Well before dawn’s first gloaming I awoke, sprawled with head and shoulders propped against the back seat of a little old hatchback, torso and legs stretched out in the gap between the scissored front seats.

I could hardly breathe, gasping for breath, a landed fish on a beach of dreams, stranded amid bucket seat flotsam and road trip jetsam, twisted inside a scrum of blankets deflecting the cold night air that poured down through the open windows. The atmosphere seemed thin, devoid of oxygen, and not enough of it was making it past my windpipe.

Such things are scarcely surprising to an invalid. Sometimes, when the rainy season has filled my rainforest home with off-the-chart humidity that induces phosphorescent fungi to sprout abundantly and the air is translucent with rare, unclassified moulds, breathing can become a conscious effort. But this was something else, like the full-blown asthma attacks I’d often seen in others but never experienced personally; like breathing underwater through a narrowing straw. And I was far, far from the rainforest.

A hideously noxious odour assailed my flaring nostrils and a cogent thought emerged from the fading dreamscape of bravely desperate tenement dwellers on the edge of a tumbledown town in far-off Argentina;

Someone vomited in the car?

As my eyes opened on nothing but darkness, astral images of steep narrow laneways and cobbled together hovels drifted behind a tenuous membrane of forgetfulness. The smell was so strong, so bad and intrusive it distracted me from my perilous breathing.

Who could have vomited in the car?

While I heaved air into my chest with tremendous effort, waking mind circled, expanding in ripples that brought some kind of local reality into clearer focus. The most likely source of this olfactory malaise seemed to be the young son of my co-conspirator Alius. The boy is bright and wonderfully engaged with the world, along for this ride through dry western country halfway to the fabled Never Never – but the eight year old certainly wasn’t in the vehicle. He was happily ensconced in a caravan with his father a hundred paces away. And still I couldn’t breathe!

Maybe, if I could get away from whatever was making this terrible smell, breath would come more easily. I popped the rear door and leaned into the darkness, but the flatulent, crapulent odour pursued me so I swung my legs into the back and onto bare dusty ground, pulled up my jeans and gasped for air.

When my body stepped away from the vehicle I felt dry dust well up between my toes and recalled that the car was parked in a huge steel shed with an open side. No wonder it was so dark! Yet the toxic, vomitous, bilious smell was everywhere. It came from all around me, denying all breath. I stepped out of the shed but the night was still black as the proverbial cat in a coal mine and breath came no easier. The moon had set and a sheet of clouds concealed the stars, a mist that descended to the flat dry ground. And then I realised – the smell was coming from the mist. With the mist.

It was a smell that belonged deep in the earth, far from the lungs of human beings or any surface dweller on this good green planet. The terrible smell and the lack of air were harbingers of the disaster unfolding all around us in the darkness.

Now I recognised that odour. I’d smelled it before, in disused basements, antiquated fireplaces and school excursions to steel mills and ports as a child. It was the same smell that pervaded the ruined old gasworks we’d climbed through ripped fencing to play in as children, so long ago on the northerly shore of Sydney Harbour. It was the smell of fossilised death.

This was the stink of coal – or more precisely, a coal mine. Coal dust was pouring down from the sky with the morning dew, seeping into and condensing onto anything and everything, including my struggling lungs. Yet the mine was miles away!

Now that I knew what the formaldehyde stink was, I felt far more calm. There was nowhere to go to escape it, no easy way to flee. It was thoroughly pervasive. I sat on the dirt in the starless void, ignored the smell and practiced breathing, a primordial lungfish bent on survival in a hostile new world – opening my airways with full, deep breaths drawn all the way from the base of my belly, expanding my diaphragm and chest ’til my sternum popped. I practiced life-saving yoga and awaited the coming dawn.

By the time the Sun pinked the eastern sky with a pale pastel palette I could breathe quite easily; almost normally. The smell had faded into the world, my skin, my blood and tissues until I could hardly smell it at all. In a few days I wouldn’t even notice it, consciously – just like the locals who live with it every day for miles and miles all around, on every side of the forest that has become a deep, dark pit in the once fertile land.

An entire, ancient, irreplaceable living forest has been clear-felled – now, in this enlightened New Millennium -bulldozed and burnt and dug up and destroyed, root and branch, erasure way and beyond scorched earth and salted soil, all gone, for a transient coal mine on what remains of Australian soil. The critically endangered White box eucalypt habitat that once existed here is endangered no more. It’s gone. The state government declared it ‘unendangered’ before bulldozing it. The koala colony that had somehow survived in this island of forest surrounded by sunblasted scrub and dry scorched plains was also bulldozed into the ground. Now there will probably be no koalas left in the entire region.

That’s progress, as many who profit from this ecocide still claim in the distant warrens of toxic cities. ‘Coal is good for the planet’, our now disgraced former Prime Monster assures us.

And in defence of this obscenity our cherished freedoms have been erased overnight. Anyone who seriously objects to their crimes is now officially an ecoterrorist. Protest is illegal. Now we can be jailed for years for trying to prevent this destruction. Suddenly, the police have the ability to prevent anyone they deem unfit to avoid public places and property. They can conduct warrantless searches and seizures of anything that may conceivably be used in a protest. We now inhabit a full-blown Police State. In this State, here, now, these laws have been passed specifically to forestall successful protests by Lock The Gate farmers and green environmentalists against coal seam gas drilling – and coal mining – here in the distant Pilliga.

We should have known what was to come when the newly elected government abolished its Environment and Water Resource departments on gaining office. The intrusion of well bribed plutocrats has rendered the entirety of New South Wales a police state, and all of the filthy coal is going to the biggest police state of all – China.

Once upon a time democratic nations refused to trade with undemocratic totalitarian regimes. Our grandparents knew better than to enrich and encourage bastards whose human rights records are among the worst on the planet. Now we welcome their cash with open wallets and become just like them in a rush to the trough and a race to the bottom; the real meaning and result of ‘globalisation’.

Coal is one of the main pollutants of land and sea. Burnt coal is the reason the fish in our oceans are so full of mercury they’re unsafe to eat. It’s one of the main causes for the incredible heat waves and climate instability that’s slowly rendering our lives unliveable. It’s death incarnate, fossilised forests dug up for outmoded, smelly, poisonous fuel by heartless, brainless fossil fools.

