Near Shore, Far Out

October 1, 2025

I keep reading about experienced sailors dying close to shore. Not in the middle of the Pacific, not after months at sea — but within sight of land. And each time, something stirs uneasily inside me.

Because I once sailed four thousand kilometres there and back to Nauru. And I had no experience. None. No yachtmaster’s ticket, no decades at the helm. Just a call, a cause, and an instinct that said: go.

I wasn’t alone, though — I joined experienced skippers and crew who knew the sea far better than I did. My leap was into their world, not a solo crossing.

At the time, it felt like courage, or maybe necessity. Looking back now, it feels different. It feels like standing on the edge of a cliff without knowing if the parachute on my back would open. I tremble at the thought. I used Astrology for both my horoscope and the horoscope of the Flotillas of Hope to justify the decision to send the Call to Action to Nauru. To justify my, now in retrospect – my need, to stretch my ‘being’.

But here’s the truth: trembling in hindsight is not the same as folly at the time. What we see later is always coloured by what we know now. Back then, I lived as I always have — by leaps. Leaps into the unknown, trusting that my Guardian Angel working behind the scenes of life would catch me.

Others trained, charted, prepared. I leapt. And somehow, I survived. Not because I was wise, not because I was skilled, but because something — call it fate, protection, or really that Angel — carried me through.

Now, when I hear of sailors lost near shore, my heart aches. It reminds me that the sea has no favourites, and that my survival was never guaranteed. It humbles me. It makes me bow my head, not boast.

But it also tells me something else: my life has always been this way. Not straight, not cautious, but here, there and anywhere. Risk and recovery, fall and renewal. And even the trembling I feel now is part of the me that survived — the deepening that comes after the leap.

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America After the Threshold: Resistance, Power, and the Divided Republic

June 21, 2025

I play around with Astrology not because I believe that Stars and Planets direct or control events in personal lives or global political events. I think there are invisible concurrent events in the collective unconscious of humanity. So, rather than causation I think there may be a correlation between invisible unconscious movements and the celestial. So, how do we ‘see’ these invisible vibrations? Through symbolism. Just like our dreams may be symbolic of events I think the archetypal symbolism as shown through various systems that assist the invisible to become visible may also be symbolic of events.

So, this is just my reading of symbols that may help me make some sense of the incredible events happening now.

=========================================================

We are now living in a new chapter of American history. We are also living in a new chapter in Global history.

With Donald Trump inaugurated for a second term in January 2025, the United States has entered uncharted and deeply polarized territory. The promises made on the campaign trail are no longer rhetoric—they are rapidly becoming reality.

Mass deportations have begun, with ICE and other federal agencies empowered to conduct wide-scale raids that tear families apart. Sanctuary cities face threats of defunding or legal dismantling. Journalists and political opponents are under open scrutiny. The line between democratic governance and authoritarian rule is blurring in real time.

Trump’s team has already invoked or signaled the potential use of the Insurrection Act to quell dissent, and floated the Alien Enemies Act as a tool to target immigrants. These aren’t theoretical threats—they are moves drawn from a growing authoritarian playbook that challenge foundational American principles. I hear the hum of fascism. Was it the same hum heard just as Nazis took over Germany?

What happens now, as resistance begins to emerge more openly? In blue cities and states, governors and mayors are testing the limits of federal defiance. Communities are organizing, shielding vulnerable members from raids, launching legal battles, and reviving underground networks of care and dissent. But will such resistance provoke a federal crackdown? Will the desire to restore “order” become the pretext for escalated force?

Beneath the policy headlines, a deeper fracture is becoming undeniable. Two Americas are crystallizing—not just politically, but almost civilizationally. On one side, a multiracial, urban, forward-looking nation trying to hold on to democracy. On the other, a reactionary movement rooted in grievance, nostalgia, and power consolidation. The social, legal, and cultural divide is widening into something more dangerous—something that history warns us about.

The last time America reached this level of internal rupture, it exploded into civil war. That memory, often romanticized or dismissed, is beginning to feel less like history and more like a warning flare.

Astrology, often dismissed by the rational mind, provides a fascinating lens for examining recurring historical cycles. The planetary alignments of 2025 bear striking echoes of those in 1859–1861, just before the Civil War began. Let’s explore how the skies may be mirroring our collective crisis.

