12:10 a.m.
Tummo is maybe translated as force, not bliss, not light, but force. May the force be with you. It's a different part of life when you walk with the juju and feel some kind of force. Flatheids just don't get the bliss. The bliss is part of the force. To do the juju you need purification.
Most of the unfortunate creatures I know do not need so much purification because they are nice, sensible, middle class folk and don't do bad things to themselves. They do not do good things to themselves either. They just kind of get along as flatheids in the flatheid world of stupidity, and don't really care about anything except self satisfaction in the realms of idiot desire. This is being happy in the pondlife world.
Everyone I know is like this and so am I.
I'm walking through the rain into the sunshine, but I'm still walking through the rain. The sunshine is nice, but it is also dangerous. It is slightly worrying and you have to be careful.
After getting pissed again last night, it took a wee while today to get started, and then I had to consort with flatheids and didn't get much time to meditate really. But tomorrow I'll be up at eight to give the mother in law her pill, and thereafter I will be able to meditate between carer visits, and district nurse visits and whatnot, but I will be able to meditate somehow for ages and ages.
The first thing you've got to ask yourself when you start on this juju is do you want to have these experiences? Basically, I regard myself as a rational humanist kind of a guy. And I do want these experiences, whatever they may be. I want the full human being experience. I think the juju I'm practising very badly will give me that.
It will kick on tomorrow. It really will. Sit with the mother in law, do the vase breathing, get interrupted by carers, district nurses ... it won't matter. It's coming yet for aw that. It really is!
Wednesday 30 November 2011
Wednesday in Newmains
11:45 p.m.
I felt a wee bit lonesome coming here today, but I came here anyway. We live in a society as social beings. When you are needed, and, hopefully, you don't have to do this when you are young, you have to stand up and when it's your turn to bat, you just have to bat as well as you can. It's about being part of society. The evil bourgeois and the others behind their walls and high fences might tell us that there is no such thing as society, that there are only individuals ... greedy, hateful, ignorant individuals ... but they are all going to hell, a hell too bloody good for them.
Two million people went on strike today. I look at David Cameron and George Osborne and I think that I do not know who you are. I do not know where you come from. At least, the Labour Party in Scotland did not cross the picket lines at the Scottish Parliament. That's the best thing they've ever done. I do not want to live in this evil country anymore. Thank God we'll get a chance to walk away sometime soon.
I felt a wee bit lonesome coming here today, but I came here anyway. We live in a society as social beings. When you are needed, and, hopefully, you don't have to do this when you are young, you have to stand up and when it's your turn to bat, you just have to bat as well as you can. It's about being part of society. The evil bourgeois and the others behind their walls and high fences might tell us that there is no such thing as society, that there are only individuals ... greedy, hateful, ignorant individuals ... but they are all going to hell, a hell too bloody good for them.
Two million people went on strike today. I look at David Cameron and George Osborne and I think that I do not know who you are. I do not know where you come from. At least, the Labour Party in Scotland did not cross the picket lines at the Scottish Parliament. That's the best thing they've ever done. I do not want to live in this evil country anymore. Thank God we'll get a chance to walk away sometime soon.
Tuesday 29 November 2011
Giving up things like sobriety!
Tuesday 9:50 p.m.
After three days of not drinking and a week of not smoking anything, and the meditating and meditating day on day for hours and hours, and then this evening getting the bliss back and then some from the abstentions, I was suddenly confronted by my obvious inability to do the juju of jujus, and the impossibility of it all, and decided to succumb to the bevvy once again.
Or, I just decided that I should have a drink to see if I could be overpowered by something outside the stuff I was getting overpowered with anyway.
Also, since three or four folk come here, I thought I should say something, and I can only do that without thinking if I'm a bit pissed.
Spontaneity! Jack Kerouac was into spontaneity because he couldn't do the Christopher Isherwood bit which was writing it in longhand seventeen times. Spontaneity and flatheidedness gang thegither. So I won't edit this tomorrow. Only two people ever land on this bloggy these days which is wonderful since you can type when you are pissed and know that nobody apart from them will notice.
Well, hello, Jeannie! I read this summation from Australia about how the hotboys lived there in the 1920s and 1930s and how when Scotland was mentioned, they felt the homesickness so bad they all cried and cried. Well, it's nothing compared to what Jeannie has done, and I take my hat off to her, especially if she's one of the two folk who regularly land here. And even if she's not Scottishy, she's scottishy enough to me.
Aspirations! I wanted to have the perfect romance. I thought I could achieve the perfect relationship. And then I felt so sad that I couldn't do that with a living human being, and now that I'm dead old and all, I have almost done that, or it has happened, so it has.
The wummin with the perfect butt straightens up and says, at the allotment, what? More than forty years? Of course, I have on my fantastically new leather jaikit and in the dim light maybe I look like Batman to her, but I say: Yes, I've been with the old doll longer than you have been alive, and would you like to accompany me to the hut for some bouncing up and down therapy, and, of course, she demurs, and has some vegetables to attend to, but if you don't ask, you just don't know. Everybody under forty or so has apparently been spending hour and hours every week watching porn, so who knows what's in their wee heids.
The schoolgirl did not offer me a blowjob. Although it kind of said that, I know the wee whores she could not avoid put her up to it, and I have her in my line of folk to consider who are dead, about eighteen of them now, when I start meditating, and she has definitely gone to heaven now, if there is one, and only the good die young.
