Ra End Might Be Nigh!

Friday 10:00 a.m.
THIS IS FOR WHOMSOEVER PUT THE LINK FROM MY PLACE OF WORK TO THIS BLOG.

We are made up of a great many diverse complexes, and we are in combination. We are Legion. The HotboyMadyamikaS.O.B. who is the author of this blog is a fictional character. You must know me from my place of work. If I'd wanted to write as that person who goes to work, I would have done so. My real name is all over my webpage. I am an author of fictional works and have nothing to hide. This blog was trying to do something a little different.

I have been unable to meditate properly for the last two hours due to the perturbations caused by your actions. At the start of this six week period, this is particularly unforgiveable. I assume what you did by placing that link to here, you did with malicious intent.

Some people are no more than they appear to be. If you knew me, you would not fung with me. I will return you malice to you a hundred, a thousand, a million fold. The only vow I've taken is the vow not to kill. Well, I don't want you to die. Certainly not! I want you to suffer. Instead of having difficulty meditating, I shall instead concentrate my meditations on you. I will curse you. Your body doesn't have a mind; your mind has a body. Your suffering will start with a thought. You're having that thought now. Thoughts are like that. You can't stop them.

It's impossible to continue this blog if it's going to have schoolkids swarming all over it. I've set the settings to make the blog unavailable to anyone who hasn't permission, but this probably won't work.

Albert? Are you there? Could you
1) Try to get the link off Wiki, or tell me how to.
2) Advise me how I can save this blog to a webpage or something, so I don't have to delete it all.Or if it's faster, use the passwords to do that and sent me an email telling me so.If you do this, I will dedicate four hours of meditations to a subject of your choice.

If you regularly come to this bloggy (hello Jack the Spam Robot!), but are not a pederast ... if there are no entries after this, contact me by email and I'll tell you about the new blog, which will have a limited readership, if such a thing is possible.

As for the evil basturn who has done this to me ... as long as the link stays on that site, I'll give you two hours a day. It'll start with a slightly queasy feeling ...

Ah, this evil is a wonderful thing. Oh, at last to embrace it!

6:10 p.m.
I sent an email asking Wiki to get the link off then discovered the at the wonderful Ion had edited out the link. What a nice thing to do!

I've spent the last two hours before coming to the computer performing a rite from the Secret Magic of Abramelin the Mage. Aleister Crowley once spent a while trying to get this juju to work, but he was a flatheid! And I'm not a one trick pony!

What does that mean, Hotboy? It means you shouldn't fung around with tantric adepts, Jack! What, Hotboy? It means it's going to be sore, Jack. Awful sore.

Well, now that the malice has come among us here at RaBlissBlog, I guess it's time to get the hut onto the rowing boat and head off for uninhabited islands far away. I'll leave comments on folks blogs when I've set up a new blog and anyone I miss out can email me from my webpage. Okay, Jack, let's load up and go! Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream! Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream! And it's bye bye from RaBlissBlog!!

Ra Last Time I Got Arrested!

Thursday 9:30 p.m.
I got arrested tomorrow. It was while I was doing my boxing training routine. Sometimes your thoughts drift into the murderous maelstrom of menace. Kind of puts you in character. The routine involves dancing about to Waiting for the Man and throwing about 1500 punches in 18 minutes. You'll moida da bum, Hotboy. He doesn't stand a chance, Jack. And I was feeling very fit tonight. Really fit. I've been doing stuff like this several times a week now for thirty years.

Wouldn't it be great to be in solitary confinement! Wouldn't that just be brilliant! You wouldn't have to worry about going out then, or leaving your seat. This is a common volitional problem for prospective hotboys. Bang me up! Three meals a day and they could throw away the key!

You could put fifty pence pieces between your fingers, put a bit of scotch tape round your knuckles, the put on those big black gloves.

So I backtracked from the statscounter thing and someone has put a link to here from my work's site on Wikipedia. What do you think, Jack? Take a limb, Hotboy. Take a limb.

This morning I started my meditations in the hut at eight and came down the road just as the one o clock gun went off. I had a break to eat a piece and read a wee bit of The Book Of The Three Inspirations, and weeded once for quarter of an hour. This morning was very good indeed! Bodes well.

I spoke to the agent, that man of great taste and perspicacity, Mr Adrian Weston today on the phone. We talked about The Real McCoy. It's about integrating parts of your life. The boy in The Real McCoy spends six years in a cave and starts floating about like St Joseph of Cupertino. I can count sitting in the hut as research, which it is anyway. Since yesterday I've become dead keen to re-write this book. Just the perfect time for it. I'll re-write it seventeen times and make sure it's good.

We're going to be rich! We're going to be rich, Jack!

Well, you'd better not go to jail then, Hotboy. What about the Wikipedia thing? Bugger all to do with me, Jack. I'm not liable to hear from the hut the fevered cries of teenage girls shouting: We want Mr Hotboy! am I, Jack? Only in your dreams, Hotboy. Only in your dreams.

I had a wee lie down on the couch this afternoon and went into ra bliss. I really like doing this these days. So you go into ra bliss and fall asleep. Somehow it seems as if you haven't fallen asleep because almost seemlessly you come awake and are still in ra bliss. These are very nice sensations indeed. You shouldn't really expect anything of course, but I could easily have the best time of my life over the next six weeks. It's just a matter of calming down really.

Ra Wonderful, Wonderful Day!

Wednesday 8:25 p.m.
A great bountifulness seemed to be heaped on oneself today! My holidays started. Hallelujah! I got paid so I can spend your actual money for a couple of days! Hallelujah! The Domestic Bliss returned from Spango and Froggyland! Hallelujah! The meditation I was having when she rang the doorbell was so bloody wonderful that I knew I was going to have a truly wonderful six weeks in the hut or nut. Oh, ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss! Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Once, when I used to drink alcohol, me and Brian Wilson met a really nice joe called Ian Sclater and because of this he published a bit out of The Buddha and the Big Bad Wolf in his magazine called Instant. .

