Introducing the wee selfie

Introducing the wee selfie

Let’s say, that we come to a place where our seeker’s game is to unpick a selfie (a selfie, as you may know, is not the modern term for mobile aggrandisement, oh no, a selfie is a wee creature that lives in yer heed, and makes oot that it’s you, absolute masters at it, these wee selfies).

Anyhow, if you’ve ever picked a winkle, you know that first find your winkle, and then, you need a pin. You flip off the winkle’s protective cover, and spear the winkle with the pin. (Vegan winkles are also available from any coastal Greggs).

Anyhow part II, the wee selfie is a bit like a winkle, in that it hides away in the cranium shell, and hopes to fuck you don’t get that it’s been fooling you all these years, giving you the impression that all that chit-chat in the head is yer wee selfie, and when you look out at the world, that’s the wee selfie too, playing lighthouse keeper, and when someone has a go at you, it’s the wee selfie that feels offended, and how very dare they.

Of course, we don’t have to do much at all to be free of the wee selfie, just to see it, to stalk its attempts at playing you, and to see this so clearly that you piss yourself at the fact that you’ve been taken for a ride for decades. That’s a long old ride.

Anyhow part III, having said all that, we’re not born wee-selfie-stalkers, but all we need to do is just start, observe, watch wee selfie like a hawk. You already know its act, so just watch it. No need to think, or speculate, or any of that. Observe, and develop your skills of observation.

A quick stalking tip: wee selfie is most exposed in the brightest light. When you get criticised, or made fun of, or you’re angry about something, that’s wee selfie’s cue to do a dance – as you.

More to come.

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What’s your game then?

What’s your game then?

At Christmas, as a lad – if I was lucky – I’d get a compendium of games as a pressie. It would contain such wonders as draughts, dominoes, Ludo and Snakes & Ladders, I just loved it. All in one box too! Endless fun. My main game, in more ways than one, opponent was my older brother, and now and again he’d let me win; a spot of encouragement, you know.

Should the day be especially rainy we’d play game after game like some rolling living room Olympics, each game requiring a different approach, skill set, mindset and strategy. No point playing draughts in a Ludo hat.

Now, this brings me to a root question on the seeker’s journey, namely, What game am I playing? To be swiftly followed by its partner-in-crime, And why?

Every game has its end game, namely, the objective and the criteria for meeting that objective. In Snakes & Ladders, for example, you had to get to the top before the other player. The criteria for that was to have your little plastic counter land on the final square precisely, by throwing exactly the number of steps required, no more, no less. This ruse, a kind of built-in guardian at the gate, would often get in the way of reaching the last square, and see you sliding all the way back to the beginning, for as you got closer, the snakes got bigger and longer.

So, when it comes to seeking, and reflecting on what game you’re playing, you might consider the objective you have set, which sometimes we know, sometimes we don’t, and sometimes we fool ourselves with a facade objective which isn’t really the one behind the scenes pulling our strings.

For example, maybe you seek enlightenment? Maybe you seek awakening? Maybe you seek peace? Wholeness? Ease? And in each case, you may look under the cover to dis-cover what you mean by those words, to see if you have any sense of the end game criteria you might be using (such as the last square on the board), or whether you recognise that actually, you don’t really know what it will be like, and are largely going off reports from others, teachers, books and so on.

This is worth knowing, that we have set off on a journey, and although we may know the name of the end game, but have no clue what it might look and feel like. Nothing wrong with that, by the way. How could we possibly know beforehand?

But still, it’s helpful to know we don’t know, because we may be pretending that we do know, and that isn’t so helpful.

Ok, enough for now. 🙂 More later.

That’s Wyrd.

That’s Wyrd.

Ok, let’s shift tack and open up a different space with Wyrd, an Anglo-Saxon notion of destiny, perhaps with deeper connotations of strangeness and the mysterious qualities at work.

The sensing of Wyrd is also a peculiar affair, and like many aspects of ‘spiritual work’, it is not a case of ‘The 7 Steps to Wyrd’, but more about creating the conditions within which sensing Wyrd comes about, such that one day, you’re not in Kansas anymore (other towns are available), you’re in Wyrd.

We might, for example, consider the unseen influences at work on and through us, at least those that scientists know about. Take gravity, for instance, how conscious are you of gravity’s influence every second of your life? Not much probably. Why bother? I mean, would it help? 🙂

And there are many influences permeating our existence in this unseen, unnoticed fashion.

So, entertain the possibility, that there’s also a wyrd influence at work, acting as an unseen medium through which you live. Wyrd is bound up with your life, intimate with every nook and cranny, every action taken, every circumstance, no matter how seemingly ‘trivial’, is an expression of this.

Play with the possibility of another game in play, a wyrd game – no need to believe or not believe.

Dancing with tears in our eyes.

Dancing with tears in our eyes.

The forces of destiny are subtle threads. They are not tweets from @destinycalling.

To be consciously permeated through with destiny is to actively live destiny.

For most of us, we lived as if in a shell. Isolated, independent, yet buffeted by circumstances, to which reactions fell like mid-Autumn leaves on a blowy day.

To be non-conscious of the permeation through with destiny is to passively live destiny without knowing it. A dance in which you can’t see the partner, unaware of the pushes and pulls, a lonely existence feeding on whatever ‘meaning’ shows up to soften the dance that’s no real dance.

You know you’ve been dancing to the same tunes since childhood. As me mam used to say, ‘She knows you know.’

Destiny calling, Destiny calling

Destiny calling, Destiny calling

Destiny seems such an old-fashioned idea. Pooh-pooh’d by many as stuff and nonsense. And maybe they have a point, it’s all just thought anyway isn’t it? At least that’s the recourse of apparently awakened materialists.

Weather, we can see, but climate, that’s macro, needs a special thingy on the telescope to see that. And as for atmosphere, or mood. Hmmm.

So much of this revolves around the notion of control, controller/s, the scope of control, the nature of control, within and without.

Were this life a ship, yes, we steer left and right, but the wind, the waves, the crew. We’re in for a bumpy ride.

For some destiny is a dance, and to take part, it would help to know the dance, the rhythm, the moves. When we don’t, the dance passes ghostly by us with barely a whisper. I say barely, because the whispers are ever there, and not necessarily quiet.

When you look at your life in the round, over the long haul, you might detect certain themes, certain challenges, certain puzzles and hurts, certain wishes and regrets, certain sadnesses, certain bright lights, that even now, especially now, draw you towards them.

But surely this is fantasy. Well, maybe check next week, same time. Or the week after. Check in with Destiny calling. She’s patience impersonified, bless her. Open your arms just a little, get out the way, just an inch, and see what happens. An inch is more than enough.

Grandfather, granddaughter

Grandfather, granddaughter

I was in the local library this week. An old chap was in there with his granddaughter of 6 or 7 years old. He was looking at books from the New In section and she, well, she wanted to help.

She picked up a book without looking at the title, held it to her grandfather and said, ‘How about this one?’ He turned it over to see the cover and said, ‘Oh yes, your mother will like this one,’ which put a big smile on her face. She reached for another in the same fashion, and held it out, ‘And how about this one?’ ‘Very interesting,’ he said, ‘but I’m just looking at these other books for now.’ Not to be brushed off, she immediately picked up a third, held it out and said, ‘Am I on the right road?’

What a lovely question, I thought. How many times throughout my life have I wondered the same, ‘Am I on the right road?’