You ain't dead if folk remember you. I like Marie Rex and I will slot her into the list and think of her every day no matter what as long as I'm alive. I've said this to two flatheids and stuck with it, but she's not a flatheid and will, hopefully, live much longer than moi.
The rest of yous are just going to have to pay the money up front!
Well, I guess I'll have to drink some more and see what happens!
After three days of not drinking and a week of not smoking anything, and the meditating and meditating day on day for hours and hours, and then this evening getting the bliss back and then some from the abstentions, I was suddenly confronted by my obvious inability to do the juju of jujus, and the impossibility of it all, and decided to succumb to the bevvy once again.
Or, I just decided that I should have a drink to see if I could be overpowered by something outside the stuff I was getting overpowered with anyway.
Also, since three or four folk come here, I thought I should say something, and I can only do that without thinking if I'm a bit pissed.
Spontaneity! Jack Kerouac was into spontaneity because he couldn't do the Christopher Isherwood bit which was writing it in longhand seventeen times. Spontaneity and flatheidedness gang thegither. So I won't edit this tomorrow. Only two people ever land on this bloggy these days which is wonderful since you can type when you are pissed and know that nobody apart from them will notice.
Well, hello, Jeannie! I read this summation from Australia about how the hotboys lived there in the 1920s and 1930s and how when Scotland was mentioned, they felt the homesickness so bad they all cried and cried. Well, it's nothing compared to what Jeannie has done, and I take my hat off to her, especially if she's one of the two folk who regularly land here. And even if she's not Scottishy, she's scottishy enough to me.
Aspirations! I wanted to have the perfect romance. I thought I could achieve the perfect relationship. And then I felt so sad that I couldn't do that with a living human being, and now that I'm dead old and all, I have almost done that, or it has happened, so it has.
The wummin with the perfect butt straightens up and says, at the allotment, what? More than forty years? Of course, I have on my fantastically new leather jaikit and in the dim light maybe I look like Batman to her, but I say: Yes, I've been with the old doll longer than you have been alive, and would you like to accompany me to the hut for some bouncing up and down therapy, and, of course, she demurs, and has some vegetables to attend to, but if you don't ask, you just don't know. Everybody under forty or so has apparently been spending hour and hours every week watching porn, so who knows what's in their wee heids.
The schoolgirl did not offer me a blowjob. Although it kind of said that, I know the wee whores she could not avoid put her up to it, and I have her in my line of folk to consider who are dead, about eighteen of them now, when I start meditating, and she has definitely gone to heaven now, if there is one, and only the good die young.
You ain't dead if folk remember you. I like Marie Rex and I will slot her into the list and think of her every day no matter what as long as I'm alive. I've said this to two flatheids and stuck with it, but she's not a flatheid and will, hopefully, live much longer than moi.
The rest of yous are just going to have to pay the money up front!
Well, I guess I'll have to drink some more and see what happens!
Fatboy No More!
Tuesday 10:03 a.m.
Weighed in this morning for the first time in ages. Eleven stone two pounds. I'm pretty sure I started my retirement well over twelve stone. I could have been a contender at ten and a half, but I'd like to get down to ten stone ten. I'd settle for eleven stone. I don't like being a fat basturn as I think it indicates a bad attitude.
I haven't had anything to smoke now for a week (my lungs are filthy!) and nothing to drink for three nights. This is unusual. Normally, I smoke or drink, and sometimes both at the same time. Could be a different story when I land in Newmains. Difficult spending a whole evening in Newmains meditating and watching the telly, but we'll see. You don't want to be too hard on yourself, but ...
I got my passwords back for the Kindle account, and discovered that you still need to generate 100 dollars worth of business in America to trigger a royalty payment. In Blighty you just need to get over £10 in money due to get some. Up till last month, the ebooks had only sold 29 copies, but since then 15 have been sold, almost all in Blighty. I have no idea why that is. Nobody knows who I am anywhere, so you wouldn't think. One other encouraging aspect is that my writing blog is getting hit at least a couple of times every day now - yesterday it was hit seven times - and all those hits are probably coming from Amazon.
I went running with the old, toothless one twice over the last three days, and I wasn't really fit for it, especially on Saturday when I was a bit hung over and had tried to cancel. The old, toothless one tells me that he's going to start going on buses with his free-for-geriatrics bus pass, and spend the time reading books, and occasionally staring out of the window. The buses are full of old people riding for free as it is!
The mobile phone camera is still not working consistently. So no photies today!!
Weighed in this morning for the first time in ages. Eleven stone two pounds. I'm pretty sure I started my retirement well over twelve stone. I could have been a contender at ten and a half, but I'd like to get down to ten stone ten. I'd settle for eleven stone. I don't like being a fat basturn as I think it indicates a bad attitude.
I haven't had anything to smoke now for a week (my lungs are filthy!) and nothing to drink for three nights. This is unusual. Normally, I smoke or drink, and sometimes both at the same time. Could be a different story when I land in Newmains. Difficult spending a whole evening in Newmains meditating and watching the telly, but we'll see. You don't want to be too hard on yourself, but ...
I got my passwords back for the Kindle account, and discovered that you still need to generate 100 dollars worth of business in America to trigger a royalty payment. In Blighty you just need to get over £10 in money due to get some. Up till last month, the ebooks had only sold 29 copies, but since then 15 have been sold, almost all in Blighty. I have no idea why that is. Nobody knows who I am anywhere, so you wouldn't think. One other encouraging aspect is that my writing blog is getting hit at least a couple of times every day now - yesterday it was hit seven times - and all those hits are probably coming from Amazon.