Sometimes, he has to send out emails to everyone he's ever used before to get copy, such is the world of magazine deadlines. The last time I got one of these was when I'd just finished my new book. Right then are there I emailed the book to him and said I'd go fifty fifty until he made a million pounds if he'd hustle it for me. No reply. I don't think some people take me seriously, Jack, and they're all going to be sorry when these Hotboy books sell boatloads.

This time I told him he should stick some of it in his magazine and he was going to be sorry for not reading it the first time. So he said he has read it. Hmmm? And no reply? He's really going to be sorry! Anyway, he says he might publish a 1,000 word chunk if I send him a couple to choose from.

That means I'll have to read it. I've not wanted to do that since I finished it. I used to get really annoyed reading and writing that book, Jack. That was a first! I'll skim it!

And I got a great idea! I'm going to re-write The Real McCoy. The great idea was knowing what to do with it. It's the second time I've had this great idea. It just came thundering back in whilst I was investigating ra bliss in the lobby, before the doorbell went and the Domestic Bliss came home.

And ROME is coming on the teevee in five minutes. I can't remember enjoying anything on the television so much. Maybe I CLAUDIUS. I'm maybe just a sucker for the sand and sandals epic. Tonight Cleopatra comes to Rome to bonk Mark Antony.

Ra Next Day!

Tuesday 10:20 p.m.
By about noon tomorrow I shall be leaving the jobbie and will be looking ahead to really six and and a half weeks of not having to go to work. All that stuff that you do on a Sunday as you mentally prepare to go once more back into the horror of trying to communicate with the evil bourgeois, the flatheids ... well, it won't be there for a while, Jack. You really get three weeks in the middle when you are free.

So many times I've been in peoples' houses when they were setting off for the Sunday nightshift. There's nothing worse. You have the comfort and you know the cost because of the slightly wired and poised joe (and it was always a joe) getting ready to go out there and pay for it. The jobbie in the factory where it is so loud that to stay there for years makes you deaf, etc. Well, we engaged with the evil bourgeois sufficiently so that we didn't have to pay that price, Jack. And we have six weeks of holiday in front of moi.

Jesus Christ spent forty days fasting in the desert. There's fasting and there's fasting. He might have been eating wasps and other nourishing stuff! Locusts are a perfectly balanced diet. Locusts and honey. Is that what it takes?

So, Hotboy, six weeks is forty two days. The six weeks really starts next Monday. Maybe if you just meditated for about nine hours a day and didn't drink, Hotboy. Wouldn't that be an improvement? Wouldn't that be enough?

The kiddo is my fault. None of the rest of the flatheids are in the same category. They're not my fault. She is. I could make her come to give me things in the hut. Otherwise, I'd just have the eating of the allotment. Why do men do things? To impress women.

You have to work up a real scunner to go and want to sit in the hut for ages. Why do you want to do that again, Hotboy? Well, Jack, I wish to develope equanimity. Don't the normal people have that, Hotboy? Jack, the normal people ... don't start me on flatheids again, Jack.

The last week, while the kiddo and the Dom Bliss have been visiting the Mediterranean rat towns, has been crap! The disease was crap. Samsaric shit! The fact that you can be okay with it and tell yourself that it's okay, is also crap. Being good humoured is crap! Tomorrow, I'll have to say to anyone that it's alright. Well, it isn't alright, Jack! It's samsara, Jack. Get me to the hut! Chain me down! Don't let me leave. Next year I could have the black spot and then I don't want to think about all the chances I didn't take!

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. It will be nice to see them. Then bye bye. If I wasn't an asshole, I'd have the money to go to the Samye Ling for six weeks. Hmmm? Credit cards? They accept credit cards!

Ra new friend!

Monday 11:24 p.m.
I got an email from someone who wanted to be my friend. What a wonderful sentiment! I got a MySpace thingy so I could stalk this gorgeous writer (who was female. At least, that's normal!)and then somebody sends me an email saying they want to be my friend. Unfortunately, my normal username and password don't seem to work on this MySpace thing. My passwords are not a secret. I would be obliged if any of my putative Hut Management Team would deal with this and get back to me. I know you enjoy this kind of identity perversion. There is only one thing. You are allowed to pretend to be moi!

I wasn't anything like as hung over as I should have been today what with the six bottles of 6% alc/vol., but I was a wee bit underpar of course. Oddly enough, just slightly knocked off. The network is down. What a boring day! Then this very nice girl is standing and asking for my attention.

But she's standing there at the desk with her two pals, and they are having a wonderful time. You should stay forever young! She can't stop laughing. She's giggling at me. She says would I mind speaking to her for a while so she doesn't have to go back to her teacher? I say no way and bugger off. Three other gurls were falling off the seats laughing so much just a wee bit later. Neither stoned nor drunk, just totally exuberant.

Are you trying to tell me something here, Hotboy? No, Jack. Just don't get old.

Ra Broon!

Monday 6:50 p.m.
Though we don't normally do politics here on RaBlissBlog, I'm so pleased that Gordon Brown has got the job as Prime Minister! I'm twelve days older than him. He did history at Edinburgh University, but was two years in front of me because of his giant brain. But he'd have read the same books I as did. He'd know who Proudhon was. He'd know who Bakunin was and who Kropotkin was. He'd remember that Plekhanov was the joe who translated Marx into Russian. Politics is the art of the possible, of course, but he's from the left and he's one of us!

There's an account of life at Edinburgh Universtiy at this time on my web page. It's called Alma Mater.In fact, there might be a story about trying to vote in a student election in 1973 whilst out of one's face on downers ... which he was probably running in, or his pal Jonathan Wills was.

