fm Bandit

The boy’s ‘not a buddhist but admires strangeness’

This week I see Lukas thrice, which has been Holy for me; I have not approached the possibility of not going. I’ve decorated it with plans. I’m attached. Driving over the sleeping dragon, I was wondering if it’s wise to miss class for it. This deliberation did not seem to challenge the plan, as though the only solution involved manifesting Schrodinger’s Student.

I had a really good lunch with a co-worker who is pretty damn serious about astral projection. I think I blindsided him with my openness, and he invited me to a lecture. I said that I’d probably have time to go before I left for the valley, but it turns out that Lukas starts at 3. I also had to decline an invitation for a Zen service and lecture, but we resolved to go some Saturday. We got to talking about lectures, though, and we Sat through an Alan Watts lecture. It was a different experience. I tried not to get caught up in the narrative, but the Pete Seeger charm & cadence was irresistible at one point: the Atman is the which from which there is no which-er got me just like one of those sax solos on an Etta James track.

Oh, and there’s something hella Tangled Up In Blue about the place I looked for that Watts quote. Amy and Etta, fallen angels, have been recurrent and I too have been sitting lightly with mixed feelings about that. Tonight I drank really good Samovar tea and we both admitted that we don’t know how to pronounce Lychee. Last night I learned a previously-vanished friend was still alive and four of us talked about that–the nerdy quality of having only read a word in print. He said he did it especially with characters from books, and I didn’t ask him if he was one of those kids who couldn’t pronounce Hermione.

Also, “do we need higher standards of evidence when we study the paranormal?” & more importantly, what is the metric for a body of evidence’s height?

If I keep making the same mistakes over and over, am I approaching authenticity or stumbling consistently? How can I defend my flight from agency without being a good steward of my own which than which there is no whicher? I intend to take responsibility for self and its corresponding universe, but it seems like just another box.


nsfw, adorable f-bombs.

PPS: If the false self thrives on one’s defense against it, how does one trick themselves into authenticity?
It seems as though to avoid one’s false self is to create one.

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