I went running with the old, toothless one twice over the last three days, and I wasn't really fit for it, especially on Saturday when I was a bit hung over and had tried to cancel. The old, toothless one tells me that he's going to start going on buses with his free-for-geriatrics bus pass, and spend the time reading books, and occasionally staring out of the window. The buses are full of old people riding for free as it is!
The mobile phone camera is still not working consistently. So no photies today!!
Saturday 26 November 2011
Money!
Saturday 11:00 p.m.
Yesterday I got an email from Kindle telling me that they'd put £10:88 into my bank account. Usually, I just delete stuff from Kindle, but there was something different about this and I kept staring at it. Were they giving me money? I honestly never expected any money for ebooks because I thought they said you weren't getting any unless you'd generated a hundred dollars of business, but they must have changed the rules.
I think they give me about 26p an ebook, and that means that about forty books must have been sold. I don't know since my account has been blocked for ages now. God knows why.
I was dead pleased to get the money!! Considering the lack of marketing from me, I have no idea how folk found these books. Typically, the book which has sold the most seems to be the thriller, which is probably the worst book there!!
There's been no tobacco since Tuesday. Sober and straight and off to bed tonight with a book. Oh well.
Yesterday I got an email from Kindle telling me that they'd put £10:88 into my bank account. Usually, I just delete stuff from Kindle, but there was something different about this and I kept staring at it. Were they giving me money? I honestly never expected any money for ebooks because I thought they said you weren't getting any unless you'd generated a hundred dollars of business, but they must have changed the rules.
I think they give me about 26p an ebook, and that means that about forty books must have been sold. I don't know since my account has been blocked for ages now. God knows why.
I was dead pleased to get the money!! Considering the lack of marketing from me, I have no idea how folk found these books. Typically, the book which has sold the most seems to be the thriller, which is probably the worst book there!!
There's been no tobacco since Tuesday. Sober and straight and off to bed tonight with a book. Oh well.
Thursday 24 November 2011
David Livingstone's
Thursday 22:17 p.m.
Allegri-Misere is playing in the background. Once I loved being a catholic. When I was in Lourdes and visiting Rome. The Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church. They let you dance and drink. Shame it turned into a rest home for paedophiles. Well, that's not really fair.
Still we have St Francis of Assisi. I think he took off all his clothes and lay on the floor to die. I was watching a programme about David Livingstone tonight, which hardly did him justice. But it was at least about him. It seems he died kneeling in prayer.
Of course, I don't believe in anything, but I would like to die in a lotus position. I'll have to get shot or something for that to happen because if you die of cancer or some other debilitating disease you cannot sit up. Chogyam Trungpa died of alcoholism at the usual age for that of under fifty, so he couldn't have died sitting up, what with the hallucinations, debilitations, and whatnot... so how did he do the days of no rigor mortis, five to seven ... he must have been just lying there. Maybe they propped him up. I don't know.
To get to David Livingstone's Memorial in Blantyre when you were about twelve or thirteen ... well, first of all, you go to mass in the morning or at twelve o clock, and about six or seven of yous and your protestant pals get gathered and you kind of decide somehow to have an exciting adventure. Where is David Livingstone's Memorial? How do you get to Blantyre? I think I might have instigated this at the time since then I was not shy and a wee bit alpha.
When I was about twelve I got very interested in Scottish explorers and read books about them. Mungo Park and David Livingstone, I do remember. The latter worked in the weaving factories, I believe, and read the books when he could. We did not get a good description in the show tonight, but this is a life about determination, and trying.
It was a real exploration the first time I went to David Livingstone's Memorial. I don't know who told us the way there, but it was with mainly the kids who stayed nearby, mostly prods really. I suspect it was Rab Clyde who know lots of things and was from Bothwellhaugh, the Lanarkshire version of a ghost town. It's under the made pond in Strathclyde Park now.
So you go from Bellshill and go down passed the golf course on the way to what was once Bothwellhaugh, and there you come to the River Clyde. It must have been the kid from Bothwellhaugh who knew this. He said we have to go down the river on the left hand side. Virgin territory.
We were a bit like aborigines before this, or before we got there. Derek Gibson, who did the time in the Approved School a wee bit later, was one of the ones who disturbed the wasps nest and ended up beating the wasps out of his fabulously thick, ginger head of hair. But then we got to the Clyde and made our way down the left hand side till we came to a mill.
You had to climb over whatever at the side of the river and then go through the mill to climb over the wall at the other side -- the mill must have been closed --maybe it was closed a hundred years ago -- and then it wasn't too far to get to David Livingstone's Memorial.
There was a wall around it. You had to pay to get in. We all climbed the wall. Inside there were African huts which we played in and then we tried to get into the big house thing. There was a museum with artifacts.
What you have to remember when you're a kid is to always stay away from adults, but we braced ourselves and sneaked into the building without paying, and we all gazed amazed at the exhibits.
It was the first time I had ever been in a museum and I loved it. One or two of the staff were there and we kind of looked alienated like the tinks that we were, and they didn't bother us as we gazed fascinated at the things under the glass in the cases. So hats off to them!
And hats off to the prods like David Livingstone! I must read his books!
