Pictorial Interlude

It's been a long time... because quite a bit has happened; I always seem to be writing in retrospective now... nowadays I mean.

The best thing is to label the pictures that I took of the time and hope that it jogs my memory.

This is the night cafe in Picadilly where I used to sit when I first returned to UK and was staying at Picadilly. It's where I was when I first started using the newly blanked memory card. It is of course the picture of night cafe in the night cafe.

There's also a picture of more recent iris's by someone else.

It was weird sitting in that cafe because I was mostly listening to dharma lectures. Outside, someone was robbed, I think near the atm. He tried to laugh it off but inbetween trying to laugh with the owner, he was screaming wildly about the 'yobs'.

I was in the night cafe for ages as there's not really anywhere else for that price in Picadilly, at that time of night and not busy. I was planning another 'grand tour of london' to put up more posters, so I coloured them in there.

That night in Picadilly backpackers, the fire alarms went off about five am. It was mad. We lay there for a long time, me and the other three people. We could hear loads of thundering footsteps outside and realised it wasn't a drill (a five am. fire drill?), so they ran out.

I ran out too, the last one. Well, strolled. When I got to the stairs, it was full of hundreds of people inching down the stairs. It was like this for ages, then the noise stopped.

We all waitied expectantly and noting happened, so slowly turned round en masse, and started inching back up... but then it started, so we turned and inched down. Then someone shouted up it was a false alarm. I waited in a corner and let the never-ending stampede go past me, and then went out. I couldn't believe that macdonalds was open... but it was, so I went and had a coffee outside at the bus stop.

This is the outside of the night cafe, taken from the bus stop it faces. It was so early that it actually was still night.

Mac Donalds from the 0utside.

Signing on at Hammersmith. I think it was the same day; this is the benefits office. Of course I had my bag with me, having checked out. I almost always have all my stuff when I go there as I still, after nearly a year, move daily.

This was the start of the 'grand london tour 2', to go all over and put the posters up.

The picture is the first stop, Shepards Bush Green, where I put one up in Morrisons supermarket.

Changing trains at Notting Hill.

I was going somewhere and absolutely had to use the toilet, so stopped at Euston. It's 20p and the change machine, both of them, were out of order.

Changing lines. Don't know where.

Underground lift. A strong colourcast. As the camera does this so often, it might me best to just make those affected black and white?

Same list uncorrected.

There's another Morrison in Belsize, so I put one in there, then went to check in. I had a day ticket, so wanted to get the bag off my back.

Belsize hostel detail.

I couldn't believe it. Belsize was closed for an audit. I went down to the kitchen and the French chef thought I was applying for a job, and when he realised I wasn't, couldn't give a damn and just left me there.

I hung about and was eventually checked in, but I was trying to cover as much as possible on my day ticket, and so it was frustrating.

This is the front of the second house that Belsize own.

For some reason, there was a lifebelt in my room.

The washing there is cheap, so cheap I think it might even be subsidised.

Whetherspoons in Finchley.

Adamotel.

Oh God, this was a weird night. As usual I'd tried to plan my week ahead. The only place I could get for the Saturday was this place. I'd always avoided it as when it first went online, it was billed as 'London's only gay hostel'. But it was all I could get.

By the time I had been in the wrong hotel and redirected to the right one, I'd managed to convince myself of any misaprehension, that I was being silly.

I walked in and the first thing that greeted me was David, the famous male nude statue, at the top of the stairs. I went to reception and an effeminite man was all flustered that someone was trying to check out far too late, using a computer with matching screen-saver and wallpaper of... male nudes.

I had to wait in the tv room, where a man was watching a talent show, emotional with the ones who were being rejected.

It wasn't nice, but at least near the big Sainsburys, so I went shopping.

I ate before going out again as the kitchen closed.

I sat in Mac donalds until 2am as... I didn't like the hostel. Although wandering round and staying out as late as possible is often the norm for me. At least I have dharma lectures to listen to.

Back at the hostel, there was a little 'patio' thing to sit at. I was there until about four am and only had a few hours sleep.

This is, I think, Tower Hill. I was on the way to Grenwich as it was the only hostel I could get, though I don't recall the date.

I keep noticing Sunflowers now, as they decorate the Curse and Miracle.

As an update on that. My domain expired, and www.uk-cheapest.co.uk ignored all my emails, except to send invoices, so I signed up with www.oneandone.co.uk. They checked I owned the domain, took the money and gave me forms to send to the original company. I did this, twice by registered post, and was ignored. Oneandone eventually replied saying I'd have to pay for renewal at ukcheapest, then transfer, ukcheapest said I can't transfer except if I pay ten pounds, nominet said they'd overrule them... then... basically it's all a trick and I've forever lost the domain.

And I've paid for advertising at www.nexusmagazine.com, in their international print magazine, using the domain -- and so this is all lost and wasted.

St. Christophers, Grenwich.

Bow Church, City. I think... let me think, why did I go there? Oh, changing lines from Grenwich I exited accidentally, and so went to the church, so it was closed.

I stayed at Belsize again, or was it? Anyway, it was time for another London tour to try and put the leaflets up, this was before I knew I'd lost the domain. I went to Morrisons, but my leaflet of earlier was still there.

There was supposed to be a Morrisons in Angel; I couldn't find it, and ended up sitting outside the local Whetherspoon. I was tired and in pain already.

I went right up to, I think Finsbury park to find this occult shop. When I did eventually, it was a tiny place, not much more than a front room and there was no notice board. Anyway, it was Voodoo rather than new age.

I basically had to give up on the day due to pain, but decided to try and get the phone that A. had given me money for. I went to eat in a backstreet near a bird-mess covered car. Then had a coffee.

This was the last picture I took before walking up and buying the same phone (bar colour) from the same man, with an even better deal, thirty for the phone, and twenty credit free as I already had a sim, so the phone was basically a tenner.

I was wrecked... and so went to sit in my usual little place in Lester Square and had a look at my phone...

THEN IT HAPPENED.

I've written this so many times that it's irritating to write it again. I won't.

Succinctly, I was sitting in my favourite, usual place, near the yoghurt bar, and a police dick came up and asked me what I was doing. I just looked at him confused (and getting scared) as I was doing nothing the same as everyone else.

He pulled me to one side and it was a stop and search, with everyone looking. Awful. He said the reason was that I was alone and had chosed to sit 'quite close to some other people', and that fits the profile of a theif.

Of course, I never went back there, and the ensuing attempts of complaint have met such a brick wall of apathy, that they've become a seperate ongoing page where the full details are explained, in a seperate

Police Complaint page

, and there's also a

Mirrored Police Complaint page

.

Afterwards, I walked to Covent Garden to try and pull myself together, as I heard it's quiet. It wasn't, but it was good to be elsewhere.

There was this article in the paper. It's about a tea shop owner in Cochin, India, who's renamed his tea shop after Ken Livingstone. It's weird as it's the place in Ernakulam where I used to stop for a quick soda before going to Cochin Island.

This was the phone, well, is the phone I bought.

Underground on the way home.

Belsize House

The domain transfer from from oneandone to ukcheapest, on my ill-fated domain fiasco. WHAT IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW?

This is a composite picture of Frued's life in Whetherspoon in the O2. It doesn't photograph so well. I love it though. Frued must have lived around there. On the way home there's a little shop that sells almost exclusively Frued books and has postcards with famous quotes by psychologists. I like 'To be human is to feel inferior'. I think that was Adler.

O2 from Whetherspoon.

I was staying in the palmers and went to the shop nearby. There was all this commotion nearby, and when I went to see what was going on, a tree had fell on a car, because of the high winds of the time.

The shop near Palmers. Hindi-speaking, 24 hour and brilliant coffee.

I had dinner that night down-stairs in Palmers, and decided to catalogue the food I often make there, nice because I usually do this on a bench somewhere on the streets.

How to Make Perenial Drifter Mushy Surprise.

INGREDIENTS

As illustrated.

STEP ONE: coat bottom of sauce stained lunch box with dried soya.

STEP TWO: add small can of Brushetta topping.

STEP THREE: MIX.

STEP FOUR: add one small tin of naturally sweet sweetcorn.

STEP FIVE: add carrot tin.

STEP SIX: garnish with weight-watchers spaghetti, tinned potatoes and three slimming breads.

I went for a walk. This is a lifestyle shop display on the Finchley road. I was on the way to O2 Whetherspoon.

Next day was another, and I think the last, grand London tour. It started with a trip to Marlybone library. I was hunting down travel books as I'm getting itchy feet, and was thinking that a spiritual retreat would be a cheap way to stay away, now I've been teetotal for OVER SIX MONTHS, as I have been on minus 1200 calories a day.

I had to wait on an underground train changing lanes at Edgeware.

This was the private hostel in Hammersmith that Threshhold had recommended. I walked in and they just said no straight away and that was my last housing option.

Getting another book, travel of course.

This was a really nice, dead quiet pub near the police headquarters in Wood Street. I went there about my complaint. It was supposed to close 7:30 but did so early and was desserted.

It was too late to do anything else.

In the morning I listened to Dharma lectures and this lorry was in Palmers car park.

I am starting to notice Asian things as I'm starting to yearn to be away.

These signs are outside the O2 centre. I looked up and noticed that there are little spikes over each letter. I thought how weird this was as no one could get that high, then realised that they are supposed to keep birds off... as the pigeon on the Homebase sign politely explained to me.

I found this book by searching online, then ended up getting it from Charing Cross library.

This was the back of a shopping centre, right over... zone three district way. I went there for a new age shop, to put a poster up, but it was actually only for psychic readings, and there was no notice board.

On the way home.

Whetherspoon, illustrating over-hype of dead Christian ideas.

This 'Japan Homes' is on the Finchley Road. I used to think they sold Japanese properties. But when I went to look, they rent top end London properties to well-heeled Japanese people.

I went back to Northampton. The New Tung shing restaurant, of my childhood memories, is just opposite where I get off the bus when I want to go to the coop.

Picadilly itself.

This is me lying under a tree in Kennsington Gardens, and the sign on the path is the one I photographed during the heatwave to illustrate The Happiness Hike book.

By this time, believe it or not, I had decided to go on a spiritual retreat. It was a place up north. I know it's not the kind of thing I would usually do, the thing that made me send a fax to ask if I could be on the weekend retreat were:

• It was Zen.

• More specifically, it was Soto Zen.

• It was near Newcastle, where I could get a cheap bus ticket to.

• It's funded by donation only.

• They have a website.

• They are used to dealing with people with a range of disabilities.

• They have mp3's online.

• It would be a good test of joining something long-term.

• It gives me leverage when I tell A. I'm going, as I can be going for a reason.

• Their founders day is Nov 5.

• The main thing that excites me about leaving is doing Zazen alone in a rubbish room.

I started to get cold feet once I'd sent the fax... but then thought, what the hell when the confirmation came in.




I was staying in Smart Bayswater the morning before I left, and there's not really anywhere to go very early, so I went to my usual 'nowhere to go' place in Inverness Terrace and just sat on a wall opposite the school.




This was on the way up. We stopped off at a service station. Good to see a familiar face.






Painless trip.




I arrived and had a coke at Newcastle Station, unbelivably expensive.










Checked in and the place was also expensive, but seemed nice. I don't think the night boy liked me though.




The Thai ladyboys are touring Newcastle. I was tempted to be one.

There was absolutely nothing open in the centre and I had to get a train right out to the sticks.












The hostel had a really nice area to sit down in, very atmospheric.




OK, I've dieted for six months on 1200 calories a day, and I decided that anything the Sangha gave me doesn't count towards my allowance. So I had a last meal and then the policy was to eat what I'm given and not more.

This was an organic Thai curry I made myself. No, I promise a ladyboy didn't give me it.












I'm in a bad habit of delibrately photographing my feet, I know.

I hang about smoking down there for ages. I think that's why the room boy didn't like me. It was my last night in the world.




I had to walk up into the centre for the bus.






Waiting for the train to Hexham.




Arrived in Hexham.














I went up to the bus and had just missed it, one that had actually passed the railway station without me knowing it.

