Sawdust from a shredded forest, glued together by toxic chemicals, covered in some plastic oil product stolen from a trashed nation, put together by slave labour, specially designed to fall to pieces, a consignment of flat-packed kitchen units. Fucked up world products.

Ok I said, I’ll do it. I was glad to get some work. I put my tools together and headed over to the site.

It was a rushed job. The house was being moved into, decorated and re-fitted at the same time. I walked through an unlit combination of rooms with electricians scrambling up and down ladders, and other unknown people busily occupied in different ways. A young labourer was hunting for something, going from room to room with a dustpan in his hand. Busily engaged with some problem, a plumber and his mate were stooping in the corner of what was to become a kitchen. The whole place was strewn with building materials, tools, and rubbish. The atmosphere throbbed with the distorted sound of a radio turned up full blast, back to back music of an eighties-dedicated radio station.

I put down my box of tools, and opened the lid. What I felt I needed immediately was a pencil, a tool of concentration in a chaotic atmosphere. I felt a flutter of fear that amongst my tools I would find no pencil. This fear had to do with my ability or not to stabilize myself in this environment. It was a fear about being overwhelmed by the conditions. Being able to immediately write down a number, or make a mark, or sketch a plan on to a piece of paper or a wall or anywhere available in 3D space seemed absolutely essential to me in this moment while my conscious mind was in a turbulence of distraction. Having found the pencil and having sharpened it, I lodged it behind my ear. I put a screw into a nearby wall and hung up on it my jumper. Now there was cool air on my arms and I felt ready to start.

One of the builders was a huge guy. I watched him disappear through a door opening that was only just big enough for him. As he moved around, he belted out the song, word for word. “As I walked over the Cork and Kelly Mountains, I came across an old man, and his money he was counting…”

“Go for it Frankie!” Called out a voice from another room, and then the drill began to scream again.

The words of these songs are one thing, the driving rhythms another. Fear impulsing statements one after another, packages of blame, judgement, regret, desire and definition, definition, definition. I am this and you are that, boom boom, boom, while the rhythm in space-time jerks the attention along to the next thought. It’s like a conveyor belt of brainwashing. This world reality of fear and limitation and polarity and separation defined and cemented into the words, these are the walls and the floors and the ceilings of our existence here as conscious mind, these words on our breath the very building materials of our prison.

I breathe, I stand here. What an entirely different existence this would be if we could, just for starters, share this realization that We Are Here.

The big man walks past the window outside the house. I turn my head very slowly. I feel the pencil behind my ear. It reminds me I should be working.




How to rate the opportunity to exist? I have no vocabulary for that.
Enough to say that it is really really really times infinity important!

What I know about Life is that Life demands to Live. Who am I in that? And who am I towards the Desteni methods of access to Living Self in fact in Physical Reality?

Lol. I had to drag myself to this table and to this blank piece of paper! Lol, that’s not Life at all, that is mind system stuff, it’s fear.

It’s interesting how I made a picture of this moment in my mind, from a distance, walking along towards the house, this moment of actually taking up the pen, like the climax to an Honouring of Self movie, with me of course as the star. But as I came in and approached the table in physical reality, I was swerving away from it, finding distractions, and listening to the ‘you can always do it later’ chorus in my head. What is there to fear in this situation but the reality of who I am towards myself?

Escaping from Reality can no longer work if I am reality, though I keep on trying it, swerving into a book or an energy hit or a film, or a sleep, but it feels like shit, and I am constantly aware that I am kidding myself, and I fear that I will kid myself from moment to moment to death, and lose this opportunity, of my existence.

So enough of that, I am here now and it’s ok I am stable.

Can it really be so hard to write down self honestly who I am existing as in the world today? What is there to stop me. Fear I suppose. Fear always stops me from doing things.

