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| Alpine Stone Homes (not where I am at) |
I pulled this out of an archive from the prior blog. Its applies in this moment more than ever.
By American Kabuki
May 21, 2015
I've been living in this gorgeous location in the Alps. The stone building I live in is probably at least 200 years old. It's in the Chalet style common in the alps that takes advantage of the insulating factor a layer of thick snow gives a house. The stairs are narrow and steep and of dry hardwoods. Yet it's the stone and look that gives some undefinable link to an older time, perhaps an earlier life of mine on this planet, and I think I have been here a very very long time. This is celtic region of Italy known as Aosta, the people here are unique, and some of the high mountain ranges share many vistas not so different than the Scottish highlands.
Last night I was watching an episode of game of thrones, and another dwarf Tyrion Lanister (played by the amazing actor Peter Dinklage) talks about his father, the imperious Rothschild-esqe banking emperor and power broker "A Lanister always pays his debts" Tywin Lanister (who is himself is indebted to an even more mysterious bank called the Iron Bank).
The diminutive dwarf Tryion is an embarrasment to the genetic pride of his bloodline father, is actually the most endearing character in the entire show. He's a drunk, womanizer, yet a man of incredible courage and kindness. Tyrion is tolerated by his bloodline family but not liked.
Tyrion is a character that speaks to every son living in the shadow of a powerful extroverted father. They say "when a girl becomes a woman she becomes the best friend of her mother, when a boy becomes a man he's still his father's son".
May 21, 2015
I've been living in this gorgeous location in the Alps. The stone building I live in is probably at least 200 years old. It's in the Chalet style common in the alps that takes advantage of the insulating factor a layer of thick snow gives a house. The stairs are narrow and steep and of dry hardwoods. Yet it's the stone and look that gives some undefinable link to an older time, perhaps an earlier life of mine on this planet, and I think I have been here a very very long time. This is celtic region of Italy known as Aosta, the people here are unique, and some of the high mountain ranges share many vistas not so different than the Scottish highlands.
In the movie The Hobbit, you see buildings like this outside the dwarves mountain sanctuary, and the buildings at the North Wall of the Nights Watch Guard in The Game of Thrones you see very similar architecture. Its the ancient stone building of the colder climes, and I find myself identifying one way or another with characters who live in those buildings, a bit how I was identifying with Arabs who lived in structures similar to the ones I lived in during my stay in Morocco.
Tyrion is a character that speaks to every son living in the shadow of a powerful extroverted father. They say "when a girl becomes a woman she becomes the best friend of her mother, when a boy becomes a man he's still his father's son".
Tyrion is the extreme case of never being able to meet the expectations of a father who got a son quite different than what he had expected. In Tyrion's case, a genetic fluke made him a dwarf and his father blames him for his mother dying while in childbirth. Tough start in life to be sure, but as they say "rough childhoods make for interesting people".
So what follows in the dream I had last night was probably triggered by the scenery, the character Tyrion (his face and hair is not unlike mine when I was younger), and the type of building I live in.
My father was a complex man, who grew up on a ranch during Great Depression years of the 1930s in Montana. The deprivations of the depression era caused many of the people of that time to never throw away anything, I wouldn't exactly call it recycling, it was more like hoarding all things metal or mechanical, lest there come a time when they could not be purchased. He left the farm at 18 and joined the Army in 1936, and later entered cadet school in the US Army Air Corps (later became the US Air Force). He was a flight instructor in Thomasville Georgia for many years (where the Tuskagee Airmen trained) and was sent to North Africa, Sicily, and Foggia Italy as part of the 12th Air Force.
Dad commanded a squadron of P-38 fighter planes in Foggia, and survived an ambush of his squadron by waiting Germans. British General Montgomery gave bad intel on German locations to the American Army. 25 planes went out, 13 returned.
So what follows in the dream I had last night was probably triggered by the scenery, the character Tyrion (his face and hair is not unlike mine when I was younger), and the type of building I live in.
Upon his death mom told me he had been in Military Intelligence in Italy a secret he took to his grave even given his penchant for gab. He knew an incredible amount about the Illuminati, how the mafia helped the US Army overthrow Mussolini (he was bad for business) and told me as a young kid that the Rothschild's ran the western world. He was a conspiracy theorist long before the web was around and a fan of John Birch. A few of my friends and some of my relatives thought he was a "conspiracy theorist nutcase" long before the Internet, but there was a reason he knew what he knew.
After the war he worked at NACA, which later became NASA. He applied to be a test pilot, but they would only take men with college degrees in Engineering at that time. He applied to be an airline pilot at TWA, but the pay they were offering to the thousands of pilots returning home from the war was less than what a bus driver makes. So he started an auto repair business and left his first love of flying planes, a decision he forever regretted and which he held resentment against his children for the sacrifices he made to feed all 6 of them.
