SACRED JOURNEY… WE TALKED OF THIS

boats-in-harbous2015-12-22 01.38.15 (2).jpg NIGHTSCAPE AT THE CLIFF

Out of misery

May come strength,

Out of weakness

May come the Will;

Out of doubt

Comes certainty:

All hunger may be filled.

 

*

Spend a night

In the chapel

Of the Black Hand,

In your Grail Quest,

Solitary, without friends,

On your own you will stand

To atone, find home.

 

*

The inner soul

May touch  galaxies,

The most distant of journeys

Begins with one step.

Fear not,

You don’t need a car:

 

 Christ  resides with you

The cosmos from you, it is not far,

There is one Divine Mind in the Universe

It is your Identity.

*

The destination is not far,

Liberation will come to you.

 *

There is nothing you need to know,

There is nowhere you need to go:

*

There is nowhere to go

But where you are.

 

 

 

(C)1980 – 2016 by W.G. Milne

 

2016-07-16-02-09-17

 

 

 

 

PADDY RIDES AGAIN.

 

           This is not the article I meant to write  this morning. But intentions count for little in this world. The question is, how soon can I get into the glow, the flow. Ho! Ho! That was a

typo.

                I likely should become awake before I bake this cake.

*

                   Paddy’s passing is a shock. And

the fact that he may have turned into that weird bird was most surprising to me. Nevertheless, stranger things have happened both in Paddy’s life and in mine.

                            And the possibility of a human mind, sharing a

bird’s brain with the bird , is not unknown in fine literature.

(Or in psychic, mythological and mystic writings.)

And it’s strangely appropriate to Paddy.

*

Many times, unexpectedly, usually in a fast-moving boat or vehicle, he’d leap up suddenly

and shout:

*

“I USED TO BE A COYOTE, BUT I’M

   ALL BETTER NOWOOOOOOoooOOOOo!”

*

And now that I think about it, his howling

sounded very like that strange big bird honking and hooting yesterday.

*

        I’m not asking you to believe me. It’s

the sort of thing you have to experience for yourself. And everyone might experience the same event differently, depending on what kind of life you choose.

        I choose to live in a mysterious universe. And now that I’ve made that choice, I’m not sure I have a choice.

 

2016-03-17 00.13.34 (2).jpg LAUGHING BEAR use quote in article

  Paddy rides again!

 

                                               (C) 2016 by W.G. Milne

 

 

NORTH BAY LOST A NATIVE SON

         My old friend and very good friend Paddy Gratton died last night, passed to the other shore.

               God bless you, Paddy. We’ll pray for you in this time of your passing and help you

with the voyage over the dark lands,

into the light of the New Dawn we’ve always

spoken of14207691_1191735704225570_1372996179357768310_o-van-gogh-lights-over-rhone

Jpeg

Jpeg

2016-03-17 00.10.30 (2).jpg BACK IN THE BUSH WITH MY UNDERTAKER

          The City is poorer today. God Bless

the sweet man and all his works.

 

* * *

 

DEATH IS BRIEF FOR SUCH AS THESE

To the journeyman within
There are points of life
Round the curve of this planet
In the psyche’s dark;
Lights glow over oceans
Beyond mountains, across harbours
And through seas, and these
Lights are conscious points
Where realized minds, saints,
Monks, teachers, masters, sufis,
Bodhisattvas, across the cosmos
The light of knowing, pervades
Penetrates the distances, glowing,
Piercing the heavy mists with
Such soft lights through fog,
Through starlight and the centuries
Lights of compadres who die not
Whose minds surround the globe
In the night never viewed
By those lost in commerce
Buying and selling, getting and spending,
Women and men imbibing temporal pursuits
Never see these friends, these
Luminous globes through the night
These brave ones who have gone before
Who do not abandon us
But who wait patiently for our
Liberation. They reach a hand to us
And wait, patient as spring rain.

*

 

    RE: TRAVELLING SOULS

     __________________

I never used to be psychic, until I guess it was afterI went all over the globe searching for
Places of Power where I could engage in
 fundamental mystical practices…

I got older and I started having dreams.
Also I was working on the Testament of the Lord of Hosts on cliff-top…The words passed through me, like wind in the tree-tops.

Then I had a dream of an old friend of mine a senior banker – it was a very pleasant dream.
I hadn’t talked to the man in years, but we were always close, almost family.He was the president of the Bank of Nova Scotia.

I walked into Art’s office one morning and discussed putting a concert theater  on a ship.
It was Gary Cormier’s idea. And it’s a brilliant
idea.

Arthur said to me: “You don’t expect to walk out of my office this morning with 7 million dollars, do you Bill?

“No,” I said, “I just want you to tell me any problems you see in this project. What difficulties do you see?”

He said: “The problem I see with this plan
is, once we build the theater for you & prepare the ship, spending millions of dollars on the ship… … You can leave the country with it.”

“Gee, good for you! I didn’t catch that.
I missed it entirely.”

“NOBODY SEES THE OBVIOUS,” Father Belyea used to say.