Astrological Forecast: Echoes of the Past, Portents for the Present (Mid–Late 2025)

Astrologically, 2025 is charged with revolutionary tension. We are living under skies that call for transformation—and test the foundations of nations.

Pluto in Aquarius (2023–2043): Revolution of Power and Structure

Pluto’s move into Aquarius signals the collapse and reconstruction of collective systems. In 2025, its early degrees are already pressuring global power structures, exposing the authoritarian use of technology and the manipulation of mass movements.

The last time Pluto was here was during the American and French Revolutions. The questions return: What is freedom? Who holds power over the collective?

Uranus in Taurus square Pluto in Aquarius (Exact October 2025)

This rare clash between Uranus and Pluto is the year’s seismic pulse. Uranus disrupts; Pluto transforms. When they square off, systems collapse and something entirely new begins to rise.

Expect:

  • Economic unrest (currency shocks, digital bank failures)
  • Technological rebellions (AI regulation backlash, digital sabotage)
  • Civil disobedience on a mass scale, potentially met with federal force.

This square recalls the Uranus–Pluto conjunction of the 1960s—a time of protest, civil rights, and violent backlash.

Neptune at 29° Pisces: The Fog Before the Storm

Neptune now lingers at the final degree of Pisces—the anaretic degree, also known as the “degree of fate.” This amplifies illusion, spiritual yearning, and mass deception.

We may see:

  • Propaganda disguised as truth
  • Escalation of conspiracy cults
  • Emotional and spiritual burnout

But also a search for meaning, for soul, for deeper truth.

Saturn in Pisces: Holding the Line

Saturn seeks structure in Pisces’ oceanic waters. It teaches quiet endurance, inner anchoring, and the need to build unseen resilience. Its presence here stabilizes those working in dreams, healing, and faith. But it also punishes denial and escapism.

The Shadow of the U.S. Pluto Return

Although exact in 2022, the aftershocks of America’s Pluto return are reverberating through 2025. The old system is dying—but what is being born remains uncertain.

The Pluto return marks the end of a cycle begun in 1776. The soul of the republic is on the line. The soul of United States of America is on the line. Is there a crack along that line?

Forecast by Season: June to December 2025

▶ June–August

  • Mass protests and resistance movements gain momentum.
  • Economic strain begins to show: housing pressure, job insecurity, localized shortages.
  • Escalation of federal actions draws international scrutiny.

▶ September–October

  • Uranus square Pluto hits exact. Expect sudden, disruptive events: blackouts, market drops, tech collapses, or policy overreach.
  • Civil disobedience may meet aggressive federal pushback.
  • Courts, especially the Supreme Court, become major flashpoints.

▶ November–December

  • Neptune’s final passage through Pisces intensifies the search for clarity. Expect scandals, revelations, spiritual awakenings, and psychological fatigue.
  • Possibility of a cultural or symbolic turning point.
  • Saturn begins to separate from Neptune, helping us rebuild from the emotional wreckage.

Conclusion: What Now?

We are living through a slow earthquake. The world as we knew it is not returning. But destruction and renewal are twins. The astrology of this era asks each of us to become participants, not spectators, in the unfolding of history.

If history is written in cycles, then perhaps prophecy is found in pattern. And if the stars are a mirror, they are reflecting our choices back to us.

The question isn’t whether the storm is coming.

It’s who we choose to become within it.

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Out of Step, In Tune

June 18, 2025

I’ve never moved easily with the crowd. Even as a child, I sensed things others didn’t notice. I saw patterns. I felt tension where others felt calm. That difference set the course for much of my life. I later came to understand it as neurodivergence.

This way of thinking made me restless in the face of injustice. When politicians tried to divide people, I helped create Cultural Stomp. When Australia locked up refugees on remote islands, I helped send boats toward Nauru. These actions didn’t come from strategy. They came from something more basic: I couldn’t stay silent.

It also shaped how I look after my health. At 73, I walk every day, track my progress, and keep my habits sharp. My VO₂ Max sits around 41.5—on par with men much younger. I didn’t plan to achieve that. I just kept going, step by step.

