genderwild mystic; diary #8 / The Golden Bookcase

I have a golden bookcase of books. Not literally. I mean the books themselves are golden, and if they were stored in an actual golden bookcase, the case would barely be noticed, for the wisdom shining from the books within it.

This golden bookcase is on my desk, in my office. It is only fifteen or so books wide at the moment, but these are precious books, favourite books, those books that I know if studied from all possible angles, in all possible combinations, would reveal all we need to know about creating heaven on Earth.

There is a surplus of wisdom in this world. There is wisdom everywhere you look, if you look correctly. Oh, the tiresomeness of ‘revelations’ that folk proclaim and write about and sell millions of copies on the back of! And here I am with my own tiresome revelation! Everything we need to know is here already, in the wealth of experience we have already had, and already read.

Two days until January -Veganuary- begins. What role do I have in this senseless celebration of the neoliberal capitalist turning of the yearly wheel? I have nothing to celebrate except my wonderful presence on this wonderful plane, and in this delight of biodiversity on Earth! Everything else is bullshit and dust…

But there is one thing. Again and again and again, I am lonely. I seek my brethren. I am a lonely bull elephant, wondering in what remains of my forest home. I don’t seek other bulls. I seek to be welcomed by the matriarchy, the herd of females. Even as I practise sexual restraint, I would like a little polyromance, a little polyintimacy -for these do not explicitly need sex to flower. A hug, a smile, a nice date out somewhere in this crumbling empire that surrounds us; some lovely and interesting female company to muse on the decline of capitalist civilisation with, and a signal that I am at least a little understood.

For now I am held together –well gathered– by my practises of restraint and renunciation -a vegan diet and sleeping on the hard floor (which is strangely comforting)- as well as the golden bookcase.

The first lines of one golden book read like this:

‘A way that can be walked is not The Way                                                                                      A name that can be named is not The Name’ 

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