Not wanting to be just another newsletter convincing you to give it a shot, the truth is, you’ve got nothing to lose. As you read, if it’s sounding like bullshyte, scroll down to the bottom & unsubscribe – you’ve lost 2 minutes of your life. But let’s get real …
If doom scrolling is your addiction; you’re better off here!
Before posting this first blog, I wrote it, tweaked it and made a pact: one a week, no excuses. It’s all part of a master plan to inspire, not just readers but talkers, thinkers, vibe-makers & loyal customers. And face itl Facebook & social media runs through our veins these days. A blog is a reader’s extension for stimulation.
My one-blog-a-week goal
This is the start until others jump on with their takes & viewpoints. Write your thoughts, even if they are doom-focused, but we dare you share what you can do, say or believe to soothe the doom before you type THE END. So if you write, have something to say, send your brilliance this way. Tell us what’s on your mind, and let’s see where it takes us. [Blogs will be compensated, but not immediately].
Tuning out from criticism until the evaluation deems it truly deserves attention is to say that not every opinion is worth the energy. So we will read it, research it & even publish it, if it ‘adds’ something. But if you’re parroting, it’s a plop!
You are invited to do the same – decide if we’re worthy of your attention – you can tell us why or why not – at the end.
So the challenge
Whip up a cocktail of curiosity that doesn’t snooze the brain. Combine the most improbable ingredients and if possible woo the mind with junket or juiciness.
This is Linda Bell (yep, that’s me, photographer & your trusty host here) and my first swing at this. There’s a bit about me, a lot about where I call home and the vibes collected in between.
So voila, how do we dive into humanity’s evolution when everyone is divided. What’s the point of reading stuff, when life & future feels more like a giant question mark like never before! Well I guess that is why we do read stuff – so can the unravelling start here?
Music, though, makes the world go round! That’s my go-to place when shit hits the fan or I have writers block!
I’m kicking off right here in Nimbin
My stomping ground is Nimbin NSW, Australia (google it). This quirky little spot has sooo much to offer – and tooo much if you’re into your pot! Nimbinites thrive on their love & perfection of nature along with acknowledging the importance of our environment.
It’s a place where top-notch smokable greenery grows like, well – weed! But the growers? Total mystery. Out bushwalking? Watch out for snakes – but you might just spot those leafy treasures blending into the landscape. Meanwhile, the wallabies hop around, giving them a pass in favour of their own native supergreen – Australian grass!
Yep, weed is available on most street corners.
I gave up pot years ago, other than the very occasional toke today, but for many here, pot is a daily habit. A walk through town, sometimes I think there are more sellers than consumers on a quiet day.
This was the home of Australia’s Aquarius Festival which celebrated its 50th anniversary in 2023. I missed the first one and only by a very few months, but its effects rippled on to become the backbone of the region. From Alternative Way where sits the Rainbow Energy office, to the Nimbin HEMP [ Help End Marijuana Prohibition ] Embassy, most live the alternative lifestyle and off the grid. We think alternatively and the fight to bring in alternative laws is nearly done (for a while they were challenged, but now it seems, the law understands that pot is not really a threat – at least in Nimbin!).
It was the Australian Woodstock for sure.
That was back in the day when a bunch of hippies took over this wee town that has hardly changed for over half a century. It is now a National treasure. Many of those free-thinking pot-smoking youngsters that turned up in the early 70’s – are still here at age 70 something, cause they never left. They had to make a living and so the region became one of the lush locations for growing weed, not because conditions were perfect, but because it served a double purpose. Supply & demand & income for lifestyle. Maybe there’s a triple purpose in that!
Nimbin is filled with things to hear, feel & say.
There’s none of that monkey shyte of not seeing, hearing or speaking it. We’re quite an opinionated mob. Many went down many rabbit holes, but on the whole, common sense reigns. It’s alternativeness is sooo on track, that it makes the rest of the world look mad! Yet we are the one’s they call – mad!