Writing followed the same pattern. I never set out to write for an audience. I wrote to make sense of what I saw and felt. My work comes from moments that stood out—dreams, memories, odd encounters, sharp turns in the road. Most of it came quietly, over many years.

I’ve lived most of my life outside the usual path. I rarely feel part of things. But that distance gave me something else: the space to see clearly, and the will to act when it mattered.

The posts here on this blog comes from that place. No polish. No performance. Just what felt real, when it mattered most.

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No One Would Believe It — Not Even Me

June 18, 2025


By Stavros, age 73

I stopped smoking in 2007. I had been a pack-a-day smoker since my youth. I never played sports. I didn’t train. I had no interest in fitness.

In 2021, I weighed 88 kilograms. That’s when I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. My doctor offered me medication or the option to change my diet and exercise. I chose the second option. It didn’t feel like a brave choice. It just seemed like common sense.

I had no idea how unusual that was.

I started walking every day. I changed what I ate. I didn’t go to the gym. I didn’t follow any program. I just kept walking.

Over time, I added structure. Brisk walks. Hills. Intervals. I watched my blood sugar. I stayed consistent. I lost weight.

Three and a half years later, I weigh 70 kilograms. My diabetes is in remission. I’ve never taken medication.

Then something happened I didn’t expect.

Based on heart rate data and walking performance, my estimated VO₂ max is over 41. That puts me in the top 5% of fitness for men over 70. I’m 73. I never trained as an athlete. I smoked for decades. I started late.

But the numbers don’t lie. My heart rate is low. My walk times are strong. My recovery is fast. My doctor is amazed.

Most people wouldn’t believe it. But it happened. And it happened without drama. No gyms. No apps. No slogans.

Just me, walking. Every day.

I never set out to become fit. I only wanted to avoid medication. What happened instead was quiet, slow, and real.

You don’t need to be young to begin. You don’t need to be special to keep going.

You just need to start. And keep starting.

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Why Don’t People Choose to Heal?

May 16, 2025

At 73, I’ve kept Type 2 diabetes in remission for over three years—through walking, simple food, and resistance exercises at home.

Sometimes I wonder why more people don’t walk the way I do. Not just physically — but deliberately, with purpose, with rhythm. Not for medals, not for watches or metrics, but to come home to themselves. To turn toward health, rather than away from it. To heal.

You’d think the instinct to live would be enough. You’d think the desire to feel good, move well, and age gracefully would drive people to act. But often, it doesn’t.

I think I know part of the reason why.

We live in a time where wellness has been commercialised — sold back to us by fitness influencers, gym chains, and self-styled “health gurus.”

There’s always a hack, a supplement, a challenge, a subscription. And behind it all, almost always, is the same tired motive: money.

The industry promises shortcuts, biohacks, six-packs, detoxes. But very little of it teaches people how to truly listen to their own body. Very little of it says: Walk the same path every day, in silence, and see what grows.

I didn’t pay for a program.

I didn’t join a gym.

I didn’t buy expensive equipment.

I walked. I changed how I ate — simplified my meals, removed the refined sugar and processed foods, honoured the basics.

And I began doing resistance exercises at home using my own bodyweight: push-ups, squats, step-ups, planks, curls with light dumbbells.

No machines. No mirrors. Just daily practice, spread across the hours of an ordinary day.

Over time, my blood glucose dropped, my weight settled, and my resting heart rate sank—to the level of an endurance athlete’s.

Not because I’m extraordinary. But because I showed up for my own life, one quiet effort at a time.

What astounds me is that this happened to me.

That at 73, after a lifetime of ordinary habits and imperfections — after years of smoking, struggle, and neglect — my body responded with such grace. That it could still heal. Still strengthen. Still find its rhythm.

I never expected this.

Discipline isn’t punishment.

Routine isn’t boring. And consistency isn’t obsession. They’re the quiet architecture of a life well lived.

I wish I could bottle what I’ve found and pass it around like water. But the truth is, you have to taste it yourself.

You have to take the first step — not for likes, not for a fitness tracker, not for anyone else — but because something in you remembers: you are still alive.

And you are still free to begin.

