Next chapter?

extract from autobiography 'Skeleton', february 2020. My processing is all in realtime, and I haven't gone back to edit. When I do, if I do, I will only be adding addendums, not changing. Because the past me might be flawed but this is an endless process. Me now is not better. Back then, I was soewhat floored and sullen after the silence of not spending that Christmas with my auntie and my cousins. Since the fires, we are now smack bang in the middle of the Covid19 panic. We supposedly have it under control, but there is talk of lowering restrictions to help the economy. We haven't seen the real economic impacts yet, and I haven't seen a single sick person, though I hear more sirens than usual throughout the day. Whilst this isn't going to be about Covid19, it will be about the analogue psychic changes and breakthroughs happening along with the crisis. I have changed as a person. I'm more ready to own my side of things. I always was willing but I just wasn't aware yet of what my side was. And what better time to write about my own father, as the Saturnian towers crumble and their debris destroys and blocks out the sun on its way down. No better time to make oneself small, and naked in the cleansing waters of this Great Deluge of the mind. Here we all are powerles and trapped in our own bubbles like scomo's civic children who need to behave if parliament will be allowed to resume.

I've been treating my immune system with Chinese medicinal mushrooms, and they just so happen to have a powerful effect on the psyche. So processing trauma has been off the charts oracular. I've getting prophetic dreams every night about what I need to do. And realisations about the stuff I write about which I can't keep up with. So hear I am my onion tear clothing shed, standing naked before a simple stream of consciousness automatic writing to get it all down before I go outside to finish my banishing jar ritual. At the end of this piece of writing today, I'll tell you what I put in the banishing jar. But I haven't totally decided yet. This is the process.

So where were we? We were looking in two different directions from the same child's head. My father 'forgot' to enroll me in primary school after kindergarten. Because I could already read from being home schooled, they allowed him to enrol me halfway through the year, skipping creche. I strongly suspect to try to advance me in some intellectual narcissist fantasy, as he was also playing me Spanish language tapes as I went to sleep at night.

In kindergarten, I excelled at some niche activities, but on the whole was the lowest achiever in the class. I was particularly bad at making fingerpainting butterflies. When the hot teacher who I wished was my mother hung all the fingerpaintings up on a line, mine would be a ball of dripping brown.

Being dropped halfway through the year of grade 1 at another school where I knew no one was the 'nam of self-directed activities. It was explained to me to 'follow the contract activites'. I was given a pencil, which I had never used for in that way, and was shown some posters on the wall with instructions that made no sense. For a few weeks, maybe even months, I was left to wander around the classroom, alternating between pretending to be working, getting yelled at, and asking the dumbest kids in the class for help. The self-pretzeling abstraction was like being at home with an alcoholic. Eventually, I was deemed somewhat mentally retarded for the class, and taken out of that school and put into creche at another primary school.

The next year, I still had a learning disability with mathematics, but managed to make a friend who let me copy her work, and then when it was explained to me one-on-one, I understood immediately. I went on to win a Tasmanian Young Achievers award for mathematics. I got a six-year scholarship to a school my father didn't allow me to attend, because it was Catholic. Then I hit puberty and crashed completely.

I have done many, many years of study, but it's only now that I'm learning to enjoy learning. I've been working with Carol Sanford's Regenerative Thinking principles etc 1, then 2. Whilst its a fundamental shift, I am noticing immediate remediations, including the birth of this web-site journal. For me right now, it's all about dropping into a state where I know so little, I can't immediately produce a product, and slowing down and enjoying the process of change, rather than having an end goal. All there is is a highest principle, of quality of life, which for me is about learning and living together with all other beings. My early experiences were lucky, in the sense that they enabled me through abuse, neglect and trauma, to never fully engage with a system that privileged academia over living, and knowledge over relationships.