Rem Beliefs Again!

Wednesday 5:00 p.m.
I believe that most of the joes and josephine who land on this bloggy do not believe in miracles. They would say that miracles were a lot of old, superstitious, irrational nonsense. And they might be right. Most of these people would believe in evolution and the current hypotheses concerning the Big Bang. Well, this is kind of acceptable, and rational, and all that kind of stuff.

But to say the Bang Bang occurred from a point without circumference (what?), without any explanation thereof whatsoever, and then maybe 15 billion years later you're standing there and saying you don't believe in miracles just makes me want to laugh. How fast do miracles have to be?

Of course in the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid we don't believe in miracles either.

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

What about Celtic winning the European Cup 40 years ago, Hotboy? Well, of course, I believe in that, Jack. In fact, I watched it on the telly. My auld maw was pally with team captain's auld maw.

To be religious is to know that the facts of this world are not the end of the matter. Wittgenstein. The Wall.

What the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid is really trying to tell you, Jack, is that because we are the human beings and have only certain faculties, senses, abilities at our disposal, we misapprehend. We do not see the connections. We see the stuff as separate, isolated and usually pretty unchanging. That's why fire is so good. It constantly transforms; it changes; it flows a wee bit like clouds.

The best of the flatheids, who believe in things, try to believe in heaven and try to be good in a sensible kind of way. So we'll let them off because life isn't easy for a lot of folk and flatheids are badly alienated since all they see is separateness, and they're stuck with a false sense of self, and they think they're going to die. Oh no!

But you cannot get anywhere, Jack, with dogmatists, the folk who generally believe in total crap, like creation started five thousand years ago, like the Bible (Koran) is literally true and the word of God, or that that some messiah is going to come and then everything will be alright.

These flatheids cause all the bother in the world that the capitalist basturns haven't caused and the lot of them are invited to commit suicide regularly in this bloggy.

That's a bit intolerant, Hotboy. You're right, Jack. I sound like one of these intolerant, flatheided basturns who believe in things!

I started to believe in the possibility of miraculous events once about twenty years ago when I'd been meditating for a wee while. I realised I was hardly breathing. When you meditate sometimes your breathing becoming less than at any other time, including deep sleep, etc. But that's not what I was trying to do. I was simply trying to concentrate on the Mumbo Jumbo I was repeating to myself, Sussquehanna (Still, a great sound!!!)Anyway, at the time I thought: That's a miracle! I couldn't believe how low the breathing rate had become. And I thought, if you could levitate, it won't be because you're trying to levitate. I will happen because you're thinking of something else, or trying to do something else. I wondered what.

Well, what, Hotboy? I don't know, Jack. I can't levitate!

I think the world record for breath holding is about nine minutes. Free divers are into this. I think the word might be apneasts. I held my breath on Saturday night for one minute 52 seconds, but usually I'm stuck at about a minute. Saint Teresa said her breathless states lasted about half an hour, she thought. But she hadn't a stop watch and she wasn't trying to hold her breath. Amd she could float as well although she didn't really want to. It wasn't what she was trying to do.

I realised my ignorance was truly profound when I had my first rising of the inner heat. Ten years ago I would have very much doubted the stories of these yogis wandering around the frozen wastes in the Himalayas in cotton nightshirts, and not having their goolies frozen off. The problem is that we don't know what we are and we think we do. Who are you? I don't know. Perfect answer!!
In The Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid we try to keep an open mind. It's arrogant and stupid in equal measure to claim much knowledge of anything. Or saying anything is true, except stuff like Celtic won the European Cup in 1967.

It's much more fun doing this when you're half pissed! That'll be ten percent off the top, please.

Ranother Long Weekend!

Wednesday 6:36 p.m.
Fee, Fi, Foo, Fum!
Look out, Cassius, here I come! The Inimitable Bob.

In the Times today: "Those who had suffered a single knockout had a 35 percent chance of developing the disease, while those who had been knocked out more than once more than doubled their risk." Of getting Parkinson's.

I wonder what the methodology was behind that! I lost four seconds once, but I beat the count. I only had eight fights. Are you reading this, sensei? How many fingers? Don't worry! The dementia will get you first.

In the full Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle, I've just completed the six three minute rounds routine. I'm really quite fit for that now, but I'm still sitting at twelve stone, which is a stone of fat I really don't need. I blame it all on all this sitting quietly doing nothing.

It's the gallons of beer you drink, Hotboy! Shut it, Jack. I wonder if getting punched on the head gives you schizophrenia. You're never alone with schizophrenia, Hotboy.

I'm only drinking beer about three nights a week at the moment, but I can't be bothered now about giving it up for this juju. It seems to get better and better no matter what I do. How odd is that? Every time I do a vase breath I go to California!

I'm been trying to get the kiddo to read my new book and told her about the somebody who left a comment who was getting ra bliss at 24 years old. That's nearly ten years before I started to meditate! I hope that one turns out to be a floater!

I felt little waves of anxiety today about the way this inner heat stuff is rapidly progressing. I have not been doing this right, or in the right order, or the way they would have done it in Tibet, or even down at the Samye Ling. I have not completed any prostrations, far less 100,000.Ditto with the 100,000 recitations of the 100 syllable mantra, and so on, and so on. Tsongkhapa says if you haven't got the three channels visualised properly, you're going to hell.

But in the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid we don't do anxiety. What a wonderful couple of days I'm going to have!! I'm not going to crash and burn. This vajrayana might be a bit of an extreme sport the way I'm doing it, but what the hell! You could get the black spot any day! At fifty six I'm in overtime here. Tempis fugit! All my plans are simple! To the hut! To the hut!

