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If this is your first visit to SoSuave, I would advise you to START HERE.

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NorwegianDJ's journal of personal growth


Master Don Juan
Dec 13, 2010
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Fvck Yeah!!!!
Norwegian, my man, you probably don’t remember me, but I remember that we joined this forum about the same time some 10+ years ago.

How is it going? What are your prioritize these days?Can see that you kept up the journal where I failed.

What words of wisdom do you have to share after 10Y+ on the forum?



Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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Aiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiai ai. aiiissh.

I am hurting. Not particularly much, to be honest. But I am letting go of a dream.. and it's tender. I just got a little caught up, you know? Made a little world of my own. I don't know. I had this experience. We had a meeting. This confluence of interest, affection, attention, and joyful vibration.

"It's just the festival."

And she is right. As we walk to find a spot by the water, she tells me that she is falling in love with someone she met this week. I only had 10 days to build my castle in the sky, so I didn't come crashing down hard.

It is not your dream that must die, but your sense of opportunity that must re-awaken.

A potential that never existed. A dream in the truest sense. The death of desire. The mirage of a home, taken away.

In the ruins, there is so much to appreciate.
The steadiness of friendship. Of relating with less pretenses. To be a peer. A human.
I was so ready to just jump into the pool. I added to the hands in play. Ah, you know? What if...
I hug myself. Like a sheltered dog, eyes reflecting innocent wonder.
My feet return to reality. I see the sharp edges that prevent me from melting.
I am vulnerable again.


In our ecstasy, I got to share the core of what I look for in relationship. This sacred cradle.

"Find someone that puts wind in your sails."

"Set your life on fire.
Seek those who fan your flames."

I call out to her from the top of the bunker, "Juliette, my Juliette! Come to me!"
We're on an island festival in Copenhagen. It's the fourth day, a Saturday. This tiny bunker on the hill, next to the stage.
I was so happy. I am surrounded.
All the loneliness, the infinite hours going out alone, seeking shelter, seeking harbor. By now, it's summer and I've forgotten how tough it was to get here. My life started tilting in April(?) when I met my Heartbeat in Copenhagen. Steady ground. Kind eyes. Precious, in fact..

In my Ayahuasca ceremony, I saw how my life could bloom. It requires me to be gentle and open. To tread lightly. To re-awaken.

It’s dark because you are trying too hard.
Lightly, my child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.
Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.
Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.

So throw away your baggage and go forward.
There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet,
trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair.
That’s why you must walk so lightly.
Lightly my darling,
on tiptoes and no luggage,
not even a sponge bag,
completely unencumbered.”

― Aldous Huxley , Island

A distrusting Avoidant.
Distrusting the world, trusting myself. Distrusting others and keeping faith to myself.
I am becoming trusting of the world. It's people have me more entangled.

I am remembering my own magic.
I am to seek this magic and to cultivate it.
To open myself back up to the miracle.
The rest will fall into place.
And so it shall.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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You should write a book. Get it published, so you can speak to others about your experiences. To be honest, it'd be a lot more rewarding for you than spending what I can only assume is an inordinate amount of time, crafting these posts on a forum.

You could definitely reach a much bigger audience than you do here.
Coming here to write is a terrifying act.
It always starts off poorly. It has to spill across the page to even be released. Jittery and bold and discontinuous. Immature and indelicate. So it's lovely to write for an audience, it provides me with a perspective to write from and imagined persons to write for.
I like the first draft nature of my journal. It's rough, but it gets written and posted.
There is, however, an element of perfectionism that disturbs the whole process. An attachment to the words, in past and future tense.
It's important that I write. Lest all this be lost on me. Lest I be lost.

Norwegian, my man, you probably don’t remember me, but I remember that we joined this forum about the same time some 10+ years ago.

How is it going? What are your prioritize these days?Can see that you kept up the journal where I failed.

What words of wisdom do you have to share after 10Y+ on the forum?

We are approaching 12 years now, brother.
I would appreciate if you read (some of) the last two, three pages of entries. Then we could have a conversation that I would also find fulfilling. You will find the wisdom there.

I will say, to rid yourself of distractions. To purify your life. To make space for your intuition. And to look into the abyss and the pain and confusion that comes up in this unraveling.
One way or another you will keep returning to this situation.
It is the way, and if you wait, mother nature will simply return to you more sternly.
Find the vital space. The space where something deep inside you is in equanimity. A resting place. A cradle for your becoming.
Keep returning there. There is nowhere to go and nothing to do.
The real work you have to do, is your inner connection.

"Det handler om fokus."

Resistance is experienced as fear; the degree of fear equates the strength of Resistance. Therefore, the more fear we feel about a specific enterprise, the more certain we can be that that enterprise is important to us and to the growth of our soul.​

Becoming. Shedding. Choice-points.
I am terrified of stepping into some unknowns.
What if my actions do not fulfill me?
To step away from the empty forms filled with instant dopamine.
Learn to spike dopamine from effort itself.
To risk lowering my baseline inputs. To find myself in patterns and activities that slowly nourish me.
It is the way and it is Now.

