"No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.” ― Carl Jung
Hell for me was home, living in fear of my father's next outbreak, I needed to breakout. Fear is a low vibration, like stress, doubt, hate and any other feelings that are not good for the soul. A low vibe will make your whole-body malfunction, your brain will function at a low level, and you will not function properly at all. I was on fight or flight mode, full of stress and hate, I overlooked the beauty of the world and made it almost impossible to manifest my dream while I lived my nightmare. I never registered anything positive, I always saw the worst in people and anticipated tragedy. I couldn't see the programming because I was too caught up in it. Autopilot has crashed a lot of vessels in this matrix. We are creatures of habit who can believe and achieve anything we put our minds to. Our reality is a projection of deep in our minds and I believe that our minds have become the target of subconscious programming; Constructing a reality for certain people in power. Whatever you believe, karma is real; she is a bitch and she has the maddest way of working. If you don’t do things right, her sister life will consume your soul and leave you in hell. You will only exist on this plane and your mind becomes your prison; the mind is the hardest prison to escape. Life is a learning curve and if you don’t learn, you curve to a circle and keep doing laps. Oblivious to lessons; you reap what you sew; that is karma’s magic.
“Dont get too attatched, roads’ll av ye doin laps” -Meekz
My dad was the most intelligent person I knew but also the most violent, he’s got a degree in music. Music is a vibration, a powerful energy; it can completely change the body’s energy equilibrium. Rastas use nyabinghi to raise that serpent, kundalini energy in the body, it's all in the frequency. My dad is one of a select few in the entire country who can tune musical instruments by ear. He has a great understanding of music and it really is the love of his life. It come before everything and everyone, especially his family. He left home to do his degree and we didn't see him for years. Most people go to university for better job opportunities. My dad done it for a better understanding of music, and he picked up where he left off on the tools on his return. I was 14 when he returned, my brother and I were going off the rails with no role models at home, so we were handed over to my dad for discipline. My role models come in the form of drug dealers, they seemed to have it all for nothing and I wanted a slice of the pie.
Already up to no good on the streets and smoking weed from an early age, I started to sell some for pocket money. My mother was always skint, we never had a penny; always had cheap clothes on our backs and my trainees used to talk to me. It was like Christmas when my mums friend Mary would come around with ass faces old clobber, he got looked after like royalty. My mother couldn't cope with life in the end, we didn’t have a pot to piss in. I formed ideologies and emulated what I saw others doing for funds. There is a thin line between love and hate, discipline and brutality. Things weren't too bad initially moving in with my dad. I could never forget those Barn Hey days when I saw my dad being a looney and smashing my mother's head in. A smacked ass for the kids was normal back in the day, everybody got one. My dad dished out “10 of the best” as he would say, 10 full blown stingers to a bare ass on a regular basis... SLAP! And I know he hurt his hand doing it too. I can remember on occasion he would just tickle my ass instead and just laugh his head off. Sending mixed signals, it was difficult to gauge what mood he was in. I've always been fussy with food, and I've never liked beans. I can remember beans being the only thing on the menu at little barn hey. “Eat them or wear them” my dad would say. Even at an early age I knew what I wanted and it definitely wasn’t beans. SPLAT! Went the hot beans over my head for my refusal of this ration food that I was forced to eat or wear. I hate beans! To this day, even in the dinner queue in the big house, beans get snarled at and like a snob, I turn my nose up.
“Nah man not for me thanks”
My al’ man had us treading on eggshells growing up and like the undertaker, he loved a chokeslam. One of my earliest memories is of him lifting me by the throat, pinning me against the wall, pointing the finger in my face and with his eyeballs popping out like a lunatic; his screaming near perforated my eardrum with his non-pertinent peremptory. It's in my memory as just a blur of anger, rage and madness. My mother would catch a hiding trying to stop him in his frenzy, it was a volatile environment where backhanders were handed out regularly. They were enough to put me on my back and stay there too if I knew what was good for me. The Barn Hey days was before my dad went to university. He was angry and immature, full of venom over his troubled past, he didn’t put much thought into how he was now perpetrating all the troubles that he had endured as a youth. He put his energies into a boxing career and was a finalist in the ABA’s. My dad knows how to throw a dig, and he also knows how to train. Boxing is a discipline and training was a requisite living there with him. Up at 6am, my brother and I would do a 3-mile run most days, boxing at Sefton ABC Monday, Wednesday, Friday and rest days in between. Rest is important in any discipline as it gives you time to think and grow. We trained hard for that year; I only lasted the year. That year with my dad changed me completely forever. It was like he needed a punch bag in the house for all his pent-up aggression. My mother is still punch drunk from the hidings that she took, that I then found myself on the receiving end of. Hiding after hiding rendering pointless in the long run because I can't even remember what half of it was for. The thin line between love and hate became obsolete as he just hated the young person I had become in his absence. I was a prolific thief who sold drugs, like most other scouse kids programmed with street mentality, mentalism.
