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NOMAD WORLD TRACE
USER INFO: ROB

Name: rob mcdougall

Bio: ...navigating the pathways of life energies as they weave new territories of multi-dimensionality, bringing this monolithic being we have created into completion as it surges onwards through the turbulance of the times...

Photos: rob's photo libraries

NAVIGATION.
kangra remembering.. ( 26th Apr, 2009 )
rainbow dreaming.. ( 12th Feb, 2009 )
India, Ayahuasca, Love and Planetary Dreaming ( 30th Nov, 2008 )
bombay dreaming ( 26th Nov, 2008 )
Indian Uranus ( 23rd Nov, 2008 )
intermission with the tales of a joker sadhu, may 08 ( 6th Nov, 2008 )
Benares temple life - March '08 ( 5th Nov, 2008 )
...first meeting... ( 26th Oct, 2008 )
reflections in time from the head of the serpent ( 26th Oct, 2008 )
berlin dreaming... late 07 ( 25th Oct, 2008 )
Notes on Post-History ( 25th Oct, 2008 )
the german story,part 2, august-sept07 ( 4th Jul, 2008 )
the german story... august 07 ( 1st Jul, 2008 )
Uuja ( 2nd Jan, 2008 )
st peterburg dreaming... ( 31st Dec, 2007 )
Pysähtyneet planeetat! ( 30th Dec, 2007 )
...chung king dreaming ( 20th Dec, 2007 )
..illuminations in the skies ( 20th Dec, 2007 )
June 07 - leaving home... ( 29th Nov, 2007 )

ROB
 
kangra remembering..

I was sitting in a small village in a family home in the Kangra valley with Pracrash Giri and Chuny Lal, Aum Giri Baba, my appointed teacher of sadhan. The Amma of the house goes to get us some chai; in the opposing mudbrick shelter overlooking the valley, Manu works with his brothers in the preparation of Tibetan medicines for the local hospital, down the hill and through the mountain forests from the Dalai Lama temple. Chuny mutters in Hindi to the baba, then pauses in flow and resonance with the surrounding nature. My mind wanders, and he turns to me, speaking in broken english in his himalayan himachali indian accent, staring me deeply with eyes of eternity.

'You ever listen...sometimes...to the sound...the birds...the trees?'

I respond, thinking of years of study of electroaccoustic music, of reading John Cage, and my wanderings with my DAT recorder and microphone around Melbourne suburbs, Russian forests, Berlin streets, trying to capture the essence of what i feel when my mind is quiet and i can hear the sound of nature for what it is - always at some dead-end of questioning whether having these experiences had some deeper meaning and direction other that the devotion to post-minimalist musical composition.

'Yeah sure, its like... music?

he responds,

'oooh...maybe, but...something good for....remember...'


And of course, after all temporal dimensions have been explored, and all glamorous and miraculous maps have been crafted cunningly and then destroyed by the immersion of the energies of truth and love, and endless cycles of exploration have been navigated in ecstatic heights and heart-shattering lows, and the constant struggle of human life endured, and all the frustrations and madness and moments of utter clarity and awareness, and all the 10,000 things and their manifestations have been pondered over, ruminated, expanded, contracted and dissolved; you arrive back at the centre of remembrance. All those reasons why we never faced up to who we are, all those systems and communal agreements that we used as buffers in the fight against our own truth. All those vast and endless journeys made in order to deal with something that we couldn't see, touch, or smell. No amount of exploration, no amount of buffering of emotional pains and losses and gains, can ever amount for that single moment when you remember yourself for who you are. All the tricks, all the tools, all the strategies, all the devices, are, as Krishnamurti says, 'like candles compared to the sun'.

The journey will go on until the day that you sit in stillness and quietly remember yourself. No abstract truth, no beautifully crafted sentence or emotional speech, no romantic and idealist image of who we might be, no endless channels of connections with beings and intelligences experienced as separate to our basic selves, and assumed to have the final answers to our problems and prayers, can ever be enough. And when you do remember yourself in that single moment, you will awaken to the world in reality, as it is. And from there, life flows and flowers.

So we sing hymns to the death of reason, to the death of the million possible horizons, and venture out into the light of day, learning always new ways to keep learning, and learning new ways to love . The sun shines, the nature flows onward ever onward like an endless stream, as we slowly remember, remember, remember.

hari aum :)

 
rainbow dreaming..
[ file under: Home, Pilgrimage, Seasons, The Gypsy Life ]

'the universe is made not of atoms, but of stories' - Antero Alli

Mythology for me is the ever-changing colour, light and form that is generated, nurtured and renewed by the interraction between DNA and geography when any active and collective human experience is tuned to the harmonic of gratitude, love and conscience. The individual self interracting with the life of archetypal forces, muses and messangers of vast and unknown origins. mythology is moving, it is dynamic, is is part of the vast, living and pulsating organism of the Planetary Entity - it is the Soma of the union of humanity and great nature. the dreaming, dream-body and mother earth herself are one and the same. as much as our sleeping mind is convinced of the staticness and concreteness of life, such perceptions are revealed to be illusiory at best when one is exposed to the direct experience of life's energies, in their expansive nothingness - one finds the difference between the map and the territory - the ideation in its dead and symbolic nature, and dynamic flow of life, the world existing in reality.