To err is to wander, and wandering is the way we discover the world; and, lost in thought, it is also the way we discover ourselves. Being right might be gratifying, but in the end it is static, a mere statement. Being wrong is hard and humbling, and sometimes even dangerous, but in the end it is a journey, and a story.


Awareness, will, practice, tolerance of fear and of new experience, they are all necessary if transformation of the individual is to succeed. At a certain point the energy and direction of inner forces have changed to the point where an individual’s sense of identity has changed, too.


This willingness to look at the transitory nature of existence [is] not pessimism but absolute realism: life is to be taken at the tilt, you do not have forever, and therefore why wait? Why wait … to become a faithful and intimate companion to that initially formidable stranger you called your self?​

It's coming up on 30 degrees and it's sunny outside today in Copenhagen.
I feel that I should go outside and explore.
I also feel too fragile for that.
I have a need to move and stretch my body.
A need for company and joy and laughter.
But also a need to cry some tears that won't come out.

I was laying in my bed yesterday, thinking of who I could call.
All of the friends I could think of, were either too far away in time or there were things about them or our relation that would be too sharp for me.
I so desperately want a friend like myself.
I just so deeply wish for a loyal friend that listens the way I do. That loves the way I do. That sees and experiences deeply with me.
Someone I can relax with and relaxes with me. Someone with whom we do that for each other.

I am going to be a kindergarten teacher now.
I finished working with AI in May. Three months and now the question has settled to rest.
Play comes so naturally to me.
I want to go home after work, vitalized, not spending my day recovering.
To dig roots.

I decided to dig roots, instead of becoming more airy and vapid and philosophical and theoretical and God-faced.
To attach myself as strongly as I can to as many things as I can in the world. To expand my world.
It's all becoming, right in this instant. My life is taking hold and the flowers are starting to bloom. It's been such a wonderful process, of being completely taken care of by the great mystery.
Why me? And why is it still so hard for me to change, to be open and curious?

I feel so closed up again. Too soon, again.
I had my first Ayahuasca ceremony a month ago. These synchronicities...
It became so much easier to listen to my body.

All you have to do, is to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Before that there was a festival here in Copenhagen that unlatched the lock on my heart. It seemed that the city opened.
Then there was now another festival, on the island.
All the acquaintances I've made, all the party people, the loose relations forged in the late-night hours of truth. Where I have learned to show myself. To allow myself.
They were all there, fragments of all the groups. I got to dance between them all and solidify our connections. I asked for what I needed and I expressed my love and my joy.
And I met a girl, so I let myself believe. No one will ever know just what kind of movie I am living. I so deeply wish that someone could see this, because it is always dismissed. No one dares believe what is happening.

A thing or two to learn about full alignment and a full-body yes.

Then there was The Borderland.
Don't expect me to touch on more than a fragment of this experience. My first burn. The largest regional burn in northern Europe.
Coming home. Coming down from the previous festival. Feeling like an outsider, with my sadness.
A co-created city of desires, built by my brothers and sisters, and non-binary fellows. My family. Myself, reflected.
A magnifying glass on how I am an object to myself. Nothing makes me more shameful and uncomfortable. I find myself being meta most of the time, as a coping mechanism against the pressure of being spontaneous in the moment. A symptom of perfectionism.
To go from being a character in a world of people, to a character in a world of characters. The ego-trip falls apart. Being a rookie.
Speaking the language of boundaries and consent, and my authentic dancing, being my ticket into the warmth (you have to open to door yourself and close it behind you).
My ability to express emotion through my eyes.
When I finally opened myself up and let myself be overwhelmed, The Borderland opened up.
People were so advanced. Such defined sense of selves. They will let you know that you're fcking up. They speak the same, gentle language that I speak. Radical self-reliance, radical inclusion, participation, consent, radical self-expression.
We had mushroom, cacao, and acid ceremonies. The best thing I did all week was techno-yoga at night on Acid Friday. Incredible.
I am coming down, too soon.
I wish I was carried on a high from Ayahuasca, from these festivals. It's happening to many of my friends.
It's happening to me too, but I'm given the message to lean back and trust the turning of the wheel.