Now that the boy who told lies and got us involved in the killing zone that is Iraq has gone, I can now vote Labour again, at least in Westminster elections. Well done to the boy, eh?!

What'll I hae for my tea the nicht?
A herrin', or maybe a haddie?
Has Gran'ma gotten electric licht?
Is the next stop Kirkcaddy?

Ra Last Post!

Monday
I blame it all on Peckhams. They were selling Kronenburg's Premier Cru (at 6% alc/vol)as buy one get one free. Very good beer. Usually retails at £1:99 a bottle. The catch is you cannot use your credit card for under a fiver, so I had to buy 6 bottles. Dearie me! Fortunately, I felt good today and not the way you'd expect after drinking inferior brews!

But I was quite surprised by the last post today! What's all that nonsense about angels?

A couple of angels came to see Lott once according to the Old Testament. When the other folk heard that angels were in Lott's house, a crowd gathered outside and started chanting something like: We want to hump the angels! We want to hump the angels!

Being on my own has been a wee bit of a trial, especially with the swamp fever and the binge drinkers giveaway at Peckhams. Couldn't go to the allotment for the bloody rain, far less stay in the hut!

Despite my shocking lack of self-discipline, the meditations have once again appreciably kicked on. But even with the swamp, I was putting in eight hours most days anyway on the cushion. It's not been easy, Jack! Yesterday wasn't easy. Still, I am getting there.

Ra Summation!

Sunday 22:34 p.m.
So, there you were in this big flat in Edinburgh, and there was no one else there. It's almost like being conjoined with the evil bourgeois. There were no other sentient beings there, Jack. Old people do this all the time. Be on their own.

After the several days of being on your own, have you reached any conclusions, Hotboy? Yes, Jack. You should not be on your own. You should sit beside the angels. They should perform adult sexual favours for you, and, they should find this amusing.

What if they do not want to perform these sexual favours on you, Hotboy, and they are not amused by this. Well, then they cannot be angels then, Jack.

After fighting off these diseases, tomorrow I shall return to the wherewithall. I don't need a gun. Or a knife. I'll just kill the fungers with my bare hands and send them off to Hades!

Was there anything good about the hours and hours of sitting quietly doing juju over these days since Wednesday, Hotboy? Even with the disease? I had it today, Jack. I knew I had it, but because I can't do the yamas (the way you are supposed to live!), well, there was no contentment ... though ra bliss was mighty!

If you do the yamas, you must engage with the wonderful stillness, and not have these idiotic, stupid, aggravating thoughts arising!

I'm far too old for this now, Jack. I want to go to the formeless zones, where there are no thoughts, and no forms, and no microwave ovens because in the formless zones there are no things, and no thoughts, and no aggravations.

Hotboy, go forth! Try to smile and be nice and helpful. There are some 12 year old spotty people, and they love you, Hotboy, so go out there and do your stuff! And be nice. And also dead cool.

Can you do ra bliss, Hotboy? Yes, Jack, I can. Can you get out of your face on air, Hotboy? Yes, I can, Jack. Well, get out there and try to be nice to the joes and josephines who canny do that then! What else are you supposed to do!

Ra Lonesome Cowboy!

3:01 p.m.
I haven't had a conversation with anyone - except two wee ones on the phone - since the Domestic Bliss left last Wednesday morning. And the weather has been truly manky, so no great desire to go out in the rain. Only having to deal with the residues of the swamp fever, so I should be okay for work tomorrow. Only two and a half days to go, Jack, and then the next six weeks are all mine! Yippee!

Ra Three Bodies, Or Two!

Sunday 00:34 a.m.
Have you been oogling the naked manniquinns in the shop windows, Hotboy? No, it never gets that bad, Jack. I don't get out much.

So, say you just stayed in and sat, and gazed, or stared. After a while inexplicable things may occur. The creepy uppy thing might start holding you up. Eventually, you may find yourself sometimes sitting in the midst of the light sword. What can we say about this, Jack? You can say: There's two of us, Hotboy! There's the miserable funger and there is the enjoyment body. What? There is the Enjoyment Body, Jack. Let's give a nomenclature, a conceptualisation. We'll call it The Enjoyment Body. It's the sheath that arises, wherein ra blis and enjoyment occurs.

What about the other one, Hotboy? Ra basis. Well, we do not know about ra basis, but we do know about Ra Enjoyment Body. It sounds enjoyable. We should stick with that one for a while.

It's coloured Lapiz Lasuli, Jack! If you could separate the Lapiz Lasuli joe from the other greetin' faced basturn, boy!, wouldn't you have a time!

The thoughts arising are your own fault. That's why you should be nice and behave yourself, and not be a bad boy like me!

Ra Half Pissed Bliss!

Friday 1:00 p.m.
To cure the swamp fever I took some of the magic medicine given to me when I was empowered to do the Medicine Buddha juju. But only a couple of grains ... in case I floated off or anything. You have to be careful with the magic medicine, Jack. And, lo!, after blasting in some of ra heat, by yesterday evening I felt much better than expected, and could sally forth into another open grave up at the Traverse.

And there was free beer! At last, free beer for the workers! I had five wee bottles of Fosters, finished re-reading the Introduction to the Book of the Three Inspirations, spoke to not a soul, and came home.

Last year it seemed somewhat unfair that the dusk around here doesn't check in till ten at night these days. The heat, bliss and everything else does seem to start working better around the twilight time. But by ten o clock at night, if you were going to do any recreationals, you'd have started by then. Why can't it get dark every night about half seven. That would be perfect. That might be Australia.

I watered down the barrel about a week ago. That means that after a pint of this beer you can still count to ten. I had about four pints in the course of the evening after being at the Traverse. Instead of just going to bed around midnight, I sat in the lobby ....Jack, it was just fung amazing! It's hard enough to find words to describe to flatheids what these meditations could feel like, or what a human being could feel like, but the heat and ra bliss.... Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

Half pissed, he took to ra bliss! Never happened before.