I ended up watching bowls. It reminded me of a day I bunked off school once, one of the few happy times of the period, where me and Adam Winkworth watched old people play bowls rather than be shouted at for the sake of it and be constantly intimidated and ... ah, forget it.




I thought I'd have a look at the church while I was waiting, and passed a wedding on the way.




















The abbey was OK; I lit a candle.




The bus driver to Carrshield was really nice. He showed me where to get a taxi in this tiny little town.






This was where the taxi was from. They asked if it was for the monastery as soon as I walked up. She phoned the driver, and said 'ten pounds' to him, meaning I was being screwed. I knew that for certain when she laughed hysterically when I asked if I was supposed to tip.




The driver dropped me in the back because it was easier to turn. I walked back down because I couldn't work out how to get in. I wanted to have my last cigerette, but felt bad, so just threw it down.




Then walked up.




The last picture before entering. I walked in and a woman greeted me, a monk of about 25, sorry, I mean nun. She welcomed me, and told the abbot I was here. The abbot gestured like he was about to offer his hand, but I looked reluctant, and so he didn't. He was dressed normally and would change later.

The woman showed me up to a common room, toilets, the ceremonial hall. I had been assigned a cupboard which I would sleep in front of. I had only blankets, and so she went to get a duvet, and I went and sat in the common room. I wondered if I was supposed to go back, so I went to the ceremonial hall and I did. She was there and had put a blanket and duvet in the cupboard. It was OK but I got flustered, as I said then I already had sheets, but she was going to get a duvet, and I thought that's so mindless, then I thouhgt FOR GOD SAKES CALM DOWN.








I was the first person there. I sat and waited for ages. In the ceremony hall, some people introduced themselves as ... Linda? and... someone? The man had a limp. They were brother and sister. The latter had been into it, but then left and now was back. There was kind of a forced friendliness about them I thought, and also a genuineness... if you know what I mean.

I waitied a bit longer, and then this woman came, actually, I think *she* was Linda. She was about 40, figety in a slightly enduring way. She went and sat down in the garden.

A man came who had we had passed in the taxi. He was Dutch and had come especially from Holland. I don't know why he didn't go to his temple there, but he was here. He had a very deep kind of voice, but was OK.

Another man who came up and spoke to the brother and sister. He had been joining all kinds of things and read a lot about Buddhism. We were all in the common room about then. There was a car coming from the station, but it would late, so there was just an awkward silence. An Indian woman of about forty, nice smile but no dress sense (did I just write that?) and I was glad to not be the only Asian.

Then the taxi arrived. This one had in it all the people who had chosen to be picked up from Hexham.

There was about eight, and I incorrectly thought that they were all part of the same group. I don't recall who came in, but I remember one woman came in looking really miserable, and another came in and sat in the corner. A man spoke to her to chit-chat and straight away she was saying how she'd turned up because she'd recently had three major operations and felt directionless, and felt that she had healing in her and had been to a healing course and now the spirits had brought her here.

Somewhere in the middle of this the monks came in and introduced themselves. I sat at the table at the back and just listened to the induction. Writing so long after the events, it's difficult to remember what occoured when. I think we went down and ate after a while.




























































This is the ceremony hall where I slept. All these pictures were taken in retrospect on the last day.

But to carry on with that first day. We ate, and it was explained to us how meal times are done. The first meal would be a talking one, as would the last, but apart from that, all mealtimes, and the whole retreat, was to be in silence. This was fine by me. There were three tables in the dining hall, long ones with about fifteen people at each. Each person has a 'plate-set'. This is a plate with a bowl on and cup in, and cutlery, covered with a drying cloth and top cloth with your name on to keep it neat. You have to basically leave it on your place each time.

I remember with that first meal, I was sitting with the monk who was leading the retreat, Rev... hmmm.... let me think. Nope, it'll come back to me. Anyway, I asked him what the winters were like, and if he found it harder to practice when it is cold and miserable. He said no because if he did feel that way then you have to go within and investigate why.

When the bowls and things were passed down the table, you have to bow to the person you receive it from, and the one you pass it onto.

After the meal, we went up and, I think the monk was called... no. Actually, there's one with a name I always get mixed up with so I won't guess. Anyway, upstairs in the ceremony hall he explained the practice, Serene Reflection Meditation, which is basically Japanese style 'just sitting' ala Dogen. We could experiment with various sitting postures and I was shocked at how comfortable the kneeling stool was. The only instruction you get is to just let anything come into your mind, and just let it go. That little instuction, little in terms of amount, is normal for Zen I think.

At the end of this there was a meditation. Every one faced the cupboards and basically stare at it with your eyes open. It was only a few minutes. Then he explained about going to bed. A few people had rooms, but everyone else would be on the floor, as I would, and there was a curtain dividing the sexes. He said there were earplugs downstairs because in any group like this you always get a snorer. Everyone laughed, except me of course, but I don't think anyone noticed (they would later).

So we went to bed. About half an hour later this guy in robes came round putting candles out and I slept.

---

Next morning at seven am. we were woken by someone walking round with a clanging bell. I didn't actually wake but the guy next to me shook me. I had about fifteen minutes to pack the bed up and put it in the cupboard, then go toilet. Then I was back for about fifteen minutes of meditation. Then the ceremony.

We all stood facing the shrine in two lines. All the monks (which refers to both genders there) filed in. There were six prostrating bows, so I just stood there like an idiot, but there was someone else quite old and shaking, like with Parkinsons, and so I wasn't alone. Then there was a really weird singing to the Heart Sutra, which I read every day (or try to). But this was an odd version which they were calling the scripture of perfect wisdom. I noticed two things. One, they translated emptiness and 'pure', two, the sutra was never meant to be sung. It wasn't great. Are purity and emptiness the same thing? Surely pureness is only one thing, and emptiness in no-thing, as in shunyata.

Anyway, then we got breakfast, which was kind of granola. All passed down the table, with grace and bowing. There was a really overweight bald person opposite me. At the talking meal he'd mentioned he'd been into Tibetan Buddhism. He did this little palm bow in such a nonchalant way. Young and goofy and kind of sadly resigned to everything.

I don't recall the order in which things happened. I really should have took notes. I'll just write down everything I can recall.

We had a talk about the precepts. The basic five, plus the five they add. This was interesting.

Because work is part of the practice, there was a working meditation. For the first one, they put me on shaping candles to fit into the holders. I was paired with the woman who had come in the taxi and gone one about her operations. It was all supposed to be in silence. But she couldn't help chatting in a London accent.

She was called Deborah and from Heathrow. We could only whisper, but she'd been on the Internet looking for a retreat in India or Thailand, then realised that you can do it here. She turned up after having booked the taxi and though there was no one there, there were just these people milling about, so she phoned the centre. It turns out that when the taxi arrived, all the people around her were also going to the retreat.

I'm not sure why, but we both went into a giggling fit when she was saying about this. Perhaps it was the silence, but we just went into side-splitting laughter.

There were two working meditations. For the second one she was excused because she had spiritual counselling, but they put me out in the garden. I was on my knees weeding, but it was kind of OK. I was shocked at how much I could actually do.

I think it was on the morning of the first day. I was sitting in the common room, and the woman who had arrived looking miserable was talking to her husband, or whispering. She wasn't enjoying it and was speaking in an angry, snapping way. She said all the bowing in the ceremony was stupid, and the singing was straight from a school assembly or sunday school. She said that she wasn't interested in meditating. She said what if she discovers her true self and it wants her to be happy at eleven stone, even though she's already decided that ten stone shall be her ideal weight. Then she said it's all bad enough, on top of getting no sleep all night because of that bloke snoring all night.

There was other evidence that... I might have been a bit loud. On one of the morning talks, the acting guest master, Rev... Loana (or something) said with a note of deep concern, that everyone looked really tired and was everyone sleeping alright in the hall?

And the morning of the last day, I heard the woman who wasn't enjoying it guessing who it was with another. Now when 'the german guy' was blamed I should have jumped up, 'no, it's me!!!'.

On the second night everyone was again asked if they were sleeping OK in the hall, and there was a collective sigh.

The 'German guy', turned out to be Eric. He was from (actually) Holland, and had flown over specifically to retreat. There's a temple in Holland but it's much smaller, so he came to the UK and was going to be staying on a few days after the retreat.

Every day there was a question and answer session. The only quesion I recall was from the fat goofy one, I remember I was subconsciously calling him rat boy. He asked 'What is the sound of one hand clapping'.

They didn't know because it's a Soto Zen temple. Personally, if it was me, I would have demonstrated the sound of one hand slapping.

In one of the Q&A sessions in the ceremony hall, the woman who wasn't enjoying it said, 'I don't get it', as a prelude to jush pooh-poohing meditation and everything generally.

---

The last meal was a talking one. There was chocolate cake as a treat. I got to chat to the monk again, but my voice was gruff. I remember hating myself because of the snoring; I probably ruined everyone's retreat. I was deciding not to come again, although I like Zen and was getting somewhere with the meditations.

I had no transport booked back and had the choice of networking... or begging depending on how you look at it, or just having a twenty pound taxi. While washing up, I spoke to the shaking man, who said he was staying long-term and told me when I asked, about taking the precepts.




This is ... Chilarepa or Chillaharta or something, it's actually a Bodhisatva who represents delusion that is converted to protect the Dharma.




Abhidharma brought the teachings to China and established 'just sitting' type meditation.




Maitreya Buddha, the coming Buddha of the future who also is now whenever you want.




Kanzeon, the Japanese version of Kuan Yin.






Waiting in the car park.

By this time I had got a life. Behind me in the washing up queue was, I think, Linda. She was about 40 and I think in social services. She was, or had, I noticed, the habit of becoming busy and over-emphasising her gestures when nervous. I think she was a good soul deep down though (ain't we all).

I knew that she had a car, and so asked her for a lift, and it was that simple. We were all given a book written by the Abbot as a gift. I left a donation in the alms box of about the same amount as I would have spent in London, and that was basically it. Rev. Aiden came to speak to me. He asked if I would continue the practice and I said that I would but explained that I was basically homeless. He recommended meditating in a church if it was convenient.

I had been designated as navigator, though it was fairly simple. We were joined in the car by and old guy and Deborah. we chatted about the retreat, and I asked about the woman who didn't enjoy it. I'd heard rumours that she'd had a go at her husband in a Q&A session upstairs. They had noticed she didn't like it, but explained that her husband was into it and had dragged her along. I do remember at the last dinner, the last time I saw her, the monks had explained that it's all done by donations. You go alone to the alms box and no one looks etc. But she insisted in going up to the monk with a chequebook and asking how much he wanted.

Linda and the man drove off as he was going on somewhere in the same direction. I had another night in Newcastle before going back to London. Deborah was going straight to Kings Cross but it was the same train, so we waited together.

She asked if I wanted a cigerette. I hadn't had one since going in to the monastery. But she had got to know the brother and sister and had apparently been going down onto the road all the time for smokes.

We went to the platform and chatted. I passed the guy who had been sleeping and meditating next to me but had never actually spoken to him as eating was about the only thing I didn't do next to him. I thanked him in passing.

Anyway. Deborah said she'd enjoyed it and was going back. During the second work period she'd had spiritual counselling with the Rev. Leona who had given the precepts talk. She'd broken down and was immeadiately invited back to stay indefinitely. The monk had wanted to go and get second hand clothes, but Deborah had decided to back to London and then return. She asked me why I didn't go back as well and I said maybe I would.

She said she couldn't have children. Then asked, 'Do you get to see your kids?', so I said I was single and childless (am I mean). It was odd, almost in the first five minutes, to get the assumption that I'm divorced, seperated from children and heterosexual. I'm one of those things, but weird.

She talked a bit about her problems. She'd had Khromes disease and the operations etc. She lived in a noisy place full of Asians. She said she knows the Asians, but they're not from England. Another time she said about how all the Eastern Europeans had come over and taken the work and were just there for the money. She obviously wasn't so happy with immigrants. Then she asked if I was born here.

She'd been all around the world, did about fifteen years in the Carribean, and now was alone since her father died. She had his house and lived there with a female friend, and was divorced.

