I had a night with beautiful vistas: in dreamland: having a quiet and fine New Year’s Eve together with Veer without media, chewing on half a hat of Waardstool together and you sleep like a log later, even if a bombardment is still raging outside. Dreaming with visions full of beautiful landscapes. 2023 will be the year when 10 years of nomadic existence comes to an end for me. Actually, my whole life has been a nomadic high: moving from place to place, and until 2 years ago I had moved 20 times, but we have thrown the gear on that last two years by having no place at all. Wow, that was intense, and like everyone else, 2022 was a year showing its prickly self in full – but the difference between a Sage and a normal human being is that the latter experiences everything either as a curse or a blessing, while for the Sage, only challenges exist.
A Sage cannot Complain! Because you can only complain if you are cursed, if Bad luck exists. I picked up this perspective from Castaneda’s books as a young teenager. Then I went to live on my own for 5 years, squatting, without any income there I had to take care of myself. That was pretty extreme poverty, but I never complained about it even for a moment, and I noticed this year that my father had created some story in his head about me running away from home when I was 16 and immediately getting a generous benefit from the government. In his psyborg view, that was the only reason to explain my lack of complaints. So this false construct, this projection cage – has played a role in the background all my life. But you can’t complain about that either – it is a consequence of choosing this path, which is rudimentarily different from the energetic configuration they create model citizens with.
Having to deal with complainers is, I think, the hardest thing for me in this life. I myself am writing another thick volume of poetry under the greatest possible pressure and that volume is of a high standard, which is the impeccable thing to do. But then you have to deal with the kind of people who still live in a script, often in this case the script of the ‘recognised poet’ who is allowed to put in a meagre performance every so many years because he is supposedly in a fund. That whole idea of being in a fund, after which each book is allowed to see life without criticism is pretty much the ultimate form of entitlement, and my perspective is radically different: each collection has to be better than the last, full stop. And what do you see: those script dwellers start gossiping behind your back, because it is not their laziness that is the problem, no, your vision is the vision of a monster.
Gossip away – you really don’t have a Sage with it. That publisher’s supposed success is your projection, not mine. I care about literature, not success. But what you see predominantly in the world of literature is that entitlement is the norm, just as the entitlement of ‘mental illness’ knew to become the norm in the Western world, a few labels with shadowy explanations from which you derive rights to behave lazily.
In the real world such rights do not exist.
Kind regards and have a great 2023!
Martinus, Mierlo, 01-01-2023