Friday 8:54 p.m.
It was cold, clear and sunny as I stood on the bridge across the railway line in Bellshill train station. You could see quite some way, but as Scottish views go, there really wasn't much to see. The church steeple at the cross, a few wee hills on the horizon, and one wind farm far away.
During one of the last conversations I had with my deid brother, he showed me a letter he'd received from Kenya. It was from a daughter he never knew he had. There was photo of her and her two wee boys, both of whom looked gorgeous, like young versions of Sugar Ray Leonard. There was no address and no signature. This daughter had traced him through army records. It seems he'd stayed with her mother for a week. All the deid brother said he could remember of the woman was her greetin and holding onto him as he was trying to go back to the Scots Guards. A soldier on leave, I suppose.
His daughter had managed to come to Britain and got to Bellshill station, but only took a look around and then went back to Africa. She must have stood on the bridge. I wonder what she made of the view.
When the brother died from injuries he received falling out of the loft, I contacted some Kenyan newspapers to try to find my African relatives, but with no result. I'll have to try that again someday.
Obama isn't black. He's black and white.
I managed to stand on my head tonight and go into a lotus, then curl down and land in a sitting position. It's a long while since I was able to do that. I'm back, Jack! I'm back!
Friday, 31 October 2008
Thursday, 30 October 2008
Who Killed Andreas Baader?
Thursday 22:20 p.m.
If you come to this bloggy for the buddhism, this might not be the post for you! The kiddo just phoned me up ... I told her at the start of the month I could take her to a movie. We saw an advert for Hunger, about Bobby Sands, and I said I'd like to see that because it has a one take of a 23 minute scene, and you don't get that in movies. That's more like theatre. So I said I would go.
Setting the scene. I've had three pints of home brew, but there is no soapbar. If it wasn't for the beer, maybe I wouldn't have been set off.
First of all, I'd like to say that I don't kill flies. I don't kill the wee mothie things that have started flying about this room. Politically, I'm a libertarian socialist, which I reckon these days means that I don't mind folk getting filthy rich if they can't help it, so long as most of the money goes back into the kitty when they snuff it ... this is because I met a millionaire once and he couldn't do anything else to validate his existence. Also, I think if I want to do drugs that's my business unless I become a disgrace and dependant on other folk, or the state. I would like bus journeys to be almost free and I think human beings are wonderful and you should just let them get on with it.
Having drunk some home brew, the kiddo's phone call made me remember the time I wanted to wear a tee shirt saying: WHO KILLED ANDREAS BAADER?
I don't care if he was an idiot or an arsehole. My deid brother told me about the trial concerning the cages in Inverness where Jimmy Boyle, etc., were kept in solitary for ages and ages and ages. I think Jimmy Boyle told me he'd done 18 months at a stretch in solitary once. Actually, he told me the only funger about doing solitary was when the prison officers appeared. I think one of them lost an eye in an attack. Anyway, they had a trial in Glasgow about this before the Special Unit was set up in Barlinnie.
In these cells, which were continually searched, I think almost on a daily basis, they found all kinds of thing for breakouts, etc., etc. My brother told me all the evidence was fabricated by the ... what are they called ... authorities.
Germaine, Jack. Germaine? Germane? Anyway,. that's not what it said in the papers. Nobody got that story.
Ulrike Meinhoff hanged herself in private and managed to have semen stains on her clothes, if I remember right.
According to Wikipedia, other of these revolutionaries decided to shooty shooty themselves after the failure of an aeroplane hijacking. To get them out. They, if I remember right, committed suicide by taking guns out of the walls of their cells. These guns had been hidden in the walls of their cells by sympathisers. This was a brand new set of cells which had been built specially by the authorities, but somehow the Baader Meinhof gang managed to infiltrate the brickies ... It is beyond belief! I do not do conspiracy theories. Buddhas don't commit suicide. Neither do revolutionaries, no matter how funged up they are.
The Special Unit was a wonderful idea. They had folk in jail and they didn't have the death sentence. So some of these folk were uncontrollable. Poking folk's eyes out, etc.
My deid brother ... Oh, how I miss the contrary basturn!.. told me about a conference/seminar he attended where they were asked about the problems with such special units and how they had to watch out for brickies hiding guns in the walls!
There's a guy dying at the moment in Greenock Prison who is supposed to have been responsible for the Lockerbie plane bombing. He's got as much chance of being involved in that as me and you, Jack.
Just remember they're all going to hell, Hotboy. They're all going to hell, Jack!
Today ... what a day! ... I've been asking the Medicine Buddha (who is moi!) to help me with not wanting to get books published ... since it is not equaniminous, and not to ever think of the word ... fl*theid. But it's a shame about the unfortunate, stupid basturns, so it is, Jack!
If you come to this bloggy for the buddhism, this might not be the post for you! The kiddo just phoned me up ... I told her at the start of the month I could take her to a movie. We saw an advert for Hunger, about Bobby Sands, and I said I'd like to see that because it has a one take of a 23 minute scene, and you don't get that in movies. That's more like theatre. So I said I would go.
Setting the scene. I've had three pints of home brew, but there is no soapbar. If it wasn't for the beer, maybe I wouldn't have been set off.
First of all, I'd like to say that I don't kill flies. I don't kill the wee mothie things that have started flying about this room. Politically, I'm a libertarian socialist, which I reckon these days means that I don't mind folk getting filthy rich if they can't help it, so long as most of the money goes back into the kitty when they snuff it ... this is because I met a millionaire once and he couldn't do anything else to validate his existence. Also, I think if I want to do drugs that's my business unless I become a disgrace and dependant on other folk, or the state. I would like bus journeys to be almost free and I think human beings are wonderful and you should just let them get on with it.
Having drunk some home brew, the kiddo's phone call made me remember the time I wanted to wear a tee shirt saying: WHO KILLED ANDREAS BAADER?
I don't care if he was an idiot or an arsehole. My deid brother told me about the trial concerning the cages in Inverness where Jimmy Boyle, etc., were kept in solitary for ages and ages and ages. I think Jimmy Boyle told me he'd done 18 months at a stretch in solitary once. Actually, he told me the only funger about doing solitary was when the prison officers appeared. I think one of them lost an eye in an attack. Anyway, they had a trial in Glasgow about this before the Special Unit was set up in Barlinnie.
In these cells, which were continually searched, I think almost on a daily basis, they found all kinds of thing for breakouts, etc., etc. My brother told me all the evidence was fabricated by the ... what are they called ... authorities.
Germaine, Jack. Germaine? Germane? Anyway,. that's not what it said in the papers. Nobody got that story.
Ulrike Meinhoff hanged herself in private and managed to have semen stains on her clothes, if I remember right.
According to Wikipedia, other of these revolutionaries decided to shooty shooty themselves after the failure of an aeroplane hijacking. To get them out. They, if I remember right, committed suicide by taking guns out of the walls of their cells. These guns had been hidden in the walls of their cells by sympathisers. This was a brand new set of cells which had been built specially by the authorities, but somehow the Baader Meinhof gang managed to infiltrate the brickies ... It is beyond belief! I do not do conspiracy theories. Buddhas don't commit suicide. Neither do revolutionaries, no matter how funged up they are.
The Special Unit was a wonderful idea. They had folk in jail and they didn't have the death sentence. So some of these folk were uncontrollable. Poking folk's eyes out, etc.
My deid brother ... Oh, how I miss the contrary basturn!.. told me about a conference/seminar he attended where they were asked about the problems with such special units and how they had to watch out for brickies hiding guns in the walls!
There's a guy dying at the moment in Greenock Prison who is supposed to have been responsible for the Lockerbie plane bombing. He's got as much chance of being involved in that as me and you, Jack.
Just remember they're all going to hell, Hotboy. They're all going to hell, Jack!
Today ... what a day! ... I've been asking the Medicine Buddha (who is moi!) to help me with not wanting to get books published ... since it is not equaniminous, and not to ever think of the word ... fl*theid. But it's a shame about the unfortunate, stupid basturns, so it is, Jack!
The Thursday!
Thursday 9:50 a.m.
I found an email from my secret agent just then, and a little flutter of excitement arose. I try not to bother him with inquiries. Some day I might get a nice email from him about getting help out of the lonely financial zone. This email was about him changing telephone numbers. You can't have everything, Jack. Yes, you can, Hotboy. Yes, you can!