Now that’s quite a statement. “Fear always stops me from doing things.” When I look at it I realize that fear doesn’t actually ‘do’ anything at all, it’s a kind of static experience inside me. I can see here me giving responsibility to fear for my actions. I am actually using this fear stuff as an excuse for me to stop what I am doing, to give up on my efforts. It’s like before I give this ‘fear’ the power to stop me, I have to refresh it with the belief that fear is really scary! I am paying homage to my fear of fear, and making myself smaller than my own beliefs. It’s easy to say, and I realize that saying this doesn’t absolve me from the effects of all the specific connections and bonds that I have forged between fear and the words that I have lived.

The open FaceBook group, Redefining Fear, has been greatly supportive to me in showing me how many many fears we humans have in common, and how exposure of them from our secret lives has weakened their power. Over and over I read another fear exposed which I have harboured within myself, and I do Self Forgiveness on it, and over and over I have revisited this tired experience of fear in my body and it becomes less scary, less charged, more like a sensation, more like an endodermic reaction. I guess this is the redefinition that the group is after.

Have a look:  REDEFINING FEAR  http://www.facebook.com/groups/262356100513025/





Reading again this book, ‘Sanity, Madness and the Family’ (R.D Laing & A. Esterson), a collection of recorded interviews with 11 families. Each family had the common feature of having a child defined as ‘psychotic’ or ‘schizophrenic’ and had been subsequently hospitalized. Here we get not only an insight into the machinations of family brainwashing, but also a historic dimension in which we get a glimpse of the inheritance of systems from the next generation back. Here we enter into the generations of madness as an institution.

Having it’s origin in the early ‘60’s, the book is focused on generations familiar to me, and I recognize many of the now dated words of the time that made up the back-chat. Somewhat like a memory of the furniture in my grandmother’s parlour, these antiquated words and phrases come back to me as the units of the experience that I came to accept as myself.

Phrases such as, ‘showing-off’, ‘highly-strung’, ‘break-down’, ‘making a fuss’, ‘not your place’, ‘your own sweet way’, ‘full of yourself’, ‘spoiled’, ‘stubborn’, ‘selfish’, seem to me to be the features of the culture into which I was born. Each phrase carries a living connection to unconscious systems of values, this livingness of connection being me.

In seeing this book as another peek into my inheritance of systems, I realize also now that my initial ‘understanding’ of the book on first reading in my teenage years, would have been in the shape of how effectively the information had answered the question that I became as the starting point of reading this book. In the case of this book as well as a general ‘interest’ in psychology, the starting point was , ‘Is it, (within my belief and self judgement of there being ‘something wrong with me’), is it that I will find this definition of myself within this word of ‘schizophrenic’?

Looking back at these times I can see how this quest of self within the accepted reality of separation was ridiculously enough within a hope of finding myself amongst the ready made psychological definitions of human personality. I was seeking a definition from the system so that I could take part in the system, as a component of the system.

So first reading of this book had been an attempt to clarify the state of mystification in which I had walked away from my family. What I hadn’t realized was that on the other side of mystification lay a rooted belief in self definition as the way to go in this culture/system/world that seemed to me to be composed of definitions and labels, evident in the expressions and thoughts of family members such as in these charged up words I mentioned.

This process of mystification is a common feature amongst the interviews of these 11 families in the book. It is often the story of a child’s attempt to stabilize itself in the conditions of a conspiracy of fear and lies, in a story of war, of allegiances, parties, and special relationships, secret contracts, jealousy, and competition.

At one point in the book, Laing remarks that the parents “spoke without the slightest recognition that the modality of their experience and actions was fantasy”. It is as if the vehicle of the family system gets pushed along from generation to generation with no insight as to its content or direction. In these families specifically collateral damage was seen as an acceptable consequence, in which the opportunity of a child has been deliberately fucked over. Families in which there are no living beings but only beings suspended in abdication to automated systems.

Here’s the perspective of a being crossed over and talking through the Portal, a quote from Life Review My Life of Sin: (free!)


