The Samye snaps and back home.

          The first photie was taken up the allotment when I was setting fire to a bit of the old hut. It's good to be back home. I'm knackered as usual!

Going home again!

          The sun is splitting the trees! Hurrah! Is this the best summer for four or five years? Got to be.

           I wasn't cool enough to read the De Profundis and The Heart Sutra, so the kiddo did it instead. Andrew was with us. In retrospect I might have had her read out the Magnificat, which is a prayer I also like a lot. Maybe next time. Ashes might be sprinkled next year at Lesbos and Skye.

          I finished the biography I bought when I got here. I didn't know there was a Tibetan tradition in writing biographies and autobiographies of realised folk, but I do now that I have the money to buy them. This one was an abridgement by Thrangu Rinpoche of the original. The rinpoche had a stroke maybe last year. I was much influenced by his book on the Medicine Buddha sadhana and I hope he has recovered his health now.

          I was the life story of Rechungpa, the second most influential disciple of Milarepa. There are many miraculous events in it, but what I like was the way he died. He just disappeared and left nothing behind. Some great yogis in Tibet managed to leave just fingernails and hair behind them and it seems the last one to be reported doing this was in the 1990s. If you are very good at the juju, it seems you can exist between life and death for several days after you're supposed to be dead, or at least, not breathing. But just to disappear completely has to be the perfect exit.

            At least, then no one has to bury you, cremate you, and no one has to sprinkle your ashes around the place.

            Since I expect to die like any other flatheid, ideally I'd like to be cremated on my allotment and my ashes (all of them!) thrown into the river here at the spot where I've often meditated. And I'd like someone to read out The Heart Sutra, which is my favourite bit of Buddhist literature, and dead short. Other than that, I wouldn't mind dying abroad. A good friend of mine died on Bali and got cremated the next day. I really liked that. Leave it all by the Ganges, or whatever, and let it be quick. Dragging out the ceremonials is not helpful, I don't think. Whatever happens, I don't want a gravestone and I don't want folk visiting and whatnot, like my ex-partner's family do. When I'm dead, I want folk to be able to get on with their lives and forget about me as soon as possible.

          I nearly bumped into Lama Yeshe yesterday. I wasn't able to attend meditations with him since they've been cancelled due to the teachings going on just now, but it was nice to see him.

          I think this is the third visit I've made here in about five or six weeks. Every time it's gotten better. I'll be back for four days during the Drupcho in a few weeks time, but I might try to come down here for a month before the end of the year. The meditation this morning before I left the room was wondrous!

Samye Ashes Day

          I'm down at the Samye Ling today to cast some of the Domestic Bliss's ashes on the river. She did want some of them down here, so here we are. Having to live one life is bad enough, but if she has to live another one, I hope the ashes and other stuff she did in life give her a connection with this place. She did take at least one empowerment with me although she did not meditate. I hope she's not a flatheid the next time.

          There was a Horizon programme on this week which had a lot to do with meditation. This joe did seven weeks trying to get up to twenty minutes a day. He did the classic concentration on breath method. Even although this is hardly any meditation at all, after seven weeks they were able to measure a difference in his thinking and brain function. He was less stressed and his insomnia seemed to be helped.

          In fact, this is the kind of moron  I have to encounter every day in life. A flatheid. Almost  anybody can help themselves by meditating  and the fact that they don't shows just what they think of other people. They don't mind foisting their bad moods and general funged-up-ness on other people. They don't mind at all.

           Well, I do. I'm so looking forward to becoming more and more of a recluse. I'm looking forward to spending more and more time in my hut and on retreat, and generally being on my own.

            The only person I know who meditates is Brian Wilson, who claims to meditate about five minutes every day. Well, so be it. I'll come out every week or so and get steaming with Brian Wilson. I can also see Poisonous since he is a psychopath and you wouldn't expect one of them to meditate.

             When we do the ashes thing, I'm hoping to read the De Profundis and The Heart Sutra.

HutsRUs Part 3

          I meditated for the first time really in my new hut today. It's a wonderful hut. The last photie is out of the hut window. That means no one can look in the window if they're just walking along the path beside the allotment. Perfect.

