Ben Ralston

Take responsibility – don’t hand over your power to others.

Somebody told me about a friend who is obsessed with the world ending in 2012.
Guess what – the world won’t end this year in 2012. It probably won’t end for a very, very long time.
Until it does, please don’t give away your power to anyone that would have you relinquish your responsibility. Whether they be conspiracy theorists, psychics, healers, spiritual teachers, yoga ‘guru’s… anyone.
Right now, there is important work to be done – for yourself, for those around you, for the planet, for future generations.
Let’s do that work, and stop worrying about an uncertain future. Focus on the present – be real, stay grounded, and do what you need to do to cultivate more joy.
Be more free.
Spread more love.

Thanks for listening – if it’s of value, please share.

Understanding Being.

In answer to Facebook friend George’s question:

“Life-long issue: intellectualizing “spiritual” or “mystical” experiences. My desire to understand everything makes it difficult to rest in the intuitive knowing of “God” or “truth” or “the universe” or “consciousness” — whatever you want to call it. That which cannot be named. I’ve experienced it so profoundly but always return to the quest to define and comprehend it, then I end up with a lot of concepts about what I experienced, a poor substitute for simply BEING it.”

Thumb it up, share it up, spread the love.


And send me your questions, in a comment or a message. I’m happy to help.

Mark Ruffalo Occupies Wall Street with passion, compassion, intelligence, charisma

I was an actor once. A terrible actor. I made audiences cringe. I myself cringed inwardly on stage. I had no confidence. I was in a play at the National Theatre once (just the once) and my parents got in the elevator with Neil Kinnock (head of the opposition party at the time). That’s my claim to acting fame. That’s how bad I was. Thank God I don’t have to act anymore; I found my real purpose in life.
Then there’s Mark Ruffalo. He’s a great actor. I could watch him all day. There’s an openness and an integrity about him that is very attractive. I’ve seen a few of his movies and I always felt like he’s the kind of guy I’d like to get to know. A good guy.
Then there’s Occupy (Wall Street). I love that movement. I put the brackets around the Wall Street part because I don’t feel it’s really about Wall Street any more. It’s about… no, wait.
Occupy has become a global movement and it’s only going to get bigger. It’s going to get bigger and bigger because more and more people are awakening to the simple truth of who they really are. More and more people are becoming conscious of their own innate power. We are not sheep. We are not here to be herded around like cattle, victims of a system that is based on greed and fear, so that 1% can prosper and be free while 99% live without dignity…
We are human beings: perfect, beautiful, powerful expressions of pure consciouness. We are free already, and as more and more people awaken to that simple truth by letting go of survival based fears, the system in which we live is changing. Occupy is a sign of that change – and I for one am overjoyed to see it happening.
So what’s Occupy about? I’ll let Mark Ruffalo explain it much better than I can:
And an equally intelligent, even more eloquent ‘call to arms’:

Why I left Bangkok… Part 2 – Blue Sapphires and Red Bull.

Princess Di and a Blue Sapphire. She didn’t buy it in Thailand…

I’m sure Bangkok is a beautiful city. I’m sure there are lovely people there, and great things to do and see. I just didn’t do or see or meet any of them. (Click here for part one).
Instead I got on a train and headed North.
I stopped off in a town called Sukhothai. There’s a vast, ancient temple there.
I made friends with a young guy called Thum who worked in the place where I was staying. He was like a stallion. A lot of young Western girls passed through Sukhothai, and he felt obliged to sleep with all of them. He apparently had a strong sense of duty.
I hired a motorbike while I was there, and I’d drive around exploring temples and feeling free (I was 21 years old).
I noticed that all the trucks and lorries seemed to be in a hell of a hurry.
They would hurtle past me on my bike, missing my handlebars by – I swear – millimeters, the back of the truck shaking from side to side and huge clouds of dust kicking up in my face. I nearly died like this several times. Had I veered slightly to the right a moment before they passed I would have been finished…
When I mentioned this to Thum, he disappeared for a while and came back with a little brown medicinal-looking bottle. So I tasted ‘Red Bull’ for the first time (the taste was the same, but as for the ingredients, I don’t know…) back in 1994. Thum told me that it had amphetamines in it, and that the truck drivers all drank it to be able to drive longer and so make more money. I believed him. It gave an incredible energy kick.