I don't think I'll ask for the Misere to be played at my funeral. I want the Heart Sutra and the first chapter (almost) of In The Land of the Demon Masters, but the Misere is very much making me cry right now, and I'm thinking of all the dead people I used to know.
My Auntie Mary died a week or so ago. Ninety seven years old. I was supposed to go to Coventry to see them when I was about thirteen, and I stood in our kitchen, and I told the auld maw that I didn't want to go to Coventry with my da because I didn't know any of these people. My da had asthma. The auld maw said he needed someone to carry his case. My Auntie Mary, whom I'd never seen before, kissed me on the cheek once she'd answered the door. The first time I ever remembered being kissed. She's the last of that generation of hotboys. Go to heaven! Go to heaven! Go to heaven!
Allegri-Misere is playing in the background. Once I loved being a catholic. When I was in Lourdes and visiting Rome. The Holy Roman Catholic and Apostolic Church. They let you dance and drink. Shame it turned into a rest home for paedophiles. Well, that's not really fair.
Still we have St Francis of Assisi. I think he took off all his clothes and lay on the floor to die. I was watching a programme about David Livingstone tonight, which hardly did him justice. But it was at least about him. It seems he died kneeling in prayer.
Of course, I don't believe in anything, but I would like to die in a lotus position. I'll have to get shot or something for that to happen because if you die of cancer or some other debilitating disease you cannot sit up. Chogyam Trungpa died of alcoholism at the usual age for that of under fifty, so he couldn't have died sitting up, what with the hallucinations, debilitations, and whatnot... so how did he do the days of no rigor mortis, five to seven ... he must have been just lying there. Maybe they propped him up. I don't know.
To get to David Livingstone's Memorial in Blantyre when you were about twelve or thirteen ... well, first of all, you go to mass in the morning or at twelve o clock, and about six or seven of yous and your protestant pals get gathered and you kind of decide somehow to have an exciting adventure. Where is David Livingstone's Memorial? How do you get to Blantyre? I think I might have instigated this at the time since then I was not shy and a wee bit alpha.
When I was about twelve I got very interested in Scottish explorers and read books about them. Mungo Park and David Livingstone, I do remember. The latter worked in the weaving factories, I believe, and read the books when he could. We did not get a good description in the show tonight, but this is a life about determination, and trying.
It was a real exploration the first time I went to David Livingstone's Memorial. I don't know who told us the way there, but it was with mainly the kids who stayed nearby, mostly prods really. I suspect it was Rab Clyde who know lots of things and was from Bothwellhaugh, the Lanarkshire version of a ghost town. It's under the made pond in Strathclyde Park now.
So you go from Bellshill and go down passed the golf course on the way to what was once Bothwellhaugh, and there you come to the River Clyde. It must have been the kid from Bothwellhaugh who knew this. He said we have to go down the river on the left hand side. Virgin territory.
We were a bit like aborigines before this, or before we got there. Derek Gibson, who did the time in the Approved School a wee bit later, was one of the ones who disturbed the wasps nest and ended up beating the wasps out of his fabulously thick, ginger head of hair. But then we got to the Clyde and made our way down the left hand side till we came to a mill.
You had to climb over whatever at the side of the river and then go through the mill to climb over the wall at the other side -- the mill must have been closed --maybe it was closed a hundred years ago -- and then it wasn't too far to get to David Livingstone's Memorial.
There was a wall around it. You had to pay to get in. We all climbed the wall. Inside there were African huts which we played in and then we tried to get into the big house thing. There was a museum with artifacts.
What you have to remember when you're a kid is to always stay away from adults, but we braced ourselves and sneaked into the building without paying, and we all gazed amazed at the exhibits.
It was the first time I had ever been in a museum and I loved it. One or two of the staff were there and we kind of looked alienated like the tinks that we were, and they didn't bother us as we gazed fascinated at the things under the glass in the cases. So hats off to them!
And hats off to the prods like David Livingstone! I must read his books!
I don't think I'll ask for the Misere to be played at my funeral. I want the Heart Sutra and the first chapter (almost) of In The Land of the Demon Masters, but the Misere is very much making me cry right now, and I'm thinking of all the dead people I used to know.
My Auntie Mary died a week or so ago. Ninety seven years old. I was supposed to go to Coventry to see them when I was about thirteen, and I stood in our kitchen, and I told the auld maw that I didn't want to go to Coventry with my da because I didn't know any of these people. My da had asthma. The auld maw said he needed someone to carry his case. My Auntie Mary, whom I'd never seen before, kissed me on the cheek once she'd answered the door. The first time I ever remembered being kissed. She's the last of that generation of hotboys. Go to heaven! Go to heaven! Go to heaven!
Monday 21 November 2011
Walkies
Brian Wilson invited me down to his castle yesterday to listen to a recording of probably something that sounded like bowel movements made by the guy who once walked passed the guy who once had a cousin of a Beach Boy in his cab, but I decided to go for the healthy option of cycling to Cramond with the old, toothless one. I fell off the bike twice coming home at who knows when. There's a photie I took of the old, toothless one among the above. In his cycling helmet.
You copied a wrong photie, Hotboy. At least one of them was from way back when!
This afternoon was pretty gorgeous, so I went for a walk in the botties and took some photies. Then I went to the allotment to collect the ingredients for soup. Apart from the lentils and spices, everything else was grown by us: tatties, onions, turnip, brussel sprouts and leek. This is most satisfying!
Saturday 19 November 2011
Nothing much!
Saturday 9:40 p.m.
