Dreaming High

Mum, said I, can I fly, with the birds in the sky?

Yes, you can, before sleep, flap your thoughts, take a leap...

Dreamt of wings, woke in bed, feathers dense, guilt in lead.

Mum, said I, when birds die, do they fall from the sky?

This is my flutter at the prompt by dVerse.

This poem uses an Anapestic Tetrameterat – a coupling of words, which struck in me equal quantities of fear, and confusion.

After the initially apprehension, and a few basic finger equations, it turns out it’s far more simple than it lets on – and near instantly lets you in on the fun!

Each line, has four sets of ‘two unstressed syllables followed by a single stressed syllable’ – 12 syllables altogether.

If you liked this, you might enjoy Feathered.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Exploring mental and physical


Guiding hands to teach

Senpai swept on Eastern winds –

Greek marble endures.

I wrote earlier in ‘Today, I bothered’, of wishing to diversify my poetic styles.

I thought I would jump in gently –

With a haiku…

A Japanese poem in a 5, 7, 5 syllable pattern, containing a Kigo – a word or phrase that connects it to a season, and a Kireji – a cutting word, or juxtaposition.

Turns out there’s more than meets the eye.

In that this haiku was a step to learn something new, I decided to celebrate two ancient cultures revered for their lasting wisdom.

Kudos – praise for accomplishment, derived from the Greek “kydos”.

Senpai – a Japanese word for a senior person, of higher experience, such as a teacher.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Exploring mental and physical

Today, I bothered

Bright page under-lights,
Skin beneath my face,
I space, thinking of the chase,

To snare the catch,
Rifled shot, ringing in my brain,
Beastly words gushing from the vein,

Beating through fingertips,
Bleed spoils of my bother,
Spurting black, eyes wide, I hover.

I’ll admit, I’m a pretty one dimensional poet. I love rhymes and I don’t really deviate. I would like to change that – justify my attachment of the word poet, above – and in time, diversify.

I’m consistently unsurprised by the limited scope of my knowledge and talents.

I write my poems with layman’s fingers – they’re the same ones I use to scratch my head in confusion, and assertively push slices of pizza, oozing molten cheese, into my greedy gullet. If professionals become proficient at their craft through the compounding of experiences, the burnt roof of my mouth is evidence against my standing.

In admiring over the two short, yet valuable months blogging, the bountiful variety of poetry from The skeptics kaddish, I was inspired by his own modest account in his recent post. Thanks David.

Through him, I’ve decided to give dVerse’s Quadrille Monday a go; to come up with a poem, 44 words in length, that’s features the word “bother”.

Here lies (above), my take on the creative process.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Exploring mental and physical

No children, no problems

Selfish, or selfless?

World population is growing unsustainably. As of time of writing, world population is almost 7.9 billion. I’m rounding up, as based on data released by the UN, there’s 250 births every minute – that’s more than 4 a second – and 131.4 million a year, we’ll be there in a blink. That can be counted against a figure from the World Health Organisation, that 55.4 million people died in 2019.

The only way is up, baby. Babies. Lots of them.

Would it be too strong to say having more than 2 children is irresponsible? Its not really my place to argue the point, regardless of personal choices. Should there be a limit imposed on the number of children? Hell no. However, couples who have 2 children or less, aren’t leaving any larger a footprint than their own. Obviously, that’s not how the world is, and even trying to formulate some sort of metric based on the archetype of an homogeneous relationship, is going to be limited. I don’t think it’s in my power to judge the scales of balance, in what constitutes a positive/negative environmental impact. Does forgoing plastic straws and composting our waste, level us sufficiently to grant moral rights to an additional child? Probably not.

We wouldn’t want to see a similar programme of population control, as seen in China between 1979 to 2015, the one-child policy, replicated anywhere else in the world. In 2015 China reverted to a two-child policy, which had been in place for a decade before 1978.

In terms of population increase, the trend is and almost always has been, on the up – despite, we have seen some noticeable shifts over the last few years, with millennials opting to delay parenthood, or abstain completely, to focus on their careers and personal lives – coupled with the environmental incentive, is now the best time ever to focus entirely on yourself?

Children are overrated. They come into your life, suck your blood for (at least) 18 years, then bugger off to leave you to live out the last decades of your life in the decrepit body you earned for you troubles.

What’s so great about children anyway? They’re bone idle, lazy, and don’t pull their weight around the house. They’re rubbish at sports, have no coordination and pay no attention to the offside rule. They never stick their hand in their pocket to pick up the pints. If you do get into a chat with them, half the time, either you, and/or they, have no idea what the hell they’re talking about. To top it off, their idea of hosting a dinner party, is feeding you cold spaghetti hoops out of their hand. Going into my 30’s, why the hell would I want that around?

Parasites. God damn bottom feeders. Sniffing up crumbs. The way things are now in the world, in most places, it’s just getting more and more expensive to get on the property ladder, pushing the immediate prospects of home ownership, way out of reach for the average 18 – 20 somethings. The trend is seeing young adults leaving the family home later than in their parents generation.

What’s up with teenagers these days too? I’m currently travelling Tasmania. I’ve picked up work on a family farm. It’s Easter school holidays and the owners 15 year old daughter stands in front of me as the sun peaks over the horizon, crack of dawn, her oversized glove gripping a foul smelling rotten potato.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do?”

I jokingly prodded.

“Not really.”

She responds, dropping the spud through the rejection shoot on the harvester.

I chip away a bit, attempting to break the ice.

“So, any plans over then next couple of weeks?”

She looks around dartingly, at anything but my eyes, with familiar teenage awkwardness.

“Erm… work, I guess.”

What’s up with that?! This girl has her head screwed on straight.

When I was her age, I spent everyday of my Easter holidays galavanting around town, latched onto the direction the groups of girls we’re heading, like an overly agreeable, hormonal homing missile. My feet barely touched the ground. I didn’t spend a single moment indulging in my homework assignments – the only papers I picked up were Rizla.

This kid is way too responsible. It makes me sick.

I was a dirty little stopout – routinely spending nights on friends sofas – only occasionally popping my head home to raid the fridge and get more clean underwear. I had no priorities except having fun and getting that thing that naturally all teenage boys obsess about. We rode the buses around excitedly to new places, to crowd the parks through summer and cold, dark winter months, under wearing garments to flash that pubescent rounding out of flesh in an immature mating ritual, on abandoning the area to the nearest house party, leaving the sticky smell of overenthusiastic vomit. When we weren’t living by the night, we spun bicycles wheels, no hands on the handlebars, as we blew smoke rings and sophisticated our palates on heavy gulps of Special Brew, from the can.

Thats what teen years are for. If you ain’t fucking up, you ain’t doing it right.

There’s no dead certs. Who’s knows what type of child you’ll produce? There doesn’t exist a takeaway price list, with a option of the golden child. All the parenting tricks in the world can’t guarantee a prodigal kid, with Olympian athleticism and marble physique, destined to go on to receive a Nobel prize for service to mankind.

That’s the gamble – whichever horse wins, it’s odds on, your sweet darling son or daughter will still hit puberty and start throwing rolled eyes across the room. You can never own your child. They aren’t your property, sooner or later, they’re going to assert their autonomy.

You might get a piece of shit who blows smoke rings and gulps cans of Special Brew.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. My parents dropped me into football (soccer) practice after school, when I was about 5 years old. All the other kids scrabbled around, thudding balls and calling eagerly for a pass. I was rolling about on my back pitch side, picking dandelions and blowing them into the wind.

I can recall vividly one moment of glory. The end of practice always concluded with penalty shootouts. I stood there in goal, poised and ready to save the impending flying football from entering the net. My body was there, static, arms by my side like a human lollipop, but my mind was way off, chasing dragonflies and doing cartwheels. The ball left the kids boot, piercing the air like an English longbow, and before I could even think about what body part needed to move to stop it, the mud splattered plastic exterior imprinted the iconic duo of hexagons and pentagons into my innocent face. There was a flash, and the only thing I really remember next is having the sting washed out under the cold running water of the tap, by the coach. Saved it though, so I suppose the objective was met. What a lad.

You get what you’re given, and what you’re given is going to be expensive and all consuming. The path is paved with uncertainty and there’s no turning back…

I’m enjoying my life. Whats in it for me? Well, you selfish bastard, who will be around to look after you when you’re old, need the dribble wiped from your chin and a diaper change? It’s a two way street.

I was witness to a close family friends passing a few years ago. It was acutely eye opening, if not life changing. It certainly educated me on the process of end of life care. Watching the grace, tact and discretion at which the nurses dealt with the mechanics of facilitating a “comfortable” death, both for the departing and for those who remain. I was overwhelmed with profound respect, appreciation and awe for the hospital staff, who routinely face what most people will only have to a few times during their life. What struck me, is all the uncertainty, in something which is by definition, certain. If my insight is taken as a microscopic incarnation of the immense possible experiences there are in death, it would in a modern society be termed a typical one. Dying in hospital, with family and friends at the bedside. Sudden illness’ act on underlying weakness’. It crept on so slowly, yet so fast. One moment, there’s hope in the air, as those who visit with well wishes, clutch for more time. The reality is always under the surface, but theres an inevitable tendency to subdue the worse outcome from the forefront. In the moment hope disappears, finally comes the sharp pull back – disbelief. Oh shit, it’s happening. There’s was a sudden rush to formulate some structure – a plan of action, maybe, but nobody really knows what to do. It’s all new territory, and utterly surreal. Some people grasp distortedly at things – like becoming wholly focussed on making sure the dying have their false teeth in, or something, when getting their teeth would mean a 20 minute round trip to the car park, instead of being present. In the end, nothing changes the outcome.

I had never seen somebody die before – their life leave their body. The doctor administered a sedative, which relaxed their breathing, helping the person pass away quietly and relatively peacefully. Those who wish to, can come close, lay a hand on their loved one, let them know they aren’t alone – whisper empty promises that they’ll see them again. Anything you say or do now is almost entirely symbolic – it’s for you, more than them. What’s important is you are there.

I don’t want to die alone. I don’t know in how far that is “selfish”, as it is human.

Beyond the irreplaceable value of having a loving family to share the precious moments with, as you age, they’ll be there to support you, and you, them – through it all.

We are communal creatures, and we haven’t made it this far by going it alone.

I guess I might be cleaning the apple and banana purée burp up from over the back of my shoulder, when I do finally have children, after all, and the Special Brew burp from over the arm of the sofa, when they get a bit older…

…or, maybe mine will be prodigal

There’s only one way to find out.

You’ve got to ask yourself one question;

‘Do I feel lucky? – Well, do ya, punk?

Once the developing world catches up to the material standards of the first world nations, and the incentives to delay parenthood, or cede it completely, become great enough to effect population decline, it’s likely the next big problem will be in having too few young people to drive the economy, and the big question; how do we take care of our elderly?

Words by © Darius the Mate

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Exploring mental and physical


Porcelain promises,
Pieces lain broken,
Swept into corners,
Long lost, unspoken,

Pink poisoned lips,
Hot spiteful lust,
Sweet ceasefire kiss,
Cold uncoiled thrust,

Harmonies of bladed words,
Sing into guts,
Operatic precision,
Deep melodic cuts,

Jagged withdrawal,
Two lonely rooms,
Resolutions grow distant,
In embittered wombs.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Exploring mental and physical

Snapshot: Vancouver

Short look + read photograph collections from places I’ve loved enough to capture.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

On Canada’s west coast, Vancouver is a sprawling metropolis, bustling with a diverse, multi cultural demographic and Canada’s largest Chinatown, with the highest population density of anywhere in Canada. Its easily navigated via the elevated tracks of the SkyTrain, granting generous panoramic views. It’s consistently voted as one of the top 5 most liveable cities in the world.

Whilst embracing the cultural fusion, the city still manages to feel unmistakable Canadian, with the grand rocky outcrop of the North Shore Mountain range nestling the skyline, and the long lasting autumnal hues of its easily accessible open spaces, watched over by lofty old trees.

Photographs by © Darius the Mate

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Goodbye Avery. Hello Mate.

What’s in an original idea – and how far does creative ownership go?

Avery Mann, as some of you might have noticed, is a play on Everyman.

When I started this blog, I was a little nervous putting myself out there. I felt more comfortable going incognito, so I chose a pseudonym. The meaning behind the name was, in fact, an original idea – the protagonist from a short story I wrote for fun, a few years ago. It was born of my mind, whilst in playful thought.

However, as I had pointed out to me by a relative (they can be so unreservedly honest, can’t they!), and subsequently in Googling, it exists in multiple incarnations, out there, from the minds of others. That’s not a surprise. With a world population of nearly 7.9 billion, and written history stretching back almost 5,000 years, with the Sumerian cuneiform script, and the oldest legible texts surviving from around 2,600 BCE – its understandable that many ideas can originate separately, simultaneously.

Sumerian cuneiform tablet,
Mesopotamia, circa 3100–2900 BCE.
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City.

A prominent example of this is Charles Darwin and the theory of evolution, conceived individually and independently by the lesser known and nowhere near as widely accredited British anthropologist and biologist, Alfred Russell Wallace.

Alfred Russell Wallace in 1895

The occurrence is called multiple discovery or simultaneous invention.

Invention, discovery and rediscoveries have been conceptualised across history, whether concurrently, or in isolation many generations down the line, pointing to the inevitability of it all.

Thank you Avery Mann, for lending me the moniker. I can claim you as my own, but only in principle. Our relationship, it turns out, was never mutually exclusive.

Since giving a platform to artistic creation, freeing some of my most well kept sensitivities, and expressing my thoughts in unconcealed words, I’ve felt an overwhelming gratitude to those who have read my writing, and shared their support with likes, comments and follows. Every one goes noticed – thank you. The positive response has gifted me the confidence to be peel back the shroud further.

From now on, I will be attaching my real name to my work, at least in part.

My name is Darius.

I wear it, during my brief time inhabiting this world, at the patronage of Persian Kings, including Darius the Great, King of Kings, who ruled the Achaemenid Empire at its height, from 522 BCE until his death in 486 BCE.

Relief of Darius the Great,
Persepolis, circa 500 BCE

Darius III, reigning from 336 BCE until his death in 330 BCE, was the final Persian King of Kings, murdered by his own relative, after his defeat to Alexander the Great.

Alexander Mosaic, showing Alexander the Great (left) charging Darius III (right). Roman floor mosaic from the House of the Faun, Pompeii.
Image credit: Berthold Werner (Ancient World Magazine)

I’m not nearly as distinguished or bathed in grandeur as my namesake predecessors. Let’s keep it down to Earth – I will stay open, honest and genuine, with myself, and you. I’m realistic – I realise how infinitesimal my existence is, but, I’m here to make it count – stay passionate, where it matters, challenge myself to think about the big questions, whilst appreciating fully the small things in life. Ill never stop loving learning. I would gain a great satisfaction, in the continued introduction to great writers and thinkers out there, to celebrate and share this experience with. Maybe, we’ll like each other’s work – a different kind of multiple discovery.

Let’s connect, you can call me Darius the Mate.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message, let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Snapshot: Melbourne

Short look + read photograph collections from places I’ve loved enough to capture.

Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Melbourne, on Australia’s southern coast, with a population on 5 million, is the largest city in Victoria and second most populous in Australia.

It’s been an active settlement of the Aboriginal people for over 40,000 years, before being colonised by the British in the 1800s.

In modern times, it’s known as Australias cultural capital, with its vibrant music scene, bubbling urban laneways and hipster cafe culture.

Photographs by © Darius the Mate

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Albert Einstein in 1944

“People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

Albert Einstein
Time piece on my wrist, 
Time piece on my wall,
Time is everywhere,
Yet there’s no time at all,

Presentism is where we are,
Stuck in our current state,
In Possibilism, past and present exist,
But not yet our future fate,

That’s called the growing block,
In a thin slice of space-time,
Then there’s Eternalism, a theory,
Which shifts our paradigm,

Where each are equally real,
Happening simultaneously,
Rewriting our history,
With synchronicity,

Boxed into quantum thought,
If time is four-dimensional,
In the block universe,
Right now, stands a Neanderthal,

Watching as his deer,
Crackles in the fire,
Whilst next to him in space,
You watch as the flames lick higher,

Around your own barbecue,
Relax, there’s no time to waste,
Enjoy a new meaning,
To timeless taste.
The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory
Painting by Salvador Dalí

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Snapshot: Hongcun Village

Short look + read photograph collections from places I’ve loved enough to capture.

Hongcun Village, Anhui Province, China

Together, with the nearby town of Xidi, Hongcun Village is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, known for its well preserved medieval Chinese architecture.

Photographs by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Snapshot: Xidi Village

Short look + read photograph collections from places I’ve loved enough to capture.

Xidi Village, Anhui Province, China

Together, with the nearby town of Hongcun, Xidi Village is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, known for its well preserved medieval Chinese architecture.

Photographs by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!


Wind captures wings,

Lifts up to see the things,

That most people only see,

In photographs and on tv,

Metal birds up in the sky,

When dreaming high…

Means more than just sleeping on planes…

Counting clouds beyond the windowpane.

Wind captures wings,

Fly the nest to see the things,

Above cerulean reflections of the lake,

One life real,

The other, not quite fake,

When riding waves…

Means more than just crossing the ocean…

Sending electromagnetic notes to share emotion.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Young life, ember burning bright,

So jealous was the night,

That it choked out your flame,

Families sit in darkness,

A long and barren starkness,

Lives that will never be the same.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

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Unconscious resolutions

Nocturnal thoughts coo from the past,

In the twilight of my waking hour,

To lay upon the palate,

Spoon fed on morsels sour,

Unforgotten grievances morph heinously,

In slumber, shapes of familiar faces jitter,

Me awake, with a pinch of saltiness,

And an essence flavourfully bitter,

I slip back beneath my eyelids,

Drawing shut the darkening curtain,

Reprise encounters in the rabid heat,

Of the moment, for reasons uncertain,

Let loose a simian shriek,

As I bludgeon past transgressions,

To vomit forth at my feet,

Uncomfortable confessions,

I stomp around frenziedly,

Atop hurt, anger and fear,

A red midst around my head,

Stubbornly gives to clear,

Worked up in a quagmire,

I had began to sink within,

Struggle pushes deeper beneath,

Until the bog surrounds my chin,

With my final gasp of air,

My lips free a parting reconciliation,

I forgive myself for lingering resentment,

And those I blame for former indignation,

Sun breaches my retinas,

Before the mire swallowed any tighter,

I lift my head off my pillow,

And feel a little lighter.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Times of Travel: Liffey Falls

Type: Hike, out and back
Distance: 8km (6km + optional 2km)
Time: 2 - 3 hours
Difficulty: Easy
Location: Liffey Falls State Reserve, Tasmania

Liffey Falls track is a short, easy walk, following an old 1900s logging tramway, in Liffey Falls State Reserve, Tasmania. It’s a 45 minute drive (50km) from the centre of Launceston, the closest city (it’s a big town, at best, by most standards).

