brain butter VIII: have-to?

Less things! A day is full without our piling on top of it.

Imagine … Fuck!!

To say to myself, “You must write today… because one of the things I’ve determined to do is write… every day… because writers write…”

?

But quickly look, I am “me” and “I” all in the same thought, above! How funny.

And now, I write, “quickly”, as if there is yet another need.

The problem arises here, that in saying to myself “must”, writing becomes then a chore.

Which it certainly is not when it is happening at its peak pure form: Style seems not born of force; funly done whatever-it-be, appears not attached in any way, to feelings of have-to-get-it-done.

And if I do not say to myself, “You must write today”, inevitably I do anyway – whether in an Evernote or text, or scratch-style on a piece of paper.

So that, maybe, is the point: that something I like, if allowed, is done whether planned or not. So writing appears now – this morning – as an automatic reflex plaything, under rising sun with soft breeze wandering about skin; through all these things I’m aware of, and many more I’m not, I simply maybe am – being as never before and never again.

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Do you understand?

No matter. What in your own fancies pull you in and journey you along, do not need to be “understandable” by anyone else. What quiet creative advances living has in mind for us do not need cheerleaders or critics; or if they do happen to butt in – these cheers and critiques – then fine, but these calls mean nothing to the fingers that dance along. Nothing!

Your mom and I and her parents are going to go on a Sunday morning ride, to do who knows what and look at we’re not quite sure yet. You are going along with everything too, in your mom’s tummy, as everything is going along with us, as well.

 

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As an adjunct perhaps, following are some words from before-but-not-afar-it-seems (an afternoon reminiscience)…

Anti-diet hickle pickle – a freewrite on deconstructing the establishment, firestorms to perceptual mongerhood:

Can’t help but let thinkee think, today…

Maybe it’s the sweet combo of oj, coffee, gelatin, taurine, and theanine;

maybe it’s the CO2 increasals, stemming from consistent playing with a paper bag and nose breathing;

maybe it’s the coconut oil all over my head and face.

The lot of it in the soup pot, stirring, the fire burning hot; the currenting current. Ah!

 

It’s talked about a lot on these forums: manage the stress monster.

Damn thing ain’t so scary though – when you meet herm close, shake herm ‘and, dance a little with the little doogie.

Keep coming back to the “Sipping water from the fire hose of information” as a reasonable explanation for why it seems people “nowadays” are so much more stressed out. Just can’t do it, that is, sip reasonably without destructive flooding – information flying in every direction, not just in our faces. “Sink or swim” doesn’t seem appropriate as an adage; nor does “dodge or die.” Can’t really swim in these constantly storming waters!

I’m feeling an addition to the ever-changing religion that’s our zenso, the anti-religion, of : “Read less, create more.”

Along the same lines as the adage “confidence over consumption.”

So much good chatter over at the Ray Peat forum on health matters, yet invariably, too much computer reading of any sort and I feel worse about my health. The more I read about health and try to do shit to help myself, the more I feel stressed. Perhaps it comes as no surprise that my next self reminding nugget of gold is:

Just get out of your own way and let the amazing, embodied [,emblazoned] process do its thing.

Sip not from the firehose.

Let the damn thing run where it wants – maybe amuck – what with social media this and computer articles that. Fuck you, to all such noise.

I’m going to go create my own roadshow, outside, in the comfort of the shade trees yonder, with the singing birds and dancing flying insectimals betwixt.

I can’t help but wonder, that so much of the self-imagined (i.e. “perceptual”) noise, is adjustable – dare-I-say eliminatable – by acting in accordance with the Watts-ianistic we already are, all that we need to be.

I am enough, and so are you; we are perfectly whatever the hell we are, right here right now. It is in this accepting glow, that flowers of I-know-not-where can grow.

Talking with my dad today about health, the seven-five years young robustian proclaimed, “Don’t worry about me tonight for dinner, I’ll just walk down the street to taco bell.” Whuuuuuuut?!

Following my condemnable response to his plan, he proudly stated, “I’ve lived 75 years and am healthy, eating plenty of shit along the way, so I must be doing something right.” And further, “I’m not going to get all paranoid about everything  I eat because then I’ll be afraid to eat anything. If I want a couple tacos, I’m going to eat a couple tacos…”

The man, with his imagination still feverish to the touch, has a point.

Stress is stress. Stressing about what to do, has probably just as many inflammatory ramifications as eating shitty. Damn, the fire hose is immutable, and here we are getting sick trying to lap up an infinity of opinions, literally drowning, sick, weary, and lacking any gumption; no wonder we feel bad sometimes. Opinion-nation – and so few of them are our own!

The fire hose culture is ubiquitously here to stay, yet we can choose another way: defining our own life, creating our own rules (“anti”), and swimming in pools of our own manifestations. The fire hose will continue on, but stress does not have to be normative. In rebellious play and playful rebelliousness, our lives can take on a kind of journey into the mountains of our own learning. Letting it, tathātā, body-mind-environment, habits we feel good about, go on there merry way for a bit – without constantly checking and rechecking, assessing, and thinking we need anything other than what we already have.

I may decide then, here, now, to sip not from shit, but dive – headlong into feeling what seems to be, this wine, and pour out that which opposes a love of it.

Love of other life and loving life in all its wonderful forms, reverentiality in act(s), living, and maybe a roof in any form, plus the ability to move and create. Perhaps a sun-keep-shining and the great, beautiful medicine of spending time outside. You know, I guess just being. Cultivating simple joys as daily tickets. And confidence in this – whatever this happens to be, to you, to us. With each other.

Fuck you screen; I’m off to shower and smile and drench the rest of my day in PMA.