Ra Wonderful Writings!

Friday 6:45p.m.
Since I started re-writing my next blockbuster about three weeks ago, I must have done at least four hours work on it. At this rate I might have it finished next century! After that, I'll stick it on my webpage and make sure the links are all funged up like for the last eight months so that no one ever reads it. But I haven't been writing much.

It wasn't always thus. Until last year I worked full time for five years in a chop chop bang bang job. Despite this, I managed to write two kidbooks, re-write The Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf, and re-write Bomber. Last year when I was working half time, I managed a 20,000 word first draft of the current thingy. But I used to write a lot more than that.

Where has all the time gone? Well, I'm meditating probably over thirty hours a week easy and I've got an allotment to dig, and weed sometimes, or else the councilman will write me nasty letters and I won't be able to listen to the tweety birds through the chicken wire windows with any sense of peace at all.

I haven't got a title for the current book yet. Been toying with HOTBOY AND THE TALLYBAM TIMS, but no one except me will understand what that means. Since no one except me is liable to read it, that might not matter!

By the way, folk do come to this site looking for stuff about agents. If you're not a Masai Warrior, or a Martian, but want to know how not to get an agent (I'm an expert on that!), you could do worse than look at this post. If you were interested in getting into ra bliss, this is a good spot. If you want to know where to get the most southerly hamburger on the planet, you could go to the Unheard of and McDonald Islands here.

I was watching the telly on Wednesday night. Sylvester (No one ever called me Tweety Pie) Stallone in Get Carter. Then there's this guy appears playing a Bill Gates part. I met him in a toilet in the old Traverse Theatre about 1985. I knew he was an actor and the bar was shutting and I wanted to get into this party they were having for specially invited people in the theatre space. Great place for a party, by the way. Seats like a Roman amphitheatre, but you could roll them back and a brilliant sound system, it being a theatre and all. He got me in. You had to know the combination on the security door.

You're an actor, aren't you? Well, I write radio plays. One day I might be rich and famous and if you don't get me into this party, you've no fung chance of getting into one of my plays, pal. (You've got to imagine this in a charming Lanarkshire half pissed accent!).

I'm sure this inspired this boy and helped him become huge on Broadway in Cabaret and then get into a big movie with Mr Stallone. He was really good in it as well. I think he's called Alan Cummings.

Another reason why I haven't done any work on my book to speak of is that every time I go to the computer I look at my email. Adolf told me to get an email alert or I'd miss posts. So I look at my emails and usually end up here blogging!

The partner is oft to Vladivostok again for twelve days from tomorrow. The daughter flew the nest last Saturday. Soon nobody will be in except me. Here comes ra bliss! Here comes ra bliss!

Ra Pet Bereavement Counselling Service!

Wednesday 3 p.m.
I went to a literary do last night in the bar of the Traverse Theatre. Free wine. Since I spend most of my time on the Unheard of Island, I don't go out much. It's great going out. Standing on my own at the edge of things, at different times two pretty young women came over the speak to me. If I hadn't been holding a glass of wine on both occasions, I might have showed them one of my tricks. I've blogged about tricks before.

Trick One : Top trick is definitely going into a headstand and then into a lotus upside down and then sitting down in the lotus. Do this to someone with your back to them and they jump back in shock. People aren't used to seeing folk in lotus positions and sometimes that could freak them by itself.

Trick Two: Rolling your eyes up till there's nothing but white. People don't like it when you do this trick, which is a by-product of chasing ra bliss, so it's probably not a good way to impress young women.

Trick Three: I've blogged about sun salutations before. The Iyengar Yoga ones are slightly different. You put your hands on the ground keeping your legs straight so that your palms are flat on the deck. Then you jump back till you're in the plank position, like when you're half way through press-ups. This looks impossible when you see it and you think the joe is going to break his toes.

Anyway, this made me think again about the Pet Bereavement Counselling Service, which I think would be a real goer if only I wasn't TOO BLISSED TO BE BUGGERED.

I checked my site yesterday and Adolf has fixed all the links. Apparently, four or five of them weren't working except if you were me. He told me why this was, but I cannot remember now due to the wine removing what little IQ I had left. But I apologise to anyone who tried to download from it and got zip.

Adolf will have to come round from his part of the island to provide technical support for the Pet Bereavement Counselling Service. All I need is a webcam and a laptop and someone to do everything for me, including how to let people pay pots for the service. And they would too. People who love their pets must worry about what happens when they pass away. Say your budgie has died and you get online.

Go straight to trick number one. They see you curled on the floor of the cave with your back to them. Then you come up into the headstand. Then you go into the lotus while in the headstand. You curl down and sit so that suddenly they see you looking in their direction in a lotus. Then you ask the joe what his pet was called. Maybe he says tearfully, 'My little budgie was called Tweety Pie.' You tell the boy you're going to invoke your spirit guide, a red indian called Grey Wolf. Then you roll your eyes up (A wee bit of twitching would go down well at this point!).

In a gruff voice you say: How! My name is Grey Wolf. I come from the Happy Hunting Ground. You budgie isn't here. He must have gone to the place where the bad budgies go! But all is not lost. If you pay an extra twenty pence I can go and get him out.

Then, after the mark has coughed up, you cover yourself with the wet blanket and raise inner heat. Steam starts to come off the blanket. 'It's very hot down here,' you say.

Get the picture. I mean, if that's not a money spinner, what is?

Ra Heat is Hot!

Sunday 1:30p.m.
I was asked if the heat was hot. Somebody called Dr Benson did some experiments at Harvard on this about twenty years ago. You can find this stuff if you google Benson, Harvard and Tummo. But if you're a lazy bugger, you can find an article here.


If you want to find out how to get your head stuck into ra bliss, go here.


If you want to know what it's like to be so deprived of human companionship that you start fancying penguins, you could go here.

If you're looking for the Pet Bereavement Counselling Service go here.



Adolf has been given the passwords to my webpage, so all downloading problems should be solved soon. There are six unpublished novels on the site, including an odd one which is really about travelling in Nepal and India and also acts as a buddhist primer. It's called the Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf.

Anyone wanting anything from the site could just email me at madyamika2000@yahooDotcoDotuk. I'll send anything you want as an attachment.

No time left to blog now that all that's been done! Anyway, the sun seems to be shining outside. Let it shine. I'm staying in the cave till I've done four hours meditation today and then I might call Shiva, so I can visit someone.

Froggy McDuck phoned me from Marseille ... well, the south of France on Friday. He's started meditating for ten minutes a day. I'm glad I'm not still there. But ten minutes a day is great. Five minutes a day is great. No minutes a day and you're bound to spend the rest of your natural as if going around with your head stuck up your bum and that's not okay!! I'm off to meditate. Here comes ra bliss!! Here comes ra bliss!!

6:30p.m.
Phone Shiva about half three, but no one was in so I went to the hut. What bliss! The heat seems to dim about two or three. The Lama says the fire element isn't so hot in the afternoon, but it doesn't stop ra bliss!! After a little while at the allotment, tons and tons of bliss! The 34th stage of calming meditation is physical bliss and mental ecstasy. Had it in the hut today. This is fantastic. Even just closing my eyes just now and ra bliss is arising. Thank God for ra bliss even although there isn't a god like that. You have to thank someone or something sometimes. This is RaBlissBlog telling you to stop being a flatheid! Flatheids don't ever in a million years get near ra bliss!!

Om Ah Hung Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hung!

Eyes closed. If you don't direct you attention towards the navel chakra symbol, it goes to the front of your face and the front of your shoulders. A band, deliciously tensing across the way. The chi is holding you up. Do the vase breath and you bow into it, then shoot the breath by letting go. There's a sound of roaring in your ears throughout. Do a breath. Let go. As your head comes up .... no, you can't buy that!! A great balloon of bliss and you're inside. Real time bliss blogging! Do another breath and you can feel the bliss starting to get hot!

Do a breath! Now, you try in the warmth and bliss to emanate as a deity, Dorje Sempa in the Kalacharkra Mandala. And Dorje Sempa is in space before you and you offer everything ... emotions, the mandala, yourself... everything and realise it's empty of any inherent existence. You try to get Dorje Sempa then above your head and a drop falls, goes into the top of your head and as it goes down through the chakras, you gol: Om Ah Hung Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hung.

The syllables go out into space from the symbols in the appropriate colour.

This feels utterly fantastic by the way. I'll go again and get back to you in a minute!

Has it ever been as good as this? You can't buy it! You can't steal it! They only way you get can it is by asking for it and then practising it. Nobody's trying to keep it off you. It's not a secret anymore though it had been for a thousand years. This is the foundation practise of the Six Dharmas and I am such a fortunate, fortunate creature. But I can't give it to you. I can only practise it and let you know that this juju is one hundred percent totally genuinely there!!

It's just passed seven o clock and it's starting to get dark outside. This is a very good time to meditate, but I may go to the allotment to set fire to stuff if somebody else wants to.

Ra Chocks Away!

Saturday 12:50 p.m.

Thank God the row boat has warp drive here in the blogosphere! Had to row back to Scotland since my daughter is leaving home today to go and live in a flat and become an art student. A turning point?

Setting the scene here. It's cloudy outside with some sunshine and a little nip in the air. The Hearts/Rangers game is on the radio and the Herts are one up. Capn Jambo in Louisianna will be pleased even though his house might be blowing down just now.


As a path to nirvana, the yajrayana is described as being like a jet plane. You can walk; you can go in a motor car; or you can do it in a jet plane. If you go in the jet plane, you get there a lot faster, but if somethng goes wrong, you're funged! But you can't stay in the same place. You go up or down.

Purification and accumulation is dead important in this juju. I know that from personal experience since every time I give something up, the meditations go through the roof. But I've never really given up everything. Except once when I had no choice, about nine or ten years ago. Because of this, I had one of the most amazing experiences in my life, ten seconds or so out of clock time in non-self and emptiness. This is what mysticism is about. Experiences of oneness. Well, I've been trying to get back to that level of no pollutions, on and off, ever since.

