More weird stuff!

Tuesday 8:30 p.m.
My relationship with the outside workaday world is just the same as anyone else's. My false sense of self is just as good as anybody else's false sense of self. So there's really not much difference there except you're probably not half as handsome.

I'd like sometimes to explain what's going on in these meditations, especially when I've had such a good one as I've just had, but I haven't a clue what's going on. ... there's this envelope thing which seems connected to your body, as if inside it but kind of parallel as well. It's like a force of some kind as well since it seems to stretch you sometimes and hold you up. Whatever it is, it's getting stronger, Jack!

Only a looney would embark on such a course as this. I suppose up till recently you wouldn't have access to this unless you were in a closed retreat. It was an esoteric juju. Well thank God the times have changed and any old potheid can get into this stuff! Crash and burn! Crash and burn!

None of the bad things that might have happened has happened yet. No excruciating agonies or going on fire or anything bad at all. I've been getting ever more bliss, but it's been mostly that, a lot more bliss. There does not seem to be an end to the amount of bliss. Even when you can't believe in what you're getting when you're gettting it, you then get some more. I'm not sure about the heat.

Since I am not discernibly making much headway with the non-duality, you'd got to wonder where this other stuff is going. Is this subtle body thing separating out somehow. The meditation and post-meditation times seem very different. It's not just me with my eyes closed, or open. That's another dichotomy really. I used to be just the same with my eyes open or closed, except in one it was a bit darker. Dearie me! Where's it all going to end, Jack. You'll end up standing on one leg in your underwear half way up the Himalayas if you don't take it easy, Hotboy.

It's really difficult to describe this stuff.

Poisonous and I bumped into two junkies we knew and asked them in for a smoke. They were most cavalier about the cannybliss. After a while the one with the bare feet said: Ah can turn intae a swan. Go on then, says I. Ah can only dae it when nobody's lookin', he says.

Dakini DeliveriesR Us

Monday
Out of the depths I have cried to thee, Oh Lord ... whilst stumblebumming about in an alcholic haze and vowing never again... and, Lo, the dakini appeared miraculously and said: In the buddhafield, all you can hear is you moaning and groaning and going on about there being no cannybliss for love nor money! Here's a bit to do you for a week, so shut it with the complaints and start finding the middle way to contentment, satiation and happiness instead of acting like a bum and being a total disgrace to the juju!

Despite moi, the effects of the vase breathing and the meditations in general continue to increase. I was getting out of my face on air last night watching Mission Impossible 111, a good movie if you haven't got much of an attention span.

Jack, Jack, happy days are here again! All I have to do is stay away from the nicotine dragon. No more beers! No more beers! No more beers! Hurrah!

The Bliss!

Sunday 1:51 p.m.
I would like the kiddo to start meditating and I always chat to her about the juju whenever I see her in the hope of encouraging her in this direction. Today I was trying to remember why I started meditating and why I stuck with it. I've been meditating since my early thirties, so it's quite a long time ago now, a generation really.

You cannot demonstrate the bliss. I didn't even know there was any bliss when I started. Once I'd taught myself how to do it, I became an enthusiast very quickly, mainly because of the weird stuff that happens; like blasts of red light stuff going up your back and all. I found meditating to be very interesting.

By the time I was forty, I could sit in a really lousy lotus position for a max of twenty minutes. I must have started getting up for an hour before going to work when I was about forty two. It's hard to get up at six o clock in the morning, especially in the winter when it's dark and cold. My right knee started dislocating at one point due to the lousy lotus position, something the tai chi eventually put right. Dearie me! Of course, when I started doing an hour before going to work, I really started to hit bliss.

But why would anyone put themselves through all that? Why did I do that? Even if you could demonstrate the bliss, most folk wouldn't meditate. I'll just have to get on with it and forget about them.

Today I can meditate as much as I like because I have no arrangements made. I did two and a half hours before coming to write this. The last hour especially was full of great bliss and light and some warmth. It'll just get better from here on in. I'm going to the hut.

Jack, why have I been so fortunate even while surrounded by the unfortunate ones? Who knows, Hotboy? Some cats got it and some cats aint!

6:14 p.m.
The photie was taken this afternoon in the allotment. These plants usually die over the winter. . No idea what it's called either.

Mary Queen Of Scots

Sunday 10:00 a.m.
I met Marie Rex yesterday. I don't like meeting people I don't know since people I don't know make me nervous. What a nice woman though! She gave me a loaf.

I saw the movie Sean Penn got the oscar for. Life affirming movie called Milk.

The clocks went forward today. This used to be a much looked forward to event when I did a lot of running. Anyway, new rules from today! No bevvying and no complaining about having no cannybliss. Nobody ever beat me up and nobody's shot me and I am truly a very fortunate creature, so I'm just going to get on with being a happy, happy joe!

Drugs!

Friday 9:05 p.m.
I realised as I wakened this morning, and sat in the train, and meditated whilst listening to the lama with the auld maw, that things had progressed as usual, and there was a difference in the bliss ... and how much warmth and succulence had been added ... despite whatever I was doing. And I would like to die before I get old unless I'm as much help as the auld maw, so I went out a bought more wine. Because I don't live in a decent country like Holland and can't get hold of any decent drugs. I really will have to start going out and bothering the progeny of the progeny, or find myself a sodium halide lamp!

I bought TWO bottles of Camden Park and have nearly finished the first one. The label says ....

Camden Park is the business. Big, satisfying, takes no prisoners. In this Pino Grigio you will find zesty citrus flavours with a hint of vanilla on a lingering finish. No messing around. Not to mention, it's got the well hung bull on the label. We like that.

The boy who wrote that is a poet and a pissheid. You can't taste it at all really, but it was reduced by forty percent.

I got packed in by the nice girl during the Christmas of my first year at uni. The denims she didn't like me showing up in lasted a lot longer than she did. By the time I stopped wearing them, I think they had about twenty four or twenty nine patches in them and had huge insets to make them flare out from the knee. I'd managed to score dope before she packed me in.

The best stuff I've written hasn't been about me at all. I think the best book I wrote was xxxxTheRealMcCoyxxx which my secret agent is just now failing to sell. Anyway, I loved writing it which is a good sign. The first novel I tried to write was called xxxAlmaMaterxxx and I don't think it's very good at all, but was a good learning experience. Anyway ... it started off much bigger than it ended. I think I wrote about cutting it in xxxAreYOuBoysCyclistsxxx and I took out the first two years of university.

A kid at my work last week asked me about writing. Second year. I told her she might find xxxCityWhitelightxxx in the Edinburgh Public Library still. So I checked their catalogue. It's not there. (I've got fifty copies in this room!) But there is still a copy of the cycling book. Fung! That's a hostage to fortune. Also, would corrupt youth to read such a thing.

So to make the university book a manageable size, I just chopped the first two years out. This included my introduction to drugs.

Don't believe anything you see on the telly! 1968 looked like a revolution was happening. I'm watching this in my sixth year at school and I've applied to Edinburgh Universtity and even that was on the telly. I wanted to go there to get involved in these revolutionary happenings.

The suitcase my uncle Dan took to Australia, a cardboard kind of thing, now under my bed, was what I took up to Bellshill station. My pal Tony was with me. He wasn't going. I'd only been in Edinburgh once before, when I was thirteen on the way to and from a caravan site in Port Seton. The suitcase was very heavy and had in it almost everything I could call mine. In Pollock Halls, I could only carry it about thirty yards and then put it down, it was so heavy.

Later on, I'm watching out of my student house room window at the progeny of the evil bourgeois arriving and they've all come with their proud parents and they're all wearing sports jackets and flannels, and you could have thrown up right then except it was still very exciting though disappointing in a way to be there.

I had a carcoat. It was kind of luminous plasticy, bri-nylony thing with a fake fur collar. I was wearing this when I went to Paddy's Bar in Rose Street with my two, new protestant friends from uni.