11:17 p.m.
It's not dark here just now till after ten. But fires are still beautiful. I sat meditating in the open tonight since there was no one around up at the allotments, and gazed on a fire I'd made from old newspapers. It's better in the dark or the gloaming, but flames still look great any time. Naked flames. They're bound to make it illegal sometime! It's night night from HotboyMadyamikaSurfingTheOceansOfBliss!

Ra Jobbie!

Tuesday 11:18 p.m.
They were leaving today. There is a space I'm supposed to be in control of in the jobbie where I work, but because the pupils have exams, I've been pretty closed down for a couple of weeks. But there weren't any exams today when the three of them arrived, and there was only me. They'd drifted in.

One kid has multiple hair cuts and has told folk he might be bi-sexual recently. One other kid is going to college (which means he's not on the dole figures) and the girl is dead smart, but having maybe a bad time. Her best friend when she was six or seven was killed by the currant who massacred the kiddos in Dunblane. She has been beautiful and she will be beautiful in future, but right now she's not getting on with her mum and dad.

She meets with her mum. She hasn't seen her for four months. She says her mum is crying a lot, but she can't cry. She tells me this, and do I want to know, a couple of days ago.

So they come in. I've been having a pretty wonderful time, what with the place being empty, and when they come in, I resist hassling them at all. These three kids know me.

It's more of the last day for the boys than it is for the girl, who is dead smart, but missing exams, etc. Sometimes she appears and I always say okay because she is one of us really. The last day is really only for the sixth years. These folk didn't get that far.

They come into my space, behind the counter. The girl hands me a felt tip pen and tells me to write on her back. She turns. She's got a green jumper top thing on. I say: what? Then I write across her shoulder blades: MEDITATE!

She's the only girl who tried to hug me. I backed off. As you should. But I wrote something on her back. I told the kid, who's parents had parted and how hurt he was,to stay off the smack. The bi-sexual kid will have a wonderful life in hairdressing, and will be fine in that.

I've seen them grow up. Usually, I was far too tired, or too hung over, or funged up, to be of much help, but in their passing ... I did try.

Will it make any difference, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I do not think so. But I tried my best.

I never think of young people as flatheids. People of my age who do not meditate, well ... well, well, what can you say about them?

Well, what can you say about them, Hotboy? We're playing the long game here, Jack. Just last night we found someone who knew about ra bliss! What a fortunate creature I was then, Jack! What a fortunate creature I was then!

Ra Summary!

Sunday 11:45 p.m.
Things just got better and better after I walked away from the jobbie on Wednesday. So I'm doing ra bliss all Saturday morning and then I'm shadowboxing through the first half of the Scottish Cup Final ... when who walks in the door but Benny and the Midnight Runners, the Lou Reed, the joe and josephine, my deep dear friends from the Wiziristan of Scotland, the Wild West. Party time and sorted, we're off to conjoin with our friend with the M.S. and the reception for the building of the decking out the back.

Most of the folk I've known for over thirty years, which is wonderful, and if I haven't known them for that long it's because they are progeny. Poisonous at one point was sitting bolt upright on the sofa while his kid holds up four fingers, and says: How many, Dad?

But I'd decided not to drink. They don't lose anything from bevvying. They don't get ra bliss. They don't have ra bliss. They are my deep dear friends, but I say: I am very sorry, my deep dear friends, but yous are flatheids and do not get any of ra bliss, and do not know about ra bliss, and cannot get out of your face on air, so I'll see yous later.

This is a very beautiful garden in Marchmont. Fortunately,it is cold and a bit wet sometimes and this means that the flatheids will not venture maybe too much down the garden, and I can sit on the one seat semi-obscured, and see how the investigations into ra bliss are going. But they, the flatheids, who are my deep dear friends, do venture forth sometimes, and I always try to be nice as you do, but sometimes I say: Can you or can you not get out of your face on air? Being flatheids, my deep, dear friends, cannot get out of their faces on air, and really do not know what I am talking about, but I have known lots of them for over thirty years, so I think they may not bother if I'm a bit peculiar.

The bugs are slow because of the dank and, as it's getting dark, I've gone off for my second respite away from the flatheids, and it is truly, truly wonderful to be there, and ra bliss is coming on so exceptionally.... at one time I joined my chummies and their offspring on the patch of grass, but how sad it was that they did not get ra bliss, and never will, because they do not meditate.

It didn't matter about 20 years ago when I started raving about meditation to these joes and josephines. Then the meditations were just interesting and interesting, but I could not access ra bliss the way I can do now. So, now it felt so sad that their time had passed by, and after it had gone, the babes weren't babes anymore, and the men were old and fat, and the only one who could do ra bliss... was moi!

And it seemed so true: At the end of the day, what it comes down to is this: Can you, or can you not, do ra bliss?!

Just meditate or blow your brains out now, Jack.

Someday some young alien from Outer Space, or a Masai Warrior, or one of my spam robot chummies, may come upon this bloggy, and they will maybe mutter, why did he stop?

It should mean something. The effort should have a reciprosity. If the flatheids are just too dumb to meditate .. well, bye, bye, I wish you well. Shame you didn't even start to become a proper human being. If there's twenty comments, I might start again. Otherwise, what's the point? Flatheids just don't get ra bliss!!!!!!

Ra Axeman Cometh!

Friday 12:20 a.m.
This post is for Ion. I'd put in a link, but something about this bloggy is totally funged up. You clicky the icon for links and you don't get what you used to. Ephemeral shit! That's why I should give up and write writing instead. Anyway...