The route is accessed from the Liffey Falls campground. An alternate 2km (return) walk can be found from the top car park, if you continue on the right hand side in the fork, on the turn off to the campground.

This picturesque waterfall is reached through cool temperate rainforest, drenched in green glow. The undulating track is hugged by a canopy of statuesque fern trees, amid the eucalypts, and off the modest mud path are pillows of soft vibrant moss.

Among the vegetation of sassafrass, myrtle and leatherwood, there are plenty of mighty trees towering stoically beside the trail, and occasionally, across it too.

Although signposted as a 1hr 30min walk one way, to the falls, it’s probably more reasonable to reach it within 45min – 1hr.

The falls can be viewed from a number of well positioned platforms, or those with decent shoes may decide to push out onto the rocks, as the water babbles past.

Victoria Falls

It’s well worth following the track the extra kilometre uphill, to the cascades. The Spout cascade, met just above the main falls, sends a spirited rush of water, from between a worn down sandstone grove, diving onto the rocks below.

Spout Falls

Peaking through the foliage, is the majestic Drys Bluff. A hike for another day.

A little further, the energetic waters sourced from the Great Western Tiers, pours over the sides of the sandstone steps, which are set into the landscape as if laid in the ground by the masonry of primordial giants.

Hopetoun Falls

The return from here will be 4kms descending along the same route as you tracked up.

This area, vivid and luxuriously embossed with flora, grows lush besides the Liffey River, which was originally called Tellerpangger by the Panninher clan of Aboriginal Tasmanians who used it as a meeting place for thousands of years.

I feel privileged to walk in their footsteps, on this special island, but also hold prominently in my mind the extreme injustice perpetrated on the indigenous people.

The Black War of the mid 1820s – 1832 saw the killing of between 600 – 900 aboriginals by the hands of British Colonists, nearly wiping them from the island.

Liffey Falls, with all its paradisiacal distinctions, saw atrocities which reflect the darkest and most wicked side of humanities face, off the idyllic waters.

As reported in the The Sydney Morning Herald;

“Settlers on a reprisal raid for the murder of a stockman are said to have surprised the gathered Pallittorre people at Liffey Falls on a winter dawn in 1827.

They are reported in the Colonial Times to have killed ''an immense quantity''. About 60 died or were wounded and, in two further skirmishes in the next 18 days, perhaps 40 more Pallittorre died - as did three colonists.”

The extent of the damage proved to be irreversible. On the 8th of May 1876, the last known full blooded Aboriginal Tasmanian, named Truganini, passed away. It marked the end of a period, that should go down in the history books as genocide.

Truganini, 1870

May we learn from the lessons of the past, for the sake of a better future. Aboriginal communities across Australia are still suffering the consequences of years of abuse. I’ve observed it first hand on my travels. Their culture is rich and knowledge of this land, deep. Their vigour is resilient and affinity to the natural world, unbroken.

We could learn a lot, if we were able to be more humble.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Is my vote a game to you?

Politics – Is there a more polarising subject?

The word democracy comes from an amalgamation of the Greek words, ‘demos’, essentially meaning ‘people’, and ‘kratos’, which can be translated to ‘power’.

Power to the people!

Athens is generally accepted to have housed the first governmental democracy in 508 – 507 BC, although it is thought to have existed in other Greek city states prior to this, and perhaps a result of having the strongest surviving records, can celebrate this attribution.

This is Democracy Manifest!

“What is the charge? Eating a meal? A succulent Chinese meal?”
Image from the viral video and meme.

Politics, why is it so black and white – or rather, red and blue?

Let’s take my country, Britain.

Two opposing sides battle for domination.
The parties sit, facing each other on either side of the House of Commons chamber.

House of Commons chamber.
Boris Johnson lines up a shot on former opposition leader, Jeremy Corbyn.

Each party leader takes turns at spitting poison darts at the other. Eton College is practically an incubator for breeding future Tory Prime Ministers, growing the spawn of the rich and influential few, in vitro. A clear extension of public school debating society, its quite apparent it’s been difficult for some statesman to remove the inane schoolyard taunts and insults, as members of parliament jeer from the back benches. The triviality embedded, with its deep roots, is drearily evident, and discernibly juvenile.

Take this, for example – an image uploaded on the 6th September 2019, to official Conservative Party social media accounts, on all major platforms, in the lead up to the general election;

Jeremy Corbyn, the then Labour Party leader.

Even on a very basic level, this is just so wrong. The acronym doesn’t even work – JFC (KFC), yeah, yeah, got that bit. But then the Totally Spineless Chicken? It doesn’t even fit. It’s like it was created by children, and thats before you get to the actual content. It’s just way off the mark.

How low can you get – is this what politics has become?

Let’s get one thing straight, I am not a member of a party. This isn’t supposed to be a Tory bashing post – I am not a raging lefty. I make my decision to vote for any party, based on the merit of the manifesto, and my belief in the individuals assembled in their government, especially the leader, being able to deliver on the key points. I identify what I feel strongest about, and whichever party represents my interests best, gets my vote. I have no allegiances. I am open to be persuaded. I truly hope that one can elicit some kind of response in me, and connect on a fundamental level. I’ll wait, I’m patient.

I have, however, only ever voted Conservative, thus far. My views are constantly evolving. I am not the same person as I was ten years ago, when I first got the vote. I was certainly in part, playing devils advocate, as all of my best friends were raging lefties. If everyone agrees on everything, life becomes a bit beige. I have been out of the country for most of the last five years, including for the last election, and opted to abstain. Being away from everyone and everything I have grown up with, and been influenced by, has let my true thoughts and feelings develop organically, outside. Being in another country adds to the degree of separation. It even makes you question the way you see yourself. Maybe, I am a raging lefty?

However, this is the party I voted for in the past, which made me beg the question too;

In what way does this represent me?

The short answer: it doesn’t.

Often, I have watched and listened as the vanguard we entrust to shape the society we live, resort to personal attacks, in lieu of any substance, or focus on policy matter. How do you separate this diseased culture of combative politics from the greater organism?

It’s practically sport – or is it just a game – my vote isn’t part of a game – is it?

If the intended end result is the betterment of the country, it’s people, its economy, and in upholding its values, then, aren’t we all on the same team?

But, there’s the problem, you may point
out – our values are different – thats precisely why we have different parties.
Yet, are they really that different? Now, more than ever, I believe we have a more transparent idea of what a country sentimentalises at its core.

Today, whether the party swings left or right on the political spectrum, it’s adheres crucially to different shades of liberalism – economic, social, cultural and political.

I see it as less of a line, from left to right, and more of a circle, the further you go, the more extreme it becomes, the more they begin to look like the other again, until they meet.

Ideologically, the Conservative Party believes in the freedom of the market. The Labour Party, intrinsically, most vehemently in the freedom of the worker. Both believe in freedom. Both believe in democracy. On paper, perhaps rather dubiously, both believe in equality and the rights of its citizens.

It’s like they are making an omelette, agree on the ingredients, and are now arguing about how much salt and pepper to use. Instead of working together to make this the best omelette possible, one was accused of holding the whisk wrong, whilst retorting that the other wore their apron contemptibly.

We, the diners, stand outside hungry, staring through the window in disbelief at the disorderly spectacle. I suppose the real problem materialises when somebody doesn’t like omelettes.

How many revolutions have started over food shortages?

Most of us think our ideals, opinions and decisions are our own.

Yet, we have two biological parents that we inherent genetic characteristics from. The overwhelming majority has at least one who raises us, who is in our life consistently, biological or not. We inherit some of their traits too, inborn or learned. Speech, for example. Our accent is a direct result of our environment. We tend to mimic those around us – it’s a part of how we cooperate and survive.

We are born with individual life circumstances. Isn’t our family structure – how many parents, if any, are present, their job and how much they earn, as well the area we live, among others (the list is extensive), all social economic factors that contribute to predestined political biases?

It’s all a bit tribal. We’ve been scared of the tribe on the other side of the valley, since time immemorial. Now, we just throw verbal spears – mostly.

It can’t be as simple as rich vs poor, can it?

We’re all born equal is the biggest lie I uncovered, since that fat bloke stopped sliding down my chimney.

Don’t believe everything they tell you.

A big lie is a propaganda technique, where a politician or political institution tells a lie so big, that most people believe it must be true.

Adolf Hitler was the first to define the technique in Mein Kampf;

“It would never come into their heads to fabricate colossal untruths, and they would not believe others could have the impudence to distort the truth so infamously.”

More recently, current United States
President Joe Biden, characterised the then President Donald Trumps claims, of massive election fraud in an attempt to overturn his loss in the 2020 US presidential election, as “the big lie”.

On the 6th of January 2021, it culminated in the storming of the United States Capitol building by a mob of Trump supporters, enflamed by a call to action during a rally, from the then President Donald Trump.

More than 140 people were injured and 5 died, as a result of the violence.

I’m sick of the power politics.

In the age of the long peace, when we’ve never experienced such a time of reduced violence and greater global cooperation, with the rise of Trump, Brexit and nationalism across The West, its glaring, we still have a way to go.

Secularism is having a revival.

Britain went to the nuthouse with the Brexit referendum result. The chaos it provoked, the rut we became entrenched in, as we battered ourselves black and blue, became more tedious than tragic. We managed to make resounding fools of ourselves internationally, repeatedly, as the infighting raged on at home. When we couldn’t even work together within our own government, how on Earth, were we suppose to come to terms with the European Union and its 27 other member states?

As it droned on in the press too – sensationally pitting us, the plebeians, against one another for monetary gain, it got to the point that nothing really mattered to me anymore.

All the rhetoric, posturing and fluffing of feathers had become a uninspiring display of meaningless motions, akin to an elitist chicken dance – an easy to replicate, uncoordinated and classless foray, where everyone moves in much the same way, jigged to a utterly dreadful tune.

The media is there, all the while, scaring people into an early grave, as they pump fear and doom relentlessly through every medium they have at their disposal, until the people are so washed out and void of any true autonomy, that their ability to put rational thought into play and separate the bullshit from their physical lives, in front them, dissipates.

No, it’s not a game.

It is all just an elaborate social experiment, that hasn’t come to a final conclusion and never will.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Six weeks of summer

Those six weeks of summer, 
If I could have you even once anew,
Then I could live a lifetime more,

Savour sweetly, an everlasting haze,
Of moments that came before,

We waited with bated breath,
School bell let go an animate ring,
Precious hands gather hurriedly,
As from seats we briskly spring,

The school year was over,
Summer holiday had begun,
Every experience new and full
of excitement, joy and fun,

Sleepovers, with my best mates,
The pinnacle of a Friday night,
Midnight snacks came out,
When we turned off the light,

We’d skip to the park,
Leap from swings and monkey bars,
Tumbling about, snotty nose,
Sore muddy knees and battle scars,

The days were long,
Rolling on, on, and on,
Until the final week,
You would come upon,

A sudden realisation,
And only then,
That it would be a WHOLE year,
Until those six weeks came again...

Those six weeks of summer,
If I could have you even once anew,
Then I could live a lifetime more,

Waiting patiently for a lively knock,
My best friend, standing at the door,

Gameboy in hand,
Trading Pokémon, To catch em’ all,
Imagination flowing from pencil,
To paper, as we’d scrawl,

You knew you were in,
For a decadent day,
If planned for the cinema,
And Pizza Hut buffet,

Excitement as Mum gave in,
And Bought that new shiny toy,
A frolic in a vivid land,
Imagination, a gift to enjoy,

Climbing through trees,
In the field behind my home,
Lit by evening skies wavering sun,
Late we would roam,

The days were long,
Rolling on, on, and on,
Until the final week,
You would come upon,

A sudden realisation,
And only then,
That it would be a WHOLE year,
Until those six weeks came again...

Those six weeks of summer,
If I could have you even once anew,
Then I could live a lifetime more,

Cycling pedals bikes to knock around,
My best friend, standing at the door,

Skateboard in hand, polyurethane wheels,
Rolled on tarmac soaked in rays,
Filming stunts, captured youth,
Endless sun bleached days,

Loose hair and looser cares,
Free and wild,To roam and dream,
Torn baggy jeans, oversized,
Fraying at the seams,

We grunged out,
Come as you are,
Catchy riffs,
On Kurt Cobain’s guitar,

Twiddling thumbs,
Taking turns on GTA,
The naughtiest video game,
That we could play,

The days were long,
Rolling on, on, and on,
Until the final week,
You would come upon,

A sudden realisation,
And only then,
That they’ll never be a year,
That those six weeks come again...

Those six weeks of summer,
If I could have you even once anew,
Then I could live a lifetime more,

This is an everlasting homage,
To moments that came before,

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

If you’re like me, and love wallowing in sentimentality, you may enjoy my recent post Nostalgia, it’s a hell of a drug.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu Crater Lake

Distance: 10km+
Elevation gain: 1,072 metres
Top elevation: 2,672 metres
Time: 5 - 7 hours

Difficulty: moderate
Summer conditions: December - May
Winter conditions: June - November
Location: Mt Ruapehu, Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand

This overview encompasses the Crater Lake hike, from the Whakapapa side, focussing on my experience during the winter of 2017.

The summers hike, is an unmarked route to Mount Ruapehu Crater Lake, on the North Islands highest mountain, ascending over rugged volcanic terrain. A brief detailing; take the Waterfalls trail, to Knoll Ridge Cafe. Its straight up, it’s hard to miss. Luckily, there plenty of infrastructural landmarks to aid navigation toward this point. From here, there are two routes, via Knoll Ridge, or Restful ridge to the Dome Summit.

The winter hike, can be tackled in much the same way as the summer hike, starting at the Whakapapa ski field car park. However, it can be hard going, trudging through snow. Factor in extra time. Either, summer or winter, this is a single day hike. Set off early. Only hikers with alpine experience should attempt the full hike during winter, making sure to be fully prepared and equipped with all additional winter hiking gear, as needed, such as crampons, and ice axe, if intention is to to add the 3 peaks of Ruhapehu, Tahurangi – 2,797 metres, Te Heuheu – 2,755 metres, and Paretetaitonga – 2,751 metres, to your itinerary. If there’s any variable weather conditions forecast, you’ll need a GPS, and know how to use it. Weather at Ruapehu can be unpredictable. Getting stuck in a white out is no fun, and can be disorienting, if not deadly. If you haven’t got one or the knowledge to navigate with it, only go out on a bluebird day (clear weather). If you own a transceiver, bring it, even if the avalanche risk is low to non-existent, it’s always good practice to have it on you. It won’t save your life sitting at home in a draw. With that said, if you are an experienced winter hiker and/or climber, this will all be old news to you.

If you are purely hiking, without carrying skiing and snowboarding gear, for the down route, then the hike will start from Iwikau Village, at 1,600 metres above sea level, which is located above the Whakapapa car park, or you can utilise the chairlifts, and take the Rangatira, followed by the new Sky Waka gondola, to The Knoll Ridge Cafe, at 2,020 metres, the highest restaurant in New Zealand.

Reaching the Crater Cake is the premier challenge, whilst visiting Mt Ruapehu for your snow sports holiday. A must do, for those fit and keen, on a clear day.

There’s nothing better than the uninterrupted top to bottom ride of your life!

Don’t despair if you can’t commit a whole day to it, if you’re making the journey in winter and are a strong skier or snowboarder, the simplest way is to make your way to the furthest and highest lifted point, at the top of the Far-West T bar. From the unload, at an elevation of 2,300 metres, you can head straight up, and be at the crater lake within an hour or two, depending yours and your parties fitness.

This will leave some energy in the tank for the 1,072 metre run you’re about to revel in. In reality, the vertical distance doesn’t do it justice, as you are required to traverse diagonally around the mountain, to get back to the base. It’s a very long run, let’s leave it at that!

On my trip, I was joined by a comrade in arms, surviving the cold winter in the Stalinist Gulag – the Whakapapa staff accommodation – the communist experiment, where 55 adults, living under one roof, fought over peanut butter and told of war stories between hands of cards. This slab of prime American beef, and resident Cribbage champion, worked in the rentals department – the hire shop for Whakapapas fleet of skis and snowboards.

Image credit: Bicycle Playing Cards

Our third musketeer, was his colleague in rentals, who, having only shared this fleeting experience with, I have forgotten the name of. Sorry dude, your poncho rocked, that I’ll never forget.

A Brit, a Kiwi & a Yank – the start of a bad joke

I’ve withheld all names for privacy, regardless.

Before starting, check in with ski patrol to apprehend weather conditions, and get the “good to go”.

Travel in groups is always advisable, to enhance safety. Whether you’re alone or not, make sure somebody knows you’re going and when you’re scheduled to be back.

View over Ngauruhoe from the Far West T-Bar

As with any starting position on this hike, from the top of the Far West T-Bar, the route is not signposted, but, there will usually be plenty of footprints in the snow to guide you. It’s relatively quick, yet has a steep incline to the top.

It’s absolute vastness is starkly apparent. The wide gully you’ll be trudging through, with its sheer white floor, has the sincere ability project magnitude, at the expense of your own sense of scale. If you had an ego before you came here, let it be washed away, as you feel the stoic colossus sleeping beneath your feet.

Although straightforward, be prepared for some deep breathes ahead, as even this modest altitude can compound with the added labour in your step, as your feet sink through the snow. It’ll all be worth it.

The panoramic views from the top, stretching unending in all directions, are just what we came for.

Having personally made the trip during the latter part of the season, the snow and ice build up had created a ridge around the lake, roughly 2.5 – 3 metres off the water. The slippery surface ice on the walk up to the edge added impact, as I stared down over the dancing steam, twirling off the shimmering marine green surface. I wondered, how would I, or anyone else, be able to climb out, if one slips in?

During my time at Mt Ruapehu, there was a tragedy of this nature, as I recall in Times of Travel Mt Ruapehu. This, after all, is an active volcano. Without retreading too much ground, that you can read about above, here’s some key information;

Ruapehu is colloquially known as The Maunga, the Māori word for mountain, Ruapehu means “pit of noise”/”exploding pit” in Māori.

Phreatomagmatic eruptions have happened approximately 50 years apart, and can sometimes rumble on for several months at a time.

These major eruptions, have been active through the Crater Lake at the summit, for at least 2000 years.

Smaller phreatic/hydrothermal eruptions, occur roughly a decade apart, with the last eruption occurring 2007.

The most deadly event, infamous Tangiwai disaster, happened on the morning of Christmas Eve 1953. 151 people were killed by the result of a lahar, caused by the collapse of the tephra dam, which had formed after a 1945 eruption, now no longer holding back the Crater Lake.

Tephra is a material produced during a volcanic eruption.

Lahars are landscape changing debris flows. A rise in the water level, through volcanic activity under the surface, can cause to the tephra dam to break under pressure, or overflow. Debris of mud, hot water and rock, pick up speed, which reaches of tens of metres a second, feeding itself on melted snow and ice and collecting more rubble, creating a “snowball” effect. Lahars are extremely destructive forces of nature, totalling any structure in its runout, and etching new features into the mountain terrain.