Protestants had a completely different attitude to girls. They really did just want to fung them. Or that seemed to be the primary concern. One of my new protestant friends told me that the reason I liked girls was because I been to a single sex school and didn't see the little bitches, etc, etc, etc. Just send everyone to single sex schools then. Anyway ...No wonder the divorce rates are the way they are. Winking is for sexual satisfaction surely. Other people are for making deals with.

Call them non-catholics. They weren't really protestants, more like heathens. So the guy next door to me in Pollock Halls told me that if I wanted to score the place to go to was Paddy's Bar in Rose street.

We're sitting at the side having a pint and checking out the clientele. Two guys are sitting at the bar and one of them has on a tie-dye teeshirt. Longish hair. The other guy has a long , scuffy coat. The three of us discuss this among ourselves.

The bar is quite quiet. I delegated myself to go up and speak to these guys. One is called Louie. I ask him if I can buy any drugs in this bar. Eventually Brian comes in. I get to speak to Brian. At the time, Brian was doing his O'Levels and wasn't even legal enough to buy a drink in this bar. Portobello High School. Don't send your children there.

Brian collects the money from folk in the bar and goes away. Pound deal. A sixteenth of an ounce.

I liked Brian. I grew fond of him later. He came to see me box once in Dalkeith. I met his grown up son at a wedding I was at last year. He's one of the folk on my remembrance list. He got killed on Piper Alpha. Death by capitalism.

The guy who Brian was going to see to get the dope off later was found to be grassing some other folk, and these people tortured him and recorded it. Two of the disturbed, funged up and bizarre folk who were later my deep, dear friends got to listen to the tapes of this whilst scoring once. Reg and Gerry. Albert knew these folk. Or one of them. Of course, being dead nice, very little of these shennanigans came near moi!

Flowers

Thursday 4:20 p.m.
Between the diggings and the bath. These were growing up beside the strawberries. Buggered if I know what they are, Jack. The sun disappeared just as I was about to take the photie as well. Any ideas?

9:00 p.m.
I'm going to get pissed, so if you'd like something intelligent or about buddhism or that, go elsewhere.

I'm not used to drinking wine. I had a duodenal ulcer for twenty years and didn't drink wine except on Christmas day. I have meditated for about six hours today, but I was feeling really tired and a bit crabbit ... blah, blah. So I've had a can of wifebeater and I bought a bottle of something called Camden Park, product of Argentina. It says: Pinot Grigio and weighs in at 13%. I've only had a glass of this and already I'd like to give yous a little song!

I've been struggling this year due to the lack of soapbar. The middle way for moi would be eating a bit of bob hope around eight. Meditate till around then and wait for the soapbar to come on, then flicky flicky across the useless telly channels. Unfortunately, the cannybliss is illegal and to get it I'd ... I don't think it would be easy to get it right now anyway. Basturns! What kind of country is this! The only drugs that have given me any trouble are nicotine and alcohol.

Hmmm? I've nothing to say. I might as well tell yous about my life story. I think I got up to going to the dancing ...

Some young people maybe have a problem deciding what they're going to be, like hetero or homo. I know Albert has struggled with this. I didn't have a choice. Suddenly, sometime it's in your face. It arises. Adolescence. You see femininity. You start going mad. You imagine raping and sexually assaulting folk when you don't even know what they've got under their clothes.

Not the same problem these days, Jack! Not with the computery thing in their bedrooms.

Thank godot that calmed down! By the time I was about sixteen, I reckoned I'd like to have girlfriend when I was about twenty one. When I was sixteen, eighteen year old girls looked absolutely wonderful. Kind of filled out and solid. One guy I knew from Viewpark went out with Jean Harlow when he was sixteen and that just seemed so fung weird and improbable!

Anyway, eighteen year old girls were an ambition when I was sixteen. But I didn't want a girlfriend.

I'd had a wonderful life up till then, Jack! Why would I want a girlfriend to complicate it? You should have become a monk, Hotboy. If the dharma was being taught in Chilly Jockoland around then, Jack, I should have become a monk, and I would have had amazingly wonderous sex with four armed, multiple breasted, red Indian goddesses! However, all I had was the kafflicks! Dearie me!

By the time I was almost eighteen, I had a girlfriend. Poverty did not save me. You had to pay to take out gurls then. I didn't have any money. I'd been on a blind date with my pal Tony and his new girlfriend. It was her family house in Renfrew. Her best pal and I were supposed to meet. Her parents let us have a back room to ourselves in the red brick detached. That was very understanding of them. So I snogged this very nice girl for about three hours. A couple of days later, I got a message that she would like to go out with me and I sent the message back saying thanks very much, but I can't afford to pay for you to go anywhere.

Wasn't it always thus, Jack? What is the matter with you, Hotboy?

I had a jobbie then on Saturdays in Galbraiths in Parkhead. After paying the bus fares, this gave me about 6/8, or two thirds of a pound these days. My sister worked in the County Buildings in Hamilton and she fiddled a bus pass for me to go to school. This would have cost a pound a week to the auld maw, so she gave me that as well. So my pocket money was about £1:66 these days. You could probably buy about eight pints of beer for a pound.

I got a message back from the girl saying she would like to go out with me and she would pay her own way. They came from Renfrew and we took them to the YMCA in Bellshill.

She was a very nice girl. I fell in love with her. This is what you are supposed to do. Later on, you might realise that you are supposed to fall in love with very nice girls for about three months. This is about how long it takes to make sure someone is pregnant. I think three months is about it. But in the days before you realised that this might be the way evolution had ordered events, before there was any cynicism, I just fell in love with her. And it was really very chaste.

I wrote something last week about falling in love with a donkey and how this was about projection. You project qualities onto people that they might not have.

I could go on about this, but my male friends who come to this bloggy have all been so damaged by the severity of the toilet training that they did not fall in love with girls and have the proper maturation to become blissheids. I'd like to tell yous that I believe in karma right now that I am a bit pissed. On the planet lived on before I came here I must have been a nice person and done some nice things because I fell in love with a very nice girl when I was a young man, and I was vivacious, and talkative, and dead interested, and had a three piece suit that my auld maw paid for that cost £17 at the time.

That was a week's wages if you were working in the steelworks when I was seventeen. It was probably two weeks wages to the auld maw who was living off a war pension. I understand these thing now, but not so much at the time. But I go and see her every week and I will go and see her tomorrow, so kindness is not wasted. I sprang from the loins of wonderful people!

So I used to meet her sometimes beside the shell in Central Station in Glasgow. That's where everybody met. Beside the shell. We double dated almost all the time. Best pals with best pals. We went to the Kenco Coffee Bar, but sometimes there were pictures, but usually it was dancing. There was a dancehall just off Sauciehall Street where you had to wear a suit. Sunday nights. Then we went to Joannas's in West Nile Street. On Sunday nights, they couldn't sell drink so we got in.

Everything was still quite dangerous. So you're going into Glasgow, the toon. So you went to Joanna's and did some dancing around. Then you sat out and snogged for the rest of the time. You're walking down West Nile Street at the end. You always know that it's alright if you're with a girl. That took you out and off bounds. There's a corner across the road and maybe about six guys standing there. They are very well dressed. I must say, Glaswegians do understand that kind of thing. I don't know how to describe the style. Maybe shiney brogues. Then one inch turnups on the trousers. Sharp creases. Nice coats, with about an inch or so of turned down collars.

You had to know all this stuff when you went to the tailors to buy the gear. I researched this before I got my three piece suit. How many buttons on the waistcoat, etc.

Anyway, if you were with a girl, you were supposed to be out of all that aggravation.

But you're watching it. This guy, very well dressed guy, peels off from the very well dressed guys on the corner about thirty yards down the road on the opposite side, and he's making a diagonal across the road, purposefully towards where I am walking down the pavement with my girlfriend. It was a purposeful walk. I start to think: Fung sake!

Then I see that the guy is not coming towards me and my girlfriend as it seemed, but is heading towards the two guys walking down the pavement in front of us. Just as he is hitting the pavement, he says in a loud, loud voice: Are you Maryhill Fleet? A nanosecond later, he takes what looks like a gleaming steakknife out of his inside pocket, brandishes it above his head, and shouts: Tongs, ya bass! Then he chases them down the street. Fung sake!

