Layers Of the World- Subjective / Objective Mind Way
There’s a “PUFFin” on your belly.
A wash of colors form the “clue.”
A mystical bird survives,
in the youthful “zeal” of you.
Darrwin tells a story with biological determinization,
upon different levels of thought.
One can take the higher train running, on calmer levels,
of relating existence to the spirit sought.
There is a passion in the wind
That washes all through U
My horizons merge together to center
ones attention of the vital sea of blue
Flow with the manna; the Mind metaphor sent by a thought vortex “whine.”
Then … Manna-manna flows as a body wave sent to ones higher spiritual mind,
that is your guardian to the grave …
That “vital spark” ascends up to the energy of manna Loa … that energy so kind
Astral body blue that your etheric doth shine
It floats through cycles of a never-ending wine-laced path
That vortex of love shall pull you back through time
To see the outcome that you’ve written on your staff
Metal flashes, in and out, of this place of rent
That, this day, has meshed with the “light”
To attain the right to govern this energy you’ve spent,
A circle of light surrounds your cell of sovereign “right”
The mind metaphor becomes so true
That you live-in-it to flow into
Upon that momentary “rest” in the balance of U
Simplistic love of a divine repertoire
That one has sent their amasser to agglomerate this “Kiss”
That is there before your birth, having formed in the trinity of bliss
When vibrations of your song flow with the freedom of youth
Heaven then, always evident, has placed a
“Hole” in your “roof”
Divine Wisdom shall grace your love with mine
Together … then the journey is complete
And the Love attained shall …
Mend the holes in our feet
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… It was a long trail that we had transgressed. The path that this earlier animal –“mountain sheep” I believe; had formed, allowed us to gain some height quickly. It was snowing on the path that we had left behind for the Wild Gang Group to bring our remaining extra supplies to … to our tired and exhausted "discovery party." There was no-way-now to complete that for the fast mountain weather changes had sharply eroded any lingering hope that we could retain about this perilous task, we had set out to do.
The waves of the lower conscious streams had crept far, far down the rabbit hole on the edge of disappearance of our collective thought, a few memories that we had built into the subconscious field of Ascention Harmonization. The group was tired, but “hope” still allowed us to discretion the slight fingerings of sound that we could hear in the neutrinic plasma bubble that existed in our etheric envelope that fit tightly around our physical body.
The light support system, of our interacting minds, of the trinity of our consciousness.
Others could sense my thoughts in this state of elapsed congruence. The sound of “snapping” twigs behind me, made me spin around rather abruptly …
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I was even more surprised to see the fall was due to a glass lamp that Cindee had stumbled over in her stuttering mind. A mind that was stuttering for she no longer had the ability to focus on more intercepting levels of dimensional interaction. She could no longer distinguish the difference in these realities. I could feel my thoughts be dissolved into the matrix that existed around us. The thoughts, once so clear, full and distinct would no longer remain in the grasp of my intellectual prosperity that it once was. However … I thought to myself, this is so hard to keep the “multitracking” of my mind alive. Perhaps, the other “WRITERS (Authors),” many of which are in contact with me, on some level. Then away my mind went, when the “writer” took grasp of my scattered thoughts when I sat down to type this whatever-it-is. This what-ever-it-is to whom-ever shall-read-it, when-ever-its-time-to-be.
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… So as usual the snapping twig was just a note from the living mind to suggest that there was someone following us. The trees would tend to bow over, as the wind flowed as a more extensive “intensifier” force, with the hardening feelings I felt grow inside me over the distrust of the situation. Intensive forces often kept me quite “tingly,” however it generally was with a state of “excited enthusiasm.” At these times it was always beneficial for me to sit down with nature. Contemplation was indeed needed now. Soon! Find a selective perch on which to gather my force, letting nature provide me with the needed power. I could in fact feel so connected to her that I needed nothing more but her feminine understanding ways to enter into my field… Our at least amplify those highlighted understanding of that feminine side of myself… Or should I say Me, myself and I.
