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Mike Lee

Mike Lee, 50 from United Kingdom (male)
Email: click here
Network: Europe
Present Country: United Kingdom
Join Date: September 12, 2011
Last Updated: February 26, 2020
Last Signed In: May 22, 2020

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I do not expect you'll read all of this but still, I hope some of you may find it interesting! Keep it simple! Herbalists like Juliette de Bairacli Levy, who travelled the world during her lifetime, often living as a nomad, are my kindred spirits. Although from a family, who were very privileged in a material way, she nevertheless chose to live with the Gypsies and cherish their knowledge and this was how she brought up her children – wild and awestruck with the health and vigour of vagabonds, filled to the brim with the strength and vitality of Nature. The film about her life and her books on herbalism are treasures and akin to many travelling folk she felt inspired to write poetry, which I appreciate: You shall die, and I shall die! Take our places in the sky. You and she, and he and I, when the time comes, all must die. That’s a game we would play man and woman, girl and lad, in gypsy camps far away, laughing times, yet passing sad. Poppy crowns for everyone, red rose for the fairest one, we would shout, King Death to come, laughing loudly, turn and run. Then more the cry, who will die? Nor he, nor she, and not I, want that fearful power to fly. We would pass the hours that way, bed with gypsies by cool streams, golden days of dance and play, harp and flute and tambourines. But poppy crowns droop and fade, feet grow weary, hearts afraid. Time kills all in Gypsie Glade, flower and tree, man and maid. Gone the Gypsies, every one all who played the Gypsie game, left the earth, its mirth and fun, starry nights and hyacinth lane. None can play that game alone, thus I want to hear the cry, come now! Leave thy earthy home, Join the Gypsies in the sky. I know of the ‘modern Romany Gypsies’, and I shared their food, hospitality and lodgings while hitch-hiking in Romania; I was walking through their village by chance and they surrounded and then welcomed me with open hearts and fortunately one of them spoke French, so we could communicate. My tent stayed packed and my rucksack as safe as if it was in the vaults of Fort Knox! It was only my heart in danger with the beauty of their kindness and a young lady who had taken a shine to me and was making it well known! For theirs is a sad tale, but it’s a tale we all share; of enslavement to sedentarism. We all suffer it to some degree; enforced, as it is, by the Apartheid chicanery of the Royal Militarists and their Church and State system of ‘rank and privilege’. The ‘privileged’ speak a different language to the rest of us! However, it’s a foolish man who refuses to harken to the call of Nature, as Mother Earth opens her heart and bosom to all comers. I’ve never stopped living as a nomad and this was my first love: From my teenage years, after meeting and then setting off travelling with a Scotsman called Gavin Cree, it has informed and influenced my psyche and my life. Gavin was my first travelling friend as a young adult; a nomad who had already hitch-hiked through Europe into India and the Himalayas, Afghanistan, large tracts of south America and an overland trip from northern Africa into the steamy jungles of the Congo before he ended up ‘dead’ and inside a black ‘body-bag’ after contracting a debilitating bout of malaria, which had paralysed his body! Fortunately, a Congolese country physician, who had likely seen it all before, injected a strong shot of adrenaline straight into his heart, reviving the paralysed waif before they’d closed the zipper on the bag! So this incredulous teenage lad, who has now had his own brushes with death, often did not believe a word he said; so ‘far-out’ did his traveller’s tales seem to me back then, but I would gladly listen to these ‘tall tales’ nevertheless. So we had some great adventures hitch-hiking and jobbing around together in the 1980’s, and it was a time of spiritual growth and revelation for this teenage lad – feeling unfettered from a pernicious ‘reality’, designed with many pitfalls to ensnare and enslave. Jobbing was easier too as the world was not as mechanised and you could find seasonal jobs easily enough; our ‘salaire minimum’ in French Francs was enough to live on – before the treachery of the banksters had really taken a hold in their ‘switch’ to the Euro, and their geopolitical imposition of apartheid economics. This is transparently feudalism and hegemony and how is it serving us?! Anything lacking humanity only ‘benefits’ the few, and it’s not doing much for them neither! So my first travels were over 30 years ago! But my ‘survival’ skills of how to live simply and take what comes have stood me in good stead on the whole! I have even sometimes enjoyed my own ‘deja-vu’ moments, where I have been recounting some of my tales of ‘far-flung’ places to other incredulous younger ears and seen that look of disbelief in their eyes! Maybe Gavin is ‘settled’ somewhere these days, but in the era before wireless communications, you ‘lost touch’ with friends, knowing that you never really lose touch, because