I can't end this post without at least trying to mention my lighthouse. My imagined refuge.
It was on a day-cruise, a costume party on the longest day of the year.
On the way back, I found myself outside on the upper deck. In front of me appears this girl, this radiant woman, the gentlest love, beaming out of her eyes. I lost myself and came to the surface. My face showing my devotion, my eyes, mesmerized. A victory march to the beat of the sunset. With a group of girls, she had her hands in prayer as she danced. I unraveled as we smiled back at each other. With physical distance between us, we danced together. Curved mirrors.
There was this beautiful moment when she got snatched up by a guy that felt the entitlement to occupy her.
I was slightly listening in on the conversation as I was dancing. Then came this moment of perfect harmony, as I turn halfway around to her. I say something like a tender, "hey.. We miss you. Come dance?"
My hand offers itself, we share a moment, and she accepts my hand and steps into our little dancefloor.
I bring her back into the warmth. She is seen. I am seen. On some level, we are devoted.
Another fantasy. Another possibility.
Patiently keep on burning.
Waving my white flag of love.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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I just got back home from watching Everything Everywhere All At Once.


Went in expecting the best movie I've ever seen, walked out having watched the best movie I'd ever seen.
Low dose 2-cb. Both come highly recommended.
What a time and place, and for me to watch this movie. Excuse me for feeling like a main character.
I feel like the movie spoke directly to me. It explains how I see the world. It presents the world in the way my oldest brother proclaims it. The family dynamics are just the same. The whole adventure was tackled so masterfully. Every choice resounds in nothingness, in infinite space and infinite possibility. I came out so alive, so charged with love and magic. Receptive to everything and beaming. My two friends went home. I wished for nothing more than someone to find refuge in, to resonate my love and hold hands and walk out, open to the world and its adventures. I saw the deep friendship that I am longing for. It's coming and it's developing, but I miss it and I need it.

I wrote down the names of who I would call a friend in my year in this city. I reached a count of 80 people.
What. Clap on the shoulder. Bravo me.
Lots of good choices among all the rubble in my days spent here. That keeps me going. It's so easy to get sucked down the drain when that ratio starts to turn. When that energy gets heavier, the pull gets even stronger.
I saw the city alive tonight.
Lately it has been easier to open up in a different way.
I don't remember where I have this from, but this notion of "opening up sideways (on the dancefloor)".
To notice those about you. To find flexibility in your stance. To open up sideways, energetically. It feels good and like reclaiming another layer of safety.

I've found myself saying that these days, my happiness is directly correlated to how much I stretch.
I think it's true.
I've been exhausted since The Borderland. Even before. Allowing myself to be exhausted and flighty and ungrounded, I am finally returning. Doing a lot of active recovery.
This transcendental moment that we shared two summers ago. The movie brought it front and center for a bit. I cried some healing tears. This moment that emanated across universes. How do you possibly recover from this? Perhaps you don't. You do your best to let it live on in your eyes, in your touch, in the way you interface with the world. You let it penetrate you back into your core as you willingly reorient your being towards your new compass.
...Break my Heart until it opens.

"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden."​

I wrote two full notebooks in that winter of 2021 and I re-discovered the first book now.

"When compulsions, which one could even consider addictions - achieving, helping, succeeding, dreaming, confronting, preserving - are constantly operative, the soul recedes and slowly falls asleep."

"What is mechanical is not free and not truly human."
There is such incredible pain in these pages.
3rd of February 2021 I fell apart in front of my parents, and my mom held me. I don't have any memories of my mom ever holding me.

"Without seeing life as something totally new, it becomes meaningless, a boredom, a routine..."

"There are years in me that have not slept..."

"You are a set of infinite forces launched from the big bang, intersecting at this precise moment."

"Enlightenment is a booby prize. It's nothing, forever."

"...If we allow this kind if material to emerge into consciousness to be fully experienced and closely examined, it loses its disturbing power that it can otherwise exert in our lives, and chronic psychological and even physical problems whose origins were previously unknown can be fully healed."

"Integrate the spirituality into your daily life and bring into it the equanimity and the joy and the awe, and the ability to look suffering in the eye, and embrace it without averting your glance."
Coming back to earth.
This coming time is about rituals and discipline. It's about making space for remembering my greater perspectives and enacting them. For the sake of all that is, all that can be, and all that may not be.

Henry Miller writes in his chapter called The Enormous Womb,

"...It is our failure to recognize the world as womb which is the cause of our misery, in large part."

"...they have accepted the world as a womb, not a tomb. ... They live in an intense state of awareness. and are yet apparently without fear. It has been said that fear, which plays such a dominant role in our lives, was once a vague, nameless thing, an echo, one might almost say, of the life instinct. It has been said that with the development of civilization this nameless fear gradually crystallized into a fear of death. And that in the highest reaches of civilization this fear of death becomes a fear of life, as exemplified by the behavior of the neurotic."

"The hero is a sort of monster who is immune to pain and suffering: he is on the side of life. The world is for him a place where things are engendered, brought to life. Life reveals itself to him as art, and not as an ordeal. He enjoys life by rearranging it according to his own needs. ... The hero is a man who says to himself - this is where things happen, not somewhere else. He acts as if he were at home in the world. This behavior, of course, brings about a terrific confusion, for as you may have noticed, people are seldom at home, always somewhere else, always "absent." Life, as it is called, is for most of us one long postponement. And the simple reason for it is: FEAR."

