Ris Growing Season!

Monday 11:05 p.m.
A couple of months ago there was just the dug over dirt up at the old allotment and now it is hooching with life. There's a lot of strawberries lying there. I got bitten by something and my nose swelled up. Then it deflated. Last week I got attacked by two wasps after I disturbed their nest by the weeding of the onions. No, I got stung by two wasps. The wasps were trying to attract my attention. Stinging a person is brilliant way to do that. It's waspese for fung off!

And what are you going to do for your summer holidays, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I was thinking of going down to the Samye Ling with the tent and doing a bit of the old sitting quietly doing nothing juju. But I'm starting to think that it's mad, Jack. Completely, off it's head mad, Jack!

There are thoughts flying and pinging and bending about in what would be otherwise perfect thoughtlessness, the place where the lies stopped.

Anyway, it's just the hassle. In my kind of utopia, it would be door to door, and I'd get ferried out of here and the tent would be waiting as well at the end. You have to put up your own tent. Practically slavery, so it is. And it'll rain and rain.

Us loonies need a quiet environment. Such will be the firecracker starbursts going off in one's mind, not to mention attempting to emanate as a deity and all, and the tsunamis of ra bliss ... and a few tears as one stumblebums around trying to adjust to the no beers or drugs or even imaginary compensations ... I could stay at home. What's the matter with a couple of beers, except that I've got no money. Hmmmm?

After several weeks of disability, (starting 5th June, Newton Mearns) today at last I was able to don the full Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle and hephalump around the kitchen doing my six threes... what a pathetic sight! I'll need to make some money so I get that liposuction thing, and the bum shrinker procedure. But then I got to lie exhausted in the bath. Oh, the bathtime bliss! The arising of the altered state as you lie exuding exhaustion and relaxation in the bath is one of the wonderful spin-offs from engaging with ra bliss.

But now, hark, it is the witching hour and I must go and lie down into the yoga nidra best you could hope for on a Monday kind of ra bliss.

Ra Intimations of Wonderful Times!

Sunday 2:05 p.m.
Asked the Medicine Buddha (who is moi!) to cure me of my addictions and the blogging went ... just like that. After a couple of days off though, I still fancied a beer, and what with getting paid this week and all ....

So I sat down in the Miss Haversham garden out the back where Poisonous stays, a garden which rarely gets the sun. Dank. I had to sit down on the mouldy green flagstones because the garden bench I'd tried to sit on collapsed a bit when I gave it a go. You worry a wee bit that the flagstones might be too cold ...

I'd had four pints of Highlander in the Cafe Royal and several joints by this point. Bad Boy!

Then the cold legs declined in mind and it was as if you were one of the wee fat baldie guys sitting with big smile on the ledge in the Himalayas during the forty belows. I was amazed that it came on like that. Soaring away in the white light and ra bliss! Hurrah!

On Friday evening, I was wondering if it was time trash the good resolutions and go to the offy when I started in on the vase breathing. I knew then, Jack, that events had taken a major step forward. If there's something about stuff having to enter a central channel ... anyway, I decided that there was no point in posting about it because I can't begin to describe this stuff.

Then there was ra bliss this morning. I'll be going to the Samye Ling next Thursday, I hope, and it strikes me that this development occuring as it does now is most auspicious.

Throughout these wonderments, I've been knee deep in flatheids, the too dumb to meditate and other completely pointless (apart from doing all the work) people. I've not had one full day of meditations since I stopped working on Wednesday. Anyway, I'm off to cycle up the Kirk Brae en route for Liberton Hospital just now. And I'm most pleased to be able to do it!!

Ranaissance!

Tuesday 9:42 p.m.
My exploded vein had imploded sufficiently ... I cycled to the Tai Chi tonight and ... that is the first physical jerks in over two weeks. I do like taking an awful lot of exercise and feel quite demoralised when bits don't work right. What a big baby! It's worse when the disease hasn't happened before and you are not sure of the outcome. After a couple of weeks of supping beer and watching the footie, I'm an even fatter basturn than I was before. But I'm counting my blessings right now!

I hope I die before I get old.

There can't be any memories in the formless zone. There may be awareness, but nothing forming, no thoughts, no mental formations. If you were lucky, you might have a constant state of satiation, but, of course, there wouldn't be a you.