Sitting up in bed this morning, I started in on this Tonglen malarkey and realised that every time I take a deep breath when I'm sitting, I fill up with bliss. What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!
The weather is quite filthy and horrible just now. Not in the lobby it isn't!
I found an email from my secret agent just then, and a little flutter of excitement arose. I try not to bother him with inquiries. Some day I might get a nice email from him about getting help out of the lonely financial zone. This email was about him changing telephone numbers. You can't have everything, Jack. Yes, you can, Hotboy. Yes, you can!
Sitting up in bed this morning, I started in on this Tonglen malarkey and realised that every time I take a deep breath when I'm sitting, I fill up with bliss. What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!
The weather is quite filthy and horrible just now. Not in the lobby it isn't!
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Wednesday Afternoon
Wednesday 3:50 p.m.
As I walked out from my jobbie this Wednesday at noon, I was hardly wound up at all, and could see before me just wonderful, wonderful opportunities over the next few days to investigate the bliss. I have to go out for a meal on Saturday night, but, apart from that, I have no appointments with any flatheids other than family members.
This is a fantastic time in my life, Jack! Who knows how far the juju may advance before I have to go back to the jobbie on Monday? But it will advance, Jack. It always seems to.
It's a shame you can't describe the bliss to the flatheids, Hotboy. So it is, Jack, but it wouldn't make any difference anyway. The flatheids are just too dumb to meditate and will have to make do with the .... grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! To hell with that for a game of soldiers. I'm off to the hut!
As I walked out from my jobbie this Wednesday at noon, I was hardly wound up at all, and could see before me just wonderful, wonderful opportunities over the next few days to investigate the bliss. I have to go out for a meal on Saturday night, but, apart from that, I have no appointments with any flatheids other than family members.
This is a fantastic time in my life, Jack! Who knows how far the juju may advance before I have to go back to the jobbie on Monday? But it will advance, Jack. It always seems to.
It's a shame you can't describe the bliss to the flatheids, Hotboy. So it is, Jack, but it wouldn't make any difference anyway. The flatheids are just too dumb to meditate and will have to make do with the .... grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! To hell with that for a game of soldiers. I'm off to the hut!
Monday, 27 October 2008
In The Post
Monday 20:47 p.m.
'The enjoyment is not the problem, the problem is the attachment'. Tilopa.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, from the Lebanon, I reckons, via Cloggieland, if the postmark be right (nothing was written inside the envelope),came a wee bit of something wonderful.
'Don't Bogart that joint, my friend, pass it over to me.' Canny remember who sang that. I might have ten minutes ago. I love getting stoned. I just love it.
I tried to do some of this Tonglen today which involves sucking lots of air in and blowing it out. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! Straight connection between the breath and the bliss. No messing. It's creeping all over my back and deliciously up neck and round about my jaw just by sitting here. It's really quite nice, so it is! I'm on a bit of a roll here, Jack. It's really not believable what you get from staring at candles for most of a couple of days. And no rat piss home brew for me tonight. Hurrah!
'The enjoyment is not the problem, the problem is the attachment'. Tilopa.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, from the Lebanon, I reckons, via Cloggieland, if the postmark be right (nothing was written inside the envelope),came a wee bit of something wonderful.
'Don't Bogart that joint, my friend, pass it over to me.' Canny remember who sang that. I might have ten minutes ago. I love getting stoned. I just love it.
I tried to do some of this Tonglen today which involves sucking lots of air in and blowing it out. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! Straight connection between the breath and the bliss. No messing. It's creeping all over my back and deliciously up neck and round about my jaw just by sitting here. It's really quite nice, so it is! I'm on a bit of a roll here, Jack. It's really not believable what you get from staring at candles for most of a couple of days. And no rat piss home brew for me tonight. Hurrah!
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Resume
Sunday 22:57 p.m.
The leaves seemed blasted and shredded on the raspberry stalks today. I ate a few, but there aren't many left. I heard it was a hard day for weather yesterday, but I spent most of it in the lobby and there are no windows or anything to the outside world, so what do I know?
I meditated for two hours in the hut. Everything opened up and I sat there in the bliss. This evening was wonderful as well in this regard. Warmth and bliss, but not so much heat, probably because I hadn't enough time spent on creating the three channels.
I had to give my time to the flatheids on Thursday and Friday because my beautiful, wonderful daughter was 21 at the end of the week. She was priceless on Friday when we went to see a preview performance of J.M. Barrie's play Mary Rose at the Lyceum. She has an Equity card. She spent two summers acting on kids programmes with the Comedy Unit of the BBC in Glasgow. I took her to first nights at the Traverse up until I fell off the freebie list when Philip Howard left. Her mother was in the theatre and had bought the tickets. Whenever her wonderful mother buys the tickets for any drama, I hope it will be so appallingly bad that it might be worth watching. I asked the kiddo what she thought of it play when it was finished and she said: "The reason why I don't want to try and write a play is because I'm worried that it might end up like that."
I'm a bit of a disgrace, Jack. What are the rest of them like, Hotboy? Hmmmm? I wouldn't like to say, Jack. I really wouldn't.
The leaves seemed blasted and shredded on the raspberry stalks today. I ate a few, but there aren't many left. I heard it was a hard day for weather yesterday, but I spent most of it in the lobby and there are no windows or anything to the outside world, so what do I know?
I meditated for two hours in the hut. Everything opened up and I sat there in the bliss. This evening was wonderful as well in this regard. Warmth and bliss, but not so much heat, probably because I hadn't enough time spent on creating the three channels.
I had to give my time to the flatheids on Thursday and Friday because my beautiful, wonderful daughter was 21 at the end of the week. She was priceless on Friday when we went to see a preview performance of J.M. Barrie's play Mary Rose at the Lyceum. She has an Equity card. She spent two summers acting on kids programmes with the Comedy Unit of the BBC in Glasgow. I took her to first nights at the Traverse up until I fell off the freebie list when Philip Howard left. Her mother was in the theatre and had bought the tickets. Whenever her wonderful mother buys the tickets for any drama, I hope it will be so appallingly bad that it might be worth watching. I asked the kiddo what she thought of it play when it was finished and she said: "The reason why I don't want to try and write a play is because I'm worried that it might end up like that."
I'm a bit of a disgrace, Jack. What are the rest of them like, Hotboy? Hmmmm? I wouldn't like to say, Jack. I really wouldn't.
Saturday, 25 October 2008
New post.
Sunday 1:40 a.m.
I've been trying hard today, now that I've got a chance. I've watched two candles burn down. You're not supposed to be lonely in your cave. You have a yidam and, I think, a dakini. I love you too, babes!
As usual, this is from the Glenn Mullin translations.
The consort Bhagavati Vajra Varahi is gazing intently at you, the Bhagavan. Her body is naked and red in colour. She has one face, three eyes, and two arms. Part of her hair is fixed in a knot on top of her head and the remainder falls loosely down over her shoulders. Her right arm is wrapped around your neck and holds a skull cap filled with the four maras and other evil forces. Her left hand holds a curved knife and shows a threatening mudra to all harmful beings of the ten directions. She blazes with a fire like that at the end of time and her two legs are wrapped round your waist in order to pull you into a sexual embrace with her. Her essence is great compassion manifest in the nature of supreme bliss. She is adorned with the five seals, has a crown of five dried human skulls, and wears a belt of fifty dried human skulls.....
I love you too, babes!
Of course, I can't do that either. But I did get a little kiss. I'll sit up tonight till I fall over.
I've been trying hard today, now that I've got a chance. I've watched two candles burn down. You're not supposed to be lonely in your cave. You have a yidam and, I think, a dakini. I love you too, babes!
As usual, this is from the Glenn Mullin translations.
The consort Bhagavati Vajra Varahi is gazing intently at you, the Bhagavan. Her body is naked and red in colour. She has one face, three eyes, and two arms. Part of her hair is fixed in a knot on top of her head and the remainder falls loosely down over her shoulders. Her right arm is wrapped around your neck and holds a skull cap filled with the four maras and other evil forces. Her left hand holds a curved knife and shows a threatening mudra to all harmful beings of the ten directions. She blazes with a fire like that at the end of time and her two legs are wrapped round your waist in order to pull you into a sexual embrace with her. Her essence is great compassion manifest in the nature of supreme bliss. She is adorned with the five seals, has a crown of five dried human skulls, and wears a belt of fifty dried human skulls.....