(Year later, when I was a youth worker, I had a kid called Aaron in one of my programs. One night he had to be hospitalized after drinking 6 Red Bulls. He’d had a heart attack. He was 16 years old.)
There were two workmen hammering away on the roof of a small hut. I noticed that they’d hammer slowly and rhythmically for about 10 minutes, and then they’d climb down (slowly and rhythmically) and disappear inside for about 10 more minutes (before reappearing and staring their slow rhythm all over again). I mentioned my observation to Thum. He grinned his great big beautiful Thai smile, and led me into the hut they were working on. There was a man-size bong the in the middle of the room, and Thum sparked it up for me. He told me to take a hit. I took one hit, and then I went to my room and lay down.
I began to hear the most beautiful symphonic dance music. It was the coolest tune I’d ever heard, incredibly complex and uplifting. It was drum’n bass, several years before drum ‘n bass had even been invented. I wondered where the music was coming from, and got up a few times to try and find it. But every time I stood up, the music stopped. So I lay down and finally accepted that it was in my head. At first I was a little concerned. Then I relaxed and allowed the music to take me. Before falling asleep I wondered whether this new ability would last… it didn’t. I’ve not spontaneously composed symphonic drum ‘n bass since, and it’s probably a Good Thing.
There was a cool girl from Canada called Tina staying there (longer than she’d planned, until she met Thum), and she introduced me to PJ Harvey. Tina and I also went on a motorbike ride to a nature reserve. We hired a bike and I drove all the way there with her hanging on to my back. It was incredibly hot and dusty, and by the time we got there we didn’t have much time to swim in the waterfall. I swam and she watched (as I remember), and after I came out she took a photo of me and said it would be good for my portfolio (I was an aspiring actor).

On the way back it was getting dark, and the air was full of insects. Every few seconds I’d get shot in the face by a flying beetle, and it seriously hurt. Tina hid behind my shoulders and was more or less ok. It felt like an epic journey. I was the hero; no one but Tina could ever understand…
The next day I decided to head off to Chiang Mai.
Tina and Thum took me to the bus station and we said our goodbyes. I was feeling ill. By the time I got to Chiang Mai I had a fever. I felt very, very, sick. I found a place to stay in the suburbs that was a vast walled garden with bungalows. I stayed in one of the bungalows. It had a shower / toilet room, and I spent two days squatting in there with my two friends Projectile Vomit and Violent Diarrhea. When they’d had their fun with me, they threw me on the bed, and I lay there for another couple of days hallucinating feverishly. I was so weak I could barely move, and I remember thinking that if I died, no one would find me for a week.
When I got some strength back I hired a bike and drove into town.
I visited a temple. It was a cloudy day, and there was only one other person there – an old Thai man. When it started to rain I went into a doorway for shelter, and he joined me. It all seemed so natural.
We chatted, and he told me that he was a teacher. He had two hobbies: exploring the beautiful temples of South East Asia, and collecting stones. I didn’t know what kind of stones he meant exactly, but I wasn’t that interested either.
When the rain stopped, we started off on our separate ways. He turned to me and said:
“Would you like to join me for lunch? I will eat traditional Thai food and see some beautiful traditional Thai dancing…”
I clearly hadn’t learnt my lesson from the first similar-sounding invitation, so I said ‘yes’.
I followed his car, and after a while he pulled over and told me that he had a ‘chore’ to do on the way – he was buying some ‘stones’, and he had to go to the ‘warehouse’. Would I mind waiting for him a few minutes?
We pulled up outside what looked like a very expensive jewelry store on the outskirts of town.. The window was full of beautiful golden necklaces set with glittering precious stones, and the door was guarded by what looked like a Thai policeman. Still no alarm bells in my naïve young mind…
My new Thai friend disappeared inside the ‘store’ and reappeared a moment later with a tall, beautiful Thai woman in a short-skirted suit. I was stood there straddling my motor-bike feeling young and free and lucky.
He asked me if I would like a tour of the shop and warehouse (where apparently they ‘cut the stones’) while I waited for him. The tour would be with the ‘manageress’ – the beautiful Thai woman.
She looked a lot like this (but with a suit on):