“…and there we are all going walking in our lives not realizing that we are not living, we are not here in this physical reality, we are complete zombies in these internal fantasy illusion imagination realities in our mind in which we’ve accumulated our little worlds as everything of this world that we are interpreting perceiving believing and like literally creating ideas of within our own minds. So it’s taking actual physical reality, imprinting everything, the likes, dislikes and preferences of all systems as all the parts into our minds and creating a mind world of the actual physical world and simply existing and experiencing ourselves as within our own interpretations of reality, as that’s literally how each human being is living in this world…”





Re: watching Sunette’s video, 2012: Overwhelmed with Tears by Media



In the movies these moments arrive in me mostly not as tear-jerking but often as that same wave up from the gut and through the chest and up behind the eyes, into the roofs of the eyes. That’s where I stop it, I realize that I have gone into a reaction in my mind according to and with the story and the film, this electro magnetic impulse of information. And here’s this point of resonation, it is the cathartic point, the money-shot, the bit that moved me. That’s what it said on the can it said: ‘it’s good’, ‘it’s very moving.’ That I have ‘been’ moved is the part which I play in actual reality as the consumer of this story. These are the selling points around which the movie is designed. The value to be constantly upheld by the rest of the movie in all of this is that “Emotions are valuable to my life, they are my life, and so I can be and become this energy, it’s good to be moving into energy, as energy as the ego of self interest, and continue to walk my life as I am. It is good, I am moved, I am this energy being, as such I continue to walk this reversal of life as self-interest”.


Anyway, so that was me in this moment this experience of possession in which the energy has gathered up into a wave and come up into the roof of my eyes, ready to jerk off a tear. In this moment here is an opportunity to look at what it is that I am doing here? What point in me is resonating inside this system?

I have made a start at this: so far I have found a few of them. There cannot be that many of them because if there were then the films would lose their broad appeal and then their profitability. It’d be interesting to get a full list of these points as used in the film industry.


The ones which I have found, which would be like the hooks for my system are:

Validation! Contact! Vindication! Rescue! Reconciliation! Recognition! These are some of the points symbolized and presented in story that are telling me unmistakably about the features of my own pre-programmed story which I am living out and in consequence I start resonating when I see and experience on screen these desires fulfilled.


Reconciliation! To me this one seems pretty tired by now, you know, the film starts and almost immediately you are introduced to a character who by the way has got problems with the relationship. Yawn yawn. And then of course you know that amongst all the other excitements in store for you, there will somehow develop the reconciliation.


I am not moved by this one; but I cannot say that the life that I am living is without these features. After all how may countless fuck ups with myself as others have I walked away from and been secretly in desire for all of them each and every one of them to be reconciled?


Looking at this, I am showing myself how I have accepted and allowed myself to exist in a world of conflict, a world shaped by a secret hope of a final reconciliation. The practical solution is obvious; to make actions that bring about the reconciliation which as an ego system I have opposed, in which I reconcile myself to myself as others.









I was talking to Manda about separation and I noticed in the sound of the word as I spoke it, a kind of flatness, a kind of uncertainty, as if it was a technicality or a piece of jargon, something which I could not stand wholly in the meaning of.

And I realized that it’s only from this starting point of where I am as me here being actually here in awareness of myself here as me that I see and realize the meaning of this word ‘separation’.

Because if I am absent from myself then where can this word be placed? It is everywhere, it has no use, it is kind of redundant, it cannot be applied in self support of self.

And so in not realizing this not-here-ness of me, this ‘separation’ can only be a vague term, a hypothesis, a mystery. As if having closed a door, it disappeared.

Step in to the X Box, where common sense is synthesized within belief, and everything and all the world is everywhere and somewhere else, and I forget this discomfort of myself turned inside out and simulated from an outside view which confirms my limitation, and as I am talking to another being I feel sort of stranded.

In the here-ness of me in this breath, which has to breathe, it can’t be stopped, the insistence of this life remains. What am I to do with and as insistent life which is this breath the same for all as one as equal is what in common sense is best for all, is best for me, the same. In whosoevers’ shoes it is the same solution. That is how to walk amongst and as each other as ourselves.


There’s a way to go.