"We regard life as a vestibule ... It is living death which is the great nightmare. Living death means the interruption of the current of life, the forestalling of a natural death process. It is a negative ways of recognizing that the world is really nothing but a great womb, the place where everything is brought to life.
I skip a little, but I want this passage of particular note:

"All ideas of Paradise involve the conquest of fear. Paradise is always a condition that is earned or won through struggle. The elimination of struggle is the greatest struggle of all - the struggle not to struggle. For struggle, whether erroneously or not, has to do with birth. But there was a time when birth was easy. That time is now as much as then."
I leave the rest for another day.
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Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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You should write a book. Get it published, so you can speak to others about your experiences. To be honest, it'd be a lot more rewarding for you than spending what I can only assume is an inordinate amount of time, crafting these posts on a forum.

You could definitely reach a much bigger audience than you do here.

The goal of my writing is to push towards that point in the spectrum where I stop being an object upon myself. [(to(?))]
You know, I edited that sentence 20 times. It took five minutes to write. Is this kind of mental activity normal? How much do I stand out? I feel on the spot. The tension that goes into being on the spot / in the spotlight, when stretched across imagination and into the future, gives life the (a) quality of being unbearable.

I think thoughts and I think thoughts about those thoughts. It's a compartmental train that I assemble and move through in my mind. It's not a visual experience. It's not much of an experience at all. It feels like dissociation. It feels like holding my breath, in such a way that I'm not sure which came first: the watcher or the tension? Which causes which? Does my attitude towards myself cause my experience?

We assume we have it all figured out. How we work. The fundamentals. The stuff you're not questioning, because you've never considered questioning it. Cause and effect. Beginning and end. Who am I? Where do I begin and where do I end? Do I cause myself? This unified conglomerate of authority in my mind, is it a bug? Is it - "me" - causing what I do? Or is it an effect (of the gestalt of the universe)?

Who am I in relation to this voice that I think I am? Can I move beyond it? Because the experience of identifying with it feels off-center. I am an object to myself. (The experiencing self is but a stranger to me). Always on the move: judging, comparing, planning, optimizing: for pleasure & pain, needs & desires. Experiencing the world as something that is a stranger to me. An experience of isolation - of probation.

Henry Miller writes about the world as a womb, and not a tomb:
"It is failure to recognize the world as womb which is the cause of our misery, in large part. We think of the child unborn as living in a state of bliss; we think of death as an escape from life's ills: but life itself we still refuse to regard as bliss and security. And yet, in this world about is not everything being engendered and brought to life? ... that these two states of consciousness mean freedom from pain and struggle, and hence bliss. ... Wherein are their lives different? ... The difference lies in their attitude towards the world, lies in the supreme fact that they have accepted the world as a womb, and not a tomb. For they seem neither to regret what has passed nor to fear what is to come. They live in an intense state of awareness and yet are apparently without fear."
"The wisest men are those who speak of illusion: MAYA. Illusion is the antidote to fear. In harness they render life absurdly illogical."
"Real death is not a source of terror for the ordinary, intelligent, sensitive being. It is living death which is the great nightmare. Living death means the interruption of the current of life. ... It is the negative way of recognizing that the world is really nothing but a great womb, the place where everything is brought to life. ... All that we really know is becoming. ... The real fear, the real terror, lies in the idea of arrest. It is a living idea of death."
"God does not represent life, but fulfillment, which is the only legitimate form of death. ... That only in living a thing out to the full can there be an end. It is a wholly unmoral idea, a thoroughly artistic one."
"Nobody has yet found out how to save those who refuse to save themselves."

In transcribing this I noticed that I just transcribed Henry Miller in my last post. So I'm jamming in a manual transition here.

You know, women's problem with men in 2022 is that men are useless.
I look at the women in my life and by and large they make more of an impression on me than the men in my life.
The men in my life have most definitely made and accompanied me to who I am.
And there is the factor that my whole being is attracted to women.
But I feel so underdeveloped.
Parts of me.
We come out of our nuclear families, our towns, countries, and cultures, so inept at appropriately interacting with the world.
And all we know is the lens which has been given to us. Only when it gets too painful do we get jammed up enough in our rush to reconsider the interface of our world. [S l o w . d o w n]

Who is really running the show? This voice in your head, does it have your best interests? What are your best interests? Do you even know? Would it help if you knew? Who am I? What comes first? Who is really running the show?
What does this enigma look like, this unified idea that I masquerade as? Does it look out through my eyes? Is it a filter applied to my vision? We know that this filter can be tempered with. Take a psychedelic, pay attention, lose yourself, and get back to me. What I perceive (What is weighed and gets in past my filter and onto my screen), is only an image of the actual reality. See something for the first time again. Discover what it is like to take off your armored suit. Dive deep into the moment, and perhaps, by grace, forget yourself.

