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.
Thursday, 12 June 2008
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
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!
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!
Saturday, 7 June 2008
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!
"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!
Friday, 6 June 2008
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!
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!
Thursday, 5 June 2008
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?
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?
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
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 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!
Sunday, 1 June 2008
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