But you've got to ask yourself sometimes if you really want these experiences.

This experience was described in The Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf, which is downloadable from my webpage.

The foundation of the 6 dharmas of Naropa is being able to raise inner heat. This means changing your body temperature at a simple level. Pretty fundamental that. So I think you're allowed a little trepidation here. But what the hell! Part of my cunning plan was to reach this point. But it's not nine years ago. Things have moved far, far further on since then.

I don't expect to be able to keep a clean machine at all times since I'm surrounded by flatheids, and there's always some in-coming. But I should be able to do it almost all the time from here on in.

Well, it's my own fault if I blow it somehow. And I'm in extra time since I was supposed to be dead at 52. So fung it!! Forget the jet plane. Let's do the intercontinental missile. Let's set the controls for the heart of the sun.

If the flatheids don't get me first, I'll try to blog about getting ra bliss in real time this evening.

Moving the daughter out was a bit more emotional than I was expecting. She's not even left town! I think I'll reconsider the chocks away and get away to the off-license!

Ra Bliss Shoppe!

Saturday 8:30 p.m.

Got a nice email from Michi Regier tonight. Very pleased to hear from her. She was asking for suggestions for teeshirt slogans to advertise meditation.

GET OUT OF YOUR FACE ON AIR
INCREASE YOUR PEACE
TOO BLISSED TO BE BUGGERED
TOO BLISSED TO BE BOTHERED (f0r folk not wanting to attract the wrong kind of attention!)
RaBlissRaBlissRaBliss

Anyone think of any others?

LEARN TO LEVITATE WHILE THERE'S STILL TIME
GET BLISSED GET HOT
FLATHEIDS DON'T GET RABLISS

Have to apologise to all members of the Church of England. It wasn't me, Lord. It was the beer! So I'll say something good about that.

A radio producer once told me he was C of E. He said it was the best thing to say because it didn't really mean anything since you could be High Church or Low Church.

I don't think you need testicles to become a priest in that church now.

They don't believe in papal infallibility.

I've never met an episcopalian who was a bigot. They're nice wishy washy people, aren't they?

PHYSICAL BLISS MENTAL ECSTASY
LET'S STRAIGHTEN UP AND GET INTO RABLISS

That's my motto for this evening.

Capn Jambo in Shreveport, Louissiana, has be warned to expect a spanking from Hurricane Rita. Hope everyone keeps safe there and the Heart of Midlothian Football Club give the Huns a tanking tomorrow.

Ra Wonderful Royalty!

Noon, Thursday:

I've decided to make myself President of the Football Association here on the Unheard of and McDonald Islands. We only have one team, The Ben Gunn Penguin All Stars, but that's enough. I think this is only fair since discovering that Prince William (Long may they reign over us!!) has been made President of the Football Association in England. He got this job because ..... because ... because.... off with their heads!! This isn't personal.

The penguins who came back from Vladivostok visited Kilmainham Jail when they were there. James Connolly was shot by the British Army in that jail while seated (since he was too badly wounded to stand up) for his part in the Easter Uprising. James Connolly was in international socialist who lived in the States at one time, if I recall right, and had connections with the Wobblies and other American lefties. Since he was from the slums of Edinburgh, they did not make him President of the Football Association.

The war in Iraq is bad enough. Prince William is the last straw. I want to live in a wee country with no guns. Accept for mine.

Ye see yon birkie caud a lord, wha struts an' stares an' aw that, tho thousands worship at his word, he's but a couf fur aw that!

I think you're allowed to replace couf by anything appropriate to you.

No pollutants last night apart from the bottle of Shiva lager. The meditations when I got up today were brilliant. As I sit here, with the noise blockers on, I can hear a little roaring in the ears. My chi, or whatever it is, is holding me up, as I sit as usual in a half lotus. I'm full of it today. The only mistake I made was going out for a newspaper.

I came to the computer to start work on my book re-write, but checked my blog first. Stuck in bloggyland ever since.

Adolf has pointed out that you can cut and paste on this thing. I didn't know that. You can refer to previous blogs and cut and paste. Fung sake! I could spend my life blogging at this rate! When I'm supposed to be writing another novel that no one will ever read. Starting a re-write is always a wee bit difficult. Once you get going ....

But this is funging it! If I stop the pollutions .... who wants to be normal anyway. I've decided to make myself King of this part of the island. Not only President of the Football Association, but King as well. Oh, what did I do to deserve this?

I'll go away and meditate for a bit then try to write my book without checking the blog first!!

10:40 p.m.
Whilst doing ra bliss about half nine, I decided I wanted to be more normal (the cave is empty. I could afford some beers just one more time before Wednesday), so I went out for four Erdingers! On the third.

All you can say about God is not true.... Meister Eckhart. Actually, that one's a good one. If you believe in God, try it out. My sister died of Multiple Sclerosis, so fung off, God. I'm a hotboy, so God is wonderful. Etcetera. God beyond language and concepts is okay. Let's just leave God there, beyond discussion.

If you believe in the bible, Jesus said something like ... it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. So where are all the rich batrurns going then? They only had two places in those days. Heaven and Hell.

I believe the Catholics (and that was everyone then!) invented Limbo because they needed somewhere to stick Plato and other pre-Christian virtuous (and rather smart) pagans.

So is Prince William going to Hell. Well, he's rich. Certainly, not heaven. One day he will be head of the Church Of England because ... because ... because that's a truly stupid church.

So, straight from Jesus Christ, who Christians will tell you is God, he's going to hell.

Calvinists, and there are still some of them around these parts, believe in predestination. So God knows that boy is going to hell even before he's born, but lets him get on with it because of free will.


But what kind of free will does the now President of the Football Association have? Did he ask to be a rich basturn and scion of such a lousy bunch of .... No! However, if he ever tells them to fung off like yon fascist Edward the Eighth, he is welcome to come down to the Unheard of Island and play some footie with me. Even at my advanced age I could take the piss out of him with a football!! Long may they reign over us. Then he'll have exercised his free will and got poor. No more hell. Fair enough.

Another really great day today! I worked on the unheard of and unpublishable book twice today. Almost two hours writing. When you're really writing, it should be eight hours. When I was a real writer, I wrote that long. Well, that was a long time ago. Did at least six hours sitting quietly doing nothing today. This life is wonderful just now, but I have to get back to the Samye Ling in mid-October.

Ra Holidays again!

Wednesday
This morning I was awake at 5 a.m. and lay in my kip doing yoga nidra for a bit. Then I got up and had a fabulous meditation. So much heat and bliss at some points I was wondering if it had ever been this good first thing in the day. Really. Despite drinking the beers last night. It's not fair. I don't deserve it.

It's going to be cold here this winter on the Unheard of Island and McDonald Islands. When you look down at the penguins huddling together on the rocks by the seashore, you think they must be cold. But they may be just like I was. Warm and glowing. Just closing their eyes and getting into ra bliss!!

9.00p.m.
Dull and overcast at the allotment today. I sat down outside the hut on a bag full of old newspapers I'd brought to burn and just went right into ra bliss. Fabulous warmth and bliss and light. I think I'm turning into a penguin, an emperor penguin. I think they huddle in the dark for months and months in the forty belows even further south than the Unheard of Island. They don't have any words. Mantras are supposed to control the interior monologue among other things. I wonder what it feels like to be a penguin huddling like that for months? Might feel great. The highpoint of the penguin calendar.

I dug for about an hour. Sometimes puffs of dust. Not as dry as the last time, but very, very dry. I ate some raspberries off the bushes. The allotments were quiet. I set fire to the newspapers partly to watch the flames. Otherwise, you never see flames.

Enjoyed the part in The Way of The White Clouds by Anagarika Govinda when he talks about these Tibetans finding some fuel after not having a fire for ages. Party time!

Did my shadow boxing routine tonight. Ten minutes skipping and six two minute rounds. Wearing the hat, teeshirt, two sweatshirts sandwiching a plastic bin bag.

The beer since the start of August has started putting on the fat. Eleven stone four. Dearie me. Still, the only beer tonight was a present from the travellers who returned from Vladivostok with a bottle of lager called Shiva. I kid you not. The god of destruction.

Going to have a nice few days. I'll actually write something of my novel, run, and sit here quietly doing nothing for hours and hours, waiting for clients for the Pet Bereavement Counselling Service. What a life!

Rat thing to be negated again!

8:35p.m. Tuesday.
The beer tonight is McEwan's Champion. The penguins are still in Vladivostok, so I felt the need to get one on before they get back and start to complain. This is getting more and more like RaBeerBlog, but I'll give it a by tomorrow, and tomorrow. Well, sometime down the road anyway.

I got into the juju because I reached thirty. You know you're going to die when you reach thirty because it seems to be dead old. Intimations of mortality. So I read The Varieties of Religious Experience, a brilliant book by William James, Henry's brother. Smart family that must have been! I can't remember anything about that book except how brilliant it was, but before I read that I'd tried to find out about existentialism. You know, you think you're supposed to be smart and smart people know what existentialism is.

Some of this will be in The Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf, which has been read by me and Michi Regier.

An atheist, it seems, is like a joe standing on the edge of an abyss. You look into the abyss of personal annihiliation, which can happen at any moment, and you feel a kind of all pervading anxiety. I think it's called angst. So if you say you're an atheist, you have to deal with that.

I said I was an atheist at the time (no old men with beards on thrones kind of atheist!), but I was really an agnostic who wanted to sound tough.

Buddhism should be able to deal with this problem because it takes the sense of self you have and kills it before you're dead. Well, it would if you were really good at the juju.

I'd find it helpful if I could properly understand this analogy. If you have a false sense of self and some basturn shoots an arrow into you, you suffer twice. You suffer because, well, getting an arrow stuck into your flesh is bound to be sore and because, I think, of the neurotic agitation you get by thinking you're a separate thing which wants to maintain its existence at all costs.