This feminine spirit of Soultaw (Spirit of universal LOVE, TRUTH and WISDOM) was the shin of the tetragrammation. We then did the usual exercises that would allow the conscious and subconscious fields to move together, winding and flowing, like sinusoidal wave forms that never stay together in one ray. This would not become a solid force of light until we had centered all the notes of our frequency together… together to form a natural song that flowed with the emotional clearness of the music-maker. The noise was enharmonic now, with flashes of discordant rays. However, the more I sat and combined the two layers of self, then she was there…. “THERE” to bring me the understanding “HERE.” At times with unscattered thought, thereby intensifying the ability to “will” myself into that reality, sometimes happened with little effort. Move from “here to there” and” there to here.” However was it in this place – In this same “world.” In this dimensional segment of “time” or in this fractal of the “ever", or in this ripple –in-the-pond, wave in the Ocean? They simply all were ways of describing that which we are. For we are the mind. However-we-work with these conscious flows, depends on the personality involved. Some create great things, but their egos still govern what they say and do. To these ones I say … JUST LET GO! The oppressive, hatefull energy has more or less been worked out of all channels, programs, plays, segments, bubbles etc. of what-ever-it-is, that you need to pull yourself through the veils of containment. Its acting up again because we need to feel much more calm. You yourself are contained in an energy shield of light. Your corpusle, your cocoon, your field of yourself. Your ball of energy that you are … You conscious moving agglomerate of U. Your cluster of beauty. You’re an amorphous blob of pure love. You rise like the droplets of water that are lifted up a plane of glass, by sharp warm blasts of wind. Rain simply IS. You Simply Are.
R What?
Escape these endless cycles of repetitive thinking and living, to become the extending lower left limb of the R, that extends at a 90 degree angle into the paper ... And beyound.
The music extremely helped calm my emotional body now. From "there" to "here" in the same dimension, thus doing the “bilocating thing.” Or are we like the visiting members (which there are a lot of) of our conscious Earth field. For many have been added to the skies of our mother, to loose their memory of what was before. They fall down the conscious ladder of existence. They are that ladder. This ladder is us. We simply develop ways to remember ourselves back to that conscious state of freedom. Like the pounding beats of the noises of this arena. Of this play. Of this life. But therefore, where did /do we become?
What becomes of “THIS” that is “THAT”?
"TH(h)" is the carrier?
The carrier of IS’s and “At’s”
R U a carrier?
Is and at’s are the passengers. We R carriers and We R
Passengers
Our consciousness is everything!
Like nature it simply flows with the conscious flows of the higher minds that we are.
Peace …. We Want peace
Then
We simply R PEACE
B what U R
U R PEACE
U R CC
U Have CC
U H CC
UHC squared
You Have Canadian Comfort
Yes the calmness of a Canadian Winter. Calmness in the mountains. Like a soft enveloping field of covering warmth.
-Enveloping begins with Inveloping-
For those who have been tentless, or spent a night sleeping in the snow, then know that snow is in fact like a warm blanket of covering to keep the cold wind from attacking your stillness. Outside in the middle of winter … Have you done that? Have you been there? Well … Sorry, I regressed, I do not want to bring that there “HERE”
So, I sat on that particular ledge that I often frequented. My Secret Place In the Mountains.
And the story goes that the native leaders of this part of Western Canada and the Northern United States would all meet every few years to define the outlay of things to come. Each tribe had it’s own way of doing things. The tentposts of this community had to often pull their shit together. To help awaken the outgoing flow of their fellow awakeners.
Then I …
… closed my eyes. Took deep breaths and began to center myself. The energy rose up from my tailbone through the cells in my body, up the spine, moving into each cell and neutrino of my physical body, knees cock, ass, tummy, heart, neck, throat, ears, face eyes, brow and crown. My heart tingled with excitement when I made the connection to the masculine and feminine Earth & Sky -Christ energies. My "Here" and "There" were connected. I shone with the love of "nature" connected to the "source" that it came from. I felt the large flakes of snow drop into the quietness of this space that I now inhabited. A space where the obstructions had been removed. When there are no obstructions, then one has a clear undisturbed field of communication with the source.
And in this unobstructed space I would often hear a distinct sound of the wood chopper cutting his wood.
This is a sign from the “Living Mind” that I have been given - bringing “There” Here. And yet I bounce back and forth between segments of these co-existing lives.
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I noticed that, like me, she had more problems keeping the memories of her existence in an ordered fashion in her head. The multiple dimensional combining had set their outlays for her to follow. The outlays that her comforter or guardian spirit had lined up for her to decide upon, so that the present would exist as that (a Present). She was daily receiving “presents”, or gifts, that her thoughts had allowed her to experience. The hermetic helpers that she had grown use too, gave way to the power of the “comforter.” And each choice she made, brought those future events into her realm of commitment.
