sharehome wanted for yogi and poet, east-coast Australia

feature image by Irissiel

I am a poet and yogi looking for a sharehome with creative soul-minded people. I was born and raised in Adelaide, moved to Melbourne for a career in literary publishing, then travelled half the world only to find mySelf in Australia at Chenrezig Buddhist Institute, southeast Queensland.

I’m a 33-year-old male studying transpersonal psychology in his spare time and practising a hermetic/heuristic form of eclectic spirituality based on teachings from Nature, spiritual masters, literary geniuses and musical prodigies. It’s all dharma if we choose to see it that way. I’m looking for a place to live where I can set up home for the longish term, with people who are on the spiritual path, somewhere between southeast Queensland and south-coast New South Wales.

I guess you could say I’m a semi-confused, half-recovered former hippy-careerist: I stopped using drugs in January 2017; my head half-spontaneously sprouted dreadlocks in 2015; my Saturn Return started in 2013; I quit my job and started travelling in 2011; I’ve been a seeker of mystical truth since birth in Adelaide, 1983.

I’m looking for a sharehome that would ideally be drug- and alcohol-free, but knowing the creative soul-minded community, I appreciate this is … well, idealistic. A home characterised by moderation in moderation would be ideal.

I am a man of open mind, heart and spirit who loves to communicate thoughtfully and explore emotional sensitivity for its creative and transformative beauty. I work hard at being the best man I can be, and I tend to expect nothing less from the people I share my time and energy with. So I’m looking for a sharehome of progressive, compassionate, intelligent and creative people who are working on themselves to make the world a better place from within.

I live a life of simple material pleasures and intricate spiritual ones ~ above all I value and pursue the evolution of Consciousness. I observe celibacy as a spiritual practice and identify as non-binary / gender-neutral. I am currently weaning myself off tobacco and caffeine, with a view to establishing a yogic vegan diet by the beginning of 2018.

I currently receive unemployment benefits with a temporary exemption to give me some time to recover from depression without having to look for depressing menial work (which I have done my fair share of throughout the years). I’m doing really really well in the mental-health stakes, and I look forward to being self-employed again as a poet and healer by the beginning of 2018 while I continue studying Eastern psychology at dharma centres on the east coast.

I value honesty, trust and open communication. I am allergic to passive aggression, manipulation and self-righteous indignation. I embrace the differing lifestyles of others and I expect the same in return. For example, I prefer to have the dishes done before bed, but I don’t berate myself or others when this doesn’t always happen. I’m one for having rosters and rules we can break for a laugh.

I am a clean but not-exactly-tidy person ~ I value order-in-chaos, and cleanliness, but would prefer to share a home that is lived in rather than a house that is always impeccably clean and tidy. I love to cook and share food with home-mates. I love adventure ~ camping, trekking, cycle-touring and learning how to eat native weeds without going the way of Alexander Supertramp. I studied permaculture in 2015, discovering that I have a heartfelt affinity for soil and compost. I love to garden and salvage materials from building supplies to coffee grounds.

I love talking shit and having a cackle over a cup of tea in the morning. I also love getting my meditation practice done before I emerge into the home so my moods are not hanging out everywhere. I’m far less moody these days, since I purged a lot of demons in January.

^^^I am, clearly, an essayist as well as a poet.^^^ I will probably post this on my blog later 😀

the two-way mirror of collective telempathy

the two-way mirror of collective telempathy

I wonder what it means
when someone simultaneously says what you say
and the context of what they say matches your experience,
not theirs.

I just finished a council-supported yoga class in the park near where I live, and it was the final class in the program, so there was a council guy there to check out how the program was going. Let’s call him Guy Council.

I did my (recently) usual thing where I be all unashamedly evangelistic about the psychological-healing power of yoga and I could read in his behaviour that he was interested and curious, but vaguely dubious. I have a huge amount of respect for people who indulge practices they are not familiar with (he’s into personal training and has done some yoga, but doesn’t practice regularly), despite their uncertainty about them.

There was a brief conversation between Guy and myself about how it’s really important for council to continue supporting the program, and then there was a brief conversation between the three of us, which I shamelessly dominated because I wanted to thank the Teacher, in front of Guy, for the classes (and for introducing me to numerology).

So the conversation moved from the subject of recently popular and hugely acceptable yoga to the timelessly unpopular and hugely esoteric so-called pseudoscience of numerology.

