How to warp your DNA
There are books
and then there are companions that bust you wide-open.
There are songs
and then there are anthems that tap the deepest salt wells within.
There are events
and then there are rites of passage that dissolve and reassemble your core.
These things can change, rearrange and even warp your DNA and lately I’ve been thinking that this should be the bar we set for ourselves.
But, which bars do you frequent?
I’m back at my new favourite cafe.
I’m on the balcs’ amidst the grey gums, bamboo and acacia trees.
Cap’ on Coco, 1.5shots and rereading a chapter of ‘The time of the Black Jaguar by Arkan Lushwala.
There’s a Maggie* stalking the perimeter.
Whoosh, she flies up to the stand at the top of the steps and snap-kicks over the hand sanitiser sign.
“Cop that. Know my name!” She says.
They’re the rogues of the bird world.
At least across these 100 or so acres of country I’m experiencing time and space on.
Gubbi Gubbi Country.
If they’re not shitting on my cabin buddy’s sheets or stealing a half-cooked mushy off the barbie, they’re snap-kicking signs.
BTW — I’m doing a rad storytelling course with Yarn Australia and while I’d normally be throwing in photos and memes to put a nitro booster on the roflcopter, this month I’m attempting to use descriptive language to teleport you here.
You didn’t need to know that really.
But def’ checkout Yarn :)
Lushwala’s book, is a book that does the aforementioned. I could write about how it’s changing my DNA or you could listen to this jam I spun up the other day.
Arkan is speaking to me through the pages.
Into my heart and it’s expanding.
There’s a thread that extends beyond the pages and onto the Shambhala Farm.
I know this isn’t coincidental.
Joshy, references the heart and breathing into it in his meditations.
Craig, the custodian of the farm refers to the heart as a force for beautiful regenerative agriculture.
And this book is forming an integral part in the ecology of my stay here.
I can’t cry good, ya here.
Like Zoolander most of the time.
And I actually went on a Mermaid Retreat at the start of the year with five beautiful Mermaids.
I was the only Merman Daddy!
But back to the cries.
There’s a buddy/musician friend of mine that gets me going
Such a lovely humble dude, I was surfing with him once down at Bondi on a standard 0.3ft day.
We were mucking around out the back and I had to laugh as it was always his songs that fill my head while I surf.
No coincidence that I find some of the deepest connection and flow while turning up the bass in my soul with his melodies.
Oddly enough, that day I didn’t have Tay’s song in my head at all.
I can’t even recall what I was listening too.
Perhaps it was superseded by rad chats and the ocean.
If you want to hear what I mean about DNA shifting, sit down and put some good headphones on.
Try not to be moved by this track and in particular the chorus.
I’m getting a little teary, playing the song in my head as an old lady has rocked up with one of those fluffy dogs that yelps and thinks it owns everything.
May have to call back the Maggie to snapkick some sense into it.
I’ve had several experiences, where my DNA has shifted via events that a more like
Rites of Passage
Newkind was a big one for me and I’m eternally grateful for that experience.
I wrote about it here if you want to go deeper on that yarn.
And a movement I have had the pleasure of stewarding into the world, Reunion, held an event the other day on Bundjalung country in Broken Head.
It involved 20 humans on the path.
My mentor Jamie says ‘find good humans and empower them to become players in this game of life.’
As apposed to passengers,
we’ve all been that.
Most of us still are.
And then the next level of the game is to empower the players to become architects.
The event sounded like the players were getting skyrocketed into architects via first people’s wisdom and witnessing healing on the land.
I couldn’t attend due to the border restrictions, but have felt the energy shift through my buds and heard some pretty rad stories about transformations of attendees.
This is ‘the work’ that’s desperately needed within the context that we live.
The dog’s now barking.
Her name is Daisy. She’s a Dickhead.
The waitress has come over and given her a treat too!
She snaps it up and continues barking.
Must be one of those Shitzu cross Cuntees.
Extra points for working out the clever name for this cross-breed.
I feel like Daisy and the magpie have derailed this beautiful piece.
I more blame Daisy.
I give her a glare as my little bro calls me on the phone and we have a yarn for a good 40mins, funnily enough about radical books that change your DNA.
My buddy Seb said today,
“we don’t have a climate crisis in Australia, we have a culture crisis.”
Blew my head off.
Do you read books, listen to songs and attend events?
And those three things are great, but if you wanna be a playAHHHH.
Maybe grab a companion for a do-si-do , find yourself an anthem and seek out humans who cultivate rites of passage.
A pretty good place to crush the crisis and start reimagining (remembering) this culture, is ‘right here, right now’, with the world’s most ancient wisdom already alive within.
The Maggie is back!
She lands right on my table and looks me right in the eye.
I look straight back and smile, through mind telepathy I say ‘go forth and peck the shit out of Daisy.’
“Do it yourself and don’t be so mean to dogs. You’d be pissed too if attached to a lead and had to wear a pink frilly collar.
You’re the shitcunt.”
and off she flies.
*Magpie. Other names used include piping crow-shrike, piper, flute-bird and organ-bird.
From Wikipedia who never lies and is super safe behind the stumps.
First Dad Joke of the month — check.