This man here? Lemmy Kilmister of Motörhead. Also known by his death-dicing, fear-facing flock as God. At 19 years old, I knew him as my father-in-law. I knew him as the kindest gentleman I ever did meet. I saw then and see now how true to the bone his realness was. He had said, "Integrity is everything to me. I will not die ashamed. I will live on my deathbed knowing that I gave it my best shot, and everything else is meaningless to me.” We spoke together about being real, true, caring and most essentially, free. We poured over his mythology and philosophy books. He showed me how to see the heart where I, in my conditioned response, would least think to look in the master craftsmanship of the weapons and Nazi military gear that exposed the pattern-breaking potency of his modest home base. The man he was in full regalia on stage, was the man he was all but naked at home. He was both pretension-free and way over the top edge. He was what he wanted to be, without trying. Watching him as the most integral man I knew while also being the hard core poison drinker he was, was seeing before me how one could hold black and white, wrong and right as two aspects of the whole at the same time, by being centrally true to what was real. Another upfront way for me to experience how everything has its place and function in the natural order of things. I loved and love this man. And he loved his licence to say what he saw, "Apparently people don't like the truth, but I do like it; I like it because it upsets a lot of people. If you show them enough times that their arguments are bullshit, then maybe just once, one of them will say, 'Oh! Wait a minute - I was wrong.' I live for that happening. Rare, I assure you." He was an icon of true-blooded loyalty for me. Straight up: "As you go through life's rich tapestry, you realize that most people you meet aren't fit to shine your shoes. It's a sad fact, but it's true. A good friend is someone who'd hide you if you were on the run for murder. How many of them do you know?” I knew you, Lemmy. You and your son offered me refuge when black seemed the only colour of my inner turmoil. And in the black, I saw more purely what was ever bright: simple, consistent human kindness. Reading his next quote gets me thinking I could have listened far more closely to Lemmy, godfather of the louder, heavier music known to mankind: "In my life so far, I have discovered that there are really only two kinds of people: those who are for you, and those who are against you. Learn to recognise them, for they are often and easily mistaken for each other.” From the man who said (para)—that without a sense of humour being the main thing in life, you may as well blow your f***ing brains out—came this reflection: "Inherited hatred (i.e. hatred your parents schooled you in) is not only stupid, it is destructive—why make your only driving force hate? Seems really f***ing dumb to me." Relevant is this man's renewed presence in my life today and his words here. I am taking stock of what works for the fruitful break of patterns on a holistic level that runs all the way through the bodily tissues. Running electric in such a way that when the spine and head arches back, the hair swings like whips and the jaw widens exponentially to allow voice as a weapon to slice through the thickness of veil and illusion—much like a headbanger in devout ecstasy—one is being primed to fulfil the purpose of a spirited reawakening to fundamental nature.