DoaD #31 - I am just a human bean
Oogely boogely, alright,
This is the 31st episode of Diary of a Daoist. That's fucking nuts. I've recorded 30 episodes already of waffling into a microphone, and now we've added a camera and we got a bit more green. So what have I learnt and felt from posting videos of making books and sharing my inner thoughts and feelings of going about my days? A fair amount. I've learned a lot about the way that I speak, and you will hear it in this I use a lot of “just” and “kind of” and “for whatever reason”, and a bit of budududubuh, and I'm learning how to communicate more fluently. I've had a lot of that…..
… listening to the birds and the wind and the trees. I’ve learned about publishing online and how weird of a feeling that is, and going through the motions of working out who I'm doing this for, is this actually for me, or is it another ploy for attention from my fellow humans that surrounds me. Who knows? It started and is still at the core of it, for me a test of my courage and willingness to share the highs and lows of the past month, and what a month has been. I've met some beautiful people.
I've lost the love of my life.
Not even lost, I've found more space and love for myself and gratitude for having love in my life and for everything that love has taught me. It opened my heart, it taught me how to write better than I ever, ever, ever, ever could have, and for that, I'm forever grateful for love. That feeling will never go away, forever woven into the essence of all of my writings and everything I will put out. I've grown so much as a leader and an individual simply from teaching kids. Seeing the beauty and simplicity and refinement of how you get your ideas across to people, and when they're kids, they don't give a shit about your fantastical theories and all these lovely learnings you've done, they just want to know, am I gonna have fun and can we play a fucking game? Because I'm not here to be serious. I'm a kid! That's taught me more than I've taught any of them.
Through doing this I've found myself caring less about what could come from it and what could come from all that I'm trying to achieve. It's only been 11 days of consistency and finally, committing to one thing in my whole life. This is the first time, and I feel at peace through the repetition and the discipline of a practice.
It's not how I thought it would have been before in my head, I was caught in thinking you have to do one single thing linearly. But I have several things that I'm doing within this practice I've made up and experimented with like a scientist. Within that scientific structure and discipline and repetition, I've allowed myself the freedom to play as an artist. There’s been no worry about where my life's gonna go. Everything that I thought was where I was gonna go in terms of who was in my life and what I was gonna do has fallen apart, but in the most spectacular, poetic way that's allowed me to rebuild. There's been no stress, and that is the biggest blessing of all. Peace of mind.
I guard that with my life now.
My nature is to be incredibly stubborn, and I know that through my astrology study of myself. But I've always known that. I used to think it was a bad thing, and maybe it did get toxic at some points, but the principles I hold dear to myself have meant that I provide a different level of meaning to my life at an age that most people just don't understand. You're 23 and you're getting up early in the morning for 30 days to make a book every morning and commit to some sort of movement practice and go through all of that work just to put it online and have a horrible feeling of sharing the most vulnerable moments. Why would you do that, that is insane.
and yes, it is insane, it is only understood by a few.
But these principles have kept me going. It's what's got me here, listening to my heart. There's a reason all this stuff has been said for centuries and many, many cycles of planets because it reigns true.
Some people just don't like the truthhhh mayunnnn.
The truth was hitting me hard today. Finding a balance between that, masculine; linear, scientific, logical, narrow focus on your views, and it's coming inwards into this narrow point, and you charge head forward at it.
/\
[Balancing it] with this other part of me, the inner feminine; expressive, artistic, playful, very broad vision, focus where it comes from within and it goes outwards, and it spans the whole universe,
\/
… whereas a scientist is at the same time trying to bring in the whole universe and direct it to this one focused point.
Finding the balance between that is very fucking hard. The scientist especially, or the student within has got lost in his world of education and has a desperate need for the truth. Now that I've seen the light of some things it is very hard to switch off, but that is where my artist comes in and takes these feelings of confusion and absorbs these findings and tries to put them into some visual language that can be felt instead of regurgitated as scientific facts.
I'm finding it so hard right now to not blurt out what that is because it needs to come through in some artistic way. The world is not ready to hear that the Caucasian was an experiment, and we are mutants on this planet. Any more said on that strikes fear in the minds of others in the world and those listening.
The 85
How does a masculine mind, decode all these findings into some artistic expression that can be felt and experienced rather than just thought and seen in mind? I guess that's the beauty of balance, and that's part of this journey of discovering harmony between these opposites. My life has changed drastically these past 10 days.
Everything slowed down; from having more time in the morning, having something I've committed to, feeling relief, feeling proud of myself for actually sticking to something, and eradicating this label that has been put on people like us, of being ADHD. Having that label and not knowing what to do with it, apart from being called that, becomes an identity that is very easy to become and used as an excuse for things. But I am constantly an example to myself of how this eastern way of looking at life…
…as this
instead of this…
and that…
the breath.
All these symbols are so hard for a mind like mine to grasp, it’s taking time, but I'm slowly getting there. If you knew where I started, you would be amazed. The person you hear and see before you is beautiful, living, and thriving, because I simply have the confidence to be myself and love myself. I can't quite work out how that's happened. I can give you many different answers, but all I can say is, I'm here and I fucking love it. Everything I tried to predict that was going to happen has fallen apart, and I'm the happiest I've ever been, but also the saddest. That's all I've ever needed. I didn't have a way to express my sadness before, and I was outwardly overly optimistic. Hidden by kindness and not allowing myself to feel every facet of who I am, I grew resentful and reserved.
Now it's just trees. That is the main reason, the trees.