I'm thirteen years old and I'm over at the swingpark with Boab and Walter Campbell. There was another joe there, but I cannot remember who he is. It might have been Jake Carlin. We're going to the woods. I didn't usually hang around with Boab or Walter, his big brother, but I was with them this day. They had an axe, or hatchet, or machete, a quite blunt one. There's two sets of swings. I'm swinging on one of the swings and footering as you do. I've got a loan of the axe and I'm sitting on the swing and the axe is hitting between my legs in a desultory fashion. Nothing much is happening. We've paused there. The Black Woods are across the road.

Then this old joe comes out of the hut. For some reason there's a hut there with an old joe sitting in it. God knows what for. He comes out and starts hustling the Campbells and telling them to go away. The Campbells start taking the piss. And running around the old joe, and Walter is the worst. The old joe is not too swift on his feet and Walter is really not too bright. So they're running circles round the old joe and I get off the swings and tell them to pack it in, so we can go to the woods.

Then the old joe, who is a bit doolally, runs into the Calder Road, which is between the swing park and the Black Woods, and waves down this cop car. What the fung that was doing there God knows! Before you can say, fung the Queen, the constabulary have us lined up. The old doolally joe wants them to do something and they ask who vandalised the swing? What? It was a very old swing, the seat decrepit, etc. I had chipped out a few bits and that was that. I knew the old guy wanted Walter hustled. Who did it? said the pig. (He was a pig! I saw him in the pub near there, when I was about 19, and what a nazi currant!)The Campbells are saying fung all, and I think we'll have to stay there forever, and say it was me. At least, the old guy looked surprised... since I was the joe who stopped the Campbells hustling him.

Sometime ages later the pigs come to the door and I answered it. Got my maw and the old man from the living room. They spoke to the pigs. What a laugh they were having as they came down the lobby afterwards! They were falling about. I was a wee bit distressed since I'd heard that I was going to have to go the juvenile court, and told them, bottom lip quivering, that I'd pay the fine.

My parents had a very good sense of humour.

So, I'm in first year at high school and have to take the day off to go to court at the Bellshill Police Station. I'm in the waiting room. Then there's only me and my maw and this other, much older joe, with one of his parents. The joe, obviously a habitual offender, tells me they'll let me off if I start to cry. I think, no way! I am not going to cry. My maw finds out who the magistrate is. A protestant. We're funged! It's a protestant. She'd have known the tim magistrates.

My maw is standing at my right. I can just about feel her bristling. I've got on my school uniform, which is the best clothes I have. Our Lady's High School. The protestant says why can't this boy join the Boy's Brigade if he wants to go to the woods with an axe? My auld maw says, we don't have the Boy's Brigade. We have the Boy's Guild. The magistrate says I have to pay costs of 15 shillings for the swing. Admonished. So I do not have a record for that. Malicious damage.

Fung off, you bourgeois basturns! Just fung off!

My uncle Donald was the same age abouts as my auld maw. After his old man died, he got done for stealing biscuits off a train, and my old man had to take him to the Police Station, the same one, I think, to get birched.

They're all in hell now, Jack. The basturns all go to hell! Allah Akbar!

Ra Second Time I got Arrested Again!

Wednesday 22:14 p.m.
This is the 601st post! I'd been trying to tell myself that I should stop because this blog has served its purpose. Brian Wilson told me about blogs and said I should set one up when I put my books onto the webpage, which is the worst writer's webpage I've ever seen. It's a Mike Tyson, no bells and whistles, webpage. (You do not understand that reference, well, who cares? This was never about you. It was always about moi!) Anyway, I put up the webpage when I stopped working full time in the jobbie because I thought it might help attract a literary agent. And, amazingly enough, it did. Took a while but it helped. So now I can't blog about literary agents anymore and anything about business because my literary agent has advised me not to do so. As it would not help.

I've had two pints of the wheat beer home brew. Hmmm? A serious brew.

The objections I have to writing a blog are mainly to do with the fact that I don't do it as a writing task. I sometimes come here when I've sobered up and edit the most appalling mistakes, but it's not writing for me, though I appreciate that other people try a bit harder than I do. And have cameras. And know how to stick photies on their blogs.

So, I thought, at first that I should do this to keep track of the literary agents I was going to insult, etc., because I have no office skills, and I'm certainly not going to develope any. This blog has been useless for that.

All I did was sent off random emails to folk on Everyone Who Is Anyone in Publishing, etc., the webpage.

The wonderful thing about getting a literary agent was that this was one less thing I had to think about. As soon as this man of great taste and perspicacity appeared, I could concentrate again on ra bliss. Because I might be able to give up the half of the jobbie I have left at some point, and take to the meditations in a more serious manner. And I don't like trying to convince.

"Those who justify themselves do not convince." Lao-Tzu. The Wall.

The literary agent won't sell any of the books, of course. They might not be any good. The new book might be quite an interesting go at a book, but I don't expect it'll get published now.

The great thing I've liked about blogging is other peoples' blogs. Because you're in the game, you think you can look! I must say I have been much amused by other people's blogs and the whole blogosphere.

My auld maw sent me £10 in a letter today. She has started giving me £10 as I leave her house for the last year or so. The last time I was there she fell asleep as we were listening to the Dharmapada, so she sent the ten pounds in the post. I don't need the £10. I had only 20 pence to do me for the next week, but I don't need the £10 because I've got plastic. The auld maw gives.

Now that I've got an agent and no money, what I have to do is set myself for the six week holiday I can have from the end of June. I have to go to the hut in the allotment and stay there.

Truly fortunate creatures can collect the Four Blisses. Extremely fortunate creatures can go breathless at will. But you don't get it by being a sweetie eater. Sometimes you may have to endure.