Image credit: Dougal Townsend, GNS Science

Sometime shy of 10.15am, a lahar tore through the Whangaehu River striking the ageing concrete pylons of the Tangiwai rail bridge, significantly comprising it just an express train traveling from Wellington to Auckland approached. Arthur Cyril Ellis attempted to warn the driver by waving a torch at the train. An engineer onboard, named Charles Parker, applied the breaks. It was too late. At 10.21am, as the locomotive advanced onto the bridge, its weight buckled the damaged pylons, collapsing it into the river. It killed over half the occupants – still the worst rail disaster in New Zealand’s history.

With the last Lahar occurring during 2007, as of 2017, during my time at Ruapehu, the mountain was on high alert.

As I lingered at the waters edge, I felt a mercy. I was grateful to place my diminutive footprints at the mouth of such a potent, untameable, primordial force.

The ride down is the prize, inside the prize. Ruapehu is the gift that keeps on giving. The trip is like a Matryoshka doll.

Image credit: Sandra Castro

It was time to strap in and enjoy the off piste section, before overrunning the resort boundary, tearing down the mountain like an invading horde.

The large faces on either side of the gully, that had been hiked up earlier – Dome Ridge, made for a generous canvas for some pencil line turns. Every nook and cranny was penetrated, darting between natural features, swarming like frantic insects, pumping in and out then getting low and digging the edges of the snowboard in hard – biting ravenously for extra deep carves. I was like a coiled spring, overly excitable, popping off anything with even a minor convex exuberantly. Expending energy impulsively, every trick in the arsenal was exhausted, veering around the mounds of tumbled learner skiers through the lower mountain, before finally, screeching to a triumphant halt at Iwikau Village.

Unstrapping from my bindings and stepping out onto the slushy spring snow…

…“So, this is what walking feels like!”

It was a hell of a ride.

I said before in a previous post – Mt Ruapehu is a place of extremes. It doesn’t do things in half measures. You work hard, play hard. But, notice how work comes first?

A lift operators carry a shovel like a pocket knife

Behind all these life affirming experiences, comes plenty of planning, trials and tribulations. I had been tested as I worked as a De-icer, climbing the chairlift towers through the unrelenting storms, and clearing rime ice build up. You can read about it in Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu Deicing.

Don’t look down

Whilst working as a Lift Operator, we were drilled in the importance of assertive action in the event of a lahar, and trained in evacuation procedures, to protect guests, in the event one occurred.

Whakapapa’s terrain, with its undulating valley runs, is in part carved by lahars. Some of the chairlifts sit in these pathways, granting access to a fantastic scope of riding. The Delta Quad chairlift, is one of those lifts. As I stood there, greeting gleaming, pink cheeked children and their entitled, *cough*, I mean, valuable lifetime pass holder parents. (I’m not a dartboard, but it was thrown around like it. Understand Dear Sir/Madam, I am just a simple employee. I can listen to your opinion, but, honestly, you can’t change the direction of the wind with a paper fan. Write a letter. Jheez.)

I stood there, bouncing from foot to foot, charming my way through the waves of skiers approaching – like re-spawning Space Invaders – firing off greetings like I’d had too much coffee. My peppy pronouncements would occasionally ring off like robotic sound bites, repeating exactly what I just said, in exactly the same way, to exactly the same person in 15 minute intervals, as they lapped the chair (you see exactly how repetitive that gets?).

Suddenly, my cheerful daze was cut in two by the razor sharp sound of the lahar warning siren. I cranked my neck to look toward the Crater Lake. An ignorant bliss had been severed. I swung my head back to the public. They stared at me, expectantly. I looked back to the Crater Lake. Back to the public. They were still staring at me. Worried faces blinked around me, from all directions. Oh shit.

I jumped into action. Signalling to my French counterpart, working with me on the lift. We divided roles instinctively, as my English was fluent, I began lead the crowds to the designated safe zone – raised terrain above the lift – whilst he went inside the control room, to run the lift and clear any guests who were currently on it. Each chairlift had a designated safe zone, and it was important we knew everyone of them.

A lift control room

I waved my arms commandingly, bellowed and hollered in my big boy voice, as I stamped hurriedly through the snow, pointing directions as they passed, staying at the back, so I could make sure nobody was left behind. Once I had made sure everyone was out of the runout zone, I signalled a quick thumbs up to the Frenchman, who had started making his way across the snow, presumably having cleared the lift successfully, with it now shut down. I turned to the maddening crowd.

“What’s happening?!”

One panicked young girl asked trepidly from beneath oversized goggles, two mousey blonde bangs, twirling out from either side. of a cherry blossom pink helmet.

I answered thoughtfully, clear and calm. Hands open, reassuringly.

“It’s the signal to warn a lahar is coming. We’re standing in the safe zone, we should be alright.”

I caught, even in myself, the uncertainty of the end of my sentence. I stiffened up, stood tall and composed – professional.

I looked up and focussing unwaveringly, toward the Crater Lake. My heart pounded in my chest like bare hands on the skin of an African drum.

A few questions shot my way at once. The voice of another young girl, slightly older than the first, rose shrilly above the rest;

“Are we safe?”

– It was picked up by my heightened senses.

I was asking the same question.

I suppose, the outcome is set, if we’re to go out like this, for her sake, let it be swift and void of fear.

“Of course, we’re in the safest place here.”

My lips moved to soothe the crowd. My head replied to itself, silently;

“I don’t know.”

One man dropped his rucksack and drew the zip a quarter of the way around, enough room to reach in and pull a leather backed clipboard. Flick, flick, flick, he went with a pen, decisively, in a promising direction.

“Well done.” He nodded my way.

I breathed an earnest sigh of relief.

“Alright, everyone, it was just a drill, thank you for your cooperation. Lets her back to having fun!” I proclaimed.

I laughed it off, with self gratifying grin, as if I had somehow been privy to it. I had managed to maintain the mocked up air of authority, as a spectacle of buoyancy began to dust over people’s faces again.

My colleague, the Frenchman, who spoke surprisingly little English, for a job which benefited intrinsically in communication, stood there wide eyed, unnervingly, with his mouth ajar like a hungry goldfish.

I felt mildly better, knowing I wasn’t the last one not in on it.

Thank you for reading.

If you’re lucky enough to be in New Zealand, and want to work at Ruapehu, or, to book your snow sports break this season, check out the link below;


And, for all those waiting for international travel to recommence, fear not, Ruapehu isn’t going anywhere – the Maunga will be waiting in restless slumber, until she wakes up once more.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

Happy Easter.

A special day to remember the Easter bunny died for our sins, so we get to eat chocolate, or something.

I’m not religious. I do like chocolate eggs though.

I don’t get why people still use the old saying;

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

Isn’t it a bit like religion – outdated?

For any religious yolk reading, don’t take this post so seriously, I eggsaggerate my points, for eggfect. I find religion an eggcellent conversation piece. I do in fact, love the eggciting stories, and the eggstravagent art. I’m just eggsercising my right to free speech. However, I find the eggstremists can be a bit eggsplosive.

I would love to spend some time pontificating, but it seems so obvious, let’s just cut to the point.

The egg predated the chicken.

There, it’s done, thanks for reading.

An explanation? Oh, alright then.

What is a chicken anyway – which one looks like a chicken to you?

Image credit: The Economist

Chickens are changing man. Get with the times.

Woodstock 1969

Evolution is happening all the time. We are constantly changing.

We are, who we are, until a tiny mutation makes us something different. Not entirely different, but different. Small accumulative changes, which over time, create a entirely different beast. We are animals after all. Growl.

Whenever the first genetically chicken chicken, hatched, whatever laid it, wasn’t quite a chicken.

We are Homo-sapiens, we are not, however, Homo-erectus.

This is, however, a chicken.

A Chinese Silk Chicken, also known as a Silkie. It’s one of the oldest chickens around today.

At a best guess, earliest archaeological evidence of wild chickens can be dated to roughly 12,000 years ago, in northern China.

What is a fricken chicken anyway?

That thing looks like a furry dinosaur.

The world’s earliest known dinosaur eggs date back 195 million years.

No, seriously, what is a fricken chicken anyway?

If you want to get really pedantic, the concept of a “chicken” came from our disjointed minds. As humans, we process information by labelling, so we can distinguish a cauliflower from a melted candlestick. Without us, without our deciphering of what an egg is and what a chicken is, then none of it matters anyway. Maybe, the Earth is a giant egg – like a fertilised embryo. Maybe, we’re inside the uterus of a giant metaphysical chicken, and I’ve got this all backwards, after all. Maybe, the chicken is God.

Oh crap. What if it’s reading this? I take this all back! Please forgive me. It was all a fowl joke.

Im glad I got that out my system. A good rant is like a boiled egg – you can’t beat it.

Image Credit: A. Nota/NASA/ESA/Hubble Heritage Team (STScI/AURA)/ESA/STScI)/Westerlund 2 Science Team

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Nostalgia, it’s a hell of a drug

Whose that pokemon?

Its Snorlax!

Man, this dude has it figured out. I wish I could sleep like this guy. He’s got the work/life balance down.

Shame, I’m more Electrode. Self-destructing.

Don’t worry, for those who missed out or couldn’t care less, this post isn’t all about Pokemon.

It’s about nostalgia. A celebration of childhood, yesterday, and all that was. I grew up with one ambition, utterly determined. An internal dialogue which intertwined my psyche;

I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was.

Sorry, that was an in joke. Last Pokemon reference, I swear (no I don’t). If you did get it, however, just to let you know, I appreciate you. We are kin.

Im a millennial – I just scraped in on that hype. I was a 90’s kid. I have the credentials. I remember the millennium, so, that’s something. I remember it not meaning a whole heap of much, that’s something else… 00’s were where things got real naughty.

In many of my dreams recently, I’ve been a kid, in school, running through the playground, surrounded by people from my childhood.

They say your dreams have hidden meanings.

If so, they should hide better.

I can take a wild guess what it means – I’m scared of getting old! That, and I feel deeply connected to the past. It’s sacred, it’s complete, concrete – untouchable, by my hands or yours.

Those memories are like an enchanting rose garden, hidden behind a burly brick wall. I just want to play in it so much. Roll in the lush green grass, smell the intoxicating aroma of youth. I can’t, I can only peek over the top of the wall, clinging to it, but the ledge has been greased.

I’ve hung on for so long, I can feel my fingers slipping now.

It’s time to wake up.

What is it about nostalgia that is so powerful? We love it. There’s a tinge of sadness, a twang of happiness, a wistful longing, and a profound warmth in it.

It’s even said to actually make you feel warmer on cold days.

We’re so good at loving it too. I feel nostalgic about decades I never experienced. Man, people were living in the future during the 80’s. I had lots of older cousins. I guess they dragged the paraphernalia into my era. Pop culture does ultimately transcend the decade of its incarnation – it becomes part of the narrative of our lives.

But, that doesn’t explain why sometimes, I get nostalgic about gathering berries and hunting mammoth.

Except, the reality isn’t always as great as it is in our imagination. Running through fields of breeze blown flowers and golden sunshine sounds idyllic, but the predator crouching in the brush at our heels, or the zip of arrows from anxious tribal bowmen, piercing the air by our ears, does not.

Life expectancy has never been better. We’re living longer lives than ever before. In 1875, nearly 100 years after Thomas Jefferson penned the Declaration of Independence, life expectancy in the United States was just 39.41 years. By 1975, it was 71.43. Today, it’s 78.81 and rising. Yet, It’s still trailing a fair bit behind many other first world countries – 45 of them, to be exact. The top spots, are currently hovering around the 85 year mark, and ever improving, with Hong Kong or Japan on top, depending on whose judging what constitutes a country.

A factor, is undoubtedly the unjustifiable high murder rate, for a first world country. More deadly than Sudan, Somalia and Lebanon, the homicide rate per 100,000 people in the United States is 5.35. In comparison, it’s economic rival, China, has a murder rate of 0.62 according to worldpopulationreview.com.

What ever could be the problem?

Image credit: Geoffrey Coelho

That said, today, the majority of the world, is safer than ever before. The homocide rate in the USA spiked in 1980 at 10.2.

That means you were twice as likely to be killed by violent crime, than you are today.

… so much for the good old days.

Image credit: 8tracks radio

When we’re young, growing up seems so exciting. We’re evolving as little humans into slightly less little humans all the time. Our body is a well oiled machine. Our bodywork is pristine. Barely a tune up is needed to keep us running smooth. When we get a dent, it comes out with a wet paper towel. We are constantly upgrading to the newest model. Then suddenly, we change dealership, we start downgrading instead.

Everything looks better through the rear window.

Especially, if you’re looking through the back pane of a beat up old sedan, and you catch a glimpse of yourself burning rubber in the DeLorean.

Back to the Future

So, what is nostalgia?

The term was introduced by Johannes Hofer, a medical student, in 1688, to relate the homesick ache described by Swiss mercenaries, fighting away from their native country.

Today, it can be best summarised as a powerful emotional response – a strong sentimental thought or feeling, triggered by a sound, sight, smell, or simply self-initiated in our imagination (I have nostalgic thoughts everyday – It’s my go to mood enhancer, whilst on the move), wherein, activity occurs in the memory and reward systems in the brain, when the stimuli triggers metabolic activity and blood flow in the frontal cortex, limbic, paralimbic, and midbrain regions.

Turns out, the brain is actually a petty complicated organ. So much is going on at once, it’s not as simple as saying, that’s dopamine responsible, etc. It only makes up a small part of what is going on. There’s so many other working parts. It’s like changing a headlight on a Volvo with a bulb taken from a Volkswagen and calling the whole car a VW.

Car analogies… what have I resorted to?

It’s awfully close to my pet peeve, sports analogies. I have an unspoken rule not to use them. My moral is: if you need a sports analogy to understand the information, maybe the information isn’t for you.

I know that seems rude. If you’re offended, Im sorry, It really isn’t meant to – that wasn’t my intention. Let me explain it to you;

If you’re about to take a penalty shoot out in football (soccer), and you need arrows painted on the pitch so you can find the goal, maybe you should try another sport.

That nugget was inspired by my brother.

Honestly, it was only a joke. You do your thing. Live life, use sports analogies, go nuts. Screw it, just go ahead and walk mud through my house, help yourself to the food in my fridge, take a shit in my toilet, don’t worry about flushing, I’ll do that for you. Enjoy yourself. No worries.

My baby brother is an intelligent lad, who happened to be a talented rugby player – which earned him a scholarship to an excellent private school. Because of this, his teachers would often initiate explanations using rugby analogies, much to his annoyance and exasperation. Really, it was his pet peeve.

In the end, he finished school with straight A’s and A*’s.

That’s like kicking the game winning conversation, after scoring a try, whilst your coaches stand on the sideline shouting Euclidean geometric angles at you in Latin.

5 rugby balls – 4 rugby balls = 1 patronised student.

I love my little brother, he is an amazing human. Despite, I, being the older sibling, he inspires me. He’s a real achiever.

Meanwhile, this was me in school…

I wonder if he is filled with nostalgia when he reminisces on the days, when I’d force him to hold the video camera, as my shaggy haired mates and I skateboarded into walls, whilst screeching “Hi, I’m Johnny Knoxville, welcome to Jackass Jr’s!”.

We killed some brain cells, but we had fun.

Then I grew up a little, became the kid in the photo above. Grown a little more since then too. Yet, my teenage angst just hasn’t gone away. Its dropped its adjective, but it’s still the same old interloper. The guy who turns up at the party uninvited. It’s been following me around for years. It’s like the smell of Lynx Africa at Christmas.

I believe some of us have a special affinity with nostalgia, bordering on the obsessive. I do. I dive into it at will – hold my breath as long as I can, before I am forced to the surface – consistently, for pleasure. If I could host a dinner party for my emotions, I’d like to sit next to nostalgia.

It’ll be a fine dining menu, of Turkey Twizzlers and potato faces, with butterscotch tart for pudding, served to the table, on little plastic trays, by Jane, my primary school dinner lady.

Image credit: scheduledescape.com

Thank you Jane. Thank you for everything.

A candescent light flickers in the corner, as I tussle to maintain the vision, soaking the room in an ambient rose hue.

If you enjoyed this post, you may also like my blogs on the happiness chemicals; dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins, in The dopamine epidemic and its follow up, Happy chemicals.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

What’s the worlds strongest compliment?

When, “looking good hun”, just won’t cut it.

I noticed how women sometimes compliment other women by saying they look like a celebrity.

I wonder what it’s like to be famous.

One side effect is the advancement of an acute sense of UV exposure.

How to avoid attention and UV exposure – Leonardo DiCaprio looking inconspicuous.

I see why celebrities are called stars.

There isn’t a glow radiating out their arsehole. No, honestly, there really isn’t. I’ve seen one before. A celebrity, not… oh, never mind.

They’re fucking everywhere you look, yet only an exceptional few get near them, and for us normal people, no matter how much we shine down here, we’ll never be looked up to as much as they are.

I’d rather be infamous, than famous.

Jesse James at 16 years old, 1882.

Put my bounty on a wanted poster and call me the the fastest hand in the West…

… South-West…

of London.

That just got lamer and lamer.

Anyway, it’s none of your business what I do with my hands. *awkward cough*

I wonder how much they’d pay for me. Hopefully, it’s not “dead or alive”. I don’t think anybody hates me that much.

To hate, is to really, really care.

Hold on, I might be onto something.

There’s many ways to care about someone. I really care about you, I want you to be happy, healthy and safe.

Then there’s, I really care about you, I want to be you. Mimicking someone is a big tribute. They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. Maybe just not in the Spitting Image type of way.

Image credit: Spitting Image, Britbox

But, how about sincerely hating someone? You gave that one some thought. They’ve taken up space in your head. That’s premium real estate.

That’s a real compliment.

I hate you so much, I am going to part with a finite resource – precious time and mental energy.

You can pay someone a verbal compliment. You can pay for dinner. That’s easy. A momentary effort. To pay in time, that’s big-budget.

How about; I really care about you, I want you dead.

I mean, that’s a bit extreme, but isn’t that just about the pinnacle of caring?

Assassination in cold blood.

Wanted Poster for John Wilkes Booth, for the murder of Abraham Lincoln,

Now, these are successful people. People at the top of their game. They invoke such a strong emotional response, that somebody is willing risk everything, including maybe their own life, just to eradicate their existence.

Just a few of the house-hold names…

… Julius Caesar, Shaka Zulu, Abraham Lincoln, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Leon Trotsky, Mahatma Gandhi, Indira Gandhi, John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Gianni Versace, Tupac Shakur, John Lennon…

… most, if not all, were at the apex of success in their field. Leaders, visionaries, Icons. Powerful people, who, many drew toward, followed and revered. None more so than their assassin.