And the treadmill-bound urban Munchkins of Oz stay glued to screens in their toxic bunker boxes, mantled in govcorp-bullshitted ignorance, uncaring as long as the circus rolls on and the poisoned loaves and fishes don’t kill them outright. Worked to exhaustion, indebted to the eyeballs, strung out on crippling mortgages, shrinking superannuation and ruinous rents, what chance have they to think, much less protest?

But I am free and footloose and fully informed, and my wife is away on the other side of the globe. What excuses have I not to act, to object, to protest? (A bevy of incurable conditions that render me weak, feverish and barely functional, an invalid pensioner, an ossified sack of skin and bones? Bah!) Onward! 

We drove up from the Pacific coast, the better part of a thousand clicks by roundabout roads to the Pilliga Scrub in the dry northwest of the state. When we realised that this was the unlikely epicentre of the political earthquake that had just demolished our freedoms it seemed the obvious thing to do.

We wove a path up the Great Divide, the ancient worn mountain range that fringes the entire east coast of the continent. Half the nation’s population inhabits that green fertile eastern fringe, and most of the rest live in large cities and towns strung out at great distances around the circumference of the continent. Only a hardy relative few inhabit the inland beyond the Divide.

Coming down the western side of the mountains is a much shorter drive than the route winding up the tree-covered eastern ridges. Unlikely as it may seem, Australia is, on average, the highest continent on Earth. High and dry. The Western Plains roll off into the distance. Much of this unprepossessing pasture and cropland was once well forested and inhabited by indigenous tribes, but the forests and people were slaughtered to make way for cattle and sheep by brutish British colonists over the last two centuries. Nowadays many inland graziers deny the forests ever existed here, and they’ve ensured little evidence remains to dispute the fallacious claim. But all around the wide flat pastoral acreages their ancestors stole, remnants of forests still cover the hills they deign too hard to clear, giving lie to their specious denials.

But there’s no point blaming the pioneers of the past – not when 3.2 MILLION HECTARES of tree cover has been ‘lost’ on the Australian continent in the last fifteen years alone. Not when one of the world’s richest, best edumacated nations can’t seem to survive without practicing even worse slash and burn aggrocultural techniques than those we ridicule the poor of the ‘Third World’ for enacting. Not when one state alone – Queensland – has felled and trashed so many trees in one year alone that all the nation’s carbon abatement strategies have come to naught.

Not when we’re a nation of drunken jugheads ruled by a coterie of expensively tailored boofheads. Not when it’s done on our purblind watch.

We watched for roadkill all the way, but it wasn’t until we arrived in the Pilliga that we saw our first dead roo by the side of the track. Twenty years ago we’d have passed dozens, scores, even hundreds of carcasses of kangaroos, possums, lizards, birds, wombats and wallabies, cats, dogs, foxes and rabbits, but not anymore. These days there are hardly any dead animals on or beside the road, and that isn’t because they’ve learned to look before leaping. It isn’t because the roads are swept and verges cleared more diligently. It’s because there’s hardly any wildlife left. That simple. We’ve destroyed and poisoned so much habitat there are hardly any canaries left in the global deforested coal mine.

There are hardly even any insects smashing their lives out on the windscreen. But of course, hardly anyone notices anything by its absence, and most people notice nothing at all of substance. Their hearts and minds, ears and eyes are thoroughly screened. We drove half the day and most of the night until we arrived on the leading edge of the Ends of the Earth – drying scrub, dustbowl farms, desiccated plains leading on and on to the full-blown deserts of central Australia.

This is the Liverpool Plains, a major food bowl for the entire nation and the world beyond. Crops line up in monocultural plenty, stretching across laser-flat fields to the distant scrub covered hills, drenched in biocides and nightly baths of coal dust. Only precarious underground aquifers make farming a realistic proposition out here. Only the subterranean bounty of the Great Artesian Basin makes any agriculture or any sustainable ‘modern’ life possible at all further west.

Now avarice and thoughtless greed have slunk back into Gomerai country (home to indigenous clans that somehow survived the onslaught of guns, money and desolation) from far off lands to threaten it all, and we follow in its grimy tracks, prisoners of our consciences.

Alius has called ahead, to warn Cliff of our late arrival. Cliff Wallace doesn’t usually encourage people to turn up on his place after ten at night, and we’re arriving after three in the morning. But Alius is well acquainted with the tall rugged farmer, who’s ready for us when our tiny urban commuter finally trundles down the rough gravelled road that runs past his gate. We turn into the rustic yard beside his classic wooden farmhouse. Man-high spiralling rolls of dry cut grass stand sentinel alongside the dusty road.

In ridgy-didge Aussie style everyone seems to refer to him as ‘Cliffie’, but that affectionate diminutive can’t detract from the fact that this robust yet elderly gent is indeed a towering cliff of a man. He greets us with a scarf wrapped round his neck against the early morning chill, suspiciously eyes another couple of passing vehicles on the remote stretch of road and invites us into his kitchen, where an antique woodburner stove emits congenial warmth and heats water for tea beneath a high tongue-in-groove wooden ceiling.

Cliff has endured years of struggle to save his land from impending destruction. The Leard Forest coal pit is only a few kilometres from his door and is slated to expand all the way into the aquifer he uses to water his crops and stock in the unforgiving terrain. He regales us with updates and anecdotes from the front line of global destruction. He sadly shakes his head at the prospect of the fine young people who’ve travelled so far to help being faced with lengthy jail terms for their troubles – along with himself and his farming neighbours.

The entire eastern half of Australia is now a fully functional police state. All the eastern states have enacted anti-protest laws which are unacceptable in any democracy. By definition, fascism is government by corporations, thinly veiled or otherwise, and that is what’s happened to this country over the past few months and years. Democracy is gasping for breath like a canary in a Chinese coal mine, along with freedoms of speech, assembly, protest, personal privacy, sovereignty and, well, me.

