The Mind is the Source of Happiness and Unhappiness…Buddha

How do I do this? Seriously, HOW the fuck do I do this?

They’re holding your ‘ceremony’ where they’ll sprinkle your ashes in the forest, and then the dysfunctional shitty lot of them, will all get pissed, be ever so dramatic, talk about wonderful, crazy, exciting, witty, daredevil stunts you did, many of which will be untrue, but they’ll all  agree, nod their heads,  exclaiming ‘exactly!; in tandom, no matter what anyone says about you.

Some will cry and sob, and make it all about them, just so that others can put an arm around their shoulders and whisper, ‘oh don’t cry honey, I know it hurts, but she’s in a better place’, and that’ll make the self pitying, self loving, self obsessed person feel so much better. Of course, it’ll become all about who is the most ‘hurt’…how ‘wrong and unfair’ it is that you took your life. So many questions will be asked amoungst them, stupid questions like ‘WHY? she had such a good life!’ or, ‘WHY didn’t she reach out to ME!’ ‘I would’ve helped her! I could’ve stopped her!’ and their pointless self serving bullshit will go on the entire day.

I hear they’re going to be streaming the ‘ceremony’ they’re holding for you, to all who loved you, so that they can be there in real time, albeit over the net. That’s good. I’m happy. There are many people that truly loved you. Your severe mental illness, wouldn’t allow your mind to acknowledge that though. I get that. It’s not your fault.

So my precious Sister. I’m sorry I won’t be at the ‘big’ ceremony. I cannot partake in a party filled with self serving, egotistical, dysfunctional people. As you know, hell, I’m not that functional myself!

I’m sorry I don’t have the guts to join them.

Please understand that I will, with my own family, go to the place where they hold your ceremony the weekend after. To the woods where they’ll scatter your ashes,  with my statue of Buddha firmly under my arm. Incense in hand, loads of candles, that I hope the wind won’t blow out and incense. Lots of incense.

We’ll sit quietly where your ashes are sprinkled. One of us will sing to you. I’ll light all the candles and put flowers all over Buddha. I’ll put your scarf around Buddha, and we’ll sit in a circle holding hands, then as the Gods hold our hands, we’ll peacefully let you go.

I hurt. I pray you have found the freedom now, to really live in Peace.

Your ever loving Sister. I will miss you forever.





My Picture Perfect Life of illusion

Please, come inside. Taking off your shoes is not a requirement, but you are welcome to set your toes free, if you’d like. My toes prefer freedom.

To drink, I can offer you coffee, hot tea, tropical punch kool-aid, or a tall, clear glass of water. You may prefer the water. Truths I serve here will be difficult to swallow.
My wish, if wishes could be made, would be to paint for you a word picture of my life that is so inspiring, indescribably beautiful, richly intelligent, and so wildly admirable it would have you striving for a life as picture perfect as mine. But if I painted you that picture, it would be filed under fiction.
Right now, you’re seated in my foyer, a place diligently designed by the mind of a perfectionist. Here, the ambient lighting works in conjunction with proper angles to show everything in its most flattering form. Solid oak, hand-carved, dust-free polished furnishings lead you to conclusions of solidity. This is a solid space on a strong foundation, elegantly drizzled with finery and accomplishment.
No detail forgotten, you find yourself intrigued by the creative concepts that made this mansion possible. Hand-woven silk rugs, beaded and embroidered throw pillows, puddling drapes, crystal vases with fresh flowers.
But if I break the spell, if I erase the illusion, if I cared not to enchant you with my distracting seductive song and dance, you would find your eyes disbelieving the dilapidated ruin in which you stand, and your heart mourning for the potential that once shone here.
Mental illness lurks here. Swept under that silk rug, stuffed behind the puddling drapes, in every nook and cobweb infested cranny, and was ignored, denied, and rejected until the elephant in the room pissed all over everything, and the bulls in China shops reeked havoc with chaos and dark destruction.
I want to paint you a pretty picture, but I don’t know how to do that and tell you the truth at the same time.
My truth is ugly and I tried to keep it chained in the dungeon, but there are no chains strong enough, no dungeon big enough. No lie loud enough.
Welcome to my bipolar palace, a house of mirrors planted on the tallest, creepiest, loneliest mountain peak my soul could find.

 Shaun & Marindas houde 004

Did you know? Do you care and what will you do?

Hi Folks

We get petitions from ‘Greenpeace’, ‘Avaaz’ and others all the time about saving our animals, and I’m the first to agree. I’m an avid lover of animals, and just yesterday, I had the horrible misfortune of seeing a list of 10 animals that are now extinct.

The Amazon jungle loses species that go extinct everyday due to over logging. No matter how many times you ‘lobby’, sign petitions, and then feel satisfied that you’ve actually done something because you put your name on a piece of paper, and then continue texting your girlfriend, feeling very good about your good deed,  which begs some useless, lazy Politician who doesn’t give a damn, ‘a good talking to’! (He or She probably never even sees these petitions anyway), so the slaughter goes on.


What about the Tribal People who have existed on our planet since the beginning of time? Their land is being taken, they are denied their age old hunting rights, and they do NOT hunt like the modern (mostly white) man does. They hunt small buck for food. They not only hunt by following the buck, but when they shoot with their tiny arrows, their aim is always on target.

I’m talking about the Bushmen here. I’m passionate about these people.

bushman hunting  IMG_7462 IMG_7463

These are genuine Bushmen Bows and Arrows carefully made by the Kalahari Bushmen. They have the authentic arrows inside the quiver which is made from tree bark, they have fire sticks too, and a spare one. The arrows are super sharp.

What the Bushman does, is put a small amount of poison on the end of his arrow, just enough to kill a small buck. The buck will then run, and the Bushman will follow him for a few days until the buck drops from the poison. The Bushman can’t put too much poison onto the arrow, or he’ll poison the meat.

He’ll then squat down and thank the animal for giving it’s life. He’ll pray in thanks. Then lift the buck and carry it home for the whole tribe to eat.

THAT my friends, is hunting with courage, pride and dignity.

So who cares that they are being chased off their land, denied their right to hunt, when it’s all they’ve known?

These are the oldest people on our planet.

download (4)

So, next time you sign a petition, think on the Earths oldest and most gentle inhabitants.


Visit us on Facebook, follow us on twitter! Check our blogs out! Join us as we travel the world!

Thanks everyone

Till next time