Assassination, the worlds strongest compliment.

Watch out for people who are full of compliments, you never know what’s behind them.

Bust of Julius Caesar – “Chiaramonti Caesar”.

Et tu, Brute?

Quote from the William Shakespeare play, Julius Caesar.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Information – how much, is too much?

We live in a society where almost any question can be answered with a few twitches of a finger.

Did you know? The Great Pyramid of Giza, completed in around 2560 BCE, originally stood at 146.5 metres in height, and was incredibly, the tallest man made structure in the world for more than a whopping 3,800 years?

Image credit: shuttershock

No, neither did I, until I just googled it.

I’m a hypochondriac in remission. If you’ve ever run your finger over a lump and instantly wondered what type of cancer that is, squinted at the sight of an alien mole – glimpsed briefly as your crossed the threshold of a mirror – or, at feeling slightly under the weather, jumped on Google to self diagnose the affliction that’s going to kill you this time, you’re not alone.

With the near unlimited resource of the internet at our disposal, it’s easier than ever to become a DIY doctor. This is of course a good thing, right?

I went to the GP a few years ago to get a mole checked. The GP flicked her eyes at it and said “looks normal”. I said, “are you sure?”. She said “yes”. She turned to type up my nuisance visit. “How about this one?” I inquired. She peeked over from her computer keys – “looks normal”. She did a double take. I caught it. “Are you sure?”, I asked again. She could barely contain a sigh, as she wheeled her chair around for third look. “Hmmm… *dramatic pause* Yes.”. I wasn’t sold on her certainty. I left. I was frustrated. I felt slightly patronised. Why do the medical authorities make adverts to create awareness of skin cancers, and encourage vigilance, advising you to have check ups if you’re concerned, only to have the healthcare professional roll their eyes at you?

Am I overthinking?

I am living in Australia right now. There’s a hole in the ozone…

My partner was suffering from a consistent pain in her leg last year. She was experiencing a cramping sensation, throbbing and a “dead” feeling. She self diagnosed herself with a DVT – deep vein thrombosis, a potentially life threatening condition, where a blood clot forms in a vein, which, if becoming unlogged, can travel through your system and block the pulmonary arteries in your lungs, restricting blood flow. This is called a pulmonary embolism and can be fatal. I was sceptical, but she was sure. She would know how her body feels better than I could. So, we went to the doctors for a ultrasound. The technician was as dismissive and I initially was – my partner was 26 at the time, after all. Following a quick once over, the technician sat back presumptively, “Ok, you’re all clear”. My partner tilted her head to the side, with uneasy brow. The technician read her face. “I’ll recheck”. Sure enough, there it was, a blood clot in her leg. Not to place any blame at the technicians feet, but if it wasn’t for the internet, how long may it have gone misdiagnosed or missed due to human conditioning – to jump to assumptions – is anybody’s guess.

Access to information may well have saved my partners life, or at least much reduced the likelihood of a more serious outcome. However, for the technician, learned biases created preconceived beliefs, which almost led to an incorrect conclusion. That’s not surprising, we have spent our entire lives building up information to save time and bypass a cumbersome step by step relearning process, toward comprehension.

We are creatures of conjecture. What we don’t know, we fill the gaps in with our imagination. We often make judgements at the absence of information.

There’s a reason why stereotypes exist – could you imagine if cans of food didn’t have labels? We’d have to open cans at random until we got to the peaches. With labels, you still don’t know for certain that they’ll be peaches inside until you’ve opened it up – but you can assume. We label people too. Once you’ve read the label, you form ideas based on what you’ve seen. Now we have this information, we need a way to cut through it. Stereotypes are like can openers for people. They’re a tool to help you get to the contents quicker.

Image credit: shuttershock

We build stereotypes, not because they’re 100% accurate, but because they save time, meaning we can make more effective decisions, off the cuff. They say, “don’t judge a book by its cover”, yet, a blurb is placed on the back of it, precisely to facilitate that action.

“Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.”
Miles Kington

Information is everywhere. Everything is information.

If you break it down to the most base interpretation of the word, anything we see is information – that fridge in the corner, is where I store my food to keep it fresh and edible for longer because it keeps it cold. Fridges keep food cold. Cold keeps food fresh. Food needs to be eaten fresh, so we don’t get sick. I ate turned food and I pooped my pants. Being sick is bad. Put food in the fridge. Fridge. Refrigerator. Frij. Ruh·fri·juh·rei·tuh. That’s how you say it. Ok, got it.

You get the point.

It took a long time to get to this point, because it takes a long time to get to this point. We need all this utilitarian information to function. We are assimilating information from birth. The process never ends. If we didn’t, we’d be walking around confused, bumping into walls. Sometimes, despite it, we are still walking around confused, bumping into walls. It must help a little. In fact, it would be impossible to learn to walk. If by some magic, we made it to adulthood, we’d be rolling around on our backs with a puddle of sick pooled on our laps. That’s most pubs on any given day of the week – so maybe we aren’t as good at equating our modern information gain, with an across the board evolution in acculturational gentrification, as I’d given us credit for.

Lots and lots of accumulated information.

That chair is black, that fluffy dog is cute, this guy is rambling, not this again. All valid information. Oh look, it wags it tail when it’s excited, cool, who’s a good boy? Did you just assume it’s gender? This is a non-binary dog, I’ll have you know. Information is fluid too. Sometimes we learn things which we must unlearn. Information evolves with insight. For much of history, the general consensus was that the Earth was flat, with the first known philosophising on a spherical Earth being accredited to Pythagoras, in Greece, in the 6th century BCE.

Bust of Pythagorus, Capitoline Museum, Rome

You really get the point.

Information is fluxional

When Pluto was discovered in 1930, it became the ninth planet from the Sun. In 2006, it’s status was downgraded, as the rules on what defines a planet were delineated, to some contention. Poor Pluto.

Pluto, taken by NASA’s New Horizons spacecraft. Image credit: NASA/Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory/Southwest Research Institute

Religion has influenced the direction of governance for the entirety of known human existence. Until now (in most of the western world). Is religion just a code for behaviour? Collectively we need answers – reasons for being, reasons for doing. When we can’t find those answers in the tangible world, we look elsewhere – sometimes inwards, sometimes upwards. I think there’s an irony in proselytising on our source of creation originating from an other worldly being, based in a celestial heaven, considering that the new generally accepted belief, is an origin of existence in an otherworldly event, out there in the celestial realm, sometime around 13.8 billion years ago – the Big Bang theory. Earlier suppositions weren’t so far fetched, when you think of it like that. We just accept other people’s ideas so routinely, without proof. As the name implies, it is just a theory and may become as erroneous as religion has to many in the first world societies, somewhere down the line. Time will tell.

The Last Supper, Leonardo da Vinci

Let’s take this scenario. There’s two Jewish bakeries in your 1920’s nondescript Eastern European hamlet. If company A, buys company B, that’s means they’ll have market hold, product prices go up, because there’s no incentive to reduce prices against competition.

You’ll have to pay a bit more to get your loathe of challah in time for sabbath. Now, if you thought about why you’re paying more, you might be gloomy at the changing tides, and bark at the influence this new market dominance enables over the working class. How deep you go is up to you.

Image credit: Molly Yeh, The Food Network

Or, if you’re not that way inclined, you may pay the extra coin, and get on with your day. Ignorance of bliss, they say.

You, the poor bugger, have no idea about the scourge which is about to rip through the European landmass and out into the wider world, in the coming decades.

If you knew what was coming, would it help you feel less concerned about bread?


Would you be more concerned in general, than you were before?


So would you really want to know the future?

Sure, the obvious answer is YES! I’m packing my Torah, and I’m out of here. But, for examples sake, let’s imagine you couldn’t act or speak on it. Your body would continue to mime your fate, just as it would have been, but, you could only think and feel it.

Is ignorance bliss?


I worry a lot. If I’m not worrying about imagined ailments or looming death sentences, I pretty much worry about everything else. I lay in bed at night in a state of existential dread. I worry at that which I can’t control. I worry about ageing, both for myself and those I love. I worry about health. I worry about how to make the best out of the short time on Earth we get. I worry about money. I worry about not being able to sleep. I worry about being tired the next day. Inevitably, that makes it more difficult to relax. I worry about worrying too much.

I think people worry too much.

The news plays on our fears. Nothing good ever happens according to the news – just terror attacks, natural disasters and politicians throwing spears at each other. It’s depressing. My country, Britain, is very, very good at self-flagellation. We like to belittle, demean and criticise ourselves, preaching toward infinite imagined realities which contain our catastrophic fate, that in the end, become self fulfilling prophecies.

Will Ferrell as Ron Burgundy in the film Anchorman

Listening to that drivel, day in, day out, can’t be good for anyone’s mental health. I worry about how invested, for example, my own father gets at the cheerless state of affairs.

Are we really doomed?

As they always have, do things just change? There will be better days, there just must be. Or maybe, today isn’t so bad after all?

I realised that when you turn the news off, the voices go away.

The sun still rises and sets, and birds still sing in the trees.


That’s what feels good today.

Kookaburras don’t sing, they just laugh at you. This one stole my carrot.

I was having beers with friends in a bar in Paris one time, years ago. Early into the evening, our conversation crossed onto the table beside us and before you know it, the group was sitting at our table. The chat was open and flowing, somehow, to one of our new acquaintances, we must have looked like the type of people who wanted to know that he likes a finger slipped into his rectum whilst he’s having sex with his girlfriend.

How much information, is too much information?

That is.

Did you know? On average, there are over 3.5 billion Google searches per day. That’s 40,000 searches a second!

I contribute at least 15 or more to that, on a slow day, easy.

How many italics, are too many italics?

That is.

According to a study by psychologists at Queen’s University in Kingston, Canada, on average, a person has around 6,200 thoughts per day. That’s from the beginning to the end of a single idea – which they call a ‘thought worm’.

If you take a lifetime of 80 years, that’s 181,040,000 wriggly little worms.

Image credit: planetnatural.com

We spend our entire lives building up this beautiful garden of knowledge, teaming with activity in the soil. We learn all this stuff, and then we die. In the end, it can’t help us to outsmart the inevitable.

If you could know the moment of your death, would you choose to?

The Japanese have some poignant words and expressions. Yūgen 幽玄 is a part of Japanese aesthetics. It means “a profound, mysterious sense of the beauty of the universe and the sad beauty of human suffering”.

Imagine credit: Lesly/Fotolia, Brittanica.com

The more I know, the more I think, the more I appreciate, yet the sadder and less content it can make me. It’s difficult to process the enormity of wonderment and the conflict it induces within.

If you connect to the concept of Yūgen, you may like my post The awareness of things.

I don’t know if I’d be happier with less awareness – less information. Sometimes I think it would be easier.

So, where are we now?

Well, I suppose the answer is ultimately, entirely subjective and depends on the person and context.

Personally, whilst I continue to absorb foundational and functional information involuntarily, I will endeavour to stockpile as much perceptively provoking material as I can, in the short time we get, in a effort to make it as worthwhile as possible. At the same time, reduce the white noise, by switching off to that which does not improve my resting condition.

Tending to the garden.

Thank you for reading – I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe you didn’t – that’s ok too. I’m learning – it’s all new information.

I’m going to use the word twice more – you’re being triangulated. You’ve been warned.

When it comes to blogging, how much information, is too much information?

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!


Time goes so fast when you’re having fun,
So slow when you’re in pain,
I try in vain,
To sustain,
A smile,

The rain,
Falls as frigid tears on my windowsill,

To feel,
The things that cannot heal,

Only fester,
And rot,

A hot,
Putrid smell,
Of spoilt fruits,

My pallet,
So I cannot taste the joy of the earth,

I birth,
A flood,

The pane,
That holds back the night,
As I fight,

To stay afloat,

Moonlit gargles,
In a luminescent blue,

I chew,
The thoughts down,
Like broken glass,

To the last,
To savour,

The flavour,
Of life,

Good days will come again.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu De-icing

My knees vibrated like fragile branches under the weight of a squirrel. I ascended the ladder cautiously on our first training run. I was panicking like the fattest pig on slaughter day. Out of my comfort zone from the word “go”. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Squeal.

Since when do pigs fly?

I perched, frozen in motion, at the top of the tower. There was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was hesitating a bit too long. By this stage it was resoundingly clear to anyone watching that I was terrified.

What am I doing up here?

I had been chosen to be part of a team, made up of select resort lift operators, who’s job it is to manually de-ice the chairlifts and other equipment at Whakapapa ski-field in the North Island of New Zealand.

Why do you need to de-ice, you’re probably wondering – it’s a ski field after all, shouldn’t they be used to a bit of snow and ice?

Ice build up occurs when water droplets in the air, freeze on contact with a cold object – this is called rime ice. Mt Ruapehu is particularly susceptible to it, due to its central location on the narrow island, putting it at the mercy of weather patterns travelling over the coastal waters.

Rime ice grows layer on layer, creating rock hard ice, which sticks like cement.

Image credit: Mt Ruapehu

Most ski resorts suffer a bit of ice build up, which usually becomes the responsibility of the maintenance team to keep under control. Ruapehu is said to have the largest rime ice build up anywhere in the world. Having worked there, I can corroborate on this claim. The job of de-icing is such an undertaking at Ruapehu that they require dedicated teams to manage it. There does exist purpose designed systems that chairlifts use to prevent and remove ice – heat, special antifreeze lubricants and motion, and this may be enough for most European resorts and the like, with a naturally drier atmosphere. Mt Ruapehu is another beast entirely, the most effective way to do this is still the old fashioned way – people power. For this, trustee wooden bats and aluminium hammers are employed with a range of motions unchanged since before the Palaeolithic period.

The ice build up can get so big and heavy that it can damage equipment. A common hazard includes cables that pick up ice like a kofta kebab on a skewer, de-railing it from the sheaves (rollers that it runs on).

The cable can end up laid on the ground from end to end or in sections between towers, and often buried by fallen snow, this can be one of the most dangerous processes in de-icing. Under tension, the cable releases like a sling shot and is liable to cause seriously injury, or worse. The whole ordeal can take many hours of arduous effort, with the utmost care and attention required to protect the crew at work, but this also leaves them exposed to the elements for extended periods.

To give you an idea of how heavy the ice can get – in 2010, two lift towers collapsed under the weight of ice at Turoa.

High Noon chairlift, Turoa

Because of this, de-icers work through the storm, removing ice as it builds up. This means de-icers are exposed to extreme weather; unforgiving cold, high winds and low visibility. The refreeze moves over the landscape in a white fog like an apocalyptic reckoning, a cloud of moisture attaching itself to everything in sight – the chairlift, equipment and the de-icers themselves.

This is the behind the scenes effort that goes into making Ruapehu and similar resorts all over the world safe and operational, before the public ever gets to bite their skis into the freshly groomed corduroy. With that, a special mention should go out to the diligent preparation of the pistes, a labour of love through the night, by the beating heart of every mountain – the snowcat drivers.

You can read more about Mt Ruapehu and what led up to this moment in Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu.

Feeling fresh in our new uniforms

My legs felt weak and lifeless. I timidly gripped at the cold steel, which penetrated the gloves, closing the distance from my chest. Doubt had been foreboding in the lead up. Conquering this fear wouldn’t necessarily have elevated me to a higher plane of existence (even though it quite literally would have), I knew that, but, this was a chance to untether myself from a shackle I’d be dragging from childhood.

I’m scared of two things unconditionally – deep bodies of water, and heights.

Now, was an opportunity – face a fear, which I can’t control. Mind over matter. If I could teach myself to control my urge to take flight – if I could fight it, something which feels so innately unnatural and distressing, then – If I could do this, what else could I do?

Plus, I wanted to be part of it. There was prestige in it too – you were a de-icer – part of a specially selected crew – picked because somebody thought you were tough enough to handle it. I didn’t want to let that somebody down. I didn’t want to let myself down. For pride or for duty, I pushed on, fraught with perturbation.

I had just watched the first newbie glide up the ladder, clipping his safety harness into each rung as he went. He was a rock climber, and he made it all look effortless, transitioning his points of contact and clipping in with ease. He pirouetted up high on the cable, like a acrobat on a tightrope.

I struggled to reach the top rung of the ladder without feinting and ending up dangling in my harness like a cartoon spider. Success! I had suppressed the urge to be back on the ground – now all I had to do was move.

I went through the motions methodically, making mechanical adjustments as if following a blueprint. Step 1, use hand to unclasp harness from attachment point on top rung of ladder, step 2, raise arm to attachment point above the assembly, step 3, panic, step 4, reduce panic to a gently simmer. Rest.

After much internal foreplay, I had managed to stand erect atop the mechanism, climaxing prematurely in a most disappointing first date with de-icing. It was a win. I still had to get out onto the cable and masquerade as a de-icer a bit longer, play acting the actions I would be required to do later, like a sad puppet. I swung the wooden bat at the ice-less cable, my weathered boots tittering precariously over each side. I wondered how the hell I was going to cope in bad weather, when I could barely tighten my jellyfish limbs enough to remain upright, under the best conditions this simulation could offer.

The whispery clouds rested dubiously on the horizon, the whole reason for my being up here, was obscured by their uncertainty. As I looked around from the top of the tower, each rock, crag and divot, at this point still uncovered by the snow, sunk like a pubescent nutsack, as my own retracted into my body. The terrain looked overly defined, as if painted, and seeming to have its depth drawn further into the earth and away from my celestial zone. I wrapped up my charade, with more whimper than pop, descending the ladder gratefully, back to terra firma. I had to accept the possibility – maybe I just wasn’t cut out for this.

I mulled it over on the journey back to the staff accommodation, where I was living with 55 other employees, all piled in on top of each other – shared common room, living room, toilets and showers, even many of the bedrooms were split between two strangers going in. I was lucky, I came with my partner, so we ended up in a private room. In fact, we really lucked out early on when I managed to haggle our way into the largest room, and only one with a en-suite bathroom, usually reserved for the house caretaker and cook, after he had moved out into private accommodation. One night, he came and placed himself on the sofa beside me.

“How is the new room?”

“Good” I replied.

“Funny smell in the bathroom thought, right?”

“Yeah” (there was).

“Just can’t get the smell of death out.”


“Oh, don’t you know?” A wicked smile cracked free at the corners of his lips.

“Know what?”

“The last caretaker died in that room. That’s why the position was open this year.”

“Oh wow, that’s dark.”

“Yeah, they didn’t find his body for two days. He had started to decompose when they did.”

My eyes widened in revolt.

“Are you serious..?”

“Why would I joke about this?” His face let out no emotion. He readjusted his glasses with one finger.

“Ask Sue (the property manager).” He continued.

I believed him.

“Did they change the mattress?” I inquired, grimacing.

“Does the staff accommodation seem like the place they replace mattresses?”

I didn’t answer.

I turned back to what I was doing previously, but my mind stayed on the conversation. He stood up and slipped away in silence.

