Triantiwontigongolopes and other Bruisers

[Guest guest]

A Meditation on several glasses of Home Brew

 

 

An ancient ancestor looked through my eyes and reflected at the

marvels of evolution - remembering how in his time, there were no

glass flagons, nor stainless steel vats -

but, the wine then did have an earthy vibration which is missing

from the current chemical vintage.

 

 

" There's a very funny insect that you do not often spy,

And it isn't quite a spider, and it isn't quite a fly;

It is something like a beetle, and a little like a bee,

But nothing like a wooly grub that climbs upon a tree.

Its name is quite a hard one, but you'll learn it soon, I hope.

So try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope .. "

 

 

As I chewed on a piece of pickled pork, a piece of bread and bit

into an olive, the same ancestor saw how much had been gained -

and how much simplicity was lost.

 

I wasn't sitting on an old stump in the open air village square -

I was standing in a room, well above ground level

in front of a stainless steel sink looking at thousands of other

houses through the glass window of my mountain vantage point.

 

The fire crackled in the cast iron heater - another evolutionary

marvel. Down in the garden I had just called on the same skills of

this man - or another - to dig a vegetable patch. At least, in a

month or so I won't have to eat the water pumped chemical fed

variety from the supermarket.

 

Another glass of home brew washed down the cheese.

 

 

" It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has a funny face;

Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a disgrace.

When first you come upon it, it will give you quite a scare,

But when you look for it again, you find it isn't there.

And unless you call it softly it will stay away and mope.

So try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope .."

 

 

My dad awakened this remembering. I guess I was fortunate in that

he, a bush boy, had the skills and the time to plant his own.

Memories - I remembered how the ground was dug and fertilised.

My mouth watered at the memories of the home grown tastes -

and the freshness of fruit and vegetables taken straight from the

earth

 

They had soul.

 

Down the local nursery, I looked at all of the new varieties of

tomatoes and talked to the old nurseryman .. yes, hidden away,

he still had the variety I remembered from my childhood.

 

All of the new ones, he told me, were developed for mass

production - to be pumped full of water, to be force fed with

chemicals, to ripen very quickly, to be stored in refrigerators

for long periods - and when dropped, they splattered.

So I tenderly brought home some of the oldest varieties

and planted them in the moist warm earth ..

 

 

Back in my ancestors' days, it took a long time for compost to

prepare - and a lot of hard work turning the heap of scraps. The

old eyes marvelled at the new polycarbonate tumbler and how it was

able to help mother nature speed her own process with so much time

saving ..

 

Yet, something was missing. It was the people - the family - the

other villagers sitting around sharing stories, sharing

responsibilities, watching their children climb the olive trees ..

 

The fruit and vegetables used in the Home Brew didn't come from

the supermarket. They came from Bio-dynamic farms where the growers

had learned to apply all of the skills of their ancestors ..

 

There was a familiar rightness to the third glass ..

the memories blurred and the awareness shifted ..

 

 

" It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon its toes;

It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish nose.

If you snear at it, or scold it, it will scuttle off in shame,

But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you call it by its

name,

And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax and soap.

So try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope .. "

 

 

What if a balance could be found between all of the advances of

the generations and we could still have the simplicity of the old

values?

 

We have learned so much.

 

Yet we have turned our wisdom into the destruction of the very

fabric of Life. The agents of war have become even more insidious.

 

The torture and treachery of the times of my ancestors is still

practiced except that tortured minds and bodies

now result from the mutations caused by chemicals from the

time of the gasses used in the first world war.

 

 

Yes - some people seem to live longer, but at what cost?

 

 

Now, the memories are so deeply and permanently ingrained in the

body that we need drugs to control the personalities created by

them. More chemicals - and from my high school days, I remember

that there are some chemicals one has to be very careful about

combining. I could buy simple stuff down at the local grocery store

and make a bomb.

 

 

So, the mutated male terrorist who is the result of generations of

toxins needs drugs to control his behaviour. Many of the females

have become resentful -

 

forgetting the fact that it wasn't so many generations ago that

they bred male children to hand over to the religious armies

so their own freedom could be preserved.

 

 

Now, the drugs used to control destroy the sheaths of the central

nervous system - and the walls of the vessels that carry the blood

of life - and the other half of the species looks like evolving

into a spineless creature.

 

Ritaloids gradually destroy the disks between the vertebrae -

can you imagine the pain of a spinal cord

without shock absorbers?

 

 

The Fathers of the next generation are the product of the war on

war itself - a mutation of torture and treachery .. maybe gene

therapy, the next evolutionary step will be able to produce

designer children without the imprints of the past ..

 

 

But, what about the planet .. the same effects are seen in the

scars on its surface as it rebels at the removal of the fluid

between its joints .. earthquakes and weather changes ..

 

 

Mankind has a way of dealing with viruses and bacteria -

but will he ever evolve enough to design a drug

or be able to perform gene therapy on the planet ..

 

The old ancestor mused ..

back in his day the soil which grew his food

was lovingly nurtured so that the food had life ..

 

until some other group became jealous

because his land seemed richer ..

 

another glass of Home brew ..

 

 

" But of course you haven't seen it; and I truthfully confess

That I haven't seen it either, and I don't know its address.

For there isn't such an insect,

though there really might have been,

If the trees and grass were purple, and the sky was bottle

green.

It's just a little joke of mine, which you'll forgive, I

hope.

Oh, try:

Tri-

Tri-anti-wonti-

Triantiwontigongolope .. "

 

 

I wonder - what would happen if the lessons of the past were

turned towards a harmony of peoples and abundance for all?

 

 

Have you ever watched the simplicity and innocence

of very young children from different cultures and nationalities

playing happily together in the dirt -

before their parents start to panic about their nice clothes

getting dirty -

 

before they are sent to school

to learn about God and the mutation of truth -

and be taught to pray for the peace that was taken from them.

 

to rekindle their deep unconscious memories of torture and treachery

 

 

Children for whom THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE

was written by C J Dennis (1876-1938, Australia)

 

 

 

 

-- Christopher Wynter

christopher

http://www.anunda.com

 

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