Ra Inner Heat Juju
Saturday 11:10 a.m.
Hullo, the Masai Warriors, Martians and Jack the Spam Robot! What a day it's going to be!
I keep remembering coming out of the hut on Wednesday afternoon to dig and finding the snow falling all about me. I felt rather happy. Although it was the afternoon and maybe a time when "the fire element" wasn't usually so fiery, I did not know it was cold. No wonder I was smiling! And the meditations have progressed even since then. I am becoming a hotboy!
Setting the scene. The Domestic Bliss is going west today and won't be back till tomorrow evening. There's no one here just now except you and me, Jack. The perverts don't read this far. I only slept for less than four hours last night, so I might have a siesta this afternoon. I ingested no pollutions at all yesterday (bar coffee) and this in my adult life is almost as rare as the stars on a cloudy night. By the way, the weather was miserable yesterday, but it's only overcast and gloomy today.
As the mind calms and clears, the visualisations become stronger and more distinct. I'm very happy to be here and doing this juju. I want to try hard, but not too hard, so I've got plenty of steam left for this evening. Wonderful things will happen to me today. This is RaBlissBlog! This is the best of times!
6:50 p.m.
Tonight is the last night when it will be legal to have a cigarette in a pub in Scotland. No smoking in enclosed public places from here on in. Twenty years ago you wouldn't have believed it. I don't get paid till Wednesday and I've got enough cash on me to buy two pints. Hmmm? If it wasn't for the fact that I've got enough plastic on me to buy out the off-license after the two pints, going out to see the pubs for sentimental reasons might be a good idea.
It's just getting dark and a very good time for the juju, so I'll juju till nine and then see!
11:30 p.m.
I've just had a wee look at the Samye Ling site. There's a photie of someone on it called Gyamtso Tashi. He's looking a little old and grey. He's a fixture in that place. Almost every time I've been down there I've seen him. Once I was there and I didn't see him and I thought he might have died, but I don't speak to people much when I go there and so I didn't ask. Sometimes I speak to the gatekeeper to Nirvana, but that's only when you're going in and going out. Anyway, he was there the next time and that pleased me. Although I've never engaged him in conversation, I am an admirer. He doesn't speak English, I don't think. Sometimes he and Teresa sit together at the chanting times and she sometimes speaks to him. She must have learned Tibetan. I don't know how long he's been in Scotland. Probably over thirty years. I'd like to be like him. I'd like to go to live in a monastery in India or Nepal and not learn the language. Then I wouldn't have to talk useless crap to people about thoughts. His name is Gyamtso Tashi. I've always thought of him as The Big Indian, from One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest. The only people I've ever felt any admiration for live in the Samye Ling. He's called Gymamtso Tashi. I wonder when was the last time he had a beer. Or a cup of coffee from the cafe there. Or any money. I wonder what he wants. Or expects. I'm going down there for the first time in a long time next weekend. I hope he nods and smiles at me. I'll have forgotten his name by then.
Sunday 5:10 p.m.
I'm not starting a new post because when you click to the view bloggy bit, it'll only show from the post three posts ago. I suppose if it's for nothing, you can't complain.
Instead of writing my new book, I've been going through back blogs to take out stuff about ra bliss which might be a help. You'd never do that with a diary. Anyway, there's an awful lot of stuff in this blog about bliss. But there's bliss and there's bliss, just as there's heat and there's heat. Subtle differentiations are difficult when there aren't enough words for ra bliss, or heat.
I've been telling myself I should progress a bit before I continue with the book, but I was talking about getting heat last summer! I'm going to have to just write this book. I want to concentrate on the juju, but that's a lifetimes work. And I do seem to be having a fantastic time with my life if you just read the blog. But I am having a fantastic time. Maybe bothering about people not having a fantastic time is just stupid and morbid. Almost nobody is having as good a time as me, but that's not my fault. Here's a wee story I heard in Bellshill on Friday.