I spent three days fretting over it. People have died everywhere, I told myself. Let it go. I couldn’t budge the uneasy feeling I got whenever I walked into my room, let alone tried to find a comfortable position in bed.

On the forth day, he told me he was joking…

Man, it was a learning curve. I had fun – sure did – it was a good experience and I’m glad for it. I met some of the coolest, most warm (I like that juxtaposition), and interesting people from all around the globe. I made some real connections. It was awesome. Would I do it again? Hell no! Not if there was a alternative. I had never lived in shared accommodation before, let alone with 55 other people. I had gone from living in a flat with my partner in the UK, to a van with my partner in NZ, to a sardine tin of other humans at Ruapehu – it was an acquired taste, and may not improve with age – but that’s obviously subjective. There’s many anecdotes to be told here, and lessons learned, I’m sure – perhaps another time.

Snowdrift at Staffies

The bus was pulling in through the darkness, headlights reflecting off the glassy frozen tarmac. We all piled in.

I was rolling with it.

A typical de-icing day would start early! 6/6.30am into the staff room for morning briefing and gear up. Everything needed to be checked before heading out – harness’, clips, carabineers and lanyards – tugs and nods passed from item to item. You would always do a buddy check too, for double surety.

The team would trail out into the darkness, which sat heavily on the snow, bundling their gear and tired bodies onto the back of the snowcat – a snow groomer – securing their snowboard by their bindings around the metal railings, which we stood, exposed, inside. Most were fit for work, some would be hungover, dreaming already of that first pie once (and if) the restaurant opens. The machine purred as we rode off into the abyss. Often the scenery would be startling, lit by the eery headlight of the snowcat – jaunty icicles hung from rocks and overhangs like colonies of glacial bats. We trundled along like a rag tag band of warriors, heading into battle on the back of a fearless red tank. The air was thick with choking diesel fumes, which blew into our faces. Sometimes, people would hold their gloves over the exhaust to warm their hands. They’d be surprised as they burned and shrivelled dry like a dehydrated prune. It would melt holes in jackets of those pressed against it. Despite, people would still choose to chew the toxic excretion, and punish their gear, as a better alternative to the biting cold.

Into the abyss (imagine this in the dark!)

Operations would be carried out in ‘riding gear’, with travel between lift towers to be made on snowboard – ski boots were not appropriate footwear to climb the towers, though some did anyway. Exceptions were to be made on days in which the most severe weather made riding too dangerous, in which the line would be walked. Beyond that circumstance, we would be dropped at the top of the lift tower, strap into our snowboards, and ride to our allocated tower. There, we would fasten our boards to the ladder on the tower, climb it and remove the ice, then ride to the next free tower and pick it up, radioing in our location. A series of other safety measures were in place, implemented through radio communication, to make sure the lift was locked-out at the drive station, and safe to be worked on.

This first few days I got my bearings, were “glory days”. Small storms followed by sunny days. These were celebrated moments. The towers would heat up under the layer of ice and one big hit would often undermine the whole formation, sending it to earth in a hail storm of shattered ice.

Spot me?

I was cutting my teeth on the grindstone. The view over the pinnacle ridge was breathtaking.

The best thing about early mornings, was undoubtably watching the sunrise, a resplendent kaleidoscope transforming the horizon. The best view overlooked Mt Ngauruhoe, which is the volcano that modelled for Mount Doom in The Lord of the Rings, whilst it reigns over its kingdom, beneath the lavish display, palatially.

The first and most beneficial thing I learnt was to trust my equipment. I practiced lowering myself into precarious positions and hanging in my harness. Learning to trust in my gear was a massive mental victory, which began to help me to override the fear of heights. The snow, which now covered all the rocks, also aided me, in blurring my gauge of depth. When the floor was solid white, it created a false sense of security, like hovering over a giant pillow.

The best time to de-ice, was always on the glory days, baked in sunlight. Believe it or not, warm-ish yet stormy days actually sucked way more than freezing cold ones. At least with the re-freeze, the layer of ice would armour you in a – very broadly speaking – insulated layer, which wouldn’t turn your gear into a sodden mess until you breached the warm, welcoming air of the staff room. The worse ordeals were the warm-er storms, hovering just above freezing. Whilst it drenched you to the skin in frigid rain, it would chill you to the bones with unrelenting winds. The winds could get well over 100km an hour, permeating even the most robustly dressed de-icer.

I would loathe these days. My hands became numb and refused to respond to the neurons firing through my brain, telling it to move my muscles. Grasping at the unforgiving cold of the steel with my newly autonomous mitts, furthered the pain, as the gusts threw me around like a weightless marionette. My snowboard boots connected to the ice encrusted tower like magnets on wood. When you were at the top of a lift tower, hanging off your harness, you are alone. Wet, cold and fed up – that’s a miserable combination. These were the toughest moments. I’d battle invisible enemies, as my head told me to climb down and save myself in the warmth of staff room. SAVE YOURSELF, YOU FOOL! Why was I punishing myself?

When I did finally squelch into the haven of the staff room, the first stop was the drying cupboard (a small, enclosed, heated room with racks and rails) to hang my jacket and gloves, and enjoy a short moment of respite. We never had long to recover, before break was over and we were suiting back up. The ironic thing – the break was never long enough to dry our gear, only melt the ice, which puddled on the floor on the room. Pulling on my warm, wet jacket, felt gross, but it wasn’t as bad as the cold, attaching itself to the saturated conductor, as soon as we reentered the the unsympathetic air.

Admittedly, it was embarrassingly late in the season that I picked up my top tip: bring spare socks.

A memorable event, where the line was walked, happened in the thick of a fearsome storm. The Far West T-Bar was in the periphery of the resort. As the name implies, it was as far out as you can get – it was the Wild West.

The cable was de-railed and buried deep in the snow, weighted down by immense ice build up. It was clear, through the morning briefing, that this was no ordinary day. The storm was tearing through the seemingly impenetrable bleached backdrop. “It’s Siberia out there”, the supervisor gulped. The snowcat driver, despite being incredible well familiarised the landscape, ordinarily reading the terrain using geographical markers, got lost two times in the fog, and we suffered on the back of the groomer, huddled together for warmth, as a consequence. I questioned why we would even be out here in these conditions – it seemed like a kamikaze mission. The battleground was stark and hostile. I felt like we had been well and truly fucked. Was nobody thinking about our safety or our health? It sure didn’t feel like it. Who was the dumb bastard being sent into the line of fire without anything more than a silent protest?

“If you’re gonna be dumb, you better be tough”.

Our gear was laminated by the freeze before we arrived at the lift. We looked like a lost expedition, whose frozen corpses had been preserved in the permafrost.

Arriving, grateful to depart the claustrophobic confines of the snowcat, and get moving as soon as possibly to warm up. Parameters set, we walked the line. The cable was like the torqued string to a bow. We had to stay either side of it, never stepping over it, where it lay, buried beneath the surface. Everything was a bit different, everything was being done incrementally. We walked cautiously and stopped by our tower. We were to only de-ice one tower at a time, working down the line, with the other de-icers standing clear. Once the tower above us was cleared, we would be radioed for the next man up to step into action. This was to minimise risk, with fewer people in the cross fire, if the vibrations from the de-icers swings was to prompt the release of the loaded cable and send it up like a inverted guillotine. I wasn’t long finished with my tower, safely on the ground when the cable raptured. Pieces of ice rained down like arctic cannonballs. A fridge sized jacket of ice, blown apart into car tire sized projectiles, sprayed everywhere like a shotgun shell. Smaller, fist sized shrapnel hit my shoulder and back as I curled into the brace position.

“Call yourself in safe!” a panicked voiced stabbed through the radio.

“I’m hit.” crackled over multiple transmissions coming in at once.

“I’m hit! My arm!…” a second time, clearer.

It was very dramatic. I almost expected severed limbs and arteries pumping warm crimson gore all over the sullied snow.

Whilst the damage was accessed we called ourselves in from the top. Everyone else was ok. The force of the cable releasing had ironically knocked off a lot of the ice from the towers. A job well done?

We regrouped, ready to tidy up the loose ends, as the injured de-icer was evacuated on the back of a snowmobile. There was talk of whether a helicopter was going to have to be called in from Taupō, which never came to fruition. He was ok – he escaped with minor injuries and his arm wasn’t even broken, gratefully. After an initial genuine concern, the jokes began to pour on in heaps. A lot of fuss for nothing! And the rest, to which you’ll have to use your imagination. It’s all banter. You know that phrase? Usually when people say “it’s just banter” – it is – sometimes it’s not, it’s a shade darker. There’s a fine line.

Social politics can be difficult. I don’t know what I expected working at a ski resort would be like. Lots of young people with a diverse range of personalities. Suddenly having to deal with a abnormally large amount of coworkers was educational.

Working the regular day to day as a Lift Operator was pretty straight forward in itself – set up, shovel snow, run the lift for public, shovel more snow, smile a lot. I enjoyed creating an experience for people. Everyone comes to ski or snowboard and have fun! Making a garden flourish beautifully is easy if the flowers are already there, you just need to water it.

There were around 50 lift operators in the department, nearly all under the age of 30 and the grand majority under the age of 25. It doesn’t take a lot to create a commotion.

In moments, I felt like I had gone back in time, to school days, with frivolous gossip dripping from loose lips, and watching the cliques group together, it was a scene straight out of the movie Mean Girls.

The de-icers were, in some respects, another breed entirely. Although not adverse to their own tones of gossip – It was a mans world. That said, I should note, there was one female de-icer, who was as impressive as any person I’ve ever met – a good ol’ fashioned, tough as muck farm girl, who would throw picnic style tables on her back and carry them like I could lift a cold pint to my lips – with ease. But, if you were a de-icer, apparently, you had to live up to a action hero stereotype, brave, dumb and emotionless – and that didn’t always sit well with me. We’re human. We’re sensitive. But, when you’re surrounded by all males, where the role doesn’t just ask you to be tough, it demands it, it begins to harbour a culture of, dare I say it – toxic masculinity. It shunned compassion and promoted bravado. I would have thought, due to the nature of the work, it would have harboured kinship and camaraderie, to some, without a doubt, it did, but, there was a ruthlessness to it too. If someone messed up, it was dog eat dog. I observed that mentality with disappointment. There were those who would step on other people, or put them down to look good. I know that exists everywhere. Im a little older, little wiser now – I deal with things better. Still plenty to learn. But, even then, I didn’t like that. I like to see the true personality of a person, I believe, beneath the surface, we’re all filled with inadequacies and insecurities. That’s the beautiful side of a person. When the boys snowboarded together, it was called riding as a wolfpack. Sometimes, I felt like a dog blending in among wolves.

As the season progressed, I started to feel more and more confident – and comfortable – whilst I manoeuvred my way around the tower like a macaque through the trees.

Image credit: Mark Hemmings

It was a strange sensation. Something which once struck fear throughout my being, was now so tackled with so my dexterity and vigour. I felt at ease looking over the highest towers to the ground below. I could hang upside down if I wanted to, from any height in my harness, to get those hard to reach places. No sheer dread, just… enthusiasm. I would choose the highest tower I could, for that extra rush – it would still give me a tickle in the goolies, but I wasn’t scared anymore – I started to seek it. It was exciting – thrilling – addictive!

Somewhere inside me, I had decided I needed this. I needed a challenge – an obstacle to overcome. I had battled, and defeated, the fear of heights I had been harbouring it since a small boy. Something about it felt coming of age.

As high as the hurdles were, I had made it over the bar. As the season drew to an end, and the final swings fell through the air, it wasn’t relief which filled me, It was melancholy. I was going to miss it.

Riding out to the Wild West on a glory day
Wild West – Yee haw!
Rising sun over Pinnacle Ridge from tower top
Mt Ngauruhoe and I

You can watch the de-icing process in the link below. This video is not my property – it was shown as an introduction to de-icing by the department manager at Whakapapa. The video was filmed at Whakapapa, Mt Ruapehu.

De-icing at Whakapapa, video by Ben Dymock

Look out for next In times of travel, where I’ll be stepping back into Ruapehu once more, with a guide to the Crater Lake at its summit.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

The devil on my shoulder

A poem amount the fragility of mental health, anxiety and depression.

Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear, Vincent van Gogh, 1889

Work, work, work away,

Get up early, break of day,

So little time to play,

The devils on my shoulder,

Scheming up something malicious,

Whispering softly, don’t act suspicious,

Turning a kind man into something vicious,

The devils on my shoulder,

The devils on my shoulder,

Turning my heart colder,

It’s not me, it’s the devil I see,

The devil on my shoulder,

Work, work, work away,

Relentless torment makes my heart sway,

Leave a man in disarray,

The devils on my shoulder,

I try so hard to fight against,

The devil fights back with cruel intent,

Overcome by his malevolence,

The devils getting bolder,

To punish as he sees fit,

His willing servant, I do submit,

What evil will I commit?

The devils taken over.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

The new normal

Lies fragment lives, can we believe our eyes?

Are we witnessing truths demise?

Everywhere, bastions rise around serfdom cries

Accept and submit? Your liberty dies.

Nothing to hide? “Ok” then if our data is spied?

Question, who decides of what we see is comprised?

Everything we choose freely, a sweet goodbye.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Tip to save time, priority check rhyme

There’s far too much to think about,

To fraternise with drama,

I’d rather sit and ponder, a little longer,

whilst I figure out my dharma,

I’m not here to make friends,

If I make friends, It’s a bonus,

Place less emphasis on what people think,

And let what you think of people be the onus.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu

Chateau Tongariro and Mount Ruapehu. Image credit: http://www.chateau.co.nz

Hike, ski, live and be free! How often do you get to ski down the side of an active volcano? No, this isn’t the new James Bond film. Whether you’re an adrenaline junkie or avid photographer, keen to get some postcard ready snaps, this majestic mountain, as seen above in front of the picturesque Chateau Tongariro, has something for everyone. What can thrill seekers and sightseers enjoy alike? Venture up the brand new Sky Waka 10 person capacity gondola, offering 360 degrees of Mt Ruapehu and out over the horizon onto Mt Ngauruhoe (Mount Doom, The Lord of the Rings) and Mt Tongariro. Need to warm up? How about toasting those ski legs in front of the fire, whilst sampling some of New Zealand’s delectable craft beer culture in the local Tavern – make sure to check the quiz night out.

Mt Ruapehu, as viewed from the track to Tama Lakes

Mt Ruapehu, situated in the Tongariro National Park, is an outdoor enthusiasts playground of epic proportions. I love this place – it’s properly my favourite spot in New Zealand – and that’s saying something, given how packed to the rim with an exhaustingly long bucket list of other extraordinary natural places, this modestly sized country has to offer.

Central North Island just had it all for me – sandwiched between NZ’s largest city in the North of the island, Auckland, and it’s Capital city in the South of it, Wellington, this UNESCO dual world heritage site is conveniently situated for excursions from both ends. It’s closest large town, at 1.5hrs drive north, is Taupō, sitting on the extensive Lake Taupō, it is in and of itself a stand out destination to visit. The region is full of life – most of it under the surface. From the bubbling geysers of Rotorua, to the prominent coned stratovolcanos of Mt Ngauruhoe and Mt Taranaki, it’s hard to miss the central North Islands volcanic presence, much of it encompassed by the Taupo Volcanic Zone, active for the last two million years and still going strong today.

Bubbling geysers of Hells Gate, Rotorua

My first encounter with the area, was with the tramping of the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. You can read about it here;

Times of Travel: Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Red Crater and Mt Ngauruhoe,
Tongariro Alpine Crossing

The hike sits in the shadow of its impressive neighbour, Mt Ruapehu. This active stratovolcano is the largest in New Zealand, standing at 2’797 metres in elevation – it is also the North Islands highest point. It hosts the ski resorts of Whakapapa and Turoa. I had been desperate to work my first ski season, so having been thoroughly charmed during the course of the Tonargiro Alpine Crossing, I applied to work at Whakapapa.

Mt Ruapehu’s north east side, viewed from Tama Lakes

Whakapapa, pronounced “fakapapa”, laying snug on the northern side of Mt Ruapehu, has 12 lifts, spread over 1360 acres, with a top elevation of 2’300 metres.

A month or so later, I heard back. I powered up for an interview without much second thought, despite the distance from Wellington, where I was then working, and was more than frilled to secure the job. The manager divulged to me, that as soon as I had told him I was coming from Wellington, he knew I was keen as mustard, committed, and unlikely to let him down – it was much a done deal. I was pumped. I knocked back a couple of Macs that evening to celebrate – I mean, I probably would have done that anyway, but, why just drink, when you can celebrate, right?

Enjoying a Macs Three Wolves IPA in the back of the van. Read about more Kiwi favourites at; NeversayNOmad.

I was all ready to go – first season, brand new snowboard and bindings set up, about to blow the cobwebs off my wealth of two-holiday experience. I was packet fresh and ready to get some air! Yewww (and all that). But, there was still a surprise in store – I had originally been hired for the job of “Lift Operator”, a pretty to the point job description, I’m sure you’ll agree. But, Ruapehu isn’t just any ordinary mountain, it’s a fricken volcano after all – before I continue, let’s just touch on that again… – you’re literally snowboarding down the side of an active volcano! Primed and ready to go at anytime – complete madness. It was a mountain of extremes, and now, manifold winter seasons down the line, in many different places around the world, I can say resolutely, Ruapehu is up there as the most bipolar mountain of the lot.

Predictably unpredictable weather, world class terrain, fun times, Herculean challenges, and a cast of characters, with equal polarity. But, the main character in this story, is the mountain herself. It’s not a place to be taken lightly. Sadly, it’s a place where people loose their lives every year, including during my time there. Mother Nature is a powerful force and must be respected. Don’t be deceived by its majestic beauty, it can be as deadly as it is awe inspiring and alluring.

Standing in front of the Pinnacles

The company itself, Ruapehu Alpine Lifts sorted us out abundantly for gear. By far the most generous resort I have ever worked at in terms of PPE and perks.

The first chairlift up the mountain was a jarring introduction. Our induction was being held in the “Knowle Ridge Cafe”, the highest restaurant in the Southern Hemisphere. It was preseason and yet to snow heavily. I could hardly believe the topography of the mountain. It looked, well, just like a volcano. Prolific volcanic rock structures jutted jaggedly, many metres high, away from the earth in every direction. I just could not get my head around it snowing enough to fill it all in, but I was assured by the locals, it would come!

Sunrise from behind the Knowle Ridge Cafe, taken during an early morning start de-icing

During the induction, we were let in on information surrounding a tragedy befalling an employee, which had occurred during the season of 2012. A ski instructor had been last seen heading off by himself after work. He wasn’t reported missing for two days. His body was found near the Pinnacle Ridge, challenging terrain, which wouldn’t have been in itself an issue for this experienced skier, however, he must have fallen down the wrong side of the ridge. The next day was his day off, and the following day the resort was closed due to weather. Without a radio or having told anyone his intended whereabouts, his absence wasn’t alerted to until his coworkers noticed his equipment missing from the staff room. He was only 25 years old.