You can see why you need this in evolutionary terms. You need to want to run away from the basturns trying to kill you or you don't breed. Eat me, you basturn, is not the response of someone who's going to have a lot of kids in their cave.

There are no children on the Unheard of and McDonald Islands. We're all too old here and the penguins aren't really attractive in that kind of way. Not to me anyway. Adolf may tell you something different.

The false sense of self is so ingrained and eventually so complicated that it's really hard to know what anyone is talking about when they talk about that. It crops up. You think it might have gone away for a bit, but then it crops up again.

You have to understand what emptiness means in buddhism, I think. Then work on it. And don't drink beer. Or not so much!

Maybe some people don't care about things like this, this personal annihiliation and the false sense of self and such like. Maybe there are some essentially happy people around. Why don't they ever speak to me? All I get are the Evolutionary Tails and Them Prehensiles, or joe and josephines a bit like me!

Writing a blog about not getting a literary agent was a good idea if I got one in the end. But I'm not going to get one. I had a literary agent when I was twenty seven. No bother. Just now, I've decided to relax for a bit. What I used to do was write a book and then send it to four or five publishers then forget about it because at the end of the day I didn't need the money. All I've ever wanted was enough money to get out of my face whenever I've wanted to. For most of my life that's been possible. When it hasn't, I've got really fit. Right now, I should concentrate on re-writing the book about the 6 dharmas of Naropa and cease trying to engage with stupid flatheids, however wonderful they may or may not be. They're still flatheids. Flatheids excite the flatheid in me. This is why it is so wonderful to only have a half day to work before I'm off again. Then I will write my book on the laptop and await the calls for the folk wishing the Pet Bereavement Therapy. How to be happy. Maybe it's time to stop trying to be a famous novelist because essentially it's a complete waste of time! HotboyMadyamikaSurfingTheOceansOfBliss

Ra What You Really Want!

9:15p.m. Monday.
It's the September weekend, so I was off today. One September weekend I slept with someone for the first time. It probably wasn't legal, but I'm not Adolf, so I'll draw a veil over that.

Thank God as I get older I'm going to be less concerned with that malarkey. Time to think about what one really wants.

Setting the scene here on the Unheard of and McDonald Islands ... the two penguins who were in the cave with me for a bit have swam off for a few days inVladivostok. So I'm on my own. I've just been to Peckham's for three beers. I'm on the first one. It's says Weihenstephaner Kristall Weissbier. It says it's from the world's oldest brewery.

Last night I had three beers (IPA ) then went out for two cans of Bud when I realised I was actually on holiday. I've really been on holiday since Wednesday last, but it only felt as if I was on holiday last night. Once I realised I was on holiday, I realised I'd been living in more dukka for the last few days than usual. This is because of being hyper sensitive and wanting the wrong things.

The first noble truth is the true of dukka, or dukkha, or dukha. Translated as suffering. The first noble truth is the truth of suffering. But that's just a translation. It can mean frustration. Not getting what you want.

So what do you really want?

Got to be happiness, or contentment, or satiation. At least, less dukka.

First of all, you've got to accept responsibility for what's going on in your head. I couldn't believe the email I got from Rosemary Canter, but if I hadn't sent her one, she wouldn't have sent one back.

Philosophically, things exist as labels and functions. They don't exist as things in themselves. Rosemary Canter is the label of a human being whom I will never meet. She has a function, which is to be a literary agent (whatever that is!), and she seems to be pretty good at it since she has her name in the Writers and Artists Yearbook and a big string of people as clients. These are writers. Almost none of them can write like me, but that's just the beer kicking in.

I have to say here well done, Rosemary, whoever you are. You have a label and function in a way that meets the needs. You probably stay in a house that now costs a mint in Holland Park or Islington and you have done extremely well for yourself. So well done.

But if you're Karma had been good, and you weren't a stroppy basturn like me, I would have been standing by your bedside as you passed away and I would have been whispering in your ear about ra bliss. Because at that point, hen, how much money you've got doesn't matter. And all your clients would have melted away. And all your money. What you would have noticed was the dukka and Hotboy telling you all about ra bliss. Now all you're going to get is the dukka. Not a good email for you either. So we both blew that one!

This second beer is one of my favourites. It says Erdinger Weissebier. This is a very good beer.

There are enough books being published. When you're lying there gasping your last and someone says, what do you want to be remembered by, you've got to say: BY THE TIME THE UNIVERSE GOES CRUNCH, THEY WON'T EVEN REMEMBER JESUS CHRIST.

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

No idea what the dharmapala is, but I wrote that on my wall. It was on one of the last spaces easy to reach, above the door. I think I'm starting to figure out what stuff like that means.

Except what about the women? All these things say a man. They never say a woman. You're not really quoted unless you've got testicles.

You've got to want the right things or you get the grief, sorrow, lamentations ... the suffering in this life! So if you take it the other way, you're suffering because of wanting to wrong things. How can you tell the wrong things from the right things to want? It's got to be in what causes you suffering. If you're not suffering in this moment, it's good if you think that's what you deserve.

On the benefit of Erdinger. If you believed in all this crap about rebirth (or believed anything at all), the worst that happens to you is that you get reborn in much the same condition and just get stuck in this learning difficulty for a few eons. Like it's probably not going to get any worse unless like Adolf you kill six million jews. If you do something like that, it should be a bit worse for a while. But it's eons and eons and you're having a bit of a laugh. It's a holiday. This Erdinger even sounds good.

Everything kicks in at once! Happy thing.

What do you really want? Not to be confronted by the thing to be negated. The false sense of self . Ra clinging and ra craving thing. Why does it jump up? I never asked it to the party.

But taking stock, I'm meditating over thirty hours a week easy. No wonder I'm going mad. But I just feel as if I'm holding it back. The holding onto something by drinking beer, etc.

Weihenstephaner Hefe Weissbier. Eat your heart out, Adolf! This is a superb beer!

So this suffering? I've actually got a .... guru. Need another word. Too loaded, that one. Anyway, he told me once to look to my motivation. Why are you doing it? I took it that's what he meant.
I
I think I'll stop harassing people through this computer. That poor woman got a bad vibe. You shouldn't be sending that out. It's stupid anyway. I think what I'm supposed to do is give up the drink and drugs and surrender to ra overwhelmingly wonderful and all encompassing gorgeous bliss.

But as I look out at the sun going down and there are no penguins to be seen. Stone blue in different shades. What more could you ask for? I'm in the cave ... by the way, there is a screen of sorts. I don't mind the wind because of ra overwhelming bliss, but the penguins complain about the drafts.

I've just read this thing and couldn't believe the venom. Dearie me. I'll have to ask Adolf to post a complete dissection of this. You have to remember that all this is just configurations of the alphabet and at least let's try not to upset anyone. I'd like to lie down on the floor now and listen to loud music, but I don't know how to put the loud music on. I'll just have to see if I can put in some otherwise blisss.

Ra Cunning Plan for Fame and Fortune!

1:50p.m. Saturday afternoon.
Have to hand it to Boddingtons. Had eight cans last night (3.8% alc/vol) and managed to post and everything when I got home. Wakening up in the cave in the Unheard of and McDonald Islands this morning and felt really good! The penguins on the beach still look frisky, goosestepping with the nazi flipperbands, despite Adolf calling them bad names. Thank God they don't speak German!

If you're here to meet other panty sniffers or are looking for wet teeshirt competitions, you want to have a look at this post and try to get into ra bliss!

Apart from the masai warriors and spam robots who visit this blog, sometimes writers come looking for stuff about agents. Here's what I know about agents and the kidbook trade.

I tried to get a book called Light in the Dark published a few years ago. It was written for kids who could read, anyone from about ten years old up, I suppose. I tried it out on kids at the secondary school where I worked and such was the fantastic response that I was certain it would get published. (During this I was writing a second kidbook called Bugtown, which got a similar response from kids at the school though I don't think it's as good.)

I couldn't get any children's publishers to read it at all, despite sending them screeds of commendations in questionnaire form from kids who thought the books were written by someone called Alison Main, not me.

After wasting ages doing this, I was contacted by Nicky Singer who wrote a brilliant kidbook called Featherboy. She told me I wouldn't get read by a publisher unless I had an agent and I probably wouldn't get published unless I was represented by one of the six 'killer' agencies.

I might have managed to get Light in the Dark read by two agents in three years. Some of these agents are apparently getting two hundred submissions as week, but I thought I might get a look-in because I had books and plays done in the past. No way. The best chance I probably had was getting Rosemary Canter, an agent with PFD (big agency; big client list full of known names; must be one of Nicky Singer's killer agents, thinks I), but she knocked it back. I assume she read it, but I don't know.

A few months ago, I reconnected with Rosemary Canter and asked her to put up two books against my two books and I'd do a blind test with new first year kids, who would think my books were written by Alison Main. Got five copies of Wind Singer and Missing, the books she put up and was almost ready to go last week with the reading group. So I sent her an email a couple of days ago and said I was ready to go.

I should say here that everyone likes different things. Wind Singer would be a great book for kids who like fantasy fiction, a wee bit like Lord Of The Rings. I loved the Hobbit and thought Lord of the Rings was awful. Hundreds of millions of readers thought it was great though. I haven't read Missing by a Scottish writer called Cathy McPhail, but I am looking forward to it. I might be a better book than either of mine, but I've been dishing books out to kids for twenty years and the reactions to Light in the Dark and Bugtown were exceptional. Light in the Dark beat Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone four to one in the previous blind trials.

The response I got from the email I sent Rosemary Canter surprised me, to put it mildly. She said don't be rude and piss off basically. Adolf thought his uncomplimentary remarks in the comments on the blog might have been contributory to this, but unless she's a spam robot or a Masai warrior, I doubt it. She won't be wasting her time on blogs like this. But if you're a writer trying to get represented by Rosemary Canter, don't send her an email anything like this!

