Property Appreciation

I have a new found appreciation for these things, the first steps to wealth. Something with zen mind, begginners mind one can enjoy as a complete experience by being 'in the moment' for those of you who have heard of this 'zen' and possibly use it to describe things inappropriately eg. 'the new Mazda concept car Taiki is very zen' then a simple way to achieve a brief experience of what zen is, is to get your finger and point it directly at your nose.
This is known as the 'I have no face technique' whenever I want to be in the moment particularly I do this. It works by removing the illusion of your ideal self, whom most people think about all the time, even fabricating their memories in an observer role rather than first person. The first person experience is very zen.
Anyway to be a rich person -

1. A comfortable bed - benifit good nights sleep, warmth etc.
2. A decent shower - benifit soothing pressure and feeling of cleanliness
3. insulation - benifit the ability to maintain a temperature inside that is different to that of outside.
4. Decent food - benifit, the sheer pleasure of eating without digestive after effects.

You got those which, lets face it are pretty easy to obtain. You are rich.
You could even apply these principles to clothes.

1. Pants - keep the wind from directly contacting your genitals.
2. A shirt - keep the wind from directly contacting your nipples.
3. Socks - keep your shoes from chafing your feet.
4. Shoes - allow you to walk on rough surfaces without having to pave them over and destroy nature. (walking on rough surfaces should be done in moderation)

You got those you've got all you need out of clothes, the rest is just design. And yes I am saying underpants are optional. Deal with it.
Janice, my dear mother remarked that travel would teach me 'how little I really need' and this is true, there is very little I actually need. And this is a good thing. A horder as much as the next person, when packing I donated a lot of my old clothes finding comfort in the reality that I was never going to wear them again, I could cut the umbilical cord. Did I really need them? No. It was very zen.
But then there is the dual function of clothing as a communication medium. As visual communication our clothes one could presume are very important, but clothes unlike posture, stance, orientation and facial expressions are very easy to fake.
For example, I could walk down to MYER tomorrow (well I couldn't I'd have to fly to Melbourne then get a taxi from the airport and then walk into MYER) and buy some cufflinks, some country road slacks and a roger david shirt. This would send the message that I am professional, ambitios and sophisticated. This would be a lie though, because my posture, my tendancy to drop big words casually into a sentance eg. 'this is mother fucking zen' and my digging at collarbone pimples through my shirt collar would expose that I am not very professional or sophisticated at all.
I guess some of those habits woouldn't take too much conscious effort to suppress, but let's say you did.
The suppression itself would be a lie, adding to the list of dirty little secrets I carry out by myself in the dark.
So instead my clothing generally indicates things about me, eg. I want badly to be as cool as a member of the Native Tongues Posse, I like basketball, I like to wear shorts, I like loud colours, I like assymetrical haircuts. And someone may even interpret these loung lists of likes into some kind of character reference eg. strongly independant, individualistic, team player, creative etc.
What then of the homes. Of how we shape and express ourselves through the physical space we occupy.
When I was younger than now, some family friends were coming round and Janice had us clean the house from top to bottom. I saw this as a lie, this wasn't how we lived, we generally lived iin relaxed squalour. I (or my brother, my memory is tested) offered to take our family friends on a tour of the house to demonstrate how clean everything was, and thus enjoy the full fruits of our labor.
I relate this story to indicate a lot of the time, the choices are the same. Our physical space is an expression of who we are as much as the clothes we wear. Functionally by the above 4 criteria, I was functionally rich both in the Family home ballarat as I was in my brickworks apartment. My physical space however was very different, In ballarat my room (although able to display artwork and various photos on the wall) was tidied every thursday and thus kept in check. In brickworks to gaze upon my abode revealed a bed, then a wall to wall clutter of shoes, clothes, books and unopened big arse envelopes from my superannution fund, in one corner was my computer, again covered in books, photographs, magazines, shoes and jackets. There was not really anything apart from the bed which one could call a surface so much as 'stuff'. there were posters on the wall, but when blue tack failed I generally left them where they lay.
I would describe myself as a 'minimalist' or even 'ultra minimilist' as my arrangement of things was somewhat similar to how leaves fall from trees in dense bush.
My stuff also performed the vital job of pinning the dust to the carpet, making vacuuming unnecessary.
In ballarat the colour of the walls, the fittings, the doorknobs, everything was all decided for me. This was true of the apartment, but fortunately everything was 'flat white' leaving me with room for self expression.
My parant's owned the house, but what praytell could I infer about their character from the way it was displayed to the greater world.
Well what clues have we Sherlock, firstly the colour schemes, all olive green, some cream colour, some pinkish cream colour and polished wood finish.
The furniture, apart from some comfortable 60's leather couches in front of the tv, for the most part Victorian era replica couches, antique table in some fucking room I to this day don't know what to call and again a 60's esque wooden table half bleached by the sun and some art deco seats with plastic bits on them so as not to scratch the floor.
Kitchen bench was marble or faux marble veneered I think, upstairs was big grey computer desk and our desks in our rooms were cream coloured to match the paint scheme, my having my personal preference of grey actually overturned.
What could one conclude, most of our actually living was done on the comfortable laid back treated pine and leather furniture, this I think is a true indication of our family, functional, laid back and familiar (though not touchy familiar, that would be trouble).
Most of our entertaining was done in the stuffy, authentic restored rooms where crackers, cheese and wine were served. This I think leads me to conclude that the family also had its aspirational side.
See now how much you can read from a home, it is true that just like body language it is very very hard to lie through your dwelling. Infact the authentic rooms probably consumed most of my parents efforts and money to restore just right.
Apart from extensive renovation work, the living rooms where for the most part self sustained, we put stuff in there with relatively little thought or consideration for the surroundings, Janice's out of place blue and white china collection testimony to the fact.
Furthermore from houses I've visited there is definitely two impressions I walk away with 'liar' houses and 'living' houses. I am very uncomfortable in liar houses, were to put shit and what not, do I take my shoes off or can I live them on. In Japan when intruding upon someone elses living or working space you bow and say 'shitsureishimasu' and actually ask for permission, in liar houses, full of antiques and cuttlery and crockery stored in delicate antique sideboards which fill me with fear every time i try to open them, I wish my culture had this particular ritual. Instead I am left with my own inadequate judgement, in a tense state of catlike fear, feeling like I am trying to converse whilst everyone can see my dick caught in the zipper but nobody is polite enough to let me do what I have to do.
Contrasting this with a pure 'living' home, I feel at ease, trusted and familiar. I know who these people are, that they don't keep a retard up in the attick and that I can help myself to a drink any time.
If I drop a glass in such a house, its no big deal. If I go to the toilet I have no fear of the antique plumbing screwing up. If I eat there food I don't feel like I am stealing something worth more than my pants.
And that impresses me.
I see a home as like clothes, the two fundamental choices one has, in how to go about designing and decorating one are:

1. worry about what other people think of you.
2. worry about what you think of yourself.

And now for the wonderful thing about human nature. If you are worried about what other people think of you, (1) the best course of action in my experience is (2) to worry about what you think of yourself. Human beings will take your lead. My folks enjoy their type 2 friends much more than their type 1 friends.
Thus thusly, it is exciting to me to take this (2) approach to my physical space. Which at the moment is a backpack. But that being said, I have a sketch book and whilst nobody seems to get excited over the ikea catalogue anymore, I have found a new creative outlet in designing furniture for myself (symptomatic of my pining for a bed long enough that I can cover both my feet and my head at the same time) another form of self expression discovered.
Not that many people ever see my bed.
Also never forget the 4 fundamental requirements of wealth its very fucken zen.