This set a stark warning – Mt Ruapehu is a place to be underestimated at ones own peril.

All you need to do is Google “Mt Ruapehu death”, and you’ll see an exhausting list of fatal misadventures.

In 2017, the year of my time at Ruapehu, a man went missing at the Crater Lake. His last location could be identified by his skis and polls, left resting by the lake edge. I watched the helicopters fly overhead, as they repatriated his body. The lake, which holds two volcanic vents, is formed by melted snow and ice, filling the crater with warm acidic water and steam. It’s nestled around Ruapehu’s three peaks, Tahurangi – 2,797 metres, Te Heuheu – 2,755 metres, and Paretetaitonga – 2,751 metres. The man had slipped and fallen into the Lake during bad weather. His body was later reclaimed. In response to a second man losing his life after falling into the lake, in 2018, within the space of 12 months, local iwi Uenuku, Ngāti Tūwharetoa and Ngāti Rangi placed a rāhui (temporary access ban) on the surrounding area.

The maunga, the Māori word for mountain, Ruapehu, means “pit of noise”/”exploding pit” in Māori.

Crater Lake

There have been over 600 volcanic events documented at Ruapehu since 1830. Phreatomagmatic eruptions have occurred around 50 years apart, and can go on for several months. There have been notable eruptions in 1895, 1945 and 1995 through to 1996. These major eruptions, have over the last 2,000 years, been active through the Crater Lake at the summit. More minor phreatic or hydrothermal eruptions, happen a decade or longer, on average, apart, with notable eruptions occurring in 1969, 1975, and 2007.

The infamous catastrophe of the Tangiwai disaster, where 151 people were killed when a railway bridge support gave way, the result of a lahar, caused by the collapse of the temphra dam (temphra is a material produced during a volcanic eruption), which was holding back the Crater Lake.

Wreckage of the Tangiwai disaster, which happened Christmas Eve morning 1953

Lahars are landscape changing debris flows, caused when the water level rises in the Crater Lake through volcanic activity. A rise in the water level can cause to the temphra dam to break under pressure, or overflow. Debris of mud, hot water and rocks pick up astonishing speeds, travelling at tens of metres a second, melting the surrounding snow and ice, which feed into the lahar, growing it in size and force, and picking up more debris. Lahars can be extremely destructive forces, destroying any structures in its path, and carving new features into the rock face.

With the last Lahar occurring during 2007, as of 2017, during my time at Ruapehu, it was right on top of being due for another event. Scientists, having been dispatch, had recorded small activity changes at the Crater Lake. The mountain authorities were on high alert, and primed to react. Special training in the event of a lahar was given to all lift operations staff, and indoctrination in the importance of assertive life saving action in the event of a lahar, to protect resort guests, and self. Whakapapa’s fantastic terrain, with its variable valleys and warren-hole like runs, is in part thanks to lahar pathways, pushed out of the rock through past eruptions. Some of the resorts lifts were built in these volcanic footprints, granting access to the great runs it offered – one such lift was the newly installed (to 2017) Delta Quad chairlift, right in the groove of a lahar run out. As I greeted some pink cheeked customers at the load of the Delta Quad lift, my welcoming smile dropped as the siren rung out across the mountain. I spun my neck to look toward the Crater Lake – it was the lahar warning alarm.

Top of the Delta Quad chairlift. It’s terrain to the left of the photo, carved by lahars

You can read about my journey to the Crater Lake, learn more about the Tangiwai and other disasters, lahars, and the aftermath of the terrifying moment my bubble was pierced by the lahar warning signal, in Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu Crater Lake, coming soon.

Ruapehu’s location, in the centre of the narrow New Zealand landmass, means that it is affected by weather coming in from all sides, across the ocean, largely at the mercy of severe weather patterns. It suffers from rime ice build up, where moisture in the air freezes on contact with a cold object. It builds layer on layer, creating rock hard, cement like ice, which encases, before it consumes, the lifts and lines entirely. In 2010, two towers on the High Noon chairlift at Turoa bent double and collapsed under the weight of ice build up.

High Noon chairlift, Turoa, 2010

This means that somebody has to clear the ice, before the lifts are able to be run. One of those somebodies ended up being me. Together, with a group of selected Lift Operators, a de-icers job is to climb the lift towers and manually remove the ice by force – with clubs – B grade baseball bats, and occasionally aluminium mallets. These operations would often – due to their nature – be carried out on days in which the condition of the weather would not permit the mountain to be open to the public, exposing de-icers to extreme weather; high winds, low visibility and freezing temperatures.

The Lift Operations manager gathered us all in the staff room. He surveyed the room with his dark eyes and presumptive smile; “Congratulations boys, you’re the chosen ones”. Oh, I wondered what I had won? Naively, I fed off the excitement in the room. My intrigue turned to terror when I heard about what we had been chosen for – I was petrified of heights!

Read about my experience de-icing at Mt Ruapehu in Times of Travel: Mt Ruapehu De-icing.

Thank you for reading, my fellow Earth worshipper!

You can watch the de-icing process in the link below. This video is not my property – it was shown as an introduction to de-icing by the department manager at Whakapapa. The video was filmed at Whakapapa, Mt Ruapehu.

De-icing at Whakapapa, video by Ben Dymock.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Is coffee good for you?

You can probably guess where this is going and where it’s coming from. I love coffee. I drink it even though it stains my teeth and makes me need to poop. Sometimes I drink it because it makes me need to poop. I love the smell (talking about the coffee now…), the taste – its bitterness, uniqueness -, the process – grinding the beans – the ceremony of it all, the feeling of regularity it gives me – the routine. What could be better than a hot cup of coffee in the morning?

I desperately want coffee to be healthy.

I drink it anyway, regardless. However, I’ve been travelling around in my van for a while now. I have become estranged to my coffee press. I’d managed to organically phase out coffee drinking to near nothing (I still drunk tea like a good Brit – but green tea, mostly), without thinking about it. Organically – like how I prefer the smooth and aromatic Arabica coffee, I didn’t realise I missed. Arabica coffee makes up 60% of the worlds coffee production, in comparison to Robusta, which is stronger and more bitter.

Image credit: Flickr/Christian Kadluba

⁃ Did you know? Coffee is the second most widely traded commodity after crude oil.

Anyway, It’s quite easy when it’s out of sight, out of mind, spending a lot of time in and around nature. Whilst remaining travelling, I’ve recently reunited with the city. City life and coffee go hand in hand. I mean, coffee doesn’t have any hands, so it just wraps it’s aroma around you instead. In fact, coffee goes with everything. Coffee. Yes, coffee. My love, I didn’t forget you.

Sorry, back to cities. Cities and coffee – they’re two peas in a pod – well actually coffee is a seed, not a pea, and not a bean, they’re actually the seeds of a berry. So, coffee is actually a fruit you ask? You betcha!

Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked, I need to focus – time for a swift coffee!

Barista; How do you take your coffee? Me; Very seriously.

Recently, I’ve started to ‘treat myself’. I feel naughty when I pick up a little ‘treat’ coffee from a café. I’ve ended up drinking it everyday (Alright, alright, settle down. I know there’s going to be a lot of people thinking “Pump those numbers, rookie!”). I hadn’t even thought I could feel responsible drinking coffee – until my partner said “Matcha green tea has more antioxidants than coffee.”

Hold up, what was that?

“Yeah, matcha green tea is really good for you.”

No, no, no. Not that. The other thing. The comparative. You said it as if – coffee is good for you.

So, I wondered – is coffee good for you?

Coffee is rich in antioxidants. Antioxidants can supposedly fight cell damage and reduce the risk of serious health conditions like cancer and heart disease. It also contains vitamin B2, B5, magnesium, potassium and caffeine. Antioxidants also fight inflammation, which can help with other conditions.

It should help you lose weight, as magnesium and potassium help the body use insulin and regulating blood sugar levels, whilst caffeine can aid fat cells in breaking down body fat and lower the risk of developing type 2 diabetes.

It may give you a short and long term memory boost, as caffeine affects the areas of the brain responsible for memory and concentration. Caffeine can also decrease the risk of developing Parkinson’s disease, Alzheimer’s and Dementia.

Caffeine stimulates the release of dopamine and serotonin and has been attributed to notably reducing depression by blocking receptors in the brain from mood reducing chemicals.

Several studies have indicated that coffee drinkers may even live longer, which doesn’t seem like a surprise, considering all the diseases it may reduce the risk of.

That said, there’s a lots of maybes in there. So, you’ll have to use your own initiative on this one.

It’s widely ascribed to negative effects from caffeine, such as addiction, anxiety and disrupting sleep (which itself would feed heavily into any ill effects one might be exhibiting).

That said, we didn’t come here to procrastinate on whether coffee is bad for you. You’re here because you saw the word coffee and it lit up your brain like the warm glow emitted through a coffee shop window.

⁃ Did you know? Before coffee, beer was the most widely consumed beverage. When most water was unsafe to drink, people turned to beer, which was drunk all day.

Fancy a coffee or a beer at 7am?

Don’t answer.

Used coffee grounds can even be used as a great exfoliator for you skin. Now you can enjoy your next cup of coffee whilst rubbing your last one into your face.

Don’t try this as your local coffee shop.

Do – enjoy drinking that next cup of coffee, guilt free – it’s good for you!

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

North face of my mind

Image credit: Jimmy Chin

If I don’t make it back alive, at least I laced my boots and I got out.

I may have not quite paved the way, but I’ve walked the road and mapped the route.

My name may not be recognised, my story, not regaled,

but, I hope those who remember me, can recount a honest tale,

Those who’ve made me feel hard to be loved, are let go, dispersed, as pollen in the breeze.

From barren earth, a forest grows, now to walk among the trees.

To ask untold questions, into the silence, why is there sadness in a budding rose?

To know it will be gone tomorrow, lingers in my resting woes.

Why do we have the urge to climb to mountain peaks, where there’s nothing to be found?

To continue to ask the questions, why, when we can stay down on the ground?

We all have our own hurdles, set in our mind by human nature.

In my head, there’s 8,000 foot mountains to be climbed, where hope crumbles like paper.

To get lost on this mountain, body be entombed within the snow.

Lie inside my head for eternity, stuck behind eyes which no longer glow.

Still beneath the dying stars, that disappear without a sound.

King of my own destiny, never to be crowned.

Suffocating from this altitude, where the oxygen is thin.

High above the clouds, life ends, before it can begin.

I want to breath again, I want to live,

Understand, which parts of me to hold back, which parts of me to give,

I want to learn to accept, that which cannot be defined,

To attempt the treacherous descent, from the north face of my mind.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Friendships made, friendships lost.

A poem I wrote for a friend, who was feeling hurt, whilst finding it difficult to navigate a challenging friendship.

Friendships made, friendships lost. Can be thrown away, but at what cost? Many years to form, so quickly gone. So little time I mourn, the friendships done.

I don’t need you, if you don’t need me. You think I’ll be here? Just wait and see. A point to prove, but at what cost? Friendships made, friendships lost.

Sometimes its better to push them away. You know it’s no good to watch it decay. You can build it back up, but just keep in mind, when you bring them back close, don’t look on blind. Cover your eyes, at what cost? Friendships made, friendships lost.

Keep them in your life, but take control. Voice your opinions, stand up, be bold. In doing this, it’s ok to keep them there, but don’t forget, the ones who truly care.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Coffee and kittens

Somewhere in China…

Bitter coffee,

caffeinated thoughts,

a living fidget in clothes,

happy, distraught,

A kitten runs gingerly,

the motorway is alive,

which way to go,

flattened or to survive,

I meow into the paper cup,

I should stop drinking,

I’d have better luck,

at stopping thinking.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Happy chemicals

As covered in my post The dopamine epidemic – dopamine is the feel good chemical, important in influencing motivation. When we experience a taste, touch, sound, or a visual, dopamine travels as a neurotransmitter in the brain, making us feel a pleasurable sensation. It helps us form habits, for better or for worse. Having properly regulated dopamine levels, is crucial for stable mental and physical health.

But, what about the other D.O.S.E chemicals?

D.O.S.E is an acronym, which stands for dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins.

Let’s take a look.

Oxytocin is sometimes referred to as the love hormone. It is a neurotransmitter, that is released into the bloodstream as a hormone during lovemaking, childbirth and when the nipples are stimulated during lactation. It has been described as having an important role in lust and love emotions, including orgasm and maternal behaviour, as well as also being connected to recognition and social bonding. Women usually have higher levels of oxytocin than men.

Oxytocin is produced in the hypothalamus and secreted by the pituitary gland, found at the base of the brain.

During labour, oxytocin is released into the body, aiding contractions in the womb, causing a release of more oxytocin into the blood, causing further contractions, and so on.

Image credit: https://www.sheffield.ac.uk

Breastfeeding stimulates the release of oxytocin from the brain. When a baby latches on to their mothers breast, the nerve cells send a message to the mothers brain, letting it know to release oxytocin. Oxytocin will then connect the signal, to contract the muscles surrounding the milk glands, pushing breast milk into the milk ducts. As with labour, as the stimulation continues, more oxytocin is released, the milk is let down, more stimulation, more oxytocin, more milk. The perfect cycle of give and take. This breastfeeding process is called the “let down reflex”.

That’s different to the reflex you get when your mother-in-law texts about coming over at the weekend.

Oxytocin can also help create strong emotional bonds, that are especially potent with a mother for her baby, establishing a desire to nurture. Low levels of oxytocin may affect a woman’s ability to let down milk for breastfeeding and has been linked to autism spectrum disorders and depression.

Oxytocin can be administered as a drug – often to induce labour. There is also a nasal spray and over the counter medicines.

It would have played a role in early human survival, as it does now, by connecting humans via social bonding. Humans don’t come out the womb running – a mother who protects and nurtures her offspring will lead to lower infant mortality rates, meaning more productive hands for the tribe later on. Beyond reproduction, social bonds are needed to synthesise an urge to protect one-another against predators, hunt in groups, form more elaborate social structures – furthering brain development and pushing humanity into the future.

Serotonin, most of those young-once will be somewhat familiar with this one. At least, there’ll be those who know what I mean, you know what I mean?

UK acid house scene started in 1988, image credit: Dave Swindells

Anyway, what’s serotonin all about? Found most prevalently, with 90% of the bodies total, stored in the gastrointestinal tract – the digestive system-, this chemical neurotransmitter sends signals between nerve cells. It is also produced in the central nervous system – in the brainstem, certain skin cells, taste receptors cells in the tongue and stored in blood platelets.

It is important in many natural functions in the human body. Found primarily in the intestines and stomach, it helps regulate proper digestion and healthy bowl movements. It is also helps to excrete upsetting food more quickly from the body, by vomited or diarrhoea.

Blood platelets release serotonin, causing arteries to narrow and form blood clots, to help heal wounds. It is also a factor in bone health, as excessive levels of serotonin are connected to the weakening of bones.

Serotonin is key in mood stabilisation, with normal serotonin levels attributed to lower anxiety, improving focus, and calm. Levels affect sleep and wakefulness. High levels of serotonin may decrease in libido, with lower levels causing an increase in libido.

You can help regulate healthy serotonin levels by getting plenty of exercise and sunlight and boosting your intake of foods that contain tryptophan, such as nuts, cheese, eggs, red meat, salmon and tofu, among others.

Endorphins are chemicals the body releases when it is under stress or in pain. They’re primarily produced in the pituitary gland and carry messages throughout the brain and nervous system. There have been over 20 types of endorphins identified in humans. Beta-endorphins are the ones that contribute to pain relief.

When we feel pain or stress, endorphins act on the opiate receptors in our brains – they reduce pain and result in a feeling of pleasure. They’re also released during other activities, such as sex, exercise and eating. Certain foods, such as chocolate or chillis enhance secretion of endorphins. That explains why we love these two foods, and perhaps, why we crave them more than others.

If you’re a runner, you may have experienced the coveted “runners high” – that euphoric feeling where you’ll be overloading with happy chemicals, feel light and full of energy. This is actually a result of multiple hormones, including endorphins and dopamine. Endorphins are released to help quell that muscle ache, setting off a dopamine release, which gives you that happy feeling.

The London Marathon

For those who are super curious to know what it feels like, as I was – and I can only say that I have legitimately felt that runners high once, and I run a lot (long distance too, which, I would have thought, increased the chances of experiencing this phenomenon maybe a tiny, weeny bit. Alas! It had eluded me thus far – but, not for much longer!).

My experience was this – it finally happened closing in on the 15km mark, on a sun lit run through the beautiful city of Perth, Australia. It was Boxing Day, and I had just had a dry Christmas for the first time since I was 15, maybe earlier. I had been laying off the booze for the past few months, and I felt great. As I approached the foot of a bridge, my podcast, which had been playing through my headphones, switched to the next queued track. Queen’s eclectic “Don’t stop me now”, channeled the spirit of Freddie Mercury straight through my speakers and into my soul. As I mouthed along to the anthem, the words reverberated through my psyche – “don’t stop me now, i’m having such a good time”. As I peaked the rise of the bridge, I looked around at the twinkling gleam, dancing off the idyllic blue water. People passed underneath, on their boats, enjoying their day off with the family, beaming smiles illuminated faces. Their gestures hooted exuberantly. The Aussie way of life is truly awesome, I thought. I was really appreciating the moment. I started to feel oddly whimsical. A giddy laughter bubbled up from inside me. I felt light, yet powerful, as if I could sprint, and wanted to. I was full of energy. I felt simply transcendent! It really did feel like an overload. I laughed and laughed. It was real unsolicited laughter, why? I felt so good I wanted to cry. I did cry a little bit. I had no idea where it was coming from – it was pure euphoria.

I felt like a bit of a nutter, running down the descent of the bridge and out onto the road, laughing and crying away to myself. I was grateful. I had finally felt that runners high! And man, it did it not disappoint. When I set out that day, I hadn’t really set a goal that I wanted to achieve. I’m not sure how much the “runners high” played into it, but I ended up running 42.2km. I haven’t felt it since – but when I do, I’ll know about it. The body is amazing.

The pain relief from beta-endorphins is said to be stronger than morphine. The word endorphin comes from endogenous, meaning, originating in the body, and morphine, which is an opiate pain reliever used in medicine. Endorphins = the natural painkiller. Use them wisely and to full advantage.

The over arching trend in advice, when it comes to getting enough of any of these happiness chemicals, seem to be simple enough – ample exercise, sex, deep connections, sunlight, sleep, and healthy, considered food choices. So, all the good stuff then – as if it wasn’t obvious.