I love you too, babes!
Of course, I can't do that either. But I did get a little kiss. I'll sit up tonight till I fall over.
Retreatless!
Saturday 12:51 p.m.
If I hadn't spent all my spare cash on drink and drugs, I could have spent a few days in the tent at the Samye Ling this week. I really miss not going there every time the school is on holiday. And sometimes it has felt as if the UnFortunate OneS were sucking the blood out of my veins, and removing good meditation time from what's left of this precious lifetime. The UFOs do not know what they are missing, but I do. I rested in the hope that today I would have the whole day in the flat on my own, and stayed sociable this morning on account of this, but events, dear boy, events ... the cold and wet and wind have altered arrangements. Let's look on the bright side!
I'm not carrying many injuries at the moment! Hurrah! I still cannot get my right shoulder into a reverse namaste, but otherwise the capsulitis isn't bothering me at all. Last week I started sitting in a full lotus sometimes and I haven't been doing that since my vein exploded in June. I did manage for the first time in ages in getting into a lotus while standing on my head. Also, there was a possibility of getting visit from Brian Wilson today and that's been cancelled due to the filthy weather.
I remember a dream I had a couple of days ago. I was in this, my room and I knew Brian Wilson and his wife were visiting because I recognised two of the bikes parked against mine. Then a man came through the door and went to look out the window. I asked him who he was and he turned out to be a friend of Brian Wilson's wife and he was here as the leader of a Christian fellowship who had come by a tour bus which was down in the street. The room filled up with a bus load of teenage Christian fungers. I was asking politely what they thought they were doing in my room. Then I was asking them not very politely. Insouciantly being ignored I was! I ended up holding the front door open and shouting out: WHY DON'T YOU FUNG OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE! Not a difficult dream to work out, I wouldn't think
All my plans are simple. Retreat, retreat!
2:57 p.m.
Just came in from the first sit in the lobby. This morning I did an hour and a half before anyone else was up. Then I did one tai chi set, one headstand and one backbend over a chair. That meditation session has completely revived my spirits. Tons of bliss when I wanted it. At one point I found myself inviting some dead people in the bardo to come and enjoy the meditation with me. It seemed appropriate somehow at the time, Jack. Remember you promised the lama you wouldn't go mad, Hotboy! I'll be back!
10:00 p.m.
I've been meditating up until ten minutes ago ... apart from the physical jerks and bathing. Just started on the home brew barrel, but I filled it up with water through the week so that it should now be small beer, I hope. A mild refreshment!Hmmm? Ratttled into the first one since I was pretty dehydrated. Well, the jerks tonight were five minutes skipping, twenty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings, three threes and 49 knee bends (doyos to tai chi fans!).
Somebody asked me to do some juju for a friend of theirs who is dying of cancer. The joe apparently isn't too happy. I haven't really done much for still living people before, but I remember listening to the Lama Yeshe tape a wee while ago and he was saying you should practise Tonglen.
This means you breathe in someone's suffering and breathe out, well, bliss or happiness or not-suffering into them. I think you imagine taking on their suffering and ...
You can't do that, Hotboy! What, Jack? Take on other people's suffering. I know that, Jack, but the lama said you could do it if you were a buddha and you might be a buddha in a few aeons and then you'd be able to do it because you'd started practising now. This is forward planning, eh, Hotboy?
Jack, I can't do deity yoga, or dream yoga, or any of this juju, but it doesn't stop me practising it, does it? If I have to face dying from the black spot sometime, I don't suppose I'll be too happy either, Jack. Maybe if I do it for someone, somebody else will do it for me. But will that be any good to you, Hotboy? Maybe not, Jack, but it will do them some good.
It's not supposed to be all about moi! At the end of the day, there isn't supposed to be any moi.
I'm blogging about this because it is a positive development in my practise. This will be very good for me. This might not have happened if I hadn't gone on the piss with somebody last Sunday. This is very good indeed!
If I hadn't spent all my spare cash on drink and drugs, I could have spent a few days in the tent at the Samye Ling this week. I really miss not going there every time the school is on holiday. And sometimes it has felt as if the UnFortunate OneS were sucking the blood out of my veins, and removing good meditation time from what's left of this precious lifetime. The UFOs do not know what they are missing, but I do. I rested in the hope that today I would have the whole day in the flat on my own, and stayed sociable this morning on account of this, but events, dear boy, events ... the cold and wet and wind have altered arrangements. Let's look on the bright side!
I'm not carrying many injuries at the moment! Hurrah! I still cannot get my right shoulder into a reverse namaste, but otherwise the capsulitis isn't bothering me at all. Last week I started sitting in a full lotus sometimes and I haven't been doing that since my vein exploded in June. I did manage for the first time in ages in getting into a lotus while standing on my head. Also, there was a possibility of getting visit from Brian Wilson today and that's been cancelled due to the filthy weather.
I remember a dream I had a couple of days ago. I was in this, my room and I knew Brian Wilson and his wife were visiting because I recognised two of the bikes parked against mine. Then a man came through the door and went to look out the window. I asked him who he was and he turned out to be a friend of Brian Wilson's wife and he was here as the leader of a Christian fellowship who had come by a tour bus which was down in the street. The room filled up with a bus load of teenage Christian fungers. I was asking politely what they thought they were doing in my room. Then I was asking them not very politely. Insouciantly being ignored I was! I ended up holding the front door open and shouting out: WHY DON'T YOU FUNG OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE! Not a difficult dream to work out, I wouldn't think
All my plans are simple. Retreat, retreat!
2:57 p.m.
Just came in from the first sit in the lobby. This morning I did an hour and a half before anyone else was up. Then I did one tai chi set, one headstand and one backbend over a chair. That meditation session has completely revived my spirits. Tons of bliss when I wanted it. At one point I found myself inviting some dead people in the bardo to come and enjoy the meditation with me. It seemed appropriate somehow at the time, Jack. Remember you promised the lama you wouldn't go mad, Hotboy! I'll be back!
10:00 p.m.
I've been meditating up until ten minutes ago ... apart from the physical jerks and bathing. Just started on the home brew barrel, but I filled it up with water through the week so that it should now be small beer, I hope. A mild refreshment!Hmmm? Ratttled into the first one since I was pretty dehydrated. Well, the jerks tonight were five minutes skipping, twenty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings, three threes and 49 knee bends (doyos to tai chi fans!).
Somebody asked me to do some juju for a friend of theirs who is dying of cancer. The joe apparently isn't too happy. I haven't really done much for still living people before, but I remember listening to the Lama Yeshe tape a wee while ago and he was saying you should practise Tonglen.
This means you breathe in someone's suffering and breathe out, well, bliss or happiness or not-suffering into them. I think you imagine taking on their suffering and ...
You can't do that, Hotboy! What, Jack? Take on other people's suffering. I know that, Jack, but the lama said you could do it if you were a buddha and you might be a buddha in a few aeons and then you'd be able to do it because you'd started practising now. This is forward planning, eh, Hotboy?
Jack, I can't do deity yoga, or dream yoga, or any of this juju, but it doesn't stop me practising it, does it? If I have to face dying from the black spot sometime, I don't suppose I'll be too happy either, Jack. Maybe if I do it for someone, somebody else will do it for me. But will that be any good to you, Hotboy? Maybe not, Jack, but it will do them some good.
It's not supposed to be all about moi! At the end of the day, there isn't supposed to be any moi.
I'm blogging about this because it is a positive development in my practise. This will be very good for me. This might not have happened if I hadn't gone on the piss with somebody last Sunday. This is very good indeed!
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
Pat Kavanagh
Wednesday 9:06 a.m.
The post I was writing just disappeared! Oh well!
I didn't know Pat Kavanagh, but she had a wee place in my heart from the amusing emails she sent me. I assumed from her client list she was the best. She didn't need to bother with someone like me. I mentioned that she obviously didn't need the money with a client list like hers, and she replied that she could have made a lot more money if she hadn't been bothered by the quality of the writing.