Where does the air go, Jack? Old Empedocles didn't know what a can of worms he was opening when he discovered air. You take a breath and usually you can hold it easily for about 40 seconds, or a minute if you're trying. You can feel a lot of air in you and it wants to get out quite soon after you've trapped it. Then, lo!, there comes a time when you can hardly feel it inside you at all. Then it seems far, far easier to hold your breath because it seems to have stopped pressing back somehow. How can this be, Jack?

Hmmm? The air is still there. The sensation has changed. I think it might be because there is an anaesthesic effect in the kundalini. Gopi Khrisna mentions this in Living with Kundalini, and he should know. But it's not just that. You seem to need less air. Hmmm? Mysteries on mysteries!

What's supposed to be happening with this juju is that you are supposed to be withdrawing the "winds" and "airs" into the central channel ... and this is what is supposed to happen when you die. You definitely go breathless when you die. Supposedly, some yogis think they are dying when this first happens to them.

So are you supposed to be, somehow, mimicing, or taking control of the death process? I think you are.

What if when you die, you just die, Hotboy? Well, that's alright because whilst I am engaging with ra bliss, ra rapture and ra multivarious ecstasies as I emanate as a deity, the flatheids will be hanging on in there, the moaning and groaning growing ever louder as they plunge into the grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! Flatheids just don't get ra bliss!

This is a win win situation here, Jack! This isn't pie in the sky when you die. This is RaBlissBlog and here comes ra heat!!!

6:30 p.m.
Sometimes folk come to this bloggy looking for stuff on agents. Well, today I got word back from Andrew Lownie. What a good interaction! He didn't want the sensei and reverend's book, but he really only deals with non-fiction, and he gave me the name of another agent who might be more suitable. First time that's ever happened! Also, as regards my own situation, he says it sometimes takes a year to place a book, so don't despair. Obviousl, a good bloke!

Ra Good or Bad Fortune!

Wednesday 8:30 p.m.
I think when Chou Enlai was asked if he thought the results of the French Revolution were good or bad, he said: It's too soon to tell.

So I got the disease, which is bad, but it's not the black spot, which is good. Also, I had to cancel going to work this morning due to the pains in the lungs, etc., (which was good) and a meeting with my friend with the very, very bad cough (which was bad). Also, I won't be going to Bellshill with this disease, which is bad, but I don't really have to see anyone at all now till next Monday morning, which might be good or bad.

I'll get this bit wrong, but I'll have a bash. You've got three bodies. There's the body of every flatheid who's ever lived. It's the coarse body. Then there's the subtle body. That's like your acupuncture meridian body. Then there's the bit I don't know. It is basis. It might have no characteristics but a kind of ability to cognize, and contains all good qualities maybe but undifferentiated. It might be clear light mind.

This is the buddha in one lifetime juju! "When we can see, straightforwardly and non-conceptually, the nature of our clear light mind and remain totally absorbed in this nature without ever regressing from it, we have become a buddha." Dalai Lama. The Wall. So I reckon you have to get access to this clear light mind.

The deity yoga is the subtle body juju. You clothe the subtle body in the Medicine Budda .... does the Medicine Buddha have the swamp fever? If you sneeze, you sneeze, but the Medicine Buddha only has a wee bit of the swamp fever. It is one of the causes and conditions, but there is a step you're beginning to take here into ... it's just a wee bit transcendental, Jack. You're in ra bliss and a step away from the coarse body. And this is very nice, Jack, because the coarse body has a helluva fung touch of the swamp!

Ditto whilst feeling a bit fashed and bashed the day after hitting the barrel.

Oh, what a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

I saw something funny of the bloggy of the sensei and reverend. He got this from Jeff Patton for his birthday. As usual, I'm the one with the hair.

I can't got to the hut and spend the night. There's no teevee or beer in the hut. But there is the start of the second series of Rome on the teevee right now! I loved the first series. A bit of chibbing and tolchocking, hanky panky and history ... right up my street!

As an aside: The complete fool who did the teevee crit in the Times today hates this Rome show. He should get himself a proper job! My money is on Octavius. Mark Antony was just fabulous. They picked that boy to look like Marlon Brando and then he did the whole British acting trip on it. "I'm not getting out of this bed till I fung someone!" None of this monogamy nonsense for these Roman aristocratic joes! The show was superb. Well done the BBC and the HBO for, no doubt, sticking in the money!

Ra Pestilence!

Tuesday 8:43 p.m.
By law, occasionally I have to inform the pederasts coming here looking for hotboys that this is a police surveillance prototype bloggy. You've only got ... here come the discerning devices to pursue your address.

Despite wearing the surgical mask and having the ten foot pole, the disease still managed to cross the room, propelled at millions of miles an hour by the terrific coughs and sneezes. It started creeping up on moi this afternoon. Anyone who has been reading this blog for a while (Hello, Jack the Spam Robot!) will know what a wonderful sick basturn I can be. So I thought I would see if I could counteract the disease with my yogic powers, and came in here about six to meditate.

I read somewhere that making the inner heat arise was dead good for your health. Like, you heat up like you would with a fever, or some such. Fry the germs.

The earth has moved again, Jack. You mean there has been further developments with ra bliss, Hotboy. I just goes on and on changing and being amazing. This meditation lark is very exciting in the old vajrayana. So yesterday I could tell it was different again. Something has moved aside and let something else in. A lot more heat in this complex mixture of gases and blisses from the vase breath. And I am starting to get quite hot.

So if it keeps on like this by next winter I should be going to work in my simmit. (For the people not fortunate enough to even be Scottish: Is that a singlet?) I'm bound to stand out. If anyone was dassing to risk me fisk by remarking on the snow turning to steam on my skin, I'll screw up my face and slowly say: Be-elzeebub!

