FREEDOM OR ANARCHY,Campaign of Conscience.

Joseph F Barber | Create Your Badge
This blog does not promote, support, condone, encourage, advocate, nor in any way endorse any racist (or "racialist") ideologies, nor any armed and/or violent revolutionary, seditionist and/or terrorist activities. Any racial separatist or militant groups listed here are solely for reference and Opinions of multiple authors including Freedom or Anarchy Campaign of conscience.

To be GOVERNED

Not For Profit - For Global Justice and The Fight to End Violence & Hunger world wide - Since 1999
"Liberty cannot be preserved without a general knowledge among the people" - John Adams - Second President - 1797 - 1801

This is the callout,This is the call to the Patriots,To stand up for all the ones who’ve been thrown away,This is the call to the all citizens ,Stand up!
Stand up and protect those who can not protect themselves our veterans ,the homeless & the forgotten take back our world today

To protect our independence, We take no government funds
Become A Supporting member of humanity to help end hunger and violence in our country,You have a right to live. You have a right to be. You have these rights regardless of money, health, social status, or class. You have these rights, man, woman, or child. These rights can never be taken away from you, they can only be infringed. When someone violates your rights, remember, it is not your fault.,


DISCOVER THE WORLD

Facebook Badge

FREEDOM OR ANARCHY,Campaign of Conscience

↑ Grab this Headline Animator

The Free Thought Project,The Daily Sheeple & FREEDOM OR ANARCHY Campaign of Conscience are dedicated to holding those who claim authority over our lives accountable. “Each of us has a unique part to play in the healing of the world.”
“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.” - George Orwell, 1984

STEALING FROM THE CITIZENRY

The right to tell the Government to kiss my Ass Important Message for All Law Enforcers Freedom; what it is, and what it is not. Unadulterated freedom is an unattainable goal; that is what the founders of America knew and understood, which was their impetus behind the documents that established our great nation. They also knew that one of the primary driving forces in human nature is the unconscious desire to be truly free. This meant to them that mankind if totally left completely unrestricted would pursue all things in life without any awareness or acknowledgement of the consequences of his/her own actions leaving only the individual conscience if they had one as a control on behavior. This would not bode well in the development of a great society. Yet the founders of America chose to allow men/women as much liberty as could be, with minimum impact on the freedom or liberties of others