When I finished XXXRaBlissBookXXX, I sent her the usual three chapters. Here is her reply:
Dear Hotboy,
I like your tone of voice but, honestly, I just don't see that this is a novel and anything resembling one. It reads to me like autobiography infused with fantastical wish fulfilment and written while high on adrenalin. Speed? Dope?
I know you can write but I don't know whether you can be published. To my eye/ear this first isn't publishable.
I'm sorry about that: as I said, I like your voice.
With good wishes.
You've got to laugh! I put that letter on my wall. The next agent I sent the book to decided to represent it, but failed to get it published. So she got that one spot on!
From her treatment of me, I think she must have been an awful nice woman. Since no one I know personally has died recently, I'm going to dedicate the next seven weeks meditations to her.
The post I was writing just disappeared! Oh well!
I didn't know Pat Kavanagh, but she had a wee place in my heart from the amusing emails she sent me. I assumed from her client list she was the best. She didn't need to bother with someone like me. I mentioned that she obviously didn't need the money with a client list like hers, and she replied that she could have made a lot more money if she hadn't been bothered by the quality of the writing.
When I finished XXXRaBlissBookXXX, I sent her the usual three chapters. Here is her reply:
Dear Hotboy,
I like your tone of voice but, honestly, I just don't see that this is a novel and anything resembling one. It reads to me like autobiography infused with fantastical wish fulfilment and written while high on adrenalin. Speed? Dope?
I know you can write but I don't know whether you can be published. To my eye/ear this first isn't publishable.
I'm sorry about that: as I said, I like your voice.
With good wishes.
You've got to laugh! I put that letter on my wall. The next agent I sent the book to decided to represent it, but failed to get it published. So she got that one spot on!
From her treatment of me, I think she must have been an awful nice woman. Since no one I know personally has died recently, I'm going to dedicate the next seven weeks meditations to her.
Tuesday, 21 October 2008
Lust and lechery!
Tuesday 10:07 a.m.
'The ideal limit with the things you desire is not the amount you would like to, but the amount you ought to take.' Seneca. The Wall.
Searing pains in my head, the distant jagged reverberations from the death throes of billions of brain cells ... well, I phoned up the jobbie and cancelled yesterday due to being indisposed. Felt fine after a couple of Ibuprofen, but I was shocked by the headache; that kind of hangover I don't normally get.
There's a blank woolliness about Sunday evening from about five thirty, when I thought we were going to leave the pub and ten to eleven, when we actually did.
It says in the juju book that you might encounter problems with great blossomings of desire. This might have something to do with concentrating on below-the-belt chakras, but I'm not sure.
It could be something to do with being a randy, old goat, Hotboy. Shut it, Jack! I think you should write down a few rules for future reference, Hotboy.
1) Do not proposition people whilst doing missionary work in pubs. (Due to the blank woolliness ... well, who knows? Anyway, if anyone got embarrassed ... I'm seeking counselling and my little problem will be solved as soon as Albert sends me the plane tickets to a therapy session down under with Doctor Bob!)
2) Remember you're supposed to be catching the monkey, not spanking it!
3) If you have recourse to the latter, remember that's the kind of thing the Australian Ladies Volleyball Team are there to help you with.
4) Do not under any circumstances give anyone, unless demented, geriatric and beyond temptation, a copy of your dirty book to read. (I had it in my bag last night at the meditation session with the nun when who walks in but the Australian Ladies Volleyball Team's first reserve. What a surprise! She recognised me from the allotments. I will not ask her to visit me in my hut! I will not ask her to visit my hut! I will not ... anyway, I just shook hands, made my excuses and left at the end pronto. Good boy!)
5) If you start fancying the dummies in shop windows (It might have even gone beyond that, Jack!), you may occasionally let up on the Chinese rules for merchant bankers over fifty!
Time to meditate!
'The ideal limit with the things you desire is not the amount you would like to, but the amount you ought to take.' Seneca. The Wall.
Searing pains in my head, the distant jagged reverberations from the death throes of billions of brain cells ... well, I phoned up the jobbie and cancelled yesterday due to being indisposed. Felt fine after a couple of Ibuprofen, but I was shocked by the headache; that kind of hangover I don't normally get.
There's a blank woolliness about Sunday evening from about five thirty, when I thought we were going to leave the pub and ten to eleven, when we actually did.
It says in the juju book that you might encounter problems with great blossomings of desire. This might have something to do with concentrating on below-the-belt chakras, but I'm not sure.
It could be something to do with being a randy, old goat, Hotboy. Shut it, Jack! I think you should write down a few rules for future reference, Hotboy.
1) Do not proposition people whilst doing missionary work in pubs. (Due to the blank woolliness ... well, who knows? Anyway, if anyone got embarrassed ... I'm seeking counselling and my little problem will be solved as soon as Albert sends me the plane tickets to a therapy session down under with Doctor Bob!)
2) Remember you're supposed to be catching the monkey, not spanking it!
3) If you have recourse to the latter, remember that's the kind of thing the Australian Ladies Volleyball Team are there to help you with.
4) Do not under any circumstances give anyone, unless demented, geriatric and beyond temptation, a copy of your dirty book to read. (I had it in my bag last night at the meditation session with the nun when who walks in but the Australian Ladies Volleyball Team's first reserve. What a surprise! She recognised me from the allotments. I will not ask her to visit me in my hut! I will not ask her to visit my hut! I will not ... anyway, I just shook hands, made my excuses and left at the end pronto. Good boy!)
5) If you start fancying the dummies in shop windows (It might have even gone beyond that, Jack!), you may occasionally let up on the Chinese rules for merchant bankers over fifty!
Time to meditate!
Sunday, 19 October 2008
The wonderful boozingness|!
Monday 1:07 a.m.
I was all day in the pub! Hurrah! Fantastic company! Made a friend today! How often can you say that, Jack?
IPA. Thank you for the brewers of that!
Also, the wonderful person made me think I could write, at least one time before I had to give it up for the juju of jujus, the great vajrayana. So I'd like to rehearse my acceptance speech when I have to stand there in my dickie bow regalia. Here it is then:
Maybe I should save this for some other, more sober, time.
I was all day in the pub! Hurrah! Fantastic company! Made a friend today! How often can you say that, Jack?
IPA. Thank you for the brewers of that!
Also, the wonderful person made me think I could write, at least one time before I had to give it up for the juju of jujus, the great vajrayana. So I'd like to rehearse my acceptance speech when I have to stand there in my dickie bow regalia. Here it is then:
Maybe I should save this for some other, more sober, time.
Saturday, 18 October 2008
The Marvellous Marvin!
Sunday 12:40 a.m.
I won't go on about the meditations this evening because their wonderfulness was beyond the descriptive powers of mere words. I'd like to say to all my deep dear friends (Hello, Jack!) that if you tried to conjoin with moi over this period, you're activities were totally contrapuntal and no help at all. However, since you are flatheids and have no mental control whatsoever, I will let yous off!
I have to go back to the jobbie on Monday and there will be no one there except moi. No schoolgirls. No schoolboys. No bullies. Just moi. But they have the broadband there.
Maybe I can slow it down and watch it properly. You can watch You Tube if you've got broadband. You can watch Marvellous Marvin fighting Tommy Hearns is you've got broadband. One of these days I'm going to give Marvellous Marvin a total doing, but I might wait until he is about ninety five. Just now on the broadband thingy, you can watch my favourite boxer, the great Tommy Hearns, trying to biff Marvellous Marvin. The only mistake he made in the three rounnds, or almost three rounds he boxed with Marvellous Marvin, was sending Marvellous to the neutral corner to get checked out by the doctor. He must have been cut.
What did the doc say to him? Did he say: You're funged,son. You've only got a round left with a wound like that. What did he say? Did he have to say anything? Just getting taken to the doc upset Marvellous. Did he think: This is what happened to Alan Minter! Fung that!
I'm looking forward to going to work on Monday so I can see the blow. Marvellous was adept amazingly as a southpaw and an orthodox joe. I think he might have knocked my favourite boxer out with a southpaw right. I can't remember. Did he switch his feet as he crossed the ring after Tommy got the first shock?
The sensei and reverend knows much more about boxing than I'll ever know. Did he switch feet half way across the ring as he chased Tommy Hearns?