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And the “sounds” in my field began to grow. I could hear the vortexs of the Tibetan bells circling a new opening from which to pass me through. Yet another time traveling event to the [life as an “explorer”] opening up a new passage for the fur trade to find a fast route to the western shores [in this time of beginning the trading markets "thing"] in this place of the "VILLAGE."
Yes, I remember the energy of this place. The place that the local Indians had guided me too, based on their communicative spirit of the land … Yaweh Wichastabi … “Wizatabe” … Or something like that spelling!? Every spot has its governing connected energy of the area. This energy that
I had grown to know while I was one such guide in the area (guide to myself – For I often simply followed myself around.) Content with the moment. Or at least now I continually live in that peace. Live in that space. If, I took time to get back to U on something, It's simply because now I’m on "Indian time" … Which to me means "abstract time." Abstract time. Time of the right side of your mind for all us Hermetitic-like thinkers. However, one day I was reading this: “While walking through the forest the goddess or energy of this place had stopped the local “chief” and said: You shall no longer follow me … For the new man (pastor) coming to this land has a more powerfull god that will now lead you.” A close native brother stopped and asked him “Why do you stop?” The chief replied because a voice just spoke to me. “And what did it say?, his brother asked him. Read above!. The natives accepted and took on a new force that combined with their more abstract ways of working with the source, their ancestory, and their way of life with nature. Yes, on the combined aboriginal energy of “no time” (natural time) and the objective reality that the white man brought, the natives of western Canada and myself had covered some new territory. All the old ways are being grouped together so we have a common understanding of a "NEW WAY." There were many places where the local inhabitants of this area would meet in a secret place in the mountains to discuss their directions of the many different tribes. They would meet and solve problems of the day …. Of the moment. This … Here that I now currently speak from. I come from my
Secret Place In the Mountains.
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Yes, I been placing a few more “tunes” together to add to my ways of expressing how consciousness works. The book that I started in the 1980’s I shall soon start to amass together. One is offered many “strings” that exist to take them down many roads of “understanding processes.” Understanding” so thast they have the wisdom to choose rightly in their experience. But alas sometimes for the true adventurer the experience happens before one has the understanding of that which is to happen. Then, then …
………… then,
One Must go on FAITH
Cindee, don’t you think we should combine our energies through meditation and picture what “we want” to a field that manifestation techniques would start to form in this reality …. Or at least into a reality somewhere where the electromagnetic frequencies are definitely more akin to our frequencies. We need to find that fathom or horizon where we can combine ourselves into the vibe of the surrounding electromagnetics where we can live out our potential … Or not!
OUR CHOICE!
Is this not heaven? A few years back we lived … I lived in the more subjective part of my mind. I swam with that reality that existed above the man-made Laws of physics and particle determination of how things were suppose to act (yet I learned those scientific aspects that aided me in my "understanding"). Yes we were changlings. Not the useual “bullshit” that the more aggressive-taking-side of our consciousness wishes to push us back to ... to remain in this isolated field of nil imagination. Yes we should travel on the road today to get to that place of great natural beauty and wonderment … To that Secret Place In the Mountains.
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Now … in the future I remember having seen drawings of this place in the mountains (that the local city newspaper had once shown) … say around late 1990’s or so. The drawings or pictures (can’t recall) were drawings of these metal structures (well it shone like metal) that I now call "Home". They exist as solitary shining statues around the large Mountain Meadow where the Elk tend to frequent. “Elk” - the animal metaphor of stamina.
One Needs "Elk Energy" to get their subconscious & conscious minds working together.
So I lowered myself, from my house, on a beam of antimatter onto this clear, solitary, open field to go to that Secret Place In the Mountains
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Upon being THERE. I listened to the music that immediately came to my ears.
It was how nature sounds to me. Each entity playing …
… playing in a field of unobstructed space. In that space you are consciousness. Everything has a consciousness.
Your layers of self react to layers of this world ... Of this current reality.
I could envision the “players” of self, of each conscious level. The sounds were unique. Unigue to me. I was simply told ... cause I felt it.She had gifted me with the truth of "knowing". I was to listen … To meditate to the vibrations that nature created. My third eye opened up and I was
INNER & OUTER EXPERIENCE.