Remember, this is all quite earthy.
Why am I stuck in a pattern that becomes increasingly empty?
Why can't I do what's best for me?
Why is there such inertia? When moving around feels like lugging an object around.

It's like I'm half-committed. One foot out the door. Still checking out the vibes, not sure if I can settle in.
It's another symptom of the same cause (as far as there are causes): the rejection of the moment.
The imposition of my attitudes (this conglomerate) onto my experience.
A trance of unworthiness.
Do we have proof that when all ours needs our met, we will be happy?
For how long will we have our needs met? Will we get bored with the physical and emotional monotony? Will boredom fit into our box of needs?
We live from want to want, not from enjoyment to enjoyment.
When will I learn? How do I learn?

"How brave one is when one is sure of being loved."

I am more afraid of desires I won't meet, than fears I could face.
Yet this is not entirely true, is it?
My life is ruled by my desire to be loved and to love (and being given attention and mirrored etc),
yet it seems the the undercurrents of my life are steered by the emotions that I don't want to feel.
My rejection of the unknown. My clinging to the known.
My compulsion to stuff myself full: video games, food, dreams, plans, worries, thoughts, videos, content...
I dare not be hungry. Be bored. Frustrated. Ashamed. Rejected. Undesirable. Out of control. I dare not display my inner chaos. Everything that I sweep under the rug.
Where does it go? It seeps out through the sides and funnels back into and vacuums up your life.

"If you desire healing, let yourself fall ill."

We can feel the dirt in our hands when we say, "What gets measured, gets managed."
What can I no longer accept in my life? How much space can I afford to give to it? How is it affecting my life? What will my life look like if things don't change?
What do I want in my life? What do I value? In what order do I value? Truly, how do I wish to live?

How can this become a burning question inside of us? How do we align with ourselves? How do we learn to love when no one has shown us how?
Awareness. Can be trained. Your moment-to-moment gestalt experience can change in color and texture and pace.
At the same time, with dirt falling through our hands we say, "What gets measured, gets managed."
We make very real choices and we make equally real commitments to tracking our adherence to our decisions.
We slow down and give space to feel how our values align with what brings us joy.

We aren't here to win.
It is when you're in pain that you remember yourself.
A papercut. A stomach ache. A broken heart. In reality (depending on your attachments): your attitude to your pain determines your preoccupation with it.
Do you constrict around your headache? Focus on it and feed it? Suffering through it, wishing it over? Put energy into mental narratives about your ex partner?
Energy flows where attention goes.
Show me where your attention is and I'll tell you who you are.
It is when you are happy that you forget yourself.
Soften around the pain. Expand. There is more space here. Feelings interpenetrate each other. All the other experiences are still happening. B r e a t h e.

I am learning to breathe.
My life is on the brink of despair and I need to make some very clear choices about how I spend my time, because it is getting too viscerally painful and empty.
I meditated today and it was the best thing I've done for myself all week.

Crude choices:
Create a morning routine that I stick to. For now:
- Meditate 20 minutes+
- Morning walk / commute (10 minutes +)
- Cold shower
- if not working:
-- Breakfast
-- Movement (1hr)
Things I will limit / not do (for the next week):
- 1 game of League a day
- 1 hour of Overwatch a day
- Limit screen time to 3 hours beyond productivity and the allotted two above.
Each night I will look at my following day and write down what I wish to do.
I will also check off from the day that just was.

Easy does it.


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Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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It's late night and I am back behind the keyboard.
I sent this text when I came back home two hours ago.
Just a simple and important favor, checking in and helping out.
It's Tuesday and it's the end of her weekend. She hasn't seen the text.
It's so silly, you know? My heart, when my mind returns to the thought, is ripped out of my chest.
She won't love me, not for now. What twists the knife is that she loves and could be loving someone else.
I fall to the ground in the kitchen. I am shedding. This possessiveness. This attachment.
I find compassion for myself. It is like this for a reason. My body, it yearns for her body. When her eyes swell up with light. I adore her.
I am tied to her. What intimacy is there in her wake? She loved me. I didn't love her.
How cruel it is - how rarely love is met with love. The pain of loving unevenly across time.
What hurts the most, is that I am reaping what I sowed. I understand how we got here. It makes complete sense. And it is my doing.

In these times, the world feels so estranged. It feels as if those that won't have me, won't need me. They'll have their cake, while I am shrinking in the dark. Unknown and in despair. There is so much to overcome. How can I possibly keep upright? I want to step away. I want to throw in the towel. This world wasn't designed for me. I am too raw and too dark. Too fcking weird. Too honest. Too desperate. I hold on too tightly. Just break me open already.

"I have some love to spare"​
It's almost a year ago since I uttered those words.
You told me that I taught you how to love.
Now you are taking that love and giving it to him and ignoring me.
And the world keeps turning.
"I am testing the capacity of my heart with the most lovely guide"
You said.
That pop song in dance class today goes, "Only know your lover when you let her go..."
And bless lord Jesus Christ and his aszhole for that.
I have repented with such crushing honesty.
I wouldn't want to be without this for a second.
At the same time... I just want you back here with me.
This pain and this loneliness, in it I plant flowers, watered with my tears of you.

