HealthyEnergy

This book came up in men's group tonight. Are we past this, yet?

It's labour day, and the year is 2021. I've just finished the book that discussed the merging of Science and the spirtuals. The book is called "Dancing with Wu Li masters " by Gary zukav. It discussed how the two paradigms of Quantum mechanics and Spirituality are merging. An incredibly deep and profound book.

I needed another book, hopefully of the same stature, so my day ended up at my favorite second hand book store-Deseret Industry's, or D.I. as the locals call it. Here I found a facinating book called "Woman". Being someone who jokes about how little I know about the subject , it caught my eye. What also caught my eye was that it was written entirely by men, but not just any men, LDS men. Yes, all the leaders or the Morman church- all men. 15 men with titles such as the Prophet. Elder, general authorities and the like.

Honestly, I'm stunned to the core of my being. I'm well aware of the pretend organizations called church mascarading as God's mouthpiece. (She doesn't need one, and especially from a bunch of misogynists, btw.)

Weve seen recently what dangerous men can do- the same men who think they have the right to control women's reproductive choices.

Argh !! And, to blatantly advertise your misogyny by the list of male authors on the front cover on a book about women disgusts me to my core. This book was written in the 1980s , but that is no excuse.

Again, I am driven to apologize to women on behalf of these ignorant men. I'm so sorry, and beg your forgiveness. May we rise up and do better, and soon.

Martin of the stream.

Here's a picture of the same book just case you ever want to order a copy.

My dad died on December 7th, a Saturday morning. He'd asked mom to walk him to the bathroom because he was a bit giddy after breakfast. When they arrived , he lurched forward, and died of a massive heart attack. Being a nurse, mom did all she could to bring him back, but couldn't.

Heres my eulogy to him.

Eulogy to dad:

One of my favorite memories with dad was as a child, when we would go on a supply run between the Ukarumpa mission compound and the village, where my parents taught the tribe how to read and write in their own language.

Packing the blue and white Land Cruiser with supplies and cramming myself into the front seat next to him, the two of us would take on the day-long adventure, listening along to Fiddler on the Roof and Day-O on the 8-track player while traversing the challenging rugged trail back to the village. That time with just the two of us was special to me.

In 1995, I returned to the village and was met as one of their own, with rejoicing and open arms.

It had been a while since I had last been there, and it took some time to remember the language well enough to communicate in it again, but nearing the end of my visit, I traveled further up into the highlands to visit the tribe.

While there, I met an old man who claimed he'd known my dad as a young man. We both were transported as we reminisced about those times. At the end, he paused, took a long breath, and asked me, in the language, if my dad was "yal dimani " yet? I was puzzled, as we’d already discussed how many calendar years I'd been gone, but I'd translated wrong.

The first word in the phrase means man, and the second phrase was curious because it was a type of tree. A tree that knew how to ward off mites, termites, and rot. It knew, if you like, fact from fiction. It knew how to grow into truth. In effect , it meant,

“Has your father moved on? Has he become like the tree: strong, wise, and hardy beyond our understanding and capability?”

Dad, as you now travel in that “beyond” place we cannot comprehend, I hope you continue to grow strong in the truth, with a wise and hardy spirit that will never succumb to the termites and rot of untruth.

Martin of the Stream

Eulogy to dad:

One of my favorite memories with dad was as a child, when we would go on a supply run between the Ukarumpa mission compound and the village, where my parents taught the tribe how to read and write in their own language.

Packing the blue and white Land Cruiser with supplies and cramming myself into the front seat next to him, the two of us would take on the day-long adventure, listening along to Fiddler on the Roof and Day-O on the 8-track player while traversing the challenging rugged trail back to the village. That time with just the two of us was special to me.

In 1995, I returned to the village and was met as one of their own, with rejoicing and open arms.

It had been a while since I had last been there, and it took some time to remember the language well enough to communicate in it again, but nearing the end of my visit, I traveled further up into the highlands to visit the tribe.