A note from the heart:
I share this not to suggest that my path is a cure-all. I know that remission isn’t possible for everyone, even with great effort. Our bodies are different. Our lives are different. What worked for me may not work for someone else — or not in the same way, or not at the same time. I honour those who are doing their best, every day, under circumstances we can’t always see. This is just my story — and I share it in case it offers hope, not judgment.

Postscript

What still astounds me is how far the body can come back when you listen to it.

At 73, my VO₂ max is estimated at 46–50, and my resting heart rate stays between 48–52 bpm — on par with fit men in their 30s to early 40s.

No gym. No guru. No plan.

Just walking.
Simple food.
Daily resistance.

That’s what worked.

📷 For images from my daily walks—the place where this journey unfolded:
https://dodona777.com/photos-from-a-river-bank-a-flood-plain/

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The Shirt That Waited

May 10, 2025

A quiet moment in a thrift shop became a luminous sign—folded in cotton, stitched with meaning. A forgotten shirt reminded me that even in doubt, the path whispers back: keep going.

Today, a whisper found its way to me in cotton.

I took a turn I hadn’t planned. Missed another I thought I meant to take. My car drifted like a leaf on invisible currents, nudging me gently toward a thrift shop I’d never noticed before. I wasn’t looking for anything. Just drifting.

Inside, beneath the soft hum of fluorescent light and the faint scent of other people’s lives, I browsed without seeing—until I did.

A shirt.

Ordinary, almost.

Except for the words:

Found in a $10 bin. Delivered like a prophecy.

Never underestimate an old man who graduated from the Univeristy of Sydney.

I stood still.

The sentence blinked softly, like an old friend in disguise.

I’m an old man.

I’m a Sydney Uni graduate.

And lately… I’ve been adrift. Writing, yes—but shadowed by that quiet ache of doubt, that question: Who do you think you are?

The shirt didn’t answer. It just waited. As if it had been waiting a long time.

I’ve never seen such a message on any piece of clothing. Not in a shop. Not in a dream. Not in a life filled with signs and silences.

And where did I find it? Among a rack of forgotten clothes, a sale bin really—three garments for ten dollars. Almost thrown away, as if its worth were negligible. But value has its own strange gravity.

So I listened.

I bought the shirt, not to wear, but to honour the moment. Folded it like a relic. A thread in the quiet tapestry that tells me: Keep going. Your words matter. You are not to be underestimated—even by yourself.

Sometimes the universe speaks in lightning.

Sometimes, in shirts.

And no, this wasn’t random.

Not this precise. Not this poetic. Not on a day when I needed it most. There is a language beneath the visible, and sometimes it breaks the surface. This message wasn’t waiting in the shop. It was waiting for me. A quiet benediction disguised as cloth, gently reminding me that my path still holds light—and voice—and that even the doubting steps are part of the dance.

I didn’t expect to write this. I just followed a feeling, like I did that day in the shop. If it resonated with you, I’m glad. Sometimes the smallest signs are the ones we carry the longest.

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Living Simply, Moving Freely

May 3, 2025

— A Reflection on Ritual, Movement, and Simplicity —

They say routine is for the dull. That repetition kills joy.

But I walk the same path most days.
I eat the same breakfast. The same lunch.
Not because I lack imagination—
But because I’ve discovered something deeper than novelty: peace.

Like a monk, I’ve shaped my days into a rhythm that nourishes me—body, mind, and soul.

My walk is not just exercise. It is prayer, presence, breath.
The push-ups, the step-ups, the planks—
I do them not to sculpt a body, but to stay strong enough
to meet each day with dignity.

No gym. No trainer. No expensive programs.
Just the floor beneath me, the open sky, a quiet will.
Fitness, it turns out, doesn’t have to cost anything—
Except a little care, a little attention, and a promise to keep showing up.

My meals are humble, yet full of life:
Bergen bread, peanut butter, olives, sardines, fruit.
No clutter. No indulgence.
Just what the body needs, offered with quiet thanks.

This way of living is not mechanical. It is devotional.

Each repeated action becomes a mudra—
A gesture of intention.
Each brisk step a heartbeat in the liturgy of the day.

In a world chasing noise, I walk in silence.
In a culture addicted to more, I live with less—
And find that less is more than enough.

Call it monk-like if you must.
To me, it is simply freedom.