If I was in the formless zone I wouldn't have to go to work tomorrow. But, then again, I wouldn't get paid on Thursday. I had a dream about soapbar last night. Let's hear it for the cannybliss yogurts!

Ra Yoga Nidra

Sunday 8:30 p.m.
After downing four bottles of Erdinger last night, I wasn't so fast out of the blocks this morning, but this was partly because I thought I maybe didn't have to get out of bed.

Sometimes I go through a yoga nidra routine when I'm lying in bed in the morning. You visit bits of your body in turn and tell them to relax, etc. Your eyes are closed. My body seemed so relaxed this morning that the sensation of having a body at all was quite slight. There is a great plane of white light and bliss. Hardly any sensation of a having a body at all.

I thought: This is what yoga nidra, the sleep of the yogis, is maybe supposed to be like. So a thought arose. A wee while later another thought arose: If I had no bodily sensations and no thoughts were arising, what do we have here?

Something without centre or circumference. Something aware. Whether it is unconfined or not, I'm not sure. Hmmmmm?

If when I'm dead, I could spend a few eons like that, Jack, it would be like winning the pools, so it would. The formless zone. No conceptualisation. Who needs thoughts? All misconceived. All lying basturns.

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

Ra Tide is Turning!

Saturday 10:22 p.m.
Started meditating about twelve hours ago and stuck with it, with wee breaks to read the paper, walk up the allotment, etc, until I went to the offy about a half hour ago. The Domestic Bliss was only here for one night and is partying elsewhere till tomorrow.

Let us not be downhearted, Jack. It has been a crap couple of weeks, but the tide is turning!! Every time I get a day like today with no flatheids about and no jobbie to go to, well .... I'm going get all that stuff I thought was beyond moi! I'm going to get the explosions of ra bliss, the non-duality, the whole enchilada! Today it just jumped forward again. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

This is despite the fact that my discipline is lousy and I am a total disgrace, a blight on the juju, and the last joe anyone would expect to have something like this happen to him.

So why is this happening, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I can only assume I have had the crap blessed out of moi in some way I cannot explain. Of course, if I had better discipline, etc., it would surely have progressed much faster. But then I would not have been able to say to all the other reprobates, if I can do it, anybody can do it!

I got out of bed this morning and walked to the lavvy without feeling any pain in my leg. Every day it gets a wee bit better. Hurrah!

Today, I managed to stand on my head for the first time since before Christmas. This is the longest time I haven't stood on my head for twenty years. Hurrah! It might be a while before I get full articulation in my shoulder joint, but I thought this capsulitis crap might take two years to clear. I can only assume the Tai Chi has been a big help.

What a great, great day! Good health is a great blessing in itself. I'll appreciate running and shadow boxing whenever I can get back into it. Apart from the Tai Chi, I haven't been training for a couple of weeks now. But what a fortunate, fortunate creature I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Ra Mr Higgs!

Saturday 1:50 p.m.
I've got half an hour while the bread is in the oven.

Why has everyone got three stages, like stages of creation?

Hindus?: Causal, Astral, Physical.
Kafflicks: God the Father, The Holy Ghost, Jesus Christ.
Tibetans: Dharmakaya, Shambokakaya, Nirmanakaya.

In some ways these seem to be talking about the same thing maybe. Dharmakaya might be described as clear light mind by the Tibetans.

'When we can see, straightforwardly and non-conceptually, the nature of our clear light mind and remain totally absorbed in this nature without ever regressing from it, we have become a buddha.' Dalai Lama. The Wall.

Tibetans don't really talk about God. They talk about mind. Mind is characterised by three things. It is without characteristics, being without centre or circumference. It has some quality of knowing. It is unconfined, like space. Space allows everything to be in it, sort of.

Without centre or circumference. Hmmm?

This universe is supposed to have started with a Big Bang which proceeded from a point without a circumference. I suppose that's just a handy way of saying there were no dimensions, or time, or whatever before the Big Bang.

A point without a circumference sounds to moi a bit like something without a centre or a circumference, something perhaps beyond conceptualisation, something without characteristics.