So for the next month I have to really try to get myself into a non-clinging position where I can go and sit quietly doing nothing in the hut. And I think that will happen. I don't want to sit and cry, at least, not too often. I just want to be able to sit.

I had hoped when the bloggy started to conjoin with a lot of other joes and josephines who were doing ra bliss, but that was a mistake. This is a minority interest. I have always tried to consider myself as average, the norm. Though millions of joes and josephines have gone down the path before me, we are truly as rare as the stars in daytime. Flatheids to the left of us, flatheids to the right of us. Flatheids everywhere. What did I do wrong to end up surrounded by zillions of flatheids?

What are you going to get from all this, Hotboy? I'm going to get it all, Jack. I just have to stay alive long enough. Don't expect anything as the joe said. Just keep on practising.

Ra 600th Post!

Tuesday 8:55 p.m.
I started looking for some books to maybe help me with plotting my crime story. I found this book by a guy called John Pridmore. I think it was called From Gangland to Promised Land, the story of the man behind the machete. I'm looking to see if I can see how London criminal gangs might operate when I come upon this account of a born again experience, if that's what they are. Anyway, very like some of the conversion experiences from The Varieties of Religious Experience.

The guy went breathless and thought he was dying. When you're supposed to be collecting the Four Blisses, I remember reading that you might think the first time it happens that you are dying. Oh no! Breathless, not breathing, breathless. So he thinks he'll certainly go the hell and falls on his knees asking for one last chance. Then he gets the mega love, and seems to go out of clock time for about four hours, which he thinks is about a minute or two from his end.

I couldn't help but notice how similar this seemed to a kundalini arousal. Because John Pridmore was western, of course, he had a slightly different interpretation. Anyway, the experience seems to have completely turned this guy's life around. And, interestingly enough, he's gone with the catholics.

I've been trying to plot a story interweaving crime with deity yoga, or something like that, so this book couldn't have been more appropriate. I goggled the joe and sent him an email saying thanks very much.

It's this kind of experience which the Tibetans have worked out how to engender in folk and, I mean, how clever is that?!

Ra Nazi Bike Workshop!

Monday 9:35 p.m.
I did something today. Usually, I avoid that, especially doing something to things which have broken. Normally, with things that are broken, I find it better to walk away, or else the shouting and screaming in frustration may commence. But needs must. Tonight I fixed the slow puncture on the bike by putting in a new inner tube. This is on a back wheel and it's got 21 gears attached to it somehow.

The last time I attempted something like fixing a bike was about forty years ago. It only took me forty minutes. The sweat was pouring out of me so after that I did my physical jerks.

So tomorrow the cycling to work will recommence after giving in to the filthy weather in December.

I've had a wonderful Monday holiday from work. The meditations were excellent and I went to the Botanic Gardens with the Domestic Bliss after she picked me up at the allotment. Then we went back to the allotment and she worked while I sat outside and pretended I was maybe reading for two hours. The meditations then were superb. Everything was pretty beautiful looking sometimes today, and I even got my bike fixed without screaming and shouting and kicking anything at all!

Rarthur's Seat!

Sunday 9:20 p.m.
Me and my chum Poisonous went cycling round Arthur's Seat in the early evening. I was hoping to see Sandy Buchandyke, but wondered if I'd recognise him from the nudie photie he sent me. There's a map with Arthur's Seat on it in his bloggy.

Arthur's Seat. Thirty years ago me and my pal Jerry used to run round Arthur's Seat as part of going to the boxing. I wore an old pair of Converse basket ball shoes Poisonous was finished with. Poor? Aye, poor! At least now I'm a good credit risk, sort of.

Ra Accident!

Friday 11:20 p.m.
So I'm walking out of Haymarket Station after an okay visit to Bellshill, as you do on a Friday evening about quarter to five. There's a bottleneck that you might watch, where the even worse off sit, before you have to cross the road. Sometimes you might check the traffic and jackrabbit across the road if the circumstances look favourable.

But you're going to soldier on passed the bus stop. Would you like to go for a pint in Ryrie's Bar? No! Why did that come up? Thank God it's not as wet as I was expecting. Why did I fall asleep on the train? I was meditating late on last night.

So I'm scanning about as I approach the bottleneck where at least one begging person might be esconsed and I see this old lady try to cross the road. It's on the left and back a bit. Everybody just wants to get home. She's wearing a blue coat and has a blue hat on her head. And the stick.

Then it's all in slo-mo. The old lady walks out and the road is greasy and the car tries to stop, and she gets hit by the car, which is screeching to a slow halt, and the old lady folds onto the top of the motor. Then it halts and she gets slid off the bonnet, like a piece of cake, and lands an interestingly long distance away. Then, everything stops. Count the seconds. One, two, three, four ... and everything starts again.

I think: I've never seen anything like this before. What am I supposed to do? So I realised that nothing had happened and everything had stopped, so I walked towards the accident, maybe the third person to do this.

The first joe is crouching by the woman by the time I got there, and then it's not looking so cold and the start of Catch 22, the movie. Then the woman comes out of the car. Completely freaked. Oh my god! Then a bit worse than that. She's the usual woman. She's got two kids and lives in Penicuik. She's just got off work.

Some joes might have put their arms round the woman, but I didn't do that. Made pacifying noises. Then turned to the old lady.

The guy, who is semi-kneeling ... can you do this, Jack? The semi-kneeling with no knees touching the ground, says to the woman: I am a doctor. He's got a professional middle class accent and a pin stripe suit. And a brief case. He's like the guy out of American Psycho. He's the boy from Terminator 2. Perfect. He's asking the woman about her arms and legs, etc.