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Exiled by Devotion

May 1, 2025

Sydney, 1974 – Sai Baba at East Sydney Technical College

I went to see the holy man who pulled things from thin air.
Sai Baba, they said—materializing ash, rings, trinkets.
Curious, not convinced, I brought two kids with me—one mine, one a friend’s.
We sat toward the back. The room was full. The mood hushed.
He sat on a tiger skin, legs folded, saffron robe flowing, a man guarding him like he was royalty.

The kids made a bit of noise—nothing wild, just fidgeting, whispers, a child’s need to breathe aloud.

The crowd started turning—finger to lips, stern faces, the kind of anger only silence demands.
Then Sai Baba himself, voice sharp across the auditorium:
“Silence at the back.”

I looked around. Everyone was staring now. One man I recognized—a local artist, normally cool—his face hard with rage.

The kids tried to settle.
Then again, from the stage:
“I want silence.”

I couldn’t help it. Something in me snapped—not in anger, but in clarity.
I stood and said:
“What would Jesus do? Didn’t he say, ‘Suffer the little children’?”

That was it.

Sai Baba’s eyes burned. His hand flicked like a dismissal.
“Go. You are not welcome.”

And the room—every face on the floor, cross-legged in collective piety—turned toward me and said:
“Get out of here.”

So I did.
I shook my head. I walked.

I was shocked at first—he had told me to leave. But what stung more: not one person defended me.
No one said, “He has a point.”
No one said, “Let the children stay.”

But I wasn’t ashamed.
If anything, I felt stronger.

Because silence, when it costs your soul, isn’t holiness.
It’s theatre.

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The Unbranded Way: How I Reclaimed Strength and Clarity at 73

April 25, 2025

I didn’t set out to become fit, or to impress anyone. I just wanted to keep walking without falling, stay sharp enough to finish the books I’d started to write, and live each day without the fog that sometimes creeps in with age.

At 73, I’m not chasing youth – I’m cultivating presence.

Now, six days a week, I walk. I breathe with awareness. I chant silently at sacred spots on my path. And nine months ago, I added resistance training-push-ups, planks, step-ups, squats, rows-interspersed through the day. Just two months, I added short bursts of High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT). I do them twice a week, guided by the terrain of my walk: downhill, uphill, then level. On Mondays I just do the downhill burst. Wednesdays, I do the full trio. It’s a ritual now. It makes me feel alive.

My balance has improved. My mind feels clearer. This is no longer ‘exercise’-it’s my ritual of self-respect.

My Weekly Flow

Monday: Full Resistance x 2 + Brisk Walk + Short HIIT (Downhill only)

Tuesday: Moderate Walk only

Wednesday: Brisk Walk with Full HIIT (Downhill > Uphill > Level)

Thursday: Resistance x 1 + Gentle Walk or Mobility

Friday: Full Resistance x 2 + Brisk Walk

Saturday: Moderate Walk + Spiritual Walk or Breathwork

Sunday: Full Rest – regeneration, stillness

Exercises I Do

  • Push-ups (standard & inclined) – upper body & core strength
  • Plank (1-minute) – core, posture, breath control
  • Step-ups – leg strength, joint health, mobility
  • Squats – total lower body strength
  • Toe-ups – calf & balance strength
  • Dumbbell Curls/Rows – arms and back
  • One-leg Balance – fall prevention
  • Farmers Carry – grip, core, posture
  • Ankle/Reaction Drills – agility and coordination
  • Spiritual walking – silent prayer or chanting during walks

Why Weekly Rhythm, Not Daily Routine?

“I train by the week, not by the day – each step a note in the symphony of staying.”

  • Recovery is sacred – Effort and stillness must dance together.
  • It builds sustainability – A weekly rhythm avoids burnout.
  • It respects cycles – Like moon phases or seasons.
  • It fosters joy, not guilt – Each day plays a role, even rest.

For Anyone Wondering If It’s Too Late

  • Start with walking.
  • Add one strength move.
  • Rest often.
  • Make it yours.
  • Make it sacred

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Echoes from the Discount Nirvana Aisle

April 14, 2025

“Third eye’s open, but I’m still blind—must’ve bought the knockoff.”
—Whispers from the Algorithm

The Third Eye Is Pointed at the Sky When I Bend Over

This is soul-searching—but not the soft-focus, candlelit kind they sell you in Instagram ads.