So I was a nice boy. I only understood the Glasgow I was in when I read Hugh Collins's Autobiography of a Murderer, which everyone should read. Because it is a wonderful, wonderful book!

I went out to Peckhams for another bottle of wine. It says: Meinklang. Gruener Veltliner 07. The Dom Bliss has just come in. We passed. We have just about passed. We are fortunate creatures. As I was saying....

I had a chance to fall in love with this very , very nice girl and that makes me very fortunate. We stood a lot in Clyde Street. We snogged and groped in quiet doorways. Batman. Gotham City. She packed me in. I knew when she said I should refrain from showing up in denims that the jig was up. We used to meet and say fond adieu in Clyde Street. When she packed me in, as the bus was moving away, I squeezed her, and said I love you, and when I sat on top of the 240 with my pal Tony, I'd never felt happier.

And as we fall through the times ... and await those little bits beyond our understanding ... I love you too, babes. I reallly do! So I do!

Allotment shot 5!

Wednesday 9 p.m.

I got to the allotment a little later today (the photie was at 5:15 p.m.) due to being at the dentist. I was lying on the grass in Princes Street Gardens at the back of one since there was no point in going home before the Painless Potter appointment.

I heard about a very nice, slightly younger woman getting handed the black spot at work today. Colon. Apart from the odd time in this blog, I gave up colons years ago. Thank god for that, eh, Jack?

Suffering is caused by desire based on ignorance of your own true self. The Second Noble Truth.

It would be nice if you could see an end in sight. I almost put in a passage from the Dhammapada the other day where this boy questions Ananda about using desire as the path. He says this is an endless path. Ananda says the end of the path is when you become an arahant, or an arhant. You will have abandoned desire.

Well, I don't see that happening around here any day soon, Jack!

The wonderfulness of the meditations continues to increase. It's as if there's something opening into greater and greater bliss.

Sometimes recently when I haven't been actually meditating, I've felt a mild bursting with joy and bliss, but this is unusual.

Normally, when I'm not meditating, I'm .... the false sense of self does not seem to be diminishing much! The ignorance, greed and hate in their various forms and subdivisions are all still there. Mr Hyde, why don't you just piss off and leave me alone!

I did twenty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings this evening and then my six threes in the full Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle. So I'm funged, Jack! Fat funged basturn! I'm going out for some beer. I may post later when I'm feeling revived!

23:55 p.m.
Theravadins are tough on themselves. Ridiculous to call it the small vehicle. I can do the bliss. Any moron can do the bliss. The problem is described surely in the Second Noble Truth. Suffering is caused by desire based on ignorance of your own true self. Or actions and delusions based on ignorance of your own true self. I think you'd have to get used to being tough on yourself. Can you blast out ignorance, hate and greed through the bliss? If you could, they would have surely. Dearie me! I'd like to go back to my own planet now, I really would!

The woman with the colon cancer thing is a very nice person and probably much better than moi, but no bliss, Jack. No bliss. Or, not even any bliss. Not even the idea that there might be bliss. A flatheid. Not one smidgin of bliss has ever crossed her mind. There is bugger all I can do about that, Jack! If you don't put in the causes and conditions, you don't get the bliss!

Slough of Despond!

Tuesday
Hit a real dip yesterday afternoon, something a bit unusual around here. I was downloading stuff from Yahoo briefcase which is going belly up at the end of this month. So I'm downloading .... seven unpublished novels! Harry Haiku time

Seven unpublished novels on a page
Seven UNPUBLISHED novels on a page
SEVEN UNPUBLISHED novels on a page.

I had to wonder what kind of a nutter would spend so much time writing novels when he couldn't get any of them published. What a lot of work even if they are crap!

Then I thought: What kind of nutter would focus their life on meditating for hours and hours every day?

Maybe I hit crisis point because of giving up hope on xxxTheRealMcCoyxxx, it being Monday and having such a lousy jobbbie, and knowing there might not be much point in worrying about writing another novel since I wouldn't get it published either. But I've got an agent! I've got an agent!, I heard a wee voice cry. Write a crime book which includes humping school girls! Then you could get another book published and maybe you could imagine getting enough money to think of getting out of this jobbie once and for all! Dearie me!

I blame all this on eating a huge lunch (three slices of bread!) when I wasn't going to eat at all at the jobbie. Completely exhausted, so I was!

But now it's Tuesday. Back to the bliss!!

The Sunday Night!

Sunday 8:00 p.m.
There's been nobody in today or this evening except you and me, Jack. Just about now the meditations would have been coming on superbly, but I went out for some beer to go with the last of the bob instead.

Last night I read through some of this bloggy. I found it fairly boring and repetitive with one or two wee gems, but it seems to be quite upbeat really. It keeps going on about the bliss and such, and keeps saying how everything in this regard continues to get better and better. But it doesn't say how. I wonder if that's just another illusion. Since there's nothing but illusion, it's quite hard to say really.

Must have done six hours today. A mere beginning really. I shouldn't have got the beers.

The main thing about this blog is that I do it for relaxation and for venting about the flatheids, but I should try a bit harder to write ... like writing. Since I'm hardly engaged with the Cold Killing book. If anyone would like me to write a post about anything, I might as well.

I think from reading this blog that it seems that I would like more people to meditate. You'd be much better off trying to be good. People who can give me half their drugs are far better people than moi! I'm not good at all.

If this bloggy is any use for anything, it is to show that you don't have to be very good at all to get lots of goodness from meditation. But I definitely would like to be good!

"Let no man talk lightly of good, saying in his heart, 'it will not come nigh me'. By the falling of water drops, a pot is filled; the wise man becomes full of good even if he gathers it litttle by little." Dhammapada.

Meditations won't do you any good at all, apart from giving you access eventually to the vast oceans of bliss; promoting good health; giving you a feeling of purpose and direction in your life; making you far happier than you would have been otherwise; and causing schoolgirls to slap themselves off the glass box.

It's not part of our culture so much. Nobody does it. If lots and lots of folk did it, we could all talk about it. We could invent new words. Like all the words the eskimoos have for snow.

I've been hoping to give up newspapers. So I read the Observer today. This boy says I was dead right about the envolutionary jump after the nuclear winter. It seems homo sapiens got off after the last ice age when the humans had been reduced to a couple of hundred thousands. The boy says that sort of thing has happened a few times ... then jump! So if you want to be part of the future ... you flatheids who are into the selfish gene explanation (don't go there, Hotboy! Don't go there!) should learn to keep warm in the cold without having any thermal underwear. Forget about the grandchildren and all this family life stuff. If you can't teach your children how to be warm in the cold ... futility! Futility! We're doomed! Doomed, I tell you!

They won't listen to you anyway. It would be much better just to be good!

Run Out!

Saturday 7:54 p.m.
The yin has to be the wisdom. The yang has to be the method. That's why I have to carry out the rubbish. And ferry the luggage. But God heard my cries!

The dakini appeared and said that due to the stabbings, and addictions, and social worky problems, there had been some difficulties with the supply. Great clingings and cravings arose. Apparently, they have the same problems in heaven as they do everywhere else.

She handed over her stash and said I could cut half of it off until the supply problems resolved themselves. Never have I seen such a display! I'm slavering after the drugs and I can't do stuff like that. Attachment.

We discussed the deliciousness of the soup and the breid and how it could not possibly be that delicious, but mere projection. Or a lot of projection anyway. Like falling in love with a donkey. From A Midsummer's Night's Dream. You could be in heaven, surely, if you just tried a bit harder even with the stabbings and all. Projection.

She only charged me four pence as well for this lovely wee bit of bob hope. In the Botanics she told me the tree didn't have leaves because it came before the leaves. Magnolia. Maybe.

A new paradigm has been formed. Bugger off if you haven't got any drugs or can't tell us something we don't know alreadys!

Crabbit R Us!

