Sunday 9:40 p.m.
It's been boosted, well boosted. At the end of the day that's all that matters. I've also had a great rest.
The Domestic Bliss returns on Thursday so now I'm in phase two. Phase one, which was last week, involved giving everything up and trying not to do anything at all. You win some, you lose some. I've been on the joints since yesterday evening, but I'll be out of soapbar after tonight. A wee holiday. Tomorrow I go to the jobbie and on Tuesday the wonderful children come back.
I've no idea what I'm doing or what's going on with this juju. But there have been some soaring heights, some great vistas of bliss over the last week. Also, a bit of a struggle with Mr Hyde.
Are not Mr Hyde and Dr Jekyll the same joe, Hotboy? Unfortunately, yes, Jack! Do you think I should be nice to Mr Hyde, Jack? It depends if you're Mr Hyde right now and not Dr Jekyll.
If you can get an observation on the thoughts so that the thoughts don't belong to anyone, and are just thoughts, arising, abiding, declining due to causes and conditions outside themselves.Then it might not matter what kind of thoughts you're having, at least not so much. They are just thoughts then. Stupid, lying basturns almost every one.
You should try being moi, so you should. If nothing else, you'd get to surf the oceans of bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
In phase two, I will attempt to be comfortable in my skin!
11:00 p.m.
Craving and clinging. Is this progress? Someone, yowling in the desolation of boblessness, phoned me up last night and I gave away half of the pizza. I couldn't have done this last year due to being a very mean person. But I had learned how to do this from this very person yowling away there. And it seemed very easy and apposite. If this is not progress, at least it has to be better. Of course, altruism is as selfish as you can get.
Sunday, 25 October 2009
Saturday, 24 October 2009
The Pizzaman Cometh!
Saturday 1:00 p.m.
After the recent ventings and carpings and moanings on this blog - usually after a couple of home brews late on - I think it's time to tell the spam robots about the bliss!
Spoke to a joe once who'd done a three year retreat. Said all the difficulties and hardships were worth it for the bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
I meditated for a couple of hours this morning and it's never ever been as wonderful as that! I wanted to get into this juju and be able to raise inner heat one time so I could think of myself as being a proper practitioner. I don't know if I can call myself one yet, but I am getting there. When the hassles are long forgotten, I'll still have the bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
The credit card pizza should arrive about five. I deserve a wee break, so I do!
After the recent ventings and carpings and moanings on this blog - usually after a couple of home brews late on - I think it's time to tell the spam robots about the bliss!
Spoke to a joe once who'd done a three year retreat. Said all the difficulties and hardships were worth it for the bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
I meditated for a couple of hours this morning and it's never ever been as wonderful as that! I wanted to get into this juju and be able to raise inner heat one time so I could think of myself as being a proper practitioner. I don't know if I can call myself one yet, but I am getting there. When the hassles are long forgotten, I'll still have the bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
The credit card pizza should arrive about five. I deserve a wee break, so I do!
Friday, 23 October 2009
Another Thursday!
Friday 2 p.m.
The two meditations today so far make it obvious that progress is continuing. However, it is boring in between times. So much time and so little to do! Maybe I'll go out and get on a bus. "A dead rat? Ah, what company that would be!" (Sam the Man).
8:30 p.m.
Just finished a cracking meditation there! Thank God for the wonderful bliss because the rest of it has been difficult. I wasn't expecting it to be difficult today, but it was. I did get a bus to Princes Street and then walked home. I was going to walk through the Botanics and sit in the hut, but it started to rain. I wasn't in great form during this. Unusually bad form.
If I'd been doing this at the Samye Ling, I think after the first few days I'd be feeling like doing practically bugger all else but meditate. It's harder here. The proof of the pudding will be on Monday morning when I'm sitting on the bus going to work, and close my eyes.
Smoking joints for weeks before Tuesday has plenty to do with the difficulties between meditation sessions. Tomorrow I'm due some credit card pizza, but that's fine as long as I eat it. However, my good friend with the unfortunate diagnosis may be down tomorrow night and I don't think I can sit down with anyone right now and not want to smoke a joint. We'll see. But I have moved on. Just didn't expect it to be so hard.
10:20 p.m.