This woman, who's a friend of one of my brothers, has a son in his thirties. Father of two kids. She normally doesn't let him in the house. He came to her door on St Patrick's Day and said he just wanted to wish her ... anyway, she let him in. He stabbed her nine times. Straight away. I don't know what kind of knife he used, but she's not seriously dead. Chibbed, as they say in the wild west, round the face, neck, shoulders. When I inquired as to why he should do this to his mother, I was told, with a resigned look, that he's jagging. That's fixing for those who do not know the patois. There's an offer on the Samye Ling site for a place in a closed retreat for one or two years coming up in June. Wouldn't it be nice!!!
I've had a great time on my own here. I think I'll go and sit in my hut till it gets dark.
Hullo, the Masai Warriors, Martians and Jack the Spam Robot! What a day it's going to be!
I keep remembering coming out of the hut on Wednesday afternoon to dig and finding the snow falling all about me. I felt rather happy. Although it was the afternoon and maybe a time when "the fire element" wasn't usually so fiery, I did not know it was cold. No wonder I was smiling! And the meditations have progressed even since then. I am becoming a hotboy!
Setting the scene. The Domestic Bliss is going west today and won't be back till tomorrow evening. There's no one here just now except you and me, Jack. The perverts don't read this far. I only slept for less than four hours last night, so I might have a siesta this afternoon. I ingested no pollutions at all yesterday (bar coffee) and this in my adult life is almost as rare as the stars on a cloudy night. By the way, the weather was miserable yesterday, but it's only overcast and gloomy today.
As the mind calms and clears, the visualisations become stronger and more distinct. I'm very happy to be here and doing this juju. I want to try hard, but not too hard, so I've got plenty of steam left for this evening. Wonderful things will happen to me today. This is RaBlissBlog! This is the best of times!
6:50 p.m.
Tonight is the last night when it will be legal to have a cigarette in a pub in Scotland. No smoking in enclosed public places from here on in. Twenty years ago you wouldn't have believed it. I don't get paid till Wednesday and I've got enough cash on me to buy two pints. Hmmm? If it wasn't for the fact that I've got enough plastic on me to buy out the off-license after the two pints, going out to see the pubs for sentimental reasons might be a good idea.
It's just getting dark and a very good time for the juju, so I'll juju till nine and then see!
11:30 p.m.
I've just had a wee look at the Samye Ling site. There's a photie of someone on it called Gyamtso Tashi. He's looking a little old and grey. He's a fixture in that place. Almost every time I've been down there I've seen him. Once I was there and I didn't see him and I thought he might have died, but I don't speak to people much when I go there and so I didn't ask. Sometimes I speak to the gatekeeper to Nirvana, but that's only when you're going in and going out. Anyway, he was there the next time and that pleased me. Although I've never engaged him in conversation, I am an admirer. He doesn't speak English, I don't think. Sometimes he and Teresa sit together at the chanting times and she sometimes speaks to him. She must have learned Tibetan. I don't know how long he's been in Scotland. Probably over thirty years. I'd like to be like him. I'd like to go to live in a monastery in India or Nepal and not learn the language. Then I wouldn't have to talk useless crap to people about thoughts. His name is Gyamtso Tashi. I've always thought of him as The Big Indian, from One Flew Over the Cuckoo Nest. The only people I've ever felt any admiration for live in the Samye Ling. He's called Gymamtso Tashi. I wonder when was the last time he had a beer. Or a cup of coffee from the cafe there. Or any money. I wonder what he wants. Or expects. I'm going down there for the first time in a long time next weekend. I hope he nods and smiles at me. I'll have forgotten his name by then.
Sunday 5:10 p.m.
I'm not starting a new post because when you click to the view bloggy bit, it'll only show from the post three posts ago. I suppose if it's for nothing, you can't complain.
Instead of writing my new book, I've been going through back blogs to take out stuff about ra bliss which might be a help. You'd never do that with a diary. Anyway, there's an awful lot of stuff in this blog about bliss. But there's bliss and there's bliss, just as there's heat and there's heat. Subtle differentiations are difficult when there aren't enough words for ra bliss, or heat.