Now, go and enjoy life.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Times of Travel: Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Type: hike

Distance: 19.4km

Time: 5 – 8 hours

Difficulty: moderate (summer)

Peak season: November – May

Location: Tongariro National Park, North Island, New Zealand

Mount Ngauruhoe

Covering 19.4km of the Tongariro National Park – New Zealand’s oldest national park and a UNESCO World Heritage Site -, is the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, which used to be know simply as the Tongariro Crossing, but after many underprepared and ill fated attempts, it was changed to incorporate “Alpine”, to assert the necessity of proper preparation when undertaking the hike, especially under winter conditions. Located in the middle of the North Island, it is a 330km drive south of Auckland, the largest city, and 320km north of Wellington, the capital city.

This one-day scenic “tramp”, as the kiwis call hikes, passes through spectacular volcanic topography – multiple craters belonging to Mount Tongariro and the phenomenal coned vent of Mount Ngauruhoe.

The walk is a Linear A to B, between car parks. It is advisable to prearrange transport to get you back to your vehicle at the end of the day. We hitched a lift back, but during the busy season, this might become easier or harder depending on how much of a serial killer you look. The Mangatepopo car park, on the western side of Mt Tongariro, is the usual starting point, leading to Ketetahi car park, in the north. This is the route usually taken, as there is more descent travelling from Mangatepopo to Ketetahi – and the route I would advise during the busy season, to avoid swimming up stream amongst rushing rapids of fellow hikers, pouring over you from the other direction.

Image credit: tongarirocrossing.org.nz

It took my partner and I, five and a half hours to complete the trail – west car park to north car park, and another hour + to get back to our car at Mangatepopo. The closest town with a supermarket and (fast) food establishment open late is Tūrangi, 35 minutes north, so factor this in if you’re planning on starting or finishing your day here. We push a fast/medium-fast pace and stopped occasionally to take pictures. I estimate that fit hikers could comfortable do it in 5 hours, with anything up to 8 hours being a reasonable timescale, depending on pace, size of party, time spent resting and detours. Bottom line, leave 5 – 8 hours to enjoy it, it’s worth catching your breath.

I’ll be honest, I’m writing this a few years down the road, so I can’t remember precisely how long it took to do this, or how far it was to reach that, but, what is more easily defined, was that it could be broadly dissected into three sections, minus detours – climbers are discouraged from sumitting Mount Ngauruhoe, due cultural taboos within the local Maori Iwi’s (tribe) customs. I’m not sure if this was the case when I hiked it, but due to the many summiteers, making the tramp up, I’ll have to give the benefit of the doubt on this one. I will omit this detour, out of respect. Breaking it down into what it feels like: a long flat walk, followed by sections of climbing and descending variable terrain, whilst taking in the many wonderful visages and vistas, this is the what it’s all about, then, a lengthy descending walk out.

We were running a bit later than we wanted – we had planned an early rise but as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and my thoughts turned to that first cup of coffee, I was rolling out of bed, at the pace of a stone blowing in the wind – quite still.

Eventually, I managed to pull myself together and we made our way to Mangatepopo car park, after a light breakfast in Tūrangi. We got on the track at the dark depths of 10am – a late start in hiking terms. I would advise to get off earlier – 8am should be perfect. The car park was near full with dusty 4×4’s, but the track was all but deserted. We concluded, we better haul arse if we wanted to get back to the car before sundown. And with that, we headed off.

Much of the first hour or so was easy walking, on flat, muted earth, with the occasional boardwalk in areas. At around the hour mark, you’ll hit Soda Springs, the first detour – a short walk and you’ll be under the trickle of this mini oasis. We were still pushing the pace, so we opted to enjoy it from afar, and powered on.

Devils Staircase

There is a short but steep climb, known as the Devils Staircase, from the Mangatepopo Valley to the Saddle, with the first up close look at Mount Ngauruhoe, to greet you in all her glory. Mount Ngauruhoe, which is met on our eastern flank, is a secondary, and newest, vent of Mt Tongariro. It is an active stratovolcano, which stands at 2’291 metres in elevation. This majestic cone will be familiar to fans of the Lords of the Rings trilogy, as the ominous Mount Doom.

Mt Doom sits behind the eye of Sauron, The Lord of the Rings

There were multiple paths up, with one, straight up the lively scree. As we arrived, we witnessed a helicopter departing, later we would talk to other hikers who had witnessed the person falling, and toppling, head over heels from the scree ascent up Mt Ngauruhoe. A poignant reminder of the dangers foolhardiness can entail. Since then, I read that the signage has been removed, in part, due to safety precautions, with the large amount of accidents that emergency services have to deal with at this remote location, but primarily, at the request of the local Iwi, which believe a mountain embodies the spirit of their ancestor, and summiting it, is like standing on their ancestors head.

Parental instincts kicking in, gently placing a hand on my rucksack like a newborn – apparently

From here, we crossed the South Crater, a wide flat section, where we enjoyed the views of Mt Tongariro on our left and Mt Ngauruhoe on our right for some while, as well as giving our legs a rest from any gradient, before making our way up another climb, for the Red Crater.

The view is vast, and beneath the awe and wonder, I couldn’t help but feel a low level terror, looking down into menacing florid hue, the hot blushed rocks, of the observably named, Red crater. This is the highest point of the crossing, detours not counting, at 1’886 metres in evaluation.

The next notable feature, is in the descent toward the stunningly vivid Emerald Lakes, in which, dropping off sharply, made it hard not to simulate ski turns as we traversed our way down over the volcanic pieces of scree, animated underfoot. It’s well worth the effort, as the unique pigment, attributed to the leeching of minerals from the surrounding rock, make for a vibrantly rich, striking and dramatic display, evoking that inestimable wanderlust in me, that reminds me why I started travelling in the first place.

I took moment to breath it in deep here – this was my personal high point -, it’s worth noting, not to breath in too deeply, otherwise you get hit with a nostril full of sulphur.

The proud new parent pose – lioness cradling one overly sheltered rucksack

Continuing, we passed once more, a picturesque sight, of the Blue Lake, it’s bold and lucid navy circumnavigated onto the final stretch. We zigzagged in lush grassland, through densely packed forest (which was a surprising endnote), passed an under appreciated waterfall, descending all the while, triumphantly to the Ketetahi car park. High five!

Far from done, we honoured the walk by stretching out and downing some water, before getting our thumbs limbered up to hitch a ride back to our van. This proved trickier than we thought, but we ultimately prevailed, grateful for the kindness of strangers. By chance, were being given a ride by a friend of the person who had been airlifted to hospital in Taupo, in the helicopter we had observed, earlier in the day. After giving our humble thanks, we were dropped off at the top of the Mangatepopo car park road, so close, yet so far! Savouring our extra kilometre of glory, we walked down the dusty track, with the light of the setting sun.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Times of Travel: Preface

For the last five years, I’ve been travelling, living and working abroad, with my longtime partner in crime – the Bonnie to my Clyde, NeversayNOmad.

Together, we’ve toured and explored a modest amount of countries in the continents of Europe, Australasia, North America and Asia, with an endless list of amazing places still left untapped and plenty of ventures in the pipeline, were hoping to be marvelling for many moons to come.

Zhangjiajie National Forest Park, China

In “Times of Travel”, I will write a series, detailing some of these adventures – great hikes, days that will never be forgotten, experiences which have changed me and expanded my horizons. Part diary, part travel guide, I will outline one event at a time. These will include travel recommendations, often in story form.

The endless horizon, European Alps

It all started in Back in 2016, with a trip around New Zealand. We bought, converted and lived in a van for the first time, whilst we traversed jaggedly up, down, back up, then down, around, left, right, up, and down, down, down (to the end of the Earth, almost literally) and back up again! With scenery straight out of The Lord of the Rings, or rather, the scenery of The Lord of the Rings straight out of New Zealand, you know you’re in for an experience worthy of the big screen.

Hobbiton, Matamata, New Zealand

This small nation boasts larger than life hosts, the Maori, Polynesian seafarers, who settled the island about 700 years ago. They named it Aotearoa, “the land of the long white cloud”. New Zealand is made up of two main islands – North and South, which are incredibly diverse in their ecology. These majestic landscapes are truly deserving of being called one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Coromandel, New Zealand

News Zealand’s smaller island is its most populated, with over 75% of the nations near 5 million (London alone has a population just shy of 9 million – closing in on double of that of NZ) inhabitants living on the North Island – its bubbling with activity in more way than one. The North is home to most of NZ’s active volcanos – theres 12 active volcanos throughout New Zealand, 5 of the areas of activity being on the North island, with 1 offshore from the mainland, on the Kermadec islands. There are no active volcanos on the South Island.

Roy’s Peak, Wanaka, South Island, NZ

The power and unpredictability of these geological forces, was brought to the forefront by the 2019 White Island eruption, where 22 people lost their lives.

The area of greatest volcanic activity is in the Taupo Volcanic Zone, central North island. Very much alive, it has been active for the last 2 million years. Lake Taupo, the zones namesake, is a flooded caldera and sits atop the the largest volcano in the zone – Taupo Volcano. South of Taupo, marking the southern boundary of the zone, is Mt Ruapehu, an active stratovolcano and home to the Whakapapa and Turoa ski resorts – a place I spent 4 months working, playing and learning. I will relive one paradigm shifting job role, as a de-icer (I will explain exactly what that means, I promise), at Mt Ruapehu’s, Whakapapa Ski field, which tested my resolve, whilst opening my eyes to the possibilities of a life lived – and worked – within the extremities of nature. It’s an experience I will be eternally grateful for, which reaffirmed my love, passion and commitment to the great outdoors – but, was not without its challenges.

Mt Ruapehu, Tongariro National Park, NZ

But first, we will get moving In times of travel at a stones throw away from Mt Ruapehu – situated in the Tongariro National Park – it looks down on the Tongariro Alpine crossing, a 19.4km moderate difficulty hiking track, where I will start this series in the next blog.

Start of the trail…

Thanks for reading – keep an eye out for In times of travel, from nicecissist, for more Earth worship.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

The peace paradigm

Childhood, a finger tip away, to jump and laugh, dream and play. I can almost touch it, yet today, never further, or more astray.

Long summer days, they never ended,
games came so easy, imagined, pretended.

This fortunate generation, no innocence lost, drenched in mud and fire, grateful for the youth, far from the lethal mire.

I thank you deeply, selfless and valiant, those who came before, and opened up for us, cooperations door.

The grass is green, and I am free. Guilty, I can’t help but feel, for being sad at the falling leaves, it’s weakness of my will.

All things which once we’re simple joys,
so naively received, freedom from responsibilities, faintly dared conceived.

Of bliss, of purity, best left for the children of the time. My duty is to prolong and preserve the peace, I enjoyed as a paradigm.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

The dopamine epidemic

As touched on in my post Musings, metrics and mentors, d.o.s.e is an acronym for the four main happiness chemicals – dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins.

The better we know how we work, the better we know when and why were likely to feel these happiness chemicals, and how to influence them. Ever felt that tingle when your phone vibrates? that’s dopamine. You may have also noticed the euphoria you can occasionally feel with high intensity exercise, caused by a release of endorphins. These chemicals often work in tandem with each other, endorphins will prompt the release of dopamine, and it’s this cocktail of chemicals which is responsible for the “runners high”.

Today, let’s take a closer look at dopamine.

The dopamine epidemic

Dopamine – it’s everywhere, both in terms of how often its being transmitted within the body and the opportunities presented to catalyse them from the outside, all around our modern society.

Dopamine is a neurotransmitter – a chemical that carries signals between neurons. It’s like an information courier.

Neurons that use dopamine as their primary neurotransmitter are most commonly found in the midbrain, which has an important role in motor function and managing sensory input. It impacts the way you move and feel. Getting the right amount is an important health consideration. Dopamine can influence everything from our motor functions, to how well we sleep, concentrate and retain information. It is vital in learning.

Dopamine is the motivation chemical, it enthuses us to keep seeking that feel good sensation. It’s strongly linked to anticipation, like when you get that tingle after your phone vibrates, or start to salivate as you raise that slice of pizza toward your mouth.

It pushed evolution forward by driving us to replicate acts in expectation of repeat sensations, forming habits.

It’s a very important player in the history of human survival. In part, thanks to this sensation, we are guided to choose flavoursome nutrient-rich foods, which would have helped early Homo Sapiens to build fat, insulating against lower temperatures, and aid in brain development.

Homo sapiens and a Neanderthal man
Image credit: Kevin Webb, The Natural History Museum, London

Sex, there may be nothing more intrinsic and rudimentary to our survival as a species. Again, it’s no surprise then that sex causes large releases of dopamine.

Music too has been reported in studies to raise levels of dopamine when listened to.

When thinking about what might be the most visceral and instinctive pleasurable sensory experience, undoubtably music and love making go hand in hand, at the top of most people’s list. So, throw on some Marvin Gaye and let’s get it on – we’re all sensitive people.

It’s our sensitivity that may support formation of self destructive habits. There’s truth to the saying; too much of a good thing. Dopamine is infamous for its role in addiction and compulsive behaviours and a major underlying factor in junk food abuse and obesity, with the multitude of health concerns it entails. Now, more than ever, a child’s rate of exposure to harmful consumables and unsolicited advertisement sits at an unprecedented level. With more and more time spent on mobile devices, this trend is only likely to increase. According to the World Health Organisation, 38 million children under the age of 5 years old were recorded as overweight or obese in 2019.

Imagine out loud – what springs to mind?; “ba da ba ba ba”?

Yes, those large corporate advertisers really know exactly how to tickle on those dopamine receptors, and I’m not lovin’ it.

Image credit: McDonald’s crime Organisation

As the barriers in society break down, and knowledge becomes public property, so too has risen the awareness of sex addiction. Pornography addiction, an unfortunate and hard avoided byproduct of the easy accessibility, scale and extremity of content options and endless niches available online.

We have all felt that short buzz of excitement when a notification pops up on our smartphone or laptop. The hand held device – possibly humankind’s greatest threat in the dopamine epidemic. The culture of instant gratification, accelerating our plastination. Now, with the tech giants monitoring our every online movement and the footprints we make near permanent, sophisticated and devious algorithms set neat little traps in an attempt to capture our attention and wallets.

It’s hard to miss the excruciating amount of advertising that surrounds us, on tv, radio, billboards and now, relentlessly, in the palm of your hand. If you use Facebook, you’ve probably noticed how eerily the adverts hide in plain sight – so quietly amongst your newsfeed like a tiger in the reeds. They’ll often stop you in the middle of a 15 second video to show you a 25 second advert.

They know all about the new pair of shoes you had searched recently, or about the hotels that were available in Sicily, after you had searched for flights to Palermo. Algorithms work the shadows – the mafiosos of the internet, shaking you down for every penny they can – these wise guys are very organised.

Just as video killed the radio star, online shopping has near decimating the high street retailer. The speed and ease we can purchase exactly what we want from the comfort of our sofa, makes basketing that next impulse buy, as easy and “click”. My personal guilty pleasure is eBay. It ticks all the boxes, the watching, the waiting, anticipation building, all for that timer count down in looming red. My heart pounds like a bunnies back legs as the clock reaches the 10 second mark. I place my bid – the rush! Win or lose, its exhilarating. I curl around my prizes, like a Arthurian dragon, atop the shimmering treasures guarded within its lair.

I excitedly receive my parcels, carefully opening and examining the contents, before placing it in the dark recesses of my cupboard, to take its place among the rest of the hoarded collection. Pokemon cards, retro video games, memorabilia of every type, oddities large and small, you name it, I’ve bought it. The most practical buys, of vintage clothing, merely decorate my closet, at the benefit of the 6 or 7 regular items I repeatedly dress in. The rest, it remains lost, floating deep within the cosmos, suspended in time. I had been acting out this sort of addictive behaviour since I had become an official adult, with newly acquired disposable (that’s a very subjective use of the word disposable…) income. I started buying all the stuff I wanted, but never had, when I was a kid. But, it wasn’t really about the items themselves, it was the thrill of the bid which had me hooked.

Lisa Courtney, Guinness World Record for Largest Pokemon collection.
Image credit: Paul Michael Hughes

Notable addiction risks include gambling, alcohol, recreational and prescription drugs and caffeine, among others. Whatever it may be, if it has an addictive quality, it’s likely dopamine reinforcing those bad habits.

So, what did I do about it and what can you?

I believe the most ravenously addictive, because of its subversiveness, scale, accessibility and market hold, is our attachment to smart phones and all the apps which play off our senses with their bright colours, lights and instant rewards, asserting repeat behaviours. I was also using the Facebook app, scrolling in autopilot, multiple times a day. It had breached outside the prescribed usual toilet browsing. I noticed, as I unlocked my phone, my thumb would unconsciously hover over to the Facebook tile, before I really thought about it, it was open, on screen – it’s reassuring glow let me know I would be entertained in the momentary. But, I perceived my gainful information intake as minuscule. I would get sucked into watching funny videos for tens of minutes, an hour, even multiple hours. I felt dirty afterwards, a sense of shame, in the waste of productive time and at the ease in which I let it happen – again.

I decided to make a change, and I moved Facebook into the archives, to the “App Library”, accessible but out of sight. It was still there if I wanted it, but it wasn’t in my eye line every time I opened my phone. Pretty simple, I know, I’m not preaching any profound self help, 7 step tutorial here. This is one small act for man, one giant leap for mankind. I know what a big difference this seemingly insignificant act made to my day to day. It was the acknowledgement that there was a problem, and taking (any) action, which is the important note. After sending it to timeout, initially, I would find that I would still look for it instinctively, then, when I remembered where I had put it and why, I had a chance to respond with the slow thinking part of my brain. When this happened, I checked notifications for no longer than 30 seconds, but very quickly I would find that I would choose to refrain completely. Now, I have it almost entirely phased it out. It’s not that social media isn’t without its uses – for me, it’s a very practical way to stay connected to friends and family over long distances. Now, I was able to do that without falling victim to the algorithms – wasting unnecessary time I could be using for more fulfilling things.

Small things can make a big difference.

My new disposition is to be present, acknowledging what is “real” and what is not. Asking, what can I see in front and around me – what is it I can touch and feel (not my smartphone – I know I will use it, but when if I do, to write notes or read articles, for example, I am thoughtful and deliberate. I question, what is important? Will it bring more quality to my experience or is it a distraction?). When I lust for those new hiking boots or that shiny road bike, I contrast my feelings toward my current boots or bicycle. Why am I coveting this new thing over my old one? I feel indifferent to my current gear, but the glossy pictures on the companies website tell me need the new product – the smiling models, they’re so happy, I want to be like them, I want that. Acknowledge the intrusion – “I recognise you”. Question, will this truly make me happy? Or, infinitely more probable – will my desires shift onto something else once I get it? The human condition is to never truly be satisfied. Instead ask, what can I get rid of and still be comfortable, safe and happy? What essentials increase my quality of life? Focus on them for a minute – we don’t replace our parents once they’ve served their purpose of raising us into adulthood, do we? The relationship may be repurposed – so we may get the privilege to dutifully serve them. There’s an immense beauty in age and character. You just need to look for it. The aesthetics of torn jeans or aged leather offer timeless style in contemporary fashion. The Japanese have a word for the beauty found in imperfection – Wabi-Sabi 侘寂 – this could be found in repaired porcelain or the broken and craggy contours of the natural environment. Why then, in the modern world, are we so quick to replace things that have served us well, at the drop of a hat?