You must be able to get into hospital if your boiling hot all the time. I'd need long term observation since these doctors wouldn't know what to make of a self heating malingerer. Three meals a day and nurses uniforms! I could just not tell them about the meditating and get it down as a new syndrome: The Hotboy Syndrome. Promote the brand. I should be in public relations, so I should.

As far as the contest between the yogic powers and the flu is concerned, ten nil to the flu!

Ra Bathtime Bliss!

Sunday 6:00 p.m.
I went into the bath just after posting last time. I closed my eyes and sank into a great whiteness of ra bliss, and therein dozed off. Then, and it was as if no time had passed at all, I became conscious of nothing other than bliss. I wondered where my body was and managed to locate it. I was quite surprised that it was in the bath. I can't really convey how fantastic this felt. You can't buy this stuff, Jack. I have tried.

I had a similar experience of ra bliss in the hut about an hour ago. While I was up there, I ate some raspberries. I brought home some onions I'd planted last winter. This is the beginning of eating one's way through the allotment!

Ra hut or not?

Saturday 4:15 p.m.
They'll think you're mad if you try to spend most of the six weeks of your summer holiday in that rickety old hut, Hotboy. Who, Jack? The evil bourgeois and their progeny, Hotboy. Well, the too dumb to meditate, Jack, cannot do ra bliss, cannot get out of their faces on air, and as they twist and turn in the winds of chance, what awaits them, Jack? Yes, grief, sorrow, lamentations ... suffering in this life! Well, we certainly do not have to pay much attention to what the flatheids think.

It'll be able to sit for ages in the hut if you could get over the first couple of days. If you got through the first couple of days, you wouldn't want to do much else but sit in the hut. I know this from the week's I've spent down at the Samye Ling.

I'd like to sit in the hut and do the Medicine Buddha juju, known as the sadhana. The little problem I have is that I do not really know how to do the Medicine Buddha juju. There's a process here you should repeat and I don't know it. I can read through it in this book I've got, but I don't know it. I don't know the sanskrit mantras and I don't know the mudras. That's only the things that I know I don't know.

Anything else lacking, Hotboy? Well, Jack, it might have been handy if I'd had a word or two with the lama in order to discuss the order of doing things, what things you are supposed to do, and what not to do, and when. I think somebody is supposed to whisper the whispered intructions in your earhole. All I've got is stuff from a few books and a bit of guesswork.

And what is not lacking, Hotboy? I have had the empowerment to do this juju from probably one of the most prominent juju masters in Europe anyway, and I have a root guru in his wee brother, who has done at least twelve years in retreats perfecting this juju. The more I meditate, the more confidence I get in these joes.

The Domestic Bliss and the kiddo are off for a week from next Wednesday visiting various Mediterranean rat towns. Someone said why do you have to go to the hut when the flat is empty that week?

There's something funny starts happening with your mind after you've been on your tod meditating most of the time for a couple of days. I found this out during Christmas retreats in Purelands, the isolated bit away from the main Samye Ling monastery. Your visual field becomes a bit plasticy; the objects in it seeming to become a bit more malleable somehow. Your can project a bit. This is surely the beginning of being able to do the three dimensional visualisations which are the crowning glory perhaps of the skilfull means; method and wisdom conjoined.

Your mind is just never going to become that calm in a flat with a teevee, and a barrel of beer!

The only problem with the hut is that it is too near here! You need a hut in the wilds, or ...

I'd like to offer myself up as a hostage to a group of religious nutters, who are stupid enough to believe in stuff, but not competent enough to go out and get a real hostage. Here's the deal.
1) I get a warm hut and three meals a day of soup and bread.
2) They can put a webcam on me for 24 hour a day in case the levitations kick in half way through the gig.
3) I have no problem telling the camera that the Americans and the British crusaders should get out of Iraq, but I have to be allowed a new teeshirt ever week with a slogan on it.

Teeshirts:
1) Flatheids just don't get ra bliss!
2) Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!
3) The mind game is the only game in town.
4) How can nothing exist outside your own mind?
5) It's all a lot of old photons!
6) Arising and abiding and declining in mind.
7) Can you, or can you not, do ra bliss?
8) Physical bliss and mental ecstasy.
9) Experiential mysticism is the game here.
10) What a fortunate creature I am!
11) Oh, what a fortunate, fortunate creature I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

That's too many teeshirts! I'll have to re-negotiate the deal.

I did not put in Fung Off Flatheids as a tee shrit because I am in such a good mood! I'm still in the Beer Monster Reduction Vehicle - what a brilliant training session I had! - and will shortly be soaking in the bath. Tonight the flat will be full of hopeless alcoholics, but I as ever will try to maintain the middle way. Hmmm? Off to do some more surfing on the oceans of bliss!

Ra Wonderful Day!

Thursday 1:55 p.m.
This morning was great. I so want not to have a jobbie! Anyway, it was too busy since I had to make my bread and the delicious soup. I costs about £5 to make enough bread and soup for four or five days. I could live like a lord on £20 a week, which is just as well because that's all I've got in cash till I get paid again. But I've got supplies.

The other thing I had to do was visit the library for the Domestic Bliss. While I was there I put in an order for Afloat by Jennifer McCartney. I definitely going to read novels again. Anyway, they'll have to buy it to give me a look since it's not in the Edinburgh Public Library catalogue yet.

I'll be able to read more novels in bed now that I have a new pair of specs (which I can actually see out of!) and will soon be completely teetotal. Just when I was getting my resolve together, I get another invite to a drinks reception at the Traverse for next Thursday. Another open grave! Also, the Domestic Bliss has invited a bunch of hopeless alcoholics to dinner on Saturday night.