I've got to lose half a stone before I can get into the ring with Marvellous Marvin.
Have you got a gun, Hotboy? To fight Marvellous Marvin you definitely would like to have a Bulldog 44 at least, Jack!
Sunday 12:20 p.m.
Hmmm? I think mixing the weissbeirs (2) with the home brew (one jug, honest!) was a bit of a mistake. Still, no harm done, eh! I'm looking forward to spending the afternoon in the pub!
I won't go on about the meditations this evening because their wonderfulness was beyond the descriptive powers of mere words. I'd like to say to all my deep dear friends (Hello, Jack!) that if you tried to conjoin with moi over this period, you're activities were totally contrapuntal and no help at all. However, since you are flatheids and have no mental control whatsoever, I will let yous off!
I have to go back to the jobbie on Monday and there will be no one there except moi. No schoolgirls. No schoolboys. No bullies. Just moi. But they have the broadband there.
Maybe I can slow it down and watch it properly. You can watch You Tube if you've got broadband. You can watch Marvellous Marvin fighting Tommy Hearns is you've got broadband. One of these days I'm going to give Marvellous Marvin a total doing, but I might wait until he is about ninety five. Just now on the broadband thingy, you can watch my favourite boxer, the great Tommy Hearns, trying to biff Marvellous Marvin. The only mistake he made in the three rounnds, or almost three rounds he boxed with Marvellous Marvin, was sending Marvellous to the neutral corner to get checked out by the doctor. He must have been cut.
What did the doc say to him? Did he say: You're funged,son. You've only got a round left with a wound like that. What did he say? Did he have to say anything? Just getting taken to the doc upset Marvellous. Did he think: This is what happened to Alan Minter! Fung that!
I'm looking forward to going to work on Monday so I can see the blow. Marvellous was adept amazingly as a southpaw and an orthodox joe. I think he might have knocked my favourite boxer out with a southpaw right. I can't remember. Did he switch his feet as he crossed the ring after Tommy got the first shock?
The sensei and reverend knows much more about boxing than I'll ever know. Did he switch feet half way across the ring as he chased Tommy Hearns?
I've got to lose half a stone before I can get into the ring with Marvellous Marvin.
Have you got a gun, Hotboy? To fight Marvellous Marvin you definitely would like to have a Bulldog 44 at least, Jack!
Sunday 12:20 p.m.
Hmmm? I think mixing the weissbeirs (2) with the home brew (one jug, honest!) was a bit of a mistake. Still, no harm done, eh! I'm looking forward to spending the afternoon in the pub!
The Diet!
Saturday 8:10 p.m.
I haven't been eating at the start of the week until I get home from work. On Tuesday, I cycled to the Tai Chi. On Wednesday, I did fifty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings. On Thursday, I felt very underpowered whilst up at the diggings and recognised this as a sign of drastic carbohydrate depletion, so that night, purely for medicinal purposes, I road tested the new home brew. Well, it wasn't new. It had been in the cask a whole day. Last night, I blew another hole into the lonely financial zone by purchasing four delicious bottles of weissbier. What a deathless delight they were too! This evening I donned the Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle and did the six threes. School librarians, ya bass! Scaled out just over twelve stone, so I've still got over a stone to lose, but I'm really quite fit for a fat old basturn.
If I'd had the wherewithal, I'd be in my tent down at the Samye Ling tonight. But the flat is all mine today and tonight and the meditations have been pretty awesome really. Apart from the training and the bathing and the reading the paper, I've done nothing else. I'm away back to the lobby now. If I go on fire, I'll let you know later on!
I haven't been eating at the start of the week until I get home from work. On Tuesday, I cycled to the Tai Chi. On Wednesday, I did fifty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings. On Thursday, I felt very underpowered whilst up at the diggings and recognised this as a sign of drastic carbohydrate depletion, so that night, purely for medicinal purposes, I road tested the new home brew. Well, it wasn't new. It had been in the cask a whole day. Last night, I blew another hole into the lonely financial zone by purchasing four delicious bottles of weissbier. What a deathless delight they were too! This evening I donned the Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle and did the six threes. School librarians, ya bass! Scaled out just over twelve stone, so I've still got over a stone to lose, but I'm really quite fit for a fat old basturn.
If I'd had the wherewithal, I'd be in my tent down at the Samye Ling tonight. But the flat is all mine today and tonight and the meditations have been pretty awesome really. Apart from the training and the bathing and the reading the paper, I've done nothing else. I'm away back to the lobby now. If I go on fire, I'll let you know later on!
Friday, 17 October 2008
Times past!
Saturday 1:25 a.m.
The auld maw seemed slightly knocked off today (yesterday now). She was calling me Davy, Makie, Neilie, Hughie ... Hotboy, but she's always done that. She knew she was slightly knocked off because she was noticing it. If all your kids look a bit like each other, you're bound to mix them up sometimes if you've had a big family. Once, after she'd done this ... you could see she was bit annoyed by it, which was unusual ... she said Kathy, her 82 year old sister, was the fourteenth in the family. There were fifteen births, but only five of them made it to adulthood. She said she remembered her mother shouting out the back door of the miner's row for her children to come in for their dinner, calling out names of the dead ones mixed in with the live ones.
They're all going to hell, Jack! The evil bourgeois are all going to hell!
The auld maw seemed slightly knocked off today (yesterday now). She was calling me Davy, Makie, Neilie, Hughie ... Hotboy, but she's always done that. She knew she was slightly knocked off because she was noticing it. If all your kids look a bit like each other, you're bound to mix them up sometimes if you've had a big family. Once, after she'd done this ... you could see she was bit annoyed by it, which was unusual ... she said Kathy, her 82 year old sister, was the fourteenth in the family. There were fifteen births, but only five of them made it to adulthood. She said she remembered her mother shouting out the back door of the miner's row for her children to come in for their dinner, calling out names of the dead ones mixed in with the live ones.
They're all going to hell, Jack! The evil bourgeois are all going to hell!
Thursday, 16 October 2008
The sunny day!
Thursday 10:00 p.m.
It was a beautiful day today! On a beautiful sunny Autumn day like today, it is hard to sit in the hut. So I sat outside. You don't want to attract attention to yourself. The flatheids might wonder why you are just sitting there and think you are weird, but since it was a working day and there was no one about, I sat outside and fixed my eyes on a bank of marigolds.
All a marigold needs is a touch of sunlight! Nothing is as beautifully yellow as a marigold in the sunlight!
There's a path down through the allotments ... there's a path at either side of every allotment ... and another reason why you should maybe not meditate outside is that the flatheids will disturb you by wandering around with their heads up their backsides. So the flatheid who digs to the south of our allotment came walking down the path behind the bank of marigolds, and I had to pretend I was a flatheid as well and got a book out of my bag as she was passing. She didn't see me.
One of these days I'm just going to sit where the fung I like and if the flatheids don't like it, or it makes them feel that I am weird ... well, fung off flatheids!
Do you think the flatheid didn't see you because you had ceased to make mental waves, Hotboy? No, Jack. The flatheid didn't see me because she was pre-occupied. She didn't see the marigolds either. The flatheid is unhappy and preoccupied and too dumb to meditate. What can you say about flatheids? Dearie me. Dearie, dearie me!
It was a beautiful day today! On a beautiful sunny Autumn day like today, it is hard to sit in the hut. So I sat outside. You don't want to attract attention to yourself. The flatheids might wonder why you are just sitting there and think you are weird, but since it was a working day and there was no one about, I sat outside and fixed my eyes on a bank of marigolds.
All a marigold needs is a touch of sunlight! Nothing is as beautifully yellow as a marigold in the sunlight!
There's a path down through the allotments ... there's a path at either side of every allotment ... and another reason why you should maybe not meditate outside is that the flatheids will disturb you by wandering around with their heads up their backsides. So the flatheid who digs to the south of our allotment came walking down the path behind the bank of marigolds, and I had to pretend I was a flatheid as well and got a book out of my bag as she was passing. She didn't see me.
One of these days I'm just going to sit where the fung I like and if the flatheids don't like it, or it makes them feel that I am weird ... well, fung off flatheids!