The underclass dress me. What can I offer here? I'm standing there watching the world spin round and wondering what is the point of wanting to help if you can't do anything. You cannot hug the driver. Some woman appears and hugs the driver. The doctor is going to move the woman. Some other woman says should you do that? I ask if I can be of any assistance? The doctor says to the woman: I am a doctor. Like, he's the boy you're supposed to wait for if you're lucky. And he's there. And he's impeccably dressed. Also, been in Terminator 2 and American Psycho.

So I went to the front, thinking I might be of some use, and had a good look at the old woman as she was being encouraged to sit up. Walt Disney drew the old woman. So I slinked off. Completely bloody useless. Also, I am too old to decide to become a doctor like the responsible joe who took over the woman's case, and was a wonderful emanation forsooth, and so I shall just try to connct with appearances in a different way.

Today, I heard another CD of the dharmapada at my auld maw's. How odd. The buddha was talking a lot about taking off for the woods, and bugger everything else. I would like to be able to do that, but I can't.

St Antony heard something in church. I think he thought: shit is that what you have to do? And then he went and did it. Cue the forty years in a cave mood music!

You're not going to do that, are you, Hotboy? No, Jack! I couldn't do that! What if I had a toothache?

The Nullabor Plain is where I'd like to be! It's Australia! The best place in this world is Australia. I'd like to be a proper person and go to Australia and sit there and await doom. They don't, some of them, worry about their dentists in Australia!

Ra Personal Development!

Wednesday 11:52 p.m.
What does it look like from the flatheid perspective, Jack? I mean, all this about ra bliss, etc.

We know that you are mad, Hotboy. But the spam robots don't mind that. The spam robots love the stuff about ra bliss. Tell us once again about how you get into ra bliss?

Step One: Say Mumbo Jumbo to yourself. Basically, that's all the steps. Just say Mumbo Jumbo to yourself incessantly. This certainly worked for me, Jack.

So that's all you have to do, Hotboy?

You could stare at the wall and count your breaths if you like, Jack. But, yeah, something like that. Something simple.

And what is the end result of this, Hotboy? What happens if you say Mumbo Jumbo to yourself for twenty years?

Well, Jack, as the man said, we mustn't gloat. No, no, certainly not. No gloating here! I'm gloating like hell, Jack! I'm gloating like hell!

We were all standing looking into ra abyss! Toes curled over the edge. Ra personal annihilation, no less. This is where our atheism has landed us. Oh, no!

At least, now I really don't know. The more spectacular the results ... what can you really know, Jack? Well, you can know that your thoughts are in a frame and you can alter the frame.

I don't have to go to work again till next Tuesday. How fortunate!

Ra Monday Monday!

Such immediate access to ra bliss this morning on the first meditation. That's a good time to check progress after a hard weekend on the cushion. Well, I could hardly believe it! If it doesn't get any better, that would just be hunky dory. It was brilliant, Jack. Deep and wide with hardly any arms and legs in it at all. Set your controls for the heart of the sun!

I haven't as yet had any reply from Jenny Brown, a literary agent here in Edinburgh, about the sensei and reverend's crime book, so I sent an email sometime last week. Still no reply. So I sent off three emails to agents in London. One was to Lucy Luck. That's just such a good name!

I sent an email to Pat Lovett, who runs an actors' agency here in Edinburgh. It was for the kiddo. But no response there either.

These folk who don't reply to emails (including the Buddhist basturns of Snow Lion, Wisdom and Shambhala Books!) had better watch out. I might be able to curse folk soon. You never know. May your hair get split ends, ya rotter!

Ra Names for Snow!

Sunday 1:20 p.m.
I'd like to tell you about the sensations, Jack, but how many names have you got for snow? Hundreds, Hotboy! Get on with it!

What you have to remember is that being, most likely, too dumb to meditate, all these paltry descriptions will be of stuff you have never experienced. I mean, none of it.

Even moi walks around with his head stuck up his bum for much of the time. There is an interior monologue accompanying this, which might have cravings, threads of anxiety attached, or whatever. All these wee decisions you've been making and all your wee anxieties (which you probably don't realise you have) just disappear very soon after you hit the cushion. Very quickly you're in a completely different mental environment.

Let's go through the senses.
1) Vision: Melded, heightened colour, and objects seem to be less anchored, more shoogly. Sometimes they seem to move a little. Everything is a bit less solid and separated.
2) Hearing: Sometimes there is a rushing and roaring in the ears.
3) Taste: No change there that I've ever noticed.
4) Smell: No change there either!
4) Feeling: There are many different feelings, a smorgasborg of the buggers! Sometimes a great sense of uplift. Your eyes seem to widen and you face is sometimes pulled out in a rictus, clenched teeth grin. You seem to be in contact with something inside you (kind of) which is doing a lot of stretching and pulling. Put a vase breath or do some vase breathing in this condition and ... well, that's been changing a lot. There is the connection somehow between bliss and air. This seems to be developing between bliss and air and heat. But it seems dependant on what time of day it is, etc. I find this frustrating because it shows the mind is so connected with the body somehow, or environmental circumstances you can't really control.

Do you think you've been chosen to do this juju, Hotboy? No, Jack. I think I choose myself. But if the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas have been sitting about in a heaven somewhere looking around Edinburgh for some joe to road test this juju on, they might have noted there there were only two or three people capable of that and since the other two are already in mental hospital, it was down to me.

