My dream started in 1983 in Australia, it came from a magazine called Simple Living. A very glossy magazine with more adverts about face creams than about growing pumpkins.

under the EUCALYPTUS trees

under the EUCALYPTUS trees

Something started right there amongst the amazing colour photos, in the middle the real simple pages printed on recycled paper printed with green ink. Every month it was my reading dream development. Wondering over pages wandering into places. A trip, a long trip followed up the New South Wales coast to Byron Bay. A bit inland lays a magical place called Nimbin the north of Lismore, a place filled with alternative communities. A piece of land was found with a small creek running along the borders of each plot. By the road was the communal ‘garage’ with shared tractor, pumps, generator and all sort of tools you need to start that glossy simple life.

The next step was the plans for a A frame house right there in the bush-land under the Eucalyptus trees.

Every cent was saved and in 1985 the amount did count to the start when it all was stolen away but  a dream stayed.

Years and years later after many pumpkins grown and sold, the simple dream shaped up again, the green fingers scratched a surface of possibilities in Pembrokeshire, in the year of 2002.

Clegyr Boia, came my way, on the coast of Old South Wales, 16 acres of agricultural land laid ruin before my feet an old rock stand strong behind my back.



What followed was some of the best months of my life. Waking up with chickens and dog eating eggs and porridge in a tiny caravan called the Bubble. The best work evolved here in them glorious months. Tree after tree went into the tired soil, seed after seed was sowed, herb after herb planted to create a dream. The first name for the land was ‘DreamLand’ my phone bill comes still under that name from the phone co-op. A small rock before the big rock Clegyr Boia became my dream rock. The change it brought to me lays within my soil and grows on right here right now.

Yet, it was short lived as the authorities came and toke my dream away under the motto of visual impact and the scream of ‘farming topicality’. They shovel me into a concrete heap and the bubble was removed.

illusionary visions

illusionary visions

My costs of living tripled in just one week, 2 days at the locale coffee shop became illative. Some of the land was sold to pay the bills, yet was gained again with a simple contract to keep doing what i started. The bubble came back to give me sanity amongst the dying land. More trees were planted, Aboriginal Artists came to sing the land. Yet, the concrete scream hunted me the dream stayed alive and kicking.

An other day came of hurting bones, broken heart, shaking breath, no longer could i stay in a bubble of life. Death would enter the woods i created as i no longer could look after it so once again the partial dream ended right there right than for the search of something new.

change of a chance

change of a chance

I found it!

Once again my dream is alive and will happen somewhere next year. On a place to rest my bones in the warm sunshine, the dry hills along the flowing river down to the sea of shells and plants.

In 2003 i wrote in the back of a book the following:

To leave a society of ever more is hard. You leave the world of money and have to find ways to live with little or no money. You will live in your own created world away from reality making your own needs, the needs that cost little to nothing. 

No commercial will tell me what to buy, no paper tells me how to live, no screen will show me what to fear.

Next to this i wrote in a more spiritual sense.

Unconscious feeling to get in touch with my own created surrounding/habitat with only one aim to leave things behind when i am far and gone. So I can walk towards the arms of dead with a smile. It will give me chance to choose my own dead. 

The finalising of the life dream comes at the end of my life, perhaps i knew when, after reading that one book, what would come to me now.

An other bubble

An other bubble

I can do this thanks to the cents my Ma en Pa saved during their life, giving them to me after their dead.

I move onto a small plot of land, to grow pumpkins once again to have chickens running free and a dog to raise me out of bed.

An other bubble will enter the land and i will dream my life away or perhaps not as the final line said in the back of the book:

It is not the meditation in a dream it is the reality of no reason.

You can come and stay in a glossy simple way.
See you there.

By the way the book is called: Straw Dogs by John Gray, ‘Thoughts on humans and other animals’
isbn: 1-86207-596-4

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