          Some of the other photies show the amazing amount of work the kiddo and her partner did on the place on Thursday. They hacked everything to pieces and destroyed the jungle outside the hut, and prepared the iron rusty thing for cultivation. I was drinking beer watching them in amazement really. I hardly break sweat around there unless I'm digging.

           Can't tell you how happy I am to have a hut where I can go and be alone and meditate my socks off!! Let the good times roll!

HutRUs. Part 2

          The hut men showed up this morning. There was a rat nest in behind the kitchen unit bit which you couldn't get to, so they never were escaping under the hut. They didn't need to. The workmen pulled down the hut and went away. They should be back with a new hut later. I'll post the photies.

           Buddhists don't like attachment. Root out attachment, the boy says. It's the way things stick to you. Stickiness. You're not supposed to feel attached to the computer or the hut. I think you should imagine with all the stuff that you own that you've just borrowed it for a bit. This is why Buddhism and socialism should be a perfect match.

             I was telling someone yesterday I might not start writing again. I don't need the money. I don't even want the money I've got.And the meditations are coming along so, so well. If I was going to start writing again, it would have to be something I really wanted to do well, something I'd be prepared to spend a lot of time on, something I'd be prepared to write out in longhand seventeen times, like Christopher Isherwood did with his first novel. Writing a thriller aint going to do that for me. Maybe when everything has settled down a bit ...

When the revolution comes. Part 2. Property is Theft.

          So we're talking Proudhon, or how do you own anything. So, as I recall, the boy says look at your computery thing. How many people were involved in making that? Millions of folk. Each with a little bit eaten off them. So you look at the computery thing and ask yourself who owns it. Moi.

          Everybody owns it. Actually, I own it. That can't be right. We are supposed to root out attachment. Is it my computery thing or not?

When the revolution comes. Part One. Tell Sid.

            "Though cowards flinch and traitors sneer, we'll keep the red flag flying here!"

            When the solicitor asked me what I wanted done with the shares, I said sell them. Folk who own shares are all going to hell for taking part in man's inhumanity to man, and I'm glad Jesus Christ said the rich evil basturns are bound for the hot place.

          Someone has got a jobbie somewhere and they produce ten clonks of value. Their boss gives them eight clonks and takes two. He keeps the two for himself or if he has shareholders, gives it to them. What have the shareholders done for this money? How much work have they put into making the original ten clonks? Bugger all! What the evil basturns who own the shares are doing is help exploit the poor basturn who actually does the work and produces the wealth. The difference  between what the working person makes and what he or she gets is called surplus value. It's one of the things that's wrong with capitalism, stealing from working people.

          Aye, they want you to give them awards and gongs and salutes for creating employment and giving folk jobs. Don't make me laugh! When the revolution comes, they're all going up against the wall!

           When I was on minimum  wages levels, I kept my mouth shut in front of the evil bourgeois basturns because maybe folk would think I was just jealous what with being skint and all. But I wasn't jealous. Now that I have unwittingly joined their ranks, they look even more despicable. The evil bourgeois are, always were, and always will be, bound for hell!

Allotment shots

          I had a beautiful meditation up the allotment early in the afternoon. Lovely day! Had to take some photies. The hole in the ground under the photies of the roses is a wasp nest now. Don't know who dug the hole, but the whitish stuff on the left is the start of the nest. I remember getting stung by wasps guarding their nest a couple of years back, so I was glad to spot that one. I took the photies of the hut because next week it's getting replaced. You can see by the wood at the back how old the hut must be.

          I  sadly found out this morning that Marie-Rex, who's been commenting on my blogs practically since they started, has been handed the kind of the black spot which is terminal. I only met her once, but the meeting left me full of admiration. Not an easy life by any manner of means, but fantastic spirit. Our thoughts are with her!

Reflections before going home!

          What I really like about the Lord of the Dance man, Chagdud Tulku, is that his autobiography is an autobiography. It's transcribed, but it is him speaking, sort of thing. What is wonderful is the lack of hypocrisy. The guy comes across as perfectly human as well as dead wonderful in his practise. Also, it's really the autobiography I think should have been done by Lama Yeshe, the abbot of this place. So, it has been done. I was so inspired I've just bought a hardback for about £30! I haven't spent that much very often on a book I didn't need to own.