Teacher was on the way to another class and Guy was still interested, but now doing the cannot-compute frown. It’s difficult to make these leaps from the accepted to the unaccepted, the perceivedly rational to the probably irrational, at the best of times, but especially in the middle of a busy outer-urban street, where people are focused primarily on those other numbers ~ the numbers of the economic, not the esoteric.

I have no point to prove ~ I just wanted to say thanks, which I had done, so I said, “Okay, seeya guys.”

At the same time I said “seeya guys”, Guy also said “seeya guys”: I was fare-welling two people; he was fare-welling a single instance of “guy”.

I just find this utterly fascinating. It’s the sort of thing that’s been happening a lot lately, since I have been feeling more open to the shared streams of the collective Consciousness.

I want to call this telempathy, because it seems to me that Guy picked up on my words before I had said them, and reflected them immediately back to me.

What do you think?

could this kind of Joy even be real

in which I prostituted myself to my Self

On the way home from a transcendental numerology reading with Divine Jewel the other day, I met a photographer by the name of Bertrand Branchu.

On the way there I had been thinking, for some reason, Wouldn’t it be nice if I met a photographer someday, who could do some portraits for me.

I have thought this maybe once or twice in my life, the rest of time wallowing deep in my pride that I was the sort of person who didn’t need to have photographs at all, much less of myself ~ I thought this at the same time as understanding my memory was shot from all the ganja I used to smoke … such is life, and the nature of contradictions.

But this other day, after certain recent awakenings, I have been [feeling] so good about mySelf, so much alive, and so deeply and utterly and perplexingly grateful for existing as a human with conscious awareness and a halfway handsome face, that I thought, Ya know what, fuck it, I should celebrate this shit! I should get some portraits done, and show the world how great I am when I’m at my best.

And besides all that, I want some photographs that I can look at myself ~ I want a document of how good I feel, so that I can look at them, pinch myself, poke at the photographs and wonder, in awe, Could this kind of Joy even be real!?

It’s important to remember, when looking at these photos, that only a month ago I discharged myself from the psych ward. Psychosis IS, I repeat, psychosis IS NOT a permanent mental ill-ness, unless we believe it to be so.

bbps_1

one step forward, one step back ~ the posture of life

"You should go and hug yourself." ~~ Justin Bieber

“You should go and hug yourself.” ~~ Justin Bieber

bbps_3

stardust

wot

wot

bbps_5

heart-throat asana? may the truth spew forth

bbps_6

Platypus Mountain

bbps_7

may 心 bless our cotton socks

monday musings of/on the masticating machinations on/of the mega-ego

chew this cud baby,
and then spit it the fuck out:
swallowing other people’s shit is neither healthy nor wise

Mondays are supposed to be my Sabbath/Uposatha days and I’m supposed to be going inward, and writing from the soul is a way of doing that, because I will combine yoga with shamatha meditation in pursuit of samadhi, with long writing sessions and eventually I will be doing equally long sessions of analytic meditation, wherein many ideas are teased out before I hit the Staedlers or the Mont Martes.

I’m able to write more slowly now, even though I’m extra-ordinarily excited about doing this soul-writing course, with Jeff Brown no less.

This man has inspired me so much, and this course is going to be as formative as the creative-writing courses I did in Adelaide all those moons ago. My attitude has returned to something more original, and I’m glad I got the publishing-career aspect out of the way, the same as I got much of my rebellion … my misguided rebellion … out of the way early in my adolescence.

I am remembering this now: by late high school, when I perceived a lot of goodie-goodies going the way of the bottle or the way of the bong, I recall feeling glad that I had got this out of the way early, because by late high school I could already hold my drink, and my marijuana habit was well enough underway that no one really knew about it.

When I say I got this out of the way, I guess I was deluding myself, because what seemed then to be a moderate recreational practice was actually already a rather extreme and potentially dangerous habit. Nonetheless, I was a happy drunk and always have been, except when I’ve been a super-sad drunk, but never a punchy drunk. As for my ganja habit, it’s enough to say that I sincerely once believed that I was using ganja for fun, not to escape from anything.

I seem to have been blessed always and early with a strong constitution, both physical and psychological. Ruby Lucy (my resident naturopath and Chakradance sheila) was always vaguely and reluctantly impressed by my ability to maintain composure and eloquence in altered states of consciousness, and last night my friend Samwise (my resident expert in Christian theology and philosophy) concluded our quality Facetime with a comment about how I seem to have been able to jump off the deep end numerous times without going permanently insane.

