REMINDER: THE ARENA PLATFORM, INC. has no obligation to monitor the Forums. However, THE ARENA PLATFORM, INC. reserves the right to review any materials submitted to or posted on the Forums, and remove, delete, redact or otherwise modify such materials, in its sole discretion and for any reason whatsoever, at any time and from time to time, without notice or further obligation to you. THE ARENA PLATFORM, INC. has no obligation to display or post any materials provided by you. THE ARENA PLATFORM, INC. reserves the right to disclose, at any time and from time to time, any information or materials that we deem necessary or appropriate to satisfy any applicable law, regulation, contract obligation, legal or dispute process or government request. Click on the following hyperlinks to further read the applicable Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
Death
- Thread starter JJJJS
- Start date
Death, is loosing a daughter and wife
Never a happy event
Just a terrible loss
Leaving one ...empty
DEATH ......
Never a happy event
Just a terrible loss
Leaving one ...empty
DEATH ......
Can't imagine.
You're tough as nails to have weathered a storm like that as well as you have.
He was here in 96 or 97, doing some ethno-botanical shaman style retreat up in the hills behind Byron, near where my mate lives, who is right into that culture.
also surfs and is a lawyer.
he rang me up one arvo and said come up I want you to meet Terence McKenna, who I had barely heard of.
I went up to his place, beautiful wooden house nestled in the rainforest and met this strange, little man.
He was very friendly, very "young".
I was just young, dumb surfer, didn't know much about what he was on about.
He'd been experimenting with native acacias, which are loaded with DMT.
Not sure if that is what we had.
It was late afternoon in winter, cool with a golden light through the forest.
We smoked it. I had no idea what to expect. Not sure if I had even ever heard of DMT.
Immediately, my vision shut down.....I couldn't discern any individual shapes ....just this vast blurred golden field composed of strange bending light fields. Very, very intense visual hallucination.
It was my hearing which became incredibly acute.....felt like I could distinguish every micro sound; beetles crawling through leaf litter, the sound of wings flapping, everything creeping and crawling and flying and the sound of wind through every leaf.
It was extremely intense but extremely pleasurable and relaxing.
Felt like we had been gone for days but it must have been less than half an hour because when things came back to normal the sun was still setting.
He was laughing with us.
We drank a few beers.
And felt totally normal the next day.
Heart breaking Pt. I could never be so strong and I’ve written too many letters to the families of KIA hero’s during my tour…. To lose a daughter and your life mate, I.m sorry, I couldn’t handle it the strength and character you’ve shown us. I’m not ‘queer’ but love you brother…
No one has ever said it better-
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
I am thy father's spirit,
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love--
Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night,
And for the day confined to fast in fires,
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison-house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine:
But this eternal blazon must not be
To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list!
If thou didst ever thy dear father love--
I take great comfort in the knowledge that we are tiny little specs of dust on a grain of sand hurtling through something or another and we haven’t the first clue of what it’s really all about or if it really means anything at all. It’s liberating
I really can't stand Joe Rogan.
nothing against him ideologically, just hate the way he talks and interviews people.
never been able to get more than 10 minutes into one of his poddies.
nothing against him ideologically, just hate the way he talks and interviews people.
never been able to get more than 10 minutes into one of his poddies.