Once again the earth has made arrangements, the great beast surges on into future history, life grows and decays as it always had. Once again I am at Rainbow Serpent.

Things have changed. It has been 2 years since i was here. I have traveled far and wide since that time. I have searched for folk wisdom in rural Russia, dreams and pain tears in the ghettoes of St Petersburg. Life and love in Poland, ecstasy and transcendance and the beating heart of the world in the German countryside. I have been amongst thousands in festivals in the Brandenburg forests, partied with hordes of European travelers and modern nomads as they intersected in an Interzone of Full Moon and Vuuv in the great summer of '07. I was present and a part of that great mythos as it expanded and pulsed like a great fire into the European skies and out into the shadowy exteriors of cultural life, following its trail throughout the Autumn and Winter. I have been at gatherings in the Bavarian mountains, been subject to great change, a great conjunction of fringe-dwelling nomads, and then descended into the fiery pits of Berlin's great techno undertow as it moved and breathed life and colour into Germany's black heart. I was a casual observer, but as we learn from our French heroes, nothing exists outside of context - there is no reality beyond its subject and its observing instrument in any point in time and space - anywhere we walk on our vast planet we are not only being effected by but are simultaneously effecting, changing, being involved and directly engaged with the formation of its future and the actualisation of its life in the ever-molting now. This is the beauty of modern nomadism, that no matter how much we can stay asleep as we travel across borders, language barriers, geographic unknowns, our instrument, our living and breathing body of life and light is interfacing as part of open-ended Culture, as this process continues to resonate and distillate the mythologies of the future.

I had been through India, Asia's vast subcontinent, Mother Earth's moist Yoni. I had partaken in rituals of life and love, my illusion of Westernisation had dissolved in the presence of gazing eyes, I had been exposed to the harshness of life and the struggle of survival and the rawness of what it means to be human. My games, dreams and fantasies has been shown to me, on the road, in cities and forests, the grids of consciousness of India's antiquity had whispered me a way to see beyond my limitations to a liberating grief of Reality. I had suffered greatly, I had experienced complete ecstasy - I was at once free. I was and am part of some great movement, some great shift of the ages of which one can only imagine and dream of the proportions. Does it matter so much that we create mythos surrounding these times, romanticising its apparent significance in the place of natures mysterious flow, of humanity's 'armed madhouse', as Ginsberg put it, of ancient barbarism, of the relative nothingness of all of this beauty. I had wandered alone, finding myself in eastern markets, rural villages, a stranger in a strange land, effecting, being effected, floating in a dream of insight and reality, representing my entire civilisation and everything i am in quiet moments of eternity. One can dream about the exoticness of foreign lands, and go seeking it in a naive attempt to attain something, to see some perspective - and be rudely awakened to the pain and drudgery of earth life in it's ordinary miraculousness. What I can hope to achieve, as my stilled mind begins to become one with my heart and body, and my Being awakens from its dreams, its fantasies, its delusions, and becomes present to the miraculous beauty of ordinary life, is nothing but a homebound sense of grace for all of this. That i spend no time wasting on daydreams, of fantasies, of ineffective dribbles that seek to make the best out of the madness that comes with a resistance to the quiet grace of emptiness. Now I reside in there, in a light and dark place of no form, where all things begin and all things return. Aum

Yet, from this place, I open my eyes and see the horizons of this time, I move to second attention, I am directly engaged - I see the grids of light in the sky, I see the vast and interconnected forces and interstellar beings present in the skies, the consciousness and life of the stars. I see the Earth's vast field of life and communication, I see the Vedic Soma of the skies - consciousness interracting with the human nervous system. I see the Spirit communicating with the planet through DNA, I see life directly growing, evolving, communicating as part of vast intelligences that we can only grow receptive to. I sat in abandoned post-soviet playgrounds, empty graffitied carparks in Polish cities, quietly observing eternity in German cafes and train stations, turkish ghettoes, watching the life and pulse of the ages move around me. And now, back home, in my first outdoor festival adventure in my home country for some two years, after a time of rest and reflection and return to my roots and love of my family, I greet hundreds of old companions whom i have known from disperate and fringe rebellion travel lines, from anarchic gatherings of conscious rebellion, from those formative years of travel, adventure and conscious participation in terrestrial evolution, all around me, greeting me with old and familiar smiles, glad to see me back, a somebody who thought he was somebody and realised his place of liberation as an eternal nobody. After all my mythic journeys and investments, some in a deep vision of our role in the universe, some in self-delusion, I find myself once again part of a living community. I had gone my own way, found my investments and buffers in a identity of my place, and then seen them dissolved and placed by my self-exposure, and once again I return and the lies of my mind are replaced by the truth of my Heart. Life goes on, the mythologies of community formation i was apart of, continue, life lines and social groups flow on, people have changed, the earth has changed, we have all changed together, in our own solitary roads yet connected by some invisible spiritual tie that arranges us together to find eachother, greet eachother, bless eachother. Sitting now in a campsite at Rainbow serpent, my companions have ingested San Pedro cactus. I can see they have opened up. Their auras have expanded, the earth and stars greet them. We sit in presence.

Life moves, life turns, the unknown forces of our interractions from which we are all intimately a part, grows and evolves; the beat goes on.

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