Ch’i disturbed

MARCH 14 03 – 7:10pm Oracle: #115, Wei Ning (Not yet peaceful):

Following ch'i's turbulent movements, one is unable to realize peace oneself.

I might have hoped for a better oracle, but was resigned that it would reflect my mind perfectly. Yes, not yet peaceful. Transitory scattering, the mind that knows ch'i stands apart from the swirl of emotions, simply pointing it out. I spend more time standing apart from my life these days. This oracle is a reflection of what it is easy to sink into now, through a constellation of slight influences magnified by a turbulent mind.

It is easy to know oneself, less easy to live with oneself.

We are all a part of a zone of influence, what affects us, what we affect. But what is more important is what we do not allow to affect us.

There is excitement, I follow it with joy in my heart. There is disappointment, yet knowing it was not right. And yet, what may come from opening this door. Yesterday the Yi advised not to expect much today, I didn't and saw its point, now the Yi predicts for Sunday a glorious expression of destiny, followed by a dynamic push upwards. So what meaning then the Lingqijing today at 7:10pm?

Only yesterday I was telling Lionel I do not trust the Lingqijing as much as the Yi, yet I respect its hard talking and beautifully poetic situations. One day: trapped in a treehut in a flood and it's pouring down. Not much you can do right now. Another day: A lonely face behind a darkened window, this man will one day be recognised like the flash of a blade in the night, and who passing by this window suspects such a man is behind that pane?

I got that oracle one twilight. I was sitting on my dusty cushion, lonely, lost in myself, lost like a man who was once great but so long ago his gravestone has crumbled. Wondering what had become of myself. I reached over and threw the spirit tokens on the floor and assembled the trigraph. I have that page marked by a turned over corner, rare for me to so deface a book, but it is an important oracle for me (#10). Its verse reads:

Like the dust ever accumulating, he has long awaited the hour;
In the darkened window, amid loneliness, who knows of him?
When the moment evolves, those bearing swords look to each other;
Gaining profits and attaining fame always have their time.

And this was the first time I think I took the Lingqijing seriously as an oracle. Still with the words in my mind, clutching the book in one hand, I spontaneously rose and walked to the window to see the last of the day disappear into the coming night. People passed by, briefly glancing my way, and a tear came to my eye as the words of the verse settled into me like the lapping of a lake, and I realised the oracle was speaking to me.

So now, I am not quite at peace, and I must recognise it. But it is merely a transitory effect.

Certain specifics are a part of the multiverse, crude to mention them. But people love tittle-tattle.

So, what it boils down to is: who the hell am I?

Identity is a jester's game.

To some, I am seen as a wandering Zen monk. To others I just sunk into myself and am a loner. Others perceive me as a guy who always seems to show up at the really cool parties, knows everybody worth knowing, and am a man deserving of some hard-won respect. So who am I if I am all of those?

I am more myself than I have ever been. In the pub last week surrounded by office girls on a Friday night, big guy into the 'What do you do?' line of discussion, now he's told me he's an accountant. He won't give it a rest, I told him I was a writer so he comes back 'What do you write? Who are you?'. This kind of conversation does not appeal to me.

'I don't give a flying fuck who I am, d'you think I'm going to sit here spouting over the side to someone I just met in a pub?' I said to him loudly.

'I just want to know who you are, you're denying your self, you're not being authentic.'

I stared at him for a second, thinking I could let the conversation go that way, but spontaneity decided for me and I leant over and grabbed the feller by his expensive shirt and dragged his face in close to me. I raised my voice: 'You wanna know who I fuckin' am I'll tell you who I fuckin' am I'm the guy who's holding your fuckin' shirt right now asshole. Is that authentic enough for you? This is what I fuckin' write, this is what I do. Is it clear enough for ya?'

The girls were getting freaked, and I'd been such a pleasant guy up until then. Turns out the geezer understood where I was coming from and insisted on lighting my cigarette like Sidney Falco to J J Hunsecker in The Sweet Smell of Success – 'Match me Sidney…'

To write about life you have to include all of it, and drop the pretence of being a good person (not that anyone who's ever met me would think otherwise). What's more important: how you're seen or what you are?

This is what I am.