Saturday 00:46 p.m.
Be positive. I went to see a Sam Shepard play at the Lyceum tonight, called something like "The curse of the starving class". Really enjoyed staring from the balcony at everything that was happening on the stage, but crabbit as hell otherwise. I don't want to go out on Friday nights. I give Fridays during the day away. I keep Thursdays. I can do things which the flatheids being flatheids cannot do, or imagine on Friday evenings. Up till then, it had been a good, very good day.

I read out the wonderful email I received from the Spango yogini to the auld maw about the Dickensian Shylocks from Bellshill and that was great. Even though I drank five bottles of Erdinger last night and one can of wifebeater, I was still beaming with bliss. Such bliss on the train! Such bliss! Onward and upward.

Then the auld maw lay on her bed and I put on the first one of the five CDs I'd bought for her for her 90th birthday. I'd pre-empted her birthday giftings. The CDs of the Lama Yeshe and perfectly appropriate. In the first five minutes he says he likes growing old and wishes he could get older faster. He'd speed it up if he could. He is not scared of dying and regards it as a great opportunity. Then lots of stuff about the mind and what it is and how to meditate. This was a talk given at one of the Christmas things they put on every year. I was there once or twice myself. I could have envisioned the temple and the atmosphere and the cold snowy night outside, but I was doing the bliss and the talk was the wonderful backdrop. You can always check to see how it's moving on and it's always moving on.

He said he still does about six or seven hours a day of the meditations.

Are the folk, the nice people, who do not meditate all funged, Hotboy? Pondlife morons the lot of them, Jack! You need screens. You need control. Otherwise, you will be sucked back into the pond with the rest of the sweetie eating, too dumb to meditate ... I think I'll go to bed. Please God, I will give up being insulting to the flatheids and give up the beers and being crabbit and all other bad things if you will just send the dakini down from the heavens with the bob hope tomorrow. Amen.

The Weird Stuff!

Thursday 22:14 p.m.
I lost the plot today a wee bit due to the beautiful day and the compulsion to dig brought on by the vastness of the diggings to be done. So I planted and dug and didn't have my wintery Thursday day of being in the lobby and .... I need some anabolic steroids, Jack. Let's face it, I'm far too old for this malarkey and require major testosterone supplements. You always got knackered, Hotboy. You trained too hard; you ran too far; you are excessive in all you do. It's nothing to do with your age. You have a personality disorder. Actually, you need therapy. Is it time to call for Dr Bob?

Does moi have a problem?

I read once that it said if you have the super whammy experience of non-self and emptiness ..... there were colours in the air, mainly red and blue, fitting things together. The objects in vision were joined, partly by the air and the colours thick, viscous going into them; the pupils sitting around the soft seat place were more solid and independent and separate than anything else in view, but with wonderful golden auras flowing over them ... and I was completely straight and it was surely madness, madness, but totally true and right... so the book said all you had to do after that was think about that every day and you would become a buddha. Sometime.

"When we can see, straightforwardly and non-conceptually, the nature of our clear light mind and remain totally absorbed in this nature without ever regressing from it, we have become a buddha." The Dalai Lama. The Wall.

I'm surrounded by normal people who are getting about the business of living and dying and they are really nice. I should not call them flatheids. I only ever started that because I thought if I insulted them, they might start meditating, but I can't get away from it now. It is not politically correct. And my behaviour may be deemed a little excessive, maybe a little bit compulsive, Jack.

It is important to be happy. Being a miracle in this time and space, the least you can do is be happy. Or, at least, make an effort. So many people didn't get the chance. If you can find where you are supposed to be and what you are supposed to be doing, you might have a chance at least to be happier. You have to find your tao!

If you have been reading this bloggy and are generally soberer than me when you do, (Hello, Jack!) (Hello, Hotboy!), you might remember that a few weeks ago I was walking along George Street after doing some missionary work with the Poisonous and Brian Wilson when Brian Wilson stumblebummed into moi and tripped me up. Great solicitousness ensued as they both tried to get me back on my feet.

Although they knock you down, they do try to pick you up!

Yesterday I was walking down the Queensferry Road when I was stopped and asked by this joe where was Learmonth Terrrace. I could tell he was from the west coast. I pointed over the Telford Bridge, which is a wonderful thing and the way into Stockbridge, and he walked in front of moi. So I'm giving him some space. It's not that hard to get to Learmonth Terrace. You just walk over the wonderful bridge and it's on your right. He's only about three paces in front of me when he falls down.

Bugger all reason for this. He's from Gourock. He's new in this town. He's got an interview with the navy reserve at 25 Learmonth Terrace, but first he has to walk down the street and cross the bridge. And, inexplicably, he falls down. Slight embarrassment. I try to help him back up. He's okay. He walks another few yards and then he falls down again. I cannot believe this. He is not pissed. There is fung all the matter with him. I'm trying to help him get up and all that. He's a real trooper. He's just getting up and getting on with it. His trousers have a wee tear at the knee. He says when he gets paid on Friday, he will have to get another pair of suit trousers. Some people from the west, Weegies, are a bit particular about their clothes. It has cost him £18 on the train to come for this interview. The basturns said it was a ten minute walk from the station. It's twenty minutes anyway from Haymarket. He tells me he's a sports coach. I find this hard to believe. He says he coaches volleyball. I think if I was coaching the Australian Ladies Volleyball Squad, I wouldn't be able to walk down the fung street either.

Across the wonderful bridge, the pavement is tarmacadam and not slabs. Thank fung for that! This boy has no reason to fall down whatsoever before he gets to Learmonth Terrace, which is right across the bridge.

So I think my tao is to pick the fungers up when they fall down, and when I fall down, hope that the fungers will pick me up.

I would still like to have some testosterone pills, please. Someday I might not be even able to sit up. Today I was doing the yoga nidra bliss for a couple of hours flat on my back. I knew this was goddot giving me the big sweetie when it first happened and I got the bliss whilst lying flat out. Oh, what a fortunate creature, I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Yoga Nidra.

Wednesday 11:49 p.m.
I think the last pose you tend to do at a yoga class is called savasana. It's the corpse pose. Anybody can do this one! You lie flat out and surrender to the floor. Yoga Nidra seems to be like that except it takes a bit longer. If you've had a baby, you might know the routine. They do stuff like this at pre-natal classes. It's a relaxation exercise. Tell your hand to relax, then your wrist, and so on.

I had a wonderful dream on Monday night and wakened up at half three. I don't think I went to sleep again. After about an hour I sat up and meditated for about an hour or so, and then lay down again, and got back into this yoga nidra stuff.

Yoga Nidra might be known as the sleep of the yogis because, apparently, some yogis don't sleep. You're body is supposed to be asleep, but not your mind. But if you have trouble sleeping, get yourself a yoga nidra tape/CD or whatever. Knock you right off.

Once you've relaxed all your bits, you come up from your feet and tell the bits to go to sleep .... anyway, by then I've got my eyes closed and I'm pretty blissed. It's light and blissy. I'm telling myself that when I go to sleep and start to dream, I'll know I'm dreaming. But all I got was the bliss and some tiny fragments of dreams arising and declining again.

Years ago, I said to thisjoe: You know that bit when you're kinda between being asleep and being awake and you've kind of lost the location of your body, like you don't know where your arms and legs are? The joe replied: No.

When you start to meditate, after a while (this happened to moi after a week at ten minutes or so a day) you might find yourself in a mental space which is quite nice and recognised as unusual and new. You think ... you think anything at all and it's gone. At least, this is when you know there's a fish in the water somewhere and you can start fishing. When the great leviathan of bliss swallows you, you can think if you like and thoughts ... arise in bliss, abide in bliss, decline in bliss.

I had a great idea for a novel in this state. Unfortunately, it wasn't the novel I'm hardly writing at the moment. It was the schoolgirl novel. I'll have to wait till I leave the jobbie because the last time I tried to write anything about the jobbie it kept making me really annoyed. But I will have to write the schoolgirl one some day!

Alllotment Shot 4!

Wednesday 11:46 p.m.
The alltoment photie was taken at three instead of four today because the mobile phone told the wrong time. What?!!! The daffs are right outside the hut door.