*

Some years later I was in a deep sleep in the bed at my apartment on Main Street East,
North Bay. I had a dream

Arthur and I were driving in a limosene at night through Forest Hill, Toronto. Art was
happy. The mood in the car with me and him, was a celebration. It was joyous and we talked in a way we had never talked in life.


After the dream I checked the time exactly and phoned his daughter in Toronto. On her answering machine I recorded the specific time of my dream…. it happened that was exactly the moment Arthur Crockett was dying.

So we travel after death. There’s not much doubt about it.
                                   *


I used to doubt everything, but I don’t do it so much anymore.

The consciousness that resides within our body
moves on.

Like a traveler from one motel room to the next, our bodies are husks –  the divine spark of consciousness is the  traveler
on a journey within to be free.  

All the weird stuff we do (and Paddy & I did plenty of weirdness for the pure joy of it). It is the strange dance we do in our pathway to
liberation.

                                 *

The native people here and certainly their shamans… they know what it means when it is said that the spirit moves after death. And the conscious spirit of our loved ones is quite capable of moving into the consciousness of a raven… temporarily on the journey home.


The Tibetan monks and masters, lamas etc, they know the conscious light travels on and inhabits the spirit-soul of an infant being born some days after  the  death of the adult. 

This knowledge is established as facts in these lands.
                              *

Why do I get into this abstruse reasoning?
It is because I know my friend is with us still.

                              * **

I was sitting listening to the wind in the trees
today, in a house near the hospital. I heard a loud hooting-honking sound of a big bird – some thing out of Jurassic Park – a bird sound

I’d never heard before

It was strange. I’d never heard a bird being that insistent.

Then I remembered Paddy loved to howl and hoot.   The aggressive hoots of the mysterious bird… Suddenly I though, this was Paddy
getting Tim’s and my attention – a raven hooting a loud, strange, unusual – a wild

bird in the treetops on a windy day,
hooting out a greeting from beyond the grave.

*

I have more stories about Paddy’s exploits, and I’ll post them in time. But right now for me,

sitting alone in my apartment,

his wake has already begun.

God bless you, buddy.

(C)2016 by W.G. Milne

 

JOHNNY ROCK’S “OUR SECRET PAGES”

 

      This song is about a passionate love affair
I had with Miss M over the years. We kept our lives apart, which was wise… But our interludes were hot!
         I’m not going to lie to you and say no S&M was involved. There were whips, ropes and riding crops – humiliation and radical delight.
        Krista Geden’s photo-art gives the song a more universal meaning.
        The beautiful little girl is my daughter Abby Rose and she is quite apart from the core meaning of this song… (Which has been banned once already, but we don’t need to discuss that fact here.)

        I recorded this tune in a garden shed with a 4 track Tascam. This is was my first attempt at playing bass. The raw lead guitar which is meant to emulate obsessive sexual frustration…
Well, I played that, too.  With no effects. I wanted to keep it thin, frustrated, sharp and raw.


             (C)1990-2016 by Bill Milne and John Rock Corporation

BILL MAHER’S SERIOUS PROBLEM

2015-12-30-17-11-59-writing-in-salamanca

 

      He hasn’t spent any time whatsoever in the Places of Power of the earth. He’s spent no time whatsoever in the DEEP BUSH.

        He’s never been to Duppy Walk on the north coast of Jamaica.  Any without a little humility on Bill’s part, no one will show him the way.

 

            Even more important, he speaks as if he knows something. But he’s never met

the Trickster God.

 

 

The poor fuck!

 

 

 

                        (C)2016 by W.G. Milne

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“YOU’RE CLOSE TO THE FINISH LINE,” THE DOCTOR SAID.

“YOU’RE CLOSE TO THE FINISH LINE,” THE DOCTOR SAID.


       “You’re getting close to the finish line,”

the Doctor said.”

       “When you say, ‘the finish line…’

What do you mean”, I ask.

       “I mean Death,” he said.

       “That’s what I thought you meant,” I said


*
*
*
*




Then the Doctor went on to say, “Maybe 
 
you shouldn’t be riding a bicycle anymore.”
 
      “What d’ya mean?” I ask.
     
       “Well, you passed out and hit a curb on 
 
Fisher street. Maybe you should switch
 
to a tricycle.”
 
       “Jesus, Doc!  This is turning into kind 

of a rough meeting… If I’m about to cross 

the finish line, I don’t think I want to go out 
 
riding a tricycle… Tho there is a Jamaican 
 
saying…”
 
       “What’s that?” the Doctor asked.
 
       “Once a man and twice a child,” I said.
 
       “Very good,” he says…   “Think about
 
the tricycle.”
                           
                                *
            Later that week,    I talked to a friend 
 
who’s a mechanic.
 
 
He said:
               “Go ahead, buy a tricycle.
 
I’ll put a lawnmower motor in the basket.
 
You’ll go like a bat out of hell.”
 
 
 
               “That sounds good,” I said.
 