It said on the news that after the appearance of the fascist on the telly last night that 22% of people would consider voting for the British National Party at the next election. This does not work north of the border here in Chilly Jockoland because we already have Rangers supporters and Orangmen taking care of these nasty basturns.
I'd also like to apologise to all the flatheids for being so insulting. Renunciation is a very hard thing to do. I cannot do it. I have tried to disdain material wealth, and having a career, or even a decent jobbie. I don't eat dead animals. I tell myself: Don't smoke; don't drink; don't ejaculate, and fail at all three. This is pathetic. But continually trying and trying and trying is taking it's toll. I think I'd like to experience the gross. Go to the chip shop and buy one of those steak pies, the really, really gross steak pies. And peas. Fung whores! Fung somebody! Even just fung yourself!
I don't have the causes and conditions, or cannot find them, to become like Milarepa. Some cats got it and some cats aint.
I'm fed up having no money. You can't make proper choices if you don't have the choice because you've got no money. I'll have to write something that will make some money. The last time I did this I actually made some money, at least enough to go on holiday to Nepal. Then I told the boy I didn't want to write wank books, but that's what the boy was trying to make money from. Fung books! I've been reading some crime books recently. I can understand why folk write them, but I cannot understand why folk read them. Crap writing; crap dialogue; just crap. Surely, I can do this!
Cynicism. It isn't really cynicism. It's the market. People have to make money. I have to write a wank fung scene for this book. I wonder if Elvis is on YouTube singing "Love me tender" on the Sullivan Show. I'll go and look.
I've got things I should do. I should make some money so I can give it to my daughter so she doesn't have to have a jobbie. I'll have to say bye bye to the anything more than four hours meditating a day. I'm just going to be normal and meditate for only four hours a day from now on. And pretend to be normal.
As the black spots are getting handed out here there and everywhere, I cannot say I am happy with this.
When I enter richness and fame, of course I will retreat to my cave with my dentist and my Philippino sex slave. I would like to be comfortable. My tao? Where is my tao? Be a man, Hotboy! Be a fung man!
The two meditations today so far make it obvious that progress is continuing. However, it is boring in between times. So much time and so little to do! Maybe I'll go out and get on a bus. "A dead rat? Ah, what company that would be!" (Sam the Man).
8:30 p.m.
Just finished a cracking meditation there! Thank God for the wonderful bliss because the rest of it has been difficult. I wasn't expecting it to be difficult today, but it was. I did get a bus to Princes Street and then walked home. I was going to walk through the Botanics and sit in the hut, but it started to rain. I wasn't in great form during this. Unusually bad form.
If I'd been doing this at the Samye Ling, I think after the first few days I'd be feeling like doing practically bugger all else but meditate. It's harder here. The proof of the pudding will be on Monday morning when I'm sitting on the bus going to work, and close my eyes.
Smoking joints for weeks before Tuesday has plenty to do with the difficulties between meditation sessions. Tomorrow I'm due some credit card pizza, but that's fine as long as I eat it. However, my good friend with the unfortunate diagnosis may be down tomorrow night and I don't think I can sit down with anyone right now and not want to smoke a joint. We'll see. But I have moved on. Just didn't expect it to be so hard.
10:20 p.m.
It said on the news that after the appearance of the fascist on the telly last night that 22% of people would consider voting for the British National Party at the next election. This does not work north of the border here in Chilly Jockoland because we already have Rangers supporters and Orangmen taking care of these nasty basturns.
I'd also like to apologise to all the flatheids for being so insulting. Renunciation is a very hard thing to do. I cannot do it. I have tried to disdain material wealth, and having a career, or even a decent jobbie. I don't eat dead animals. I tell myself: Don't smoke; don't drink; don't ejaculate, and fail at all three. This is pathetic. But continually trying and trying and trying is taking it's toll. I think I'd like to experience the gross. Go to the chip shop and buy one of those steak pies, the really, really gross steak pies. And peas. Fung whores! Fung somebody! Even just fung yourself!
I don't have the causes and conditions, or cannot find them, to become like Milarepa. Some cats got it and some cats aint.
I'm fed up having no money. You can't make proper choices if you don't have the choice because you've got no money. I'll have to write something that will make some money. The last time I did this I actually made some money, at least enough to go on holiday to Nepal. Then I told the boy I didn't want to write wank books, but that's what the boy was trying to make money from. Fung books! I've been reading some crime books recently. I can understand why folk write them, but I cannot understand why folk read them. Crap writing; crap dialogue; just crap. Surely, I can do this!
