Chapter 8
During a varsity break, about nine months after my father had bought the plot of land outside the city, I decided to visit him at the plot. I had not been there since Mom and I went to see the place and what he had been doing, which was about two months after he bought it. He had begun to spend more and more time out there with my mother remaining in the town house where she continued to run her BodyTalk practice. Both of them seemed happy. With my father now no longer working full time but rather consulting and doing work he could mostly manage from home, he was able to spend the time on this piece of land that he had spent so long looking for.
I remember how frustrated he used to get with the estate agents he had tasked to look for potential places for him. ‘I gave you very clear instructions on what I am looking for,’ I remember him saying a number of times to various agents, ‘yet you continue to ignore what I told you and waste my time looking at rubbish.’ He got real mad with one particular youngish man and simply told him to go do something useful, like jump into a deep lake holding a big rock. A little out of character for my father, but he seemed to be getting a little agitated at the time taken to find his place.
I had asked him one day why he was so specific on this spot. ‘It needs to fulfil a few basic requirements upfront,’ he had said, ‘and must also have the capability to allow me to add what I want. Firstly, it must have a house built on a slight slope, as I want to modify the house in a specific manner. It must have a shallow borehole close to the house with good quality water and preferably a small stream. There must be an area near the house with well-established trees and bushes.’
‘That’s a lot to expect,’ I had said. He agreed, but said he knew it was out there.
He had been right and had found it about three months after that discussion. He had wasted no time and had bought a second-hand TLB, a machine akin to a tractor that had a loading bucket attached to the front and a trenching tool attached to the back. Within a month, he had taught himself to use the machine and had been digging holes in very specific spots on open areas on the property and between the existing trees. They were for the new trees, he had told me. For about three years prior to this, my father had been collecting and cultivating over one hundred trees, including fruit trees, some of which should not even grow in this climate, but they were. He was confident they would survive and was planting them all.
He was very specific about where each tree was to be placed though: looking at the tree, touching it, and then looking around until he was drawn in a particular direction. Walking along that line, he would stop and test with a pendulum, one he had obtained during the energy courses he had attended. When he was satisfied, he would mark the spot, bring the TLB over, and dig a really decent hole. He would then use the machine’s loader bucket to collect a sizeable amount of compost, which he had had delivered by the truckload, blend it with the soil from the hole, and return the soil to the hole. He would then plant the tree and water it from a drum he had attached to the machine. This seems perhaps a little over-kill and time-consuming but you could not fault the results.
He had apparently taken about two months to plant all the trees, and now seven months later, I was astounded at the results. Nearly every tree was standing proud above the grass line, and only one had died. He had a weekly routine of watering them and tending to them, both from an environmental and an energy perspective. I was not a botanist, but it was obvious that the growth rates had far exceeded what I had seen when they were in their containers, and even that had been above average. ‘Nature will work with us and provide for us if we work with it rather than against it and always act with respect,’ he said. ‘It’s not amazing; it’s simply as it should be.’
When he took me over to show me the vegetable garden, I was not expecting what I saw. It was located in the tree and bushy area close to the house, but it was not planted in the traditional way one would expect. He had simply cleared what seemed to be random patches in the grass in which a specific vegetable had been planted. According to my father, he had simply walked around with the particular vegetable seed in his hand, and when he felt the seed appear warm in his hand, he would stop and check with his pendulum. On nearly every occasion the feel of the seed would be matched by the pendulum on the first attempt. He only needed to redo a few of them until his feeling and the pendulum matched each other. He trusted this implicitly and dug through the topsoil, did the blend with the compost, returned the soil, and planted the seeds. Before planting the seeds though, he had followed the advice from the Ringing Cedars books and had placed the seeds in his mouth for about ten minutes while refilling the hole. Once the returned ground was levelled, he would get off the machine, plant the seeds, and water them from the drum on the machine.
‘But how can they look so perfect?’ I had asked him. ‘They are simply planted within the grass areas out in the open!’ ‘Planted with love, care, and attention,’ he had said. ‘I have also worked on the energy of the areas that were planted and have worked with the principle of sharing.’ My blank stare provoked an explanation on this aspect. ‘Remember I had been looking for a place with an area close to the house with trees and bushes?’ I nodded dumbly, not sure how that fitted in. ‘Notice this is where these vegetables are. They are contained within that protected circle as it were.’ I nodded again. ‘Also, as at the house in town, the patches are constructed according to the phi ratio, the ancient sacred ratio utilised in temples and which occurs everywhere in nature. Some people called it the golden ratio, and a close approximation is 1.618. Your bones in your body are according to phi, as are your overall dimensions. This has been clearly documented by Pythagoras, Euclid, Leonardo, and others, including Melchizedek and other more modern writers. Come with me.’ We walked out of this area and into the more open areas where the new trees had been planted. We walked about, with my father showing me the apparently random vegetable patches scattered about the property, while we discussed the reason. I had not seen these from the house when I had arrived, being scattered in the long grass as they were. These, too, were shaped according to the phi ratio.