Let's face it, bloggy chummies! You can't get blogging like this anywhere else! For this is RaBlissBlog, here to tell you flatheids all about ra bliss you could be immersing yourself in except you're too dumb to meditate! Not me, Jack! It's back to the lobby for me. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

8:40 p.m.
Well, that was an interesting weekend. I've dug out Tsongkhapa's 6 Yogas of Naropa in case I start getting the hang of this juju. I want to find the bit when he tells you about all the diseases you can get if you don't do it right. I suppose that book and The Bliss of Inner Fire are maybe the most valuable books in the world. You should be able to work out most of the technique for becoming a buddha in one life time from these books.

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

By doing this juju I think you're supposed to be able to collect the four blisses, and thereafter your meditations will start with the first bliss. I wonder if that's what the Dalai Lama is talking about. If it is, that's a long, long way away, Jack.

Ra Summertime!

Saturday 17:36 p.m.
My new book is not available from my webpage, but since I don't expect it to get published anymore, I hustled my wee brother Popeye to read it. He said he thought it was "fab". Man of few words is Popeye! It's not on the webpage, but if anyone wants to have a look, I'll email it.

I stopped meditating last night at half eleven and started today at half eleven. For a while in the lobby last night, a great feeling of contentedness mixed in with the usual wonderments. Peace. Satiation. If this could be maintained,you might sit till the cows come home, and then some. The foe destroyers who sit for days at a time maybe have a huge wallop of this added in. But it's probably something completely different by the time you get to that stage.

I'm trying to get set for the summer holidays, when I should get six weeks off again. I was in the hut this afternoon for a couple of hours, just for a change of scene. There's a duplicate postcard of the Medicine Buddha sticking onto the doorpost, so that was nice to see!

I'd like to be able to stay in the hut for days and days at a stretch, Jack. No hut manager, no book published, no money. Just six straight weeks to investigate ra bliss! What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am!

11:45 p.m.
Stopped the juju at half eleven again. Why is it always half eleven?

Sandy Buchandyke sent me a naked photie of himself. Thanks for that, Sandy. Perhaps the Arabian gentlemen who come here looking for hotboys would be better off there. Or at Onan the Bavarian's. Stop sending me photies, Onan!

Probably doing eight or nine hours a day for the last three days. Glad I put in the time. Got a bit further, into different mind spots. And there's still tomorrow to go! And tonight is but a pup!

Ra Cool Joe!

Friday 10:40 a.m.
The meditations started at such a high point this morning that I'd like to spend the day in the lobby like I did yesterday, but I'm off to see the auld maw. What a wonderful journey I'll have on the train to Bellshill! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

17:36 p.m.
What a great trip I had today! I'd only been in the auld maw's house for half an hour when she said she wanted to go upstairs and listen to the CD of the Dharmapada. So she lay on the bed and I set on the floor in a half lotus. The CD must have taken over an hour.

I've never read the Dharmapada, but there's bits of it on the wall

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

Let no man think lightly of good, saying in his heart, "It will not come nigh me." By the falling of water drops a pot is filled; the wise man becomes full of good even if he gather it little by little. The Dharmapada. The Wall.

When I was still at uni and dressing up as a hippy, I remember finding out that "cool" was a translation from the sanskrit (pali?), meaning that you weren't full of desire and craving. You were cool. I was listening to the Buddha telling us to be cool today.

The Dom Bliss bought me clip on shades for my specs to help combat the global warming last week. I mean, how cool can you get?

Ra Anticipation!

Thursday 2:11 P.M.
I went to see Carthage Must Be Destroyed for the
second time last night. What a great production that is! I'd go again
if I hadn't maxed out my overdraft limit to go the second time.
Fabulous acting! Great everything!

The Domestic Bliss is leaving town tonight and won't be back till Sunday night. The flat is empty just now. The weather outside is pretty filthy and wet. Let it be
filthy and wet. I'm going to stay rooted to the spot for as long as I
can today. How fortunate I am to be doing this juju! This is RaBlissBlog! Off to the lobby to soar away with ra bliss! I'll keep you posted, Jack!

10:26 p.m.

I started meditating this morning at ten and just finished there at
10:15 p.m. Might have had two and a half hours off out of that twelve.
Meditated solely in the lobby. And after being so good, of course, one
has to be a little bad! I've just started on the home brew. Sometimes
it was hard today and sometimes it was easy. Mainly easy. But as it's
getting dark (after nine here just now), it just goes fabulous. What is
going on here?

Anyway, the flat is empty. Bring on the dancing girls!


If you exist, but not the way you think you exist ...if it's happening,
but not the way you think it's happening ... if whatever is happening
certainly isn't happening to you ... why are you so funged up?


Then I tried to tell myself that I should pretend the depiction on the
postcard was really the Medicine Buddha.

That way lies madness, Jack. Go for it, Hotboy.

You remember the chariot, Jack? How could I forget, Hotboy?
Well, it's a multiplicity of parts, no part of which actually contains
the chariot. The chariot is in your mind. Where else could it be?


Also, as I've said, after a while, the postcard can look
a bit wonky, the colours beaming vividly and kind of melding into each
other.

So we just embellish a little more and, voila, the Medicine Buddha!

Has he started to talk to you yet,Hotboy? No, Jack. He's really still just a fuzzy, warm postcard, but I'm working on it.


It's just like the stuff you do with the image on he Turin Shroud. If a
postcard is all I've got, it's going to have to do!

So the first thing the Medicine Buddha is going to say is: You should have
learned to speak Tibetan because I don't speak Scottish.

This part shall be known as the joke after one pint of home brew.

I shall go and refill my glass!


Normally, one is so negative about alcohol, but that is because one is
not drinking. One forgets what a good time one can have with a few drinkies after a whole day on the cushion. Aye, it's hard work all that sitting on your bum all day. You deserve to get completely puggled after such strenuousness.