My trusty cap – plenty of life in her yet.

Too much dopamine is reported as being linked to mood fluctuations, aggression and poor impulse control. Beyond external influences, it has been correlated with ADHD and may lead to or be caused by mental illness’, such as mania, hallucinations and schizophrenia.

Having low levels of dopamine can make you less excited about things, kill libido and motivation. It’s linked to some mental illnesses including, depression, psychosis, and schizophrenia and the onset of the development of Parkinson’s disease.

Some ‘go to’ ways we can regulate dopamine and encourage the positive health benefits include; eating well – plenty of protein, less saturated fats, and incorporated probiotics, regular exercise, getting outside in the sunlight (why not kill two birds with one stone? Road running is as easy as slipping on some trainers and going for it), listening to music and making sure to get enough deep REM sleep. If you’re still needing a boost, you may consider supplements. Your body requires several vitamins and minerals to create dopamine, such as iron, folate, niacin and vitamin b6.

Most importantly, remember to talk to someone if you’re feeling down, or if you know someone who may need support, reach out. Don’t regret words not spoken.

Look out for the upcoming blog, where I’ll be pulling apart and looking into the other D.O.S.E chemicals, trying to understand what’s happening inside our bodies.

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Poems for mourning

A poem for an elderly loved ones passing.

Time is a constant, in the end it gets the best of us all, feel sorrow not, you’ll walk, but first you’ll learn to crawl.

So, grieve now my child, shed all and be rid of your tears, for I have lived life to the full and seen out my later years.

Remember me not for what you saw but for what I was the year before. Remember me not for where I am but at where I was when your life began.

Remember all the good I’ve left, on this earth, as you lay me down to rest. Remember I’m not truly gone, but in all of you I will live on.

Below is an alternate version I wrote for those who have lost a loved one tragically.

O’ to be so cruel, with reasoning unclear, why life can be pulled from this world before ones time feels truly here.

Yet time is a constant, in the end it gets the best of us all, feel sorrow not, you’ll walk, but first you’ll learn to crawl,

So, grieve now my child, shed all and be rid of your tears, for I have lived life to the full and now unbound to mortal fears.

Remember me not for what you saw but for what I was the year before. Remember me not for where I am, but at where I was when your life began.

Remember all the good I’ve left, on this earth, as you lay me down to rest. Remember I’m not truly gone, but in all of you, I will live on.

Original poems by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Take to the sea

Fruitful endeavours make for positive reflections,

Take the first step and self aspire, push yourself in the right direction,

Hardships overcome are the foundations of stronger institutions,

Give a little more for a more fulfilling contribution,

Broadening knowledge by not simply accepting preconceived notions,

There may be lands beyond the sea, but first we must have courage to cross the ocean,

Don’t be scared to venture into the unknown, there may be many routes to your destination,

Deviation from your expected outcome may lead to revelations,

Wisdom is the accumulation of knowledge through practice,

If we all choose to use it in the right way, we can strive for a world free of cruelty and malice,

To keep the negative karma at bay, ensure the purest of intentions,

You’ll see doors open in your way and unlock a wealth of new dimensions.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!


Life is but a moment, would you really remember the day, unless dated and stated and filed away.

A flicker in time, so brief is the way that we bounce through existence, not long do we stay.

But we aren’t created vacant, there’s ways to be immortalised. We are sentient beings, can think and philosophise.

Although not tangible, not able to be touched, it exists in our minds like trust, love or lust.

The body is weak, but the mind is mighty, holding the knowledge accumulated ever so tightly.

But nothing is forever and even that goes. The body breaks down as must the mind thus corrode.

The outcome is set, as we enter we leave. From darkness to darkness, broken by the journey we weave.

But when we are gone, what does remain?Some leave no trace, some mark the world with a stain.

Grasp it and hold it and make of it the most. So you can look back void of regret as your final moments draw close.

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

What is life without community? I would love to connect with other nicecissists out there. Seeing as you’ve got this far, that’s probably you! Reach out, drop me a message and let me know what you think in the comments, and of course, give me a follow for more – nice!

Musings, metrics and mentors

Happiness and contentment – how can I get more of both? How can I keep it?

(Before you get your hopes up too high, I definitely don’t have all the answers. Unfortunately, theres more debate out there than solutions.)

Questions like these, I ask myself ceaselessly. It’s unlikely we’ll ever find definitive answers, especially in the latter. Humans have been searching for thousands – if not, many tens of thousands – of years, with varying degrees of insight, and as long as we are here, I believe we will keep seeking them out.

“What we know is a drop, what we don’t know is an ocean.” – Sir Isaac Newton

What’s the difference between happiness and contentment?

Both are momentary – happiness is an emotion, contentment is a state of mind.

Contentment, a state of satisfaction, found in happiness, or simply the lack of troubles. Happiness is a chemical response in the brain to stimulation.

Happiness can be broken down and examined further, by attempting to understand what’s really going on. There are four main chemicals that induce the feelings of happiness we experience – dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin, and endorphins, also known as D.O.S.E. These, we can learn to manipulate, by understanding their use and causes. I plan to expand on this in later blogs and outline the simple changes I have made to influence how much D.O.S.E, I am getting and when. Attempting to be happier, by being more deliberate. This includes, ironically, removing sources of easily accessed dopamine, to fill up space for more fulfilling activities with longer lasting benefits.

For many, including me, as quickly as we find that happy place, the walls start falling in around us, as the parameters of what makes us happy shift. These fleeting emotions, start making their passage elsewhere, and often the act of acknowledging their prescience can be the catalyst of their decline. Soon, we want it again – more and more, until we’re devouring so much stimuli we’re positively glutinous. Whatever our smorgasbord of gratification may be, we fill up so much space, perpetually fixated – literally filling our bellies, emptying our wallets, moving our lives around to chase that elusive white rabbit.

We never stop wanting more. It’s very human, or should I say – animalistic. An evolutionary tag along from our primal past. The moment we abandon our instinctual urge for more, more, more, we begin to threaten our existence. Whether it be in our caveman duty to hunt and gather, build shelter or collect wood – our instincts get us up and moving – progressing. Today, we must earn money to shop at our local supermarket, furnish a home and pay the bills. One thing that’s stayed the same is the inherent desire to escape death, to make it through the day – in the literal sense, whether that be to outrun a lion or not get hit by that car -, and to transcend time, in name and/or spirit. Our ego, has maintained the tradition of conquest and endeavour through the ages, carving the names of great men and (less aggressively) women into the annals of history.

If you could ask any one of a number of great leaders, land grabbers and dictators, whether it be, Alexander, Caesar, Saladin, Queen Victoria or Mao, I wonder how many of these powerful people were satisfied by their success and how many still held yet greater aspirations? Did they think of the missed opportunities, the loses, the avaricious pursuit of grander heights?

I would say, likely, yes.

And it’s not just warmongers and the power hungry with insatiable appetites for more. If Alexander Fleming had not the yearning of knowledge, we would not have the benefits of penicillin. Where would we be without antibiotics? Or what of Thomas Edison and the light bulb? Of so many things, we would be, quite literally, in the dark.

So, why is it that we put so much emphasise on being content? Is it not healthy to desire more? Is it not our nature?

Without jumping to assumptions, I don’t think many of us will be riding horseback into the red midst of battle, spearheading the appropriation of land in the third world, or starting the next world religion, anytime soon. But, you never know.

So, what’s it all mean for the rest of us regular folks living in the modern age?

If we reside in comfort too long, it can anesthetise our drive. I used to view comfort as the enemy of success. In certain contexts, I still do. But there’s a paradox here.

What if, happiness is success?

Changing our metrics of success can let us be more happy with what we have. Look inwards and let happiness be the metric you use to measure your success, and not success be the benchmark of happiness. Like shining a mirror on Medusa, you’ll turn to stone the unhelpful perception of your own success.

But that still leaves the question, how do we get more happiness?

Even when I am in no state of conflict – I’m safe, comfortable and “happy” – I can still be caught unaware by lurking intruders. Sometimes, the unconscious mind sits so quietly that I think it might be gone. It likes to surprises me by opening the door and letting all my urges, anxieties and fears, rush in at once.

“I am an old man and have known a great many troubles, but most of them never happened.” – Mark Twain

I recently became interested in digging into some of the ancient wisdoms. I often wonder how many great conceptions have been lost to the sands of time. I became attached to the sincerity of Buddhism.

Gautama Buddha was a spiritual teacher who arose in northern India or present day Nepal, living sometime during the 5th or 4th century BCE. The Buddha was not a disciple of any god, instead he spread a philosophy of how to live. His teachings sought to liberating sentient beings from suffering.

In Buddhism, the aim is to reveal the true nature of reality by deconstructing the concepts that drag down our minds. An authentic happiness will be found through meditation and mental training, that unloads the mind of the external baggage of emotion, such as anxieties, hatred and compulsions. Once a person has purged themselves of all their worldly desires, they reach a level of enlightenment, endowing a state of utter bliss, harmony and ease at the world around – this is called Nirvana.

The first teachings of Buddha were the Four Noble Truths. I’ll attempt to summarise them as concisely as possible.

First, life is full of inevitable and avoidable suffering – to live is to suffer. The Second, was to identify the root of our suffering in the craving of pleasure, material goods, and immortality. As our reality is in a state of constant flux, our unquenchable thirst can never be satisfied. The Third Noble Truth, to end the craving will be the end to suffering. When one achieves this, they will have reached Nirvana. The fourth and final Noble Truth lays out the methods for one wishing to seek Nirvana, known as the Noble Eightfold Path.

What can we take from these time-honoured teachings?

Even if one was to remove the literalism, and manage to incorporate just some of these ancients insights into their modern lives, the resulting sense of greater happiness and contentment may be profound.

The first step is to recognise our weaknesses within the modern world and remove or reduce them. This may be spending less time on social media or learning to appreciate an old t-shirt we had forgotten, instead of buying a new one. The second, is to live in the present. Many of our worries may never come to be (thanks Twain). In an ever moving reality, we must remember to acknowledge what’s real, here and now and what isn’t.

Those who manage to borrow the wealth of knowledge of these bygone intellects and balance it with that of classical scholars and contemporary teachers, will unlock a world of limitless wisdom. Imagine being mentored by Sir Isaac Newton, Mark Twain or the Buddha? Well, you can, with the endless resource of the internet.

But, just remember, there’s no time like the present.

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That is why it is called the present.” – Master Oogway, Kung Foo Panda

The revolution starts at home

I stood at the edge of the world,
There was nothing else,
Just the reflection,
Of ones inner self,

We need to take responsibility,
How can some still be in denial?
The world is changing too fast,
It’s current state is far from final,

Fossil fuel burns into our atmosphere,
Over a billion car exhausts,
We are all responsible to some extent,
And there’s still time to can change our course,

It starts from the bottom up,
A small act of defiance,
Against the corporate machines,
There’s guilt in our compliance,

Their greed flows black,
Whilst our oceans are defiled,
Pollutants and plastic waste,
Deforestation of our wilds,

A revolution is needed,
in our hearts and minds,
Both eyes open,
No longer moving forward blind,

An unsustainable state of consumption,
We must do more to recycle and reuse,
Countries adopt renewable energy sources now!
To reconcile the abuse,

If the evil of the past shows one thing,
New ages dawn and thought arises,
Once a state of constant war,
Hope, that this long peace symbolises,

A footstep in the snow,
Holds an imprint only brief,
Genocide has existed across the ages,
All for lost and sham belief,

Once fields of broken bodies,
Now new flowers bloom,
A second chance bursting through the soil,
As a child from the womb,

What can I do to make a difference?
How can I change our planet?
It starts with a choice, so powerful,
Akin the bang which began it,

I choose the path of kindness,
Our future is in environmental health,
Love the earth as you would your Mother,
Its wellbeing is your wealth.

Image credit: climate.nasa.gov

Original poem by © Darius the Mate

The awareness of things

The Japanese have a phrase which most clearly expresses the melancholic feeling I get when I think about how beautiful the human experience is and yet, how brief. Mono no aware 物の哀れ, もののあはれ – with the closest translation being “the pathos of things”.

This emotion, so powerful and yet so subtle, for better or for worse, has become impregnated into my psyche, resting in my days so often. This rumination, hits me as I stare off wistfully into the distance of the day. It’s sobering effect can keep me grounded, reminding me to cherish each and every moment, but can fill me with angst, until overflowing. It’s delicate sadness trickles down the sides of the scene. Its found in the transience we experience everyday – we can never capture a moment, only acknowledge it.

I have noticed as I’ve aged, my nostalgic thoughts tinged with more and more shades of an indistinct sadness – as if some of the purity has been washed out. The warmth toned down, and a frigid mournfulness amplified. Perhaps it’s simply the distance change. It’s in times of great joy, excitement or progression, those big milestones, the hurdles leaped, I am sometimes ejected into the realisation that this too will become a moment of immense nostalgic value one day. The observation, this impermanence, brings the truest appreciation.

Another translation of mono no aware can be “the awareness of things”. This is my personal favourite interpretation, although more nuanced, and less descriptive, I feel it so eloquently, yet simple, portrays our continuous stream of conscious.

I noticed the moon hung in the twilight. I pulled my car over and made my way to the waters edge through the salty air. The sand flicked away from my heels as I walked. I love it when you can see the moon in the lit sky, a luminescent face smiling down on the sunset, colourful as a painters pallet. The wind glided over the breaking waves and brushed my exposed cheeks friendlily. Above, the clouds were parted, framing the seascape. It was inspiring. I took out my phone and captured a photo, as I did, the scenery was evolving – 7 vivid stripes vaulted out over the arena. A rainbow above a sunset, I didn’t even realise was a thing. I snapped away, skipping backwards eagerly to fit it in frame. And just as quickly as it came, it started to disappear behind the clouds.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did, and then, it was over. But did that change the experience – make it any less beautiful? Or did it make it more precious?

The next day, I pulled in at the same spot around sundown. The night was clear and free of clouds, the moon sitting lonelily beyond the ocean. As the vibrancy increased, it remained stuck in the middle of a bubblegum sky which popped out from behind with a theatric dusty pink and baby blue showing.

No two days are the same, but as long as I’m living, I will keep finding beauty. Often, it will keep finding me. Don’t let time slip by – love with intensity, act with unwavering commitment, explore with insatiable intrigue – live – grasp it, savour it, devour it, wholly and unreservedly, breathing in deeply everyday a genuine and profound gratitude.

I would like to bookend this post with a complimentary Japanese acuity – Ikigai 生き甲斐, “a reason for being”. Why we do what we do. A purpose. If not, finding greatest encouragement for a life lived completely in the duality of death and the constant that is time, accomplishing contentment in that which cannot be mastered, then what else is a more pure and true Ikigai?

It all starts with a bang

The world is going to end. We’re about 7.5 billion years away from Earth being absorbed into the sun. Humanity, like all other animals that have come before it, will go extinct, joining the 99.9% of preexisting matter in the ether. We are all doomed. I wanted to write on meaning, happiness and fulfilment, which begs the question – what’s the purpose?

For the record, I do not protest to be a great academic, scientist or scholar and all my fact checking was done through the galactic force that is Wikipedia and Google – not that it matters, as all records will be incinerated along with the Earth and all who might have remembered it.

The world is approximately 4.543 billion years old. In around 4 billion years, the earths temperature will have increased to the point that all life will have become extinct. That puts us existing, somewhere in the middle age of life on earth. We’re in a mid life crisis. As I lay awake in bed at night, the hours fall away like leaves at the end of autumn, mind wild, in the throes of an existential one. As the topic of climate change rages on, like the bush fires that ravaged Australia in 2019, the rainforests are still receding like a runaway hairline. No matter how much we try to comb it over, it’s not looking good. 85% of the earths existence has been during a greenhouse Earth – a period between ice ages, where temperature is high enough to prevent ice on the poles. Climate change is unavoidable, as humans, we can affect it by speeding it up or slowing it down, but some day, we are going to have to face it and the truth – we can’t escape it. If we plan to survive as a species, we will have to adapt and overcome by inventing ways to sustain life and prosper during a greenhouse Earth. Like cockroaches out of the rubble, debris and fallout of a nuclear blast, we will have to find a way to survive in inhospitable and uncompromising environments. The last ice age was around 2.7 million years ago and continues today. The planets climate fluctuates between two states – a greenhouse Earth and a icehouse Earth. During a greenhouse Earth, the continental ice sheets do not appear on either pole, with increased carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases. An icehouse Earth, in contrast, is a period such as now, where there are ice sheets in the north and south – the Arctic and Antarctic, respectively – as well as others, that grow or retreat during the glacial and interglacial periods which exist within the course of an icehouse Earth. There have been at least 5 major ice ages. The first was sometime over two billion years ago and the most recent, our ice age, present and ongoing today, started around 3 million years ago, with the current warmer interglacial period from approximately 11 thousand years ago. This tiny thread is woven into the tapestry of the Earths history and if we take a modest patch of 500 million years, it has been in a state of greenhouse Earth for 80%.

Wars have been waged, won and lost, kings crowned and legacies engraved in history, civilisations built and fallen, religions spawned and spread far across the globe, and all the bulk of human intellectual, industrial and technological advancement unleashed like the petrol from the nozzle of the pump, straight into the newest model of motor vehicle digital money can buy. The march of progress has become rampant – its tempo reverberating ferociously. It’s all happened within the proverbial blink of a green and blue, ever moving, terrestrial eye.

And then, there’s you and I.

Kicking off the bedsheets in the midst of another bout of existential dread, that plunders my stuffy throne room of content, in conceiving the demise of the human species, it’s monuments, technologies and ultimately, even its memory, I realise – I repeat the same thought, round and round they go, like the pedal on a bicycle, whizzing in circles in my conscious, powered by human energy – our progress is destined for the centre of the sun. It’s as inevitable as my own death. I don’t know whether that gives me solace or fills me with despair, knowing my mortality is shared with not only everyone that’s ever walked upon, but everyone that ever will, and obligatory, everything which exists within the Earths exosphere. We live in an amazing time, as complex as it is inspiring, teaming with life, love, kindness, creation, beauty and wonder – yet fickle, delicate and volatile, with war, disease, fear, heartbreak and desolation for some.

All this makes it ever so much more precious. There are many ways we could destroy or save ourselves, before we inexorably burn up.

So, what’s the purpose? I capriciously ask myself.

Today, as I sat, the sun lay the might of its celestial gaze on the tiny square of the back of my neck. At around 150 million kilometres away, it still kissed my skin and for a moment, I felt connected. I acknowledged, I am here.