getting home drunk

Trawling my journal this morning in search of anything approximating coherent, linear, sensical longhand narrative, i came across this, which could be an aphorism:

One of the fundamental things i know about getting home is it’s hard to do so when you’re drunk.

Insightful, no?

It goes on:

It’s fun to zig-zag your way around the streets when you’re 20-something, but as you enter the 30s you realise it’s lonely and cold outside, where you’ll most likely wind up if you don’t sober up and get home.

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displacing the shame of impotence with our old friend, awareness

In the thick of a days-long muse attack, i see now that i am drafting a memoir essay about, among other things, the neurosis behind impotency: stay tuned to miss out on the gory details when i bail out and publish under a pseudonym or in some dark corner of the internet under the guise of an immersive-text experiment that no one will care to find.

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To Be Coming Home

I have changed my plans again, this time to stay in Greece for a few more months because i have a sense of home here, now. Something shifted when i decided to stay, which wasn’t as much a decision as it was a relinquishment, a letting go of some idea i had about the future.

I was going to Thailand and India via Australia, China, Laos and a few other places in between: back to Australia to get Mulga Bill Massive, my poor neglected touring bike, so i could cycle around in search of another community.

But around the thought of leaving Greece there was a feeling of an anxiety, which fell away when i knew i wouldn’t yet have to go back through Istanbul, Dubai, Adelaide, just to get my bike and ride to Byron or somewhere. I need community, communion, and here i have it, now, so why leave? Leaving a community in Greece to go in search of a community elsewhere is like going into a shop with a dollar and asking to buy a dollar.

When i realised this, the anxiety fell away and relief emerged, bright and luminous as the stars appear to be when you get out of the city for the first time.

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Dorm Lyfe

I now have a six-bed dormroom to myself so i have setup a little meditation patch between the beds.

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There was an Italian guy here before who would return at 6 am to spend the day snoring sleep gas into the room.

So my new beeswax earplugs feel somewhat superfluous, but they smell nice and it’s interesting to meditate with earplugs because it makes it easier to focus on the aural sensation of the breath moving around the head.

I have resumed a regular meditation practice of usually 10–20 minutes twice a day.

During the sittings lately i have been having these wonderful clunk moments where suddenly my spirit seems to open right up and my body finally allows me to get in a deep, whole, centering breathe and a sense of peace fills the space thus created.

Throughout the day i feel a pull toward this space—a yearning to get back to it, but also a sense of attraction that comes from being always connected to it, as planets are connected by gravity.

It’s a wonderful place to be, and all the more empowering for having achieved it on the move at a guesthouse in Istanbul, where the energy is somewhat frenetic but, granted, peaceful also.

I could really move in here, as i settle in for the night with Elif Shafak on the eReader.

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