Tuesday, September 20, 2005

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


Blogger robmcj said...

You might like to know, I started the Blues Healer a bit early today. Normally I insist on waiting till 4pm before opening a bottle, you have to set some sort of standards. I knew an alcoholic woman who kept booze in her house but never drank alone, because then she would have felt like an alcoholic. Instead, she went to the pub every single night. Social drinking, you see, doesn't count. Neither does drinking while you blog.

I hope that helps.

7:32 AM  

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