Hi Rosemary!
Remember wanting to bet your authors' books were better than the two kidbooks I'd written? You knocked back Bugtown about two years ago.
I'm half way through Wind Singer. If that's your best shot (I haven't read Missing yet, the other book you recommended) then you haven't got a chance! I'll eat my hat if the kids don't put my two books ahead of that. Anyway, I don't expect you'll want to punt my stuff after you've got whacked in this contest, but I may ask you for the names of the other five killer agents that Nicky Singer told me control the kidbook world.
Totally confident here in Edinburgh. Have you got a hat to eat or would you rather lose some money? Doesn't matter to me. The satisfaction of feeling smug will do me. I am enjoying this. I don't think you will as much somehow. Hotboy.

Is that rude? Compassion and altruism are the basis of the path. I'm saying nothing more.

While surfing the net looking for stuff on kidbooks, I came across John G. Sutton, who did manage to get a kidbook published without an agent. He said no one in that editorial department had ever dealt with a book without an agent before, but he said it was possible.

Check out John's site if you're interested with near death experiences. He has a story about PJ Proby which is brilliant and should be made into a movie!

What I'm going to do now is go ahead with the reading group in some form or other. If the results favour me, I'll contact all the other kidbook agents in the Writers and Artists and see if I can get them to read the books. If I draw a blank on that, I'll contact the kidbook publishers and ask them to put up their best current book against Light in the Dark in a blind test with school kids. I'll get Light in the Dark published somehow. But it's easy to see why folk just give up. I'm sure some of the best books in the world are never published. Roll on the end of books and better internet cataloguing!!

I meditated from half nine today till half twelve. Really brilliant blissful meditations once they got going. I won't bother trying to describe them. Flatheids will never get ra bliss!! I'm off to the hut to meditate the rest of the afternoon away. Still the most fortunate of fortunate creatures!! HotboyMadyamikaSurfingTheOceansofBliss.

Ra Rowing Boat!

2:00 a.m. Saturday morning.
How wonderful it is to have a rowing boat! Just spent a wonderful evening with Gilliebabes, family and friends. I smoked tobacco. I drank beer. I would have eaten some dead animals if I'd had a chance. What a release! But what a wonderful thing is a rowing boat!

Now I have three days. It only takes me a few moments to row almost half way round the world and I will be on the Unheard of and McDonald Islands. Here in the cave, you come out in the morning and how gorgeous it looks. The light. The fantastic totally clear light. The penguins.

You are not peculiar if you are on your own, looking down at the beach. There is no one else there. You are only peculiar when someone else is looking at you. Otherwise, in the solitude, you would just have to contend with manipulating ra bliss. Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream ...

Ra Rudeyness!

10:50p.m.
What a great day I've had today! Here it is.
Got up at seven and checked the blogosphere before breakfast. Sent an email to Rosemary Canter of PFD, the London literary agency, telling her that I'd started this book contest group. These people are busy and I assumed she'd forgotten all about putting up her two best books.

This put me a bit later to start meditating than usual, but I started at half eight and meditated through till half twelve. I had a break at half ten or so and went down the road a wee bit for a haircut. No1. This means I'm now a baldy. Barber says: You're a completely different person now. That boy understands the difference between appearance and reality!

I was meditating today in the living room. At half twelve I lay on the carpet and practised some yoga nidra i.e. corpse pose. It's a relaxation technique. So relaxed I fell asleep for two hours. Then started meditating again.

By this time, I'm right in ra bliss zone. Ra heat zone. Ra emanating zone. Truly great. You forget when you have to go to work how bloody wonderful the yajrayana meditations are.

Then I actually started re-writing my novel. Today was really the start of the re-write. At the moment, I've just got a 20,000 word skeleton. But I'm going to enjoy writing this. I have no expectation at all of it getting published, so I'm just going to really enjoy doing it. I do like writing. All the rest of writing business, like having to contact agents, etc, can be a pain in the butt. But you can still get a laugh!

Just before I started blogging I checked my mail, as you do, and had a reply from Rosemary Canter saying there was no point in being rude to her and go and look up the Writer's and Artists for an agent! Rude? What a smile crossed my face when I read that! Rude? They're actually senstive artists, these agents. They don't just do lunch and light cigars with ten pound notes after all! What a laugh! Cheered me up because I'd decided to expand on all this stuff in the re-write I'd just started. Rude? I wouldn't dream of being rude. When her books come third and fourth to my two, even then I won't be rude. I won't be smug. Just a little vindicated.

Adolf seems to have read Light in the Dark. He's saying nothing, but he's not twelve so he really doesn't count. I have to get into 3D meditations when I get a bit more time. They're described in that book ... how to do them.

There's a fabulous phone conversation in the blog of the sensei and reverend. Anonymous threatening phone call. I'd run a mile. Brilliant rendition of it though. The sensei got a kicking in Edinburgh once. I was totally impressed by his response. Joe Stalin told his secret police to beat people up because he'd been beaten up as an underground revolutionary and knew how difficult it was for folk to handle that psychologically. The sensei wasn't bothered, as far as I could see. The boy's going to get shot though. He is. I've seen Mississippi Burning and although he's in Tennessee, he'll still get shot. Despite once being a professional boxer, the sensei has a figure that makes Olive Oil look as if she's been on steroids and in the gym for years with Big Arnie, so if he turns sideways, he's got a chance. If the bullets don't kill him, I'll have to borrow some money so I can send him some Irn Bru in hospital. I bet he's missing that!

I did my six mile run this evening. Part of the purification and accumulation. Felt really good for almost all of it. Rhythm and balance. I weighed in before I put on the three jumpers at eleven stone two or three, or seventy one kilos if you're from abroad. That's not bad considering I've been investigating ra beer as well as ra bliss since the start of August!

I wish everyone could have a day like today. Great day. Great day!

Ra Reading Group

9:00p.m. Wednesday.

If anyone has arrived at this blog looking for wet teeshirts, or folk sitting on their heads, you want to go here. This is RaBlissBlog. If you read the right bits, you'll find out how to get your head stuck in ra bliss!

Time. Got plenty of it coming up! Don't go back to work till Tuesday and then the kids aren't back to school till Wednesday. I'm back off Wednesday about noon. It's almost a week's holiday. Wish I had the money to go down to the Samye Ling. But I'm trying to set my mind on being dead productive right here.

The reading group has started in a bit of a shambles, partly because I'm never at the school, and partly because I was too anxious to get it going. I put a poster up outside the library door and hustled kids who seemed to be good readers to tell other kids. I said chocolate biscuits would be provided.

Managed to get a first meeting organised for last Monday. The first kid who showed up and wanted to join couldn't read at all. You can tell the kid is maybe not quite playing with the full deck, but you don't want to put him off. I gave him a copy of Wind Singer, but managed to get it back off him by last Wednesday. The other kid who showed up was there because everyone has got to be somewhere and she might get a chocolate biscuit. So I quizzed the kid about reading. And she exaggerated her prowess somewhat. A quarter of first year kids in Scottish schools haven't enough reading skills to follow the curriculum properly, so you've got to watch who you're asking to read what. Wind Singer is a fat book for a twelve year old.

Eventually, I got three other kids. One kid gobbled the book up and handed it to me on Monday. The other two didn't show up at the meeting today. The kid who was there for the biscuits loudly demanded a biscuit. In ten days she'd read about an eighth of the book. But that was probably quite good for her. Gave her a biscuit. The kid who can't read at all comes to the library at break time and lunch time now. He'd be eaten up in the playground.

But it doesn't really have to be a group. As long as I can get kids to read the books consecutively and put them in some kind of merit order. I'm half way through Wind Singer. It's a good book. It hasn't got a chance. I'll have to be patient. Kids are split up into six sections in first year English at my school and I only see two sections. One has the kid who can't read. They're streamed. When you see a group of kids like that, you realise you have to live in a society where people are looking after each other because some people just aren't going to make it otherwise.

Beef McDuck emailed me last week and said he was half way through Bomber and 'thoroughly enjoying it.' I have a nagging doubt about that book.

I've revived the writing group I set up last term. Three very smart kids. One there maybe because everyone's got to be somewhere, but he's getting plenty out of it. There's a girl just gone into third year so she may be fourteen. She reads and reads and is probably far smarter than I ever was. Last year, she showed me a notebook she'd filled with this story and shamed me into starting this writing group. She knows I've had books published. She wanted to read one of them. I couldn't give her Are You Boys Cyclists? because it's full of graphic sex scenes.

Are you wet teeshirt searchers still with us? That's the book for you, you panty sniffing pervert. I suppose now all the panty sniffing perverts will land on this blog. What a way to get traffic!

I gave her a copy of City Whitelight yesterday. I saw her this morning. She said it was 'brilliant'. She'd read half of it. The wide eyes and big smiley open face. Kids are a great audience if they really like something. I told her to email Rosemary Canter, the agent from PFD who recommended the two books for the book contest, and tell her.

I feel really tired this evening. Thank God I don't have to go to work tomorrow!

Rem Tricks!

I was complaining to Adolf about how I have to repeat myself when someone asks about ra bliss. Like, what is ra bliss and how do I get it? He said why didn't I link to previous posts? You see, German. Thorough and meticulous. No spelling mistakes and so anally repressed that he's the only person I know who could spell diarrhoeaeoea. But what a help! Anyone want to know how to get blissed out of their face on air should go the the post Ra Recriminations. I'd link to it, but I'm not very German and can't be bothered.

Anyway, now I can blog about important things like not getting a literary agent and how to make money from tricks!

I've got more tricks than I realised!
Trick One : Top trick is definitely going into a headstand and then into a lotus upside down and then sitting down in the lotus. Do this to someone with your back to them and they jump back in shock. People aren't used to seeing folk in lotus positions and sometimes that could freak them by itself.

Trick Two: Rolling your eyes up till there's nothing but white. People don't like it when you do this trick, which is a by-product of chasing ra bliss.