There's a letter I wrote for my party three weeks back that you are yet to receive.
There's this little piece in there,
"The thought of never looking into your burning, innocent eyes, of never touching you, or holding you, to be held by you, to be loved by you, is almost unbearable.
But I'm recognizing that it is the same (possibility of) loss that strikes a fire in my Heart."
Cheers to the breaker of chains.
Until next time.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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I'm still grieving.
My darling, your sweet message brought me back to a moment in time that is still too tender for me to hold without breaking open.
When I told her that I was falling in love with her, and she wrapped her limbs around my body and embraced my soul with her own.
We were in heaven, you and I.
Even now when I close my eyes, our fingers touch the sky.
There is no way to undo what I now know. My forever north star.

In the image of what is no more, of what could've been, I fall in despair.
The feeling, coming from that place in you, that I unwittingly relaxed into.
I didn't know it was happening. I knew nothing back then. Still, it was you and I.
Flying across the sky, like a prayer.
I just didn't know.

I just didn't know.
Each and every action ever taken by me led me there.
In the aftermath, I felt the full impact of that truth of my responsibility.
The balance comes from the unfolding of compassion.
That everything that has happened needed to happen.
That it is pain that is my closest companion. The most reliable teacher.
And I salute - I drink - to my despair.
I am. Shattered. Piecing myself into a new constellation.

I am re-learning to live slowly. It'll come back this winter. The best thing that ever happened to me was losing it all and resting in the ruins.
"Relax into who you are"​
Everything is so difficult.
Thankfully there is always this breathing room. This little bit of space behind it all. I try to find more of myself there.
That's why I'm here now.
I was gonna go to donation-based yoga, but I couldn't. It was too difficult.
But I made it here now.
The days are passing too quickly. There is too little pressure on me.
But it is trending in the right direction, reliably.

I just moved into a new apartment.
This storyline, it's so poignant.
It's over two years now since we came into orbit.
Opening up to you, the places I touched in your absence, they interweave the story that I live today.
I come in and out of communion. Life is increasingly a cosmic play, with such marvelous humor.
I am living on perhaps the most central and hip street and in the most lush and spanking apartment in all of Copenhagen.
There's an invisible red thread connecting it all, open for anyone willing to see.
I am creating a space that serves who I hope to be.
A space that nourishes the unfolding of the enigma that will fall back into love.
And a space that can catch that magic and infuse it into everyone I bring into my home.

You may call me a dreamer, but I am not playing by your rules any more.
There is more to see, if you just put aside all the things that weigh you down.
I am here to stay, no matter how difficult.
My perpetual vow is to never ever abandon myself again.
Self-esteem is the trust we build with ourselves to again and again catch ourselves as we fall.

A reminder to myself, that "comfort murders the passion of the Soul."
It leads nowhere. It is never enough. Your baseline dopamine just increases, but it is the shifts from baseline that bring us to life.
We remain distracted. Less is required to bring us out of equilibrium. Homeostasis is harder to achieve. We become rigid and fearful. Discomfort finds us more easily and it finds us scared. We run faster and faster until we break.
Seek discomfort. Create an internal and external environment that reminds you of who you are, what's important, and what is at stake.

We can bring our fantasy to life. We can touch the sky, together.
Plant your head under your heels. As you set foot on your own head, you step above the stars.
Once you've staved in your lust, let your feet lift you up in the air. Come!
Up in the heavens, in the air, a hundred roads unfold before you.
You'll fly over the sky
every morning
like a prayer.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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You're on my kitchen floor, bent over in despair.
I've just railed a line of ketamine and I meet the intensity of this moment with equal intensity.
I've heard you scream that word before. In unmistakable despair.
The heartbreaking words of your inner child, as your mother would break your bones.
I didn't know before, but you told me this then.
We did you wrong. And the world keeps doing you wrong.
You just needed a place to sleep.
W H Y.
It's still working its way through me.

I threw another party.
I didn't write about the other one.
Magic has a way of not being captured.
The last party.. we had 150 people or so. One stage. 24 hours of DJs. Silent cinema, massive playroom, tunnel of light.

This one was my housewarming party.
About 40 friends at peak.
I had food poisoning until midnight, but I was well attended to.
I was so frustrated with taking care of everything myself. So it was comical when I was then bedridden on the day and everything had to be resolved by everyone else.
I had a conversation with my roommate's best friend on the dancefloor.
He told me that the only reason he came was because my roommate forced him to.
He was so uncomfortable around my anger.
When we talked about it on the floor, the energy of the room and a certain intensity of presence allowed for my mind to open up and I saw with such clarity, this anger that he was talking about. How it had permeated me for those previous weeks. How it had impacted those around me and where it would lead.
I don't know what I'd do without these moments.
It's part of why I feel that these ecstatic gatherings are of such importance.