There was this weird energy, mainly in that we just couldn't stop laughing at things. I mean, side-splitting laughter all the time.

She kept saying how spiritual she was. That the sprits want this and the spirits want that, and I wasn't sure how this would go down when she went back. We swapped phone numbers and I said that if she went back, then I probably would as well.

At Newcastle, we sat and had coffee. We were joined by this old eccentric and I got the impression he always came to the station just to be around people. He had a really thick Gordie accent and was talking about the time he accidentally threw away 20,000 pounds. Deborah went to toilet, and he became a bit more serious and talked about his two children, whom had both died in infancy from what I could tell. It was sad as my heart was a bit raw having come out of the monastery not longer than an hour.

Deborah went to get her train and I said I'd return the coffee she'd bought me when we met in the same place on our return.




I felt really weird to be back, out of place really. So I just walked about Newcastle City Centre.














This is the tv room in Albatros. It was nice and not nice to not be speaking to people (if you see what I mean (or not)).




Picture noir out back of Albatros.






Next day I checked out and decided to get some pictures of Newcastle. I passed this bar and there was a pub named after the Buddha next to something about Australia or Osaka or something significant. I don't recall but I noticed enough to photograph it.




Milenium bridge.
















Then I was back in Globetrotter, but their Edinburgh branch in Scotland.










Better view out back than the London version.












The dining hall.




Next day, my one whole day in Scotland, I decided to go to Perth. The Perth in Australia was obviously named after the place in Scotland, and so I decided to go and see the original.

I went to a couple of galleries but ended up walking straight back out as photography was banned. So as usual with my UK sightseeing, I didn't get to do any.


































I was really bored there by afternoon. I got lost big time, but ended up finding a pub the guidebook recommended. I wrote a letter to Rev. Leoma thanking her for the stay, saying I like to practice, and that I might be back with Deborah.






Of course I wrote to Junko.










I was really ready to leave by the time the bus came.




Back to Globetrotter.
















I was still taking the advice of 'the voice' then, and eating eggs when I could.












I went for a walk by the water.








I phoned Deborah. She said she was still on for going, but had to go down to Devon first to get her father a gravestone, and would phone at the weekend.






I tried to sit and meditate on this log, but the surface was far too uneven to be able to keep my back straight.










I've been walking around with the magic for ages now. I started it when mother was still alive and practiced every day. Records were kept and there was some good result. It was all based on a system of scoring, mainly delibrately cultivating happiness and excitement during a specific practice and then throughout the day and scoring the strength of the emotion. Then there were two other recorded scores. One, every time I took some proactive action in obtaining one of the goals. Two, each time there was some meaningful coincidence or 'foreshadow' this was also recorded.

But it became a bit sterile... or complicated, when I tried to start scoring too many different things, plus I got more into the straight meditation, re-evaluated my goals and just wanted to do a new practice. I spend a lot of time now recording the observed facets of my self, with a view to... getting rid of it, or at least living with it at a distance. I'm working on a new practice now.




Back in Hammersmith. I arrived Wednesday and signed on the next day. The out of hours man at the job centre is Paul and is pretty easy going.








Job seeking papers.






The food at the monastery had been really good. I've stuck to my diet religiously since March 20, as I have tee-'totality', except for what I took from the Sangha, when I just ate what I was given and would have been on a maintenence diet.

But there was something nice about arriving in Bayswater and making my usual mid-work picnic. Food eaten lying on grass just tastes better. My diets really healthy, but most people would consider it deprived. The thing is that you get used to anything. I really look forward to a tin of lentils or a Slimfast bar sometimes. I've even woken up craving Slimfast bars.






I went back to A's and talked about the retreat. I told her I might be going back. She was really enthusiastic. She wanted to know all about it. I showed her the book we'd been given and she looked at it for about half an hour at the table; pretty much skimmed the whole text, and asked quite a few questions. I don't recall exactly, but she said something about her thoughts, and it was jarring, as it's the only time I ever recall her speaking about her mind.








Walking around Northampton before taking the bus back.








On the way down to London, the National Express driver was late and bad tempered. He kept the toilet door locked for the whole journey. People kept complaining but he wouldn't open it. We stopped at Golders Green and a passenger asked if he could go, but was given a real dressing down about how late we were. I got off anyway as I had no choice. Though it's easy enough getting into the centre on a number 13.






I had a night in Shepards Bush. There was a new alfresco cafe, but the atmosphere was spoilt by the radio playing. It was an OK night though.






Back in Leicester Square, I was getting ready to leave North. I stopped for a break just where the stop and search had taken place.




I wanted to take various things to try at the monastery. I've been meaning to retry the homeopathy for some time, same remedy. There's a place in Covent Garden ,but the website said it takes four hours. As it is, it took two minutes and was only three quid. This is my main remedy, only the second one I ever tried after doing my own reperotory. I noticed one of the lesser rubrics is snoring.






Then back for an ambrosia lunch at the garden of St. James Church.












Then I was on my way. I stopped off for a coffee at Victoria. I had faxed the monastery to say I was coming, for at least a week, and longer if I could make it. Now, I had signed on and filled in a holiday form that meant I could stay about two weeks. I emailed the monastery a few days after the fax and Rev. Galen replied that they hadn't received it. So I attached it to an email. I still had heard nothing at this point, and there I was sitting in Victoria. So I phoned.

I spoke to Rev. Leona, who had been on holiday. She said the fax was recieved and that I could come. I asked if the market bus still left on a Tuesday and she said yes, then concluded that I was leaving on the Tuesday. I said I had no definite reservations yet, which was true. Once in Newcastle, I booked tickets back a week Tuesday, which allowed me to sign on again. This was one of the reasons that I left the second time when I did. Although, as it turned out, I toyed with the idea of staying until December, it would have meant signing off and not working on my reterospective.

The following Tuesday, at the monastery, in the morning the head novice had thought I was leaving, so they marked me in for another week. I did ask the guest master, Rev Finnon, if I could stay until December, and he agreed but said there was a weeks hungry ghost retreat that was full and I might have to leave. But it was never written down that I was a long-term guest.

Anyway, this is all jumping ahead.








Having a coach break on the way up.




I bought a clock for two pounds.

In a monastery, you want nothing. Like when I'm in London, I always walk round with a plastic beaker. If I get a can of drink or coffee, I put it in the beaker. I took this to the monastery. When you check in, you put all your possessions in the cupboard, and then walk round from place to place according to the schedule. But there are so many places you can't take the beaker, work, meditation, and there's absolutely nowhere to put it. Even though it's just a beaker, it was really cumbersome and I ended up putting it away for the first time in years and just using the mug on my place set.

This picture was taken in Albatros the night before I went up.






I bought these two books on the way down from a charity shop. I gave the yellow one to Palmers, but really enjoyed the how to be good. I finished it the next day, just as we arrived in Hexham, and so left it on the train.






I got these from the library. I wanted to try and tone up a bit since I lost weight. Also, I've been getting some back pain since I'd done the meditations on the first retreat; I've always had problems keeping my back straight, in terms of pain, starting at school assemblies when I was about six. My father telling me to try and keep my back more straight is one of the few things I recall about him from that time.










Waiting for Deborah at Newcastle station. She arrived but the trains were late. I bought her back the coffee and we talked. There was still this laughter energy between us. She told me about her car, a jeep, that she liked because of its size and you can get a lot in there. She hadn't had time to by nicotine replacement therepy so I walked back into the centre to get some. That old eccentric guy from last time wasn't there.




This was arriving at Hexham, where there was a good sky.












Then we were there. We'd had the taxi stop early for a last smoke. I had to pull this huge case up the hill for her. On the way up we remenised about the first retreat and agreed how odd we felt to be back and kept saying things like: 'What are we doing' etc. It was kind of ominus.

When we got up, Rev. Galen met us and said hello. We'd just missed dinner, and even though we were hungry, Deborah spoke for both of us saying it was OK. She had a private room again and so went up there. I had to go to the ceremony hall. I met Rev Finnon, who is actually the head of the guest department, and he was welcoming and sorted out all my linen and stuff. Then I went back to the common room.

This guy who'd been on the retreat was there, as was Deborah. Her and I were whispering, and he said it was OK to speak because it was Thursay and so normal talking.








She'd written down the schedule. It was odd to be back, and didn't feel great. I wrote in my notebook how many days there were to mentally calculate if I could get though it.

This was pretty much the first night. We sat and talked in the room and I went to bed on the floor in the ceremony hall, joined only by Robert this time.










This is the novices common room I think the next evening. It's hard to, as I keep saying, recall what occoured when as each thing happened when I'm looking back in retrospect, but I'll try (just for you and the millions of others who read this far).

The First Day

The first thing I recall was the first morning, or the first few mornings. The bell went as usual, at seven as it was a Friday, which was a semi-respite day. Deborah came in looking absolutely wrecked, saying that she couldn't take these early mornings and instead of staying until December, she would only stay until December.

This went on every morning every morning until for about five days. The second day she was saying that she would be coming back a week Tuesday when I went back. She looked absolutely wrecked and just wasn't good in the morning. Personally it wasn't so bad, mainly because we were forced to sleep so early. I think the hardest thing for me was at night time. I would have to be bedded down about ten pm. and it would take maybe two hours to fall asleep. Lying on the floor before the Buddha statue, trying to meditate but alone with my thoughts, and sometimes letting go of those thoughts and sometimes not, it just wasn't easy.

I got in the habit of staying up in Deborah room and talking, sometimes until about one AM. I confided to Deborah that it was bothering me if my... yeah OK, horrific snoring (I presume) was keeping Robert awake, much to her merth. I think she hinted the question to him once in a monks Q&A session, and he went on about this guy who used to be there who screamed in his sleep (which I'm always apt to do).

One morning she asked him how he was sleeping, and he said he was OK but when the monk came in, I wasn't in bed yet, and it was really best to be there by ten pm. and pretending to be asleep at that time.

This was all because a week Friday after we arrived, there was another introductory retreat and they wanted people to stick to those bedtime rules so we were gettiing hints.

There was another hint once, we had another monks Q&A session once in the seniors common room. Rev. Galen was in charge. We sat in silence for a bit, and he asked, 'How do you feel that our tradition is a silent one?', which was a hint, that it was all supposed to be in silence, but Deborah and I were just clicking then. We would sit up all night and just laugh and talk and stuff.

It wasn't just us. There were other people there. One was Kath. She was about 40. I never got to hear much about her. She used to really look at you and study you sometimes. Deep down I think she was fairly easy-going. Like at dinner once, we had some treat in the novices common room. Someone joked if it was OK to grasp at it as they took a piece, and she said it's OK to grasp, but don't cling to it because we all want some. She never opened up about her life so much, except when we were talking about the precepts once, and she talked about where she worked, and there was a very judgemental situation that she found it very hard not to get dragged in to.

Then there was John. He was OK and came accross as a bit... normal I suppose. We had a festival the following Sunday; I'll talk about it later. Anyway, there was a talk there. It was about healing and the medicine Buddha. Basically, we are ill for different reasons, and Master Jiyu, the woman who founded the monastery, had written about illness, and had said that if you are born with certain weaknesses in your body, then it's because of the way you lived in a past life.

John took this to mean something personally. The dining room was packed, but he opened up about his son, who has schitzophrenia, and he phone him every week and rants, and is he liked that because of something that John did in his childhood. While he was talking, and receiving the answer, he started crying. It was so unexpected, that I wept, but Deborah also cried. It was really say.

That evening, we were in the common room, and he talked more. His first wift was an Indian, but she had a chip on her shoulder and had never really integrated into this country and was always putting down white people, or feeling like an outsider, and because of that, the boy had gone mad. So he'd been placed in special housing where he started a fire and so on.

But John didn't talk about just that. He also talked about his work. He's an academic, with a background in sociology. He'd been around the new EU states helping, and was really into the social change that community gardening projects can make. We stayed up talking about that one night.