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Traveller’s Bones

Traveller’s Bones


At the time that this occurred – the mid eighties – I was working as a cleaner gardener in a high school in Australia. There were many aspects to my work …  mural painting, stage shows, tree planting, window cleaning, garbage removal and it so happened that my energy levels matched my creative abilities. I hadn’t had a proper holiday in years and booked a month in Bali. I arranged to hire a motorbike for the month and was booked into the Kuta region for the first week.
Bali is a remarkable and beautiful assault on the senses. After a few days in Kuta, I moved a bit further away and to quieter quarters. It took a week for me to slow down, experience the pleasure of many people from many countries, all having a holiday, and then to want to strike out on my own.
I’ve liked chess without it being a passion … having said that, Mick and I played a game by letter which took nigh on ten years to complete. It wasn’t a brilliant game but it sure kept us in touch across a continent so vast that it was cheaper to go to Bali than to go to Western Australia. Chess is popular in Bali.
I’d met a young Balinese bloke at the first place in which I’d stayed. As I talked to him about where else to go, he suggested Ubud which is also where he wanted to go. If I really wanted to experience something different, that, perhaps, it could be arranged for me to stay in the very outer quarters of the royal palace. Thank you very much .. let’s go.
So now, this is the story pretty much as I first wrote it down, a few years after the event.
I’m looking at chess pieces. They are very old and richly detailed. The chessboard is on a low wooden table. On either side are the two players. Both are still. I sit back in a comfortable chair watching the game unfold. I’ve played two good games and their skill is greater than mine. On my right sits the son of one of the last kings of Bali. He is a blend of middle aged vigour and serenity. Across the table and about to make his move, sits an old man. It is night and we are alone in one of the public rooms within the grounds of the royal palace. Noise from the evening market drifts over the high courtyard wall and accents the stillness of the room. It’s pleasantly warm in the night fragrant air.
The two players sit, motionless and contemplative, not restless like me. Traveller’s bones ache in unlikely places.
Yesterday we arrived. I wait at the gate as my mate from Kuta enters the royal courtyard and waits respectfully to be noticed by a group of people who are having dinner in a wonderful three sided room. My friend is noticed and beckoned over. A short conversation and then both men walk over to where I’m waiting. The host is the grandson of the last king, a good looking, graceful man in his thirties. He asked me if I’d care to join them. I make my apologies in view of the lateness of the hour and suggest that I join them for breakfast.
My friend from Kuta has gone and I am tired. I lie back on my bed and wonder at the possible alternatives which can open up. It feels like real magic, the island radiates that this is the earthly home of the Gods. I am very close to town and the noises of the night, the ebb and flow of life, seep into me. It’s too exciting to sleep so I get up and leave the palace grounds.
It’s quite busy in the streets outside the palace walls. There’s a night market full of beautiful Balinese women, cheerful men, merchants, families, smiles and shouting. I move with the flow, stopping awhile, here and there, just to gaze about. I’m not loud but my presence as a stranger draws curious and friendly glances. I have a cuppa at a roadside stall and enjoy the tea. Language problems are smiled through and I love it.
Ready to sleep, I make my way further through the quieter parts of town, finally returning to my guestroom. There’s no eight hour graveyard shift, after midnight, where nothing stirs. At first light many people are about and why not? It’s splendid for me as my host has free time. We drink coffee. I tell him of my brief experience in his country and he tells me something of his life as a classical dancer. I learn that there is a blending of religious belief including Buddhism, Animism, Hindu, Christian, Moslem and older Gods beside. I also learn that the Balinese people are inclined not only towards a spiritual life but that they have also created a warrior culture. We talk about the resort communities of Kuta and Legiane, the whiff of corruption from dubious western influence, the strength of the Balinese culture. I really liked him.
Mid morning I left for a temple, a mile or so away and up a gently sloping road. Everywhere the land bears fruit. Knowing that their island is the home of the Gods, these people approach nature with honour and obligation. A rich variety of flowers are in bloom everywhere and the air is full of their perfume. The temple is ancient and well cared for. Like so many of them, it is open to the skies. I avoid the organised tour groups and find a place to sit. A young priest approaches. We nod. He would like some small sum of money which I can well afford, and he will share some time. His English is surprisingly good. He explains that his half proud request had been strictly for temple purposes and I believe him. He’s not impressed with tourists, most of whom show scant regard or respect and who are separated from the reality of the moment by buses, timetables and dull eyed materialism. He’s a very intense man.
At these pillared temples there are so many ceremonies, so much devotion and so much attention directed, so far as I can see, to one great God of many aspects.
I take my leave and follow a procession of priests and people who are wending their way at a leisurely pace, back towards the town and its centre. A moment ago there was the quiet of the temple grounds and now I’m surrounded by bells, music, colour, saris, pinks and yellows, chanting and joy. This is a wedding and everybody is cheerful. I am greeted and made welcome and I greet in return and share the joy.
The next day at lunch my royal host is free again. We talk about chess among other things and it turns out that his father would be returning from a trip to Java later that night and may perhaps enjoy a game of chess. I’m delighted at the possibility.
And so it is that a cleaner from a high school in Australia sits in the hall of the mountain king, thanking God for his good fortune. The old man has made his move. The players are still … serene as the night.
Mosquito – large, arrogant, thirsty – hovers in front of my face. I ignore it. The son of the last king will make a move at some moment and there is a suggestion of a breeze so perhaps the nuisance will disappear. The irritation overcomes me. I cannot help myself. I bring my hands together in a ringing clap.
As I read it, there was a noble and compassionate deliberation in the look I received. Attention returns to the game. Silence, stillness and a fragrance laden air.
Another mosquito buzzes – this time pestering the royal countenance. Again a point of irritation but the resolution this time is vastly different. The minuscule problem that I attacked with overwhelming force is now handled with a graceful movement.
With an easy sweeping motion, the mosquito is plucked from the air, breathed upon quickly and thrown behind. No malice to living thing. The mosquito, a bit dazed no doubt, stumbles away in search of easier prey.
I receive a look to see if I have understood.
Minimum force, maximum gain – harmonious action, no blame.