‘Sharing,’ he said, ‘is the secret. We have forgotten how to share. We are afraid of lack, and this comes from no longer being in a position to take care of ourselves. We are so reliant on our survival from others that deep down we understand that we are slaves to whoever controls our food supply, our energy, the economies, and so on. We try to hide behind this being the way of the world, but in reality, we are scared senseless by our total reliance on others. This creates the idea that sharing will compromise our position and weaken our ability to look after ourselves and our loved ones.’ He paused, looking at the water birds in the newly finished pond he had built in the stream flow. ‘Look at how happy they are. Watching them immediately soothes your anxieties. Why would you not want to share with them or the birds you hear around us? That is why I have planted the other vegetable patches. Have you noticed that they too are growing well and that there are a number of new growths within those patches?’ He looked at me quizzically.
‘I’m sorry,’ I remember saying, ‘I had not noticed.’
We walked a few paces back to the last patch we had passed. He bent down and pointed at new vegetable seedlings growing amongst the originals, and even the odd different ones that obviously had their seed brought over by the birds or animals. ‘You remember when I planted our vegetable garden I said I had kept the seeds in my mouth for a number of minutes?’ I nodded, not sure if I should know why. ‘According to another of the Ringing Cedars books, doing that imbues the seeds with our nutritional requirements, and they will therefore grow more in accordance with our nutritional needs. Sounds odd?’ Again, the quizzical look at me.
‘Not sure,’ I managed to say, not wanting to appear negative.
‘OK, look at it this way. You know that in nature, many animals and birds will eat the seeds along with whatever fruit or vegetable they
are eating from the plant. As the seeds are able to pass through the digestive system safely, it has been surmised by man that it is to allow the dispersion of the seeds and hence ensure the continuation of the plant without perhaps smothering the source plant in new plant growth.’
‘Sounds logical,’ I said.
‘Yes, if the original plant survived the seed phase, such as with fruit trees. But what about plants such as vegetable plants, which die off after seeding? Isn’t it perhaps also to allow the seeds to understand what their friendly seed distributor requires for his nutrition? If the plant can more fully provide for the nutrition of the animal distributing its seeds, would this not entice the animal back to it? This way both plant and animal gain from the interaction more fully.’
‘Sounds logical,’ I had said again.
‘This is why having their own patches of vegetables works for them. They will gain more from them than from our patches as a consequence of this relationship. The seeds re-deposited by the animals provide them with an ever-improving nutritional value from the plants that service them through successive new germinations. If they don’t have their own food patches, then they will naturally be forced to take second best and will raid our vegetables. In this instance though, they will be partaking from a food source more suited for human consumption, and so not benefit as much.’ I kept quiet. It seemed so far-fetched, being outside of my scope of experience and what I had learned at school. Yet I saw the results here before me. Was man so far out of touch with his planet, the source of all his physical nurturing?
We had walked back to the pond and were sitting on a couple of hefty rocks on the bank. ‘When did you finish the dam wall?’ I asked.
‘Three months ago.’ Only three months ago!
‘But how can it look so good already?’ He turned to me with a slight frown.
‘You’re still not getting it,’ he said. ‘Have you ever seen me so relaxed?’ I had to admit, this was the most relaxed and calm I had ever seen my father.
‘No,’ I ventured.
‘It rubs off,’ he said. ‘Working the land correctly in conjunction with nature, and with love rather than simply as a means to earn a living from farming, has nature respond and work with you. I spent a week before I started the dam construction simply sitting around the stream in various areas, observing both nature and my feelings. I kept the idea of the dam in the back of my mind, so to speak, trying not to let the engineer within take over this project yet. The engineer would be required for the wall but not for the location. I thought sitting around doing nothing for that period would be difficult after my lifestyle up until then, but the few months spent on the plot, working as I had, had obviously already altered my psyche.’
My father stopped for a minute as we watched two smallish waterfowl coming in to land on the dam. After splashdown, which had been quite elegant, they waggled their tails and calmly swam slowly, angling across in front of us seemingly unconcerned by our presence. ‘Those are Mandarins. They are very pretty and new to the dam. They fit your energy. Thanks for bringing them in,’ he said to me. After a short pause, he said ‘Do you know why they swish their tails after landing?’ I took a minute over this, but had to admit I did not have a clue.
I jokingly replied, ‘I don’t know. I don’t speak duck, so I have never been able to ask them.’ My father grinned. I had never seen a grin such as this from him. It seemed to exude life.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I do speak duck, so I will tell you. When they land and are settled on the water, they swish their tails to release the tension and drama of the period of life up to that point. They simply relax into the new phase, carrying little from before that would negatively impact their stay here. Even after a fight, they swim apart, swish their tails, and simply drop what happened before. All water birds do this, and that is why man finds it so relaxing to sit and watch them, although very few people know why.’