Do you think the flatheid didn't see you because you had ceased to make mental waves, Hotboy? No, Jack. The flatheid didn't see me because she was pre-occupied. She didn't see the marigolds either. The flatheid is unhappy and preoccupied and too dumb to meditate. What can you say about flatheids? Dearie me. Dearie, dearie me!
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
Allan Guthrie
Wednesday 11:11 p.m.
I met Allan Guthrie in May and I've just managed to finish Two-Way Split, his debut novel, just now, due to delays with the local library getting refurbished and whatnot. Well written, well plotted and set in Edinburgh! It's full of basturns and nutcases and all kind of folk who could do with meditating a bit. If you like crime books or thrillers, I'd totally recommend it. Nice match of style and subject matter.
I think he told me he'd had it rejected four hundred times before he got a new publishing business in the states to accept it. Dearie me. I gave up trying to get several books I wrote published after three or four rejections. The best books ever written are probably lying under folks' beds, so they are! I've got another two books by him here, but I'll have to return them to the library tomorrow since someone has put in request of them. So somebody's reading him anyway.
I met Allan Guthrie in May and I've just managed to finish Two-Way Split, his debut novel, just now, due to delays with the local library getting refurbished and whatnot. Well written, well plotted and set in Edinburgh! It's full of basturns and nutcases and all kind of folk who could do with meditating a bit. If you like crime books or thrillers, I'd totally recommend it. Nice match of style and subject matter.
I think he told me he'd had it rejected four hundred times before he got a new publishing business in the states to accept it. Dearie me. I gave up trying to get several books I wrote published after three or four rejections. The best books ever written are probably lying under folks' beds, so they are! I've got another two books by him here, but I'll have to return them to the library tomorrow since someone has put in request of them. So somebody's reading him anyway.
Lotus Leaping!
Wednesday 3:30 p.m.
Had a chance at a broadband computery thing today and found a boy on You Tube (under Tibetan yoga) who was demonstrating how to go from a lotus, leap in the air, and switch into a lotus the other way round. This is one of the exercises recommended by Naropa. Most bizarre. Also, a Tibetan monk talking about remembering past lives. Most interesting!
Had a chance at a broadband computery thing today and found a boy on You Tube (under Tibetan yoga) who was demonstrating how to go from a lotus, leap in the air, and switch into a lotus the other way round. This is one of the exercises recommended by Naropa. Most bizarre. Also, a Tibetan monk talking about remembering past lives. Most interesting!
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
Morning routine!
9:10 a.m.
A proper practitioner might find this hilarious, but here is the routine I go through when I can get up and sit up in bed before getting up.
Visualise the gurus in front of you and then put them on top of your head and dissolve them in the light coming down through your body.
Visualise all the flatheids you know who have died; some family, friends and one or two people I didn't really like. None of the folk meditated and none of them got the bliss.
Go through the lineage from Tilopa or Dorje Chang down to Gampopa. Go through the dying process. Arise as a light being, the Medicine Buddha. Try to be the Medicine Buddha with the Medicine Buddha sitting in front of you also. Do light penetration in the four chakras going from the front visualisation into moi. Put the front visualisation on top of your head and ask for some help, etc. Dissolve the visualisation down into yourself. Dissolve the visualisation of yourself as the Medicine Buddha.
Try to visualise the kalachakra mandala and be in it (or on it) as the Medicine Buddha. Offer everything to the Medicine Buddha as it appears in front of you.
Go to the three channels and start vase breathing. You're concentrating on the navel chakra.Bring the juice up chakra by chakra, going down and coming up again.
At the end, you dedicate merit and dissolve into voidness, then go through the death process in reverse. Get back to Hotboy.
This is a huge palaver. It takes at least an hour, but I find it helpful, particularly when I've got plenty of time. After this, I tend to fool around with any meditation I like, but when it's a jobbie day, I have to get up and come here.
I'm getting fed up with this blog again. What I need is my secret agent to sell 888TheRealMcCoy777 at Frankfort next week. Nothing is happening. And the too dumb to meditate are just getting on my wick!!
A proper practitioner might find this hilarious, but here is the routine I go through when I can get up and sit up in bed before getting up.
Visualise the gurus in front of you and then put them on top of your head and dissolve them in the light coming down through your body.
Visualise all the flatheids you know who have died; some family, friends and one or two people I didn't really like. None of the folk meditated and none of them got the bliss.
Go through the lineage from Tilopa or Dorje Chang down to Gampopa. Go through the dying process. Arise as a light being, the Medicine Buddha. Try to be the Medicine Buddha with the Medicine Buddha sitting in front of you also. Do light penetration in the four chakras going from the front visualisation into moi. Put the front visualisation on top of your head and ask for some help, etc. Dissolve the visualisation down into yourself. Dissolve the visualisation of yourself as the Medicine Buddha.
Try to visualise the kalachakra mandala and be in it (or on it) as the Medicine Buddha. Offer everything to the Medicine Buddha as it appears in front of you.
Go to the three channels and start vase breathing. You're concentrating on the navel chakra.Bring the juice up chakra by chakra, going down and coming up again.
At the end, you dedicate merit and dissolve into voidness, then go through the death process in reverse. Get back to Hotboy.
This is a huge palaver. It takes at least an hour, but I find it helpful, particularly when I've got plenty of time. After this, I tend to fool around with any meditation I like, but when it's a jobbie day, I have to get up and come here.
I'm getting fed up with this blog again. What I need is my secret agent to sell 888TheRealMcCoy777 at Frankfort next week. Nothing is happening. And the too dumb to meditate are just getting on my wick!!
Monday, 13 October 2008
The View Ahead!
Monday
I have no arrangements made. There is nothing on the horizon until the Christmas Santy basturns start up again. I hate having events lined up. All arrangements with the Unfortunate Ones are regarded as obstacles by moi. They sit in the calender like open graves, just waiting for the Unfortunate Ones to stop me meditating.
I have no cash for the next fortnight and I have no bob hope, so I can get into this purification and accumulation phase. And I can tell all the Unfortunate Ones to bugger off! What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!
Later: I've just finished doing a Tai Chi set. Then close your eyes and see how the bliss is. Warmth. I know it's a positive development, but I'm still a wee bit wary of the warmth.
The kid I told how to meditate last week came back today with some supplementary questions. I'm a resource, so I am, Jack. God, what a life I could have had if someone had told me about the bliss when I was seventeen!
10:00 p.m.
I went to the Theosophical Society this evening to meditate with the nun and a few other people. She offered us pebbles to gaze on. Then, silence for a hour and then I get up and go home. Perfect piece of socialising: no drink, no drugs, no pointless conversation, but lots and lots of bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
I have no arrangements made. There is nothing on the horizon until the Christmas Santy basturns start up again. I hate having events lined up. All arrangements with the Unfortunate Ones are regarded as obstacles by moi. They sit in the calender like open graves, just waiting for the Unfortunate Ones to stop me meditating.
I have no cash for the next fortnight and I have no bob hope, so I can get into this purification and accumulation phase. And I can tell all the Unfortunate Ones to bugger off! What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!
Later: I've just finished doing a Tai Chi set. Then close your eyes and see how the bliss is. Warmth. I know it's a positive development, but I'm still a wee bit wary of the warmth.
The kid I told how to meditate last week came back today with some supplementary questions. I'm a resource, so I am, Jack. God, what a life I could have had if someone had told me about the bliss when I was seventeen!
10:00 p.m.
I went to the Theosophical Society this evening to meditate with the nun and a few other people. She offered us pebbles to gaze on. Then, silence for a hour and then I get up and go home. Perfect piece of socialising: no drink, no drugs, no pointless conversation, but lots and lots of bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
Friday, 10 October 2008
Flatheids!
Friday 8:11 p.m.
Flatheid is not necessarily a pejorative term. People who are called flatheids might think it is a pejorative term, but it is possible to use it as the best description available. Flatheids are folk who do not meditate. Good luck to them. Most people who meditate are also flatheids, or, like moi, are flatheided most of the time, but because they meditate these fortunate creatures will not remain as flatheids.
It is not compassionate just to tell the flatheids to fung off. But to do this juju among the flatheids, it must be necessary to keep the flatheids down to a minimum. Flatheids always end up jangling your nervous system, even if that is your own fault. Cavorting with the flatheids really takes it out of you.
