Ra Confusing Path!

Sunday 11:45 a.m.
Every time I read something about the juju, or dharma, Buddhism, or anything like that, I realise I know bugger all about it. I heard recently that you can't practise meditation. It's like practising sleep. Try to sleep and you'll never fung go to sleep. Or the boy in the Richard Gere sponsored book is going on about shravaka meditation. Had I heard of that before? Then there's ground, path and fruition. Path is defined by this Nyingma practitioner as confusion. You're on the path with your head jammed up your backside!

As if we weren't confused enough, Jack. It's all in the mind, Hotboy. All in the mind. Well, what's mind then, Jack? Dualistic mind? Non-dualistic mind? The latter is definitely a tricky one. As soon as you start thinking thoughts, you've got subject and object; a kind of frozen reality. I immediately thought of Niels Bohr's Copenhagen Principle ... or was it the Copenhagen Interpretation, Jack? Anyway, thank God in the midst of all this confusion that we in the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid don't believe in thoughts.

We embrace our ignorance
We don't believe in any things
Especially thoughts

It's been no bother not drinking or taking drugs and just meditating for as much as possible. I must have put in about eight hours yesterday. But not polluting your mind gives you a ringside seat on the emotional changes, like going from happy to crabbit, etc. I've been training a lot so I've been a bit tired sometimes and that always makes me a wee bit crabbit... if I can't eat some soapbar or have a drink in time.

Someone who used to land on this bloggy using the nomme de bloggy of Sandy Buchandyke has started cycling across America. You can find here en route blog here.

I've got a lot of time for that, Jack. What cycling across America, Hotboy? No, Jack. I'd be tired and crabbit all the time. No, I mean cycling across America as in funging off. That's what I'm going to do as soon as someone gives me some money. Fung off to someplace where nobody knows me.

What's the point of discoursing with one's chummies if you don't drink or take drugs, and you have no hobbies to talk about? I arranged to cycle to Cramond this evening with Poisonous. Well, that's like a hobby and you can cycle passed the pubs. See some flatheid on the safe side. Poisonous just phoned up and says he wants to go for a walk ... a walk? I've known Poisonous since I was a teenager and I've never gone for a walk with him. Not straight anyway. Basturns! Basturns! Basturns! I was going to go out cycling after seven so I could come home and luxuriate in the bath. He's going to phone me to go a walk about half two. I've got just over two hours to meditate till then... lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen. Basturns!

10:01 p.m.
Beautiful day! We walked along the Water of Leith to the Gallery of Modern Art, and Poisonous bought me a bottle of Stella Artois. He had a cup of tea. Then we walked back. He did not say: Do you want to go for a drink? So I walked home. Basturn!

But I dipped into the food fund for three bottles of Erdinger (had one already), so that'll show them! Before that I spent a couple of hours meditating in the hut, and didn't get back here till twenty to ten. The four days of no beers, and no nothing else, and trying hard have moved us on, Jack. They certainly have. Yesterday, I was trying to do calming with object, without object, etc., but today I just closed my eyes and went for ra bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Because thou art saved, shall there be no more cakes and ale?

Well, there's nothing so lonesome, lonely and queer. What a terrible place is a pub with no beer!

Ion sent me a very nice email about the new book, the one about the floating Presidential candidate. I think she might like it better than moi, so that was nice. Since, as usual, it's not a proper novel, without proper chapters and all, it won't get published, but it's nice if someone likes it. Yes, it is!