Trick Three: I've blogged about sun salutations before. The Iyengar Yoga ones are slightly different. You put your hands on the ground keeping your legs straight so that your palms are flat on the deck. Then you jump back till you're in the plank position, like when you're half way through press-ups. This looks impossible when you see it and you think the joe is going to break his toes.

Trick Three: I can skip like a professional boxer. People have seen this before, but it's still impressive!

What I need to do is put all this together somehow so that when I'M TOO BLISSED TO BE BUGGERED and sitting on the pavement homeless, I can still make some money. I'd much rather be too blissed to be buggered in Sikkim!

So I need a webcam and a laptop. I know geeks and nerds by the bucketful and this shouldn't be too difficult with a little initial sponsorship. I'm going to set up and Bereavement Counselling site for Pet Owners. You pays your money and you get the warm-up, consisting of a wee bit skipping and then a couple of jumps. Then the headstand lotus bit. Then you ask the joe what his pet was called. Maybe he says tearfully, the mutt was called Rover. You tell the boy you're going to invoke your spirit guide, a red indian called Grey Wolf. Then you roll your eyes up (A wee bit of twitching would go down well at this point!).

In a gruff voice you say: My name is Grey Wolf . I come from the Happy Hunting Ground. Woof! Woof! Rover is as happy as happy can be! Woof! Woof!

Got to be a winner! I'm sure I could clean up with an act like that. What do you think?

Ra End Result!

12:15p.m. Sunday, very early in the morning.
Unable to watch the fights. The Prospect biffing a handicapped person, then ... well, they've got to get the lighting right for one thing. Dearie me. Let's see it in black and white. What a ..

I used to drink beer that I brewed. Gave up. Then I had the money and drank the expensive German beers. The Greek chorus all scream like banshees when you mention alcohol. But having drank some beers every night since Hades opened, I must say, the champion of all the beers is Bitter and Twisted, from Harvieston Brewery somewhere in Bonnie Scotland. This beer is maybe an ale. You should be able to give up being a lager lout and drink some ales like these. Then we will not be so anal retentive like Adolf. Hotboy

6:00 p.m.
I've meditated for about four hours today so far. A couple of years ago, when I still worked fulltime, I knew Monday would just whizz along if I could do four hours in the allotment. Today, despite my predeliction for the beer, the meditations have been truly wonderful.

There are 30,000 allotments in Blighty. Mine is about a five minute walk from the front door, in a fenced off area of Inverleith Park along with 149 other allotments. I've just made soup with potatoes and onions and turnips from the allotment. Other than that, there's just really lentils. And I had a meal, which is unusual for me. Boiled potatoes and onions with two fried eggs. Delicious.

Ra Biffing!

8:30p.m. Saturday.

Shadow boxing earlier in the day, figured I was ready for Cassius Clay. Fee, Fi, Foo, Fum, look out Cassius, here I come!

Anybody know who wrote that?

I used the song in the first thing I ever got paid for, The Marijuana Kid, a radio play I wrote when I was thirty. It was based on the first boxing match I was involved in. At the Mayfield Club in Dalkeith, I think. Most memorable night of my life.

I've just got out of the bath after doing my shadow boxing routine. Three tee shirts, a sweat shirt, and the sleeveless woolly jumper. Quite moderate attire for me really. I skipped for about six or seven minutes, then did six two minute rounds with half a minute intermissions. Not at lot, but it's the pace that kills you, not the distance. Maybe that's not quite as true as with running. In boxing, it's the other guy who kills you. But I'm really quite fit for a 54 year old, considering. Fortunately, I've never been in fights in the street, in pubs, or anything like that. Just when the bell goes ding ding.

The last thing I got paid for writing was about boxing as well. Well, I imagine they paid me for Are You Boys Cyclists? because of the graphic sex, but I wanted to write a memoir of the biffing and my part in the brain damage.

Eight ounce gloves in those days and no headgear for amateur boxing. These days they use ten ounce gloves. Be still sore.

The biffing book was published in 1997. A friend of mine said she was rolling around the floor laughing when she read it. Hadn't the heart to tell her it wasn't supposed to be funny!

The sensei and reverend wrote a really good book about boxing called The Champions New Clothes. If you want to read some good writing in blogs, I'd definitely recommend his current post. If anyone deserves some of ra bliss, it's that boy!

One of the reasons why I'm blogging about biffing is because it's back on the telly tonight. About ten years ago, they showed a series of great British fights at prime time Saturday night. Unfortunately, two of the boxers were taken to hospital with brain haemorrages (?). Watching people collapsing and on the point of death, facing a future of terrible disability, maybe wasn't the kind of thing you wanted kids to be watching on Saturday nights. What a shame! Amazing fights both of them as well, at least up until people started dying in front of a prime tv audience.

I fought a guy in Shotts Miner's Welfare one night. The last time he'd fought at light heavyweight, which is up to twelve and a half stone. I was a welterweight, which is ten and a half stone, or 147 pounds if you're American. Catchweight contest. Shouldn't be allowed. I didn't know till the joe stepped into the ring. Fung big welterweight, says I. After getting battered all over the ring for the first round, I dropped my guard in the second and tried to pretend I was Sugar Ray. Left from the hip to the chin. Twice. The boy looked a wee bit bemused. Left right hook. Right on the button. The boy span a full forty five degrees and fell to his knees, then over onto his gloves and knees.

You're amazed. Inside, you're shouting: Stay down! Stay down! The boy got up. I'd never been fitter in a boxing ring and the next twenty seconds probably weren't the best in his life.

It's in the book. Get it from Amazon. Second hand. Or read something better!

But I really wasn't sure about the biffing after that. Had the boy been a welterweight, that punch would have knocked him out cold, and that's not good for you. You feel the shock going up your arm. Wakened up at four in the morning with the sore bone in my forearm. The whole bone.

The main event tonight is a supermiddleweight contest. Too big, too fit, too dangerous. Shouldn't be allowed. I've blogged recently about getting a wee bit sensitive and not enjoying serious dramas anymore with folk shouting at each other and getting all emotional and what not. Well, will I be watching the boxing? Get the beer in and let's get ready to rumble!!

Ra Recriminations!

11:45a.m.
Wakened up today with that Oh, no! feeling. What did I do or say last night then? Then I managed to lock myself out of the house. Then an hour on the blogosphere to see if I'd been making an idiot of myself somewhere. Of course, I had. Here for one.

Dearie me. Thank god buddhists aren't into guilt. Guilt is morbid. We're not supposed to do guilt. Let's just put these unfortunate slips behind us and march on.

I'm not going to Bellshill today. It's overcast and it will rain all day. I haven't meditated today so far, which is regrettable and very unusual. So I'll stay in. Meditate and blog. Lee Anne said she didn't understand ra bliss. I'm away to find some. I'll tell you what it is when I get back. Hotboy

1:00p.m.
I'm feeling very good. Expensive bottled beer. Made by the German rules. Is very good indeed. Don't feel bad today at all. Not fair. If I felt like crap, there would be no chance of drinking any tonight!

This is RaBlissBlog! I have enjoyed Lee Anne coming to this blog and she isn't sure what ra bliss is. I should be doing some real writing today, but what the hell! Here we go!

Remember. Slowly slowly catchee monkey. Rome wasn't built in a day. You have to give the juju your time.

Ra bliss is the opposite of suffering. Has to be. In the dichotomies we live with. One end of the scale you have bliss and at the other end you have ..... grief, sorrow, lamentations ... the suffering in this life. If you know anything about buddhism, you're given a choice. Suffering or bliss? I thought at one point I should understand the Second Noble Truth which is why I tried to write a travelogue about buddhism, The Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf.

Suffering is cased by desire based on ignorance of your own truth self.

Sometimes maybe rendered: Suffering is caused by actions and delusions based on ignorance of your own true self.

So find out what your own true self is and maybe you won't want the wrong things and you won't suffer so much as a consequence. Is this what the boy is saying?

There is nothing so wonderful as meditation. Meditate and you will get ra bliss sometime down the road. Bliss is unavoidable. Calming meditation is the basis. You have to do calming meditations and you will get access to ra bliss.

I started by taking up the mantra Susquehanna. Now I used Om Mani Padme Hung and Om Ah Hung Vajra Guru Padma Siddhi Hung, but I've recommended Susquehanna to Skinny McDuck among others because it certainly worked for me. And it has no religious connotations. You don't need anything else. Except calming meditations. You could count your breaths, or just pay attention to your breath, but I think mantra is easier. It fixes your mind easier. We're talking about focus, paying attention here.

Repeating a sound to yourself and going back to it when you've realised that your daydreaming is just that .... repeating a sound to yourself. But something else starts to happen. You're looking for the zone. You're looking to find out what meditation actually is and trying to stick with it.

We are conditioned by punishment and reward in the realm of desire. What do you think puts men and women into caves meditating for years on end? Rewards. Mega rewards. Unimaginable to flatheids, but they're not doing these jujus because they like to suffer. By the time you get to the cave, it won't even be deferred gratification. You'll be surfing the oceans of bliss.

There's a lot of river imagery in buddhism, which is partly why I ended up using Susquehanna. That is a wonderful sound. Susquehanna. Susquehanna. Susquehanna. Anyway! At the start of a river, there's a wee trickle. It starts and stops. It gets stuck on boulders. It disappears entirely sometimes, but rivers have got to start somewhere. Eventually, it runs strong and seems unstoppable. This accords with my experience. Here comes the oceans of bliss.

It might be helpful if you try to look for sweeties. I mean, pleasurable feelings. Access a pleasurable feeling in meditation and try to get back to it.

The end result, it said in this book, of straightforward calming meditation is physical bliss and mental ecstasy. It was put as the 34th stage of calming meditation. There might have been 36 stages given in all. Physical bliss and mental ecstasy isn't to be knocked. When I thought I must be in this stage once while sitting in my room at the Samye Ling, tears of joy began running down my face

We've all got to start somewhere. If you started now and put in the time, within five years you'd have access to loads of bliss. Is anything else you're doing just now actually going to make you happier in five years time? Anything? Don't start meditating and in five years time ask yourself if you have access to any bliss at all. As Beef McDuck would say: You've knobbed up somewhere!