Yes, compliance is one of the complaints (or perhaps I should say, lack of compliance), but nobody really cares. Not even the police!
So I live in my little bubble of escapedom – in Nimbin!
I’m retired but not asleep! Born in New Zealand back when it had a population of 2.5 million; every Kiwi felt the urge to get off-the beaten-track and explore the vast contrasts of their wee country. With nothing that could bite or kill you, it was a safe haven. Independence was easily acquired in childhood & Kiwi’s were eager to explore the world. One could outgrow New Zealand pretty quickly. Most of us did!
I grew up on a farm, then next to a farm, then down the road from a farm. Urbanisation started around the time I was five, but animals were my pals. I went to school and got my fair share of life lessons there. One of those lessons came as a seething courtesy from the matriarchal principal of my high school, less than one year in.
Public school, sure – but she ran it like her personal empire. I still remember Dad’s words that night: ‘She thinks she owns the joint.’ Truth is, I’d already mapped out my exit long before she gave me the angry boot. When she informed me I wouldn’t be returning, I kept my mouth shut. Dad? He understood it, because he understood me. But Mum? All she could see was the shame!
Boom – suddenly I’m workforce! Not long 14 and couldn’t hold a job for more than six weeks, but who cared? Jobs were a dime a dozen & work was – well – soul-crushingly monotonous. The alarm clock became my sworn enemy. Being part of a work crew had its social perks, but the production line?
Equal parts of camaraderie & sheer annoyance.
Back then, nothing was branded ‘hand-made,’ even though everything ‘was’ hand-made. Factories were just endless chains of human hands, passing along decorated plates, perfectly arranged supermarket meat trays, stitched collars on men’s suits, snag-free towels – you name it – every single item in that chain got my human touch, and every single item was a duplicate – by multiples of times. It was as gritty as it was mind-numbing. Just to demonstrate how far we still had to go to reach the automated AI-world of today!
I can say that even though it felt like things weren’t part of a plan (cause I didn’t have one after the “put-school-behind-me” plan); the unknown, full of consistent, constant change, became my go-to position. Some said I was running away; I saw it more as a journey of discovery cause I was always moving forward.
Even now I know there are a few more run-away times ahead.
But planning for the future back then? That wasn’t on my radar. No one handed me a guidebook and honestly, I would never have predicted – or even imagined the life I ended up with. But, as it turns out, it was vivid, unexpected & mostly good.
I rarely turned down an open door unless I caught a whiff of something sketchy – although, I must admit, my radar wasn’t always dialed-in during my youth. I did learn how to spot opportunities and before long, I got good at creating them. Somewhere along the way, I figured out that staying honest & giving my best was a solid strategy (not sure who taught me that!).
Sure, there were exceptions to the rules
Always are – but then I discovered Karma. Karma wasn’t a rule book – it was an unwritten law. And let me tell you, Karma became my ‘go-to let-go’ so someone else could handle the problems. As long as I didn’t do stuff that would earn me bad Karma, life was beautiful! It still is …
With no script & zero plans
I launched myself into life; straight into the deep end crossing the deepest ocean in the world. The big question onboard circulated like wildfire. It was about a boat, a passenger liner, travelling between New Zealand & Australia. Then at exactly midpoint – the boat goes down. Everyone was asking everyone else where the survivors would be buried? That was the material stimulating the stoners minds at the time; it was a great trip (no pun intended).
But during this first big adventure – this short six day excursion at sea – or was it seven – on a dilapidated (under-maintained) Soviet Union cruise ship called the Shota Rustaveli, how many of us would survive if it did go down? But it didn’t, all 750 of us survived to continue going West from the cheapest fare we could find to the next land mass.
And music was our companion. The soundtrack?
Daddy Cool’s freshly minted Eagle Rock.
It was thrilling & perfectly chaotic—just like the adventures ahead.
Almost 55 years later, I’ve just finished writing this & Daddy Cool is resonating. Ross Wilson is still touring and played just up the Coast some weeks back, but for those here, still reading, whether born or bred in Australia or not …