Something told me something was the matter with all this weeding folk do in their allotments. Now, I've discovered that the poppies I've been pulling up are opium poppies! All things come to those who wait, Hotboy. They'll be running about the allotments with AK 47s mounted on the back of jeeps before you know it!

I might post about the wonderments later!

5:10 p.m.
As you come round the corner at Brandon Terrace, you can see way way way up to Princes Street and the Scott Monument. It's part of my benchmark 4 mile run. Though I haven't been running much recently, I sailed up the hills today. And what a great hour I've just spent soaking in the bath! Eyes closed with the whole head enclosed in a great globule of ra bliss! The bath after the run was always wonderful, but now that I can do ra bliss in the bath. Well, what can I say, Jack? What a fortunate creature I am!

Rat Small Bird!

Tuesday 11:05 p.m.
A little under an hour ago, I was experiencing so much more of ra bliss, ra bliss that has said to you that you thought you understood and had experienced all of ra bliss, but all of that, Hotboy, was just child's play. How much of ra bliss was it?

It was like the first sight of the Michelin Man in Ghostbusters. It was benificent. But it was towering over all the skyscrapers in Manhattan, and so gigantic ...that I thought I'd better have a drink. Or, it didn't matter if I had a drink. It's just a bit more of a spanking you have to take on the way to the hut. But, Jesus, it was a lot of ra bliss!

Nothing exists outside your own mind.

How can nothing exist outside your own mind?

Everything exists inside your own mind. Well, where else could it exist?

And thus we can begin to pray again.

So the medicine buddha arises and you arise simultaneously. You both arise in mind. You're in the mandala and you offer everything to the deity, who looks just like you. Then, you get the deity up on top of your head, and try to think it's really there. Then, you take the blessing, or the stream of light down comes down from the deity ... that's always been special. The stuff coming down. Oh, ra bliss!

Where is the Medicine Buddha? It has to be in your mind. Where else could it be? Are you blessing yourself, Jack? Who else could be blessing you? There is only one thing. You have to bless yourself? Fung sake! That's worth more than ten percent off the top. Okay, ... okay, four pence!

The next morning. The wee bird is my Tai Chi teacher. She says she does 49 knee bends every day, plus at least twenty "snakes", and all the rest of the warm up stuff. That's on top of the sets she does and the teaching she does. She's got to be 78 years old at least!

The amount of ra bliss last night kind of freaked me, there as so much of it. Today I feel as if the world has changed for me. It's like it's just always going to be in the breath, Jack. Always there. What a fortunate, fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

Ra Very Nice Looking Gurl!

Saturday 11: 31 p.m.
There are a lot of people around. They are flatheids. They are also very nice. But if you do too much of them, well, you forget what you are supposed to be doing. You just lay down your guard ... then, there's Popeye, my wee brother. The next evening there is the daughter and her boyfriend. Pause for sobriety and more meditations. Then, today, there is my deep dear friend from Australia with the very, very bad cough.

I might be on a list. It's a Traverse list. This means that me and the kiddo get to go to the first nights of all Traverse productions, but I do not know why. The list maybe leaks. I get asked to go to this thing for authors. And joes and josephines who would like to be authors. There is free drink.

So she slides into the seat across from me. Nobody sits in these seats, which are away at the side, except for me and the other joe, who came to see me because |I was reading The book of the Three Iinspirations and sitting ...in a half lotus.

I will have to explain to all the spam robots listening right now that I am truly gorgeous. It's not so much the way I look, it's the emanating as a deity that really attracts these babes.

She will make a fortune and be rich and also think that she has been successful. The second time she slid into the seat across from me, and I had gone back to reading The Book of the Three Inspirations at the time, and I was wonderfully attracted to her, and she was dead young and attractive, and ... so on.

When the mormons come to your door, you should tell them that you are a catholic, then they run away. It also works with the Jehovah Witnesses. All you have to do is come and speak to me, babes, and you will melt my heart. She's got a book published. She thinks this will help her to be happy. I told her I'd been in monogamy for decades. No, I didn't. Neither did I mention kamamudras. But, God, I really wanted to bang her brains out!

I think it's called networking. The guy was funny and knew lots of things. He was called McDowell. The gorgeous girl was called Jennifer McCartney. Her book is called A Float.

I just love speaking to anyone who is trying to become somebody. Far smarter than moi! None of ra bliss of course. Still..... hmmm? Nice gurl!!!!

Sunday 10:30 a.m.
The yamas are the things you are supposed to do. The niyamas are the things you're not supposed to do. What am I not supposed to do then, Jack? Hotboy, you are not supposed to go to receptions with free alcohol, neck half the free alcohol singlehanded, then spend the rest of the time drooling over attractive young women from Canada, with literary agents and a book published. Bad boy! And what am I supposed to do? You are supposed to sit in the hut, go breathless and emanate as a deity. I see. Well, I'd better do that then. You didn't ask if she was in a volleyball team as well, did you, Hotboy? I hope not, Jack. I hope not.

Rat Breath Again!

Friday 10:22 a.m.
Empedocles proved the existence of air to his chummies in Ancient Greece by upturning a bucket in the sea, and squeezing down. There's something there, he might have said. You can feel it inside the bucket. We'll call it air.

How many radio stations are in the air around you?

For a wee while last night, I became amazed at the air. Whilst doing ra bliss and heat around dusk. Here, these days that's about ten o clock. How can ra bliss be associated with breathing i.e. when doing this vase breathing? There are odd connections going on here between the air and your body. You shoot the breath and go to California. How could that possibly be and what could it mean?

Is the air full of ra bliss? Are we surrounded and totally immersed in ra bliss, but just don't have access to it, well, not if we're a flatheid and too dumb to meditate anyway. It looks as if the air is full of ra bliss, but it looks as if the sun goes round the earth.