Cynicism. It isn't really cynicism. It's the market. People have to make money. I have to write a wank fung scene for this book. I wonder if Elvis is on YouTube singing "Love me tender" on the Sullivan Show. I'll go and look.
I've got things I should do. I should make some money so I can give it to my daughter so she doesn't have to have a jobbie. I'll have to say bye bye to the anything more than four hours meditating a day. I'm just going to be normal and meditate for only four hours a day from now on. And pretend to be normal.
As the black spots are getting handed out here there and everywhere, I cannot say I am happy with this.
When I enter richness and fame, of course I will retreat to my cave with my dentist and my Philippino sex slave. I would like to be comfortable. My tao? Where is my tao? Be a man, Hotboy! Be a fung man!
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Another Evening!
Thursday 10:20 p.m.
Tomorrow will be a great day! Today has been alright, but it wasn't really supposed to be any better than that. You can't smoke dope with tobacco for over a fortnight and then expect happy, happy days when you stop.
The reason why the withdrawals this time have been surprisingly light is because I haven't had murderous intrusive thoughts, or anything like that. Just not feeling great. Although I try not to believe in thoughts, I have to put up with them just like everybody else and I usually have a harder time than I've been having. Maybe this is because there is nobody around, or because I've been meditating almost non-stop.
I put on the telly this evening and put the sound down, watching Celtic playing Hamburg, doing vase breathing throughout. I know I've said this before, but sometimes I can't hold my breath for very long. Tonight I was struggling to hold it for thirty seconds (the seconds are on the match time thing on the telly!)when usually I'd expect to be able to hold my breath for a minute or more.
It's said that the "winds" can only enter the central channel when you are holding the breath, or when your lungs are empty and you're holding off taking a breath at this point.
But maybe you can't hold your breath for long like tonight because you don't need to. Anyway, there was plenty of heat tonight, or warmth.
Wait till you really get the heat, Hotboy! Wait till you're standing on one leg half way up the Himalayas! That'll be heat!!
How many lifetimes will I need the way things are going, Jack? Hundreds, Hotboy. Fung hundreds! Doesn't matter. You're putting in the time. You haven't even got to the dark night of the soul yet. But you're on the path. The main thing is to be on the path.
I'm up to page 77 of the re-write. There are 182 pages. I had a good idea today as well. Hardly doing any work on this book, but rattling through it anyway.
Question Time has just come on the telly. It has, controversially, Nick Griffin on it, the BNP leader.
Time to get out of this country, Jack. A million little Englanders voted for this currant. The only problem with that, Hotboy, is that if we leave the little Englanders they really will turn fascist and having a fascist state just on your southern border might become a bit tricky. Basturns! The BBC should not have done this. Their arguments are spurious. The led the Ten O Clock News with this story, which they caused to occur.
Started drinking beer at quarter past ten. I whip myself a bit, but I won't whip myself to death! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss!
Nick Griffin is doing wonderfully well. The show is all about him. Apart from being a fascist currant basturn, he's doing just what David Cameron is doing as leader of the Tories. A bit of rebranding. Scrape the top layer off and what do you get? Stupid, fascist basturns!!
Tomorrow will be a great day! Today has been alright, but it wasn't really supposed to be any better than that. You can't smoke dope with tobacco for over a fortnight and then expect happy, happy days when you stop.
The reason why the withdrawals this time have been surprisingly light is because I haven't had murderous intrusive thoughts, or anything like that. Just not feeling great. Although I try not to believe in thoughts, I have to put up with them just like everybody else and I usually have a harder time than I've been having. Maybe this is because there is nobody around, or because I've been meditating almost non-stop.
I put on the telly this evening and put the sound down, watching Celtic playing Hamburg, doing vase breathing throughout. I know I've said this before, but sometimes I can't hold my breath for very long. Tonight I was struggling to hold it for thirty seconds (the seconds are on the match time thing on the telly!)when usually I'd expect to be able to hold my breath for a minute or more.
It's said that the "winds" can only enter the central channel when you are holding the breath, or when your lungs are empty and you're holding off taking a breath at this point.
But maybe you can't hold your breath for long like tonight because you don't need to. Anyway, there was plenty of heat tonight, or warmth.