Oh, my fuck. I sound like such a little hippie cunt hahahahahhahha. Oh, my fuck Okay, oh, may as well read some fucking poetry whilst we’re at it.
Doo doo forrest gump..
duh duh do duh
I'm learning a lot about writing as well just from doing that writing… [burps]
Talking about being good at communicating I cannot think of names for things and stick with it. The writers well that I attended on Saturday. It was amazing and beautiful and everything it needed to be. Before my writings were kept in this very scientific, narrowed-in, this is just me experiencing this, and I'm too stubborn to think that that can't change. I would leave it on the page and not try to workshop or edit it. By speaking it out to someone else, and hearing that feedback, then hearing me respond to another piece of writing, I realised I was just talking to myself. Read some Max Porter, and realised I feel the need for people to understand what I'm trying to say. I want to feel understood. So my writing sometimes can lean on the scientific. Trying to get across knowledge and learnings without allowing people to have this alchemical process begin within them because they have absorbed imagery that isn't head knowledge.
The novel that I am writing and will be for a while, I’m having fun with. But I'm seeing myself lean a little bit too much towards trying to make it into some philosophical fiction and trying to explain things a little bit too much. If I've learned anything from poetry and people explaining their poems, that shit fucking sucks. Shit sucks ass cheeks.
Through talking this out loud and through talking with other writers, it's helped me see the need to chop back the weeds and get shit back to its pure essence, letting it grow. What I'm doing right now, is verbal diarrhoea onto a page, getting all the ideas out. Then when the time comes, in August, in September, when autumn starts to come and nature starts to organize and chip away and starts to die, that's when I'll look at my crop that's grown and begin to chop that shit away and see what works. See what still has essence and still breathes life onto the page. Compared to what is me trying to mind talk instead of speaking to someone's heart. If I give people the answers to what's helped me, that's not gonna help anyone really, maybe for one scroll on a phone and a bit.
Yea that was cool, some motivational stuff, but that shit is wack. That stuff was good for a bit for me, but now I vomit hearing that shit. I need to have fun with this shit and play around and allow myself to be a kid and not make any sense, and start just
badbeebabadaboooooo
cut out a whole page, or rip out a page and doodle over a page. Scribble something in another language that doesn't make any sense. I'm being a little bit hard on myself, but my stuff is becoming a bit safe, not at all, my shi is amazing. I've grown so much. But I'm seeing it lean towards trying to explain instead of expressing a feeling. Nah that’s a complete lie wait I’m so good at that I'm being way too hard on myself. I'm getting very good at expressing myself. Sometimes I go into my natural mode of philosophical fiction and try to be a title and a philosopher.
“Yeah, I'll be there in a sec”
I lost feeling in that leg.
Um, yes. I am just a human bean. Not a fucking philosopher, and when I forget that, that's when my shit gets wack. But I am a fucking poet. Let me tell you that because that way of life is so much more fun. Oh my days that shi makes no sense and I love that. Let's read something beautiful and horrible.
[flicks page]
Ooo no.
[flicks page]
This yes. this little passage in Jay Electronica act one song;
“The handling of a heart
is a very delicate art
because it's paper thin.
Any relevant thoughts
that started out as a spark
could be a poisonous dart
that leaves a permanent mark
that's ice cold,
and the day that it burns in the dark
makes you never want to see her face again.
Tehe to the place I in
Lead me to the spaysh I in”
Jay Electronica is a god. Dayum we been going 27 minutes. Let's go.
Let's finish this off with, [flicks page] hahaha, we're not going to go into that.
[flicks page] Oh, actually to be fair, ahahha no that's too much for right now, maybe one day
let's read a little heartfelt poemmm,
badumbadumbadum
badumbadumbadum
careful of the katsune.
Where the fuck is this poem?
Te he to the Space shi in.
Look at this its a fucking, you can't even see it, armadillo jumping off a tree with lasers coming out its fucking eyes. Let's go with this one. This was written on Mercury's day. It's called;
I write motherfucking poetry. No, it's not, but it goes like this.
Where does it all go?
The sweat from two
held so tight
now the wind,
the wind blows between
tasting a misty finger
your palm, eyes closed
again and again,
the hands that once took the bus
waiting for sudden stops.
They overlap.
Overlap.
It's orange paint chips on my sleeve.
I brush them off.
No thoughts,
no thoughts.
The feeling hand
of this feeling, man
All this noise
with just one hand.
That was written by Eric the armadillo, and I want to read this one as well. This is beautifully painful to read and is perfect for the first degree of these thirty.
Feel like I might have read this already, but let's go for it. It was written on a Sunday.
You showed me.
You showed me
that tears could break.
Water falls from the bright sky,
fireworks.
Fireworks fly above
none the eyes see
stopping,
not stopping.
I thought the dream
when you said it,
that first look,
Poison Ivy wrapped around your shoulders,
orange trees swaying.
They've never done that.
Layers,
layers upon layers
that now know warmth
we’ll never be those kids again.
I wish,
I wish to unsee their heads
bouncing against the curb,
but not even the little crow.
The Little Crow
picks from the new shoot
growing.
It's growing,
lost in the dream of it all
[shows pic of a little bit bamboo shoot] beautiful.
Now, who do you know that fucking does this shit? I am actually weird, and I love it. I am here, sat amongst the trees, telling no one about my shit, but at the same time, the whole world is listening. I'm reading fucking poetry and sitting on shit and thriving.
What more is it to be said?
But skibbidi toilet,
yep
skibbidi
motherfucking
toilet.
That was episode Thirty One
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