While there, I met an old man who claimed he'd known my dad as a young man. We both were transported as we reminisced about those times. At the end, he paused, took a long breath, and asked me, in the language, if my dad was "yal dimani " yet? I was puzzled, as we’d already discussed how many calendar years I'd been gone, but I'd translated wrong.

The first word in the phrase means man, and the second phrase was curious because it was a type of tree. A tree that knew how to ward off mites, termites, and rot. It knew, if you like, fact from fiction. It knew how to grow into truth. In effect , it meant,

“Has your father moved on? Has he become like the tree: strong, wise, and hardy beyond our understanding and capability?”

Dad, as you now travel in that “beyond” place we cannot comprehend, I hope you continue to grow strong in the truth, with a wise and hardy spirit that will never succumb to the termites and rot of untruth.

Martin of the Stream

I took a trip back to my tribe in Papua New guinea in 1995. While there I learnt that love was expressed from the gut, not heart. I was also asked by an old warrior if my Dad was "Yal Dimani" yet, as in was he old, or so I thought. The same word can also be used for Wise, and hardy.

My white mans mind postulated, before I replied, that he should know how old my dad was based on how long we'd been gone, which I calculated as 18 years. Noticing the old man had no watch, or a calendar, I realized he wasn't asking me to calculate how many times we'd been around the sun since he'd left. It was more a question about how old his soul was, or how much had he learnt, or evolved, or matured since he saw him last.

This lesson also speaks to our concept of time, and its' passage. Some would also say time is an illusion, too. Its a wonderful journey to be discovering just what time is, or isn't.

Here's my story of my Divorce, loosing ny kids, and getting them back. well, part of it. I'll write more some other day.

We were having marriage trouble in 2012/13. I was living downstairs, she was upstairs, and I was heavily involved in soccer coaching all three kids, ranging from freshmen in high school to primary school . We live in the states, but are Australian nationals, and she told me she wanted to take the kids to Australia for a month in the summer break. I felt it might help having a break from each other, despite 3 friends warning me she'd abduct the kids so I let it happen, thinking she'd never do that as her mother had taken her from her dad in the same way..

She did. I got a letter 4 weeks into her trip, ten years ago, coldly saying she'd take the kids, and I can visit them if I want.

She refused to help with the house payments for the next three years, but insisted, regardless, I pay her full child support. But, of course expected to get half when we divorced.

She terrified all three kids by sitting them Down with her mother, while they were basically in a foreign country , and telling them their dad was a sick man. This is the same dad they'd had coaching them 3 nights a week, weeks earlier. My daughter took it the worst and has disowned me for years at a time over the last ten years.

Why am I telling you all this? Because, there is hope. My daughter has been in daily contact on Facebook for a year now, and has mentioned coming home to visit. My other son too. My oldest son lives with me, and we rebuild old Saabs together .

It has felt utterly hopless over the last ten years, but it's true all things change, and there is hope. Love u all.

My only tip for you all. Don't expect your kids to understand how they were manipulated . If they come back to you, don't ask to explain yourself. Accept them, as they are, and only explain if they ask what happened. That's what worked with my daughter anyways.

Ive been in a discussion with my higher self all year about the epidemic of homelessness we are experiencing here on the states, and elsewhere. If you believe Fox news it's only in democratic states such as California, and the like. Their news will often show tent cities in the inner city parks of Las Angeles, and San Francisco.

Anyhow, I digress, as my main point is my prayers, for most of this year, have been focused around the root cause of homelessness and how I can I help. Well, it has been said, be careful what you wish for because this week I got them answered. But, as is the universe's way, the answer had a twist in it. Here the way it was answered:

My week consisted of putting a friend up in my house, who'd recently become homeless. Sadly, she kept disappearing at weird hours of the night and wouldn't tell us where she was going. Then, the last straw was her asking to use our licenses to borrow a computer from the library. This was after me offering my personal Mac PC to apply for jobs as long as she didn't move it from my office. So, I asked her to leave and drove her to the homeless center for women.

It was heartbreaking to see how she couldn't even see herself getting help and/or help me help herself. A prayer answered , as u can see, but with bit if a twist .