I'm giving this newsletter an international theme, hence I talk about the life on the farm including some of my methods I employ there. This includes technologies both social and economic, maybe inspired by Peter Marshall's tome A History of Anarchism, which is a thorough good read. Concepts of equality, freedom, liberty, justice and so on continually define the writings of its protagonists, me included, albeit I would add metaphysics to the equation.
I had my dad's neighbour's around recently to indulge in calcots, a Catalonian tradition in which we grill-burn fat leek-size spring onions and then peel them by pinching the end off like a sock that leaves a clear caramelised section of stem to dip into a basil tomato salsa which is absolutely delicious. They were patting me on the back for the idyllic lifestyle I've crafted here but it is more sinister than that. I say my dad's neighbours because my mother does not trust them. Unfortunately there is a downside to this life which I need to take an objective view upon if the future is going to be anything like I hope it will be.
Stuff goes missing; my mother accuses my father of moving things around and inculcating the neighbours who supposedly have some sort of criminal background. Certainly I have been at the wrong end of this too and all the time my meticulous mother is losing her wits over it. She's also getting up later and later as depression sets in. The hatred between my parents is all too apparent as it spills out into gossip and spiteful conversations everywhere they go. This coupled with my mum's compulsive and obsessive behaviour strips the old man of every cent he has who I now believe, like my mother, has a little stash somewhere saved for a rainy day. As regards my stepdad he may be anticipating the day he may have to move out as the constant ear-bashing he gets is also threading his nerves. Not the holistic permaculture environment I'd like to see in the future even if I have my own caravan but extreme in the least. I do have a responsibility to both of them as well as to the land, and the solution (as I always think I know such are my inherent abilities to see the future) is simpler than you think. That is, I must ask my stepfather to move out for a month and take a holiday just to see whether my mother improves. She may suddenly appreciate him more for his capacity as an eighty-year old who just wants to retire quietly.
It is no lie that if he is up to anything then other members of my family would know. Being out here has been a creative paradise, as problems present themselves to me on all levels. The extreme upbringing right from day 1 has made me what I am. After a 10-year wait here I eventually got back into my green woodworking due to the loss of some of my specialist tools back then, and 10 years ago my stepfather didn't want me here doing my thing, the same thing I created in London, running permaculture projects. Since then, the tables have turned a bit though. I've written about much of this antagonism and even now I pen most of my life story in another chapter of my recent book, or an addendum to it, going deep into the sexual cycle and the psychological phenomenon that my social lifestyle has arrogated. It's a rough old ride but my creative genius always finds a solution. The big question is: Why aren't other people sharing in it?
When I returned recently I checked over my hives. I'd lost another colony which brought a gasp to me as it was the 4th time my National-style hive had been rejected. Here in Spain they use Langstroth and Layens. In similar circumstances the same National hives failed in my London garden also, on Devonshire Road; I'd go away and return to find that the bees had all died. It was sad to open up the hive and see the tail-end of its food reserves being eaten by robber bees whilst a few dead young bees littered the floor which must have been their last stand. Either some capricious spirit planned the next move or it is outright criminality. My father had told me he had seen a swarm at the back of the land hanging off one of the trees. Only yesterday our neighbour, whom I'd asked to look over a few things, told me that they didn't know I also had bees in this location since I keep two batches which makes for good beekeeping in order to prevent disease spreading. They also have different microclimates affecting different flight times, thus the availability of resources. Certainly where I kept the National was much colder, and this time I had put an open-mesh floor in it; it probably contributed to why the colony grew so slowly as six months previous it was a thriving swarm-catch.