Deb. was also into gardens, and had gone as far as looking into getting qualifications in it, but it had come to nothing. She started thinking of plans of making a garden that monks could grow their own stuff. We thought about writing a plan and staying on past December doing it ourselves. Things were chugging along and it was looking like I was going to be staying some time. This is the way it was going then.

Anyway, about the other residents. There was a Scottish woman, who I think was also a minister? Or just her. I accidentally snapped at her in the meditation hall when I thought she was putting her stuff in front of 'my' cupboard, but we never really had so much to do with each other.

There was also George. He was a lay trainee. A no nonsense, practical man who lived nearby in Carrshield. He didn't sleep at the monastery, but would turn up for the training in the day time. He also seemed just a normal guy, living alone and about fifty. Once he opened up in a monks Q&A, about his battle with alcohol. He was also into the idea of hermatage, and becoming a Therevada monk in SE Asia for a while. Eventually he found a place in Sri Lanka that would take him, despite his age and having had cancer, and he stopped coming.

The last resident was Julia. She was definitely a lay minister. She had been there for the introductory retreat. Personally I thought she was nice, but Deborah had some problem with her, saying she just didn't like her. I think she took it upon herself to tell us the rules, so there was maybe the friction because of that. Deb told me that at the introductory retreat, she had been told off for not singing in the introductory retreat, singing in the morning ceremony I mean.

Then when we came back, Julia had said to her, 'You're wearing some scent that doesn't agree with me'. You're not supposed to be wearing any scent in the monastery, and she wasn't, but commenting on a way that a woman smells, even if complimentary, is not a good way to endear yourself to her. So anyway, these too were never best friends.






This was the novices common room. We had most informal evening 'medicine meals' there, as well as an informal brunch on respite days. Also, when the introductory retreat was on, we used to have a tea break there with all the monks. I'm not sure if it was a rule, but all the lay people didn't say anything. We just used to listen to their stories. Like Wilbert, that's the name I just remembered who used to lead our own introductory retreat, talked about a mole repeller he just bought. Another one talked about Haloween and his memories of trick and treating.








I think this was the first Friday afternoon. We had about three hours off, although the schedule was so busy that it seemed like a million years. We decided to try and get to a shop for smokes, but ended up walking for a long time and not being brave enough to hitch.

At this time, plus other times, I got more of her story. She was very self-absorbed, though I used to just listen. She never once mentioned her mother, but did say that her childhood was unhappy. She used to sometimes ask me to open up, so I would start to say a little about myself, but pretty much after the first sentence about me, there would be what was puportedly a pep-talk, about how I should be stronger, but then would immeadiately go into her own story and what had happened to her and how she bounced back, and she had this disease, and she doesn't have anyone left. It was OK to listen to her I suppose. I resented the fact that she was so full of this though but didn't know anything about Buddhism. She was still talking about spirits at this time. On our day out, we were in the library and she was trying to remember the grace we have to say at lunch time and she asked me some questions, to sum it all up, so I told her the four noble truths, the eightfold path and the Buddha's last words, and she took notes.

She'd been in the Carribean for fifteen years, with her first husband whom she never talked about, refitting yaughts and stufff.

I think for about five years she'd been in the UK. Her father had died and left her a house, which she'd done up and was renting out the rooms to pay off a mortgage. She lived with a female friend whom she never talked about. She'd done this healing course, thinking she might die soon because, I don't know, she didn't have anyone. On the course, she'd been paired up with someone and had to ask questions, but she didn't know what to say because she 'hasn't talked to anyone for four years'.

Anyway, we didn't get any smokes on our little trip, but ended up just walking back and carrying on with the routine.




The Day Out

Monday was a proper day out. After eleven, we had the day off until six. Robert had to go in to have his hair cut. Breakfast was a brunch with fried tofu ambrosia that only I liked. It was good. I can't remember what we were talking about but Robert ended up opening up, as he did in various Q&A's.

He's one of twins and one of the reasons he's there is that he wants his sister to be a little less reliant on him. Another thing is that he's a female to male transexual, i.e. was born a woman. He was quite politically active and had once joined, or at least applied to, join the police force, in protest of the fact that the police don't allow people to join with a new gender.

He was a music teacher from Camden. He'd been involved with Kosovan music and refugees and refugee music. He had two close friends who were dying. I did actually get to chat to him a little in the car on the way in. He liked running. He'd been at the temple for three months because he was thinking of becoming a monk. He was kind of middle-class schoolboyiy kind of person, and quite sichophantic about all of the monks and 'Reverend Master'. Towards the end of my stay, I got really strong vibes that he didn't like me... though that could just be paranoid. Anyway. He drove us to Tesco in Hexham and we swapped numbers and he later phoned when I was alone in the park to see if I wanted to be taken back. I think he was a very different person to me, but essentially an OK kind of bloke.

Once we were in Tesco, Deb and I walked around looking for a place we could smoke. I said we should go in the department store, but she was certain it would be no smoking. In the end she agreed and it was OK. She went to the toilet and I phoned A. There was no news particularly. We split up and agreed to meet later in a cafe which Robert had recommended.

Alone, I went to sit in the park where I had first sat before going to the introductory retreat. In the morning I'd been asked to help an Australian female monk do laundry as she had a bad back, then I thought about the present moment, very much, I could stay in the present moment by then, mainly because of the medicine Buddha ritual.






I went back to Hexham Abbey for a bit.




This is the cafe recommended by Robert. Deb turned up with an iced bun, which I ate as it was a gift. I'm not sure if I put weight on over that period.






Postcard to Junko, of course.

We were sitting in the library, as we both needed to get stuff done, though I did mainly, she just spent time learning the breakfast ritual.

I wrote quite a long letter to A. When I had been back at her house, she'd mistakenly thought I'd be staying for a few days, but when she realised it was only for a night, she made a point of talking to me at the table. The accountant, Mr. Smith, has come every two weeks since M. died to sort out my finances and credit cards or something. I'm not sure. He was coming for a special meeting to talk about A's will. A specifically asked me what I wanted. She want's to get G out of it as executor, and also remove his power of attorney, mainly because of the way he acted when mother was dying. I'm not sure who else is going to do it. Anyway, she wanted to know, if she leaves me the shop, do I want it kept on and have the rent, which would be about 150 a week, or sold. I said I don't know but would reflect on it.

She's been against Geoff for ages now. Since M died basically. Carly comes up about every two weeks and bitches about him. I think A doesn't get to see so many people, so gives a lot of thought to it all. He was funny about the rings that M wanted C to have, basically calling A a liar, and that's when it started. But now, whenever I speak to A. there's always an update of how bad he is and that's really, you know, he's shot himself in the foot.

Anyway, I didn't answer the question in the letter, but did mention points that came to mind. I.e. where would the money be paid. Would I have the right to force a sale at a later date if it wasn't working out. Would I be liable for UK tax and how would I pay it if I didn't have a UK address?






This is the five thoughts, the thing you have to say at each meal.






This little shop was next to Hexham cathedral. We had quite a bit of time to kill. We missed a bus and would get the one at ten past five. I was getting wound up because we were supposed to say if we were going to be late. I phoned and spoke to the Australian, but it was out of hours. She said she'd pass a message back onto Robert, but sounded put out.
















Waiting for the bus. There were some kids there, and one of them shouted at me, 'green shoes!'

As it turns out, we did get back on time. I phoned the taxi company while on the bus and they were waiting for us as we got off.

When we went in, Rev. Murial passed me. She asked if I had had a good time, and did I have a 'coffee for her'. I said no, but a whiskey.

I noticed in the order magazine, that Rev. Murial was the newest monk there, and definitely the nicest. She was German, and used to make me laugh when her English was confused. She was a little eccentric I suppose. Like once, we had to be chopping onions, and she told me about this accident she had when she was doing the same and hurt her finger. Now she cut them up with both a knife and fork.

Once, Rev. Wilber (whom I always refered to as Wilma) had a go at me for sitting on a work service. This was the only time anyone was ever directly short with me. Other times, people went out their way to make sure I had a seat when my leg hurt, even though I never complained once, they were just generally compassionate people who just noticed that my leg was bad. My duties were things like, peeling and chopping onions, cabbage, zesting oranges, once I spent a whole morning breaking eggs into a bowl. Also, I dried and put away after meals.

Anyway, after Wilma had had a go at me, she came straight up with a face of pure compassion, and asked if I was OK and do I want a chair. I said no, but she kept asking and eventually insisted. It was so sweet that it nearly made me cry to be honest.

At night time, we had a shorter meal. Everything seemed normal. When I went to wash my plate set up, everyone was milling about the entrance to the novices kitchen, and started shuffling out. I went to look in and Deborah was in tears, being held by Cath. So I left with everyone else and nothing was said.

Later John asked me if something had happened or was it ongoing: I said the latter.

I decided not to mention it unless she did. She didn't, for a while. Later we were on the road outside and she said that it had been Cath asking if she was OK, and she said how she'd felt ill on the bus and cried a bit. It's weird, as I couldn't see Deb on the bus back, but had been thinking aobut other things, and had also ended up crying.




There was a period of about three days where school trips visited. We had to meditate in the common room or in the seniors common room.






Shrine at night.








Introductory

There was another introductory weekend held while I was there. There was quite a few extra things we were asked to do. I thought we would get the Friday off, but we didn't, we ended up working, which was fair enough.




We did get some time off but not enough to go into Hexham. We had been hoping for a lift there, but when one wasn't forthcoming, we decided to walk to Carrshield. There was just a little drizzle. We walked and walked, always thinking we would site somewhere around the next corner.






We argued about who should hitch.

Eventually a car just stopped. They were local pensioners who knew where we were from and going, and also knew we would have badly miscalculated the distance. As the car drove along, we realised that we never would have made it. They were a really friendly old couple who talked about the outsiders moving in and pushing up house prices, and general chit chat. Thank God for them, basically.






We sat in this little pub. It was really good. We basically sat and were mindless and did nothing. When it was time to leave, there was no answer from the taxi. The coffee was brilliant. The owner gave us the taxi's mobile, but also no answer, though we did eventually get a friendly guy who chatted all the way home about this rogue unlicsenced driver who get's all the weekend drunk business.




This is a blurred shot of the kitchen. Generally, my memories of being here are good. When you work, it's supposed to be a work meditation, and I did actually meditate. I had some really lovely periods there.




Lay common room.










This was the workshop.

While the introductory retreat was on, they put me to work there with Rev. Galen. Well, not with him, but under his direction. The first day he expained that I was to sand and varnish a table. He showed me an old sanding machine, but the belt wasn't straight and I had to adjust it every few seconds. I hated it so much and was alone there. So in the end I took the sander off and just did the whole thing by hand.

The second day, I was supposed to have everything left with me for varnishing. When I went there, the varnish was solid and there was a big ring folder, Readers Digest DIY. I wasn't sure if it was a Zen thing and I was supposed to work it out. I hated it. A monk came in and I asked. He said I shouldn't have to and to go and find Galen. I did so, and was given new varnish, and shown how to used sawdast to make the other stuff safe for disposal.

The table ended up looking great, but I still didn't like the job. I never did like 'manly' type pursuits. You could say it's either genetic or I lacked a fatherly influence. I just know I hate cars, football, petrol or tar smells, noise etc. Weird, as at school, they had tried to put me into building(!). Looking back, that's because there's a shortage in consctuction rather than myself having any chance of happiness at that.




The day after that, I was assigned to even more varnishing. Again, I hated it. It wasn't that I couldn't do it. I didn't understand. There were supposed to be rough patches that needed more sanding, and I just couldn't feel them. I didn't know what to do, but meditated and did it anyway.




This is a statue in one of the new, as yet unused rooms I was working in.




I mean, look at it; can you see a difference anywhere on the wood. I ran my hand over it and it all felt the same. Again, it might have been some zen thing I was supposed to work out.




Draws i n the new room. No, I didn't sand that.






The ten Mahayanist precepts.

This board is used to explain them to people on introductory retreats, which was still running at the time.

I thnk it was on the Saturday when I walked down the cloister and said hello in passing to one of the introductory people. She later came and found me and it turned out to be Linda, the woman who had given us a list.