The oldest and most populous state, New South Wales, is run by a COALition of two parties. Put simply, the ‘Liberal’ Party is a party that serves the interests of bosses large and small and the well-to-do, and its lesser partner the ‘National’ Party (previously the Country Party of the nation’s vanishing smallhold farmers) effectively works solely for Big Aggroculture and huge transnational resource extractors and ‘developers’ – loggers, oil giants, chemical corpses and miners who dig up resources and ship them off on a gargantuan scale.

The Opposition Labor Party has been up against these two affiliated right wing parties for most of its existence and yet somehow still manages to occasionally take the reins for a while when the COALition becomes too egregious even for the tastes of its rusted-on supporters. Yet the once mighty party of the workers has almost as little time for environmental causes as the other two miscreant parties that have ganged up on it so successfully for so long.

Both sides scream ‘JOBS!’ as though work absolves all sins, as though temporary throwaway jobs can be balanced against the destruction of irreplaceable natural wonders and national resources. Both cite ‘the economy’ as the ultimate arbiter of truth, but neither can tell you how to follow this fictive entity’s apparent dictates without trashing everything that makes life worthwhile. They all think they live on a throwaway planet.

And for decades now the biggest corporations have effectively paid NO tax. Every few years someone trots out the stats, but no-one does anything and they’re soon forgotten. The truth is that ludicrously corpulent corporations steal everything they can get away with, leaving the rest of us to pay for and pick up after them – and they can get away with anything and everything they like, because they own our ‘governments’ and everyone in them, lock stock and barrel, offering our elected ‘representatives’ the choice of taking the money or getting the gun; being bribed or having their sins exposed.

Almost every man Jack and woman Jill of our representatives in government are bribed, blackmailed or otherwise coerced by big corporations, and/or so thoroughly corrupted by power they can’t remember what they’re actually supposed to do or be any more. They bury whatever vestiges of conscience remain, forget representing the people who voted for them and follow the party line to hell if necessary.

Hardly any of them could come up with a real solution to save their lives – or yours. They allow the population to be drenched with poisons and scammed by mobsters in clubs and casinos. They jail half the indigenous men in the country and keep stealing what remains of their land, laughing all the way to the bank with lifetime pensions and golden handshakes paid for by witless taxpayers. They allow property developers to get away with murder as they sell out the nation. And they take bribe after bribe from corporations huge and small without ever being caught or brought to book by a hopeless, corrupt judiciary.

Politicians are almost all zombies, half-dead lawyer people with little actual life experience stumbling through a sleepwalking daze and sleepless nights, and the few that are still alive and vital won’t last long amidst their ranks. Those who join to change the system are invariable changed or destroyed by it.

To quote our sometimes friend the great Benny Zable, famed for wearing his slogans on a black death grim reaper costume from Times Square to the Pilliga, silently peering through full-face gas mask on podiums around the world – a living Masque of the Red Death before the banquet tables of the elite – “There are no jobs on a dead planet”.

Out here, out of sight, this mine is even allowed to leave the gaping pit where the Leard Forest once stood wide open – a blot and scar on the landscape forever after. The government doesn’t even bother to lie about ‘mine remediation’ here. All the vast expansive expensive mess will be left for taxpayers to clean up – or more likely not.

Farmers like Cliff now have nowhere to turn politically, except to the Greens of all people (ironically, the erstwhile nemesis of the nation’s farmers has become their only ally). He fills us in on latest developments before we all grab some shut-eye – and a lungful of coal dust.

So here we are, at the ends of the Earth, trying to turn back the tide with brave thoughts, words and deeds as the bedrock of our freedoms crumbles beneath our feet. 

The main protest camp for defenders of Leard Forest is a few kilometres down the road from Cliff’s place, but all the activists are away at the coal mine today. We’re slated to rendezvous with others at another critical location a hundred miles away – the main camp of the Lock The Gate movement in the Pilliga, where another resource giant intends to pump gigalitres of water out of the Great Artesian Basin and frack the fragile region for coal seam gas.

Lock The Gate has had huge success further east in the state, where a giant gas corporation foolishly attempted to frack prime agricultural land in the hippie heartland of the lush Northern Rivers. The Bentley blockade of farmers and greens stopped them in their tracks, but this great win for sanity and the environment put the wind up the desperate dim-witted state government. Now another foolish giant has the unquestioning backing of the state’s premier buffoon and all his gormless ministers.

The drive to the main Pilliga camp passes through amazingly flat sun-blasted country that may seem dubiously marginal to untrained eyes, but underground water supplies make it extraordinarily rich in crops and livestock. A few weeks back a savage bushfire caused the evacuation of the protest camp, and as we approach we pass through completely black trees, scrub and shrubs. Green shoots of rebirth cover almost all the vegetation, creating a livid contrast to the blackened wood and deep red soil. The bush out here is extraordinarily resilient.

The fire stopped only a few hundred metres from the campsite. It’s an extraordinarily well-run operation, redolent of a thoroughly organised army bivouac. The site is hosted by concerned local landholders, replete with a huge camp kitchen, stage, media hut, meeting area and sundry other spaces, public and private, all covered with expansive tarpaulins, powered by solar panels and surrounded by a small tent city that stretches out beneath scrubby trees. A staunch core of seasoned protesters and Lock The Gaters keeps everything together for the larger groups of supporters and protesters that sporadically arrive for specific protests at the nearby site of corporate destruction.

Sanitation is carefully observed by everyone – even the independent ‘pirate camp’ of ferals a short distance upslope. Toddlers play in the shade of the trees, enjoying the bush, swinging rope, sandpit and other amenities. A true child of protesters, Alius’ patient, longhaired young son is in his element, right at home.

The camp can easily accommodate hundreds, but only a score or so are here when we arrive. They await reinforcements who’ll arrive the next day for a dawn action at nearby toxic water holding ponds, where an illegal processing facility is about to be constructed without as much as an environmental impact statement by the truculent gas corporation. Acutely aware of the incoming laws, the protesters are nonetheless ready to be arrested – just like the brave souls who climb atop a coal train at Leard Forest today, holding up the extraction process even as we arrive at the Pilliga camp a few horizons distant. (I decide not to shoot the arrests with my little HD camera; under the current circumstances there’s no point supplying ammunition that may be used against the defenders of Gaia in court.)

