Ra Hobbies!

Sunday 2:23 p.m.
Men need hobbies so they can find a safe environment to discuss stuff with other men. For instance, once I was asked if I'd like to join with some joes in flying about remote controlled model aeroplanes when I was doing some research on how to blow folk up. Or you could go fishing together, something like that. A hobby or some other common interest.

Poisonous told me once that he thought people who had hobbies were sad basturns, so yesterday, lacking a common hobby, we found ourselves boozing in the Cumberland Bar. I really shouldn't walk out the door. Binge drinking in the most popular hobby among the folk I know. And being skint doesn't help. I only had six quid left till payday and Poisonous went teetotal after those times when he got lost, but none of it mattered. Caledonian 80 Shilling. Very good indeed.

No smoking though and early to bed. So I'm lying in bed this morning doing this yoga nidra stuff and thinking how wonderful ra bliss is and how I don't deserve all this bliss when I'm such a poor advert for the juju.

I suppose you could say in the physical sheath one is stumblebumming all over the shop, careering from one open grave to the next, while in the breath sheath things are still remorselessly heading for glory. Today the meditations have been fantastic and they were yesterday as well. I wish I could adequately describe ra blissinesses, but as the boy said:
'For only he who passes this way can understand it, and even he cannot describe it.' St John of the Cross. The Wall.