               
               “Make sure you buy a tricycle
 
with brakes,” he said, “You’re gonna
 
need them.”
                                                  *
                                                    (C) 2016 by W.G. Milne
  1. What did you study at Upper Canada College?
  2. Intro
    Guitar, song writer. Ex- attorney, John Rock, Blues etc, “Roving Reporter Rants.” Books at amazon.
    'Abby walking in the bush.'
    Walker Ballantine's photo.
    Walker Ballantine's photo.
    Walker Ballantine's photo.

GALLOW’S HUMOUR IN THE SANTA BOOKS…A CLIENT WHO F CKED A SHEEP: “TAKE THE PRISONER DOWNSTAIRS!”

Screenshot fromSANTA'S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE 2014-05-17 17:54:38Friday, September 2, 2016

p.s.  You don’t have to have a kindle to order this book. You can order it as a regular e-book.

GALLOWS HUMOUR IN THE SANTA BOOKS……A CLIENT WHO F_CKED A SHEEP: “TAKE THE PRISONER DOWNSTAIRS!”


         O.K. I’ve published some books at amazon.com/author/williammilne. Two of the books do indeed have dark humour or gallow’s humour or black humour or horror humour or twisted humour or all of the above kinds of
laughter inducing stuff.
         I’ve been getting the odd ugly e-mail
telling me I’m a sick prick, a perverted monster…   among other
 unfortunate names, other
insults regarding the purity of my writing endeavours… or the lack thereof.
         (I can’t cut and paste with my new system,
so I’ll have to type up a summary.)
                                  *

   
         I’ve been criticized for this dark humour.
But let me assure all readers of one thing –
the gallows humour is 100% intentional. How else are you going to survive horrendous
circumstances? If you don’t learn to laugh at
the horror, you are in serious trouble.
         I remember one time at College Park
criminal courts, I had just gotten one guy out on bail. I was walking him out of the Court.
I was saying to the guy, “Fly straight. Be careful with this freedom. If you pull one more assault ( especially when you’re out on bail) you’re not going to see daylight for a very long
time. Good luck.”  And just as I was saying this, stepping out into the hall with my client,
the police dragged me off and put the cuffs on me. Right in front of my client.

            I have always had long hair ( except for the time in Penetang medium security jail,
when I shaved my head – the whole range had lice in their hair). I was raised in Jamaica by a Jamaican woman, who taught me some very basic Biblical values.
           My parents were busy socially and threw
some very elegant parties, with plenty of famous people attending.
            But Miss Gwen talked to me every day.
Sharing her beliefs with me, always with a sense of humour. One of these values is: “A man’s strength is in his hair.”  She mentioned this to me many times, and now I believe it.      There’s nothing logical about this belief. I just feel better with long hair down my back… There’s also the myth about the Lion of Judah, which we won’t get into just now.
            However, having long hair in the criminal justice system does not always work
to your advantage. Some of my lawyer buddies,
when they came upon a really bizarre case, they’d refer it to me –  if there wasn’t much money in the case.
            I found myself defending one guy for fucking a sheep, but that’s another story for another time. The farmer caught him at it.
All of a sudden he flashed on the lights in the barn. My client was bare-assed, wearing nothing below the  waist but rubber boots.
The sheep’s hind hooves were in the rubber boots also. The farmer had a shotgun…
            You get the picture.

             Anyway, one day I was daydreaming in Court. My client wasn’t coming up on the list for about an hour. I was reading a novel, just relaxing, sitting in one of the chairs reserved for lawyers at the front of the Court, about 20 feet away from the judge. There were well over 100 people in the Court – defendants with their families.
             I was nodding off, still I heard the judge say, “TAKE THE PRISONER DOWNSTAIRS.”
            I went back to reading my novel, when  suddenly I realized the bailiffs were coming for me. One of them had a hand on my left arm, the other had a hand on my right arm. They were about to take me downstairs to the cells. I came fully awake pretty fast and started shouting, “NO! NO! NO!”
            The whole Court was laughing. It was a horrible experience, a terrible way to wake
up.
             It turns out the whole thing had been arranged ahead of time by my lawyer pals, the guys I graduated with.
           I can still see all the laughing faces, even to this day, when I start to daydream, all the dreams aren’t pleasant.

                               *

          So you can see where some of the humour comes from.
           I hope there’s some humour in “SANTA’S URBAN SURVIVAL GUIDE”.
I was certainly laughing much of the time
when I wrote it.
          
          I’ve looked at law from both sides now. And the survival tips I give in this book are actually practical and useful. If you’ve been arrested while you’re in the midst of deep and disturbing, bizarre and twisted hallucinations,
WHO YOU GONNA CALL?
           I have experience in these matters and I might save you months of your free time, if you read this particular book…Or even years, if you’re up to your knees in legalistic excrement.
           Feel free to ignore my legal advice, if it suits you. I don’t practice anymore ( though I can do certain referrals). 
           Laughter is the best medicine, so they say. I won’t be offended if you message me
about how sick my books are, or if you laugh…
where I’m coming from, that’s a compliment.






                                 (C)2015 by W.G. Milne