Deb joined us and we ended up chatting in the common room, the three of us. I asked if she used to be a catholic, which she'd mentioned. She said how it was all just for appearences, and you might as well say you're in the RSPCA as a Catholic.

Later, she was talking about how she had got involved and ended up coming back. She was with two other guys who were part of her meditation group. I said, was it either Buddhism or the RSPCA? i.e. the reason she was back.






Seniors common room.

The schedule was really disjointed while all these people were here. This day I walked in late and they were just sitting there, so I sat down and talked, but it turnedo out that they were just sitting in sofas meditating. I could feel myself being pulled away, or pushed out depending on how you look at it, from the group.

We had just a few smokes left. Deb seemed angry all the time about then. She wanted to smoke, so I said I'd meet her on the road. I shaved and joined her. She was right around the bend to avoid the workmen working next to the monastery on a Chapel. She was with a guy called Dan, on the introductory retreat. He said he had been on retreat in Devon and this place had been recommended by his boss, who actually owned the estate agents in Bayswater opposite the tube station.

He was staying on for a couple of weeks and had a private room as he was scheduled for an operation. He had no smokes and so kind of joined us.








Surrounding area.






Seniors common room.

The retreat was ending about then. I was starting to dread the last meal with them all as that would be talking. There was this guy opposite to me left at dinner who was obviously really getting into it. He used to bow really mindfully and everything. When eating, I used to just look down, but once, he asked if I was OK and apparently, Deb said, had been looking at me for a long time.

At that last meal, the woman opposite me was from Hexham, and Rev. Finnon was the server at our table. She basically only wanted to know about celibacy, saying she couldn't handle it, even though she was now but not by choice.

The guy who was really into it chatted about his life. He had four kids, one of them a daughter from a dallience he had as a teenager. He'd just contacted her and now was leaving the ball in her court to see if she wanted to take it further.

I remember the morning before they all left. My work job had been to hover the lay common room, that's the blue one. I was doing so and this guy insisted on helping me move the chairs. A different guy dropped his tea and came to me for help as I was kind of working there, so I cleaned it for him. As I was downstairs, a third guy came up to me and said 'thanks for doing that'. It made me happy, but I wasn't sure why he'd said anything. I eventually worked out that they were all really into it and he was thanking me for my compassion. Ugghhh. True though, it was a nice feeling.

The Sunday before I left... no it was the first Sunday I now recall, was a festival for the medicine Buddha. It was really nice. First of all we had an easier schedule and all of the work was voluntary.

We'd been joined by a new guest, Barbara, who only opened once in the common room, the seniors. She was about 50, and one of identical twins whose sister had recently died. Robert was really sympathetic of course. This was pretty much all she said about herself. I do know her husband dropped her off. She was very middle/upper class.

Anyway, for the morning's work, I was put with her making place sets for people... no, this was for introductory retreat... what happened.

Anyway, the medicine Buddha festival, this was when John cried. We were all on easy schedule. I already mentioned the second time I saw Linda; that was the festival. Basically there was good food and a load of people who turned up, mostly from surrounding areas, for this talk and ritual.

The ritual was really nice. There was the usual rubbish singing, but then some really nice chanting. The end of the festival was when they kept chanting about the medicine Buddha and we all formed a line and shuffled before the Buddha, taking turns to take some insence, putting it on the bindi mark of ourselves and sprinkling the rest on burning coals.

There's something that stayed with me from the ritual. In one of the songs, it was the one that was being continually repeated as we were going up to the Buddha, the verses sang about the medicine on offer from the medicine Buddha: it's the medicine of the present moment.

I'm not sure why that anchored in my mind, but it did. While meditating, I became really 'present'. Every couple of nights, as part of vespers, we would have to read out 'The Rules of Meditation', I think possibly by Dogen, and am almost certain a rubbish translation, but I also recall the single sentence, to be aware of the passing of time.

And this has taken root in my mind for some reason. I kind of sit and meditate, and just am really now, I don't mean a little now, I mean NOW. Not a little bit in the past and not a little bit in the future, but in this moment, aware of it going from one moment to the next, but not going into the past or future, but only ever now. It's almost impossible to explain.

I mentioned it to Deborah. I was explaining what my meditations were like at the time, and still are I suppose. It's like the meditation... or my reality, it like a speeding train with everything (the world) is racing by, but there's this unmoving point at the start of the train. Yes, that's what it's like. Thing of being in the drivers compartment of a train and looking down at the very, very front part of the train. Everything is speeding, but now that part as it's stationary in relevance to yourself. This is what the meditations like.

Random memories

Yes, I really should have kept notes each day, but there you go. As it is, I'll have to just add anything here if it comes back to me.

I remember once in Q&A, Robert opened up about his mother, and her reaction to his sex change. She came across as the kind of person who won't allow herself to feel anything. Anyway, the mother had got together with the violin teacher, to mourn the 'girl what was to die'.

Unravelling

And then, things just started to unravel, I suppose.

There were different lead ups to it I suppose. One was during the introductory retreat. The introductorees only do one long meditation and it's overseen by a senior monk. I was meditating there, and Rev. Finnon was overseeing. Afterwards, he came up and said that I have a 'terrible posture' and was there something wrong with my back? I explained there was a joint problem and he said OK, fair enough as he didn't know...

But he went on to say that, it was 'me generally'. The way I walk, think and hold myself. I don't recall exactly. He said, 'There's a lot of brightness there, but you've got to let it shine'.

That night I was out with Deb. Next to the Abbey there's a disused chapel that's being renovated, and we used to sit and smoke there. We had our last smokes there and I told her about it. She went into this pep-talk about how you've got to bounce back, sensible ####### advice and so on. Like most of the advice she gave out, it only lasts for a moment, really being a cue for her to talk about herself. So she went through this and people dumped all over her.

But she did note, from this and from other things about me, that I'm too sensitive. She said it and looked at me for a long time, then repeated it, like she was really noticing that about me. I mean, it's true, but no one really notices, well, of course not as I don't really know anyone.

Anyway, other things that were the undoing of it all.

One thing. The second time we went out, when we were, I don't recall where we had come from. We had been up really late the night before and got back very tired. She lay on the bed and I lay on the floor in her room. We decided to skip dinner, but then I said I would go down and she told me to say she was tired.

I went down and dinner was in the seniors common room. It was soup and bread and I wasn't so hungry. My place set wasn't there and Robert asked if I'd taken it out the dining room and left it in the cloister. I said no. If it was still there then I would have to go in while all the monks were eating and retrieve it. I asked if that was the case, and he seemed really irritated, and said, well, yeah. So I walked out.

In the cloister, someone had put my bowl out but I wasn't on for the soup, so I went back to D's room and lie on the carpet.

After a while, I went to the toilet, and Rev. Finnon came and noticed we'd skipped dinner. This was the second meal I'd missed as I'd been shaving once. He said it's not so good, as food gets wasted, and also it's one of the ways that they all stay together as a community. I said OK and he told me to pass it on to Deb.

I did so and she went mad. We went to the common room and agreed that we should try and fit in a bit more, spend less time together. She said something like, 'they don't like couples who are too close', and I said, 'We're not a couple', although with all the laughing, we were pretty much like one. So we agreed to join in a bit.

But what happened next was vile. She ended up with Barbara and Cath, talking about Chromes disease. She said that it causes tiredness and she hadn't been able to get off the bed, oh she's tired all the time, and you shouldn't have early mornings like this when you have Chromes disease. They all sat round and she took all this sympathy.

But basically, she'd missed dinner for the same reason I did. Instead of getting early nights, we'd sat up talking and laughing in the common room. We were both wrecked.

Also, she'd joined the group, or arrived in the first place, to 'open up', and 'sort things out', which is fair enough. Well, she did so, but a lot. I'd get chastised when I wouldn't open up. She kept saying you have to do that. This is why people come. She wasn't really interested in the meditation; this is the impression I got; she just wanted to be away from her life in London, and to open up and have some sympathy I suppose.

This is fair enough. But I listened to her point and started trying to open up about me, the illness etc. and I never got further than one sentence before she went into the, 'keep going and get over it' pep-talk, which consists of two sentences before become a list of all the things she's been through and all the people who've dumped on her.

I noticed she never mentons her mother or husband at all.

Anyway, the full day was Sunday. We both had dirty laundry mounting up. We'd been trying to arrange how to do it and Robert said he would show her. She said, when we get a chance, just put your stuff in with mine, as long as it's colours. Fair enough.

On the Sunday, we were all assigned to Rev. Chandra. She's introduced herself to me when I was previously varnishing the table in the tool-shed. I'd said straight away how that means moon, and she said yes, she's the only one who's been given a Sanskrit name.

When I went down with her on the Sunday, she asked me how I knew that and I said the modern Hindi word for moon is the same.

We had to put boots on. I went to get them and Deborah came and said that Robert had booked the washing machine for her and she was going to do it. I asked if I could put my stuff with her and she said that he's only put his and her name on the laundry roster. I said no, I put her name on it in passing a few days before. She said she didn't know. I have to go and ask Robert.

I went and asked Robert, and he looked at me like I was an idiot and said to ask Deborah. So I went back and had to fill pots up with soil to plant seeds. I asked her why she was just planning to do her own stuff and she ignored me.

We kept working and I asked her advice a few times as she knows about gardening and I realised she was being a bit short with me. We then were excused to do the washing, so I went up to get some bits, it was only a few things, enough to hold in my hands, and I went to the laundry room.

When I went in, she was putting stuff in talking to Robert, and I heard her snap the word 'Bollo***' as the end of a sentence. I asked her if I could put my stuff in and she snapped that it had to be dark stuff. It was dark stuff, but I said OK quietly, realising there was something wrong, and went upstairs and put it back in the cupboard upstairs.

I went back out and a monk said I was looking stiff and was I OK. I said yes, and Rev. Chandra made us plant some little organic things. I threw the dogs ball and lost it in a hedge, then we were sent down plum picking.

Deborah never came back. Later I needed my shaving stuff, which was in the room. I went there and she snapped, 'What do you want?', so I took it and shaved.

I didn't speak to her again. The last day she ignored me at breakfast. I went upstairs and she came and asked me for the taxi number, meaning she was going to town alone.

There was a new monk from Hungary who'd arrived. I'd got chatting to him the night before and he needed help to make a dentist appointment. So I phoned for him.

Then it was the day off. I was going to Hexham anyway, and basically decided to leave. I went to the guest department and Rev. Galen was there. I said I would go a day early and he said OK. I packed and left. Lazlo asked me to get him some asprin and I said OK. I walked down the path and Rev. Muriel asked him if I was leaving and he said only to Hexham, but she seemed to know. She came and said goodbye as I was leaving. I turned and bowed, and told her she was the nicest one there, which was true, and she waved off the compliment with a smile and a sweep of her arm. She was a lovely person.

I walked down to wait for the taxi, it arrived. I got in, and off I went.




I took pictures of pictures, from an album in the shop which helps you remember who each person is and use their names, which is very useful actually. This one is the abbot, but he was always away and I never really got to speak to him.



This one was easy going, especially when she caught people smoking.




This one was funny. I only spoke to him once, on festival day. We were sitting eating the apple pie treat, and this little girl got snapped at by the dog he was in charge of. But before it happened, he kept saying how he doesn't like being tugged by kids and was nervous as to whether it would be OK.




Ah Wilfred, that was it, he was in charge of our introductory retreat. I never did get to speak to him again, except to say hello the moment we returned back. Though it wasn't hello. More some comment. Don't recall. Whatever. He was sweet.




The guestmaster on the left, who noticed my 'terrible posture'. I never really had anything to do with the one on the right.




I took a few shots of the dark ceremony hall when I went to bed.










I don't recall why I got to the common room late; I think this was the last night. There had been a biscuit treat, and indeed one had been saved to me, though the place was desserted.




We had a Q&A with this one in the prefects common room. He talked about losing the sense of self in response to a question by Barbara. He was also in charge of the magazine that the monastery publishes.




The infamous Galen. He comes across as very imposing. For this reason I'd assumed he was the abbot while on the introductory. He was actually, kind of absent minded (bad news for a monk) but nice enough I think. I think he's not impressed with my woodwork.