You want everything to be just dead quiet. Exciting your mind is the
last thing you want to do. I meditated all day yesterday until nine o
clock at night, but though the meditations as usual showed progress,
the thoughts arising were jumpy, and thejoe having the thoughts was a little bit unsettled. This was entirely due to an overdose of flatheids. I gave away two days to flatheids last week. I gave up meditating with the nun on Monday so I could have a completely frivolous conversation with a deep dear flatheid I hadn't seen for ages.
I feel as if I'm that close, Jack. What would you think if you got given the black spot now, Hotboy? I'd think I wish I'd told them all to fung off, Jack. Hmmmm? It's always a work in progress, Hotboy.
A kid told me he was going to do comparative religion at uni, and I gave him "In Search of the Panchen Lama" to read. A good book. It's got a photie
of the ripped off kid on the front. He asked me this week to tell him
how to meditate and I gave him ten minutes about the physical bliss and
the mental ecstasy. The Disbelieving Congregation isn't into feeling
relaxed or whatever it is they say you're going to feel when you
meditate. We're into the bliss! Oh,ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
Flatheid is not necessarily a pejorative term. People who are called flatheids might think it is a pejorative term, but it is possible to use it as the best description available. Flatheids are folk who do not meditate. Good luck to them. Most people who meditate are also flatheids, or, like moi, are flatheided most of the time, but because they meditate these fortunate creatures will not remain as flatheids.
It is not compassionate just to tell the flatheids to fung off. But to do this juju among the flatheids, it must be necessary to keep the flatheids down to a minimum. Flatheids always end up jangling your nervous system, even if that is your own fault. Cavorting with the flatheids really takes it out of you.
You want everything to be just dead quiet. Exciting your mind is the
last thing you want to do. I meditated all day yesterday until nine o
clock at night, but though the meditations as usual showed progress,
the thoughts arising were jumpy, and thejoe having the thoughts was a little bit unsettled. This was entirely due to an overdose of flatheids. I gave away two days to flatheids last week. I gave up meditating with the nun on Monday so I could have a completely frivolous conversation with a deep dear flatheid I hadn't seen for ages.
I feel as if I'm that close, Jack. What would you think if you got given the black spot now, Hotboy? I'd think I wish I'd told them all to fung off, Jack. Hmmmm? It's always a work in progress, Hotboy.
A kid told me he was going to do comparative religion at uni, and I gave him "In Search of the Panchen Lama" to read. A good book. It's got a photie
of the ripped off kid on the front. He asked me this week to tell him
how to meditate and I gave him ten minutes about the physical bliss and
the mental ecstasy. The Disbelieving Congregation isn't into feeling
relaxed or whatever it is they say you're going to feel when you
meditate. We're into the bliss! Oh,ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
Thursday, 9 October 2008
The Goddo Slot!
Thursday 3:35 p.m.
Whilst attending the tai chi class in the catholic church hall, I chanced upon a book, called Journey Inwards, but F.C. Happold, who sounds like a Norwegian football team. It was only when I read another book by him, called Mysticism, a Study and Anthology, that I realised that I'd had a mystical experience, in buddhist terms an experience of non-self and emptiness.
Just in case you have one, Jack, a mystical experience in characterised by the following qualities:
1)Ineffability ... it's hard to put into words that make sense.
2)A noetic quality ... you're convinced that you know something even although it's difficult to express.
3)They're transient ... they don't last long.
4)They have the quality of passivity ... you might feel as if you've been given something.
5)The slam dunk quality is the consciousness of the oneness of everything. This is the non-self and emptiness bit.
The Journey Inwards starts with a very interesting discussion of what God might be. God to this boy is the one beyond conceptualisation, the one there is no point in talking about, the one you can't say anything about that makes sense.
This Happold boy must be a tim. He says God isn't knowable by intellectual means, but some people may get an intuitive grasp of it. Hmmmm? He also says that by yourself you can only get so far in experiencing God and then you need some help, assumedly from God.
It seems to me that it's far better not to be talking about God at all. Buddhism talks about mind of course. I can't see the point of even mentioning something that's beyond conceptualisation.
But, Hotboy, is yoga not about union with .... something. Maybe it's just about achieving unity. Anyway, Jack, I'll tell you what it's like when I experience it! Or experience it again.
Whilst attending the tai chi class in the catholic church hall, I chanced upon a book, called Journey Inwards, but F.C. Happold, who sounds like a Norwegian football team. It was only when I read another book by him, called Mysticism, a Study and Anthology, that I realised that I'd had a mystical experience, in buddhist terms an experience of non-self and emptiness.
Just in case you have one, Jack, a mystical experience in characterised by the following qualities:
1)Ineffability ... it's hard to put into words that make sense.
2)A noetic quality ... you're convinced that you know something even although it's difficult to express.
3)They're transient ... they don't last long.
4)They have the quality of passivity ... you might feel as if you've been given something.
5)The slam dunk quality is the consciousness of the oneness of everything. This is the non-self and emptiness bit.
The Journey Inwards starts with a very interesting discussion of what God might be. God to this boy is the one beyond conceptualisation, the one there is no point in talking about, the one you can't say anything about that makes sense.
This Happold boy must be a tim. He says God isn't knowable by intellectual means, but some people may get an intuitive grasp of it. Hmmmm? He also says that by yourself you can only get so far in experiencing God and then you need some help, assumedly from God.
It seems to me that it's far better not to be talking about God at all. Buddhism talks about mind of course. I can't see the point of even mentioning something that's beyond conceptualisation.
But, Hotboy, is yoga not about union with .... something. Maybe it's just about achieving unity. Anyway, Jack, I'll tell you what it's like when I experience it! Or experience it again.
Saturday, 4 October 2008
Babysitting!
Saturday 9:00 p.m.
As I was cycling about in the wind and rain today in a frantic attempt to burn off some of the magic soup, it occurred to me that doing these vajrayana meditations is a bit like looking after a baby.
When you're looking after a wee baby, one day you will look at it and realise it's different. Overnight something has occurred to change the baby perhaps. Maybe another bit of its brain has fired up, or linked in. All you have to do for the baby is keep your eye on it and make sure it's happy. All you have to do with these meditations is sit there and the meditations will surely develop, depending on your lifestyle, concentration and application of course.
I don't know what part having a guru, or taking refuge and empowerments, play in this development, but the meditations I was having beforehand were nothing like so dynamic. I guess this is why they say the vajrayana is like a jet plane, the mahayana like a car, and the UnFortunateOnes, being too dumb to meditate, are like morons.
Most of what I want to do is meditations. I feel like going away and hiding for a bit. I feel more and more separated from the UFOs, which is not the kind of integration I was hoping for.
There are no sentient beings. What a realisation that would be!
Most of my sessions these days include taking the concentration breath by vase breath up and down, and up a notch the next time, and down again, etc. On reaching the brain chakra, the feelings are continuing to increase in wonderfulness, and increase again, so that it would be tempting to just do juju with the brain chakra. There's a helluva lot of bliss up there when I do this visualisation these days, but Gopi Krishna was meditating on that chakra when the kundalini took a wrong turn, and made him ill for thirteen years. Best to stick with the navel one, I should think. There's a bit of whooping it up going on with the throat chakra as well, by the way.
I might have to have a few beers tonight to burn off the magic soup. Now I understand that it was only by drinking beer that the miraculous qualities of the soup were held at bay. If it wasn't for the beer, I'd have been twenty stone by this time, Jack. Dream on, Hotboy. Dream on.
As I was cycling about in the wind and rain today in a frantic attempt to burn off some of the magic soup, it occurred to me that doing these vajrayana meditations is a bit like looking after a baby.
When you're looking after a wee baby, one day you will look at it and realise it's different. Overnight something has occurred to change the baby perhaps. Maybe another bit of its brain has fired up, or linked in. All you have to do for the baby is keep your eye on it and make sure it's happy. All you have to do with these meditations is sit there and the meditations will surely develop, depending on your lifestyle, concentration and application of course.
I don't know what part having a guru, or taking refuge and empowerments, play in this development, but the meditations I was having beforehand were nothing like so dynamic. I guess this is why they say the vajrayana is like a jet plane, the mahayana like a car, and the UnFortunateOnes, being too dumb to meditate, are like morons.