I've just realised there's a spell checker thingy on this bloggy. They don't have flatheids wherever they stay. I'd like to go there!

The sensei and reverend has gotten there first. Well done, the sensei, for escaping from Tennessee without getting caught. Fat people will no longer be cannibalised in Chattanooga. Watch out Phoenix!


I have fond memories of the (no, it's not the time when I sing yous all
a wee song!) ... href="http://www.geocities.com/madyamika2000/index.html">The Real
McCoy. It's about ... this guy goes into this cave for six
years ... it's a Buddhist thing that ... anyway, I could write that bit
better now. That's a way I could write about deity yoga, etc. Somehow,
the one that starts with thejoe getting stabbed through the eyes might
not be much of a vehicle to carry the slight burden of what I know
about deity yoga.

The false sense of self has to go have fun as well. You can see this peeling off into a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
dichotomy ... only after one and a half pints of this truly rancid, but
somehowscintillatingly wonderful beverage.

This spell checker stuff is going to make a big difference. I stopped being able to spell when I started blogging. I wonder why. A certain loss of acuteness.

So then I was trying to remember what I knew about Wilhelm Reich. Something about armour. I can't remember. What's the line, Jack? He said ninety percent of people can't get their rocks off right, Hotboy.

The mechanism that makes masses of people incapable of freedom is the social suppression of genital sexuality in small children, adolescents and adults. W. Reich. The Wall.

This is a bad translation. My bloggy chummy Onan might make a better fist of this. "The guilt experienced from the playing with one's sexual organs stands at the top the list of forbidden deeds.

If you'd like your bare naked photie pinned to my wall in the bare naked photie section (thank you in advance for your participation!) then just contact me in the usual way. HotboyMadyamikaSurfingTheOceansOfBliss.

Ra New Beginning!

Since it looks as if I may not after all become filthy rich or famous, or even published, through the new book, I fear it is time to have another go!

I'd like to write a book with beautiful paragraphs, and proper chapters. I think mayhap not having proper chapters or even proper characters might have been the downfall of the last effort.

So I'm going to try to write a closely plotted crime book. You have to have a horrible incident at the beginning, I think, so that folk will know it is a crime book right off. You need a body; someone tied up and horribly mutilated, or something like that.

My horrible incident will come from something I saw on the telly, so it's true. This guy walks into this bar and stabs a joe who is sitting among his friends, his fellow baddies. He kills the guy by stabbing him many, many times, but stabs him through both eyes as well. The alleged perpretator was interviewed on the telly because he got off. The interviewer asked why he'd been arrested and the joe said there were only one or two other guys who could do such a thing, and since these guys were in jail already, the police thought it must be him.

So I've got an opening and a general scenario, but I have to work in a way to get an allotment into the story, and a buddhisty angle.

And make it dead funny. Hmmm? Not a crime book after all then, Hotboy. Well, Jack, since it'll probably never get published anyway, I'll just write what I like. Maybe it'll be my buddhisty, funny, crime book!

Ra Four Blisses!

Monday 12:56 p.m.
The winds are supposed to enter the central channel. Then they're supposed to stabilise, then dissolve. During the last part you get the four blisses, I think. Hmmm?

And, yea, though I kicked the ball onto the roof for a bit by hitting on the home brew barrel last night, the meditations this morning were out of this world. I didn't even bother with breakfast. I knew while I was still lying under the duvet in the yoga nidra home brew recovery position that the meditations would be mighty! And so they were! Such bliss! Awesome bliss!

10:45 p.m.
This has been very much a red letter day for ra bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! I felt very happy that something had changed again. Did you hit a different level, Hotboy? I think I might have, Jack. A coalescence of favourable circumstances, but basically down to a determination to get into ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss! Nothing else really mattered for a while in comparison to the way this juju was beginning to work. The colours blurred, the air thickened a little and nothing like that was going to bother you. Such bliss and heat and what a sense of comfort. And, yea, though later I crash and burn, today has been a bit of a triumph for ra bliss. There can be nothing more wonderful than this vajrayana! How can anything else even begin to compare?

For you flatheids too dumb to meditate ... it's just as good if you send me tenpercent off the top. Or a photograph of yourself totally naked. That would be good!

Ra Second Wonderful thing!

Monday 00:44 a.m.
So after meditating and meditating for days and days on end, I rushed out to ra pub and had 3 pints of 80 shilling. Then I came home and, trying to think, put on the telly. Yo, it's a history programme about The Monarchy. It's got this joe talking about the Scots in 1637 and how they signed the Covenant. The film showed Greyfriars Kirk, with the gravestones, etc., on a nice summer's day.

So oft I go! Laden with the cannybliss yogurts, I eventuate into the Greyfriars Kirk. Fabulous! I've got an aisle seat ticket, but I go and get a piano stool and sit in at the wall at the end of the aisles.

There is a red seat. It says RESERVED on it. So this joe sits there and I'm sitting beside him on the piano seat and who is the coolest of us all? The joe who is ignoring me (because I am not a problem) or me. Obviously me because of ra bliss!

It's The Sixteen. They have arrived from wonderful bourgeoisdom! These bourgeois women! Laura Ashley babes! Then it looked as if they'd start to sing and I closed my eyes.

To be continued ...