Bees don't live longer than a year, only the queen does, and she should have laid eggs before the arrival of winter to replace the foraging bees that will die out during the Autumn months. These wintering bees don't leave the nest—they are all-important for keeping it warm, but they obviously need stores to survive on. It appears though, that the colony swarmed instead, around early October when I returned from cycling the Camino de Santiago. In my knowledge they wouldn't swarm at this time in the year, too close to Winter, unless it was Sudden Hive Death (SHD) in which the queen is mercilessly left alone. But on this particular day, for just a couple of hours at most, my stepfather noticed the swarm hanging at the back of the land where he never goes, and if he does it is once in a lifetime when I have pleaded with him to water my trees when I am receiving the weather updates from abroad. In this case I was in Mallorca where massive floods were sweeping the Catalonian island. It obviously had rained because my young trees were all surviving with the exception of one loss. So, is it a capricious spirit or is the old man trying to be clever?
The food tunnel, what I call the Ark, used to suffer the same fate. Either the irrigation used to be turned off when I wasn't there or the feed tanks were magically filled just before I arrived; it doesn't take long to empty them even on a drip. The solution: I need my own social group, which is what I have been working towards, but why do my volunteers also go schizo? Why do all the friendly people I know in my local towns never come round, including the loyal beekeeper friends? Do I smell bad or something? It is like being sent to Coventry or ex-communicated by my social circles, exactly what happened in London. Who are these capricious criminals? Does it explain why technology including the cars, pumps, generators and so on, always go wrong?
I've lost keys in my caravan that magically turn up months later usually on my next return trip, in the place where I left them and checked umpteen times. I wish my bees would return like this also although I think I have to wait for nature to provide the answer. Recently my second set of van keys went missing, they also contained my only London garage key on it. What a pain this caused as it is a specialist key that requires the original to be recut. I scoured the caravan and eventually left without it. Whilst in London I asked my father to check again all the same places. No luck. They couldn't recut it on my landlord's copy; three times it wouldn't work. On returning they were there among the wallets in the normal place where I keep them. The nuts and bolts of the story is always one of context. I can't expect everything to go my way. But if I change my context of understanding then I realize that it was an opportunity to change the locks since the previous shared tenant had a falling out with me and things were tampered with in the garage even if he completely denied it. This included loosening the nuts off the front wheel on my bike. You have to imagine that my garage is on the steepest hill in London. As I say, you either love me or hate me.
This may make interesting reading for some of you. I used to frequent a client and visit his family who got very friendly with me. He went cold on me and without explanation turned his back on me. This type of schizophrenic behaviour is increasing in my life. Whilst commenting that he couldn't put down my newsletter because it was like a soap, he succoured British citizenship for his Chinese wife in this fragile pre-Brexit environment, yet I know she would have been incapable of succeeding the general knowledge exam as another French friend of mine who applied for the same citizenship showed me the questions of past exams. Even I failed them. Forgive my arrogance, but don't try and pull the wool over my eyes. If people are avoiding me here in Catalonia then it is an extension of the British cult that has followed me around everywhere. I write as a witness, and I need you as my martyrs, either by default or voluntary.
To add a note here, it has never amused me to see my health and my mother's compromised. Why do I reach perfect form only during travels and when I prepare my own meals? Is my mother's food being doped that I have inadvertently eaten from the fridge or is she the culprit, a phantom key-snatcher who believes the whole world is out to get her. Whatever, she is now suffering with her own come-uppance, an crooked, ageing woman who has lost her pride in the sorrowful environment of negativity that she shrouds herself in. I don't know who to protect here.
My old man doesn't travel or visit the relatives. I need him to take a holiday in order to see if my 80-year old mother can improve and regain her wits. He told me the other day that he had lost 50Euros from a pot in his bedroom. It was money he owed me. He knows my mother snoops around so why keep it there since she insistently complains that he never buys her anything? It is always about money, as her pension is much smaller than his. Sure, he has a responsibility towards her but he is always skint too from her shopping and veterinary demands. She is just about to spend 180Euros to fix two mobile phones she doesn't know how to use. Economics are hardly their strong point. The more likely scenario is, whether true or not, the old man was trying to play me off against her.