Mr Higgs apparently lives in Edinburgh. What a wonderful city this is! Mr Higgs's problem was that although a stone has weight ... you can tell this by dropping it on your foot ... the atoms that make up the stone are composed of wee bits that are weightless. So where is the weight coming from? A fung of a lot of money is being spent right now trying to find out if Mr Higgs's particle, the one that's causing the weight, actually exists of not.

Anyway, are these scientific atheistical folk and everyone else not essentially talking about the same thing? You have the limitless thingy beyond concepts, the energy and then you and me and stones.

What's the difference between a bison and an elephant, Jack? You can wash yourself in a bison, but you can't wash yourself in an elephant. Back to the lobby!

Ra Bliss Of Inner Fire!

Thursday 1:03 p.m.
This is from The Bliss of Inner Fire by Lama Thebten Yeshe.

'Inner fire meditation is far more effective than ordinary deep meditation. It quickly grows into an explosion of nonduality wisdom, and explosion of telepathic power, and explosion of realisations. It is the key to countless treasures.'

'Concrete concepts automatically wither and disappear. Rest in the feeling of utter satisfaction. You are touching reality, and at the same time you are experiencing bliss. Blissful energy explodes into an intense awareness of the wisdom of nonduality, and you touch an unprecedented level of universal reality.'

'You see all the chakras with pristine clarity, as if you possess telepathic awareness. Because your entire deity body is one blazing inner fire and you are one with the inner fire, you can see the entire universal reality without any obstacles. Your intense bliss is aware of the wisdom of nonduality.'

'When you reach the point where you can naturally and effortlessly hold the winds in strong vase meditation at the navel chakra, the airs will automatically produce blazing of the inner fire in the central channel. The magnetic pleasure will automatically be activated, kundalini will flow, and you will experience bliss not just in your channels and chakras but throughout your entire body.'


'The whole process can become dangerous if you practice incorrectly.'

'If kundalini starts to flow uncontrollably during your meditationand you begin to experience orgasm, try as much as possible to hold it and have it expand inside the secret chakra.'

'For both males and females, the energy and bliss of ordinary sexual experience does not come from the central channel ... if the kundalini energy generates such bliss when it touches outside the central channel, there is no question that it will generate incredible bliss when it flows inside the central channel.'

'Inner fire meditation really shakes our entire nervous system and our entire view of reality.'

'Experiences of heaven and hell during meditation are possible.'

'The lamas of all traditions agree that practitioners can suddenly see visions while doing inner fire meditation...Such experiences are similar to telepathy, but they are not actual clairvoyance.'

'Sometimes you may be able to read other people's thoughts... You will be able to read the minds of others in accordance with your own level of development. This is nothing unusual.'


The Domestic Bliss should just have arrived at the airport after eight flights over ten or so days.

I spent almost all morning meditating in the lobby and, despite starting with a fuzzy head, have done better with these meditations than ever before. When you re-read the book though, you realise that you're just at the beginning of this.

The Domestic Bliss goes off on more adventures tomorrow and I'll go to see the auld maw. I'll be alone again on Saturday and Sunday. Here comes ra bliss! Here comes ra heat! Yahoo!!!

11:30 p.m.
Sober and straight two nights out of the last three. That's the way to do it!

Ra End of Ris!

Wednesday 23:17 p.m.
I must apologise to the Alien Creatures from Outer Space, the Masai Warriors and the perverts who come to this bloggy for my complete lack of abstemiousness and resultant legless bloggage over the past wee while.

I thought she was French, but she spoke more than two words to me tonight when I was out buying the extra, stupid two beers at Peckhams. We have smiled at each other and nodded over the last few months. Maybe after a while, we could have held hands.

She said: You are addicted to German beers. I realised she was Polish, of course. I said: What is the solution to this? Should I stop drinking German beers?

I should ask her to marry me. I should go there for a while and sit and drink coffee, and not drink beer. I could read the book about flying by Antoine the Frog Flying Genius Writer who got shot down by the Germans, and I could say: Hey, Missus, not only am I completely skint, and a failure at all things practical such as having any money, but I am also A LIVING SAINT who does not have to drink beer all the time. Look at me!

What do you have to do to become a living saint, Jack? Hmmm? Meditate like hell; don't do any stupid things like drink beer practically every night, and be really, really happy all the time ....mainly helped along by ra bliss and ra ecstasy and all.

My chum Poisonous might be indifferent to happiness. Disregarding thoughts is the main thing. Not believing in anything you think.