I invested a year into finding my people and finally it is coming together.
I am surrounded by friends of such vitality and with open hearts.
All because I poured all my energy into unapologetically saying yes to who I am as who I am keeps resolving.

I held a cacao ceremony. I got to hold a speech and improvise the matters closest to my heart. The modern search for connection and the new world we can build together.
I had also purchased enough MDMA to supply the entire party. Soo. Hehe.
We did it, again. Found magic. Raved. Talked. Hooked up. Hurt. Healed. Walked each other home.

This is as much of a celebration of myself as it is an antithesis to the world we live in. The traditional way to party and go out.
Are you aware of the damage you cause, drinking alcohol? How yucky it is to look at from the outside?
How draining it is and then to recover. How empty it is. How ignorant it is. This ignorance is the only thing that keeps the ship from being abandoned.
We've lost touch with relaxation and ecstasy. With the erotic and the feminine. We know domination and intensity.
In the wake of alcohol being the only legal substance, we create pubs and clubs. Festivals and raves and private events are the lawless areas, but they require you to do different levels of work on your own.
We go out, and the setting is so unnatural that we have to drink and take drugs to enjoy ourselves.
It looks as if everyone is having a good time, but they're all collectively faking it and their lies inspiring the very same illusion in each other.
The last party I went to, my friend did NADA ear acupuncture and that was my highlight. I didn't fit in. The party had moved on without me.

You don't know that you're in prison.
Same goes for me, but there's levels to it.
Awareness is fused to the attentional system. That is the core mistake.


Master Don Juan
Apr 8, 2010
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I went on a strange journey Friday night and I need to remember it.
My darling friend hosted a party in her apartment.
I am lucky to have a few people in my life where, sometimes when we touch, I lose myself and land in a cradle. Alchemy seems to happen in this space.
The space consisted of her big living room and a quiet bedroom with a big and very bouncy bed.
Every hour there was a raffle and a new DJ was selected.

I spent most of my time in the bedroom.
I'd love to write these stories in the same line that I used to back in the day. But I simply don't feel comfortable with talking in detail about other people on here at the moment.
A lot happened, but what I want to focus on is my 2-cb experience.
I had poured out some powder on the giant mirror that was going around. There were many colours and it was hard to see, but I measured out three lines. One for myself, and two for two strangers that I'd just met.
There's no scale present, I am already on a standard dose of MDMA. A South-African woman looks me directly into the eye and asks me if I could kindly make another line for her. Eyeballing the difference between 20mg and 50 mg in these conditions is not an easy task.
The red and the greens in the room are becoming extremely vivid. I am coming up both hard and fast.

I can't tell a linear story. I hope to catch onto the most surreal aspects, because, beside my DMT experience, I have not gone this deep on any psychedelic.
I have lost my pouch of things and I am searching for it as I am falling deeper and deeper. I know that all hope is lost of finding it and that I have at most a minute to go, as the room is suddenly filled with new bodies.
This wonderful Irish woman speaks to me in a gentle voice and uses her light to find my pouch with me. We stash it into my backpack and hide it back under the bed.
Thankfully, I did not go on this journey alone. The woman is comforting the first girl that I shared it with. The other guy, the South African woman, and I go on an inner journey that is fully blended with the outside environment. There were countless moments where we communicated to each other the shared presence of the other concurrent realities that we were taking part in.
These things have a way of staying hidden.
Communication can happen on so many levels that we are not currently aware of. It can be instantaneous, is the best I can say right now. But mutual belief is required.
When I fell to the bottom of my trip, all the words, reactions, and laughs that were happening in the room became stacks on stacks on stacks. Like the coding definition of a stack. Like scorecards that stacked up and passed. Automatic. Samsara. The human experience.

At some point I was a part of and witnessing the loop of human experience from the inside, but as a fly on the wall.
The banality of it. The dryness. Laughs and squirts and voices. Very normal people speaking in the ether. half-apologising for having their horn tooted. Their shared awareness of how dry and empty the actions and reactions were, but how they simply needed another go because they found it so funny.

There was endless synchronicity with the inside world and the outside world.
It was so up in my face that it was silly.
I was asking this question as I traveled deeper and further, "Who am I?" The observer part. I want to know already. Show me.
And I kept being shown, but I never had the insight.

I saw the infinite loop of birth and death and the meaning(lessness) of it all. Priest after priest blessing newborn babies and sending off dead bodies, their own love infusing the lived moment with vast realness.

I eventually managed to go pee.
As I peed, the whole universe coursed through my pee. A whole story that unfolded and perfectly finished as I unloaded my bladder. A very dry "meaning of it all" trip, start to finish.

