My Old Man is the one on the right. No one is bigger than 5 ft 5ins.

    

                Of course, everything started to deteriorate once I stopped meditating so much and started back on the evening doing the usual stuff. 

                For the last couple of days in Brussels, I was taken aback by the increased ability to visualise and the sometimes feelings of exhilaration, and sometimes feelings I just had to look at and couldn't really explain. Is that what folk who are bi-polar feel when they are wonderfully manic? I think it is. I got there and wasn't scared (exhilaration isn't scary!), but kind of surprised because I'm supposed to be old and tired, but it wasn't like that now and again. This is about not believing in anything and accepting knowledge only through experience. 

               This blog is supposed to be about writing.

                I've been ruminating and taking notes about another book because the last one stopped when I couldn't raise inner heat. Well, I still can't do that, but things have developed since last year in the summer when I finished The Buddha, The Dakini and The Dirty Old Man.

                Once upon a time, about eleven years ago, when books were put up free on Kindle the downloads tumbled and tumbled down in the hundreds. Free mostly, but that's okay. I put Cold Killing onto Kindle a couple of months ago to see how things were now. In the first three days of sticking that book on Kindle, it was downloaded fifteen times. In the last day, it's been downloaded three times.

                So, I will not be putting The Dirty Old Man on Kindle. It would not be read and I think I should try to get an agent for it, and maybe another two following it. This seems unlikely, but that's okay. I'd like to make some money for my Kagyu friend.

                 Once my favourite book was A Moveable Feast. It wasn't published till after the author was deid. A Long Day's Journey into Night wasn't produced till after Mr O'Neill was deid, probably his best work. So, it's about trying and doing your best. I'm not anywhere in the league where O'Neill and Hemingway reside, but anyone who tries to do this writing or any arty stuff is in the same game. You need a culture where a lot of folk are trying to get Michelangelo and what else would I do? Keeping on. Writing has kept me focussed. I'm glad I tried with this .I might not be any good at it. I'll keep trying. Once I read Bertrand Russel's Autobiography and I think he wrote that in his 90s. So keep on keeping on.

                    The photie is of my old mas. He's in Antwerp, I think, about in his early thirties. I didn't get here on my own. I owe it to my old man and lots of other people to stop being an arsehole and get into the purification and accumulation. To end up as good a person as my old man would be improbable.