9:45 a.m.
Dearie me! Anyway, they were singing music from the Sistine Chapel. I had no programme or whatever and had no idea what they were going to sing. But how wonderful it was! Allegri's Misere, I think it's called. Palestrina. The most fantastic concert I've ever been too. No musical intruments except the voice. When I recognised the Kyrie Eleisons, I started in with the juju with the Turin Shroud photie above the head, ra bliss pouring down through the body. And how somehow ironic that this amazing catholic music was being sung in Greyfriars where they came to sign the Covenant. It was dead ecumenical, so it was!

Ra Castles in the Sky!

Friday 5:45 p.m.
Having only got one vote (and that from an alien!)(who couldn't vote in this planetary system!) in my quest for a seat in the Scottish Parliament, I think the time has come to re-adjust my expectations. Of course, had my book been out and selling zillions of copies, this election would have been a shoo in!

Let's face it, Jack. It's been months since the book got an agent and no chequies yet. Hmmm? What does it all mean? Downsizing! At least on the expectations front.

The political ambitions will have to go! Flatheids just don't get ra bliss and passing laws to force them to meditate is just a waste of time anyway. The too dumb to meditate are just too dumb to meditate!

The Hut Empire will have to be put on the back burner. Now in cyberspace there will not be a huge portal where blissheid could meet and meditate with blissheid the world over. This means the hut manager vacancy will have to remain just that, a vacancy, and neither will there be the need for auxiliary workers to sweatshop the jimmy wigs, hustle the souvenir potatoes, etc.

But the only thing I'll miss is the Australian Ladies Volleyball team practising outside the hut. Oh, the squealing and yelling and bouncing about!

So having failed once again to become a famous author (and politician)(and Mexican general), what have I got left? Well, two grand in debt, a nazi bike, a ramshackle hut, and a rowing boat!

What about ra bliss, Hotboy? Too right, Jack! For at the end of the day, what it comes down to is this: Can you or can you not, do ra bliss?

So it's into the rowing boat and off we go! Here comes the Unheard of and McDonald Islands hoving into view. I believe the old nazi who lived there has decamped to Polynesia. What solitude! What bliss! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Ra second time I got arrested!

00:25p.m.
My auld maw said the insurance men were vital to these miners in Mossend. This was because the miners, some of them, could not read very well, or at all. And some of them were from abroad.

So you have not read my new book? Conduits of cash will spill passed me from this book, which will make me world famous by the way, but they will not stick. The money goes out.

Hurrah! for the josephines in my mandala. Hurrah! for the auld maw, of whom I am half, at least. What a privilege it is to be your son! Hurrah! for the Domestic Bliss! For she has provided everything for the ill-deserved but trying very hard not to be skint yet hopeless joe that I am. Hurrah! for the kiddo, who is entirely like her maw except for the necessary. And all the women in my mandala are supplicated, and prostrated to, and given offerings to.

My auld maw is completely and effortlessly compassionate. Let's face it, joes. There is something womanly about that. There just is.

And Hail! to my deep dear friends! Do not think I do not love you! Yea, though I be entirely crabbit, I do love you and have always loved you, and that's why I am so fortunate to have found you again, my lid, my elevation, my plane of existence chummies, my bonded heart to heart crabbit, greetin faced basturns!

I think I'd also like to sing yous all a little song!

Ra Poles!

10:50 p.m.
I'd like to say hullo to the alien creatures from Outer Space who come to visit mayhap this bloggy. We know you're out there.
Thank you very much for everyone who is going to vote for me in tomorrow's election. I tried very hard never to learn how to speak in public because of my gigantic ego (Let's invade Poland!)(I can't spell Czecheslovakia anymore)(?), so don't expect much of that when I get into our wee parliament. I want to meditate in there. I've got my headphones (or noise blockers) and will sit in a full lotus in ra bliss throughout the whole time debates are going on. Occasionally, I will shout "Fung off Flatheids!", or "Where are the pole dancers?". I'd like to thank you in advance for your support.

Ra Parcel of Rogue!

Wednesday 1:00 p.m.
As the single member and sole representative of the Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid, I'd like to put myself forward as a candidate for the Holyrood election tomorrow. My manifesto is as follows:
1) Become independent and sell the country immediately to the Americans for £1 million for each Scot.
2) With these monies invested, every adult gets £300 a week dole money whether they are in work or not. To collect this all recipients have to meditate for two hours in the dole office. (which might look a bit like a secular temple!)
3) All drug laws scrapped. They're stupid and don't work. If people want to loll about smacked off their mammories, what's it got to do with the government anyway?
4) Make school voluntary after a kid reaches fourteen. Let my people go!

Points three and four are just to pad the manifesto out. Making all the flatheids rich in this single lifetime is bound to be a vote winner.

I don't have to go to work again till next Tuesday!!! Yippee!! What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Ra May Day!

Tuesday 5:00 p.m.
Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, we'll keep the red flag flying here! (James O'Connell) Up the republic and free beer for the workers!

It three hundred years today that the parcel of rogues sold us down the river. Well, it's 300 years since the Union of the Parliaments and nobody is celebrating! It probably won't last another ten years.

There's an election in Scotland in two days and it looks as if the Scottish Nationalists could end up with the biggest party in our own wee parliament. This is down to the war in Iraq and letting rich, capitalist basturns buy seats in the House of Lords. That doesn't look like socialism to me! Anyway, I'm going to give the Nationalists at least one of my votes on Thursday because I don't want to live through another Thatcherite era. It looks as if the Tory basturns could win in England in a couple of years time. At least three of the top posts in the shadow cabinet are in the hands of joes who are to the right of Thatcher. So when Cameron gets in, it'll be time for us Jocks to say bye, bye. Vote Labour (Gordon Brown will make a brilliant P.M.!) in the general election and the Nationalists for the local one. And free beer for the workers. May you live in interesting times, as the boy said!