It’s the kind of soul-searching that starts when you wake up at 3 a.m. in a cold sweat, realizing your entire personality might be a subscription service. When the thoughts hit so hard you can’t scroll them away.

It’s a tuning of the inner dial—not for good vibes, but to find whatever truth is still leaking through the static. Because let’s be clear: this isn’t about finding peace. It’s about noticing you’ve been sold a leash with a smile.

The revolution?

It’s wearing eyeliner now and dancing on TikTok for likes.

Your rebellion has been repackaged into a hoodie with a brand logo and a mission statement. Every radical thought you’ve had is now available in four easy payments, with free shipping and a 10% discount if you sell your friends out too.

We used to throw rocks at kings. Now we rate their content. Welcome to the age of the black magician. No wands. No robes. Just copywriters, influencers, and people who learned to spell authenticity in Helvetica. And here’s the kicker: they don’t just sell you soap anymore.

They sell you your own face, reflected in a polished screen, whispering:
“You’re almost enough. Just one more upgrade.” It’s not just advertising. It’s sorcery.

And the real spell?

Convincing you that the answers were never inside you—but conveniently waiting in someone’s cart. Let’s talk about the new high priests of this digital cathedral:

Influencers.

They used to be your neighbors.
Now they’re lifestyle oracles.

Curated messiahs with ring lights and discount codes.

Their job isn’t to be real—it’s to look real enough that you’ll follow them straight into the abyss of comparison and consumption. They call it “sharing.”

It’s selling.

They call it “vulnerability.”

It’s emotional clickbait.

And they don’t even know they’re doing it—because the spell caught them first.
They are the product and the packaging, wrapped in digital incense and filtered light.

Their third eye?

Trademarked. Verified. Brand-aligned.

But me?

I’ll take the third eye that ancient Greek playwright joked about—the one that points to the heavens when you bend over. Yeah, that one.

Crude, sure. But it had better aim than the polished, bullshit eye they’re selling me now. That third eye at least had the decency to laugh at the gods, not pretend to be one.

Because the new spirituality isn’t about waking up. It’s about signing up. Log in. Add to cart. Manifest your dream life with our 7-step program and don’t forget to leave a review.

And if you’re not ready to pay for it? Well, then you’re not “aligned” yet. Your resistance is your poverty speaking. They’ll shame you in pastel colors and smiling fonts. This is soul robbery in broad daylight.

And we’re clapping along to the rhythm because the beat’s got a good hook.

The psychic supermarket is open 24/7.

Insight™

Power™

Your Best Self™

All available now, pre-packaged and promise-wrapped.

But here’s the sick twist: no matter how much you buy, you’ll always feel behind. Because the product isn’t transformation—it’s lack. Permanent, bottomless, sponsored lack.

And if you ever wake up—if you ever really see it—someone’s there, waiting, ready to sell you the antidote to the thing they sold you in the first place.

“You’ve always been just one more product away from peace.”
—Echoes from the Discount Nirvana Aisle

Maybe that’s what I’m doing now.

Maybe this whole rant is a spell of its own—an exorcism, or maybe just me screaming into the neon-stained void, hoping someone still knows what it feels like to be human underneath all the branding.

There’s a war happening.

Not with tanks.

With images.

The battle isn’t good vs. evil—it’s what kind of image will sit on the throne of your psyche.

One builds an altar to ego, likes, and carefully measured virtue signals.

The other might actually save the goddamn planet.

Because what’s killing us isn’t evil—it’s performance.

The performance of care.
The performance of identity.
The performance of being real.

We’re drowning in simulations of sincerity, while the real thing starves in a basement somewhere, forgotten.

And so the question is this:

Are you buying a product?

Or selling a piece of your soul?

Are you seeing with your own eyes?

Or watching through the lens of a third eye™ brought to you by the latest mindfulness app?

Because the spell only works if you don’t know it’s being cast.

But once you see it—really see it—there’s no going back.

And maybe that’s what they’re really afraid of.

“Enlightenment now comes with a promo code.”
—Found scrawled in the margins of a mindfulness app

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