Hoarding

Me, me, me!

A contemporary slogan.

The subconscious, ‘very consciously’ ordering to hoard:

as much as we can,

as often too,

even forecasting the requirement of such self-benefiting actions

and somehow making everything right to achieve such,

ruthlessly adamant in its resolve.

Just look around.

Yeah, me too, also hoarding.

Why?

Is it for security and survival? Is it out of fear? Is out of hedonism?

Manic hoarding? Creative hoarding? Instinctual hoarding? … ???

Hoarding is a ‘feasting’ while the possibility exists, regardless (most are unaware of any impact during the quixotic rush) as long as the feast can continue.

It probably is a constitutional right too, wrapped into another layer of words for some clever jurist to unravel.

Premise

That

  what you say you are
      you are not.

Now,

  go critique yourself.

(Find who you really are, and who you are not,

and be Criti Cally)

 base it on That premise
         and not
on what you say you are.  

Thought-stream turbulence ahead!

      It's like wearing a garment inside out, 
       for the utter change of it 
       and accompanying perspective and revelation. 
      You should never have to do it
       you should only want to do it.
      Have a look at the 'what' and 'who' now.

Now, now then

 

a Moment

is a measure of Time spent in Now 

(the Present)

 

…Now is oblivious to Time…

– externally observed Now’s are chronistic (lengths of Time)

in Now there is all that there is now

magnify Time and reveal more Now’s

 

“Now, the focal point of our existence

 and also the oven of our creativity”

 

Now is elemental and ultimate

…time is only abstract and scale

Without Now, existence is indeterminate

…Now or never…

…Now forever…

Now is it!

 

photo: personal archive

Hey Life, you still there?

I owe life an apology. I am not sure if it would indulge an explanation?

Here is our life.
It’s analogous with our heartbeat.
It’s reliable, dependable and ready for anything every day.
But we are not.

Caught up in who knows how many schemes that whirl around in our head, do we give thought to life at all? We live life and accept it as necessary, abstract, but not really like this (magic) force of energy or a separate entity who/that actually has something to say for our benefit?

Are we the hedonistically narcissticating kind, the soul of the middle or grovelling the survival path? Be honest. It doesn’t matter but it makes you think. And while thinking :

When —, really —, do I  e v e r  listen to life?

If  life goes by the name of Google or Wiki,
 then yes, quite often.
...and maybe life is knowledge and data (too)?
...and maybe life is me without the I, but the us?
...but then, along came I... 
...and my confident, convinced action
   drowned any voice of caution or direction.

Life, this weird inexplicable thing that keeps (me) going come what may.

Is life perhaps G_od unvenerated?

We use life like a wheelbarrow.
It’s there; it’s convenient; it makes life easier and you can dump anything into it.
Case of beers, junk and yuck stuff.
Occasionally we clean it up with a hose only to let it rust in a corner and then moan when the wheel squeals after weeks of neglect.

Wtf are we doing with life?
It seems there is life and then there is us.
Split existentiality in a race with split personality.

Initially, we are homogenized, but then, along comes the mind and drives a wedge to create the famous lifelong schizo-split, the beginning of the ‘don’t tell me, I will tell you’ kind of relationship.

“I, the great sage are (because I am many in my head) now in charge.”

Often, even if not verbalised this bluntly means:
“f…off life, there is more important stuff in my life.”

Pressing on.
Another puff, shroom, swig or prick or whatever shit.

Life’s now become like a car.
It’s inconceivable that a wheel might be flat one day and we should become stranded.

Fcku!

“Where is the spare?
Shit.
OmG. Call 911.”

“911, what is your emergency?”

  “My wheel is gone.”

“Your wheel Sir/Ma’am, —?—.”

  “Fkcu yes my wheel, damn!”

“Sir/Ma’am we are not roadside assistance.”

  “The wheel is my life.”

“Oh, uhh, hold on please…”

 

A life later… as soon as that wheel is back, Voilà, ta-da, lots of smoke, full steam and ‘mindfully’ ahead.

 

Now life has become that pickup truck.
Big load bed and serious oomph between the …, oo-err, under the bonnet.
The wheels are now supergrabbers, they’re all on but sometime later you run out of gas.
Found deadish on the road going nowhere, load and all, and no life.
Now what? Stuck again?

I know I owe life an apology, badly, and then, as if scripted, I ask it the question:

"Life, 
  what do you suggest right now?"

If I’d turn down my noise, I might just hear its voice.

 

*It’s been three years since I wrote the book ‘Intercourse with Life’.
– Seriously, I also got distracted in noise.

Winner genes

Most of the time stuff happens if you ask for it.

Perhaps you might not agree?

If we don’t say what we want, then, because we have never voiced a desire or blinked an eyelid and there was no mention of what we wanted, we don’t get what we want, — or didn’t want, if you know what I mean, — with the most assured and reliable guarantee aching towards tortured repetitiveness. We will get nothing we wanted in all its many facets. Getting what we didn’t want, because we never said we wanted it not (what we didn’t want) or having expressed what we wanted.

So we get zilch of what we really want (’cause how can it be known if we don’t vocalise it) and we get everything random else.

 

But, I have wanted badly, and have made it known.

Sometimes I wanted so passionately and intensely that I think I chased what I wanted away in fear, — with my ruthless burning wanting, and I was then left severely wanting and crushed.