Poisonous is meticulously sewed up. We walked passed the damsel coming back to Stockbridge on the way from the Modern Art Gallery; she was sitting on a bench like a French person. We nodded hullo. The Poisonous asked if I knew her or was I just randomly saying hullo to gurls. I told him that men didn't like the care in the community clothes I was wearing, but women couldn't resist them.

Lazarus, the Coptic monk, who lives in the St Antony caves knows it's lonesome at first. The Domestic Bliss comes back tomorrow. That should straighten me up. Shame that I'm not a bit better at this!

Thursday 7:08 a.m.
I had six German beers last night, but here I am at seven in the morning feeling really alright. Slightly fashed and bashed, but no real hangover. Hmmm? My leg is nearly cured. I could go running at night soon and lie in the bath instead of hitting the plastic for beers. I don't want to cut up my credit card again. Even in this degenerate age, the buddha says you can become cool. Have to give up the beers. Have to give up the beers. Have to ...well, I won't have any tonight anyway!

Ra Something Cheery!

Tuesday
You just close your eyes and ra bliss is in there and rising, expanding, lifting. I haven't been enjoying the Domestic Bliss being away, and I've been on ra beer nearly every night since the soapbar ran out, and I've been struggling a wee bit, and my concentration isn't what it should be (six bottles of beer last night! Dearie me!) ... but ra bliss keeps advancing, due to the amount of time I was putting in at the weekend, no doubt.The vase breathing I did at lunchtime today just blew me away! So let us not be downhearted, Jack.

I got a message from my secret agent today telling me that he thinks some sections of the floating boy book could do with expanding, but he says the kidsbook is still out with several publishers. I assumed he'd abandoned it, so that was good news. He'd never heard of the word "dunted", so it must be Scottish. Jemima, his boy wonder, had never heard of Sonny Liston. I had to change the reference to Joe Louis though Sonny Liston presents a far scarier image. Does anyone out there not know who Joe Louis was?

There's some good footie on tonight. Hmmm? To beer or not to beer, that is the question.

Ris Business!

Monday 10:25 p.m.
I’m gonna give you some free advice
Never cross a picket line
Don't put anything smaller than an elbow in your ear
Play the long game
Study the odds
Read the form

I hope this hasn't been unduly upsetting, but I really liked this wee poem at Ion's dad's memorial thingy.


At the book launch at Newton Mearns, the secret agent handed me back the copy of the novel and I've just finished doing the re-edits, answering the little problems, the typos and whatnot.


Before the MaDMax kicked in, I was being asked by this person about writing at a party last weekend, as in how to be a writer, what should I do, etc. Having just spent some of my last twenty quid on King Ludwig Weissbier and having no money and no prospects as usual, well, perhaps I'm the last person anybody should ask about how to be a successful anything.


If any of the Masai Warriors, Alien Creatures from Outer Space, or anyone in the Australian Ladies Volleyball Team want to know how to become J. K. Rowling, maybe they should go and ask J. K. Rowling.


My advice was terrific. First of all, you should be able to write, but that's not all that unusual, despite the best efforts of the school teachering basturns. You can teach yourself to spell and punctuate and everything. Of course, you can't teach yourself to be bright ... you have to be a bit bright. Then, get a jobbie as a school librarian and read all the books. Write three books and expect every one of them to be crap. That should take you a couple of years. By this time you should have found out something about markets, etc. Like, what sells? What kind of things sell? This is the short training to be famous and rich.


Then you write the book that is going to work, or at least, the first three chapters. No, you should write the book again and expect it still to be crap. Don't do the first three chapters thing yet because that's cynical.


Then you write your best letter to Julia Churchill at Darley Anderson (find it on the web or the Writers and Artists, etc) and say you are coming to London to do some research on how to be a famous novelist, and could you meet her for ten minutes, please. It's these people's job to meet people. Someone good will give you the ten minutes.


At this meeting, you should imagine that you are gambling against someone at cards, for instance. There is a pile of money before you and you are going to move that money in your direction, but the josephine has a better grip on that money at that time than you have. You have to start moving the money towards your end of the table.


I can't be arsed. I don't care. I never really could.