There are now three beds of onions planted and one row of tatties!

Bye, Bye, Peter!

Tuesday
I've been dedicating meditations to Peter Ballocks for months now, but more so over the last seven weeks since he snuffed it. There is a photie of him in a blog. He is the first person I've done this with whom I didn't know, but could visualise from a photograph.

Did you tell him to go to heaven, Hotboy? Yes, I did, Jack. Do you think there's a heaven, Hotboy? Buggered if I know, Jack.

I did some tonglen stuff as well. I doubt if any of this did him any good, but it was a help to me.

Tibetan buddhism doesn't do souls. So you don't get the transmigration of souls if souls are taken to be some kind of unchanging essence. I think they'd say there was some kind of very subtle consciousness that continues like a string linking pearls in a necklace. How that's supposed to work out, well, don't ask me.

Anyway, Peter Ballocks passed away 49 days ago, so it's bye, bye, Peter Ballocks! I'll miss him in a strange kind of way.

If anyone would like me to dedicate meditations to someone, that'll be ten percent off the top, please!

Back to the Jobbie!

Sunday 11:58 p.m.
On my own, I was watching Celtic putting the Huns to the sword this afternoon in the League Cup Final, and taking some vase breaths. I remembered once when I'd heard about this juju a while ago and the flatheided scientists were doing experiments on these Tibetan monks (google Harvard Benson Tummo maybe) and when they put them out in the brass monkeys on the baltic ledge, they noted that the wee fat baldy guys did not huddle up, but sat apart as they were placed and dozed off.


I thought when I started trying to do this juju that it would come on fast once I'd had the initial experience of inner heat, but it has not been happening the way I expected then at all. But it has been happening. And it was happening today as I sat there watching the Huns getting put to the sword.


Am I a fortunate creature, Jack? You are one of the most fortunate creatures in the world, Hotboy, but unfortunately you will have to go to your jobbie in the morning. Hmmm? Oh, well.


I saw some cine film of moi when I was about twenty at the wedding of the domestic bliss's sister. Completely different joe. It was not me. It was not my self. Hardly any molecules the same. Where did he go, Jack? The Domestic Bliss said I used to engage with folk then and was a sharp as a tack. Where did he go, Jack? Where did he go?

Analytical Meditations!

Sunday 12:32 p.m.
I don't know anything about anything, so I can't make assertions about anything. In the Disbelieving Congregation, of which I am the sole member and single representative ...
We embrace our ignorance
We don't believe in any things
Especially thoughts

It's about five years since I walked off the jobbie and almost five years since I went part time. Since then I have spent about a fifth of each day in meditations, so that would amount to about a year out of the five years. Sometimes I have been surfing the oceans of bliss and sometimes it's been hard work. But it is enough to know that this is what I should be doing with my time.

As we have wandered through Samsara, has the amount of tears we have shed not been greater than all the water in all the oceans as we have suffered the loss of a wife, or a husband, or a father, mother, daughter or son?

After a great many trials and tribulations, Naropa finally became enlightened when Tilopa hit him on the top of the head with a sandal. I assume with this blow Tilopa sent such a stream of kundalini through Naropa's body that he was rendered immobilised and lost in the thoughtless, wordless voids of ecstasy. I have no idea where Naropa's head was when he got up from this.

Some say you can become enlightened instantly and some say it can happen in small increments. I've had some little and a couple of big realisations of emptiness, but it's always come back to moi. Lama Yeshe, my root guru, says he is not enlightened and once said the he doesn't know what it means. But analytical meditations are supposed to help with the loss of the false sense of self.

The Skandas. Body, senses, perceptions, mental formations including volitional impulses, consciousnesses ..... they are not mine. I do not own them. They are not my self.

It's okay saying that, but it would take a lifetime, Jack. That's the small vehicle, I believe.

The emptiness of the external object. Imagine a stagecoach. Start taking it apart, removing the wheels, etc. When does it stop being a stagecoach? Can you find in any part the essential stagecoach? It's name and function are all we can say for sure.

We don't even know what it's made of, Jack. Subatomic particles, seemingly without any weight, exhibiting particle/wave duality. It is there in a way, but who knows how?

The mind. They say there's no use searching for it because even the buddhas couldn't find it.

Consciousness, unlike matter, is not made up of atoms and such, but of moments. It has arisen from different causes and conditions and, therefore, is supposed, according to the Dalai Lama, to be a different kind of thing. It has no beginning, for instance.

The mind is supposed to be without centre or circumference; to be like space except with some kind of awareness; and to be unconfined. I think this means it allows anything to exist in it.

I saw wholeness in flow once, but I do not think you could function adequately within such a realisation. To be able to go there when you felt so inclined though must be bloody wonderful. Especially as you were dying.

Interestingly enough, the Big Bang is supposed to have arisen from a whatever without a centre or circumference, a state without time or space. This sounds like the causal self, or the subtle sublte self, or the Dharmakaya. Is this the clear light mind?

There is no such thing as a vacuum. You can't make nothingness. In a vacuum particles of matter and anti-matter spontaneously arise and are extinquished.

Nothing exists outside your own mind. How can nothing exist outside your own mind?

If I could give you the kind of meditations I've had today, Jack, I would, but I can't, so I'll just go back to the lobby.

The Joy!

Friday 4:25 p.m.
The joy was bursting out of me this morning. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! On the train back from Bellshill ... wonderful things are happening at the moment with the bliss, Jack. Such openings and blissings increasing and increasing!

If I die soon, I can have no complaints. I was born the best time and place in human history to be born and I've had a wonderful life. And almost no regrets at all, Jack. I just hope when I'm given the black spot, it doesn't take long. Long enough to get into a lotus position and take one huge, deep breath.

Then I'm standing at the pearly gates. There's been nothing but flatheid after flatheid all day, so St Peter is very pleased to see me.
What did you think of the bliss, Hotboy?
It was totally fantastically wonderful!
How about the getting out of your face on air?
What can I say, Peter? Thank God for making me a human being! Um, what's next then?
You've done quite well really. Now, you go to the formless zone where there are no lying basturn thoughts forming, no mobile phones or microwave ovens, and you abide in ecstasy.
Hurrah!
Unfortunately, that won't last forever.
Buggeration!
I'm afraid some things have told against you like being rotten to the flatheids, smoking and drinking and lusting, I must say rather ineffectually, after women.
What happens when I come out of the formless zone?
You have to go back to Earth.
Fung, damn and basturns!
It's not all that bad. By the time you have to return, capitalism will have collapsed completely, the global warming will have led to nuclear wars, and the reign of the flatheided monkey people has come to an end just like that of the dinosaurs before them.
Did any people survive?
Only those fortunate few who could do the bliss, keep warm in the cold, and live off nettle soup made it through the nuclear winter, Hotboy.
And what are they like?
Their descendants are all clairvoyant and telepathic, masters of the three times and the ten directions. And the women are all gorgeous, show great enthusiasm, and don't complain about the mess.
Hurrah!

Why not, eh, Jack? Why not indeed, Hotboy? You just have to sit quietly doing nothing and the world is a total wonderment as it is. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Next Day

Friday morning 9 a.m.
Despite downing six bottles of Erdinger last night, I feel fabulous this morning. The bliss is just beaming out of me. And I don't have to go to the jobbie. What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Allotment shot 3

Thursday 9:29 p.m.
This was taken at 4:22 p.m. today.

Then I started digging till Brian Wilson showed up. He was so contrite about injuring me the last time we met that he only had a cup of coffee in the pub. And he bought me a pint of Erdinger.

I've had a great day today, spending most of it in the lobby. It occurred to me this morning that of the eighteen folk I remember in my meditations, sixteen of them died before they reached my age. That's all of them except my father-in-law and an old uncle of mine. Human existence is precious to me. Fabulous bliss today, but I tried to stick with the emptiness sometimes. I am not the body. It is not mine. I do not own it. It is not my self. One of these days, Jack. One of these days. Now I'm tired and will drink the beers!

Mr Angry and the Banking Basturns!