I cannot help see that their schizophrenic-like behaviour is prevalent in the whole of society. My latest writings explore dysfunctional relationships and go into female unconsciousness and depth psychology as I lift the lid on a string of failed relationships. Reading Emma Jung's account on anima and animus is still even now valid as it was then. It is one of those books in which I say, 'Yes, I totally agree, thanks Emma'. Contentious as it may be I explore paedophilia and sexual licentiousness relevant as it is to urban cosmopolitan centres with its global influence; anyone who is sane in the world is the exception. I think it is a psychosis permeating modern cultures, the psychological stress is Mother Nature toiling the apocalyptic bells. You need to get wise folks because things are going to start dropping like dominoes. 'Dominoes' - interesting word that.
My project here in Spain is growing. It is interesting how it falls under the title 'Solteriologic Garden' which is a universal term I transferred from my permaculture projects in South London. It is the sister-work of South London Permaculture dealing with the spiritual side of my life. Working within the creative sphere of natural impulses it certainly reflects Emma Jung's understanding of the feminine side of my personality. When this is balanced with the conscious rationale aspect of the male then the intuitive, unconscious side becomes a wellspring of creative genius. It has always been like that with me because much of my life has been in celibacy. Not an intentional celibacy because I have always opened myself up to the possibility that a female would fill the role of my 'sister-work'. I've come close to discovering that person but in reality their own projections on me wear off and urban mentalities in general appear too schizophrenic to be able to deal with the level of stimulus that my personality provides. Many of them suffer from an inferiority complex. Hence I tend to draw older women or children closer to me. It's the same since ages gone of all celibate individuals. Abstention from all sexual behaviour, hence the name 'soltero' meaning 'single', must then needs a creative field to play within, and for me this has been the farm and the permaculture I implement there. It is my anima, my collective unconsciousness looking for expression. But it is my soul, the collective consciousness, that welcomes others to join me. The long-term vision that wasn't grasped by my parents is no failure of mine. They now suffer from their infirmities and lack of companionship although this is more my mother than my father who always seems to have another agenda on the go, whilst he appears in a state of continual repair like his tools. I have other plans in the pipeline though.
Inside is a letter addressed to potential business partners to espouse my international volunteer exchange ideas. Bringing say, African farmers here to experience European rural life is a winner in my eyes. It stops the disillusionment of fake materialistic culture and provides a real solution to the immigration problem. Rather than escapees the idea is to nurture cultural ideologues who could take valuable experiences back and impart them to their own cultures. As a double-edge sword it selects for those who can encourage social enterprise in their own country. Wrought with red tape we will see how difficult it will be to progress, but already the scheme has met resentment here with the English expatriates living in Catalonia who see immigrants as a scourge of Britain. Probably escaping from their economic turmoil the last thing they want to see are successful immigrants. It's always the biggest mouths that shout first, but I'm talking about a handful of persons which is quite acceptable, whilst I pay minimal attention to them.
So this brings me back to the UK again and the whole Brexit question everyone is immersed within. I felt disgusted to be called British, hence I haven't renewed my passport which I don't need anyway to cross borders. The date has simply expired yet it is still a form of ID even if I used up the last 2 days of van insurance in a last-gasp effort to avoid all the Yellow-vest protests in France as dysfunctional centralised economics takes its toil. I think enough has been said about Brexit to know that too much self-interest is at stake as politicians vie for power and status, whilst the referendum vote is set to become a piece of legislative trash as the Remainers ensure that the goal posts are continually moved. It never really sees to be about what the people wanted, even if that viewpoint has changed. Fuck politics!
If that wasn't enough it seems also that the alternative counter-culture wanted to vomit me out of the UK. My Christmas dinner with Eleanor Wilson of Passing Clouds was at a vegan restaurant in Soho called Vantra London. The guest was Clive de Carle doing a road show on 'The art of never being sick again' explaining how to use mineral supplements to get the body to heal itself. It was during his Q&A that I asked why I generally only get ill when I overeat, explaining maybe why travelling or preparing one's own meals through such extremes as worldwide travel through deserts and mountains keeps me in good form. Only when I come back to rest do I seem to spoil my bio-chemistry, as previously referred to. Does my spiritual life arrogate the need to surround myself with loving positive people who give food lovingly without trying to poison me? Having eaten a feast myself I saw the speaker afterward flat out on the bench having a deep sleep. I soon followed just as lethargy set in. There was only about 20 persons there, the dynamic of a once-thriving grassroots enterprise gone. He never really answered my question as I referred to the vampire bats whose gut bacteria assimilate the minerals needed since a 99% diet of blood does not provide the nutrition otherwise. But it's a fair point to say that much about health requires one's collective consciousness to discriminate who will share in your energy and should exclude diseased minds rather than diseased bodies.