 

But, when I did want in a more moderate matter of fact way, that what I wanted also approached me. Often telling me in some way or another that I should want stuff that is a bit closer to home. In a way saying that I can have a Porsche but at least the driveway should be fixed first so I don’t scrape it and parking should be available.

I know because it has happened with stuff. Not that I have a Porsche though, because, well, I wanted a girl and an aeroplane more. There seems to be a system of ranking priorities. Girl, aeroplane, Porsche … Some worldly logic would want to dictate the reverse: Aeroplane, Porsche, then girl, but it ain’t like that.

Never mind.

 

I have wanted to win the Lotto.

Bold and recurring, winning the Lotto has appeared on my ‘want list’ for decades.

Why?

It would make life a lot easier, a breeze in fact, and there are volumes of pleasures to be explored too.

I know this is drenched in hedonism and honesty, but so what, anything wrong with that?

 

Often I have gotten what I wanted, and, mysteriously, this included lots of shite too.

I thought I didn’t want shite, but it came along like the ‘B’ side of a 7″ single vinyl record.

Anyway…

 

I wanted to win the Lotto, ­— and — within a few attempts, I won the Lotto.

This is as true as this writing.

The big money Lotteries like Euromillions, and Ithuba. I won them all.

 

I am a multiple Lotto winner, and it tickles me that I am ‘one of those’.

It’s irrefutable and obvious proof that something I am doing works.

Jeez, what more proof does anyone want but a win in a Lottery?

 

Of course, I plead poverty, haha, with the look of a millionaire, — but I am such a dead giveaway.

I am plainly unsuccessful at looking poor. Yeah.

That is why I win the Lotto. One could say by extra-genetic energy application make-up or some such fantasy.

 

Sometimes-often I’d really rather be invisible though, but not permanently, more like on and off when it suits me. When I don’t win for instance after a loud and wild prediction proclaiming thus.

 

You know when you have won the Lotto, because, when you win, the Lottery makes sure you get to know about it. They’ll find you.

Big hoo-hah.

Are you so and so? Yes? Well, guess what?

Hahaha.

 

I am a multiple winner and I can cross my heart to that.

I got what I wanted many times.

I have undisputable success.

 

I am a recurring winner that could hypothetically have a pattern figured out that works.

If I’d be playing at a casino they would have refused me access by now on the grounds of ‘consistent winning’ that is not in accordance with the charter of said establishment.

 

And because I have been verifiably successful in the past, — the past literally being ‘just now’s now,’ — why should I not be able to do the same again this immediate moment now or now-now?

 

This time I will also be pedantically specific.

Yes, I want to continue to win the Lotto and this time the Jackpot too.

With my own numbers.

Now! But at the latest, as soon as possible.

egging around

Life is about sitting on an egg, — partially.

When you’re sitting on top of an egg,
– and be honest, I think we are all trying to hatch something, –
and nothing happens for too long,
there is something wrong with the egg you’re sitting on.

Nothing is wrong with you, — of course not.
You did your time and probably more than was necessary.

No bird sits on an egg longer than they intrinsically know they have to, and neither should we.

If you want to bring something about:
manifest something,
change your circumstance, change your beingness.
If nothing happens,
get off and find another egg.

If you water a seed or seedling and it doesn’t grow,
you don’t continue indefinitely, do you?
Cui bono?
There must be a benefit; else, what are you doing it for?

Maybe herein lies the problem:
We are the egg and the hen.
Between being both we get side-tracked.
We hen around when we should also egg around.
And both hen and egg have a best before date too.
Or, perhaps our egg got swapped while we were inattentive or in cloud-cuckoo-land. We might be sitting on a dinosaur egg that takes epochs to hatch,
and we only have a human lifetime.
Another more sinister reason could be that there is no egg for us. A hiccup in nature, an oversight, or perhaps a deliberate message of:
“You are wasting your time here, you should be somewhere else, sorry (hu)man, internal error, – reboot.”

I don’t think sitting on an egg is that much fun,
especially when the dream of what that egg was supposed to become has lost its verve.

In the process of incubation and brooding, you have probably also attracted a severe bout of eggshaustion.
Rest is advised but time is limited because it is now already ‘time minus one egg’.

Time and eggs clearly have some agreement.
Maybe ten time units are one egg unit, or who knows?
And, you are entering into major guesswork as to how many time and egg units are available to you.

At this stage of disillusionment with reality and eggs, you might want to run away to an island and just hangout and relax.

When that escape starts feeling like another egg, is it now the right egg? There’s nobody really around that could answer that question. Eggvisors are few and far between, if not entirely mythical. And, other islanders egging it out don’t strike you as the right reference model.

It is not inconceivable that at this moment you might decide,
“WTF, I’ll just grab an egg that looks nice and sit on it and see.”

The point is that when that first egg doesn’t hatch
and we finally decide to move on to another egg,
unless some inbuilt direction finder kicks in
and sets our compass pointing north again in our life,
we could become abandoned eggs or hens without a head.

Now, the second (nth) time around,
we have to apply extra amped-up effort and employ every ounce of skill and wisdom to bring our life together and make sense of it,
— and not accept a watered-down make-believe or a shortlived fake brochure version, —
so we can find that satisfaction which is inherent when our right egg hatches.