Am I just scavenger hunting like it's 1899?
Some weekends ago I went to Copenhagen and The Glypotek.
We had a really relaxing time in the botanic garden and I enjoyed watching strong bodies of antique men.
The (beautiful) place itself reflects the mindset of fin de sécle. Collecting nice things from cultures outside one’s own. It was not just material things the west brought home, but from eastern religions western esotericism had their hay days with figures like Aleister Crowley.
Don’t ask me how we missed it, but the Glypotek had an exhibition of Paul Gauguin’s art work in da house. A European like me, watching “the others”.
Going to Istanbul and India next week, looking for the mysteries of those lands, have had me thinking for a while.
Am I too just a petty soul tourist, looking for new dopamine hits in the pursuit of self explorations? Just using the dervish dancer’s hard, inner and physical work for inspiration. Meeting my longtime online Indian man-friend just to have something to write on Substack about? Building a reputation as a thorough life explorer and staying true to my own values of maximizing my time on Earth - but by exploiting someone else.
This ambiguity is - to be honest, what has held me back from publishing most of my scripts. Being a person of high integrity for myself and others; having secrecy as a trademark. It makes it hard to reveal what I find sacred. Gifts I received. Whispers in my ear.
Yes, there is my promise here: to spill the beans in this my seashell on the Substackian beach, but just as much as my inner moralist allows.
We’ll sea…