I feel quite settled with my life of going backwards and forwards between here and Lanarkshire now. Or, I was this time. Everything has been going so well that I knew the meditations should be stunning by Thursday and so they were. I'm starting to make it feel like a retreat, sort of. Since I was sitting at the table mostly, I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on the bliss.
Voidness. I'm getting into voidness. Emptiness is form. Form is emptiness. As soon as I started getting anywhere with the heat, and bliss seemed to be developing wonderfully, I got the Dalai Lama book on the Mahamudra and switched to voidness. I was foolishly concentrating on the heat raising stuff because the voidness seemed a bit far away, but the exercises seem to be working.
There's no wee person inside you mind operating you, Jack. Your ears just hear things and your eyes just see things. You become conscious and it's all more or less there. Who's deciding to roll the joints then, Hotboy? I think that's me, Jack. But this is a work in progress. At least, there seems to be some progress.
So I'm trying to start by establishing voidness. The bliss will be there practically right away, but it will change in the course of the meditation with the various levels of increase and diminution. So you've got the bliss and you go for the voidness and try to arise as the Medicine Buddha and do the juju on top of all that. I'm still doing much the same things, but it's changed a bit. It's got a bit better again over the last couple of weeks. Forward, forward on all fronts!
Going to Newmains has been really good for me. It's been difficult. Thursday is like going on a hospital visit that lasts all day and ends around ten at night. The Dalai Lama says you've got to do stuff to help people and not just wish to help them. Talks cheap. But I couldn't do it if I couldn't meditate.
I did fifty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings, forty prostrations and about five minutes of very intensive shadow boxing this evening. I am getting a wee bit fitter and I seem to be losing some weight. Hurrah!
I feel quite settled with my life of going backwards and forwards between here and Lanarkshire now. Or, I was this time. Everything has been going so well that I knew the meditations should be stunning by Thursday and so they were. I'm starting to make it feel like a retreat, sort of. Since I was sitting at the table mostly, I kept my eyes closed and concentrated on the bliss.
Voidness. I'm getting into voidness. Emptiness is form. Form is emptiness. As soon as I started getting anywhere with the heat, and bliss seemed to be developing wonderfully, I got the Dalai Lama book on the Mahamudra and switched to voidness. I was foolishly concentrating on the heat raising stuff because the voidness seemed a bit far away, but the exercises seem to be working.
There's no wee person inside you mind operating you, Jack. Your ears just hear things and your eyes just see things. You become conscious and it's all more or less there. Who's deciding to roll the joints then, Hotboy? I think that's me, Jack. But this is a work in progress. At least, there seems to be some progress.
So I'm trying to start by establishing voidness. The bliss will be there practically right away, but it will change in the course of the meditation with the various levels of increase and diminution. So you've got the bliss and you go for the voidness and try to arise as the Medicine Buddha and do the juju on top of all that. I'm still doing much the same things, but it's changed a bit. It's got a bit better again over the last couple of weeks. Forward, forward on all fronts!
Going to Newmains has been really good for me. It's been difficult. Thursday is like going on a hospital visit that lasts all day and ends around ten at night. The Dalai Lama says you've got to do stuff to help people and not just wish to help them. Talks cheap. But I couldn't do it if I couldn't meditate.
I did fifty of Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings, forty prostrations and about five minutes of very intensive shadow boxing this evening. I am getting a wee bit fitter and I seem to be losing some weight. Hurrah!
Tuesday 15 November 2011
Bliss diary!
Tuesday 11:05 p.m.
If you're trying to get back into meditating for hours and hours every day, you've got to expect to be a bit restive at first. That was yesterday. I handled today much better. Just meditated for almost all of it until I did my shadow boxing session. When I was young, I didn't believe a sixty year old joe could still do stuff like that. Different culture. I'm amazed that I'm still a fat basturn.
I've been much enjoying the Dalai Lama book about mahamudra, which I've been dipping into every day or so. He gave a very interesting explanation concerning rebirth and subtle minds, but I won't go on about that here since most of the folk who read this are surely bound for hell if there's any afterlife. Anyway, it's not you. You just think it's you. Hope that helps.
Tomorrow I'm off the grid. I'm going to love my bed tonight.
If you're trying to get back into meditating for hours and hours every day, you've got to expect to be a bit restive at first. That was yesterday. I handled today much better. Just meditated for almost all of it until I did my shadow boxing session. When I was young, I didn't believe a sixty year old joe could still do stuff like that. Different culture. I'm amazed that I'm still a fat basturn.
I've been much enjoying the Dalai Lama book about mahamudra, which I've been dipping into every day or so. He gave a very interesting explanation concerning rebirth and subtle minds, but I won't go on about that here since most of the folk who read this are surely bound for hell if there's any afterlife. Anyway, it's not you. You just think it's you. Hope that helps.
Tomorrow I'm off the grid. I'm going to love my bed tonight.
Monday 14 November 2011
Another day, another dollar!
Monday 8:45 p.m.
Meditated a lot today and stopped around eight. Now, for the home brew!
I have to stop trying so hard and be more reasonable and normal, and stop feeling as if moi is getting frustrated all the time.
The cute decorator was in today. I saw her once since I was hiding in my never to be decorated room. Before I saw her, I decided she wasn't cute at all. It's your imagination. Then I did see her and she was dead cute. She wears a pink jumper. What kind of decorator wears a pink jumper? A cute one. There was once a time when every female under thirty started to look very nice indeed. These days maybe you just need not to use a zimmer.