Thursday 9:48 a.m.
Started meditating today at 6 a.m., and things were going quite well till I found a letter from the banking basturns when I went out of the room at eight.

This month I thought since I couldn't score that I'd pay some extra money back to the credit card basturns. So I sent them £300 out of my overdraft. A few days later, I checked my balance from the slot in the wall and discovered that I only had £295 left on the overdraft. Basturns! This could only be because they'd charged me interest or paid one of my standing orders a few days after my wages went in. So I deposits the dope deal money the next morning, thinking that would cover me.

So today I gets this letter informing me that they were charging me £35 for exceeding my overdraft limit. Immediately, I'm annoyed!

This is no bloody use! The false sense of self is in your face again attached to this really moody emotional shit. The basturns had just removed 17 bottles of Erdinger from moi! Moi was not pleased.

I can understand emptiness. Any moron can understand emptiness. Things do not exist in the manner of their appearance.

The world as so understood contradicts itself and is therefore appearance and not reality. Bradley. The Wall.

It's all a lot of old photons, basturns and currants, I'd like to shoot the lot of them!

I went onto the net to see what had happened to the court case the Office of Fair Trading had brought against these banking basturns for excessive charges for exceeding overdraft limits. The BBs lost at the Court of Appeal, but are taking the case onto the House of Lords. Who owns these banks now? If we own the banks now, why are we putting up with this crap? I don't want to put up with this crap anymore!

My meditations till I awaited the opening of the banks were not good, Jack. Did they upset you, Hotboy? Yes, they did, Jack. And when I get upset, I realise that no matter how far I have come (not far obviously, Hotboy!), I've still got a bloody long, long way to go!

Even in this degenerate age, it is possible to be cool. So I goes down to the bank and shows the boy the letter. I know at most I must have exceeded my overdraft limit by two hours. The boy checks the computery thing. It says my dope money was in first. Basturns! Basturns! Basturns! They were going to take 17 bottles of Erdinger off me for nothing. Is that not theft? Is that not stealing?

The wee boy can't say for sure that they'll not press the charges because the bank manager has to okay that. He says he's not due in till ten. I await a call.

They're all going to hell, Jack! They're all going to hell!!

The Dalai Lama says it takes aeons and aeons to overcome afflictive emotions. Well, the flatheids have just sucked two hours out of my wonderful day. Basturns! Basturns! Basturns!

9:00 p.m.
The reason why the letter about the £35 charge was triggered is because if an order comes into your account asking for money from it, it is registered back to midnight. So although I had money in my account to cover this exigency (by a couple of hours), they said I hadn't. But I had, so they gave me back my 17 bottles of Erdinger. I've just started on four of them. String the basturns up! And down with usury!

Diggings and Plantings!

Wednesday 6:05 p.m.
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze! The daffodils were out today in Inverleith Park. Hurrah!

On Sunday we went to the allotment shop and bought two bags of tatties, three bags of onion sets, some green manure and some Growmore. It came to £11:95 and was paid for by the Domestic Bliss since I spend all my pocket money on drink and drugs (when I can blinking well buy them!) (not lately!). So today I went to the hut, meditated and then dug for a bit, then planted some onions. It's probably too early to plant the onions, but I don't care. I just want it done and there's a lot, an awful lot still to do!

I've got a draft of the first chapter of my new novel, the one that starts with the traffic wardens revenge. I wasn't too pissed to read in bed last night. The book by Kadare is about a woman who marries a snake. Great so far!

I'll come back later and try to say something about developments in the meditations. Hmmm? Maybe not! Anyway, it's just starting to grow dark and this is a very good time to meditate. Tempis fugit! Brian Wilson is threatening to come and see me tomorrow evening. My wrist is still sore from the last time when he stumblebummed into me and tripped me up in George Street. Dearie me!

11:56 p.m.
Sober and straight. Brian Wilson must have read the post I did last Thursday saying the reason why I loved Thursdays is because the flatheids didn't bother me on Thursdays!

I got this email this evening: Hi there Sir,

E*** W***** here. I did indeed type the title you gave me into Google and came back with the uuuAlison8Main site.

I have read the first chapter of xxxBuddhaxand the BigxBadxWolf and all I can say at the moment is "wow". I'm very interested in it and I'm only on the first few pages. So what will I be by the end?

I'll definitely read the rest of it. How come it didn't get published? It deserves to.

And remind me again, why did you have to disguise yourself as xxxAlisonxMain?

See you Monday,

E*** W*****

He's the kid who started meditating a couple of months ago after I told him about the bliss. I asked him today if he was still doing it and he said he was. What a wonderful life he's going to have if he keeps that up! The first couple of months are usually the worst. Anyway, he also said he was enjoying reading the buddhist books he borrowed from the library. I told him to google the BBBW when he left school since he has exams coming up and all. I forgot my yahoo email address was on it. Hmm? If the schoolgirls get hold of it ...


So the schoolgirl bangs on the glass box this morning and shouts: It's my birthday today! I shouts back: Happy Birthday! What age are you? She says: Read the balloon! I notice there's a balloon floating three feet above her head and on it there's the number 16. Just turned sixteen. She's been acting like a wee strumpet with me for a couple of years. I had to bite my tongue. Sixteen? I was going to say. See you round the back of the bike sheds then!

What with Brian Wilson and the schoolgirls, Jack, the only safe place for moi is the Unheard of Islands! Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life if but a dream!

Reading Books

Tuesday 10:50 p.m.
There have been nice things arising from writing this bloggy. I have to admit that. I've had a few laughs and I've been self indulgent and I've met Ion, so I cannot say that it has been a complete waste of time. However, I was hoping to get a hedgehog out of this bloggeration and it has not arrived yet. Is it the springtime or not? I imagine that the hedgehog is still asleep and awaiting the warmer weather. I haven't seen a hedgehog for such a long time. What a great thing it would be to sit in your hut with a hedgehog there as well!

Kids sometimes ask me if I've read all the books in the library where I work. I feel like such a fraud because I used to read a lot of books, but now I read hardly any. I'm trying to read a book by a joe called Ismail Kadare at the moment, called Spring Flowers, Spring Frost, and I used to read stuff like that quite a lot. Translations. I also used to smoke dope in the living rooms where I used to live and relax after training by smoking dope and reading books by people you'd never heard of.

When we had the chance to get a colour telly, I remember thinking that we would watch it a lot because it would be more colourful than the surroundings, better looking.

I hoped when I started writing this bloggy that I would engage with folk from around the world who meditated and folk who would be a help with the juju and all that. Unfortunately, the only people I have engaged with are complete flatheids, or so it seems. That is, apart from the folk who know they aren't. And I could have written them letters.

I had three black and white teevees once and two of them didn't work, but were supports for the one that did. I listened to Radio Four. I read Trotsky's History of the Russian Revolution which was condemned by the Greek Colonels for being Trotskyist. I sued to read a lot of books like that. I've got to get away from this crap before I start twittering.

If anyone is interested, the meditations have been going through the roof as usual. I'd be as well telling it to the hedgehog. If I had a hut manager, I'd get the comments thingy stopped because it just winds me up. This bloggy is not a help to anyone. It's narcissistic or voyeuristic, and all things arise, abide and sometimes must decline in mind.

8:52 a.m.
I started meditating today at 5 a.m. despite having four bottles of Erdinger last night. Incandescent it was, Jack! Bleeding incandescent!

This Quiet Life!

Sunday 9:39 p.m.
The Domestic Bliss came home tonight to find me doing this in the lobby. She's got a lot to put up with, so she has!

Apart from her, I've only seen the auld maw and Auntie Kathy since I departed the jobbie on Wednesday. The auld maw has become a rugby fan after watching the Irish crowd giving a fantastic rendition of the Fields of Athenry on the telly.

I had a wonderful, wonderful meditation today at around lunchtime. When I've been down at the Samye Ling, I've often wondered why I never see any of the monastics doing vase breathing during the .... well, anything. I suppose the novices don't know what it is, but the juju masters never do it. Today, during this meditation, I thought why bother? Surfing the oceans of bliss! There's just something opening up, and you just go there and be there, and it is just fantabulous, and you don't need or want anything else.

