The Shellfish Me

It’s 4am in the morning. I have so many books I could read. So many books I’m writing. I wonder? Do I/we need so many books? As excercise in Zen/Buddhism i could stop Now. All books I am working on, and believe me they are many, are both extensions of mySelf and distractions from the Real.As I build up my own output/ego i cannot be exactly in the Now. I am distracted in two ways. I’m always tinking (about mySelf, my book, my exhibition, my Talk, my article, my intervention). It’s all about Me. There’s irony here. Projecting that me is supposed to make me ‘be’ somebody. Alan Watts would have said ‘You already are somebody!’ Not just me, everybody is, somebody, somebody important, it’s that miracle of life thing, the miracle there is any life thing. The whole self-promotion projection thing ispreventing me from just Be-In (This Moment).I don’t do important things like ask others how they feel, what can i do for you type inquiries. Prepare food. pay bill. go round and help someone else etc. It’s all about me. Selfish me.

I did the drawing of Old Tom O’Scrollty long time ago. I must admit that’s really me rather than DW altho maybe it’s he too? The sketch fits this writing. A man so up his own and dinging a bell.His hands are swollen like mine used to be once with arthritis. The irony is. (I think) my writing and drawing- my ‘art’ is like a reflection of me and a catharsis and a sharing with others, you.So, like Dieter Rot’s auto bio stuff, it’s ‘art’. But I need to become a better cook and a gardener and care more for others.