Rev. Willard was in charge of the kitchen, and very nice. There was one Q&A with him. Someone asked him, actually it was George, about ethics and euthanasia. At one point he talked about not judging, and that he'd just come from a situation where there was a lot of judgements, but he couldn't go into it because he didn't really know some of us so well.

He had a very... perhaps you'd say expressive face. Specifically, his eyebrows moved, a LOT, from being right close to his eye, to going right half way up his forhead. He'd move them like this to say hello, or think, or anything; it was really endearing.







Chandra, whom you know of.




Rev Aden is the one who came and spoke to me after our introduction retreat, saying about meditating in a church if I'm homeless. He kind of singled me out for a chat for some reason.




Leandra, of course. Did I mention the Q&A session. Deb talked, saying she was getting it, opening up and so on. But then she got me to talk, about my previous practice, so I talked about a dream I had in Nepal, and my breath practice, all the mp3 lectures I've been listening to for a couple of months now, about two hours a day, but I use them as a concentratio exercise also.




She was an American. My only contact was a single Q&A session, where she actually recorded her own talk to us, which was about the tenth precept, not defacing the triple gem. It was useful actually. So if someone is practicing in a certain way, even if it's destructive in your opinion, that's still their practice because they're looking for happiness just like everyone else, and to critisise them is to attack the dharma. And when you think about the Sangha, you can include all living beings on the basis that we're all trying to be happy whichever way we know best.




Never spoke to her.




He was kind of the kitchen assistant, but usually the one giving us work. Another really nice, gentle person.

There's one annecdote that comes to mind. One day, there wasn't so much work, so he decided that I was to clean the accumulated goo off things like mixers and the scales and so on.

He said to me, 'Orange Oil' is best for that, and went off and returned with a white bottle that had kind of cartoon advertising on it. I looked and it didn't say Orange Oil, so I asked where it was labeled.

He said that it wasn't. He said that's just what he calls it. He looked at the label, and said that it's actually called 'Sticky Stuff Remover'. But the quiet, educated way he said it made me laugh. He said that he still calls it Orange Oil because he thinks it's make with essential oils and stuff, so he went over to the window to read the label in the light.

It was full of things like sulphuric acid, potassium this and chloride that. His face dropped as he read each ingredient and he returned holding it at arms length. He said:

Actually, that doens't sound so good. But I think it's OK as long as you don't drink it or give it to some kids to drink.




Whoops, I got them mixed up. It was this one, Rev. Garath, who gave the talk about losing the self in the seniors common room.




I only spoke to this one a couple of times, usually she was giving out jobs during kitchen clean up.




The one who had a go at me, but I think he was OK really. He's been a novice for nine years. Once in the common room he called me by name to check why I hadn't brought a tea with me. He was a bit glum and irritable overall. We're all different though.




The head novice, used to give out work during working meditations.




She was an Australian who played the organ on festival day. I had to help her launder rags once because she has a bad back. Another time I phoned from Hexham to be late and she sounded really irritated to be passing on a message.




This is the one I first ever spoke to when I first turned up on introductory retreat. She was linked to the guest department.








Muriel. I just remembered something else about her. I was given the job of slicing bread once. It was the only job in the kitchen I hated. The slices were awfully different, and I told her so in apology when I had to hand it over, and she just said 'so are we (different)'.

She radiated kindness. I don't know if she was always like that, or if it's something she learnt through Buddhism. If so, then I'd better start practicing metta.




I took some last pictures of the ceremony hall, including me meditating on one side of the room, and packing my bag outside 'my' cupboard, where I'd been sleeping.


























Then I was outside, checked out and gone.




180
















The taxi came and the guy remembered me, and Deb. I told him about the time we walked, or tried to, to Carrshield. As we got in range, my phone rang, delivering a stored text, someone asking for info about the book (my book).




I had a quick coffee in the same pub, then went and waited for the bus.

When it came, Deb was there, though she just got on completely ignoring me. It drove onto Hexham and she wordlessly got off, so it was definitely best to leave then as you can't really carry on in that kind of atmosphere.








Hexham station.




A pub in Newcastle. I just sat, with terrible coffee, thinking.










I kind of walked around Newcastle not knowing where to go, just relaxing. It was nice to play some music.






There was a pub, I think it was called star or something. It was good to just sit there at night because it was so quiet.






Next day I went for an expensive coffee in a shopping centre. Eden Place I think it was called.




Letter to Junko.







This pub was called Goose. This place was really nice. I phoned A. and she told me there was a reply from the police, and read it to me.






Letter to Rev. Finnan. I enclosed a cheque from Nationwide with it.








The two above are a place I had a quick coffee before leaving Newcastle.




The coach down stopped for a break in Leeds. This is where I was just after M died when I went up to York before Newcastle.







The coach stopped at the same place on the way up, I think it might be near Sheffield?


It was dark by the time we pulled out.



Then I was back at Palmers. I took this picture in the morning because there were all these sunflowers next door. Though I've just notice the disabled sign in the shot. Does that have a meaning?




The next Thursday I signed on, as originally planned. Then, of course, a coffee in William Morris.






---




Date: Thursday 26th October 2006

Royal Bayswater Hotel, London W2.

Finally catching up. I think it's better to write what I recall from my diary, then when I put new pictures up, I'll add anything else I remember; I hate falling behind like that.

Dream (Saturday 7 Oct 06 (while still at the monastery))

I was watching a cartoon. It was a surreal Simpsons type thing where the character went to the moon.

Interpretation

Probably just saying that the Zazen was doing me good.

Dream, next day.

I was with someone somewhere, and they told me to stop dieting.

Interpretation

I ate what they gave me at the monastery. Apart from that I've been 100% sober on 1200 strict calories a day since March 20. I weighed myself at the weekend, 70kg (11 stone), less than when I was at school and a total saving of 25 kilos.

---

I signed on the Thursday following the retreat or whatever I was on. I changed lines at Green Park and saw Mick, the musician who used to, and I'm pretty sure still does, live at Leinster Inn. He was playing guitar in the tunnel. It's strange as I passed Leinster today and saw one of the staff who what there when I was.

Friday 13th was a hard day. I mean really hard. London was all booked up, so I booked a place called Journeys in Deptford. I got there really late and knew it would be a little rough as it's near Whitechapel. But I was in for a shock.

I had to go in a little pub which was mostly black. Fair enough, but it was loud and so rowdy. The barmaid didn't know what I was on about but called over to an old black woman who was kind of motherly in a harsh way. She checked me in and a Canadian woman took me to an ajacent building.

It was absolute anarchy. There were people running about screaming. I went to the toilet and there was an unconscious man I had to step over in the doorway. He was pierced and with a moheaken, but said, or make some noise in salutation.

Then this Polish guy accosted me on the stairs, absolutely wrecked, and went on about how hard it is understanding English.

But like most times, the rare times I go, everyone's friendly over the east. There was a Polish couple who shook my hand and introduced themselves in the room.

But it was above the bar and the music was thumping. I have some earplugs I had because of A's tv, but this was something else. I was straight out the next day. But I managed to lock myself out the room about four am. but after an hour in the cold in my underwear, someone let me in.

Next day I was in London House. I decided to turn a decade of my diaries into a print book, and to make a cd of The Happiness Hike, plus upload Life Magic. I managed the latter.

I went to see The Lake House at Prince Charles Cinema, then had a few days over Swiss Cottage, mostly on a downer. I always am up there; not sure why.

Then I came back to Baywater. I've been doing basically the same work. The police got in touch and I'll try and pop over tomorrow. I'm in Picadilly, tomorrow, if I get any sleep. Then two nights in Belsize, three in Palmers. Hopefully I'll have enough to do to stay up.

I went to A's on Saturday night, mainly to pick my post up. There's no news really. M's house goes on sale in December.

There are various other things to say, but it's so late. I'll likely have some time over Picadilly I suppose. It's so late, and as usual, I'm wide awake. I'll say it quickly.

The premenition I had about M's death back in India plays on my mind a lot. In that, she said had a list of all the places in the world she was planning to see. But the nun, who turned out to be death itself, said she won't be here for 'the feast of st. stephen'.

The thing is, she was for the next one. This is the first one she's not here for. And now, stuck in London, it's me looking at all the places in the world I'm planning to go to.

So does it mean I'm going now?

---

Another thing. It's Nov 5, I think a week Sunday. I don't know whether to stay or go. I know I want to destroy a lot more of my possessions.

I wanted to say what, plus my conclusions about the monastery... but it's late. I'll go down to the kitchen. I might come back. Hopefully I'm going to be tired soon.

---

Same day, 9.00pm, Prime Time Video Cybercafe, Covent Gardens.

Well, I slept since then but only a few hours, then came here.

I've had one of those weird days. Weird in that I've seemed to irritate everyone I meet, though I didn't mean to.

It started when I went downstairs to check out of Royal Bayswater. I was packing my bags in reception and a guy from the 20 bed dorm where I was staying asked if he could change rooms. When asked why, he said about the snoring (Oh God....). Well that can only be me as I went to bed at four in the morning and walked past nineteen silent people to get to my bed in the corner.

The receptionist said he should have 'told him', then said to throw possessions at him, aiming at the mouth. He couldn't move as the place was full. Then he looked at me and said 'is that the guy', but the receptionist said no to spare trouble. It's horrible though. I'm sleeping with my bag under the mattress to raise it so high my back hurts, using menthol and homeopathy seperately. I hate me ... for this and everything.

Anyway, I went out and had a coffee in Queensway, in the street, then went up and brushed my teeth. The attendant came over and said 'Don't do it next time'. I asked why and he said that the management doesn't allow it. Not sure why exactly. I've done it loads of times, there and everywhere, and no one ever complained. Perhaps it's because it's a private place, and they don't want to attract bums... bums like me that is. Thank God there are cubicals there, because since it's gots cold, I go in the toilets there, open cans of lentils and potatos etc. and eat it sitting on the fountain. But I'm sick of all this.

Then I went to Maplins and bought a case. I'll say about it later.

Then I came here to Picadilly. It was really busy checking into Picadilly Backpackers. Both the staff were knew. The guy checked me in, then told be to come back later for the bedsheets, even though they were only just beside him. He seemed to have an instant dislike for me (ha, try sleeping with me my lovely (second thoughts, bad idea)).

Anyway, I walked off and accidentally left a tissue on the counter. He called me over and went mad, saying to leave it in the bin, why did I put it there. I mean... it was just a dry, ripped piece of tissue.

I went upstairs but the bed was occupied, and in an tiny room. I went back down and an ethnic Chinese British woman was much nicer and I got a better room on the sixth floor; if I can stop despising myself long enough to sleep.

Then I showered; I really needed to. Then I got lost in Soho somehow, but got to Covent Garden, where I had a coffee on a bench listening to a busker, who said he was personal friends with the man who wrote 'Streets of London', before performing it.

---

Anyway, the other things I wanted to say about the situation generally.

I feel mixed about leaving the monastery in the way I did. I wondered for a long time if it was a mistake. Perhaps it was some lesson I was supposed to learn in equminity?

I barely ever have anything to do with people, but when I do, it ends up like this. It must be me? Perhaps I should accept that it's going to always be like that.

I've kind of changed my practice, and sometimes feel really present and in the moment, and thus often can really comprehend that it's all we can own. I'm a little less clingy I suppose. But I must stop this always yearning after some kind of mythical company of great friends I can meet one day. -- Travel alone before travelling with a fool. Most people are just wholly wrapped in in nothing, the trivialities and illusions of life and you're better off not knowing them. Perhaps if I get much deeper into Buddhism, attending things and being with the sangha I mean, then I would meet people who can put up with me and are worth knowing, but one should neither bank on that nor need it.

Another thing about leaving, it could only be temporary. So my situation was the same when I left. But having been there for that time was good. I know I need to work on the posture, or at least mention the problems before I do anything else. I also know that I can take the routine and the meditations and that I enjoy working meditation as long as it's with compassionate people and mostly seated.