those times we shared together are eternal. You might get the impression I am being nostalgic and it’s true. While I’m not a fan of intrusive technology; the wireless electronic revolution that’s so predominant is a Trojan Horse and we’re not being given much choice in the matter, so we’ll just have to see how things pan out… for now we have to make the most of it as usual. Dirty electricity has long taken its toll, and as a man who has appreciated the great outdoors my whole life, and I have worked with bee-keepers internationally, it is a shame to see how the birds and the bees, the forests and the seas suffer so. I’ll just keep ‘plodding on’ like the rest of us, not trying to be a ‘superman’! I just hope to plant many more trees and recreate beautiful gardens and keep doing the best I can! One day we will harken to the wise words of Chief Seattle and so many others and we will learn to respect life again. Like JdBL, who reckons she created about ten gardens in her lifetime, I love to recreate and I love the beauty and wisdom found in the appreciation of a ‘weed’ you can forage from the wild like a dandelion; the rustle of the wind in the leaves; the saltiness of the sweat from your brow on a hot day; the mutual joy of a ‘job well done’!… this is what fills my heart with joy. I love that feeling of your muscles aching after having worked the earth with a mattock – you can see that’s the tool I am holding in the photograph. Here is one of my poems: “Wild...” Born to be Wild, we are of the Earth, Yet I well understand how we've given birth, To a system of death, within it life dies, But we give it life, as we give it our lives. What happened to peace, to love for our brother, To love for an Earth we should see as our Mother? When we've distanced ourselves from the soil and the trees, Do we hear the life in the birds and the bees? When we give life to objects, not even alive, Polluters, destroyers, the machines that we drive; The machines that we cherish; the machines in our lives. Or do they drive us - can you not see, That without them our lives would be truly free? We're born into freedom, why make ourselves slaves, To a futile Hell, to help dig our own graves? When we poison our waters, our air and our lands, Then we poison ourselves, and from our own hands! I'd rather see trees, as my living friends, Than drive long roads, in a Mercedes Benz! Yea I know in my heart it's the ignorant few, Who still feel we're “right” to pollute as we do: This Spirit of Power, of Industrial Greed, Of Military Might, and Media Need, In abiding by these we imprison our souls, Great folly and madness is out of control, But there's plenty I know, who are not so bent, On senseless destruction and whose time is spent, In the knowledge that quiet, resides at our door, At Peace with our Mother, turning once more, Her turns are our Soul, our Spirit, our Home... As no slave to man, no slave to his dock, To his senseless laws, or his ticking clock, For my law is Nature, and She says to me, That I have Her Spirit and She makes me Free. This is a North American Indian poem I really like, written by an anonymous author... There was a time, when I saw the world Coyote lives in. I had walked up, with a friend – once upon a time, behind the rocks; the big ones that rise up, mossy-greened, and cradle the forest-shadowed ponds that the ducks and moose love, to seek the slight-sloping, grassy meadow hidden behind them. We half-lay for hours in the tall emerald grass among the ancient trees that towered over the drifting textures of the land. While our elbows supported us we talked of plants, and stones, and the wisdom of moss. Slowly we began, as humans sometimes do, to slip into the wildness of the world. Our language began to slow down, pause and falter. Into silence we drifted and for some reason that only our souls understood that day we flowed with it, not talking. Colours became more vivid and the air began to sparkle. Our breathing and the sounds of the forest took on a luminous quality. And into this silence Coyote ambled, following a game trail that flowed, brown runnel, near our feet. Her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth, and she was laughing that crazy laugh Coyote has, while her eyes spun as she watched the dancing bones that lie under the fabric of the world. Crazy, gambolling Coyote. Third force in Universe. I said under my breath, “Turn your head to the right.” And my friend sat up and said, “What?” And in so doing, lost her chance to see. I, still watching, saw Coyote’s eyes shift out of that crazy, spinning universe and shocked, no, betrayed, by the secrecy of our immersion she flipped straight over and ran, tail between her legs, only some strange kind of dog, up the trail. What I glimpsed through Coyote’s eyes lodged in a part of my brain I did not know I had. I can reach out and touch it sometimes. My eyes begin to spin, and I feel a bit dizzy, and I can see dancing bones under the fabric of the world. I still do not know what the world that Coyote lives in does when no one is watching but I do know it is ancient, far beyond the species lifetime of humans and that next to it our world is only a chip of wood floating on the ocean.

Next Destination(s):
Ready for another adventure (or two!)