The staunch core is always in danger of burning out – not merely being burnt out by suspicious bushfires, but the even more common burnout factor which applies to pretty much everyone who has tried to maintain the rage against the machine for any extended length of time. All remote protest camps are always in dire need of reinforcements. Your planet needs YOU! If you’re genuinely unable to make it to a place where activists are putting their lives and freedom on the line for everyone else, you can always take advantage of crowd funding opportunities – but make sure the funding goes directly to the camps on the ground and beneath the canopies, not to distant ‘environmental organisations’ who already have enough money to pay their CEOs six figure sums.

We returned to Leard the next day, to witness the (hopefully temporary) closing of the protest camp there. Unlike the expansive Lock The Gate protest site, the hardy few camped near Leard have virtually no support at all after Greenpeace pulled out and declared the action to save the forest ‘over’. Cliff and the handful of other locals become even more isolated in their endeavours, even as the film ‘Black Hole’ – which tells their story – does the rounds of cinemas and meeting halls to inform farflung handfuls of interested Australians. Maybe you’ll get to see it on Youtube soon, before the forest is utterly annihilated instead of merely totally decimated (in the modern sense).

Another thousand kilometre trek home to the eastern foothills– taking a different scenic route to give a lift to Aquitaine, one of the dreadlocked feral protesters. We wind down the eastern face of the Great Divide, much of it along slow, twisting forest roads through monoculture tree plantations that have replaced the real native forest with elegant but now commercially useless Flooded gums – another legacy of past govern-mental stupidity. The truckie in front of us throws piles of litter and garbage from the driver’s window. It bounces straight into the forest and ‘disappears’.

And yet, as we pass through a stretch of wide, tall trees in a nature reserve ringed by plantation Flooded gums, a strange creature scuttles across the road directly in front of us. Aquitaine and I have both done quite a bit of fauna survey work in remote forests, but neither of us recognises the strange marsupial that prances through our headlights. It looks very like a Brush-tailed possum, or its recently classified Northern Short-eared cousin, except for the fact it’s completely black and seemingly a little more robust; a black, nocturnal marsupial that’s probably never been officially classified in these rich unique forests that are felled, destroyed and replaced without so much as a fauna or flora survey beforehand…

I’ve been doing this for a long time now. You can blame my family. My father – who was handed a life sentence in Siberia by Stalin’s goons when he was fifteen years old (because his father had written articles critical of Tsar Nicholas a generation earlier) – - took me along to my first protest in the 1960s. It was an apartheid protest when the South African Springboks sports team toured the country. They were holed up in a motel at the top of our street in Bondi Junction.

My father took my brother and I to the protests against LBJ when that US president toured Sydney in 1968 amid full-blown riots against the Vietnam war. The local New South Wales state premiere had scowled at the crowds and told his driver to “run the bastards down”. Anarchists poured bags of marbles onto the street while police horses charged into the crowd. My father dragged his young sons into the nearest doorway to avoid the rioting. It was one of those long-gone ornate cinemas, a movie palace for the people near Sydney’s Town Hall, and as the staff locked the doors we entered to watch How To Steal A Million (starring Audrey Hepburn and Peter O’Toole)while the battle went on outside.

Perhaps little has changed after all.

My grandfather, who ultimately escaped two life sentences in Siberia to finally make it all the way to Australia with his wife (who’d been jailed in another concentration camp in30-below ice and snow) thanks to his hard working son, was very proud of his political activities.

How can I explain to my father – a man now in his nineties – that the totalitarian police state he managed to escape has finally pursued him here, to this once free country at the farthest ends of the Earth?

If only we had a Bill of Rights, many of these struggles would be over before they began. Australia is the only Western nation that hasn’t bothered to write one. While everyone here bleats about ‘constitutional reform’, rewritten preambles, republicanism and symbolic heads of state, the most important element of a modern constitution is completely missing in action, its absence almost thoroughly unremarked. What a bunch of gormless dorks we are!

None of our rights or freedoms have ever been given willingly by our self-styled, self-important political or economic ‘masters’. Today’s ‘rights’ enjoyed by Western women, workers, the poor, indigenous people and segments of the natural world have been dearly bought with the sacrifices of undistinguished and largely unremembered individuals. Our ancestors fought tooth and nail for every tiny advance, every little step towards a fair and just society. It’s never been easy, and it’s almost always depended on a few brave, foolish prisoners of conscience who eternally fight to keep the bastards honest – or at least accountable.

Be one of us. Please.

Now I sit here in my little handmade hardwood cabin, typing on my laptop, carefully husbanding my limited solar power supply to keep writing this little screed. I eat feijoas – pineapple guavas – and cherry guavas straight off the trees I planted years ago, just outside the door. Soon I’ll jump in the river filled with fish and turtles that still flows through this land – because twenty years ago dozens of strangers came to this remote forest to help me save the creek’s headwaters from logging destruction.

“What did you do in the war against our planet, daddy and mummy?” Little wonder there are so few remnants of Paradise on Earth remaining – but a few survive amidst the desolation wrought by mining, logging and ranching, tucked out of sight of human ‘progress’. We’ve saved a few – for now. We’ve saved a lot for our children to save, when their time comes to stand against the machine.

If we stand up for Mother Nature we have a chance. If we don’t, no-one does. Please go out and see the world while it’s still there. It’s really a very beautiful place, far more lovely than anything indoors or in cities. You may even decide to save some of it for later.

Just leave all the crap behind. It’s worth it.

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Travelling Trees and

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Songs from the Wooden Pentagon

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[[Show as slideshow]]

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Styx Not Sticks! Feral Ewoks Saving the Styx Forest

(10:00)

Green defenders mass to stop the logging of some of the last Old Growth forest in eastern Australia – part of the Forest Wars series by R. Ayana @ https://youtu.be/MzT7eorvqV8

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Travelling Trees

(9:54)

Trees travel Australia’s highways, towns and cities to spread the alarm about what’s happening to their forest homes, hidden from sight of the population.

