know what happens...

He:   (He knows what happens, all right. It's
         beginning to happen now.... his dick is
         twitching, throbbing up and down... the
         eye of his considerable schlong winks
          at her, before).... just before...
          his member which he's pulling at with
          both hands... begins to spurt in all
          directions, especially hers...

She:   You came on my stockings! Just now!
          Once again!.. you didn't make it
           did you?

He:      Noooooo!

She:   You didn't achieve penetration!
           You're pathetic! You came on my leg!

She:     You know what you have to do now,
            don't you...

He:        Yes. ma'am, I sure do.

              He crawls over between her legs,
pushes his nose up between the lips of her
labia.
              He knows all right. Yes, he does.
He sure does. He slips his tongue deep
inside her and allows it to happen.
               ...The gasping... The quivering... 




                                 (C)2014 Walker Ballantine

WATCHING THE STUMP WHERE THE RABBIT WAS

PHRASES USED IN SPIRITUAL QUESTS AND MYSTICAL PRACTICES
___________________________________________________________

"watching the stump where the rabbit was"
                         =  MISSING THE POINT, FOCUSING ON  THE WRONG  THING
ENTIRELY

CATCHING A CATFISH WITH A GOURD
                                             = ATTEMPTING WITH RIGID INTELLECTUAL
THINKING TO REALIZE A FLUID REALITY (comes from a Zen drawing)

just a finger pointing at the moon, not the
moon itself =   phrase describing the nature of verbal
teachings

 it is a foolish dog that barks at a
flying bird (Bob Marley song)

a rose by any other name would smell as sweet
(self explanatory, Shakespeare)

before Abraham was, I am
(man sees time; God sees the timeless)  

 
the eye through which you see God
is the same eye through which
God sees you
(Christian mystic, Meister Eckhart)

I am the living and fiery essence that
glows in the beauty of the fields
(Hildengard of Bingen)  

all is flux - you can't step in the same
river twice
(Heraclitus)

I am he who is from the Same
(Christ)

forever changing, eternally the same
(Walker Ballantine)    

each day the bucket goes through the well,
one day the bottom will drop out (Marley song)  

 "Nonsense is nonsense, but the study
of nonsense, that's serious business!"
(a banner that should be draped around university buildings
  according to Father David Belyea)


ten years hard at work in the trees,
now sitting by the edge of the forest laughing,
laughing a new laugh  
(zen  poem)