The only reason really, I had to leave I mean, was the bad feeling and the country. I made the 'mistake' of going with someone a little self-absorbed perhaps, or perhaps it's me as well, I'm not used to being with people. But I probably wouldn't have gone back the second time if I hadn't have met her, so it was fair enough for the experience.

The situation is the same now I'm out; but I could have stayed until January or something, and then it would have been the same. England is a problem. It's the culture, the whether and the people. Now I know you should practice where you are... but the thing is, when the Buddha decided to just sit until he obtained Nirvanah, he sat under a tree. He could have just sat there where he was. So even though he only walked for a moment for an optinal position, he _did_ find the tree first.

I want to do the same thing, but not here. So it's a matter of finding a place with a few possible locations, and going to live there.

I need to further cull the possessions. This is why I bought a case today. It's a metal flight case in the sales. It might just be able to contain the absolute essential possessions ready for storage or quick removal. Since M. died I haven't spent longer than a day or so at A's. I still have the books and jackets and so on to put on ebay.

November 5th is coming up. It's a full moon, and there were a few retreats going on, but not near and I can't likely get on them. So I think better, perhaps, to go to A's Friday for the night. Get some things I can destroy, the diary I kept in the Philippines comes to mind, as well as an Indian diary, the first diary when I left England. Perhaps I could keep a bag with non-essense, and then essense (basically Junko's stuff).

My times running out here. After Nov 5, I'll go back and tie up loose ends. Before then I'll get my options sorted out. I have to leave this life in London and go elsewhere, sleeping alone and practising.

I might get another chance a bit later. I'll see how I do for time.

IT'S COLD COLD COLD TONIGHT.

Thursday 2nd November 2006

London House Hotel, Bayswater.

Dream

I was in London somewhere at a bus stop. The stop itself had some kind of recorded attached to it, so it was kind of set up to record programmes that people could watch if they wanted to. But some guy took it down and examined it and said that there was something wrong with it, it was only recording half the programmes.

I walked on a bit and a coach passed that I noticed had come from Bath.

Then I noticed the name of some of the buses. I said to someone I really like the quirky names for destinations that you get in London. Then I don't recall if I mentioned such a destination, or if I saw it go past, but it was called 'black angel'.

Interpretation

The first part is basically what I'm doing in London. Yes, I'm doing this retrospective of work, but also I'm listening to the dharma lectures on my mp3 player, which I do for about half the day. They've really changed me, strengthened my concentration, changed the way I think, the frequency of insights etc. But only recording half means I spend more time listening rather than going somewhere and practicing properly.

The bus from Bath means the dream is about Christmas, because I was in Bath last Christmas. The black angel is about the premonition of mothers death I had while in India, where I did actually see the black angel. This, as I've mentioned before, is really playing on my mind now. Mother said she wouldn't be here for the feast of St. Stephen, and this is the first such time that she won't be here... so what's going to happen on that day, which is December 26th. At the time of the dream, I thought perhaps I'd hear from J. but it feels, I don't know; I'm scared.

So rather than make a decision and go somewhere, I'm hanging around London only doing half the practice while I hold on to see if I"m going to live or not.

If I do, then I know that in some way, some how, I'm going to go somewhere cheaper to practice, maybe even ordane. Dharma willing, of course.

Since I last wrote, I had a couple of nights in Belsize, and three in Palmers. The last night in Palmers, yesterday, I was in the common room and I think people were talking about me. This morning I woke up, and I heard the guy say that he slept well... 'considering...' and then this ominous pause. I know this sounds like some joke, but it's really getting to me. I don't want to think that I irritate everyone.

I have to stop being in London.

I finally got a call from the police. Now it's arranged to meet them on Thursday 9th at Charing Cross station, so hopefully that will be closure.

Noting happened concerning halloween.

It's half past twelve in the morning here. I'm signing on at eleven. The signing after next, it will be a year exactly, so I expect that there's some kind of interview, and perhaps I'll be forced into something I can't do or whatever. If I end up getting signed off, it wouldn't make an awful lot of difference, mother's house goes up for sale this month and I wouldn't be entitled to anything after that. It's just a good excuse to go.

Today, 02/10/06 is twelve years exactly since Junko came to my door at the Perth travellers lodge and invited me to the Jazz club. Yes, all of those anniverseries are coming up. It'll be horrible alone at A's house thinking of that day... so I'll try not to. I'm back on Friday for a night at Belsize. On the Saturday, there's a meditation group thing in Charing Cross I might go to, plus I'm moving to London House, where I'm typing this at the moment. Then back to Belsize for a night, then Hyde Park (smart hostel). I'm going back to A's the Saturday after but don't have accomodation. Friday is the twelth anniversary of moving to Perth Victoria YHA for the only happy time of my life... with JUNKO IMANISHI of course (I really must stop doing this to me). Well after that I'm back and forth, basically planning to destroy the last of my possessions. On the 5th, I'll likely go to a fireworks display. I might burn the last and most precious diaries. This last fortnight of back and forth I'm going to be essentially putting the last of the retrospective on the web the best I can and destroying the possessions the best I can, and that's about it.

I picked up a terrible cold also, I'm sitting here all bunged up (ahhhhh).

So I can't really help the back and forth situation, but am planning, this really is the last of what I need to do in this country, so I'm kind of preparing and must just knuckle down.

Also, I did manage to book palmers over christmas. I arrive xmas eve and leave 29. I'm looking into a Tibetan teaching retreat and another one in either Surrey or Oxford, so we'll have to see. There's not too much... what? I don't know. I'm whittering. I hate the cold. I really *really* hate the cold. Now, I have to print out my ticket, print out my friday reservation, eat, wake up and shave, put my stuff in storage, sign on in Hammersmith, go and get info about the retreat on the other side of london, come back and get my bag, get to victoria then get back to npton, write to J. go to A's, spend the 12th anniversary of one of the only happy times, going through my possessions to be later destroyed, come back and move every day, hating myself for the trouble and distress I cause people by being myself, come back, meet people in meditation classes, do the oracle about my options, sit freezing in Hyde Park, see the police, go back, destroy my possessions, make another little box for J's stuff, come back and sign on, back to A's to sell things, last things, on ebay, then back to sign and be signed off, then go to A's. Come back and live xmas at palmers and see if I die or if there's something good or whatever it means. Go on retreat. Buy a ticket. Manage to survive until I can get out. Leave the UK and practice the dharma.

I hate this country.

Saturday 18th November 2006

Kettring Road, Northampton

Anniversary. Twelve years ago today was the day Junko and I went to Freemantle and had our day together.

This year I've been traipsing round town and periodically details of the day come back to to, lunch in sweethearts cafe, the old jail, buying the ring, and my whole stomach kinds of flips and I forget where I am. Flashbacks almost. Why is this.

I'll write soon, in the diary I mean. Well, to J as well.

Oh, what a strange life for a strange consciousness.

---

Date: Thursday November 30th 2006

London House Hotel, W2 Bayswater

I'm back for signing on later; it's just gone 1am but the computer is free, so I'm here updating. I just wanted to label the last pictures before I started a new memory card.

Friday 15th December 2006

Film night Internet Cafe, Covent Garden, London.

Yesterday was twelve years since I left Perth.

I went to the Serpentine.

I have to leave London now; I'll write it all up later.




Some mind maps about... my thinking. I bought this book in Newcastle and the maps within it shall form the next of the work shall I survive the New Year.




Lunch in the 'hidden garden' in St. James Church Grounds, Picadilly. It was strange to be back where I began as if I'd never been away.




I stayed in this AWFUL place in Dagenham, did I mention it? I had to step over someone unconscious to get to the bathroom, there were people running around screaming, the entrance was a hard pub full of gangsters. UGH. One of the worst ever... funnily enough, very friendly though.



Pretty certain that's Hyde Park.







This is the Jessops camera shop in Northampton. I thought my camera was broken and took it back as it was still under warrenty, but it turns out I'd put batteries in that weren't powerful enough.



This is the pub next to Victoria Coach Station; I've often wondered what it's like, and now I know, nothing.





The common room in Hyde Park View Hostel. Average place.










Paperwork about my police complaint.





Prince Edward Pub in Bayswater. I've passed it for years assuming there would be no seats, but right in the middle of hostelworld, I went in and it's really comfy. The coke tastes weird, but it is very nice indeed.



A retro poster outside the whiteleys centre.





Stuff I picked up from Throssel.







The fateful day marked in my diary. I've thought a lot more about that now and am in more of two minds about it.



I was in Royal Bayswater one day and it was really chilly, so I micorwaved potaotes, lentils, tomato and boiled egg, and it was so nice eating it in Hyde Park.





'My' seat in Royal Bayswater, in the reception. At least it was my seat, until people got nasty about the snoring and I moved.



The Metta Sutra, which I've stuck in my diary and chant daily, on Gill's advice. I also say the Kesa verse every morning.



Taken from the Indian Golden Jubilee Bench in Kennsington Gardens, another favourite eating spot.



Back at Picadilly backpackers.



A flight case I'd got on sale. Currently I'm fitting in every thing I own, getting ready to leave.



Internet cafe in a #### dvd rental place, actually not so bad, in Covent Garden.





'Cooking' in Picadilly Backpackers.




Books in Waterstones, Picadilly. The two books I ended up reading really summerise the way my mind has pondered for over five years. The point of magic is to use intention/desires to manifest reality, the point of Buddhism is to not have desires. I think I'm just recently working out the answer.




Outside Whetherspoon, O2 Centre.



At A's, starting to repack the flight case.




Passing an enviromental demonstration on Charing Cross Road.











More artwork from the book, well, artwork... research, pictured thought processes or whatever.




London House Hotel



Raphellos in Bayswater



Common room of the Belsize House hostel. About two weeks ago now (mid december) this was on TV. The bbc were having a long themed period about homelessness and there was a film on. Well, in the story a girl gets taken to a hostel after being assulted, and it was Belsize. So there I was watching the story on TV, with the girl in the reception I've been in, sleeping in the room I've slept in. Very strange.



The 12 bed room in Hyde Park Inn. Two Sweedish women cheered when I checked out.



My poor, sleepless neighbours.











Around Trafalgar Square, the day I went to see the police at Charing Cross.



I think this was somewhere on the way to Grenwich.





A church in Northampton town centre. I think I took the pictures because it was such a crisp, clear day.




Me wearing clothes that a few months fitted me, but now I am throwing away due to weight loss.



St Pauls Youth hostel, the night of the second stop and search.



St. Pauls.







Paperwork about the previous and recent stop and searches.



Looking at the sky for new magic.


From a hastily-made shrine in A's house, magic from a year or so and six months. Do I ever stop doing this?





Bus stop on the way to Northampton town centre. For some reason, there were dancing traffic wardens there.
























































Letter to Junko.











I did finally sell the signed book on ebay. Didn't get much, but it was all positive feedback.





The ad I put in Nexus magazine for the book. It netted me one query and no sales.








Police box outside St. Pauls church in Covent Gardens.





Yasmine, absolutely wrecked in her house.














I found there papers in the cupboard, mine from before I left England the first time. They were about Hopi prophesys, new age travelling, the kind of thing I pursued.























Ebay.














Junko's New Year Card.





The launderette in Northampton.





Shrine in A's house.





Ebay.











Ebay.





Can't think where this is.





Letter to Junko. I sent her some old pictures.





Me, phoning up to book my flight out of England the first time ever.























The various pictures I sent to her.





BHS.

















Parliment on the way to the Crisis meeting at the Abbey Community Centre.





Waiting for the Crisis meeting to begin; it got much busier than this.


























Parliment/Westminster after the meeting.








Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square.































































































This long sequence was everything I did on 14th December, twelve years exactly since I saw Junko. I went to Hyde Park, sat in the restaurant there, wrote her a card, destroyed a lot of earlier possession, did some magic with a piece of slate over the bridge and went to check in at Menninger.





Finally, the matter with the police was sorted out and I got an apology.











I cook up quite complicated things in A's house now. I'm still on the diet, but can make all sorts and spend the evenings cutting up vegetables.








The Racecourse opposite A's. There was a period of severe fog.