I spend a lot of time, sadly, dealing with the South African woman.
She had seemed so confident, but now she was losing her marbles.
She was a philosopher and was stuck in a shame-loop about absurdity and asking philosophical questions.
It was difficult, because I am a mirror and she was a mirror.
My coping mechanism is to mirror people. To listen, because I am shameful about my own spontaneity.
When our mirrors met each other, nothing was happening. It was highly ironic. And uncomfortable, because she was pure reactivity and her reactions were not of the kind that easily yield to bouncing back and forth. It was simply pure reactivity, blocked out by the mental layer, which blocked streams of communication.
So I lost much valuable time there. But it was my responsibility.

Keeping with the same irony, this elf had found a penchant for me and was keeping me company at the same time.
He had an impressive skill for diving into other people and asking them questions that made them open up.
It was so hilarious. He was talking to these two DJs and he got them talking about this brand of music that they enjoyed so much.
I was looking up at them from below, and they looked like horses with several human mouths.
And I could see these free-spirits that were hiding in their mouths, the joy of creating this abstract and super-weird horse-music. The necessity for freedom of expression and the importance of holding our own and each other's shame.

I experienced over and over again how I had the urge to display my understanding of the weirdness that people were displaying around me, but each time I saw how the higher awareness of the people around me (or at least my perception of it) rendered my external shame response internally shameful.

I made my way to the bathroom again and stumbled face to face with the girl I had given 2-cb, now many hours ago. We locked onto each other and I was completely seduced by her micro-expressions and cat-like energy. We had spent time in the hole together and she called me the lizard king. Her and the guy had sobered up fairly much and he wanted more drugs from me. I really wanted to spend time with her and felt like I needed to get through him first, so I did.
I measured out another dose, and ended up giving another to another girl I am fond of, and ultimately some for myself.

I land back in the bed, suddenly face to face with the girl.
I couldn't make sense of her initially. She was purely playful and open, yet clearly guarded when her boundaries were touched. But her defenses were so soft.
Captivated by each other, she gradually opened up as we spoke and I listened.
In November of last year, she died.
Sometime around midnight, she had slipped, landed on her neck, broken it and her arm.
She tried to get back into the club. Adrenaline engulfing her body, she said she was fine. The ambulance was called. The ambulance found her so rude that they called the police on her. Finally her friends argued her case so strongly that they took her in.

She woke up some 6 days later. Piece by piece and in shambles. Her body needed to pee and her neck was twitching, but she could not turn around.
4 days later she has surgery and another two days later she can finally walk again.
6 more weeks of pain. The most intense pain you can imagine. Streaming up and down your neck. Every minute, each single second, of the most excruciating pain imaginable. Nothing helped.
Now she is unafraid. Jaded, but bottomless. Her eyelashes, the way her mouth curls, the knowing presence in her eyes.
She was finally happy. Moved around. Many relationships of all sorts. All kinds of jobs. Hand to mouth: self-preserved and self-made. She was living on her own and happy with herself in the world.
Then she fell and broke her neck on a midnight in November.

She told me that before then she was crippled by a fear of death.
The great irony was that when she did die, she had no memory if it. All the worrying had been for nothing.
She was a gardener and a ****tail waitress.
She wanted to go to Argentina. Now she's staying here for a while.
The only thing she now fears is love.

Looking at her face, I could look back and forth at her forever.
We are laughing and sharing stories and our conversation is perfectly flowing back and forth.
For hours. It's romantic and tender.
She had open heart surgery at the age of three.
I gently raise her chin, showing a red and bruised throat.
Her right thumb was almost twice the size of mine.
I asked her if I could take her on a date.
She quietly considered and gave her blessing. But not a date, "I don't do that romance."
A dinner.
"It's fine", she'd keep saying. Life passes through you and around you. Nothing lasts and nothing means anything, but you are a part of it and it is flowing around you. It works in mysterious ways and no one will ever understand it.
Everything that is happening around us changes meaning as we sit together. The people bouncing on the bed, conversations about kids, and the abundance of the future. I see how this cuts to her core. All the dreams that died with her that day. Now she can't even turn around and look the talking voices in the eye.
She told me how precious feelings were now. The potential freshness. How she feels fully that feeling when someone appreciates her.

She added my contacts and we shared a deep hug. I could feel it all as she passed through me. I am so sorry.
Unfortunately the irony didn't end there, as someone had mistaken their shoes for hers.
This broke the camel's back and she shut down and started crying with the few friends she had there remaining.

My roommates and the two other girls that I shared the trip with went home to mine as we fell asleep following the South African woman's philosophical lead, once again.
My dear friend gifted me a precious Terrence McKenna comic.
And that sweet girl, in her change of heart, unfollowed me.
It's fine.


Senior Don Juan
Nov 6, 2022
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Joe Moma's
Brother, the journal is cool and all and much respect, but it sounds like you're getting into some pretty strong psychedelics. Just take care of yourself man