But then there's the kiddo. She's just like her old dear apart from the hair colouring and the bad temper. Then, I'm thinking she wants to do something really stupid, like make glass objects and paint them. This is just like moi! You should be from the evil bourgeois to have ambitions such as this. So I'm supposed to find the money for this. So I am. This is where the failure is not allowed. I should really make some money so I can give it to her, so she can choose to make glass objects and paint them, or not.


I need some motivation here, Jack. I'd really like to be taken to a closed psychiatric ward, or any jail besides where there was some solitary confinement.


They don't need the money, Hotboy. If the money arrives, which it shouldn't, buy her a kiln. If it doesn't, which it won't, ask yourself how much your forefathers and mother s came to these shores ready to toady up to these evil bourgeois basturns. The main thing is to understand non-self and emptiness, and yet don't bend the knee!

Ra Hotboy Dialogues No 5.

Sunday 7:27 p.m.
It's not been quite the slough of despond, pilgrims, but the last wee while has sometimes been a pain in the neck. Well, if not the neck, the thigh and the shoulder. Since I can't stand on my head at the moment or sit in a lotus, I've decided to cheer myself up before the footie comes on with a dialogue with little Jack the Spam Robot.

(When the curtain goes up, Jack the Spam Robot is sitting on Hotboy's right knee. There is a bandage round Hotboy's left thigh and one wrapped round his shoulder. Several sticking plasters are stuck at random round his face)

JACK: How did you get all these injuries, Hotboy?
HOTBOY: This meditating is a rough game, Jack. Folk don't realise that.
JACK: (exuberantly) Well, Hotboy, do you want to talk about attachment, emptiness, or the suffering?
HOTBOY: (pissed off) Certainly not, Jack! I want to talk about the sweeties. I want to talk about the Six Yogas of Naropa, raising inner heat, ra fantastic bliss, and bonking kamamudras!
JACK: Bonking kamamudras? And how, pray tell, do you bonk a kamamudra, Hotboy?
HOTBOY: I'm not really too sure about that, Jack. Nobody's told me. But I think if you're really good at raising inner heat, and can withdraw the winds into the central channel, thus, as far as I can see, stopping your heart beating and breathing, then, and probably only then, will you get the instructions on how to bonk a kamamudra.

JACK: That sounds a wee bit like suspended animation to me, Hotboy. How can you bonk anyone in that state?

HOTBOY: I assume you're sitting in a lotus, Jack. In that case, the bonking should mainly be done by the kamamudra, I imagine.

JACK: What exactly is a kamamudra, Hotboy?
HOTBOY: Kama is, if I remember right, passion, Jack, as in Kama Sutra. So a kamamudra seems to me to indicate a passion grip.
JACK: (long pause) Hmmm? So when we're in heaven, Hotboy, and goddesses are strolling by, I can turn to you and say: What do you think of yon four armed red goddess, Hotboy? And you can reply: Yon goddess has grip, Jack.
HOTBOY: Maybe a mudra is a seal, Jack. Or a lock. Still, that last bit has evocated ... this isn't supposed to be like the movie Grease, Jack. We're not supposed to be hanging around street corners in heaven checking out the goddesses.
JACK: Why not? Also, how are you supposed to have an erection if you're not breathing and your heart has stopped?
HOTBOY: Hmmm? I've probably got this all wrong, Jack. Anyway, before I need to worry about all this, I'll be at least eighty years old at my rate of progress. So it won't be a lotus, Jack. It'll be a wheelchair with a viagra drip going into one arm and MDMA going into the other.
JACK: You're such a romantic, Hotboy!
(The footie has just started, so I might come back to this later!)
JACK.

Ra Reasonable Expectations!

Sunday 00:02 a.m.
I re-read pertinent passages of The Bliss of Inner Fire today. This book, by Lama Thebten Yeshe, was what caused me to become a Tibetan Buddhist, and get empowerments to practise the great vajrayana. It is probably one of the most wonderful things ever published.

Since I don't believe in anything and have a fair conceit about my abilities, I tend to think if some joe or josephine can do it, so can I. Perhaps one should enter the usual caveats: I'm probably not going to run the 100 metres in under 10 seconds. I don't think it was ever possible for me to have done this and I'm too old and fat now. Given the usual caveats ...