The music playing was done by us. The "us" in "me."
I know that my subconscious mind had matured for he said “goodbuy” before he walked through the door of this Secret Place.
Nothing mattered because everything mattered.
And
I felt great joy as I just simply became.
... 4 We Always Become What We Became
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... And the Snow continued to fall …
Hal Graham, the original Bell Aerospace rocketbelt pilot passed away October 23, 2009. I had the privilege of interviewing him twice.
The Rocketeer
Originally Posted
10/19/2006
Some days the old day job is the greatest job in the world. Yesterday
was just such a day. I had the rare treat of interviewing Hal Graham,
the world's first rocketbelt pilot, and one heck of a ukulele player.
Hal told us all about those heady days in the early sixties when Bell Aerospace sent him all around the country demonstrating the whiz-bang technology of the rocketbelt. He flew for dignitaries, high ranking Pentagon officials, even President Kennedy. While the rocketbelt never realized its promise of personal transport for the atomic soldier on the battlefield of tomorrow, it went down in history as the coolest accessory a spaceman or spy could ever have. From Commando Cody to James Bond, to the Rocketeer, the idea of strapping a rocket on your back and taking off into the wild blue yonder fires the imagination (and probably the seat of your pants.)
Check out Hal in action from his Pentagon Demo. (I added the Shatner vocals. I hope Hal doesn't mind-- it just seemed natural.)
Hal was recently one of the guests of honor at the Rocketbelt Convention held at Niagara Falls. He told us about that too, and treated us to a verse of his song, "My Rocketbelt Daze." You can check out the full performance of his song at the convention over on Tie-dyed Tehuti at VOX.
He also disabused me of a couple of erroneous notions. I was under the impression that several of the guys at the convention came to show off their DIY rocketbelts, but Hal set me straight right away. "These guys aren't knocking these things together in the garage," he said. Oh well, so much for the Diet-Coke and Mentos powered rocketbelt I've been cobbling together!
Listen to the full interview with Hal, as I sit in with Jesse and Sam on the afternoon radio show.
Now, this is not the first time I've had a rocket-jockey on the radio. When my brother and I had our afternoon classic rock show, "The Drive," we did a series of traffic report skits, one of which featured a rocketbelt stunt man. The joke was that our town is so small that the idea of an afternoon traffic report is ludicrous. The running gag through all the skits was that no matter what method we used-- helicopter, hot air balloon, ice cream truck or rocketbelt, something always went wrong and we could never get our traffic report. Mercury Theater Of The Air we weren't, but presented now for your entertainment is "Flash," our doomed rocketbelt traffic reporter. Enjoy!
Are you comfortable? Want some popcorn?
Be sure to check out Hal's rocketbelt page.
My Pal Hal
Originally Posted
8/9/2007
This is a guy I'm proud to say I know. You don't meet many
characters like Hal Graham these days. The real deal with the right
stuff, Hal is the original rocketeer. As the first pilot of the Bell
Aerospace rocketbelt Hal demonstrated his mad rocketbelt skillz for the
top brass at the Pentagon and flew for J.F.K. I caught up with Hal as
he prepared to attend the Rocketbelt Convention this weekend in New York. He graciously agreed to an interview on our radio show this morning.
I stumbled upon a sad bit of news today. I just happened to peek into my junk mail folder to see what was there before I hit the 'Empty Folder" button. There were all the usual suspects, hair loss cures, male enhancement snake oil, get rich quick schemes, phishing scams from "banks" where I have no account, and of course, a dozen notifications that I'm the world's newest millionaire courtesy of some recently deceased Nigerian official. Tucked in among them was an email from October 24, the subject, Hal Graham.
I opened the message from Dr. Nino Amarena which informed me that Hal Graham passed away on October 23rd. For those of you who don't remember, Hal was a true aviation pioneer and the original Bell Aerospace rocketbelt pilot.
Here's video of Hal in action.
But Hal wasn't just an experienced pilot, aerospace enginneer and rocketbelt jockey, he was an accomplished ukulele player as well.
As I began to explore my options for getting the posts about Hal over to my VOX blog, or removing the password from my Typepad blog and tucking away some older, more sensitive assets for safe keeping, I stumbled across a post from April of '06 when the radio stations had just changed hands, my salary had been cut in half by the outgoing regime and we had no idea what to expect from the new owners. It was a tense, depressing time, but one event buoyed my spirits-- the event described in a post from April 5, 2006 titled, "Songs And Darkness."