He found out I had stolen a mobile phone from a girl I once went to school with, she was blowing up my other stolen phone all day. He listened to me promise the girl that I hadn't stolen it. I was lying though and he's not stupid. My dad searched my vicinity like a Labrador and retrieved that Samsung washing machine handset that I had stashed under the cushion on the couch where i was sat. I used to get £100 on them stolen handsets and I could get up to 10 in a week of being the bastard I once was. He hit the roof as I hit the floor when he found it. The beating I took on that day alone would have made any man crack. He splatted my nose like a tomato, body shots had me on all 4’s like a dog, the claret from my face was splashed up the wall when he kicked my head in. He threw a tea towel at me and screamed my ears deaf...
“CLEAN THAT SHIT UP YE LIL PRICK ITS GOIN EVERYWHERE!”
I got flashbacks of Barn Hey when his eyeballs popped out of his head, that's how you know he's pissed off. I didn't run away after that though because I knew I was wrong. The habits that I had acquired from my mother's for survival left me in direct dispute with my father on what is right and wrong. That dispute left us drifting apart. It wasn’t long after that I ran away from home and I brought every bit of madness with me when I left, I knew no different. A product of an environment that was toxic and violent. I didn't have much to bring to any table but my spirit; and drinking as much spirits as I was, my spirit went missing en route. I ran away from home to escape my dad; I drank alcohol and took drugs to escape my reality. I pitched a tent on a field by my nans. I couldn't stay at her house though because police had been in and raided hers a few times for me and that left me out, out. I rode that summer out in the tent, off my tits like life was just a music festival; I was in another dimension.
It wasn’t long before I darkened my mother's doorstep again, where my dish bowl crocky wash awaited me every morning, with too many hours spent contemplating some madness in a nutshell. The escape from my dad's left me with slowly progressing problems and some knowledge way ahead of my time. My dad's regime was nazi like to a degree and it's my mother who is German. My dad and i always talked knowledge, he is educated. We are very similar in lots of ways; I think that's why we clashed. I feel he did want the best for me, he would always teach me things, but his methods were off key and discipline was brutal. The best thing that I learned from my dad is that there is no drug like health. After a workout, our brains flood with natural chemicals like dopamine and serotonin; endorphins increase and our body and mind function at an optimum frequency, giving us more chance to focus on a plan or goal. Exercise is medicine, the brain is the most important muscle in the body and that needs a workout too.
“The greatest wealth is health” -Virgil (Roman Poet)
Money is not worth anything if you can't enjoy yourself. A clean body makes for a clean mind and vice versa. If health was a religion, which it should be, then the gym would be classed as church, a workout would be praying and cocaine would be classed as the devil.
Cocaine brought out the worst in me. Unhealed, I found fault in everything and everyone. I artificially stimulated my dopamine receptors; my brain formed pathos and forgot its natural ability and greatness. Tolerance levels grow with this addictive substance and more product is needed to maintain a level of high; leaving you really low in the long run. That’s how I formed my addiction; I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin. At Bardsay Road my mother's addiction got the better of her; she wasn’t herself anymore. She searched my pockets while I was asleep on the couch, waking me up at silly o'clock in the morning. I would flip my lid, regularly... “WTF ARE YOU DOING! WHERES YOUR HEAD AT???” I remember screaming at the top of my lungs. Then the lies would flood out about absolutely anything, proof that the violence she was punished with didn't work on her. We never had any money in our house, I was already shoplifting to survive and I would steal anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor. One of the many habits that I brought with me to my fathers, my routine was dragged in with me from the street. My father hated it and I had to escape the vibration of homelife. My real escape come with drugs though, I was always high but later realized that being high is a distraction too. It is impossible to understand who you really are if you are always high on drugs. I AM THAT I AM. A stupid routine formed my adolescence as i became an adult with less sense. What goes up must come down, and CRASH! I crashed on all my friends' couches time and time again; an extension of the family in so many homes that i was taken in by. THANK YOU!
“Don't expect anything in your life to change if your environment is controlling your thoughts.”- Dr Joe Dispenza