After two hard days meditating, today I was supposed to settle down and just do it and be there. Hmmm? I think I should start writing again. This did occur to me quite strongly today. Of course, it's a while since I was a writer and I will have to try to remember how you go about that again.
Where do they get their ideas from, Jack? Who? Writers. Well, Hotboy, when you were a writer, where did you get your ideas from? Nowhere. Nothing.
There's been nothing new since Sophocles anyway. Who can claim to have had an original thought?
Once, when I was between writing things, I had to pause and ask myself before beginning a new project ... how many dwarves? Will we have dwarves or not? I felt most comfortable when I was writing books about meditating and such like since that felt sort of integrated. Like, I was meditating and writing about it. But I've nothing in that regard I want to write about just now and ... the best thing is to write a script. When I was trying to be writer, I used to be able to write scripts when I didn't have much time. In those days I didn't think you could write novels in less than four hours typing time a day. Hmmm? But I'll have to learn all that again since I haven't been a writer for ages now.
I can't remember how to punctuate anymore. This learning to be a writer and write again might be quite stimulating.
I always think of going back to writing when the meditations have had a dip of some sort. Maybe it's a matter of control. I can't seem to be able to control my time anymore. I was so German once. Metropolis. Metronome man. Counting out the slices of time. Now time is sliced off like a loss and is something I seem to have lost control of.
I have all the fences to jump in the world concerning the juju, but I don't know what they are. I am not in control of the bliss. You try to meditate and stuff happens. I'm not even sure I'm meditating anymore. It was so simple when you picked a sound and just concentrated on that, and such wonderful results were appertaining, but we're not in Kansas anymore, Jack, and who knows where the fung this is going. I certainly don't.
But I do have confidence in the short path. When I read the biography of Milarepa, I did not disbelieve any of it. When it talked about the boy flying through the air, or being in different places at the one time, this didn't phase me. I have confidence in the short path. Unfortunately, I can't do the short path because .... well, whatever because. I can't do it.
The lama says: Sometimes you've just got to sit there. It's not all firecracker stuff. It's back to the beginning when you first try to learn how to meditate. Sometimes you've just got to sit there.
How am I ever going to be able to get up to the point where I'm just sitting for days and days and days?
Instead of being able to do that, writing scripts (which no one wants!) would seem pretty stupid, but at least you have some control over that sort of thing.
Meditated a lot today and stopped around eight. Now, for the home brew!
I have to stop trying so hard and be more reasonable and normal, and stop feeling as if moi is getting frustrated all the time.
The cute decorator was in today. I saw her once since I was hiding in my never to be decorated room. Before I saw her, I decided she wasn't cute at all. It's your imagination. Then I did see her and she was dead cute. She wears a pink jumper. What kind of decorator wears a pink jumper? A cute one. There was once a time when every female under thirty started to look very nice indeed. These days maybe you just need not to use a zimmer.
After two hard days meditating, today I was supposed to settle down and just do it and be there. Hmmm? I think I should start writing again. This did occur to me quite strongly today. Of course, it's a while since I was a writer and I will have to try to remember how you go about that again.
Where do they get their ideas from, Jack? Who? Writers. Well, Hotboy, when you were a writer, where did you get your ideas from? Nowhere. Nothing.
There's been nothing new since Sophocles anyway. Who can claim to have had an original thought?
Once, when I was between writing things, I had to pause and ask myself before beginning a new project ... how many dwarves? Will we have dwarves or not? I felt most comfortable when I was writing books about meditating and such like since that felt sort of integrated. Like, I was meditating and writing about it. But I've nothing in that regard I want to write about just now and ... the best thing is to write a script. When I was trying to be writer, I used to be able to write scripts when I didn't have much time. In those days I didn't think you could write novels in less than four hours typing time a day. Hmmm? But I'll have to learn all that again since I haven't been a writer for ages now.
I can't remember how to punctuate anymore. This learning to be a writer and write again might be quite stimulating.
I always think of going back to writing when the meditations have had a dip of some sort. Maybe it's a matter of control. I can't seem to be able to control my time anymore. I was so German once. Metropolis. Metronome man. Counting out the slices of time. Now time is sliced off like a loss and is something I seem to have lost control of.
I have all the fences to jump in the world concerning the juju, but I don't know what they are. I am not in control of the bliss. You try to meditate and stuff happens. I'm not even sure I'm meditating anymore. It was so simple when you picked a sound and just concentrated on that, and such wonderful results were appertaining, but we're not in Kansas anymore, Jack, and who knows where the fung this is going. I certainly don't.
But I do have confidence in the short path. When I read the biography of Milarepa, I did not disbelieve any of it. When it talked about the boy flying through the air, or being in different places at the one time, this didn't phase me. I have confidence in the short path. Unfortunately, I can't do the short path because .... well, whatever because. I can't do it.
The lama says: Sometimes you've just got to sit there. It's not all firecracker stuff. It's back to the beginning when you first try to learn how to meditate. Sometimes you've just got to sit there.
How am I ever going to be able to get up to the point where I'm just sitting for days and days and days?
Instead of being able to do that, writing scripts (which no one wants!) would seem pretty stupid, but at least you have some control over that sort of thing.
Free Monday!
I've been meditating all morning, so this is a wee break!! Great meditations, but I won't go on about them.