- Part of the Forest Wars series by R. Ayana @ https://youtu.be/-LzV5qfSi8I

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Pirates

(3:37)

Song created and performed by Alius and Schmarah Lavafalls in a wooden pentagon in a remote forest @ https://youtu.be/d8pWEjixyQk

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Goddess HermAphrodite

(6:57) @ https://youtu.be/BFaSGCXZUkA

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Occupy the Forests! See the true story of indigenous Australians reclaiming their stolen lives and lands with help from dreadlocked ferals, hippy activists and local farmers and residents. As loggers approach irreplaceable forest and pristine water they do all they can to save the forest of Little Wonder…

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See Feral Tribes – Saving Little Wonder Part 1 ~

Occupy the Forests! @ http://youtu.be/vmjDklXj6qE

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See Water and Fire – Saving Little Wonder Part 2 @ https://youtu.be/gkaOuiwHTzc

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See Forest Action – Saving Little Wonder Part 3 @ https://youtu.be/zsRt7KrweHg

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Stolen Land, Stolen Lives: Gumbaynggirr Men Saving Their Forests @ https://youtu.be/A1iAUUEepA0

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Save Your World!

A document tree by R. Ayana

Images – Author

Please donate!

King of the World

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An Inbred Lunatic Who Fears All Others

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How could it come to this? What an extraordinary mess. A nation founded by refugees fleeing an extreme modern example of racial genocide becomes an egregious country led by intolerant bigots who enact policies driven by hatred, malice and racism.

 

This nation isn’t the USA, though that country would have fitted all these criteria a short time in the past. Many countries in much of today’s essentially feudal world could easily fit the bill, but Israel is a particularly puzzling and depressing case.

If you’re interested in how this mess(iah) really came to pass it’s necessary to accept that, as British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli once claimed, the world is run by very different people than those you might think – and they aren’t simply some relatively lone bunch of Zionist Jews, but powerbrokers whose apparent genealogies extend way into the mists of time, far beyond even those of the twelve tribes of Israel who fled Egypt amidst a largely forgotten global calamity.

Believe it or not, the real questions the hidden rulers had to consider in formulating their plan of global control and dominance have been followed to the letter of their lore. You’ll be surprisingly familiar with much of their beliefs, as they have been enshrined ad ingrained into many of the regional lies that serve as the world’s religions. If you’re interested in knowing the strange truths behind the distracting masks of reported events, try and put yourself in the position of those who dwell at the capstone of humanity’s city state pyramidal hive societies. The salient questions they’ve had to consider:

How can we rebuild the Temple of Solomon upon Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the site of the Dome of the Rock – one of the holiest sites of Islam – without precipitating events we cannot control?

And how can we rebuild the Temple of Solomon without first ensuring that the Jews of the world return to the Holy Land now known as Palestine, as they are the only people who can possibly rebuild the temple, with or without the missing Hiram – the Master who held the hidden keys necessary to complete the edifice, well known in Masonic doctrine and to all scholars of the Old Testament?

 

How can we resolve an apparently insoluble paradox? How can the Messiah (Redeemer) – the King of the World, who will appear at the end time of Armageddon, as we the masters of Earth avow – return to be crowned if God has banned the Jews from returning to the Holy Land until after the Redeemer has already returned, or from even speaking the Hebrew language outside their temples?

 

How can we engineer events to bring about what we require and expect, to fulfil that which has been prophesied? We have centuries in which to further our plans.

 

We shall arrange for the wandering exiled tribes of the Hebrews to be persecuted and decimated for many generations, and ultimately drive the survivors back to the Holy Land to recreate the nation of Israel against Jehovah’s ancient edict. The Jewe (JHVH) has long provided an excellent front man and scapegoat for us. We shall fund, create and nurture a group of racially motivated sociopathic genetic purists for the express purpose of thinning their ranks, rounding them up and instilling abject terror in the survivors. Marching under a crooked cross and following one of our own well-trained recruits, blunt-headed warriors will do the job for us, enacting a new reiteration of the Jews’ past tortures under the hobnailed heels of Babylon and Rome.

 

Many survivors will scurry for their ancestral lands at last, and rise up on their hind legs to defend themselves against all comers.

 

We shall then have to subdue and defang the nations of Islam, that the Moslems will not be a threat to our Divine Plan when we threaten the Dome of the Rock that they have erected upon the Temple’s tear-drenched foundation stones. The terrorised Jewe will create a beachhead from which we shall take charge of the strategically vital lucrative treasure stored in the sands of the once Fertile Crescent. This hoard of laid-down wealth will ensure our global control and ultimate victory, and when it has fulfilled its purpose and been expended so will be the troublesome Jewe.

 

The beginnings of an apparently endless war for peace will serve to distract the people of Earth from the radical changes wrought on the biosphere by events we have long known will come to pass and have long prepared for, storing away more than enough wealth against the day when we and our chosen serfs will retreat into inviolable safe havens. Our filthy dark mills will spew forth industrious toxic wastes that will help to precipitate foreseen events and ensure the certainty of a climatic calamity according to our preferred timetable.

 

True freedom is free for the taking, but the price of terror is eternal vigilance. Fear is the mind killer that will trick whole populations into obedient compliance. Fear stops knowledge and freedom stone cold in their tracks. We shall ensure we hold the world by the scruff of the neck and shake it until it writhes in terror and our plans will continue amidst the babbling confusion, so that we can finally create an empire of such changeless stability and ultimate control as the world has never known.

 

Capital may then be kaput, yet we shall remain the heads of the families and control the new Capitol. One of our several heads will wear the crown. If, like the last European Kings of Jerusalem in the past Millennial Crusade, I am a potentate who claims direct lineage from the Sangreal, the holy blood of Joshua the Nazorite and his Bride Miriam Magdalene (though my line has been carefully falsified and is truly very different, descending from other realms entirely), I can proclaim I possess the age-old and carefully instilled Divine Right of Kings to rule over all comers. If I want to be crowned King of the World – Rex Mundi – then, by all the tenets in which I (and my brethren) have invested our trust through the aeon, the only place fit for my coronation is the rebuilt Temple on the Mount.

 

Mistaken for the Prince of Peace by everyone who simply wishes to be left to enjoy their lives or lies in peace, I shall become the triumphant sovereign lord of all my far-flung relatives who hold power at the summit of their regional principalities. I shall not arrive bearing the crook and flail of a shepherding pharaoh who breeds fat dumb sheep, but a blood drenched sword and radioactive munitions to forever poison the lands and offspring of any goats who dare to rise up or rebel. I shall ensure that all is rendered unto Caesar.