I chanced upon this yesterday in the Glenn Mullin translation of Tsongkhapas Six Yogas of Naropa. ."... the breath becomes increasinly subtle, and eventually stops altogether. Concerning the experience Jetsun Milarepa stated,
.... Ecstasy is experienced.
And also
When the breath no longer comes and goes, ecstasy;
When one completely cuts off the flow, ecstasy.

That'll be ten percent off the top, please. I'm away to Bellshill. I'm going to give a copy of my new book to Skinny McDuck and my brother Silvest.

Ra Bad Boys!

Wednesday 2:15 p.m.
When his boat had docked at Leith last night, my wee brother Popeye came to see me. Unbeknownst to him, I've been a confirmed teetotalist since my barrel ran dry on Saturday night and when I got home from the Tai Chi, bottles of Hoegarden wheat beer were waiting for me on the kitchen table. Well, it would have been rude not to have had a few!

Wine is the drink associated with catholicism and coffee is associated with the moslems. I think the drink for buddhists should be beer. Of course, proper practitioners don't touch alcohol, but when Gampopa first met Milarepa, the great Tibetan saint, practically the first thing Milarepa did was give him a skull full of alcohol to drink. Although he'd taken vows to lay off the bevvy, Gampopa gulped the lot in a oner!

I'd like to drink beer out of a skull. Anyone got one to spare?

Three of the four main disciples of Gampopa were the bad boy brothers from Kham. They were fully enlightened and kept asking Gampopa if they could have some beer. He allowed them three skullsful of barley beer and they went off up the mountain to display their miraculous powers and to show that being pissed was no impediment to them maybe. Later on, they were partying in the monastery, singing and dancing (I suspect not without female company!) and were ordered to leave by the Discipline Master. When they were leaving , they prostrated towards Gampopa, who'd gone into retreat up the mountain, and the grass bowed, and the trees bowed along with them. Gampopa hurried down the mountain and asked them to please not go away. It seems that nobody objected to their carousing after that!

My brother Popeye seems to have really enjoyed my new book! Who cares if it doesn't get published?! It won't make Popeye into a meditator. Who cares? I yam what I yam, says Popeye! He might be a Taoist! I'm going to take a copy to my brother Silvest, row of forty medals on his chest, big chest, who lives in Bellshill on Friday. Who cares if he thinks meditation is a lot of something odourous?!

I'm in such good humour at the moment! I don't have to go to work again till Monday and it's only three weeks till I have six weeks off. After taking my bread out of the oven, I'm away to the allotment to do some mega bliss. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss! What a fortunate creature I am, I am! What a fortunate creature I am!

1:35 a.m.
And the sun shone. The meditations were mighty. After seeing my wee brother, Popeye, I think it does not matter if you are a flatheid. He's a much nicer joe than I am. Ditto several others en famille. Unfortunately, they do not get ra bliss. Well, it would be good for them if they got ra bliss, had access to ra bliss, and could do ra bliss when they needed to, but they are still the wonderful people and my support. In this mandala, they will live well and pass away with courage, and I should stop hassling them just because the flatheids are too dumb to meditate .... even Albert Einstein was too dumb to meditate ... and only truly, truly fortunate creatures will experience ra bliss, and there's really no point in giving them a bad time. Because they are my support. The supporting joes and josephines. When I get a bit better at this juju, I will realise and know that there is only one thing, and then who am I shouting at?

I read in The Times today that the most popular name for boys in Britain now is Jack.

How are you, Jack? Me and all the spam robots are sticking with you, Hotboy! There is only one thing. There's only one thing. Experiential mysticism is the game here! Are the Masai Warriors bouncing up and down behind you, Hotboy? Of course, they are, Jack! And The Alien Creatures from Outer Space? Where are they, Hotboy? They're configuring right by my side, and supporting me, and saying: Go for it, Hotboy. Take to the hut! There's only one thing, and we're all on the lid, rising up. There is no such thing as being on your own. We don't do being on your own in RaBlissBlog! With slight exaggerations, some spitting, chibbing, tolchocking and some terrible mistakes after which we may make amends ... just try hard and keep the motivation right! Into ra bliss! Into ra bliss!

Ra Cure!

Sunday 4:50 p.m.
Feeling a bit scunnered this morning from overindulging in the barrel last night, I started slowly, moped about a bit, had breakfast and read the paper. At times like this it may be useful to tell yourself that you are not who you think you are, and it's not happening to you the way you think it 's happening to you. It might be useful, but it might not work.

The flat is empty and I sat down for the beginnings of the meditations at eleven. With breaks for food, etc., I've just finished.

What a great thing ra bliss is! Your concentration at times like this might be a bit off, but it's like you've been hanging around the bogs with the hangover and then ... caboom! You're back in the discotheque! It's still not as good as it would have been, not at first anyway, but it's still way beyond the imaginings of your usual flatheid.

The vase breathing yesterday morning was a bit tricky, but whatever obstacles and obstructions there were had disappeared by today.

You've got too many brain cells, Hotboy. You need a good drink to get rid of a few million. Shut it, Jack!

The heat diminished as the afternoon wore on, but ra bliss increased and increased and increased. The blissheid and the drunken bum are like two different joes. Anyway, I'm off the the allotment. Oh, ra bliss, ra bliss, ra bliss!

11:12 p.m.
Sober and straight again. That's four nights out of the last seven. This is very good for me. I find it hard sometimes to lay off the beer when there's nothing else. Bob Marley has just been on the telly. If I lived in Amsterdam, not drinking would be dead easy. Purification and accumulation. The discipline is difficult if you've been a bad boy all your life. Here's the start of my new book, my last novel.

If God dealt drugs, the hit he would give himself would be the one called bliss ... if you want to read it, just say so! I'm not putting it on my webpage.

The Domestic Bliss and I have just finished watching Apocalypto. Chibbing and tolchocking and nothing too deep! My kind of movie!