‘This is something man has forgotten how to do. In his book A New Earth9, Eckhart Tolle explains it quite well. Instead of us simply dropping what has gone before, of going back to the only place of power we have, which is the present moment, we make it our mission to ensure we carry our emotional and mental baggage on from day to day, week to week, and year to year. It seems we are a species unable to finish any of our stories. This retention of our drama is possibly the single largest cause of disease today within the human population.’
‘The older farmers of today, who do not live in the crowded cities, are able to discard the past issues far more effectively than the rest of us,’ he continued, ‘and we wonder why our diseases of the mind have increased so dramatically, along with those of our body. Sadly, man just seems to accept this as a sign of the times. Many even see the need to see a psychiatrist as a worthwhile social status and happily expound this and their so-called problems to anyone who will listen.’ Seeing him shaking his head, I slowly began to understand a little of the despair my father felt at the frailties and frivolities of man, who simply seemed to constantly fail at understanding what my father considered to be important in life.
‘You should read Eckhart’s book,’ he admonished me. ‘You’re studying traditional psychology, and I say that simply because it takes years for any new material to enter any learning institution. Eckhart approaches the body-mind in a far more holistic manner than the traditional psychology fraternity, and they are therefore missing much of what is real, preferring to stay in the paradigms of the day, stuck within the very same egos they claim to understand so well. Eckhart outlines it beautifully, and you will see how what he says is supported by the other authors and energy healing modalities we have explored.’
It was getting somewhat chilly as the sun was dropping lazily down between the bluegum trees, constantly changing its shape and hue as it dropped towards the horizon. My dad noticed my slight shiver. I confess, at that point I still did not understand how he was able to resist temperature, and especially the cold, the way he did. ‘Does that meditation thing you did still help with the cold?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely! But I still work at it, although it comes quite easily now; I have been able to do it regularly while out here in the peace and calm of this place. Would you like to learn it?’ Whether this was simply mind over matter I could not tell, but I had nothing to lose, and I had the time as I was going to be staying over for the night.
‘Sure, why not?’ I said. ‘Is the meditation from that strange-sounding author?’ My dad actually laughed.
‘Melchizedek,’ he said. ‘Drumvelo Melchizedek, in his books ‘The Ancient Secret of the Flower of Life10. There’s much more to his work than simply the meditation, but let’s do the meditation first, and then I’ll explain a bit about his work as we walk back to the house.’
Explaining the breathing and the different mudras (which are finger and hand positions), my father further explained the visualizations that went with them. It seemed a lot to take in, but he was comfortable with it and said I would soon be too if I simply practised it regularly. The meditation consisted of quieting the mind and then moving through seventeen specific breath cycles with specific mudras and visualisations. It was therefore quite short but apparently exceptionally effective. ‘You’ve seen the results,’ he reminded me. That was true. I remember Mom complaining that other members of the golf club kept asking her why she did not dress my dad properly. He would arrive for a golf game on early winter mornings with only a short-sleeved shirt on, with the temperature around zero and frost everywhere. It was a little freaky to see, to be quite honest.
We ran through the meditation a few times, and the sequences began to take on a logic that made it easier to follow. I could do this if I had the write-up to follow for a while as I learnt it. I did not notice how dark it had become while we were busy with the meditation, and I asked my dad if he had a copy of the meditation for me. ‘I have a copy in the house,’ he replied. We stood up a
nd began walking back to the house, a few hundred meters away up a gentle slope, the encroaching darkness soundlessly following us. The house was still in darkness, but my father seemed to know exactly where he was going.
Melchizedek, according to my father, had researched and written on a number of amazing topics in his two-book volume, including our ancient past, the mathematics around evolution, consciousness, the geometries of the human body, and so on. ‘At times it can be a little overwhelming, but it is utterly fascinating, eye-opening, and on occasion, mind-boggling,’ my dad said. ‘I know you don’t particularly like reading, but you should start to look into these aspects of life rather than simply accepting the status quo.’ Ouch! My dad hit that sore spot again – reading. It was not my favourite pastime, and he knew it.
‘I prefer to get the synopsis from you,’ I said, trying to wriggle out of the situation. ‘It’s much more fun that way.’
‘But I don’t remember everything,’ he countered, ‘and besides, we’ve talked about how each one of us sees things from our own perspective, and that what necessarily resonates with me in a particular book may not be what resonates with another person.’
‘I know, I know’ I said. Damn, I sometimes hated his logic. Nonetheless, I could not help being fascinated by all this, as long as I did not have to read it all myself.
Chapter 9
Dinner was simple. My father and mother had been vegetarian for nearly ten years now, and I had become quite accustomed to simple eating when around them. This did not mean though that the meals were boring or lacking of taste. Although I myself was not a big meat eater, I did still eat chicken on occasion. The vegetables we had that night were delicious. Dad had insisted on picking them just before eating, and we had collected them in the virtual darkness on the way back to the house earlier. ‘The minute you pick them they begin to die. Animals understand this and eat accordingly. Therefore, the only food you should store is what you need for winter, and you need to store this correctly.’ The berries, which we ate for dessert, he had picked in the dark whilst I cooked the butternut and broccoli. I don’t know how he did it, but he did.
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