Thank You Message. How I Decided To Nail Myself To The Cross. Explicit Lyrics!!

Today I noticed that I have a nice pack of followers. Many thanks to each one of you. It made me write this somewhat unusual post. Not that I know what I'm going to write about, but if you see this here, it means that it's published and whatever was meant to stream through me was cast in digital ink of zeros and ones of online matrix.

Kerala, Ashram of Amma the hugging mother. Blissing out.

First of all: thank you for following me, even if I don't follow you back, I do appreciate your presence and attention. I also do read your comments, even when I don't answer them. Don't take any that personally. There's only one thing in the endless Universe that takes things personally: ego. And that, my friend, is a rotten ally to guide one's life. At the core, life is purely impersonal. It has its way whether we like it or not. Fucks not given. What you perceive as your personality is nothing but a social conditioning program filtered through the very limited door of your five senses. And all of that will die with your body. So relax and learn to smile back at the adversities of life, especially the illusory ones, which take place in the roaring battlefield of your mind. Learn to say: fuck it I'll be loving anyways. Being sour is like pissing in your own garden. I'm just a busy bee trying to produce as much sticky sweetness as I can. That relentless tick-tock gives my time here rough priorities.

Iceland. Fuck yeah!:)

Secondly: Thanks again, because you are the very reason I am here. Not the numbers, not the $, not the praise, not the reputation. You. Yes you.

I'll use elimination method to put it clearly.

I'm not good with numbers. I'm not a dummy in math but I spend my time enhancing my talents, which are visual arts, music, languages, communication and movement (sexy movements especially. Ha, that was a joke). So numbers are out. I don't give a flying fuck how many digits are being displayed here or there. Unless it flies straight in my lens, I don't check it.

Money. Well that's the same shit as numbers. But a different flavor. Let me confess a dirty secret right off the bat: I'm rich. I'm so bloody rich that I put Bill Gates at shame. As a matter of fact, I'm priceless. An attempt to put a price-tag on my free expression of living is a hopeless cry of withering attention-addict trying to buy the missing pieces in the heart that can't be bought. And I'm not that, not quite at least.
I realize my richness within, and the world without just follows suite. It just keeps on coming like crazy.
Good example is my crypto holdings. I own like....fuck I don't even know how many different cryptos I own...and I have no idea what they trading for now. I own crypto because I like the concept of it. Decentralized rhymes with my soul baby. I bought them on gut feeling and I bet they are doing great. I'll check the price when I need to buy two more villas in Caribbean. Until then I prefer spending time painting elephants or titties. I been in my Steemit wallet about three times. Once by accident, once by curiosity, and once to send some SBD to Polo so I could feel like a gangta. At this point, I have no fucking clue how much is in my wallet. Don't tell me I like secrets!! :) Guess that was clear enough. We can scratch the money shit out of the list.

Handstands in Hawaii. Sex is overated:)

Praise. Well fuck me. If anything is more stupid than numbers it must be the lust for praise. Ok, I'm exaggerating a bit here, but by now, you must have realized (by the number of Fucks in my post) that I'm trying to make a point, and for that I'd lie while confessing to Saint Francis. Anything justifies a higher cause (which will be revealed at the end I promise!). Hunger for praise, as any other dumb shit in universe, has its divine purpose. Every shadow, contains a gift. Darkness is the flip side of the Light. So it serves no other reason than that: opportunity for quantum leap of consciousness. By seeing the true nature of any shadow, which is always fear based, thus transitory. That's the gift- the suffering that will lead us back to our True source – infinite, eternal and loving!
Damn, I got quite esoteric here. So to make it simple: I don't get high on praise. I'm my biggest critique. I know that I'm functioning at a fraction of my raw potential that Big Mama Universe gave me. Nevertheless when someone opens their heart to me as a result of reading my “open mic”, I resonate with it. I sing with it. I bow in gratitude in front of it. I enter into space of holy communion which is healing. Other than that, I been showered with praise so thoroughly, that I became numb. It's like dead flies on the windscreen of my Porsche. It can't touch me.

Tree life. Laughing our ass off at Reputation. It's lying dead on the ground.

Reputation. Reputation is product of mind. It's the enunciation of past experience through the filter of your ego. True saint, the real guru, is impeccable in every act, because the “I”, the Doer, has died already. There's no self left to fuck things up, and whatever falls out of silence into the world of sound through a Saint, is pure, un-calculated, spontaneous and selfless. Then it falls back into silence without seeding any sanskara, with grace of autumn leave falling into gentle river stream. Whoever cares about reputation acts out of fear of not being good enough. Out of lack of self love. It's an act of self importance. And that's as stinky as meat-lover's fart. I'm no Saint. Actually I am- deep asleep though. You think I care about my reputation? Count the fucks again :)

That leaves the one thing why I'm here. The real reason. The real shit. The hot stock. You.
You know, I must be really dumb because deep in my heart I'm a romantic. I believe that world will wake up....soon. That during my short lifetime I'll see the politics become a part-time volunteering job (or banned altogether); borders, passports, wars and other useless shit move permanently to the Museum of Human Fuck-up-edness; Monsanto, Central banks and Big Pharma publicly apologize for their crimes and payout humanity with all their stolen money. I breathe for that day of Love retribution. I came here for that. I popped out of my mom's belly for no other reason than to see that G L O R I O U S comeback of L O V E. And there's only one thing that matters in that game, besides my silly self: You.

Make cupcakes not war motherfakaaaaa!:)

I'm here to remind you, that you didn't come to this planet to be worried. You're God's beloved hero, so fuck the fear and shine!

If I could use weapons of mass destruction to bombard Earth with the Blue Pill, I'd do it. If I knew that by me dying on the cross everyone would finally wake the fuck up from the illusion of Fear, I'd nail myself to it using my own cock with a nail gun. But since the chances seem pretty thin for those two, I'll use my art and my word, sharp as Samurai's katana, slicing the bullshit of ego without mercy. I'll even put it here, steamin' hot.

And if it strikes a cord in your beautiful heart, I done my job.
Cause Truth is just like Love- it does not give a fuck. It knows that all else shell pass.

Thank you for reading, and for following me.
Y o u a r e t h e c h a n g e.

Love,
Jan

@jankasparec

I tol' you I trained with Samurais so don't fuck with me!;)