Listening to Sunette using a sentence that contained both ‘self-direction’, and ‘walking discipline’,  ( This is the video: 2012: How and Why we ALWAYS Miss the OBVIOUS ) I suddenly was in an experience of fear, going roughly, Oh no, not walking discipline! Arg!

So come on Adam, who have I been trying to kid round here, believing that I might just maybe be able to direct myself and keep this nasty little word discipline tucked away somewhere, maybe somehow get by without having to look at it! Nooo!

This is a really cool point for me because I find that the issue of discipline is like a corner stone of the structure of this personality which I have for so long accepted as me. I have been attempting to direct myself (going like why is this so hard? lol) while at the same time avoiding the word ‘discipline’ because of all the negative emotional charges that I have connected to it. Is there a difference between directing myself and walking discipline?

When I have a look at the word discipline as I have defined it according to my experiences of hearing the word I see how I have connected it to fear. A picture comes up of drill practice at school as an army cadet in which one follows orders, moves exactly as others, in uniforms exactly as others, all timed footfalls exactly as others, as a machine. Kind of fun in itself, but I reacted badly to it. I didn’t like all the endless preparations of boot polishing and brass cleaning, and the fact that it was ok for a teacher dressed up in the uniform of an officer to be as offensive and sadistic as possible. So I became opposed to discipline as acceptance of authority, as loss of individuality.

So accumulating around this word discipline I had already beliefs that discipline meant obeying the commands of authority, meant constriction, deprivation of freedom, and loss of individuality.

So as a reaction I elected to live a life not disciplined, casual, wild, free, tolerant, etc.  All the opposite qualities of what the system was attempting to imbue.

I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to believe that I am free within consenting to my own possession by impulses and desires.

I forgive myself for not allowing myself to see that in fearing self-discipline as ‘constriction’ I am obviously protecting myself as this possession of impulse and desire as personality and sabotaging the possibility of me taking responsibility for who I am.

I forgive myself for accepting and allowing myself to fear self-discipline and for not allowing myself to realize how I have designed my personality as me, my life, according to a reaction to manipulation and control by others and for not realizing that in fearing self discipline I have been in effect safe guarding the continuation of this belief in myself as this personality and have therefore positioned myself in defense against myself so that I may not direct myself or be able to walk this point of discipline.

I forgive myself for not allowing myself to realize how I can in fact enjoy direction of myself, how I can in fact have direction in my life and be direction and live direction as an expression of who I am.



Here is a really clear introduction to the energy system in the human body:


Desteni.org   Equalmoney.org


In a moment my head turns smoothly as if dragged by the swivelling of my eyes, towards a window, towards a patch of sky, and I realize that I am looking for a reference to this belief in the existence of a door into another world. There are still the remnants of that illusion in my system. There is no way out of here, no way out of the totality of this projection which is me. Checking for a ‘ray’ of hope in the world is an activity of ego worship, in which I am promoting the continuation of the reign of consciousness. I have slipped into the same illusion that attempts to make real the arrival of God into physical reality such as ‘doomsday’ and ‘2012’ so that proof that God exists has been established here, and I am ‘right’…All in the absence of a single breath.

And here I see a point; I ask from what is it that I turn away? Is there really an ‘away’ to turn towards that is not another image in my mind? A fear has slipped up inside me and I have accepted it, allowed myself to exist as it, and to exist as less than it and I have turned away, and I realize that I have also accepted anger at myself, and I realize that this is how I treat myself when I am angry at me for being who I am; I ignore myself, I look away from the things which I have made, I avoid the face to face, I go all quiet, I keep the judgements which I have made racked up on a high shelf where I do not have to see them. I change the subject, I go off into distraction , into the sky and the clouds, and there I make-believe a ‘ray’ of hope.


It’s quite funny, I have to laugh at myself; I had a what the fuck sort of moment, in which I was going, ‘How Come, You don’t want to hear what’s going On?’, as a general world address, in my mind, about the simple message of Desteni and the solution of Equality. So it seems I turned it back on myself with an answer.


There are some really great new books out at Eqafe.com, have a look.

Also World/Self/Solutions: desteni.org, and equalmoney.org