How could I say no?
So I had a tour, and the two of us ended up in the ‘office’. She sat on the edge of the desk, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. She had long legs, and her shirt was unbuttoned enough to show some cleavage, and I was 21 years old. My usual shyness around women (especially women I was very attracted to) somehow disappeared and I found myself flirting with her. She told me a long story about how Thailand is famous for it’s Sapphires. She also casually mentioned that the same Sapphires are worth 5 times as much in the West.
I started doing the math. But I wasn’t very good at it so I asked for a calculator…
Up until this point, there had been no indication that this whole situation was nothing other than a very fortunate co-incidence. I just happened to be looking around the same temple as a stone collector, who just happened to stand under the same doorway as me when it just happened to start raining. One thing led to another and now I just happened to be in the office of a famous Thai jewelry store falling in love with the most beautiful woman in the world, figuring out how I was going to become the wealthiest 21 year old in history.
It was my lucky day!
Then came the first ‘alarm bells’. The ‘Manageress’ asked me (ever so slightly impatiently) if I was going to buy some stones. Up until then, nothing had worried me about this situation.
I told her I’d think about it if she would let me take her out that evening.
Then came the second alarm bell. Her mouth said “yes” but her eyes looked very “no”.
However, despite these two clear warnings, the voice of my intuition was being drowned out by the much stronger voice of my simple, willful greed. If I were a cartoon character I would have had dollar signs flashing in my eyes.
So I asked my future wife her name and she told me
“Wâyt-sà-ya”, and we arranged a time later that evening when I would meet her at the store for our ‘date’, and I jumped on my bike and sped off to call my Mum and tell her the good news!
My Ma was not quick to share in my excitement. She suggested that I wait until I speak with my Father before doing anything foolish.
I decided to do some research. I visited another Jewelry store in the middle of town. It was in an old wooden building, and when I stepped inside a little bell rang. An old man came out of the back office. The moment I mentioned the name of the other Jewelry place (to this day I remember the name: ‘Doi Inthanon’) the old man froze. Then he looked out of the window, locked the door, and pulled me into the back office. His wife was there, and he quickly spoke to her in Thai. She gave me a harsh look:
“You no go Doi Inthanon. Doi Inthanon bad people”.
That was the message. I don’t remember the details of what she said, but I do remember very clearly that when I suggested that I go to the police, she said:
“Doi Inthanon police same same”.
That evening I turned up for my ‘date’. The ‘policeman’ was no longer there, but there was a young Thai guy, about the same age I was, looking fairly ‘bling’. When I arrived he hurried inside. Before I could follow him, he came back out.
“Wâyt-sà-ya is getting ready, I take you for drink”.
A moment later we were in a bar, and I bought us two beers. Mr Bling sat opposite me, and resolutely refused to look me in the eye. His eyes darted and shifted over my shoulder and towards the doorway every few seconds, and he was shaking. He was sweating.
I told him I was going to the toilet, and I left the bar. I got on my bike and got the hell out of there. I was shaking a little myself. I drove back to my walled garden bungalow, and was looking over my shoulder the whole way back.
Later, I found out that Wâyt-sà-ya means ‘whore’ in Thai…


Part 3



Please leave a comment if you feel so inspired. I’m interested to know if you prefer my writing about my work – healing, therapy, personal development – to this personal anecdote stuff.
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Offended by the word Cunt? (This one’s for you)



Mark was my best friend.