It is not impossible to do what the boy says you can do in this book. I'm quite certain that thousands and thousands of mainly joes have done this before the book was ever published. We've got a couple of thousands of years of history since the Buddha lived, so we are probably talking about many hundreds of thousands of people having accomplished this since he died. To that extent, it isn't even unusual. Maybe as many as a couple of million of joes and josephines have done this.

I could have been writing prose or dialogues today, but instead I spent most of my time playing the mind game. The mind game is the only game in town, but there are different ways to play it.

If I am going to gain mastery of the inner heat juju, I am going to have to become a different kind of joe. Maybe this isn't for me in this life. Of course, the amount of ra bliss I will achieve will increase, and so will the heat, but
to accomplish what is in this book ... and I assume this is not enlightenment, even near it ... I'd really have to give up everything and everyone. Hmmm? This is the first time I've thought this wasn't going to happen. How crap are these degenerate days! Tempis fugit, ya bass!

Ra Retreat!

Saturday 5:13 p.m.
Apart from checking the bloggy and reading the paper, I've meditated in the lobby all day. Since I started about ten, that probably comes to five or six hours. Starting from quite a poor basis, it's been quite hard really. Tons of bliss in the last half hour. I'm away now to watch the Sweden Spango game with the sound town and the noise blockers on, doing some vase breathing and mantra-ing. Just for a bit of a break!

10:05 p.m.
That's me just finished for today. Maybe put in about eight or nine hours on the cushion. Hmmm. Let's hope that's me back on track again!!

Ra Sore Leg!

Friday 10:06 p.m.
Got a comment asking about my sore leg from Ion. How nice is that?

I've just been out to spend the last of my money on four bottles of Paulaner, Hefe-Weissbier, Naturtrub. Hmm? So I've only now got food money and bus fares till I get to next payday. Thank God for that! Everything has been crap since I got paid. I'd do much better if someone would just tie me up and throw me in a dungeon

The problem is mental calming. You need the mental calming as basis. This means you can sit and sit. Trying to sit and sit in the days after you've been partying with the deep dear friends, and other flatheids, is very difficult.

Nobody cares, Jack! The flatheids don't even know they're flatheids, so why should they care about moi's engagement with ra bliss? They suck the goodness out of you, so they do. If I had a gun, I'd just shoot the lot of them. Basturns!

Just say no, Hotboy. I said no to the drugs, but the drugs didn't listen, Jack.

When I keep away from flatheids and the prospect of personal indulgence, I tend to only see family members and folk who are completely funged. So you don't want to go on about your wee sore leg, especially since you should have been dead five years ago, and even with a sore leg moi is still well ahead of the game obviously.

So this is about neurosis and self clinging.

When you go to see the doctor and you can tell just by looking at him that he hasn't got long to go, well, maybe you'd be better off seeing someone healthy. I'd only seen two guys with worse lungs than this doctor's. No, my old man's lungs were in better shape when they killed him, but he didn't have access to the life saving drugs that this doctor was obviously whacking into himself. Sick doctors are like baldy barbers. It hard to take them seriously. He couldn't breathe. His lips were a wee bit blue.

I had the tiniest thing to inquire about. Being a man and, therefore, a hypochrondriac this tiny thing had assumed massive proportions. I wanted some advice. I had a wee wrinkle developing in a vein on my leg. The dying doctor just makes your heart sink. He says he's had two veins done. He'd forgotten all about them. Just get it done, he said.

So a few months later I'm lying on this operating table and the teenager who is about to operate on me asks why I'm getting this vein out. What? Is that what I'm here for? Dearie me! But I think of the junkies who told me about veins going flat and coming up, and whatnot. It's only a vein. Anyway, the joe can't sew and completely fungs up the stitching, but being a boy he probably had never used a needle till he was sewing up peoples' legs.

Anyway, that was when I was thirty, twenty seven years ago. At the weekend, I assume some other vein went ape in my leg and there were three bumps up and down it. I gave up looking at that leg when I turned forty so who knows? It's quietening down now though. I did my first tai chi set since Saturday tonight. How wonderful to be able to do something!