I meditated from eleven this morning till after eight this evening with breaks for the blogosphere, food, etc. Everything is still pushing on! It's hard to remember how fabuloso it was, especially in the hut this evening. That's partly why you make mistakes and drop your guard! Hope everyone has a nice week ahead. Night night from RaBlissBlog

Ra Black Dog!

Saturday 11:55 p.m.
After two pints from the barrel. Perhaps Onan could advise. (This fung thing won't accept links again!) There's two kilos of sugar in this brew. The tin says one kilo. How much, Onan, do you reckon? It's got to be well over 5%! Pretty squiffy already on two pints!

After half a pint, I was watching a show on the telly about re-creating Sargeant Pepper's. They were doing "I'm leaving home." I didn't cry very much at all for years and years and years. I think it was after starting meditating that I started to cry. I was thinking of the girl who wasn't getting on with her parents (no point in just jumping into this if you're a pervert landing on this bloggy looking for hotboys. Maybe this is just between you and me, Jack.) and the lyric seemed so apposite, and brilliantly encapsulating ... I'm a lot less hard skinned than I used to be. Oh, I cried, and cried, and cried!

Anyway, something like that is going to make you look crap at writing anything.


Drama requires conflict, I think. Last night I was supposed to be watching a movie called Babel. It was a very well made movie and it was nice to see Brad Pitt doing some acting instead of being Achilles in whatever awful crap that was. These joes don't get the jobs if they can't act. Sometimes the jobs don't require that much really good acting. So half way through Babel, which was an interesting enough movie, I stopped watching it. I don't want to have my face shoved into how upset the flatheids can be. I was once interested in seeing all that kitchen sink emotionalism, but now I can't be bothered. I accept that for performers it would be good to do that. It's acting.

I'd prefer watching The Importance of Being Earnest. The kind of drama I really like is the drama of the absurd. I can't spell the French boy's name anymore. Someone wrote a play about a dead body being off stage and the dead body got larger and larger till the legs were sticking onto the stage. Now, (Anoiulh? Anouilh ... how can you expect to be famous with a name no one can spell or remember even if they were sober?!) The Rhinoceros! What a great play that was!

The reason why one cannot treat this as a writing medium , apart from being able to do it when you're out your face, is because ... well, the typeface just changed there to what it was about a month ago. Give me a duck to chase so I get pull a feather out of it's bum and write with that!

Oh, to be perfect! How many things am I not very good at, apart from equanimity? Almost anything you care to mention.

This morning I couldn't take a proper vase breath because the after-effects would have blown me out the window. I could take wee ones. I thought of all the things I hadn't done, and couldn't do to get this far. It was fung dangerous again. But you couldn't breach it. You just knew it was a time to hang on and wait a wee bit.

Tonight when the Domestic Bliss went out, I sat in the lobby. Until about eleven o clock when I started on the barrel. And it's just like I just can't do it yet.



The Black Dog is a symbol for depression. I don't know why my sleep has been poor sometimes this week since I do not think I have been bevvying more than one day in two. But the third dream I had last night was about The Black Dog.

There were crowds of people in Raeburn Place, but The Black Dog saw me and loved me and wouldn't let me go, although it seemed like a stranger and not my dog. For you doggie people, it was a cross between a greyhound, and Irish Wolfhound, and a Great Dane, a big black dog. At no time did it scare me though sometimes it hugged me in a slightly pre-humping way, and from the back. I took it up the stairs, which were bigger in the dream and full of folk and their different breeds of dogs. The Black Dog loved me so much and was so happy to be with me that I had to kid it on and take it down to the door and fool it so that it was locked out. How it scrambled and lay on it's side in desperation to be with me, and clawed at the door. I was happy thoroughout.

Then I was outside on the street sometime later and The Black Dog found me again, and how amazingly happy it was! I was so happy to find this symbol of depression and delighted that it loved me so!

We don't do depression here in The Amazing Bloggy Church of the Bad Boy Blissheid. If anything, we do acting out. I was very happy that the dog liked me so much. What does that mean, Jack? Drink less beer, Hotboy. There is more than you suspect in this home brew barrel. But it's finished this weekend, Jack. And I loved the dog!

Rat Old Sailor Man!

Saturday morning: 10:53 a.m.
I received a communication this morning from the sensei and reverend who is now settled in Phoenix, concerning the press reports that getting knocked out could lead to an increased risk of developing Parkinson's. Although the sensei was brought up in that idyllic, Brigadoon-like little Scottish village called Maryhill (what a nice name!), where the only trouble he could recall was an argument over who was going to get first prize at primary school for the flower arranging competition, he thought a bit of the old ultra violence was maybe hard wired into to some young joes, and that what you weren't evolved to do was sit around smoking and frying up dead animals! And he might be right. Or:

I biffs em and buffs em
An' always outroughs em
An' none of em gets nowhere.

I'm fond of the lyrics of that song. Anyone know where it's from?

By the way, for the people who land on this bloggy looking for info on agents ... I couldn't get Simon Trewin of PFD to look at three chapters of the sensei's very good crime book. But I sent him an email and he did get back to me after a wee reminder. Considering the amound of emails he must get, that's really quite good.

If I can't get an agent for the sensei (but I will!), what's the point of me writing a crime book? It'll take a long while and I've already got seven unpublished books (at least!). I've hardly got time to work on the plotline for this one, but I hope to have it finished by the end of June. Then I'm off to the hut. Then, I'll leave the plan and if I'm still going to write, I might work on a script. Lots of writers can write better prose than me, but I'm taking my hat off to nobody when it comes to writing dialogue. I've always thought it was better to write books that I couldn't get published than scripts I couldn't get produced, but tempis fugit. Scripts are faster and you can write them easier in your head.

I hope everyone is going to have as good as Saturday as I'm going to have!