We grew up together. I knew him since I was 4 years old.
We used to sleep over at each other’s houses, sliding down the staircases in sleeping bags, keeping each other’s parents awake at night.
I never felt comfortable in his house though. Everything was too clean and tidy – not a thing out of place.
And he wasn’t allowed to say ‘God’. He got round this by saying Gaw’ instead (like Gawd – ‘Queen’s English’ pronunciation, but without the D). I remember the first time I heard him say it. I laughed out loud.
His mother (who I must say is a lovely lady, and still friends with my mother) didn’t let him say God, but Gaw’ was ok. Even though we all knew that the meaning was the same.
I was always afraid of his Mother as a child. She reminded me of Nurse Ratched.

The thing that bothered me the most about this vocabulary restriction that my friend was under – it sounded so contrived. As if, at the moment when he wanted to exclaim “Oh my God, the house is on fire!” or “Good God, I’ve never seen such a large carrot”, or “God Almighty is that really the time?”, he had to check his surprise / indignation / relief, and redirect his feeling into another direction. It was the censorship of expression that I found hard to swallow…


Once, when I was sleeping over at Mark’s house I woke up having shat in the bed (I promise you, it never happened before or since). After I got over my fear of waking up Nurse Ratched and telling her the bad news, I stood in the hall and chuckled to myself as she changed the sheets. Somehow, it felt like divine retribution.
And I don’t imagine that she was saying to herself: “Oh my Gaw’, what a mess”…
In 1939 when Gone With the Wind was released, the famous line: “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” almost didn’t make it past censorship. In those days, the words ‘hell’ and ‘damn’ were taboo. Hard to imagine that now isn’t it?
Nowadays there is really only one word left that universally causes us to pause and consider “can I really say that?”
Cunt.
A cunt is a vagina. We all know that, right? But a cunt is also a person so despicable that no other word/s will suffice to describe. In my recent article Why I Had To Leave Bangkok After Just One Night – The Girl With The Black Eyes I used the word ‘cunt’ to describe the various men who tried to ‘sell’ me an 11 year old child for the night. I personally would have preferred a nastier word, but I can’t think of one. (If you can, please let me know).
Several people commented that the story would have been better without the use of the word ‘cunt’.
Really, this is my reply to those people.
A word is primarily a sound. And it can of course have a meaning attached, but meaning is subjective. So one person who hears it will react in a different way to another…
And of course, the single syllable that is ‘Cunt’ can mean beautiful genitalia (your vaginas are all beautiful, girls, please realize that) or a despicable man. In the same way that a dick can be a phallus, or a fool!
So in a way, the two people who react differently to the same word are really only separated by their cultural exposure to the word itself (the more someone has heard it, the less they will react).
For example: Gone with the Wind did wonders, I’m sure, for the cultural acceptance of the word damn.
This article is doing wonders (I hope) for the word cunt (although perhaps not for my reputation. Oh well).
The meaning doesn’t change. Just the level of cultural acceptance.
So, when I am speaking or writing something, I won’t dampen my expression, my voice, to suit the audience. I just won’t do it. What would be the point – to protect delicate sensibilities? If so, should I worry about every word – god, damn, cunt…?! Where do I draw the line?
Rather, I challenge those of you who find this use of language offensive to question what part of you it is that is offended, and why?
…
If you remain offended after said questioning, then I apologize for causing pain. It certainly was not my intention. I promise you that I don’t often use the C word. (I save it for special occasions)…
Mark and I drifted apart. We were too different.
Last time I saw him was Christmas a few years ago. He came over with his fiancée, who I’d never met before. During dinner I went upstairs to find an old photo of the two of us at University. I wanted to show his wife-to-be how hilarious the two of us looked, both wearing wire-rimmed spectacles, with long hair and glowing red eyes. He intercepted me on my way back into the dining room, and insisted that I shouldn’t show her that photo.
Later, I figured out why. He had a joint in his hand, and he didn’t want her seeing that he’d ever smoked.
A couple of years later he and his (then wife) had a baby. I found out about it a week later from my Mum. That was when I realized that our friendship was dead and buried.
Censorship is not a Good Thing.