I've been telling myself I should progress a bit before I continue with the book, but I was talking about getting heat last summer! I'm going to have to just write this book. I want to concentrate on the juju, but that's a lifetimes work. And I do seem to be having a fantastic time with my life if you just read the blog. But I am having a fantastic time. Maybe bothering about people not having a fantastic time is just stupid and morbid. Almost nobody is having as good a time as me, but that's not my fault. Here's a wee story I heard in Bellshill on Friday.
This woman, who's a friend of one of my brothers, has a son in his thirties. Father of two kids. She normally doesn't let him in the house. He came to her door on St Patrick's Day and said he just wanted to wish her ... anyway, she let him in. He stabbed her nine times. Straight away. I don't know what kind of knife he used, but she's not seriously dead. Chibbed, as they say in the wild west, round the face, neck, shoulders. When I inquired as to why he should do this to his mother, I was told, with a resigned look, that he's jagging. That's fixing for those who do not know the patois. There's an offer on the Samye Ling site for a place in a closed retreat for one or two years coming up in June. Wouldn't it be nice!!!
I've had a great time on my own here. I think I'll go and sit in my hut till it gets dark.
posted by Hotboy at 11:06 AM
5 Comments:
I say Hotboy!
There are no smoking restrictions here in Kalimbuka, and I must say that I enjoy an occasional State Express myself. Sir Harry's certainly wouldn't be the same without a fog of smoke around the place.
My goodness, what will they think of next? Will there be a law about wearing hats, or something similar?
Of course, there used to be laws here preventing women from wearing trousers and men having hair over their ears. Got rid of those about twelve years ago, at the end of H.E.'s presidency. Its all detailed at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hastings_Banda.
MM III
Mingin! You should be able to kill yourself any way you like! Or be anywhere you like without having to support the local cricket team! Have a big smelly fat cigar on me!
Carsely! That looks like a wonderful bar. If there was a coffee house next door where you could go for a smoke between drinks, I'd go there if they don't mind dole blodgers! When they came for the potheads, nobody said anything. Now, it's the ciggies. Next it's ra beer! What will be left for the flatheids? Living past fifty is a fung disgrace! What are they wanting to live to be old for ...self clinging, craving ... grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! Dearie me. Drink a slab for me and smoke two ciggies at a time.
Then don't complain when the retributions set in! The world is run by stupid, old basturns! We're not supposed to grow old. Look at the dingos! They don't hobble about on crutches, taking twenty different kinds of pills of day, going Oh no, Oh no, Oh no! Blow your brains out as fast as possible then start again. Of course, if you meditated, it would be a completely different story. Then you would be able to investigate ra bliss. Otherwise ... guzzle and die! Die young! Help reduce life expectancy to forty five. It's a sacred duty! Hope this helps. Hotboy
You covered a lot in this post.
A nice siesta...sounds good.
So there is no smoking in the pubs there? That is becoming more and more popular here in the states.
Wow, I cannot believe that guy stabbed his mother! What is jagging or fixing? (Does that mean he is on drugs?)
That is a horrible thing.
HB - I can think of nothing to say, so instead here's a comment I left at someone else's blog. Of course, it may not make much sense here. What's new?
Once, I joined a hippy cooperative factory where the males and females all shared the gents' toilets. After the initial embarrassment, eventually I found it quite therapeutic to sit in a stall next to a woman crapping her guts out.
I've thought of something to say - you can choose how many posts you want showing at once. It's in Settings, Formatting. Does that help?
Adolf! Heil! Clicking from your bloggy this morning still showed RaBlissBlog from three posts back, so the settings thing will be no help at all. As far as your anal retention problems are concerned, anything that helps you get over the Calvinist (and in your case Germanic!) toilet training regime has got to be applauded. Did you applaud? Funnily enough, I think Carsely has the same problem. Weird! Hotboy
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