The radio stations have been sold and new owners take possession on the 11th. It is a subject I've been silent on out of an intense desire for self-preservation, although I could tell some stories that would make you shake your head in disbelief (and have the audio tapes to prove them.)
The transition has been painful to say the least, although I have been assured that I will keep my job. "The Drive" will most likely go away with the arrival of the new owners and a new format. It has been suggested that I may become a producer for one of the talk radio shows, or perhaps some other form of low-level management minion with hit points of 0 and charisma of -1.
Each day as I pull into the parking lot my chest seizes with the uncomfortable tightness that comes from not knowing what office drama will be unfolding when I hit the door. Yet, I persevere. Today I was able to duck and cover so as to not get any of it on me, although there was plenty to go around.
But when I got to the studio I was informed that even though the transmitter was down I should do my show as usual because it might come back up. So for over an hour I played music and yakked into the microphone as if I were on the air... As if anyone was listening... As if it mattered. The rest of my night consisted of cutting the overnight weather, checking the fax machine a couple of times and pretty much watching the walls until time to go home. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to show up.
When at last the time came, I put the radio stations to bed, gathered my things and headed toward the door. Just then the phone rang. Who calls a radio station at straight-up Midnight? I figured it was one of the out-going regime making sure I hadn't left 30 seconds early. That really put a wrinkle in my jockeys. I was anxious to get home and put the finishing touches on my tribute to Star Trek fan films and didn't have time to play these silly games.
"Hey, I just wanted you to know that I think you guys are the greatest," said the unsteady voice on the other end of the phone. The impediment sounded natural, with perhaps only the slightest help from something medicinal.
Great, one of those.
I put on my perky voice. "What can I do for you?" I asked, hoping I could rush him off the phone after a quick request.
"I can't remember the name of the song or who it's by," He said.
I sighed to myself. These guys always take forever. The sad part is that even if he remembered the title and artist, I couldn't play it anyway since what we were broadcasting at the moment was a satellite feed from God only knows where. But the dutiful DJ response is, "I'll see if I can find it," or "I'll pass your request along to the air-staff."
Then he said, "My name is Frank and I work at Wal-Mart. I listen to you all the time and I think you guys are wonderful." He went on, "I'm fifty-five years old and I lost my son about four years ago when he was fourteen. You play some wonderful music that helps me feel better. Sometimes I come out to the lake at night and listen to you on my little headset and watch the water. I'm sitting here looking at the lake right now." I could hear the station playing softly in the background.
I tried to offer a kind word, but I was a little choked up. I could hear the loneliness in his voice. I could hear the gratitude he felt toward us for being there-- a friendly voice in the darkness, playing songs from better days. It seems odd that someone could feel such a personal connection to people who hadn't a clue he even existed, but perhaps that voice in the darkness was the closest thing he had to a friend. I wonder how many Franks there are, alone in the night, tuning in to the voice like a beacon of human contact. Perhaps it is not an exaggeration to imagine for some it is the only thing connecting them with the rest of humanity.
Maybe in a way the music that we play is somehow a shared experience, as if they feel we are choosing each song just for them; saying to them, "Hey Frank, remember when you brought your kid to the lake and he caught his first fish? This song was on the radio then too." I wished that he could remember the title of the song he had wanted to hear. I wished that I could play it for him. I stumbled through the perfunctory promise to look for it in the music library. I thanked him for his call and wished him well. He expressed his thanks again and we hung up. I came home to write this. Frank returned to the voice, the darkness, the waves, and songs from better days.
Call it coincidence, fate or the mysterious hand of God, but I needed to hear Frank's voice tonight as much as he needed to hear mine. I hope that by some quirk of luck the satellite DJ will play the song Frank was hoping to hear. I hope he feels that he made the connection he reached out to make. I know I won't soon forget him. I know why I'm going to work tomorrow.
When I read this over again tonight it kind of reached out and grabbed me by the throat. It has not a thing in the world to do with Hal Graham, other than perhaps to remind us that even in the briefest encounters with our fellow humans we make an impression. We never know when or how a simple off hand remark might build up-- or tear down-- another individual. Hal, with his good nature, gentle humor and mad ukulele skills impressed me as a man to look up to and emulate. I know he was a friend and mentor to many in the rocketbelt field. I know Dr. Amarena would agree.