What with this and that, I've been doing very little meditating in my hut of late, but I did manage to get up to the allotment yesterday for a bit. I came back with a leek, some turnips, brussel sprouts, and made a delicious pot of soup.
I was surprised to find a few raspberries left and the marigolds are hanging on in there!
Friday 11 November 2011
Sides of a coin.
Saturday night, 9:58 p.m.
Getting pissed.
I have to take responsibility for all the horrible, stupid thoughts I have because I know they can never be true and just arise due to the things you have done and thought, etc., before. They should be clouds in the sky, observed and let go.
Emotions wrap them up in impenetrable armour and you have to live these thoughts, and have them, and be in the storm. You know these thoughts are conditioned, and that is a wonderful lesson, but they have been conditioned by the come downs from the various pollutions that you put into your body, principally from tobacco. And yet you let these thoughts arise due to your addiction to tobacco when it would be dead easy to give up the tobacco, as you have done so many hundreds of times before.
The other side of the coin is the bliss. I do not any more want to talk about the bliss in this blogginess because no one who reads this meditates, and in the face of such unfortunateness one is struck dumb.
How can you have been given a mind and chosen not to meditate? You might as well have been a horse.
Anyway, it's bugger all about the bliss. I'll have to live to be at least one hundred and fifty years old. All the bonds with the flatheids I know must have been broken. I thought once that when I became terminal, I could watch lots of David Attenborough shows, but the frozen caterpillar has funged me up.
Stepping out from your skin into just awareness is going to be fung hard work. Meditation is a hard juju. It would be much easier just to settle with what you've got.
Though it is not about the bliss, once you can access the bliss, this must give you a completely different view. There is the bliss. It's just slightly down the layer cake. Anybody can get to the bliss. But the bliss is so wonderful.
I've been doing the juju with my eyes open more often because you do mahamudra meditations with your eyes open. It might not make much difference, though it would help you react faster when the wild dogs come round to eat you, but eventually all there was in view was the candle light, the pointy upward light, and nothing else, is that, the cone of light. Everything else around it has melted. Some time ago when I was doing this up the allotment the object I was gazing at disappeared. I think you've not got to care.
But you don't meditate. I think I only like it (apart from the bliss, etc.) because ....
Getting pissed.
I have to take responsibility for all the horrible, stupid thoughts I have because I know they can never be true and just arise due to the things you have done and thought, etc., before. They should be clouds in the sky, observed and let go.
Emotions wrap them up in impenetrable armour and you have to live these thoughts, and have them, and be in the storm. You know these thoughts are conditioned, and that is a wonderful lesson, but they have been conditioned by the come downs from the various pollutions that you put into your body, principally from tobacco. And yet you let these thoughts arise due to your addiction to tobacco when it would be dead easy to give up the tobacco, as you have done so many hundreds of times before.
The other side of the coin is the bliss. I do not any more want to talk about the bliss in this blogginess because no one who reads this meditates, and in the face of such unfortunateness one is struck dumb.
How can you have been given a mind and chosen not to meditate? You might as well have been a horse.
Anyway, it's bugger all about the bliss. I'll have to live to be at least one hundred and fifty years old. All the bonds with the flatheids I know must have been broken. I thought once that when I became terminal, I could watch lots of David Attenborough shows, but the frozen caterpillar has funged me up.
Stepping out from your skin into just awareness is going to be fung hard work. Meditation is a hard juju. It would be much easier just to settle with what you've got.
Though it is not about the bliss, once you can access the bliss, this must give you a completely different view. There is the bliss. It's just slightly down the layer cake. Anybody can get to the bliss. But the bliss is so wonderful.
I've been doing the juju with my eyes open more often because you do mahamudra meditations with your eyes open. It might not make much difference, though it would help you react faster when the wild dogs come round to eat you, but eventually all there was in view was the candle light, the pointy upward light, and nothing else, is that, the cone of light. Everything else around it has melted. Some time ago when I was doing this up the allotment the object I was gazing at disappeared. I think you've not got to care.
But you don't meditate. I think I only like it (apart from the bliss, etc.) because ....
Wednesday 9 November 2011
The Woolly Caterpillar Enigma Part 2.
Wednesday 11:43 a.m.
The woolly caterpillar was on a David Attenborough show. It lives in the Antarctic, I think. When it gets cold, the woolly caterpillar wriggles under a stone and when it gets really cold, it stops breathing. Then its intestines freeze, and then it freezes completely.
Were you to pick up the woolly moth at this point, it would show no signs of life. It is, to all intents and purposes, dead. It is a dead caterpillar. Deceased. It has joined the heavenly choir of caterpillars. It is frozen solid.
When the sun begins to shine again and the caterpillar warms up, it springs to life and goes wriggling about its business till it gets cold again, and it goes through this process fourteen times before it becomes a moth.
There has to be something we don't know about operating here, Jack. What is making the difference between the caterpillar being alive and being dead?
Some yogis are supposed to be able to stop breathing and such, using winds and channels and whatnot, and they are supposed to be not dead either. Hmmm?
Of course, the caterpillar wraps itself in a cocoon at one point and comes out as a moth, which is just ridiculous.
The woolly caterpillar was on a David Attenborough show. It lives in the Antarctic, I think. When it gets cold, the woolly caterpillar wriggles under a stone and when it gets really cold, it stops breathing. Then its intestines freeze, and then it freezes completely.
