Slings and arrows!

Friday 10:00 p.m.
                           You can meditate as much as you like, and whilst meditating you may encounter ra bliss and you may try as hard as you can to emanate as a deity, or Donald Duck, but there is no stability. There is no emotional stability.
                            I assume if I was a buddha and a friend of mine died .... are all emotions afflictive? ... after sitting in the cave for six years, do you still cry? Do you know such wonderful "emptiness" in your life that when your old friend dies you know, just know that this joe was merely a figment of your imagining, a process of conjoining forces which arose, abided and declined. Well, if you can do that, you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.
                           It's a choke leash. You run ahead and think everything is fine, and you get choked back. I must say that some folk are much better at folk they know dying than me. Some folk just seem to not be bothered so much. I wish I was one of these joes or josephines. One of my dead friends was like that. He said he just kind of shook his head.
                          Of course, I am a sensitive joe. You throw bricks at me and I hurt. You die on me and I will grieve. I really wish I didn't.
                           This is stuff you do not control. These are events, experience. These things occur and tell you what to think and do and feel. I hate that.
                           My old friend dying and the jobbie going belly up has made me realise that I was born to write. You have some control there. You have all the control there.
                           I have arrived at a stage in the meditations which is a very good stage to arrive at. I do not think I can go much further. Experience can just blow me away. I am nothing in the face of it. So I think I should keep the writing in mind. I could write stuff if I hadn't given Friday away. I have to get something back. I can probably get it back by ... I'll just try to get it back. I need time for moi! I don't care what I write. I think I'll just have to keep doing that. When I'm not writing, and I've been trying to give it up for years, I feel like the bilge. You just slop around. Nothing interesting occurs. It's like being a slob.
                           The Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church  decided maybe around the third century  or so that you weren't allowed to castrate yourself to avoid the sins of the flesh. I think they might have been right. Unfortunately, even although I seem to be a vegan, I am still human. This is a fung bummer!