A little later I will sort out all this blogging nonsense so that Dr. Amarena can put together his memorial. I'm honored that he would like to use my interviews. I'm proud to be a small part of the tribute to Harold "Hal" Graham, Rocketbelt Pilot, ukulele player and all around mensch.
Thank you all for your indulgence in my little digression into Songs and Darkness. I don't know why, but I just felt a need to share it again.
Yowza is the big non-acting project in Greg's life right now. Yowza is an iPhone app that zaps coupons straight to your mobile phone. You can check it out here.
The cause near and dear to his heart is epilepsy awareness. Please visit talkaboutit.org to find out more.
*Recorded on 10-29-09. Broadcast 11-02-09.
You can watch a slide show of photos from the build and trick-or-treating while you listen.
You can check out my Flickr set of the robot build and Halloween here.
This is one of the first books to inspire my love of robots and a
desire to build them. It is the story of a kid who builds robots out of
old Cambell's Soup cans and junk parts to help him with chores around the farm. I remember one robot had hooks for hands so he could carry buckets down to the river to fetch water. ...Boy, that Andy sure was
clever.
After I read that book in the second grade my dad and I built a "robot"
out of a cardboard box with a Folgers Coffee can for a head. Dad rigged
up a couple of flashlight bulbs for eyes wired to batteries and a
toggle switch in the back. I took it to show-and-tell. You should have heard the "Ahhhhs" when I lit up those eyes. I guess kids were prettily easily impressed in the early 70's....
I can still remember a part in the story where Rex damages his "Refractor Bulb" and has to replace it with an obsolete black and white model. Rex was much on my mind as I created the T-450 suit, refractor bulb included.
Diabolical various
Introduction by Peter Grey
Edited by Alkistis Dimech and Peter Grey
Diabolical is a weighty tome of over 350pp.
With nine colour plates of original infernal artwork from Stafford
Stone, Kyle Fite, Thomas Karlsson, and Johnny Jakobsson.
Bound in red cloth shot through with charred black.
The cover is stamped with the devil's verse in heavy black fractur.
It comes in an edition of 999 copies, hand numbered in dragon's blood ink.
A copy of the No Smoke Without Fire Edition can be yours for thirty-five English pounds.
The Grimoire tradition is being reinvigorated in the living practice of the carcists, magicians and sorcerors who dare to work with these books.
Those of us who do this work, regardless of whether we trepass amongst the angels or daemons, are often slandered as diabolical. Our books are also regarded as diabolical, being incomprehensible, demonic and without spiritual or practical value.
We throw this back at our accusers by demonstrating that these books are more complex than black and white theology allows, and as repositories of forbidden knowledge are worth their weight in gold. This is where the spirits lie.
We are upholding our side of the pact and continuing to produce the most groundbreaking and relevant titles of the modern occult revival. To this end, Scarlet Imprint have convened an international cabal of writers and artists from England, Poland, Holland, Sweden, Spain, Brazil, Canada and America.
Our writers for this project are:
Jake Stratton-Kent
Eric de Pauw
Aaron Leitch
Paul Hughes-Barlow
Mark Smith
Stafford Stone
Thomas Karlsson
Johnny Jakobsson
The Anonymous author of Pharaoan
Humberto Maggi
John J. Coughlin
Krzysztof Azarewicz
Donald Tyson
Kyle Fite
These individuals meet for the first time within the pages of our newest title, Diabolical and give tongue to their excursions into these texts and others:
The Red Dragon/Grand Grimoire
Grimorium Verum
Lemegeton
The Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage
The Testament of Solomon
The Nightside of Eden
The Wisdom of S'lba
Qutub
Liber 231
Liber 325 The Bartzabel Working
The Holy Books of Thelema
The Voudon Gnostic Workbook
The Taufer books...
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I was satisfied with the end result. The suit had good ventilation, field of vision and range of mobility. Although we got the arms in the wrong sockets at first and one of the LEDs on his power pack refused to flash, nothing fell off, everything else worked and we required no repairs in the field. We returned late to May exhausted but happy with our little robot crashed out in the backseat. All in all a successful field test.
I'll post some video when I get it edited.