I know most of the folk who leave comments on this blog don't do sitting meditations and that's a real shame. Despite being a disgrace to the juju, I'm still hammering away there and I might still be doing about forty hours a week most weeks.

But the Pitch Inspector comments that it's not the meditations that bother him, it's the six hours a day that I tend to do. Well, I didn't always do that much. I'm not expecting anyone to be like moi. I started trying to do ten minutes a day. But I did it every day. When I'd got up to an hour and a half a day, I started getting substantial amounts of bliss even although this was a total surprise since I didn't know then that meditating would inexorably lead to the bliss. In fact, I'd never heard of the bliss.

So as far as I know from my own experience, it takes three times a day. You don't need to do an hour and a half either. But an hour and a half isn't very much. I was doing a half hour before going to work, a half hour at lunchtime and a half hour when I got home. I was leading the life of the usual joe; smoking dope, drinking beer, and using tobacco in the joints at night. But I tried to meditate three times a day, about twenty minutes a time could do it.

If you want to play a musical instrument well, you should practise six hours a day anyway. If you want to write books, you will write six hours a day. Most folk don't have six hours a day. I got ten seconds of non-self and emptiness meditating an hour and a half a day. Straight forward calming meditations that was. I didn't even know what analytical meditations were then.

|If you don't want to meditate, that's okay. You will have plenty of company. If you want to try to make something of the opportunities having a human being mind gives you, you should meditate. If you don't and you're given the black spot, well ...

When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains
And the women come out to cut up what remains
Just roll to your rifle and blow out your brains
And go to your Gawd like a soldier.

If you never experience it, you'll never miss it. Flatheids don't know they're flatheids!

Invest in your death!

Saturday 6:51 p.m.
Last summer I was at a gong bashing festival down at the Samye Ling and as I sat there in the temple with my eyes closed, I was becoming conjoined with the disagreeable and separated from the agreeable. The lama appeared in my mind's eye and he said: Why can't you just enjoy being here? Almost immediately, I became conjoined with the agreeable and separated from the disagreeable.

With the body, senses, perceptions, mental formations and consciousnesses, we are a fung miracle. Why be pissed off?

"Them that dies will be the lucky ones!" Long John Silver.

So you die and you leave your gross body behind you, but you still have your subtle body, the one you dream with. You can still do emotions, visions, archetypes, etc., and in this condition your mental powers are vast due to having no gross body in the way. This means if you think you'd like to go to the moon, you're there. Just like that.

Unfortunately, since you are a flatheid and have spent your life sucking sweeties, you are more or less still wandering around with your head stuck up your backside, which is to say, you're still a moron, or like a monkey. You have not trained your mind. When you die, you're completely freaked. One negative thought or emotion ... with the vast mental powers, it's going to be a total bummer, Jack!

At this point, I have to say that I don't think it was a good idea for Aldous Huxley to have dropped the acid as he was snuffing it.

Anyway, in the midst of this horrorshow, suddenly you have a vision of moi, and moi says: Why don't you just go to heaven? You say: Heaven? And voila!

You've thought the thought and immediately you're in there with the old guy with the beard, the celestial choirs, the angels floating on the clouds playing harps, etc. But it doesn't have to be that kind of heaven. Maybe you're kind of heaven is like a wonderful, beautiful garden full of randy virgins. I'm not sure what the female equivalent of this is. Maybe a wonderful, beautiful garden full of strapping men delighted to help you with your luggage.

But will it be real, Hotboy? It's a dream scene, Jack. Even if it doesn't last long, it would be a nice change from the demons sticking red hot pokers up your arse.

If you want this when you're dead, that'll be a hundred grand up front, or ten percent off the top ad infinitum.

Like images seen in a dream; thus must we regard all things. Nagarjuna. The Wall.

Sweet Thursday!

Thursday 9:24 p.m.
I think Thursday is my favourite day of the week! I don't have to go to the jobbie on Thursday, but most other folk have to, and so I get peace and quiet to do what I want.

After three days and nights of sober and straight, I started meditating this morning at half six. What I'd like to tell yous about is the fantastic wee sleep I had from half one till three in the afternoon. I suppose I must have meditated about four or five hours by then. Anyway, I lies down on the couch and covers myself up with the meditation towel.

I got bought a towel with dolphins on it when I lived in West Australia circa 1990 and I've always used it for sitting on whilst meditating. I've never used it as a towel. Once, when my back was turned, the Domestic Bliss put it through the washing machine, but that's the only time it's been washed...

Why are women like that, Jack? Why do they have to sneak about and wash things when you're not looking? By then, it was turning into kind of leatherish stuff. Anyway, it's only been washed once in 19 years and if you'd like to make me an offer for it ... well, you couldn't afford it. Bill Gates couldn't afford it. When I'm handed the black spot, I might boil it up and eat it. Or give it to little Jack the Spam Robot, my deepest dearest friend!

Anyway, I lie on the couch and cover myself with the towel, as you do .... you can see out of the window and it is miserable as hell out there. No way are you going to the allotment with the overcast drizzle and cold and whatnot. But you clicky off the one o clock news and close your eyes.

What can I say to you flatheids about what it is like to close your eyes like this? I can say that you are a flatheid and have never closed your eyes and gone to this. Get yourself a towel and sit on it for nineteen years! So you're in the bliss. It's just there. There's really nothing in it but the whiteness and the blissfulness. You succumb to the couch. You tell yourself that it would be wonderful someday to be able to go from here into the lucid dreaming and you tell yourself that this might be the case today. But it isn't. You've just got the succumbing .... this is like falling into yoga nidra for you yoga nidra fans! ... and the bliss.

I'm fung knackered of course. Not only have I been sober and straight for three days, but I've also been doing a lot of physical jerks of one kind or another.

So you're in the bliss and a nanosecond pause, and you realise you've been asleep, but you are aware again and still in the bliss. This feels fabuloso! Back in and then out again. Whao! Are you going to open your eyes? Hmmm? Open your eyes and look out the window and it's beautiful! It's sunny and springlike and you take the nazi bike for a run down to Cramond ...

Everything is going perfectly if I'm going to live till I'm 290 years old. I'll get it all. Unfortunately, I'll have to nick out for some more beer so now it's a maybe 350 years old I'll have to be, but then I'll get it all.

The fundamentalist Christian nutter said Methuselah lived for so long because he did not sin. Is there an answer to that, Jack? If you only believe in ignorance, Hotboy, there are no answers to anything!

10:22 p.m.
After hitting the beer shop again.

I took the nazi bike out on Tuesday for the first time in ages and headed off for my Tai Chi class. I haven't been there since December, before Christmas.

I've become odder and odder at the Tai Chi over the years. I don't wear shoes. Everyone else wears shoes. I'm the only one there who sweats like a pig. I can do physical jerks a bit better than most of the folk who go there. Some are pretty old and some of them ... anyway, the woman who has taught me Tai Chi for the last fifteen years or so is called Jill. She was old then. God, she must be eighty now. At half time, she sits beside me ... that's the only spare seat ... and I'm already spouting nervously to this half deaf, nice taxi driver joe who is standing in front of me and her sitting beside me makes me worse. So I'm burbling like an idiot and mention the Samye Ling. Jill has never heard of it. She says: What do you do when you meditate?

What can you say to that, Jack? It breaks my heart to hear you saying that, Jill. She doesn't get paid for teaching this class. I usually don't speak to anyone there. This tai chi class has been massively helpful to me over the years. What do I say then, Jack? Do I say: Well, Jill, I fall into the bliss. Unfortunately, you do not know what the bliss is. It is just a word to you. Some day I will revisit this if I can. Maybe next Tuesday. But you just can't do it for people. The Domestic Bliss is a complete flatheid, for instance.

I think I'm getting depressed with the beers. I think it's time I went back to my own planet since I'm not allowed to go to hospital anymore.