Wait till you really get the heat, Hotboy! Wait till you're standing on one leg half way up the Himalayas! That'll be heat!!
How many lifetimes will I need the way things are going, Jack? Hundreds, Hotboy. Fung hundreds! Doesn't matter. You're putting in the time. You haven't even got to the dark night of the soul yet. But you're on the path. The main thing is to be on the path.
I'm up to page 77 of the re-write. There are 182 pages. I had a good idea today as well. Hardly doing any work on this book, but rattling through it anyway.
Question Time has just come on the telly. It has, controversially, Nick Griffin on it, the BNP leader.
Time to get out of this country, Jack. A million little Englanders voted for this currant. The only problem with that, Hotboy, is that if we leave the little Englanders they really will turn fascist and having a fascist state just on your southern border might become a bit tricky. Basturns! The BBC should not have done this. Their arguments are spurious. The led the Ten O Clock News with this story, which they caused to occur.
Started drinking beer at quarter past ten. I whip myself a bit, but I won't whip myself to death! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss!
Nick Griffin is doing wonderfully well. The show is all about him. Apart from being a fascist currant basturn, he's doing just what David Cameron is doing as leader of the Tories. A bit of rebranding. Scrape the top layer off and what do you get? Stupid, fascist basturns!!
Another Afternoon!
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Thursday 4:15 p.m.
Cancelled Bellshill for tomorrow and went to the Botanics this afternoon. The mobile phone camera doesn't really do the colours justice. I'd just sat down in the secret garden when a guide brought in twenty teenagers to stand in front of me. You've got to laugh.
I do find myself clenching my teeth and fists a bit. It's my own fault. Never again will I buy fags for joints, at least not till Saturday! I was hoping to feel wonderful by tomorrow, but I started later with the purification this week than I was expecting. Still, when you think of what you could have ...
Another Day!
Thursday Noon
When Milarepa was going to do the black magic that would smite his mother's enemies, he bricked himself up. It only took him two weeks. After that I think he thought doing the Six Yogas of Naropa would be a piece of cake, but he probably ended up doing them for the rest of his life.
The first English boy to become a Thai monk after the sutras were published in Britain after the Second World War went to Thailand to learn to meditate. With no meditation background at all, he was put in a bamboo cage on stilts and had to stay in it for six months, if I recall aright.
I have to remember that it took at lot of folk down the ages to put up with considerable hardship to get this juju down to moi. And it's not all about moi either! But I am finding this quite hard. Not the meditations, but the ennui in between.
When Milarepa was going to do the black magic that would smite his mother's enemies, he bricked himself up. It only took him two weeks. After that I think he thought doing the Six Yogas of Naropa would be a piece of cake, but he probably ended up doing them for the rest of his life.
The first English boy to become a Thai monk after the sutras were published in Britain after the Second World War went to Thailand to learn to meditate. With no meditation background at all, he was put in a bamboo cage on stilts and had to stay in it for six months, if I recall aright.
I have to remember that it took at lot of folk down the ages to put up with considerable hardship to get this juju down to moi. And it's not all about moi either! But I am finding this quite hard. Not the meditations, but the ennui in between.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Gliding Through
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Wednesday 9:40 p.m.
Fallen leaves cover the ground now. The allotments are on the right. I went there today and meditated, dug up some tatties.
The meditations today were fine and developing okay. I must have put in seven hours today. When I wasn't meditating ... for some reason the nicotine withdrawals were hardly noticeable. The last time I had to do this (at the beginning of the school term)I was crabbit for a week at least, but I don't know what's going on just now. Maybe it was the three bottles of home brew last night.
But I would not say I was having a wonderful time. It's like heavy training. You don't appreciate it till you've done it. In the meantime just do it.
I did waken up today feeling happy again.
I did some writing stuff after being at the allotment. I'm skimming through it really. Actually, for what it is there's not much point in totally exerting myself. Don't really have to. Changing it a bit. Funny how things have changed in the twenty years since I wrote it last. You can't smoke in offices anymore or any work places, not in Chilly Jockoland anyway.
The old, toothless one and I ran up the hills tonight. I'm pleased the way things are going, but I would not say I was delirious about it. Deferred gratification is bound to be a wee bit like that! Allah Akbar!
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