Friday, 31 May 2019
Trying to sell the paint ...
And the worst part, it's working. I'm actually starting to run out of the tiny fuckers, and am more than halfway through paying off the investment debt. Not to want to jinx myself or anything now, but - have you met me? The first thing I do when I start to succeed in anything (publically, financially), is hit the brakes and hide. I've stopped trying to set up Etsy, run a blog site, run the adjacent Insta account ... Leave me alone, I don't want to do this. I've started scratching my palms again, which is one of the first indicators I'm getting stressed.
On one of the lectures Drej's giving, the 'witness of self' was debated, or presented or whatever, the concept that when you're forced into a moment during which your soul would suffer, you simply detach yourself and become your own witness, not directly participating in the event, but indirectly with a sound reliable buffer -your own, morally sound self - in front of you. This is actually what Zen monks told the Japanese aggressors when coming down hard on China, and the evaluators of Holodomor, telling them to set aside their pussy ass feelings and ignore the suffering they would be receptive towards as human beings, watching farmer families starve to death for the ill-fated agricultural implementation, and do their job. Himmler carried Bhagdavadghita around, in which this is also mentioned, and taught the SS officers how to detach from the horror they are sent to inflict and they'll be fine.
It would be all to easy, wouldn't it? To stop scratching my palms, prevent myself from having nightmares, focus on the selling until I make enough money we can go on a neat vacation ...
But then I wouldn't be able to feel the lot of it. The anxiety and discomfort, sure, but ... pride, sense of achievement, sense of learning, ambition, new skills, even to a degree new people that have been contacting me? ... I don't want to be a witness to my own self. Sanity is overrated :D
Thursday, 30 May 2019
Wednesday, 29 May 2019
Tuesday, 28 May 2019
Sunday, 26 May 2019
Hard to believe, I know, but yes, I wore sandals all day today and it didn't rain, it didn't snow, it didn't hail and the wind wasn't blowing so hard it ripped the wings off hornets. It was just a normal sunny late-May day. I'm shocked.
Thursday, 23 May 2019
Monday, 20 May 2019
Busy bees
Came within 3 or 4 ft of distance to a beehive today. This is technically the closest I've ever been. Admittedly, it was rather frightful.
I am in deep awe of bees, they are a majesty of species, organization, functionality and effectiveness, especially under improvisation. But they can also be as scary as fuck. Even though the General is fully clad in expensive beekeeper gear, they ALWAYS find a way to get him. Got him in the lower tummy the other day, because the belt zipper was just a bit undone the previous time. They stung him in the only microscopic spot he had today: a little bit of where the trousers met the shoe. At the start, they didn't mind us, but once he kept checking the honeycombs closer and closer to the queen, and we're talking honeycombs so covered in worker bees that when he took them out bees literally oozed off, the bodyguards have had it and then were hitting me like pellets. I could feel them coming at my head at full speed. Those that landed on the veil in front of my face were viciously trying to sting me. I had to go stand in the tree and bush branches several times, but I was already marked, so every time I came out, the guards were on me again. After a few minutes of being too nervous, I decided this was enough of a lesson for one day, and left. To think that once you're marked the guards would follow you until they got to you, at times for half a mile, the idea of not wearing protective gear is absurd. I don't know how some people simply don't find them problematic and dare approach. You can see when the guards become alert. Not right away, they 're just bothered at the start, and we fume them, so they're calm. But once the guards think you're pushing your luck, trying to rob them, the whole sound of the hive changes. It's surreal. It's one of those 'don't fuck with tiny fuzz-balls. They are so smart it's scary.'
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