Ion was maybe wondering if my diseased leg had anything to do with partying at the weekend. Only if totally empathising with flatheids caused me to remain in an unnatural position, painless, for longer than was good for me. This might have happened, but it was probably just one of those things. I always favour that leg. I may have got it diseased by sitting in a lotus for too long, or upsetting it with something like that. However, I have to admit that in a lifetime of bad behaviour I have had only one fit due to being a bad boy. Also,one passing out, fainting, after a very busy four days of little sleep and much employment of Dexy and the Midnight Runners. Of course, with a legal drug like alcohol,well, you don't really want to know what awfulness one can get into with a really stupid drug like alcohol.

Samsara. Ris life!

Well done for the Irish in voting against the Lisbon Treaty. The European Union is great if you can work anywhere in Europe, and get the dole anywhere, and have some kind of bill of rights. The only folk who seem to want the superstate are politicians. Politicians hate democrasy. It occurred to me today. I knew before that capitalists hate competition, but politicians would rather be autocrats than democrats. Big states suck!

Ra Flatheids No! No!

Thursday 11:24 a.m.
Emerging from some flatheided horrorshow with nothing worse than a sore but healing leg, it looks as if for the next few days I'll be able to surf the oceans of bliss almost as much as I like. Except, of course, for visiting and visitors. I just stopped the juju in the lobby because the kiddo is coming over to pick up a tent.

What a wonderful day this is going to be! I meditated for an hour and a bit there and it was glorious. The effects of the vase breathing are just fabuloso beyond description. Everything still moves on. You close your eyes and everything sinks into a great white bliss, and then it's as if the envelope develops and broadens and fills with more and more of ra bliss until you are sitting there simply beaming with ra bliss.

Although moi is sitting here with a sore leg and a history of failure at almost any kind of human endeavour you'd care to mention, nobody that I know can get anywhere near such a wonderment as the enormous voluminousness of ra bliss witnessed this morning. It's a shame the world is populated almost entirely by the too dumb to meditate, the stupid flatheids, so it is. I'm away back into the lobby to await the kiddo.

Ra Absentee!

Tuesday 11:53
Diseases and a sore, inflamed (Oh no! I'm going to die!) leg have kept me from my gainful employment this week so far. And I've been left alone in this big flat (hobbling about and sucking on the last scraps of rotten vegetables!) while the Domestic Bliss has taken off for adventures overseas. This is what it must be like to be an old person. You count your aches and pains as you get out your bed and face the whole day alone. I think I might take a wee walk round the charity shops later on, and then fall over and hurt myself.

Apart from that, things here are pretty crap. I wasted my time enjoying myself over the weekend with the type of people who give you diseases, and now I'm out of the way of sitting quietly doing nothing for most of the day, I'm addicted to almost everything, and more or less broke. But I'm always more or less broke, so no change there. I think I'd better go away and emanate as a deity. Bugger all else to do!

Ra Party Joe!

Saturday 4:08 p.m.
"I was still always falling down during this time, and I would always say, before falling, 'I'm about to fall down', and nobody, almost nobody, ever caught me." Tennessee Williams. The Wall.

This is what happens when a normally shy and reticent fellow like myself is forced to go out and emanate as a writer. I bloody hate that! I hate talking about writing, about becoming a writer, about being a writer, about writings done in the past, or writings half done just now. And all that in the company of a lot of people you don't know and who, quite rightly, should know better than to give a damn. If there's any more book launches for writers connected with the secret agent in Edinburgh or Glasgow, I'll go if I'm asked (hopefully, they'll know better now!), but that's it.

Unless, of course, there is free beer!

The wish that it be made known that 'I was the author' is the thought of a man not yet adult. The Dhammapada. The Wall.

This evening, on the other hand, I'll be going to a soiree where almost everyone there will have been known to me for well over thirty years, well before I even started trying to write. I've known these people for so long I don't even have to talk to them. The only young people there will be progeny, and they might even offer me a sample of some decent drugs. Really looking forward to that!

Spent the afternoon mainly meditating up the allotment. We have a big bush of red lupins and one of blue. There will be millions of strawberries and gooseberries this year. The whole allotment is completely green, mostly from weeds. My money is on the weeds!

Ra Cure!

Friday 12:47 p.m.
Spent the first part of the morning wrestling with a hate filled hangover. I am a horrible person and shouldn't be allowed near normal people, especially when there's plonko collapso for free. I stayed away from wine for the twenty odd years I had a stomache ulcer, and have never really gotten the hang of it. They should colour it purple like they do with turpentine to stop the alkies guzzling it. White wine just looks like water. After you've thrown a few glasses down your gullet, it tastes like water as well. Dearie me!