 

And all the while I shall be looking over my shoulder after my cousins, lest they find me in the Forum during the Ides of March. I intend to take all of them with me – and you, too, my cousin.

 

- Rex

 

 

Oh yes, friends, this ‘divine plan’ has been progressing for a very long time, and some think it’s about to reach final fruition. If you find all this ridiculously hard to believe (as will any truly rational and sceptical person) examine the fables that have been used to control and indoctrinate much of purblind humankind for millennia more closely, and ask yourself, ‘why’?  Examine the bedamned so-called Protocols of the Elders with an eye to seeing who really wrote them.

 

But as angels most commonly advise, ‘fear not’ – because fear is what Rex always feeds on. All truth can be found within, and knowing your self is the way to enlightenment. This world is Paradise, and if we can only grow up fast enough, examine our real motives and needs and open our minds and hearts we can help the planet and ourselves blossom into something extraordinary – a fertile blue-green world filled with myriad creatures protected by a wiser Humanity.

 

We are all one great family and every one is everyone. We can still make this the best of all possible worlds and become our own Saviour Redeemers, each and all.

See you there.

 

- R.Ayana

Jews raise millions to be ready for coming of the Messiah

 

by JASON KOUTSOUKIS

Sydney Morning Herald Correspondent

Ready … Yehuda Glick, the director of the Temple Institute, holds a sacred vessel specially made for the Messiah’s coming. Photo: Gali Tibbon

 

JERUSALEM: Yehuda Glick is a 44-year-old American-born Jew who spends most of every day preparing for the arrival of the Messiah in Jerusalem. Since he became the executive director of the Temple Institute, Mr Glick’s main task has been to supervise the manufacture of the utensils the high priests will need when the day arrives. Crowns and other instruments made of solid gold fill glass cases in the Temple Institute museum in Jerusalem’s Old City. Other artefacts include an array of copper urns, trumpets made of silver and garments to be worn by the High Priest, woven from golden thread. Musical instruments, including hand-made harps and lyres, lie ready to be brought to life upon the Messiah’s appearance. So, when can we expect this momentous event? ”That is a very good question,” Mr Glick told the Herald. ”All that we know is that we are now living in the age of miracles and all of those miracles are predicted in the Book as happening on the eve of the end of days. It could well be tomorrow, but it might be another 100 years, or even 400 years.” We were in the Quarter Cafe in the Jewish sector of Jerusalem’s Old City, high on an embankment that overlooks the most contested religious site on Earth. Jews call it the Temple Mount, or Mount Moriah, and believe it to be the site of the Foundation Stone, the Holy of Holies from where God gathered the dust to create Adam. Muslims call it Haram al-Sharif, or the Noble Sanctuary, and believe it to be the third-holiest site in Islam, from where the prophet Muhammad ascended to heaven. To Jews the Temple Mount is also the site of the first temple built by King Solomon. After it was destroyed, a second temple was built about 500BC, and stood for 500 years before the Romans destroyed it. Their religion holds that a third temple will be built upon the arrival of the Messiah. ”That is why we have engaged two architects,” Mr Glick said. ”It will be a modern building, with car parks and elevators, but it will look very much like the Second Temple.” The Temple Institute museum contains a large-scale model of what the Third Temple will look like, with its main building set to reach a height of 60 metres. Today, the Temple Mount is dominated by the al-Aqsa Mosque and the gold-topped Dome of the Rock. ”Al-Aqsa can stay,” Mr Glick said, pointing to the mosque. ”It’s not even on the Temple Mount proper. But we intend to just build over the Dome of the Rock. We might be able to find a way to include it in the Third Temple.” Mr Glick envisages a house of prayer open to all believers in the monotheistic faiths, Christians, Muslims or Jews. The Temple Institute has become a fixture on American evangelical tours of Israel. Thanks largely to their donations, it has so far spent $US27 million ($29 million) on preparations. ”We started with $US100,” Mr Glick said. ”There are 70 million evangelical Christians around the world, and most of them have become Israel’s strongest supporters.” Ordinarily, Israel prevents Jews from visiting the Temple Mount. It so sensitive an area that when the then Israeli opposition leader Ariel Sharon visited, accompanied by hundreds of Israeli riot police, in 2000, it sparked a wave of violence that came to be known as the second intifada, or uprising. ”This ‘Temple Institute’ is a right-wing extremist movement interested in nothing more than provocation,” said Khatem Abdel Kaber, the Palestinian Authority minister in charge of Jerusalem affairs. ”We will vigorously defend our right to manage this site. No amount of insulting behaviour from these people will succeed in removing us.”

 

 

From http://www.smh.com.au/world/jews-raise-millions-to-be-ready-for-coming-of-the-messiah-20091113-ieqk.html

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Your Baby Needs You

by R. Ayana 

Biological Reality Trumps Egocentric Thinking

I’ve been unwilling to write about this for decades. The subject is too challenging for many, and others will be hurt by any discussion of it. But it’s high time to speak on behalf of generations yet unborn.

People have equal rights, and in many ways they have equal responsibilities, but they are not equal. Everyone is different. The sexes – all of them – are different from each other (Viva la difference), just as older people are different (but hopefully not indifferent) to younger people.

The postmodern world is a minefield of loaded decisions, an obstacle course of poorly delineated choices. People are expected to maintain themselves and their families amidst an ever shrinking pool of resources in an ever rising tide of competition. They’re told to study for years to increase their chances of gaining a foothold in an outdated, overworked workforce that is progressively – thankfully – being replaced by computers and robots.

And as everyone knows, the whole game is rigged. There’s only room for a very small number at the pinnacles of societies, and these positions are filled by blood-linked family members, not by timeserving, hard working, self-enslaved allegedly human mice raised on treadmills. The system is obviously unfair; a method of enforced inequality. There is no way to beat it through honest labour and toil.

Yet generations scrabble for purchase, knocking each other from the ‘ladder of success’ in pursuit of dreams that can never be fulfilled, sacrificing everything that’s truly important for a transient, illusory bunch of pottage.