Before you get to overwhelming doses of the wonderful bliss, you will get lots of little presents to keep you going. Maybe little flashes of light. Funny wriggly sensations in your body.

Even if you don't get anything for ages, calming meditations are great for your physical and mental well being.

You still might be wondering what your own true self is. I'll go and meditate for a couple of hours and get back to you on that! Hotboy

4:50p.m.
I've been having a wonderful time this afternoon, sitting in my room, back to the door, gazing down at the Kalachakra Mandala sticker on the back of my old diary. Got back here to find a comment from Lee Anne. She understands what ra bliss is. Great! It's just so hard to describe a feeling. I'll do that this evening when I can't stay in my room for sociability reasons. Right now, here's some more about ra bliss!

There's three vehicles in Tibetan Buddhism. Hinayana, Mahayana and Vajrayana. (Don't take anything I say about Buddhism to be gospel. I only know what I can remember from books). I think you can sort of practise them simultaneously.

Does everyone out there understand emptiness? Bliss should eventually be combined with emptiness. Realising emptiness is the important bit, I think.

Non-self and emptiness!

In the Hinayana, you just leave the world as it is. It can have separate things in it. It can be composed of atoms and molecules and who cares what else. You don't need so much to worry about compassion. You need discipline. You're going to try and save yourself first. You would probably just do what I said early to get the calming meditational stuff. Say, you'd become very calm just sitting there. Thoughts will flow evenly one to the other. Nothing is jumping about in your consciousness. You might even be able to anticipate the arrival of a thought if you get calm enough.

You're just sitting there. Then take a wee bit of your awareness and go looking for your false sense of self. Where is it? Even once you've understood what a false sense of self might be, this isn't easy. You could periodically move from the calming stuff into this. Once your brain is done in, you could go back to straight calming stuff.

In the Mahayana, you care. I like reading samsaramom writing about her kids. Though her kids must drive her round the bend, I'm sure she loves them unconditionally. This is what you try to develope in the Mahayana. Unconditional love. Compassion and altruism is the basis of the path. If you're a Christian, just substitute Christ for the Buddha and you're still with us here.

Developing compassion isn't easy either.

By this time, you're not leaving the world/reality just the way it is. The Geluptas, the Dalai Lama's sect, are big on the intellectual understanding of emptiness. There are lots of books under his name. They're not hard to read because they're transcriptions of talks. A joe called Nagarjuna is big on this part of the juju. The middle way between existence and non-existence. Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form. Appearance is emptiness. Emptiness is appearance. Stuff isn't what it seems to be. Even thinking of atomic structure might help here. You can't see that. It's deduced, or inferred.

I took refuge with the Great Buddha Lama Yeshe Losal at Christmas time in 2003 so I could practise the Six Yogas of Naropa (You have to have a look at The Bliss Of Inner Fire). This is the great Vajrayana. Monastics practise this, but you don't have to be a monastic.

From this point on, I cannot claim sole responsibility (I wouldn't claim that anyway!) for any of the wonderful things that have happened to me.

After that, I tried to get into vase breathing. Last year, I noticed that this was working. By this I mean that if you breath a certain way, you will get bliss. You are no longer so passive. You can do something and something else will occur.

I have no explanation for this!

I can't do it all the time and I still need to practise a bit before I get into it. (Well, you shouldn't drink beer then, should you?). At this point you can sometimes get out of your face on air.

AT THIS POINT YOU CAN SOMETIMES GET OUT OF YOUR FACE ON AIR!!

I've always thought meditation wasn't marketed properly. Physical bliss and mental ecstasy. YOU CAN SOMETIMES GET OUT OF YOUR FACE ON AIR!

There's plenty of air about. It doesn't cost anything. Nobody has tried to make breathing illegal yet!

5:35p.m. I'm away back to my room for a bit. I might blog about the Vajrayana when I get back!

7:35 p.m.
Incendium Amoris (fire of love) seems to be what medieval Christian mystics called ra bliss of inner fire. I think this gave some of them a lot of bother. It certainly gave Gopi Krishna a lot of bother if it's the kundalini, which it must be. We talking about the experiences of the human beings here. It's not really about a particular religion.

I joined the Karma Kagyu sect of Tibetan Buddhism when I took refuge with Lama Yeshe. They say they have 'the skillful means'. Though everyone is going the same way, I don't think the Samye Ling crowd are so bothered about the intellectual.
If you just do it, it'll happen anyway.
Someone has come in. Bye, bye!

12:52 p.m.
I did some posting that was lost in cyberspace. Bloggy people were down for some reason. About half eleven. About ra bliss in terms of experience. How does it feel? Better after about nine. God knows why. Felt very good. Might not have made much sense. What a good day!

Ra Allotment today!

9:45 a.m. Thursday.
I was up the allotment for a bit yesterday. Once or twice the fork would hardly go into a ground when I was digging. It's been sultry, warm and dry, quite unlike Scotland should be. The earth is parched. Strange days.

The homeless and hungry people came to Edinburgh in 1990. They weren't here in 1989 when I went to Australia for a year, but they were there when we got back, and they're still here. You know who they are because they've got signs saying Homeless and Hungry. If you walk across the beautiful, wonderful city, you might pass three or four. If I was to join them someday, I'd need a sign. Too Blissed To Be Buggered.

If I get any good at the vajrayana, some day I may be in heaven on this earth. Sacred vision, it's called. Part of the deity yoga, mandala juju. You might as well be in heaven sitting on the pavement. Some of these folk are alright at sitting as well. They don't have chairs. Shame they don't know about ra bliss. Anyway, I guess I'll spend most of the day in the allotment, getting into ra bliss. Hotboy

6.p.m.
I was at the allotment till about three, just meditating. Then I went for my longer, flatter run. It took me a wee bit over forty five minutes and I guess it's about six miles.

Teeshirt, woolly jumper, sweatshirt, then a baggy, sleeveless woolly jumper. Ski hat. You head out towards the Forth Bridge and cut off down Craigcrook Place. This turns into Craigcrook Road and this area is very nice. In fact, just before you turn off again and start on the Ravelstone Dyke Road to come back home is one of the nicest places in Edinburgh. It just is. I don't know why. There's a pleasant atmosphere. The bungalows of the bourgeois face onto a verdant green park and there's woodland there. Going up the only real hilly part from Craigcrook Road, there are woods on one side and a golf course on the other. Could be in the country. Then you start coming down Ravelstone Dykes, which has cherry blossom trees (not out now!) on either side of the road. I love running down that road. Then in ten minutes or so you're back home.

No beggars panhandle along this route. If you chapped on all the doors and asked all the people, I'm sure, no one would know anything about ra bliss. How many folk in this town meditate for more than two hours a day. Almost none. Flatheids to the left of you. Flatheids to the right of you.

I've given up being normal, Adolf. Normal people don't get ra bliss. At best, they get a compensation lifestyle and live in nice places that eventually no one visits. Thank god for stoicism.

I'm going back to the allotment this evening to meditate and dig up some tatties to take to my maw in Bellshill. I told someone there last week that I lived in Edinburgh. That's a shame, they said. Middle class people live in nice houses and have walls. They don't have communities. They don't know anyone. Rather dead than bourgeois! Hotboy

11:52P.M.
Thank god, pissed again! Can't be really pissed or I couldn't type. Compassion and altruism are the basis of the path. Hinayanas need discipline, the boy says. Mahayana seems more concerned with compassion. Levels of importance. Outer tantra, whatever that is, means you emanate solo. Inner tantra, which makes you arise with a consort ... well, I think you arise with a consort. We arise together. Simultaneously. Together. As one thing . Without self. In the Kalachakra Mandala. This is heaven. You are red. You are completely gorgeous. I am blue. I can spell words like consort. Or concert. I think the best translation was from Mary P. A sweetie. As you sit and I look down on your lovely face, I say: Never ever in all the times - the past, the present, and the future - have we ever been as wonderful as this. Without clinging. Without craving. In ra bliss.


So how's about that then? Are you on my lap, or not? If you are, clap your hands, and say: ' I am one with the one. I have lost myself in ra bliss, ra rapture and ra ecstasy. Altruism and compassion is the basis of the path. Non self and emptiness.'

Hope you enjoyed that down in Birmingham, Alabama!

This is RaBlissBlog. You heard it here first, and the weekend hasn't started yet!

So 1503 clicky things have visited RablissBlog. I know that's only four folk, some spam robots and the odd Masii warrior, but I can't remember what else I should have been doing! HotboyMadyamisaSurfingTheOceansOfBliss

Ra Way Ahead!

10:20p.m. Wednesday.

Hard to know how to say this really. I did my trick in front of two teenagers today. I'll never starve now! They asked me to show them some yoga. Show us some yoga, Mr Hotboy! So I stood on my head with my back to them, as it were, went into the lotus position upside down, and then curled over and sat down in the lotus. That means you're now facing them in the lotus. One of them jumped. The other kind of jerked back. I don't need a literary agent. I need a manager!


I'm not sure if I'm doing inner tantra or outer tantra, or no tantra at all. The inner tantra guys seem to be a bit odd. You get to go around dressed in wild animal skins and have necklaces of human bones. Bound to be hotboys. You can be a homeless person if you want. You're so full of ra bliss and ra hot stuff that being being anywhere would be alright.

I can roll my eyeballs up so that you can only see white, nothing else. Apparently, that's a bit odd. A straight byproduct of ra bliss hunting. That's two tricks. That's the two pence trick. Gie's two pence an' Ah'll show ye a trick, pal.

For ten pence you could do the real trick. You could clean up.

Then some juvenile delinquent would throw a hamburger at you and you'd chase after him and kill him with the thighbone you always kept handy because you're still at heart a murderous basturn.