Were you to pick up the woolly moth at this point, it would show no signs of life. It is, to all intents and purposes, dead. It is a dead caterpillar. Deceased. It has joined the heavenly choir of caterpillars. It is frozen solid.
When the sun begins to shine again and the caterpillar warms up, it springs to life and goes wriggling about its business till it gets cold again, and it goes through this process fourteen times before it becomes a moth.
There has to be something we don't know about operating here, Jack. What is making the difference between the caterpillar being alive and being dead?
Some yogis are supposed to be able to stop breathing and such, using winds and channels and whatnot, and they are supposed to be not dead either. Hmmm?
Of course, the caterpillar wraps itself in a cocoon at one point and comes out as a moth, which is just ridiculous.
Friday 4 November 2011
The Woolly Caterpillar Enigma
Friday 10:50 p.m.
Had another wonderful training session this evening. Twenty to Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings and six three minute rounds of shadow boxing with half minute partitions. I think I've found my salvation for this winter. Running is nothing like as enjoyable. It's cold and dark out there now, Jack.
Yesterday in Newmains was great. The meditations were occasionally fantastic. You have to sit there for a long time, but it certainly has its compensations!! Of course, it's not about the bliss. I was able to spend two hours in the late afternoon sitting in the gorgeous back garden. I was staring slightly upwards at the sky above the outhouse, at the changing cloudscape, only interrupted by the visitation of a cat. I'm trying to do more emptiness stuff, much inspired by the video I saw last weekend.
And the world doesn't seem to be such a vale of tears anymore, Jack! No, indeedee not!
Had another wonderful training session this evening. Twenty to Mr Iyengar's yogic jumpings and six three minute rounds of shadow boxing with half minute partitions. I think I've found my salvation for this winter. Running is nothing like as enjoyable. It's cold and dark out there now, Jack.
Yesterday in Newmains was great. The meditations were occasionally fantastic. You have to sit there for a long time, but it certainly has its compensations!! Of course, it's not about the bliss. I was able to spend two hours in the late afternoon sitting in the gorgeous back garden. I was staring slightly upwards at the sky above the outhouse, at the changing cloudscape, only interrupted by the visitation of a cat. I'm trying to do more emptiness stuff, much inspired by the video I saw last weekend.
And the world doesn't seem to be such a vale of tears anymore, Jack! No, indeedee not!
Wednesday 2 November 2011
Wednesday 12:19 p.m.
I'm trying not to dread spending the next few days in Lanarkshire, and going to Amsterdam, and I'm trying not to dread Christmas ... already! Flat fields of uninterrupted time stretching in front of me with no appointments, time to do what you wanted to do, and somehow feel you have to do ... well, I'm not going to get that. But I did have a lovely time last night. On my own!
You eat the cannybliss yogurt, and you know you've got over an hour before it comes on, and you're not feeling that great, but you start doing the yogic jumpings, twenty of them. After that, although you might not have been keeping the exercises up, you gradually get into doing the shadow boxing routine. The Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle. The beats, the wonderful beat music. And after a little while, you start to feel wonderful. People who don't take hard exercise don't know what they're missing! So you go over the peak and take it down to the exhaustion. You'r slugging on the pint of water before you lie in the bath, succumbing to the bliss and waiting for the cannybliss to come on. This is my big sweetie!! I love this.
I'm wondering why I haven't been able to do this recently, and realise it is my salvation. I will never get myself out road running every night through the winter. Then I could lie in the bath before ten and avoid any inclination to go the off license. If I won't hit the roads every night, I can do routines in the kitchen. I'd like to do stuff like this every night.
What a life that would be! Meditate in the morning and throughout the day, but do some writing in the afternoon. In the evening, exercise (or run), bath, meditate, bed. What a wonderful life that would be!!
Why can't I live like that, Jack? You can't live like that, Hotboy, because you won't tell them all to fung off. They're all funged, completely funged. And there's nothing you can do about it, so why can't you just tell them to fung off and leave you alone?
I'm trying not to dread spending the next few days in Lanarkshire, and going to Amsterdam, and I'm trying not to dread Christmas ... already! Flat fields of uninterrupted time stretching in front of me with no appointments, time to do what you wanted to do, and somehow feel you have to do ... well, I'm not going to get that. But I did have a lovely time last night. On my own!
You eat the cannybliss yogurt, and you know you've got over an hour before it comes on, and you're not feeling that great, but you start doing the yogic jumpings, twenty of them. After that, although you might not have been keeping the exercises up, you gradually get into doing the shadow boxing routine. The Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle. The beats, the wonderful beat music. And after a little while, you start to feel wonderful. People who don't take hard exercise don't know what they're missing! So you go over the peak and take it down to the exhaustion. You'r slugging on the pint of water before you lie in the bath, succumbing to the bliss and waiting for the cannybliss to come on. This is my big sweetie!! I love this.
I'm wondering why I haven't been able to do this recently, and realise it is my salvation. I will never get myself out road running every night through the winter. Then I could lie in the bath before ten and avoid any inclination to go the off license. If I won't hit the roads every night, I can do routines in the kitchen. I'd like to do stuff like this every night.
What a life that would be! Meditate in the morning and throughout the day, but do some writing in the afternoon. In the evening, exercise (or run), bath, meditate, bed. What a wonderful life that would be!!
Why can't I live like that, Jack? You can't live like that, Hotboy, because you won't tell them all to fung off. They're all funged, completely funged. And there's nothing you can do about it, so why can't you just tell them to fung off and leave you alone?
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