In pursuit of money, power, kudos and careers many people have abandoned life itself. They’ve almost literally thrown out the baby with the bathwater.

We can do everything differently if we choose. We have the technology and ability, but do we have the will? If everyone keeps working to maintain these rotten systems designed by heartless industrialists and implemented by halfwit politicians and soulless bureaucrats, how can anything change?

Why not jump off the treadmill now? Right now? Take a real leap of faith and escape. Your timing has to be good. You need to land on your feet. and you may need to take some or all of your loved ones with you – or harder still, leave them on the rat wheel if they so choose. But you can do it!

Real change comes from changing your life.

The only way to really change anything is to change the way you live – and no man or woman is an island. When you change your beliefs and lifestyle, it can alter everything and everyone around you.

Now for the painful news; you are a primate with a limited lifespan and an even more limited period of fertility. Women are not the same as men. Longevity and regeneration research may change these facts in part or whole any time now, but at present we are still locked into the same certain biological realities and prerogatives as our ancestors.

Hard truths, Simple Choices

Women: The longer you put off having babies, the worse it will be for you and them. Your body (and mind) will be heavily stressed if you have a child too young – before your body is fully formed You and your child will be even more stressed and unfortunate if you have your first child too late.

Blame god or goddess if you’re so inclined, but the truth is that the best time to have your first child is between the ages of 18 and 25. The longer you wait the higher your chance of breast or reproductive cancers – partly due to the incessant tides of hormonal chemicals coursing through the bodies of those who are not perpetually pregnant (as nature and nurture have designed human women to be).

High infant mortality rates dogged human tribes and evolution until very recent times – less than a century in fact. The unfortunate truth is that women’s bodies have evolved to be pregnant for most of their adult lives. Potent and potentially damaging hormones circulate more thoroughly when women are not pregnant. These can and do damage the body’s tissues. While very few women want to be trapped in this position in the postmodern world, female reproductive systems have evolved in this milieu.

The younger a woman has her first child and begins breast feeding the better her chances of avoiding breast and uterine cancers. Look it up. Ask your docturd* if you must, but they’ll ‘inform’ you that these problems can be solved if you lower your hormone levels by taking synthetic hormones or other toxic drugs – if you really want to stay on their soulless treadmill.

Having babies while relatively young is healthy – having your first child when older is not. It’s also unfair on your children and grandchildren. Older mothers may well have more experience of living, but that doesn’t mean they have more to offer young lives, or more life or liveliness to offer; the opposite is true.

Don’t underestimate the changes a human body must go through during pregnancy. If you wait until after 25 to have your first child your body will have a much harder time of it. If you have your first child before this point your body will adapt to childbearing much more readily. You will be more flexible and remain more flexible for subsequent pregnancies.

Around one third of all pregnancies end in caesarean sections in the postmodern world. This is obscene and unsustainable; it will lead to less and less women being capable of childbirth if allowed to continue for more generations. Very few caesareans are medically necessary. The majority occur because docturd obstetricians don’t want to hang around for the many hours required in many natural childbirths, and caesareans make it possible to spit out patient after profitable patient far more rapidly (and, they’ll tell you, more safely).

Excessive caesareans also occur more frequently because ‘postmodern’ women are far less attuned to their bodies than hitherto, and have far less experience of childbirth among family and friends. They are understandable afraid of pain and suffering. And more caesareans and epidurals occur because traditional midwives – along with their hard won knowledge of pain amelioration – have been almost entirely replaced by moneygrubbing docturds and co-opted registered nurses. Women have far fewer experienced women that they can trust to turn to than at any time in human history.

And of course, the later you have your first child the less children you’ll probably have. Your chances of conceiving at all become much lower by your early thirties; by your forties they’ve almost disappeared altogether. And don’t imagine that advances in fertility research will help you – only a very small percentage of women who attempt to have children using those means ever actually bear a child, and the children they do bear are DAMAGED.

Eggs have a shelf life. You’re born with your full complement of them, and they are easily damaged. Although you bear enough to last for hundreds of thousands of years of monthly cycles, in practice they’re all done and dusted in a very few decades.

Child CARE?

Until women are free to choose how many (or in practice how few) children they will bear, societies are trapped in barbarism. Within a generation of women gaining freedom in work and reproductive choices, societies begin to become progressively more fair, advanced and sane.

But bureaucrats, empire builders and plutocrats inevitable try to take advantage of women’s freedoms and twist them to advantage themselves. They see an expanding workforce and expanding tax base where others imagine freedom. They convince women that becoming more isolated and looking after themselves to the exclusion of others is in their own interests. They tell women that nursing and nurturing are for suckers and that everyone is better off looking after themselves – alone. What a crock.

Until recently it was fairly easy for families in ‘developed’ countries to survive – even thrive – on a single income. Circumstances have been altered to ensure this doesn’t easily happen anymore, and somehow, even with rising living standards and ever increasing automation, everyone is expected to work more, not less – and at least two incomes are required to maintain a household!

What a scam, when by rights all of us should be experiencing far higher levels of freedom and far more leisure time – quality time to devote to our families and ourselves– than ever before!

You can blame the banksters or politicians for this wage slave mess, but the choice to play or not play their game is always yours and, despite what their minions tell you, there are always alternatives.

Carer Ring Not Careering

A career is what happens to a vehicle that’s out of control, tearing away downhill without steering or brakes. A career is an illusion. Children are real. Many people can’t tell the difference between illusion and reality. Can you?

Do you really think that the best you can come up with is to spend the best years of your life in boring concrete blockhouses ‘learning’ – to get a ‘job’ that may or may not be there when you’ve finally racked up enough student debt to enter the work farce? Is this really the behaviour of intelligent people? If you do, it may be better if you don’t breed, and leave the important job of creating and moulding the human race to those more suited to do it.

No doubt the ancestors who struggled for billions of years to put you where you are today will understand if you prefer to throw it all away in your single lifetime. Surely.

Haven’t you seen Idiocracy?

What will you do when you’re old? Do you want to be too old to play with your grandchildren – or even your children? Don’t imagine things get easier as you age. They don’t. If you have a child at fifty your child will probably be presented with the dilemma of taking care of you or their own offspring in another twenty years or so. It may well be that advances in regeneration and longevity techniques will render these arguments redundant, but for now they’re still the staple of human experience.