Most of what I want to do is meditations. I feel like going away and hiding for a bit. I feel more and more separated from the UFOs, which is not the kind of integration I was hoping for.
There are no sentient beings. What a realisation that would be!
Most of my sessions these days include taking the concentration breath by vase breath up and down, and up a notch the next time, and down again, etc. On reaching the brain chakra, the feelings are continuing to increase in wonderfulness, and increase again, so that it would be tempting to just do juju with the brain chakra. There's a helluva lot of bliss up there when I do this visualisation these days, but Gopi Krishna was meditating on that chakra when the kundalini took a wrong turn, and made him ill for thirteen years. Best to stick with the navel one, I should think. There's a bit of whooping it up going on with the throat chakra as well, by the way.
I might have to have a few beers tonight to burn off the magic soup. Now I understand that it was only by drinking beer that the miraculous qualities of the soup were held at bay. If it wasn't for the beer, I'd have been twenty stone by this time, Jack. Dream on, Hotboy. Dream on.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Being a Fat Basturn!
Thursday 9:30 p.m.
Imagine the chagrin last night when I stepped on the scales and found myself once again at twelve and a half stone. I started dieting three or four weeks ago and then I was twelve and a half stone as well. Dearie me!
I shaved off my wee beard this summer partly so I could get a good look at the big baw heid, the saggy jowls and the double chin, of the fat drunken basturn. I've got a wardrobe of clothes which fit someone a stone and a half lighter.
I stopped eating so much bread. I wasn't eating at all at the jobbie though I was drinking three or so pints of home brew a night still. After a couple of weeks of this, was down to twelve and a quarter stone, so I'd lost about four pounds. Then, I decided that the only way to lose the beer belly was to stop drinking beer. So I stopped drinking beer a little over a week ago, apart from Saturday. I stopped eating bread in the evenings and only really ate soup after lunchtime.
I put on four blinking pounds substituting soup for beer and bread! That can't be right.
This is magical soup, Hotboy! If you'd gotten 333oRaBlissBookxx published last year and had been able to give up the jobbie and go into hut industries, the magical soup would have been a sure moneyspinner!
I must have been eating enormous quantities of soup. I was consuming a full pot every two days, but since there's no fat in soup, well .... There are a lot of tatties in your soup, Hotboy. Yes, Jack, there are a lot of tatties in my soup. Four or five baked potato sized tatties in each one.
Even at that, unless the soup is magical ... well, the Tibetans have magic pills. I've got a half packet of them up in the room, now that I remember. Folk must meditate over them and do a lot of thinking about them. Well, most of the ingredients of the soup are from the allotment and I meditate up there all the time. Three hours today, for instance.
I still don't see how the sums work. The scales are alright. Of course, since I wasn't drinking beer and such, I was meditating more. I spent seven hours today so far doing nothing at all. On the other hand, I've always taken twice as much exercise as just about anybody apart from a mentally ill person. I did a big dig this afternoon. Hmmm?
Cycling and digging and shadow boxing are all very well, but if you want to lose weight, there's nothing like running long slow distances. Just when the weather gets even filthier. Hmmm? I'm not happy staying a fat basturn though. Maybe I'll have a beer and think about it some more.
Imagine the chagrin last night when I stepped on the scales and found myself once again at twelve and a half stone. I started dieting three or four weeks ago and then I was twelve and a half stone as well. Dearie me!
I shaved off my wee beard this summer partly so I could get a good look at the big baw heid, the saggy jowls and the double chin, of the fat drunken basturn. I've got a wardrobe of clothes which fit someone a stone and a half lighter.
I stopped eating so much bread. I wasn't eating at all at the jobbie though I was drinking three or so pints of home brew a night still. After a couple of weeks of this, was down to twelve and a quarter stone, so I'd lost about four pounds. Then, I decided that the only way to lose the beer belly was to stop drinking beer. So I stopped drinking beer a little over a week ago, apart from Saturday. I stopped eating bread in the evenings and only really ate soup after lunchtime.
I put on four blinking pounds substituting soup for beer and bread! That can't be right.
This is magical soup, Hotboy! If you'd gotten 333oRaBlissBookxx published last year and had been able to give up the jobbie and go into hut industries, the magical soup would have been a sure moneyspinner!
I must have been eating enormous quantities of soup. I was consuming a full pot every two days, but since there's no fat in soup, well .... There are a lot of tatties in your soup, Hotboy. Yes, Jack, there are a lot of tatties in my soup. Four or five baked potato sized tatties in each one.
Even at that, unless the soup is magical ... well, the Tibetans have magic pills. I've got a half packet of them up in the room, now that I remember. Folk must meditate over them and do a lot of thinking about them. Well, most of the ingredients of the soup are from the allotment and I meditate up there all the time. Three hours today, for instance.
I still don't see how the sums work. The scales are alright. Of course, since I wasn't drinking beer and such, I was meditating more. I spent seven hours today so far doing nothing at all. On the other hand, I've always taken twice as much exercise as just about anybody apart from a mentally ill person. I did a big dig this afternoon. Hmmm?
Cycling and digging and shadow boxing are all very well, but if you want to lose weight, there's nothing like running long slow distances. Just when the weather gets even filthier. Hmmm? I'm not happy staying a fat basturn though. Maybe I'll have a beer and think about it some more.
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
The Vase Breath Again!
Wednesday 3:25 p.m.
There is something funny happens sometimes with the breathings, Jack, which I thought I might share with you.
Sometimes I've been trying to hold my breath and I've been unable to do so for more than a few seconds. The outbreath comes quickly partly because I am unsure of the reaction in my body. Sometimes there have been judderings in the past. But mainly there are times when the body is hardly able to retain breath at all. This is far less than occurs with a normal joe or josephine. I don't know why that is, but when it was happening it did feel quite odd. It's been a good while since I've had this effect.
Usually, I'm struggling to hold my breath for a minute. Because the lama told me not to force it, and because it's too much of an effort, I probably don't hold my breath for more than thirty seconds normally. But then sometimes something a bit odd occurs.
It's as if you can't feel the breath inside your body properly. The squeeze you put in while holding the vase breath seems to be squeezing at a lot less, and the normal pressure you'd expect on your belly just isn't there. During these times, it is easier, much easier to hold your breath for a longer time.
I just don't know why that is or what's going on really, Jack. Since you've embraced your ignorance and began to engage more fully with experiential mysticism, Hotboy, you've got a lot more to be ignorant about than the Unfortunate Ones. Hmmmm?
Neither can I explain the large differences that seem to occur with these meditations week on week. Really I have no explanations for anything. But if you're not in it, you're definitely not going to win it.
I've only drank beer on Saturday out of the last seven days. Good boy! Shame I can't describe the bliss to you, Jack.
'For only he who passes this way can understand it, and even he cannot describe it.' The Wall. St John of the Cross.
There is something funny happens sometimes with the breathings, Jack, which I thought I might share with you.
Sometimes I've been trying to hold my breath and I've been unable to do so for more than a few seconds. The outbreath comes quickly partly because I am unsure of the reaction in my body. Sometimes there have been judderings in the past. But mainly there are times when the body is hardly able to retain breath at all. This is far less than occurs with a normal joe or josephine. I don't know why that is, but when it was happening it did feel quite odd. It's been a good while since I've had this effect.
Usually, I'm struggling to hold my breath for a minute. Because the lama told me not to force it, and because it's too much of an effort, I probably don't hold my breath for more than thirty seconds normally. But then sometimes something a bit odd occurs.
It's as if you can't feel the breath inside your body properly. The squeeze you put in while holding the vase breath seems to be squeezing at a lot less, and the normal pressure you'd expect on your belly just isn't there. During these times, it is easier, much easier to hold your breath for a longer time.
I just don't know why that is or what's going on really, Jack. Since you've embraced your ignorance and began to engage more fully with experiential mysticism, Hotboy, you've got a lot more to be ignorant about than the Unfortunate Ones. Hmmmm?
Neither can I explain the large differences that seem to occur with these meditations week on week. Really I have no explanations for anything. But if you're not in it, you're definitely not going to win it.
I've only drank beer on Saturday out of the last seven days. Good boy! Shame I can't describe the bliss to you, Jack.
'For only he who passes this way can understand it, and even he cannot describe it.' The Wall. St John of the Cross.
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