One of my earliest memories at age 5 is at his auto repair business, wearing a set of bib overalls and being set in a steel box about 8 inches deep and about a yard (meter) square and being told to sort the nuts, bolts and screws he collected over the previous years. I am guessing but there could have been a good 200,000 of them.
I was so little it seemed like I was sitting in a ocean of bolts, and dad was asking me to count the drops of the ocean. At first it was easy, and even fun for a kid, just match the nut to the bolt, but then I started finding British bolts with and nuts with left hand threads, and then there metric german ones... that didn't match the American ones... and it just got overwhelming and I remember breaking down into tears at the immensity of the task my dad had given me, and tears was something my father never tolerated from a son. My mother was quickly called to pick me up and I whisked away from annoying him while he worked on his customers cars. And he had an incredible set of clients such as Senator Barry Goldwater.
As I got older I was assigned the job of pulling Bermuda grass out of my fathers garden at home. Bermuda grass is the grass version of bamboo, its spreads by runners and the roots are very difficult to pull out. It comes from the island of Bermuda and apparently evolved its resiliance to heat and hurricanes by developing incredibly strong root systems. It's very hardy in hot desert climates, but it will just take over a well watered vegetable garden. It's a pest really, a major source of allergies in Phoenix and the stuff should never be planted because you will never get rid of it. I incurred his anger more than once by my lack of desire to pull Bermuda grass out Scottsdale's hard caliche and adobe soil.
After the war he worked at NACA, which later became NASA. He applied to be a test pilot, but they would only take men with college degrees in Engineering at that time. He applied to be an airline pilot at TWA, but the pay they were offering to the thousands of pilots returning home from the war was less than what a bus driver makes. So he started an auto repair business and left his first love of flying planes, a decision he forever regretted and which he held resentment against his children for the sacrifices he made to feed all 6 of them.
One of my earliest memories at age 5 is at his auto repair business, wearing a set of bib overalls and being set in a steel box about 8 inches deep and about a yard (meter) square and being told to sort the nuts, bolts and screws he collected over the previous years. I am guessing but there could have been a good 200,000 of them.
I was so little it seemed like I was sitting in a ocean of bolts, and dad was asking me to count the drops of the ocean. At first it was easy, and even fun for a kid, just match the nut to the bolt, but then I started finding British bolts with and nuts with left hand threads, and then there metric german ones... that didn't match the American ones... and it just got overwhelming and I remember breaking down into tears at the immensity of the task my dad had given me, and tears was something my father never tolerated from a son. My mother was quickly called to pick me up and I whisked away from annoying him while he worked on his customers cars. And he had an incredible set of clients such as Senator Barry Goldwater.
As I got older I was assigned the job of pulling Bermuda grass out of my fathers garden at home. Bermuda grass is the grass version of bamboo, its spreads by runners and the roots are very difficult to pull out. It comes from the island of Bermuda and apparently evolved its resiliance to heat and hurricanes by developing incredibly strong root systems. It's very hardy in hot desert climates, but it will just take over a well watered vegetable garden. It's a pest really, a major source of allergies in Phoenix and the stuff should never be planted because you will never get rid of it. I incurred his anger more than once by my lack of desire to pull Bermuda grass out Scottsdale's hard caliche and adobe soil.
Dad's way of motivating his kids was what he learned as a drill Sargent. YELL. Very loudly! If the only tool you know is a hammer, everything looks like a nail.
Its a Sisyphus task really trying to get rid of that stuff without using a herbicide. The stuff will literally grow back overnight in the hot humid summers and each piece broken off will grow a new set of runners. Its like trying to get rid of starfish by cutting off their arms... you just make more of them.
This is a pattern for my father, giving some task that he didn't want to do, assigning it without preparation or instruction, and then getting angry when it wasn't done the way he wanted it done or as rapidly as he wanted it done.
So last night I had this dream....
I am a little boy again in the living room in Scottsdale, Arizona. There's my dad sitting in his favorite chair. He's the late 30s to early 40s age dad. Scotch and soda in one hand, and he tells me to make a baseball calendar. I have no idea what that is. So I get a piece of wood from an old orange crate, a piece from the side, and I start drawing vertical lines with a black felt marker (and I could even smell the solvent scent of that!) on the piece of wood from the side of an orange crate. I divide the board into 5 sections, then realize my mistake that I need 7 sections, but I haven't really even learned to count yet... and my father launches into this tirade of how stupid I am and how he always has to do everything himself.
I look at my mother and she's putting up with the shouting tirade from my father, and I get angry, I get angry at the unfairness of telling me to do something I don't know how to do, and I get angry for him being angry at me making a mistake, and I get angry with my mother for not protecting me from this nonsense but she's so intimidated by his temper she never does anything about it. I am angry at them both!