I looked around. Not many people were eating at all. And I came out the following day so ill that it must have been acute food poisoning. I have never taken so long to recover in living memory as of when I cycled across the Sahara into Senegal through sheer will-power and very close to death. Everything I subsequently ate went out as liquid. I'd asked Eleanor if anybody else became ill, but she also avoided the main issue and said the food didn't look fresh. I never saw her eat but the possibility of subterfuge by corporate bodies is very high. I said to Eleanor that in her political protestations to building developers she had made enemies during her energetic defence of Passing Clouds losing its venue. She is also a pro-anti-pharmaceutical activist and a brilliant mind. I gave her my final farewell and a gift of a poncho for all the years she had sheltered me. Long live Passing Clouds.
To conclude on this point, no matter what side we take, as with Brexit we must always uphold our strong leaders, like Eleanor Wilson. In a Facebook post I asserted the following:
Who wants to be British? Really, a bunch of ponces flouting democracy and not giving a real thought to those who voted to leave. Check: wasn't the system in place to represent the people and not a bunch of ponces? Check: has anyone considered what the betrayed leavers are going to do in response? Check: what was the system in place to allow the UK into the EU? Are there laws to overturn this decision also stating it's undesirabality? Check: wasn't the Scottish independent vote just as close? Check: shouldn't the country be supporting its strong leaders and not a bunch of ponces? Check to see if your MP is flouting democracy. Check: does anybody really know what they are voting for even at a general election? We don't need politicians, just a real education.
I continue to read around the history of anarchism and especially the scientist and national geographer Kropotkin who espoused the idea of mutual aid as the main driver of evolution. Corporations between members of a species, indeed at times between different species, ensured success towards the preservation of the young and weak. In fact he attributed around 75% of interaction as an unconscious mutual factor. I viewed a line of Cyprus trees on my land forming a wind belt. Planted under all the same conditions of wind and rain and sun I watched them grow over 3 years. Some are nearly 3 meters tall, others no more than a meter. The question is: How can equality exist if each tree has different genetic tendencies? It is true that beneath the surface the bedrock and depth of soil may prove a defining factor in the success of each individual tree. Some species like firs have known evolved traits where they share resources to their young through root mycchorhizal. These symbiotic relationships may not have been known to Kropotkin at the end of the 19th century. Nevertheless, he believed human society was a natural phenomenon. I don't, yet we make the same observations and word our language differently. Opposed to the synthetic construction of the State, I take his point further and in fact claim that humanity is alien. In this I distinguish between evolution and development because of man's apartness in conscious will. As, in say fir trees, leaders do exist, but only through the success of individuals in society to make resources available to the weak and young. Else a leader concept would be self-negating, which Kropotkin agrees with here. But this is elitism per se. How can equality exist truly?
There can only be equality in unconscious determination, but not in reality, and morality in conscious determination. As in Goethe's Faust will or power is superseded by deed, word and meaning. This is the whole basis of the Greek logos. But as I say, what is truly equal is the collective unconscious motive, what Emma Jung referred to as the anima and animus of human existence. Understanding and interpretation only come to the forefront after one is open to their unconsciousness, and this is spiritual. It is the Spirit that maintains our foothold in what is natural. Yet we must balance this unconscious with the conscious otherwise we get what Carl Jung described as inflated souls. This is the illness of the mind. It is the alien trying to come to terms with the natural. Alien because it doesn't really nurture the weak and the poor but alternatively encourages exploitation and disparity with those better-off. This is a materialistic issue, the root of egoism.