Helper Description:
Update 2020: My latest volunteering experience was at a festival of Shamanism at Fonroque, which is a beautiful part of France. We were doing group work together with the Shamans in various workshops; powerful and rejuvenating!
Keep it simple!
Herbalists like Juliette de Bairacli Levy, who travelled the world during her lifetime, often living as a nomad, are my kindred spirits. Although from a family, who were very privileged in a material way, she nevertheless chose to live with the Gypsies and cherish their knowledge and this was how she brought up her children – wild and awestruck with the health and vigour of vagabonds, filled to the brim with the strength and vitality of Nature.
The film about her life and her books on herbalism are treasures and akin to many travelling folk she felt inspired to write poetry, which I appreciate:

You shall die, and I shall die!
Take our places in the sky.
You and she, and he and I,
when the time comes, all must die.
That’s a game we would play
man and woman, girl and lad,
in gypsy camps far away,
laughing times, yet passing sad.

Poppy crowns for everyone,
red rose for the fairest one,
we would shout, King Death to come,
laughing loudly, turn and run.
Then more the cry, who will die?
Nor he, nor she, and not I,
want that fearful power to fly.

We would pass the hours that way,
bed with gypsies by cool streams,
golden days of dance and play,
harp and flute and tambourines.
But poppy crowns droop and fade,
feet grow weary, hearts afraid.
Time kills all in Gypsie Glade,
flower and tree, man and maid.

Gone the Gypsies, every one
all who played the Gypsie game,
left the earth, its mirth and fun,
starry nights and hyacinth lane.
None can play that game alone,
thus I want to hear the cry,
come now! Leave thy earthy home,
Join the Gypsies in the sky.

I know of the ‘modern Romany Gypsies’, and I shared their food, hospitality and lodgings while hitch-hiking in Romania; I was walking through their village by chance and they surrounded and then welcomed me with open hearts and fortunately one of them spoke French, so we could communicate. My tent stayed packed and my rucksack as safe as if it was in the vaults of Fort Knox! It was only my heart in danger with the beauty of their kindness and a young lady who had taken a shine to me and was making it well known! For theirs is a sad tale, but it’s a tale we all share; of enslavement to sedentarism.
We all suffer it to some degree; enforced, as it is, by the Apartheid chicanery of the Royal Militarists and their Church and State system of ‘rank and privilege’. The ‘privileged’ speak a different language to the rest of us!
However, it’s a foolish man who refuses to harken to the call of Nature, as Mother Earth opens her heart and bosom to all comers.
I’ve never stopped living as a nomad and this was my first love: From my teenage years, after meeting and then setting off travelling with a Scotsman called Gavin Cree, it has informed and influenced my psyche and my life.
Gavin was my first travelling friend as a young adult; a nomad who had already hitch-hiked through Europe into India and the Himalayas, Afghanistan, large tracts of south America and an overland trip from northern Africa into the steamy jungles of the Congo before he ended up ‘dead’ and inside a black ‘body-bag’ after contracting a debilitating bout of malaria, which had paralysed his body!
Fortunately, a Congolese country physician, who had likely seen it all before, injected a strong shot of adrenaline straight into his heart, reviving the paralysed waif before they’d closed the zipper on the bag!
So this incredulous teenage lad, who has now had his own brushes with death, often did not believe a word he said; so ‘far-out’ did his traveller’s tales seem to me back then, but I would gladly listen to these ‘tall tales’ nevertheless.
So we had some great adventures hitch-hiking and jobbing around together in the 1980’s, and it was a time of spiritual growth and revelation for this teenage lad – feeling unfettered from a pernicious ‘reality’, designed with many pitfalls to ensnare and enslave.
Jobbing was easier too as the world was not as mechanised and you could find seasonal jobs easily enough; our ‘salaire minimum’ in French Francs was enough to live on – before the treachery of the banksters had really taken a hold in their ‘switch’ to the Euro, and their geopolitical imposition of apartheid economics. This is transparently feudalism and hegemony and how is it serving us?!
Anything lacking humanity only ‘benefits’ the few, and it’s not doing much for them neither!
So my first travels were over 30 years ago! But my ‘survival’ skills of how to live simply and take what comes have stood me in good stead on the whole!
I have even sometimes enjoyed my own ‘deja-vu’ moments, where I have been recounting some of my tales of ‘far-flung’ places to other incredulous younger ears and seen that look of disbelief in their eyes!
Maybe Gavin is ‘settled’ somewhere these days, but in the era before wireless communications, you ‘lost touch’ with friends, knowing that you never really lose touch, because those times we shared together are eternal.
You might get the impression I am being nostalgic and it’s true.
While I’m not a fan of intrusive technology; the wireless electronic revolution that’s so predominant is a Trojan Horse and we’re not being given much choice in the matter, so we’ll just have to see how things pan out… for now we have to make the most of it as usual.
Dirty electricity has long taken its toll, and as a man who has appreciated the great outdoors my whole life, and I have worked with bee-keepers internationally, it is a shame to see how the birds and the bees, the forests and the seas suffer so.
I’ll just keep ‘plodding on’ like the rest of us, not trying to be a ‘superman’! I just hope to plant many more trees and recreate beautiful gardens and keep doing the best I can! One day we will harken to the wise words of Chief Seattle and so many others and we will learn to respect life again.
Like JdBL, who reckons she created about ten gardens in her lifetime, I love to recreate and I love the beauty and wisdom found in the appreciation of a ‘weed’ you can forage from the wild like a dandelion; the rustle of the wind in the leaves; the saltiness of the sweat from your brow on a hot day; the mutual joy of a ‘job well done’!… this is what fills my heart with joy. I love that feeling of your muscles aching after having worked the earth with a mattock – you can see that’s the tool I am holding in the photograph.
Here is one of my poems: “Wild...”
Born to be Wild, we are of the Earth, Yet I well understand how we've given birth, To a system of death, within it life dies, But we give it life, as we give it our lives. What happened to peace, to love for our brother, To love for an Earth we should see as our Mother? When we've distanced ourselves from the soil and the trees, Do we hear the life in the birds and the bees? When we give life to objects, not even alive, Polluters, destroyers, the machines that we drive; The machines that we cherish; the machines in our lives. Or do they drive us - can you not see, That without them our lives would be truly free? We're born into freedom, why make ourselves slaves, To a futile Hell, to help dig our own graves? When we poison our waters, our air and our lands, Then we poison ourselves, and from our own hands! I'd rather see trees, as my living friends, Than drive long roads, in a Mercedes Benz! Yea I know in my heart it's the ignorant few, Who still feel we're “right” to pollute as we do: This Spirit of Power, of Industrial Greed, Of Military Might, and Media Need, In abiding by these we imprison our souls, Great folly and madness is out of control, But there's plenty I know, who are not so bent, On senseless destruction and whose time is spent, In the knowledge that quiet, resides at our door, At Peace with our Mother, turning once more, Her turns are our Soul, our Spirit, our Home... As no slave to man, no slave to his dock, To his senseless laws, or his ticking clock, For my law is Nature, and She says to me, That I have Her Spirit and She makes me Free.