He's angry because he sees me as not living up to the what he believes is superior Scottish genetics dating back to an ancient king in Scotland. Scots are like walking and talking geneologists. They all know where they come from and from whom. And they can wax lyrical about ancient stories about some minor scuffle 700 years ago.
Then suddenly I am instantly an adult and I am going for his throat, I am going to crush his adam's apple, how dare he treat an innocent kid that way! What I was about to do in the dream might well kill him. I don't, but the rage was there. I have my hand on his throat below his chin and I keep it there. I can feel the stubble of his beard. I can smell his sweat and Mennen aftershave and the faint scent of automotive paint solvents on his clothes. It was SO REAL! I get my now adult face into his face and whisper to him "Dad I only ever absolutely loved you and mom!" And this smile comes on his face and he looks at me with a kind of pride and says "Good son! You finally let that all go!" And he vanishes under my hand like ashes blowing in the wind.
I realized my dad came back to release something buried deep inside of me that was keeping me from progressing, by playing the old role one more time... WELL PLAYED DAD!
As the energies rise on this planet, we've all been releasing a lot of internal baggage that cannot stay.
Some of us seem to have volunteered to also release collective energies of the planet, simply because we have the ability to do it for those who can't. Energies never die, they can only be changed and transmuted, and the old ones can no longer persist. So be aware that some emotions may not even come from your life, it could be energies buried in your genetic lineage for eons, or the national psyche.
If you find yourself getting angry for no known reason, or lonely, or suicidal, or depressed... notice the emotion, acknowledge it, and then let it go. If you find stuff from your past coming up, things people did to you or motives you think they did them for... do not attach to it, for in these new energies those emotions will start manifesting circumstances to perpetuate that emotion. Emotion is the key to creating in the new energies, be very careful with emotions and attaching to them, because you will create unconsciously or consciously, best to create what you want to experience.
You will create one way or the other, everyone on this planet is an amazing creator being. Its time to own that. It no longer suits you or me to play small.
Its a Sisyphus task really trying to get rid of that stuff without using a herbicide. The stuff will literally grow back overnight in the hot humid summers and each piece broken off will grow a new set of runners. Its like trying to get rid of starfish by cutting off their arms... you just make more of them.
This is a pattern for my father, giving some task that he didn't want to do, assigning it without preparation or instruction, and then getting angry when it wasn't done the way he wanted it done or as rapidly as he wanted it done.
So last night I had this dream....
I look at my mother and she's putting up with the shouting tirade from my father, and I get angry, I get angry at the unfairness of telling me to do something I don't know how to do, and I get angry for him being angry at me making a mistake, and I get angry with my mother for not protecting me from this nonsense but she's so intimidated by his temper she never does anything about it. I am angry at them both!
He's angry because he sees me as not living up to the what he believes is superior Scottish genetics dating back to an ancient king in Scotland. Scots are like walking and talking geneologists. They all know where they come from and from whom. And they can wax lyrical about ancient stories about some minor scuffle 700 years ago.
Then suddenly I am instantly an adult and I am going for his throat, I am going to crush his adam's apple, how dare he treat an innocent kid that way! What I was about to do in the dream might well kill him. I don't, but the rage was there. I have my hand on his throat below his chin and I keep it there. I can feel the stubble of his beard. I can smell his sweat and Mennen aftershave and the faint scent of automotive paint solvents on his clothes. It was SO REAL! I get my now adult face into his face and whisper to him "Dad I only ever absolutely loved you and mom!" And this smile comes on his face and he looks at me with a kind of pride and says "Good son! You finally let that all go!" And he vanishes under my hand like ashes blowing in the wind.
I realized my dad came back to release something buried deep inside of me that was keeping me from progressing, by playing the old role one more time... WELL PLAYED DAD!
As the energies rise on this planet, we've all been releasing a lot of internal baggage that cannot stay.
Some of us seem to have volunteered to also release collective energies of the planet, simply because we have the ability to do it for those who can't. Energies never die, they can only be changed and transmuted, and the old ones can no longer persist. So be aware that some emotions may not even come from your life, it could be energies buried in your genetic lineage for eons, or the national psyche.
If you find yourself getting angry for no known reason, or lonely, or suicidal, or depressed... notice the emotion, acknowledge it, and then let it go. If you find stuff from your past coming up, things people did to you or motives you think they did them for... do not attach to it, for in these new energies those emotions will start manifesting circumstances to perpetuate that emotion. Emotion is the key to creating in the new energies, be very careful with emotions and attaching to them, because you will create unconsciously or consciously, best to create what you want to experience.
You will create one way or the other, everyone on this planet is an amazing creator being. Its time to own that. It no longer suits you or me to play small.