Traveller’s Bones


At the time that this occurred – the mid eighties – I was working as a cleaner gardener in a high school in Australia. There were many aspects to my work …  mural painting, stage shows, tree planting, window cleaning, garbage removal and it so happened that my energy levels matched my creative abilities. I hadn’t had a proper holiday in years and booked a month in Bali. I arranged to hire a motorbike for the month and was booked into the Kuta region for the first week.
Bali is a remarkable and beautiful assault on the senses. After a few days in Kuta, I moved a bit further away and to quieter quarters. It took a week for me to slow down, experience the pleasure of many people from many countries, all having a holiday, and then to want to strike out on my own.
I’ve liked chess without it being a passion … having said that, Mick and I played a game by letter which took nigh on ten years to complete. It wasn’t a brilliant game but it sure kept us in touch across a continent so vast that it was cheaper to go to Bali than to go to Western Australia. Chess is popular in Bali.
I’d met a young Balinese bloke at the first place in which I’d stayed. As I talked to him about where else to go, he suggested Ubud which is also where he wanted to go. If I really wanted to experience something different, that, perhaps, it could be arranged for me to stay in the very outer quarters of the royal palace. Thank you very much .. let’s go.
So now, this is the story pretty much as I first wrote it down, a few years after the event.
I’m looking at chess pieces. They are very old and richly detailed. The chessboard is on a low wooden table. On either side are the two players. Both are still. I sit back in a comfortable chair watching the game unfold. I’ve played two good games and their skill is greater than mine. On my right sits the son of one of the last kings of Bali. He is a blend of middle aged vigour and serenity. Across the table and about to make his move, sits an old man. It is night and we are alone in one of the public rooms within the grounds of the royal palace. Noise from the evening market drifts over the high courtyard wall and accents the stillness of the room. It’s pleasantly warm in the night fragrant air.
The two players sit, motionless and contemplative, not restless like me. Traveller’s bones ache in unlikely places.
Yesterday we arrived. I wait at the gate as my mate from Kuta enters the royal courtyard and waits respectfully to be noticed by a group of people who are having dinner in a wonderful three sided room. My friend is noticed and beckoned over. A short conversation and then both men walk over to where I’m waiting. The host is the grandson of the last king, a good looking, graceful man in his thirties. He asked me if I’d care to join them. I make my apologies in view of the lateness of the hour and suggest that I join them for breakfast.
My friend from Kuta has gone and I am tired. I lie back on my bed and wonder at the possible alternatives which can open up. It feels like real magic, the island radiates that this is the earthly home of the Gods. I am very close to town and the noises of the night, the ebb and flow of life, seep into me. It’s too exciting to sleep so I get up and leave the palace grounds.
It’s quite busy in the streets outside the palace walls. There’s a night market full of beautiful Balinese women, cheerful men, merchants, families, smiles and shouting. I move with the flow, stopping awhile, here and there, just to gaze about. I’m not loud but my presence as a stranger draws curious and friendly glances. I have a cuppa at a roadside stall and enjoy the tea. Language problems are smiled through and I love it.
Ready to sleep, I make my way further through the quieter parts of town, finally returning to my guestroom. There’s no eight hour graveyard shift, after midnight, where nothing stirs. At first light many people are about and why not? It’s splendid for me as my host has free time. We drink coffee. I tell him of my brief experience in his country and he tells me something of his life as a classical dancer. I learn that there is a blending of religious belief including Buddhism, Animism, Hindu, Christian, Moslem and older Gods beside. I also learn that the Balinese people are inclined not only towards a spiritual life but that they have also created a warrior culture. We talk about the resort communities of Kuta and Legiane, the whiff of corruption from dubious western influence, the strength of the Balinese culture. I really liked him.
Mid morning I left for a temple, a mile or so away and up a gently sloping road. Everywhere the land bears fruit. Knowing that their island is the home of the Gods, these people approach nature with honour and obligation. A rich variety of flowers are in bloom everywhere and the air is full of their perfume. The temple is ancient and well cared for. Like so many of them, it is open to the skies. I avoid the organised tour groups and find a place to sit. A young priest approaches. We nod. He would like some small sum of money which I can well afford, and he will share some time. His English is surprisingly good. He explains that his half proud request had been strictly for temple purposes and I believe him. He’s not impressed with tourists, most of whom show scant regard or respect and who are separated from the reality of the moment by buses, timetables and dull eyed materialism. He’s a very intense man.
At these pillared temples there are so many ceremonies, so much devotion and so much attention directed, so far as I can see, to one great God of many aspects.
I take my leave and follow a procession of priests and people who are wending their way at a leisurely pace, back towards the town and its centre. A moment ago there was the quiet of the temple grounds and now I’m surrounded by bells, music, colour, saris, pinks and yellows, chanting and joy. This is a wedding and everybody is cheerful. I am greeted and made welcome and I greet in return and share the joy.
The next day at lunch my royal host is free again. We talk about chess among other things and it turns out that his father would be returning from a trip to Java later that night and may perhaps enjoy a game of chess. I’m delighted at the possibility.
And so it is that a cleaner from a high school in Australia sits in the hall of the mountain king, thanking God for his good fortune. The old man has made his move. The players are still … serene as the night.
Mosquito – large, arrogant, thirsty – hovers in front of my face. I ignore it. The son of the last king will make a move at some moment and there is a suggestion of a breeze so perhaps the nuisance will disappear. The irritation overcomes me. I cannot help myself. I bring my hands together in a ringing clap.
As I read it, there was a noble and compassionate deliberation in the look I received. Attention returns to the game. Silence, stillness and a fragrance laden air.
Another mosquito buzzes – this time pestering the royal countenance. Again a point of irritation but the resolution this time is vastly different. The minuscule problem that I attacked with overwhelming force is now handled with a graceful movement.
With an easy sweeping motion, the mosquito is plucked from the air, breathed upon quickly and thrown behind. No malice to living thing. The mosquito, a bit dazed no doubt, stumbles away in search of easier prey.
I receive a look to see if I have understood.
Minimum force, maximum gain – harmonious action, no blame.


No comments :