So I never got round to meditating till eleven this morning, but immediately all the horrible thoughts disappeared and once more you are in the fantastic bliss. The horrible hangover thoughts are a perfect example of how useless most thoughts are. But it is amazing to be moaning and groaning about the place one minute and then be in ra bliss the next. Quite made my day, it did. I went and got an number one at the barbers and will give all my money to the credit card basturns this afternoon, and try to avoid evil for the rest of the month. Amen.

Before I journeyed to Newton Mearns, I spent the afternoon with the auld maw. She was complaining about her neighbours during the war. Lots of them were waving union jacks and going on about fighting the Germans in 1939, but the only man from the building who went to fight the Germans was my auld man. Everyone who could went into reserved occupations and made plenty of money.

The auld maw showed me the letter she got telling her about the war widows pension she received from the 29th of December 1965, the year my auld man died from lack of breath. She got awarded five pounds five shillings for herself and there was two pounds four shillings each to keep me and Popeye. In 1969 I got twelve pounds a week for a student grant and could sign on the dole during the holidays.

In the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid we do have a hell for all the evil basturns of course, which is just as well!

Ra Helen Fitzgerald!

I'm going to read this Helen Fitzgerald book. I was at this book launche (?) Why can't I spell that? Try again: Launche. No, no, no! I don't want to go to rehab, no, no!

Apart from moi, it was okay. I met the secret agent. He said at last I'd given him something he could sell. I wanted to meet Jamima since she was the first person to read the re-write, but I can't do this stuff. Helen Fitzgerald was funny though. I'll have to read the book. I stood in the rain waiting for the bus back into Glesga tonight. What was I doing in Newton Mearns?

Ra Waste of Time!

Tuesday 22:43 p.m.
Ra bliss has jumped the paddock gate and has
galloped off into the middle distance, so it has. We've reached a new
stage in blissiness ! With closed eyes, it's front loaded, kind of
fuller on at your face. You can imagine that if you stopped doing a lot
of bad stuff, the happiness would soon start to shine through.


So when are you going to stop doing all the bad stuff, Hotboy?
That's always been my problem, Jack. At the moment, I'm still suffering
a little from getting paid, but the money should run out by the
weekend, and good stuff to do is always the cheap stuff!


We left the allotment tonight with a gorgeous sunset at our backs. I
sat with my eyes closed at the side while the Domestic Bliss did
gardening stuff. There was an awful lot of bliss. I hope this keeps
up.

Some people think meditating is a waste of time. I
always thought it was like putting money in the bank. You just start
doing it and keep going. Eventually, you will be able to sit as the sun
goes down and engage with an awful lot of ra bliss. Just close your eyes
and within a few seconds there it is. This is, I think, mainly what I
have achieved in this life so far. You could take everything else away if you would just leave me that. And who knows what it'll be like next year. What a truly fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Ra Weekendingness!

Sunday 20:23 p.m.
As far as the meditation states are concerned, I couldn't be more amazed at how wonderfully well things are going. Zooming into the great big sweetie nothingness, big gap in the thoughts, with still a definite subject (moi!) and the object, mainly ra bliss ... well, jolly good on that front, Jack. Still, not getting much heat. The visualisations are definitely improving, but still crap.

The post meditation states have become disturbed due to the arrival of the wages into the overdraft account. This led to a great arousal of suppressed desires which I didn't think it wise to obstruct. Also, I've been having a wonderful time. It is really hard to be having a better time than the one I'm having what with ra bliss and all. But there are a lot of folk out there who aren't getting ra bliss, and who are grieving and all that ... fung sake! It's a vale of tears, so it is.

The boy in the Richard Gere book says that if you're doing four times three hour sessions, you're in retreat. I'd heard of six one and a half hour sessions, which I could almost do some fine days, but three hour sessions four times a day ... what a lot of ra bliss you'd get. And other stuff. Bring it on.

At least, you'd be away from all the weeping and gnashing of teeth, and all that, wouldn't you? The resounding clunk as another one falls off its perch. No wonder they're terrified. No bliss either. Dearie, dearie me.