This is a North American Indian poem I really like, written by an anonymous author...
There was a time, when I saw the world Coyote lives in. I had walked up, with a friend – once upon a time, behind the rocks; the big ones that rise up, mossy-greened, and cradle the forest-shadowed ponds that the ducks and moose love, to seek the slight-sloping, grassy meadow hidden behind them. We half-lay for hours in the tall emerald grass among the ancient trees that towered over the drifting textures of the land. While our elbows supported us we talked of plants, and stones, and the wisdom of moss. Slowly we began, as humans sometimes do, to slip into the wildness of the world. Our language began to slow down, pause and falter. Into silence we drifted and for some reason that only our souls understood that day we flowed with it, not talking. Colours became more vivid and the air began to sparkle. Our breathing and the sounds of the forest took on a luminous quality. And into this silence Coyote ambled, following a game trail that flowed, brown runnel, near our feet. Her tongue lolled out the side of her mouth, and she was laughing that crazy laugh Coyote has, while her eyes spun as she watched the dancing bones that lie under the fabric of the world. Crazy, gambolling Coyote. Third force in Universe. I said under my breath, “Turn your head to the right.” And my friend sat up and said, “What?” And in so doing, lost her chance to see. I, still watching, saw Coyote’s eyes shift out of that crazy, spinning universe and shocked, no, betrayed, by the secrecy of our immersion she flipped straight over and ran, tail between her legs, only some strange kind of dog, up the trail. What I glimpsed through Coyote’s eyes lodged in a part of my brain I did not know I had. I can reach out and touch it sometimes. My eyes begin to spin, and I feel a bit dizzy, and I can see dancing bones under the fabric of the world. I still do not know what the world that Coyote lives in does when no one is watching but I do know it is ancient, far beyond the species lifetime of humans and that next to it our world is only a chip of wood floating on the ocean.