We humans exist in tribal groupings that thrive when adhering to an age-old pact; adults look after their children to the exclusion of much else for their first few years – and when they are old, the converse is true. Children look after their parents in their dotage. And all this is made much easier if you have an ‘extended family’ of uncles, aunts, cousins and grandparents to help share the load of young and old. Sane adults want to share time with their grandchildren, nephews and nieces. Many can even be trusted alone with them!

Sane children and adults can rarely result from the efforts of an isolated, stressed-out overworked couple – or a solo parent. Everyone needs help, and children profit from having a number of role models in their lives – having only two, or one, just isn’t enough for a healthy personality to develop and the totality of unsupported commitment drives many solo parenting couples insane!

How can you have an extended family if everyone has one child – or if they wait until their late thirties to have them? You can’t. It’s that simple. How can you thrive as a single parent?

The term ‘childcare’ is an obscenity, virtually an oxymoron in the postmodern world. Only those who don’t, can’t or won’t care for their children think they need ‘childcare’. Childcare centres are the modern version of nannies. The best that can be said for them is that they’re better than nothing, but they’re never an adequate substitute for real (biological or intentional) families loving and devoting time to and with her real actual baby. Those who tell you otherwise are liars and/or pinheads.

Living with good friends in a shared household can be the same as (or even better than) living with an extended family. If we want to live in the equivalent of an extended family all we need to learn and decide is how and what to share. What we really need to do is avoid overpopulation while maintaining the equivalent of extended families. We need to rebuild the retroactive nuclear family households into structures that can accommodate extended groups of likeminded family and friends. We need to redesign our dwellings and lifestyles. We need to become smarter and more compassionate in the ways we choose to live.

“There is no success without cooperation.”

- R. Doyle

And we need to do it, not just think about it. Now. This year – this season – not next decade.

Come the Day

One day – perhaps soon – longevity research may render all these arguments obsolete. Let’s hope that day comes soon, for all our sakes. But until then, let’s all help our sisters and brothers to cope with the world we’ve inherited – and build the best of all possible worlds for all our children!

Don’t choose to be a wage slave. Don’t get into debt to the banksters or you’ll have little choice but to be sucked into the game they’ve set up for you and set you up for.

What does freedom mean? Does it mean putting off freedom until some far-flung time in the future for the sake of mindless wage slavery to some fat gormless bankster or opinionated control freak boss today?

No. It doesn’t. Your life is slipping away day by day. Even as you read this your choices are narrowing. Don’t put off the most important things for the sake of imaginary future security. You know what they say about those who are willing to sacrifice freedom for ‘security’…

We need to knock down some of the walls between our nuclear family bunkers, install windows to air out our bunker mentalities and emplace doorways to balance our need for sharing and privacy. We need to redesign our lives and living spaces if we’re to THRIVE.

Love is all you need. Turn on. Tune in. But above all OPT OUT of the noxious screened cocoon of postmodern concrete that bars you from the real living world. We can create much better realities together than we ever can apart.

Do it now – and remember; we are our great grandchildren!

*Too few appreciate the fact that ‘modern’ medicine is OFFICIALLY the third highest cause of death – and underreporting means that it’s quite possibly the MAJOR cause of death and illness! Most doctors are merely brainwashed shock troops for Big Pharma. Under these circumstances, undue and undeserved respect for self-appointed authorities like doctors is dangerous and stupid. Calling them docturds removes the aura of omnipotence and infallibility these money-gouging incompetents demand from their helpless victims. Respect needs to be earned – it can’t be automatic. Mistrusting these lying, cheating vultures is far safer than trusting them!

For more by R. Ayana see http://nexusilluminati.blogspot.com/search/label/r.%20ayana

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*
Forest Action – Saving Little Wonder 3 

(2:18:44) @ https://youtu.be/zsRt7KrweHg

*

WARNING: Strong language, challenging concepts. Everyone in this video will have passed on one day if they haven’t already.

Occupy and Blockade the Forests! The true story of indigenous Australians reclaiming their stolen lives and lands with help from dreadlocked ferals, hippy activists and local farmers and residents. As loggers approach irreplaceable forest and pristine water they do all they can to save the forest of Little Wonder.

Now they want to cable log (totally level) many of these forests!!!…

Save Your World!

How can we save the world we know and love? How can we save ourselves by saving our planetary ecosystem? How can we stem the tide of destruction and rechannel our global civilisation into a sustainable timeline?

By standing up for what you believe in. By actively protecting your local environment and by helping others to do the same for the places they cherish.

This is the true story of Saving Little Wonder, a rare, surviving remnant of a once vast rainforest that carpeted virtually all of Eastern Australia. Most of this ‘Big Scrub’  was utterly destroyed in only eighty years – before the advent of chainsaws and bulldozers which now ravage and savage the remaining fragments of Paradise.

See local farmers, new settlers, activists, environmental scientists, dreadlocked ferals and rural hippies band together to help the indigenous Gumbaynggirr Tribe save and reclaim the forested heartland stolen from them by European colonisers.

See what it takes to successfully save your world.

Think globally, and act NOW.

How can we save the world we know and love? How can we save ourselves by saving our planetary ecosystem? How can we stem the tide of destruction and rechannel our global civilisation into a sustainable timeline?

By standing up for what you believe in. By actively protecting your local environment and by helping others to do the same for the places they cherish.

This is the true story of Saving Little Wonder, a rare, surviving remnant of a once vast rainforest that carpeted virtually all of Eastern Australia. Most of this ‘Big Scrub’  was utterly destroyed in only eighty years – before the advent of chainsaws and bulldozers which now ravage and savage the remaining fragments of Paradise.

See local farmers, new settlers, activists, environmental scientists, dreadlocked ferals and rural hippies band together to help the indigenous Gumbaynggirr Tribe save and reclaim the forested heartland stolen from them by European colonisers.

See what it takes to successfully save your world.

Think globally, and act NOW.

 

For more information
about forests see http://nexusilluminati.blogspot.com/search/label/forests
  

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That’s what we had – and have – to learn.

- R. Ayana

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From The Her(m)etic Hermit – http://hermetic.blog.com