          For the first time in the last three times I've been down here, Lama Yeshe was at the morning meditation. Him being here makes such a difference. When I used to come here before for about a week, I usually had a very good experience in my last meditation, something much better than usual. I used to joke with myself that this was a wee present from the lama. I told this to a nun here once some time ago and she looked at me as if it probably wasn't a joke. Who knows? The man is an inspiration.

          So I thought that maybe I could try for an interview with him before I go home, but I think I'm not emotionally stable enough. I've been doing a lot of weeping this year and I think the tears would just start to pour if I started telling him about my current situation, which is wonderful apart from the grieving. I'll maybe wait till the Drupcho in August, or at least until I've got my new hut.

          Last night I didn't get into bed, but lay under the quilt they provide if you are cold with the downie. I slept well. I would have stayed longer today if it hadn't been raining, but we've got really Samye weather today alright!

          I feel quite exhilerated. That's what this place will do to you if you'll let it.

Lord of the Dance

          Chagdud Tulku's autobiography is most inspirational! I thnk it's the most autobiographical thing I'd read by a Tibertan so far. Such a wonderful book. The boy isn't shy about talking about people having powers  and whatnot.

           People with powers don't seem to act like saints as much as you'd expect.For instance, the lama's maw is very highly realized, but this doesn't stop her leathering the kid several times a day. It's a bit like Scotland a long time ago when parents didn't spare the rod.

            It's a bit sad that I cannot share my joy about such things as this book. The Domestic Bliss used to have to put up with me raving about stuff like that, and I really miss her when I come down here. Maybe it's because I have nothing to distract me. A lot of the meditations this year have been done through tears. It's just grief. Watch and wait and it'll turn into something else.

           I'm sorry I've been less than attentive to some other blogs this year, but there's been a lot going on. I was sorry to discover that Marie-Rex has been diagnosed with cancer. Another black spot handed out. I think she'd the only person who came to my blogs who practised, so I'll remember her in my meditations.

           Not being able to share the enthusiasm I have for such things as the book I'm reading makes me realise that I really do need to get to know some buddhists!

Home Alone

          Poisonous and I went cycling to Portobello this afternoon. Actually, I've had quite an interesting weekend. I went to a Neu Reekie show on Friday night, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I'm always amazed at how good the performance poetry is. On Saturday afternoon I went to see Frankenstein's Army, a horror movie on in the film festival.

          But the most interesting thing about the weekend was that I spent it alone in the flat. Every weekend since the funeral, the kiddo and her boyfriend stayed here, but that now seems to have come to a natural end. So this is now how I expect to live for the rest of my life. I'm  determined to make an advantage of solitude and progress with the juju. This is going to be at times quite difficult, this living alone, but the results should be wonderful!!

Ringu Tulku

          On the way to see Ringu Tulku giving a talk last night, I passed the bus stop where I used to have to wait in the rain and horribleness to get a bus to my old jobbie, and I couldn't resist taking the photie of the castle, like I used to do way back when. It's just over two years since I last has a jobbie. The horror! The horror! I still haven't been able to read TheBlissBook, which is set in my old jobbie, since I finished writing it. I know reading it will just make me mad!

          Ringu Tulku is someone I imagine sitting above me head and pouring bliss down through my body, so I was pleased to attend his talk. I refrained from talking, of course, to anyone.

Another Review for TheBlissBook.

          I came upon this review of TheBlissBook this morning. I think it's a really excellent, honest review! It was only a three star review, but that's what I'd have probably given the book!

          3.0 out of 5 stars

 Refreshingly honest 24 Jun 2013

By Barbara

Format:Kindle Edition

Not great literature but a pleasure to read something by a non-pious Buddhist who is prepared to tell it like it is about how rubbish work is for most people, in his case the education industry. Hope he succeeds with the 6 yogas

          

       

Growth

Huts are Us!

          I went down to the shore near Cramond this afternoon to see about a new hut for the allotment. The boy didn't seem to be able to cope with the request that the door be lockable from the inside. Maybe not many folk want their huts to lock from the inside. So he gave me a lock to affix. Hmmm? I'm not very good at affixing things. He said you'd only have to put in four screws. Somehow I think not. I'll probably use a bit of string to tie round a nail, which is what I do in the hut just now.

         It's been another beautiful day. Must go up to the allotment to scatter some eggshells!