11:03 p.m.
I think deep sleep is supposed to be synonymous with bliss. Causal or the subtle subtle body in the the great juju of jujus is supposed to be synonymous with bliss. How can deep sleep be synonymous with bliss since you can't remember anything or there is no remembrance therein? Don't ask me. This is maybe theoretical. Well, we've got the gross body and we all know what that is .... when it falls away and we go to sleep, we might get the subtle body which doesn't perceive the other gross manifestations like houses and rocks and whatnot, but can do images, emotions, etc.

The subtle body is what you are supposed to have when you are dead. It's the dream like scene which does the bardo. This is why you should be able to do dream yoga, or lucid dreaming. This is why you shouldn't get pissed before you go to bed. Or stoned. Hmmm? Oh well.

Allotment shot!

Wednesday 6:46 p.m.
Oh, why should I work, Like other men do?
Oh, why should I work, when the sky is so blue?

Took the photie at 3 p.m. just as I was sitting down to meditate. This year I think the flatheids will just have to get used to me sitting there when I feel like it. It may look strange to be sitting there for a long time without moving, but they'll never get the bliss, Jack. They'll never get the bliss!

Negative thoughts!

Wednesday
I had some unsettling dreams last night and awoke to a welter of negative thoughts. This is unusual, or at least increasingly unusual.

What causes and conditions set the frame for these kinds of thoughts to arise? I could pick out a couple of them, but no doubt there are millions I can't even guess at.

It's not much use saying you don't want to have thoughts like that once they have already arisen and you're having to deal with them. And when they come with a strong emotional vibe, it's hard to get the distance to watch them go on their way.

Fortunately, essentially I don't believe in thoughts! Lying basturns almost every one. I don't mind entertaining positive ones, but the negative ones are completely useless.

It is unfortunate that some folk are pre-disposed to be miserable and, being flatheids, don't even know they're flatheids. It is a shame that a lot of these folk will die in pain and anguish, but that's not my fault. You do your best, but the too dumb to meditate are just too dumb to meditate. C'est la vie!

Unlike last week, I won't be seeing any flatheids at all unless they're bringing me some decent drugs. I have no social engagements lined up until July. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! <

Murder Incorporated!

Tuesday
You wouldn't wish old age on anyone .... birth, ageing and death .. grief, sorrow, lamentations ... disappointments, disillusion and despair ... suffering in this life. Folk like my auld maw get it relatively easy, but old age must be hell for some folk. Due to all the self clinging ... well, they don't top themselves and and can't do the bliss. What is the point of all these old folk? It's not as if their children even like them and who would after the calvinist toilet training, the marching up and down, etc.?

When I was young and started to mix with the progeny of the evil bourgeois, I realised that they weren't going to have a proper life of struggle and strife since it was a really just a matter of waiting till their parents died and then the trust funds, inheritances, etc., would kick in. Unfortunately, due to the evil bourgeois never doing a decent day's work in their lives, most of them have lived an inordinate length of time and are only snuffing it just now, when their children are in their late fifties.

I think I should speak to the progeny of the progeny of the evil bourgeois about this. What is the point of them watching their parents spending all the unearned when it could be coming their way whilst they are young enough to enjoy it?

With only the being awake, asleep and dreaming ... well, they can't do the bliss, Jack. You wouldn't want to be an old flatheid. I can't think of anything more horrible than hanging on there, terrified of the personal annihilation and all that.

Powa, I think, is what the voluntary exit from your body is called. I think it's one of the Six Yogas of Naropa. What a useful trick! But the too dumb to meditate won't even get as far as the bliss, so there's no chance of them being able to do something like that. It would be better all round if someone bumped them off.

I think ten percent off the top would be fair, Jack. That would be a hundred grand from some of the progeny of the progeny I know. Hmmm? Wishing heart attacks on them might prove insufficient of course, so other methods may be employed in extremis.

The sheaths!

Monday
I thought I'd post this. It's for yoga fans really and lifted from the net. If you're too dumb to meditate, just ignore it. Gross, that's what you are, Oh Flatheid!

[The spirit is, as it were, encased in five sheaths (koshas), one within the other. We first come across the gross material sheath, and then go deeper to more subtle sheaths, the last being the sheath of joy or bliss. This teaching occurs in the Taittiriya Upanishad and forms the subject of a conversation between Varuna and his son.]
Bhrgu was the son of Varuna. He once approached his father and said: “Father, impart to me the spiritual knowledge you possess.”
The father said, "Matter, vital airs, eyes, ears, mind, and speech are the things that you daily come across. You must now know that Reality from which all these things issue and live, towards which all these move and in which they finally merge. That is the Brahman. You can know him by tapas or concentration and meditation.”
The son obeyed the father and after some meditation came to the conclusion that gross matter itself is the Brahman. He went and told his father so. But the father was not at all satisfied with his son’s findings and he exhorted him to go again and perform more tapas. “Meditation alone will give you real insight,” said the father.
Then the son went away and began to meditate further.
Next he realized that Prana or the vital power was Brahman and that it was out of Prana that things took their birth and into Prana they finally merged. Prana indeed is the life giving principle.
But that too was not a satisfactory conclusion. His father asked him to go into meditation again. He then found that the mind or the psychic plane was the thing from which all manifestation emerged and merged again into it at the end. It was subtler than gross matter and prana and could pervade both of them.
He reported this experience to his father. But the father sent him back again with the old advice to perform more tapas.
Bhrgu again meditated and found that the power of understanding (vijnana) was the thing from which all things issued and towards which all things moved. But the father was not satisfied and repeated his advice to his son.
The son again meditated and finally came to the conclusion that bliss or pure joy was Brahman (Supreme Spirit)- the source and the goal of all creation. All the beings are verily born in bliss, they exist by the power of bliss, and they all move towards bliss and into bliss they all merge in the end.
When Bhrgu told his father about this conclusion of his, he was overjoyed and said, “Dear child, this indeed is the highest term of existence. All these five sheaths are there, one more subtle than the other, but the finest and the subtlest is bliss eternal. These are not mutually exclusive. They are inter-penetrating. But the basis of all is bliss, the bliss of Brahman, pure spiritual happiness. He who knows this and realizes it goes beyond all sorrow and death.”
This is known as the Bhargavi Varuni Vidya

The Sunday Night!

Sunday 11:32 p.m.
'Enlightenment in this very body is all that matters.' Shakymuni.

According to the legend, there should be a thousand buddhas in this kalpa, and Shaymuni is the fourth. Nobody remembers the first three, but that is not supposed to matter since they all say the same thing.

This is obviously complete bollocks.

If a kalpa is described as the length of time it takes for a silk scarf to wear away a block of granite .... well, we would have been with the American creationist nutters and have buddhas hanging about with the dinosaurs.

However, 'Enlightenment in this very body is all that matters' is an inspirational thing even although you don't know what enlightenment may mean. It doesn't matter what it is or how you could or couldn't express it. Some cats get it and some cats don't.

I've been very disappointed with myself since I got away from the jobbie on Wednesday. Drinking massive amounts of beer and blogging on Thursday was wonderful, but every day thereafter I've been entertaining the too dumb to meditate, or at least speaking to them and socialising with them every bleeding day. I need to keep contact with my deep dear friends and I can do that if I socialise once a week. Hello. Are you alright? How are you? Shame you're too dumb to meditate, but that's not my fault.

I haven't meditated enough since Wednesday and I can't blame the flatheids for that. Compared to last week when I was in the Samye Ling for two nights, dreich, Jack! Fung dreich!

I may not live for so much longer. Moi will certainly not get this chance again.

Don't despair, Hotboy! You're the only one there. Apart from you, they'll all completely flatheided. They do not get even a wee tottie bit of the bliss. And tomorrow is another day. You have to go to the jobbie, but some people aren't even well enough to get out of their beds. So don't despair because you aren't perfect. Yet. But you've had some kind of access to the bliss since about 1993. What a fortunate, fortunate creature you are, Hotboy! What a fortunate creature you are!

Harish Johari: 'Three days of taking only lukewarm water cleanses the body of toxins and cures disorders without medicines.' I bet it does too!