Then you'd go to jail and you could soon be in solitary. Fed every day and plenty of peace to investigate ra bliss.

Next I might blog the prequel. The how I became unemployable by being stuck in ra bliss blog.

I don't have to do anything till Monday. Here comes ra bliss!

Rem Desert Island Discs!

9:25 Tuesday.
Adolf tagged me for some musicy thing. I never listen to music, but when I do, it sounds great! I used to listen to music quite a lot, but when they changed the sound system, I definitely lost it. Can't be bothered working it out. If I did, they'd just buy something else and then I'd be stumped again.

However, here in Blighty they have something called Desert Island Discs. It's a radio programme. It's hosted by Sue Lawley whom I really fancied about thirty years ago when she was a tv presenter. My friend told me he had an erotic dream about Queen Victoria once and fancying Sue Lawley was close to that except he couldn't help the dream. Already I'm talking about perversions!

You've got to pick seven records that mean something to you. Off the top of my head, I'll just blog about music.

I've bought three bottles of Furtenburg Premium Lager, which is very nice. 5.3% alc per vol and I'm on the second one now. Nice beer!

See if I can get to seven.

Sister Ray by the Velvet Underground. My all time favourite piece of music. How many times have I lain spreadeagled on the floor and listened to that. "Oh, who is that knocking? Oh, could it be the police? They come and take me for a ride, ride."

Waiting for the Man by the same. "He's never early. He's always late. The first thing you learn is you always gotta wait." How true!

Heroin by same band. I mean, they're in your face here. This is not bourgeois.

Street Hustle by the iminitable Lou Reed. "You take your old lady by the feet. You drag her into the darkened street. And tomorrow morning, she's just another hit and run." God, I wish I could write like that.

I could go on with the inimitable Lou, but I shouldn't get obsessive here.

This is more of a Desert Islands Disc one. Something happening here by Buffalo Springfield. "What a field day for the heat!" Brilliant, brilliant line. I was once at an anti-apartheid demo with a lot of hippies and the police lost it late in the day and behaved very badly. What a field day for the heat!

May you stay forever young by the Bob. Same place. Morocco 1974. I knew it was never going to be as good as that ever again.

I've only got one left!

No, I love the Red Flag. It makes me emotional and so does the Marseillaise. And so does the Internationale. Yes!

As far as live music is concerned, I think the best I heard was The Doors at the Isle of Wight in 1970. "This is the end," the boy said. Right at the start. Fabulous. Fell asleep during Jimi Hendrix at that place.

Honourable mentions for The Velvet Underground in Clerk Street, the reformed band just before the bass player snuffed it. Any band, any band has to have Maureen Tucker on the drums. What a brilliant band!

Also, Ian Dury and the Blockheads. Same place. What a great concert! "Sex and drugs and rock and roll. Is all my brain and body needs!" First song. Fantastic.

Honourable mentions also to Brian Wilson. Since I have as deep dear friend called Brian Wilson, who has exactly the same molecules as the Beach Boys Brian Wilson, I have seen Brian Wilson two and a half times in the last couple of years. Couldn't believe how good the band were!

So this is RaBlissBlog and here's something about ra bliss. One week almost a year ago, I spent a week sitting in this gorgeous temple at the Samye Ling. Every now and again the band would show up. We're into gong bashing here. And big, big horn blowing. And chanting. When you're in ra bliss, and you're eyes are closed and there doesn't seem to be much other than ra bliss and the light, and then the band start giving it laldy with the ... anyway, maybe not much use to flatheids. But I have more than once loved, loved, loved that!!

Before I start really re-writing my book, I'll try to do something with my page. Samsaric activity. It's hard to be bothered. Michi, who's lost her bloggy thing for the moment, linked to my page and I, last night, felt a surge of emotion when I saw that. The only person who read the buddhisty books. It almost made the whole ridiculous thing from the bloggy stuff worth while. So that was down to Brian Wilson who should be my agent except he can't read anything which isn't about Ifrica and creekit. Still. Got something this bloggy thing. Not a complete waste of time. Allah Akbar. God doesn't exist, but is still great! Hotboy

Ra Furtherer and Furtherer!

6:50p.m. Saturday.
Adolf was saying he fancied going for a few vase breaths. Don't do it, Adolf! Look up kundalini disaster in Google before you even think about it. This stuff is dangerous. I think if you wanted to raise inner heat safely what you could do is imagine the red triangle symbol (pointing up. Put a moon disc on the top and a circle on top of that with a wee squiggle coming out of it.) in the navel chakra. When it gets hot (warmth should follow the mind), you could try and raise that up through your body.

I can't get near that, by the way.

Scotland are on the radio beating Italy 1-0 at the footie. I'm just out of the bath after doing the same run I did on Thursday. The view to your right when you're running along the Ferry Road is brilliant. The castle is on the horizon centre stage. To the left is Arthur's Seat, the remnants of an ancient volcano and there are landlocked cliffs before that called Salisbury Crags. In Alma Mater, a book a wrote about university, someone fell off that. That's not going to ruin it for anyone. Only me and Adolf and Gilliebabes have read that though Skinny McDuck was having a look the last time I saw him.

How about Bomber? Adolf says that's arguably the best book on the webpage. Psychic powers developing there on the Unheard of Islands since he couldn't download it but seems to have read it anyway. I'll need to start hustling it now because the kids might not like Light in the Dark and I need something else to be going on. Kids might not like chocolate biscuits. Anyway, here's the start of Bomber. Loved writing the opening sentence!


Speed kills, Sweik muttered to himself, his teeth rhythmically chomping on the chewing gum as he stood oddly stooped and stared with bulging eyes all about himself. It felt as if his brain had stopped, or as if he was listening for something. Then he t0ld himself he was tidying up the living room, took two paces and stopped again, just standing there, holding onto a dishcloth.

He told himself he was thinking, but he couldn't remember what he was thinking about. Amphetamine sulphate sometimes did that to you. It did much worse things as well, but after the first day or two, sometimes your brain felt frozen, stuck somehow between gears. So he muttered speed kills and snorted another line off the mirror which was on top of the teevee set by the kitchen door.

He was hoping for the trickles, streams, then rivers of thought to suddenly gush forth with crystal clarity, but he's been taking the speed now for three days and nights and should have known not to expect that, not anymore. But he'd remembered what he'd been thinking about.



Anyway, how about meditating in the Nullabor Plain? That's the middle of Australia. Since you are my agent in the Southern Hemisphere, Adolf, this one is up to you. You'll have to row from the Unheard of Island and get hold of the email addresses of the commissioning editors of the religious programmes, or documentary commissioning folk, or whatever. Get them to look at the blog. If the Nullabor Plain isn't handy, any old bit of desert in Australia will do. Tell them you want a sponsor. You'll get some cheap tv out of this. You have to get to me with your video camera once a week with the food and water. I'll levitate. You get to keep the footage. I shave off the beard, cut the hair and return to well deserved anonymity.

Kid in, Domestic Bliss out. So I can't hide in my room all evening. I'll go away for an hour or so and do some serious juju, then come back for more of last night. Ra bliss has been exceptional all day today. Done about four or five hours today so far. Good basis. Tonight is the night.

Anyone wants to read Bomber and has any bother downloading it from the site, just email me at madyamika2000@yahooDOTcoDOTuk.

9:40p.m.
The kid is watching Alexander the Great on a DVD in the kitchen. This is the living room. Noise blockers on. Main light on. This is RaBlissBlog. Set the controls for the heart of the sun.

I take refuge in the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha.

To do this safely you should have a guru. You should be able to emanate as a deity in a mandala. You should have pride and radiance. You should have the three tubes and four symbols clearly defined in your body. I can do none of this very well at all. If I go on fire or go nuts, it's nobody's fault but my own.

This is for the solitary realising foe destroyers on the planet Zoggie. I'll sit here and blog intermittently. Sometimes you can't type because you go into another zone (in the Lord's house there are many mansions) and the sheath thing .... forget it! This is RaBlissBlog! Here comes ra bliss!

Eyes closed. First breath and you're right out of the box! The big globule inside you (and maybe a wee bit outside) lifts. Most sensations round the front of your face and across the front of your shoulders ... that's definitely a wee bit out there. Heartbeat is running ten seconds faster than usual, at about seventy beats a minute. But I'm an old man and that might be from the run today. Not sure. Great feelings of contentment possible here. Wish I wasn't blogging in a way. You feel the huge smile speading across your face. The great bliss seems to move a wonderful massage up the front of your body. I'll go again. Blog less.

Exquisite bliss! Imagine the deity over your head. A drop falls through the top of your head and down through the four symbols. Ra bliss and light (eyes closed) go way out! Do that again. Vase breath invigorates the massaging whatever it is.

10.10p.m. Slowly go down and curve like a hook. Slowly straighten the spine. The feeling even after that is far, far better than you can get from any drugs or combination of drugs that I've ever had, or ever will have. The air seems to be going very evenly up both nostrils. This is a very good sign. That one was warm, but I'm hardly trying. More of a moon shot. Just incredibly beautifully blissful. Maybe you could just leave it like that. But I will go further. Here comes the breath! Here comes ra bliss! Let's do it!

Body filled with ra bliss, especially towards the top. Heat in the head. Move up and down the symbols projecting the mantric syllables into the space in front of you. Eyes closed. This is ra bliss! Heartbeat normal now at 60 beats a minute. Curiously, when you do the vase breath, the pulse seems to stop. I haven't realised that before. The pulsing heat stuff going up your body seems to be the same as your heartbeat. It checks in and up comes the heat. Is that weird or what? I don't know. I'm just going to sit for a wee bit as this feels so wonderful. It's nearly 10:35p.m.

Then a great globule of ra bliss just seems to be in your chest area and rising.

You could sit in the wonderment and do emptiness juju on anything that arises. Solidly into ra bliss! Need some more. Just take a wee vase breath. I cannot express how good this feels.