He said, “Your sanity must run deep, because I’ve seen too many others jump off the deep end and never come back because they jump off without a leash.”

I was able to express to him that on some deep level, the presence of friends like him in my life are a big part of my leash.

On some deep (albeit temporary) level, we know our selves through reflections in others, and during times of wandering in the dark woods of the soul without an easily accessible leash back to my true self, it is remembering how others love me that I have come back ~ at least, that’s one mechanism I have discovered. When I can’t remember who I am because the Hairline Fracture has [h]opened into a Chasm of Chaos, I have been able to remember, at least, reflections in others, such as times when Samwise and I sat down at the Exeter to tease out the nature of manhood (which we concluded can be summed up with the word “responsibility”) over a few pints. That’s just an example, of times when I have sat down as Ryan Paine with Other Names to talk with other physical human beings called whatever.

When I was in the psych-ward emergency room feeling afraid that I would not wake up if I fell asleep, I did wake up, hugging my passport, drivers licence and Medicare card. Literally, I woke up in the foetal position, hugging my passport wallet. I didn’t fall asleep this way, I happen to know. I feel asleep with … oh yeah, I also had my bankcard … but I fell asleep with these three cards in my hand and my passport wallet in the backpack someone had grabbed for me as I was getting into the ambulance. In the ER I used some of the hospital’s “valium”, which seems to cause me to sleep walk. When I woke up hugging my passport and began the process of calling the nurse and shuffling my way to the ward in the best Ken Kesey impersonation of my life, I asked the guards if I had been violent or aggressive while I was asleep. I didn’t know – I had been fearing death by poisoning when I feel asleep, and, sadly, I do know the violence I am capable of. They all smiled at me and said, “No mate, not at all.” I guess they had been watching me as I scrounged around in my backpack in search of my passport wallet. Maybe I said something funny in my sleep like “Where’s my hamburger!?” Who knows.

Anyway. I do know who I am now, and something beauty-full about this knowing is that it’s a knowing that I am, for now, both the identity on my passport and everything that Ryan Paine is not. I both feel and think that this is a knowing OF, compared to a knowing ABOUT or AROUND.

I feel I am closer now than ever, to knowing the true nature of my Original Face, because just now the word “face” made me think of the word “interface”, which now reminds me of Thich Nhat Hanh’s idea that we “inter-are”.

Our human identities are an inter-face ~ a user interface (UI) if we want to go full matrix on this: our human identities are our earth-facing constructions, the complex of beliefs we have accrued about who we are in human form, so that we can tell the time for long enough to make use of this, our fortunate human rebirth; our UI is not something to be ashamed of or afraid of when we begin learning (with our human mind) that we are also something else entirely as well.

Although, with that said, if you do get an opportunity to stare directly at your UI with the full force of your true and actual Consciousness, I do highly recommend it, because the way I see it we have two options:

  1. continue suffering the low hum of misery that comes from suspecting our human IDs are not our whole constitution, without having the courage to actually face the false beliefs of our poor little ego

or

  1. face the music and understand that although our ego plays a demonic orchestral shit-storm of chaos a lot of the time … of ignorance, greed, hatred, fear and shame … our Consciousness plays a song so beautiful that you will never, can never, look back

You can’t see the back of your head yeah? In the same way, you can’t see the face of your receding ego once you have stared fully into and said, as you have yearned to do for so long, “Fuck you arsehole.”

Note the absence of an exclamation mark (which a dear friend Kathy Kitchen once called an explanation mark), and understand that to me, this kind of internal self-expression is far more an explanation than it is an exclamation: when you confront your ego and say just something like this, it understands something like what Justin Bieber said:

My mamma don’t like you,
and she likes everyone
[something something]
so you should go and love yourself

It doesn’t have to be an angry missive like mine was when I was doing the yoga of the perceptually challenged at the stupa of enlightenment, but it does have to be assertive. I just happen to have a lot of with-held anger, and that’s okay.

It’s true, of course, and don’t get me wrong / don’t project your beliefs onto me please: I understand that we need our ego, our human interface, for the time being. But once you’ve seen your ego for all that it is, in all its heinous glory, something fundamental shifts and suddenly, as if by magic, you become the master.

That’s all for now. I’ll do some more meditation now before I start on the next post, because this morning has already been a massively insightful Monday, and if I don’t at least try to process some of it internally I will wind up in the loony bin again, which, touch my wooden noggin, I actually wouldn’t mind ya know … I made some killer friends in that place.