I could try, but I'm going out for some beer. Then I'll jump about the blogosphere and just have fun like a very happy, happy joe. It's 10:50p.m. Where will you go for it, if you cannot get it from yourself?

12:45a.m.
The domestic bliss has come in and asked me not to mention her on this blog. Or the kid. She thinks someone is reading this who isn't a robot. Sometimes she thinks robots are trying to take over the machine. I was having a nice chat about Alexander the Great with the kid. Vague knowledge spoken through the Hoegaarden Grand Gru. 8.5% and a delicious beer. Three bottles. 33 cl bottles. Still, arising emotions and a not clear mind. So the flatheids who live here are now dead. The mother is now in Hades discussing traffic restrictions with other sad flatheids and the kid has gone to a Pure Land, having witnessed the crap wusses like me have to put up with.

Get me out of here, Adolf! I can do this juju! I really can! It is a fung miracle. Why it arrived on my doorstep I don't know.

This is RaBlissBlog. It's 1 a.m. I'm going to be too hot for the Nullabor Plain. Where are the penguins? Why aren't there any penguins around here.

2:50 a.m.
I wonder if this juju is making me a bit sensitive to people. Like, over-reacting. Maybe I'm not seeing enough people. But I was really happy this evening and have been all this long, long weekend until the flatheids started speaking to me. Maybe the three wee bottles of beer didn't help, but I'm trying to cling onto some kind of normality. Drink beer, watch a bit of the footie. Pretend to be like a flatheid as much as possible. I could just tell them all to fung off!

The reason why I'm not supposed to drink beer is because basically I'm skint, but I've a week's holiday in October and I need to have gathered about £150 to take my tent down to the wonderful Samye Ling. Drink beer, can't go!

Adolf is getting into secrets. Who cares if he's a cross dresser? I knew he was into perversions way back when. I blame it all on the public school ethos. All that ancient Greek stuff. All that watching people doing stuff. It definitely wasn't like that among the proletariat.

One night after the pub when we were having a smoke with some other students, Adolf asked me if I wanted a blow back. Hmm? I was very naive when I was twenty one, being a good catholic boy from an idyllic rural community called Bellshill. I asked him what a blow back was, as you might well. So he said he was going to blow into this joint and I was to suck up the smoke. Well, everyone had had a few drinks and, what with being a student and all, I said okay. A bit to my surprise he put the lit end of this rather big joint in his mouth and started to blow. I waited a half second then put my mouth round the other end of the joint, and, I must admit, that doesn't look all that heterosexual to me. So I gave it the usual big suck. It might have been because the room was a bit dim, but his teeth really lit up. Glowing joint end in the mouth clearly making the teeth pink, or pinky red. Pinky red is more heterosexual. Well, what a fuss! Squealing and coughing and spluttering and all that kind of thing. Shurely shum mistake, as James Bond would say. Didn't seem to cure him though.

22 visitors on Saturday; 21 on Friday; and 35 on Thursday. That's much more than ever; about a third more anyway. Spanking gets you here. And wet teeshirts. But this is RaBlissBlog. What a great weekend for ra bliss!

Ra Further and Further

9:35p.m. Saturday. No, Friday!
Started meditating this evening about half six. The flat was empty. It was easy to see how much damage six beers can do. Concentration. Focus. Funged. Distraction reigns. Restlessness. But just sit there and do the breath. Ra bliss, sort of, doesn't care. Here comes ra bliss!

Still, you know what you're missing, kind of. The mind is still full of crap. This is not the clear mind. You're getting in the way by acting like a very stupid person and drinking the beers. Tut, tut. But you can still sit and gaze on the photie of the lama. The mind has calmed down a bit. Do the vase breath. Here comes a moon shot. That was a bit of a surprise! You'd been getting a fair bit of ra bliss up till then, but this was starting to be a bit exceptional.

And so it went on. Getting better and better and better. I'll do a breath just now and try to describe it.

This is where I should be Emile Zola. He could do descriptions. I'm no very good at that, but I'll give it a shot.

If Lee Ann is reading this as well a Jack the Spam Robot, a vase breath is when you take a big lungful and squeeze a symbol at your navel chakra from the top and bottom.

What we're talking about here is raising inner heat, the foundation practice for the 6 Dharmas of Naropa, which previously was practised surrounded in great secrecy in the monasteries and mountains of Tibet. The ultimate juju!

Don't try this at home, kids. Old hippies and anyone else who ever fancied getting out of their nut ... well, just send the cheques now. The eyeballs are going to pop right out of your head! All you risk is madness, chronic ill health and possible death. The usual health warning. To paint the picture ... It's Saturday night at ten past ten. The kid is watching Rainman on the telly. I'm sitting here waiting to eat some more toast and drink the coffee. The noise blockers are on. The main light is out. Here comes the breath.

There is a difference tonight again. The ears roar. It feels so fantastic I just can't do what I was trying to do. There's a kind of delicious tension across your neck at the front. It kind of makes you want to pull back into a rictus grin and for your eyes to go very wide open. I'd rather do it for a wee bit than blog about it. You have moved out the sensory limits of your skin. There seems to be a width of sensation at the front that wasn't there before. I've blogged about a kind of sheath before. You seem now to have become somewhat unhinged from your bearings, as if the bottom half of your body ( in a half lotus) is kind of shoogling about. All the sensations now are somewhat delectable. Here comes ra bliss!

The most fantastic symphony of sensation moves up. I don't know how you could ever come close to this with anything else. Fiery pulses, staccatto. Hard to think of anything you couldn't transcend with this stashed away. Eyes closed, it's light sword time. Fiery pulsing like that and the smoothness ... something exceptional might happen here. Om Mani Padme Hung. This is ra bliss!

Time out. Interrupted by one of the people who live here. They both mock my blogging. The kid tells her how long. Now they've left me alone for another bit. No, they haven't. The domestic bliss might be going to Detroit. The Sweet Adelines. I kid you not. No one will be singing barber shop in New Orleans a month from now. Back to ... you can see how I'd do better on the Unheard of Island ... ra bliss. Breath in.

Nobody can take it away. They can't make it illegal. These are among the most wonderful feelings I have ever felt. Every time something like this happens it seems to be brand new. The wonderment. Om Mani Padme Hung.

If what is happening to me happened suddenly, you could freak. I imagine. Like old age. You maybe need a long time to get used to it. Doctor! Doctor! I'm dying of ra bliss. In a way, it's fantastically hedonistic. You're way at the edge of the most fantastic sensations you've ever had, or could even have previously imagined. This is RaBlissBlog having the most wonderful Saturday night investigating ra bliss! The great buddha, Lama Yeshe Losal is my guru. May he live ten thousand years. Do twelve years in retreat and two sessions of 49 days in the dark and see where your mind is then. It is way beyond my comprehension. And I'm a hotboy.

It's eleven twenty. I might blog later. I go and get some beers. For there's nothing so lonesome, lonely and queer. What a terrible place is a pub with no beer!

12:50p.m.
Drank two bottles of Hoegaarden. Grand Cru. Alc 8.5% vol. Sold in 33cl bottles. Now, that is a beer! Because thou art saved, shall there be no more cakes and ale? I cannot work out whether my tantra is inner, outer, or sideways. It doesn't matter. If you want to know anything about Tibetan Buddhism, ask Lama Yeshe Losal. This is just about ra bliss. Having a wonderful time in Edinburgh. HotboyMadyamikaS.O.B.

Ra Beer Must Go!

1:30.a.m. Friday.
At the end of the day we may imagine a fantastic kindness. It says don't worry. You drink too much. You take too many drugs. You may not be .... but we have loads of forgiveness and loving kindness so that doesn't feel too bad. If you meditate, you will certainly feel happier more often... after a while... but at the end of the day if you're in this existence .... where the changes are, might not be the best place to be.

Awareness and existence might mean you're going to get a spanking, but where else would you rather be?

I'd like to be on the Unheard of and McDonald Islands. Adolf, who is my agent in the Southern Oceans of ra bliss, should get this sorted out as soon as he decided he's got pots of money, but fung all to do. He should get me onto the Unheard of Island. He could do that. Cheap tv. Just pitch it to the moron. One guy reclaiming the island. Sitting quietly doing nothing. Feeds to Aussie once a month. Stand on my head. Do ra inexplicables. Rumtek, then the islands falling off the end of the world.

I'll think a lot about Rumtek. But maybe the islands are better. Ra bliss and ra penguins. The natural sounds and the wonderful sky. I could do that! Come on, Adolf! What else are you doing? Hope this one helps me. Hotboy. No, I don't.

9:45 a.m.
Had to check this to see what nonsense might be here! Blew it last night with the beer. I mean, Peckhams have got round the law which says you can't buy carry-outs after ten at night. I got three beers from there at half eleven last night, after I'd had my three beer quota. Is the joe who's making the decisions before the three beers the same joe afterwards? I think not. After three beers there was a joe who knew Peckhams would sell him so more! It's got to stop! Still, I feel fine today.

On the positive side, yesterday evening I went for a run through the beautiful, wonderful city of Edinburgh. There's a big park near here (where the allotments are) and if you run on the road round that, you're on the Ferry Road. The castle looks great from there. If you keep going, you turn down passed one of the entrances to the Botanic Gardens and you keep going. You'll reach the bottom of Dundas Street. You can see right up to Princes Street (the main road) and the Walter Scott Monument is sticking up at the top of the hills. There are about four hills on the way to George Street. You run a hill, then cross a road; run a hill, then cross a road. By the time you reach George Street, you can have knackered yourself completely. Then it's back down into Stockbridge where we live, passed the house where Robert Louis Stevenson was born. I used the address in Bomber, a thriller on my site. The run is about four miles.

Many thanks to Lee Ann for all the comments that kept arriving during the beer drinking! I'm going to see my mother today. It's only forty miles away, but the people are different. Working class and proud of it! The west is ra best!

35 visitors came to the blog yesterday. There's a spike like that every week. What does it all mean? I means I shouldn't post when I'm pissed!