Yates, a newish pub near Riders Arcade in Northampton. I know it's newish as if it had have been there previously, then M and I would have tried it.





Letter to Junko (of course).





Foggy Northampton church.





Date: 26th December 2006 (The Feast of St. Steven (Stephen?))

Palmers Lodge, Swiss Cottage, North London. 7:40am.

It's really been since bonfire night that I sat down properly to write, for various reasons I suppose. Now, it's the start of the big day. The day I was wondering if it's my last. I can't get this computer online, so I'm typing to usb to update later. I have my little dataday, so I'll write what I was up to the best I remember.

I think I stayed over Hyde Park in at the start of November, but didn't write it up. It was the usual kind of experience. But I got very sick bowel-wise. I woke up one morning and there were a couple of Northern European women. I was semi-awake. The cleaning woman came in and they asked if anyone was checking out and she checked her list and pointed to me on the bed. I must have looked asleep, but the women high-fived and started quietly shouting 'yeeeaaaassss'. That was painful, especially as I think the night before I'd checked out of Royal Bayswater and a long-termer made no bones about scowling about me as he changed rooms to be away from the chain-saw (I'm talking about snoring, in case you've just joined (yeah right, someone reads this).

I stayed in Grenwich for a night, and that was as normal. I had an appointment with Scott the solicitor on the 14th to sign papers to get a life insurance policy released, well, the (small) funds released. I phoned him a few days later about Mother's ashes, and he's going to bring this up with Geoff. Looking at it now, it's quite obvious that it's been asked if, for the rest of his useful life, he'll mediate between Geoff and I.

I signed on for unemployment on the 30th. It was a year exactly since I signed on for the first time. I was kind of expecting them to put me on some scheme as I previously had an interview after six months of signing. I subsequently found out that it's after 18 months for people who are over 25.

I went back to Northampton at the start of December. I had enough of hating myself each time I sleep in a hostel. I know snoring is something people joke about, which is fair enough, but it's not nice to know that your presence disturbs everyone around you. I though I will sort out all of my possessions. I have the little case I want to store things in, and too many things to put in there, so decided to deal with this. I finally put more stuff on ebay. I sold some books, I got a fiver for the broken Nikon camera. I have my ebay feedback rating up to 93 100% positive, and I'm proud of that as I do go the extra mile to make people happy. I bumped into Darren on the way into town. He was with a friend, who didn't believe we were school pals as I looked so much older, and had no problems letting me know that. Darren and I exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up or phone to arrange that when I was next back from London. I sent him some pictures of us from before I left England for the first time and told him to text me, but I never heard from him.

I went back to London on 13th December. I had applied online to volunteer for the Crisis Open Christmas, to help homeless people over the festive period, and there was an open night in Abbey Community Centre in Westminster. I arrived about two at Victoria and walked to Westminster, and it wasn't so long until the meeting, so I hung around St. James library for a few hours, then went to the meeting. It looked really interesting. You have to help the guests, wash them, talk to them, do door duty, serve food. I was really glad I had applied.

I was staying in Picadilly that night, so I walked through Trafalgar Square after taking some night shots of the houses of parliment.

I signed on the next day and again there were no problems. This was the 14th, and exactly twelve years since I last saw Junko at Perth airport.

Each time I deal with my possessions, I try and lessen them. I take things I have decided I want to keep, and decide otherwise. It's not nice, but A. has thrown most of the things I really care about into the bin over the years. I think about it all the time. I think of things that people, including Junko, sent me from Asia that I never even got to see. Some possessions I left behind in 1993 she basically stole. She doesn't do it purposely, as I thnk I've said in the past. She's just not capable of understanding that just because somethings in her house that it doesn't mean in belongs to someone else. Like in the loungue, there's a little wooden box that I used to keep my jewlery in, and somehow that's become hers and is now an ornament. And how did she end up with a peacock painting that I did for Junko. Yes, mother assumed it was for her. Oh, and the times she sold all of mother's rings. I did mention that to her. I didn't say that they weren't hers. She was talking about the shop, and there was this time that the rent wasn't being paid, so she had to sell off some of her jewelry. Straight away I recalled M. saying that she'd sold her jewelry as well. So I asked her, 'wasn't some of it mother's also'... and I don't recall what she said exactly, except, without reflection, understanding or any comprehension, she just repeated that she had wanted to sell it (... so what does it matter if it's hers or not). Oh, the implication was that it was for me. Because I lived there I was costing money.

Of course, she could have just asked M. for more money. But no, she just sold that stuff. Mother told me this, as I said before, when I was sitting in a restaurant in tears about all the things of mine she's thrown away, to make me feel better (lsi209480w9rjwru0wr8230wu823w0r9uwa[0erwea0tuj4w0atu0w4aetu0tewt nononononnoonnonononononono). I hate this. I don't want to think about it.

Anyway, on the 14th I went to the cafe on the Serpentine and had a cold tea. I ripped up some more possessions, as it means I at least get to do it and not A., and put them in the bin outside. I walked over to the magic bridge and threw in a piece of slate with the words 'let go' scratched on it. I picked that up in Bayswater, a long time ago, carried it right up to Glasgow and had been burning insense cones off it.

I stayed that night in Menninger, in Baden Powel House in Kennsington. It was so so but at least there were no complaints.

I can't remember when I saw Yasmine. I think it was when I returned on the 1st but... yes, that was it, it was on the first.

Anyway, I had already agreed to phone her when I got back one day. So I got back, and phoned her about 9pm. She was screaming and laughing hysterically, and said she was in the Goose with her friend, so we agreed to meet in the Wedgewood.

I got there and she was with a woman of about 40 who seemed very sober compared with Y. She said hello but didn't engage her in any conversation and I got the impression that she didn't want to be there. After five minutes she went to speak to someone elsewhere, then left without saying goodbye. Y. had been saying how they were best mates and were going on holiday next year, but when she left she said that she only cares about money and sleeps around. She doesn't consider it a good night out unless she ends up in bed with someone is what I was told.

Her friend Adam was there, and he remembered me from before. He just said hello and left. Y introduced me to the manager, a young female with yellow teeth, so said we were so alike (I just wrote alone accidentially (fruedian slip)) that if I wore a wig I would be her.

I had seen Y. previously outside Sainsbury. I had very stupidly let slip that her two children were in the will. I must have implied that there were sharing a third, which may not be the case. Anyway, Y. was thrilled. The main things about that time in the Wedgewood was how drunk Y. was; remember, I'm tee-total still. She was so drunk that she was accidentally spitting over me when she talked, and she kept falling onto my shoulder and holding onto me as she talked.

And of course there was the usual conversation. How everyone in the world, especially me, is stupid and worthless compared to her. She's got her whole life worked out and perfect children who adore her, a great place to live and fantastic job.

Of course, she has a new job for Coral now, her children still avoid her and it's a pokey flat, but never mind.

After telliing me what a #### her friend was, while hanging onto me and spitting on me as she spoke, it didn't take long for her to start on me. She said, 'now you're alone. Mother didn't give you that money she left you because she loved you, she did it because she felt oblidged to. I know how to love my children, she doesn't love anyone. She doesn't know how to love.' Then we went through the usual, I mean she went through the usual, that mother was sleeping around, was violent, hated everyone etc. At one point, she looked at me and said, 'how many people in the world love you', then went on about how she spends all her time giving money to her children, she has to pay off their credit card debts and paying their rent.

Everyone always told me to be very careful of the things you say to Yasmine, and it's very true. I very, very, very stupidly mentioned the money that mother gave to me before going, and it's obviously been going over in her mind. But there's such open hatred in her; it's sad. She's not that much better sober to be honest. Still, she's my sister, so I focused on my breathing and said nothing.

I basically carried her home and she got really sentimental all of a sudden, saying I was the only family she had and that we would always be together. She got in the flat and I took a picture of her. I was a nice little place actually. She pointed out each of the ornaments and told me where her son had stolen each one. Then she pointed wildly round the room shouting 'STOLEN, STOLEN, STOLEN', shouting manically.

I was walking home, and I recieved a text from her, saying 'gone home'. I didn't know what it meant, as yes, I'd gone home.

I bumped into her in the supermarket a few days later. She looked awful. Her eyes were all bloodshot and I noticed how overweight she looked. We chatted, and I told her about the volunteering I wanted to do. She wasn't interested, but started laughing, saying that mother would be turning in her grave with the though that I might be giving away some of her money.

Ugh, the bitterness inside of her is so sad. Remember, I left UK in 93 and she was pretty much normal. It's almost like a mental illness has taken hold of her. I don't know. But there's such aggression if she hears anything she doesn't like. The only way to deal with her is to make each encounter an act of meditation. She seems to think I don't have any mind. She tells me to go mad and spend up all my credit limits on my cards to be rebellious and other advice to basically wreck my life. Why would someone say these things?

Said it before, damaged goods.

On 22nd I had planned to see the original 'It's a Wonderful Life' at Forum cinema. I forgot my UB40 though so didn't. I had a look around the shops quickly, then bussed over to Par's house (my father). He was ages opening the door and I got the feeling they had been in bed (his partner Elizabeth that is).

Anyway, he didn't recognise me. After saying I was John and he said, 'John who?', I had to explian that I was his son.

I was invited in, and there was a general chit-chat. Give them their dues, they didn't force food on me.

There wasn't much news. I told them what I did since I saw them. Anyway, I asked about when he went to see G. last year, and A had got that wrong. Apparently, when he received the card saying about M. dying, he phoned up G. to ask about going to the funeral, but G. told him that it wasn't appropriate.

Yes, there was no other news at all. Oh, they might be going to Canada in March.

Considering how long I put that off, it wasn't so bad. They asked me to give them some notice next time, so they can get food in. They, as expected, made a big deal that I look thin and my face in thinner.

I went back to A's Saturday night, and she gave me a present, i.e. a big bottle full of money. Then I got the bus down to London.

I came here to Palmers and checked in OK. The receptionist gave me a letter that had arrived the previous week. It was from Crisis, and they wanted me to do a night-shift that evening, 10pm to 8am. I went downstairs and did my laundry, then went over to Whetherspoon for a bit, then went to Elephant and Castle. I was in the drinkers centre it turned out, a place for peole with 'addiction problems'.

I found it OK. There was this guy on the door. I asked him if he was enjoying it and he looked miserable. I walked in to the reception, and three volunteers looked at me, kind of... I don't know, clannishly incredulous. They sent me up to another reception where I was sent somewhere else, a big room with bags on the floor and a guy by a table full of empty pizza boxes. I spoke to him and he checked and said that I wasn't on the list, but they gave me a badge anyway. I asked him if it was just me who was new, as it had opened a night before, and he just said, 'oh, most people have been coming for years'.

I went over to the far corner and had to sit on the floor waiting as I was half an hour early. There were two smalling groups of people and a couple of males scattered around.

Over the next half hour, the room filled up. Everyone seemed to know each other. There were about 40 people. A guy started talking, so I managed, with difficulty, to get off the floor. He seperated off new people and gave us a health and safety video, which I'd seen at the open night. Then they seperated us into two groups and said that there would be a tour. There was a warning that there was violence most nights.

We were led around the place. It was a lot like the kind of hostel that I live in, except it was louder, with music playing. We were shown where people sleep, where they drink. The girl leading us round was really quiet and I couln't hear anything she was saying. I wasn't sure what the jobs were. At the end of the tour, we were standing in the middle of the room where the music was blasting, and everyone just walked off. I had no clue what was supposed to be happening.

There was another Asian person; he looked so uncomfortable. He was talking to another volunteer and two residents. I joined them. They were talking about the previous year at the Millenium Dome where they had met previously. The sober volunteer seemed to be also uncomfortable, and forcing himself to laugh at the jokes. Someone came out of the 'dependency room', and there was a window in there, which I ended up staring out of.

I sat and basically couldn't help tuning out of the conversation. After fifteen minutes, I realised that there was no way I could just sit like this until eight the next morning. So I got up and retrieved my coats. I spoke to the people at the desk. I said that I was sorry, but it was too much and I couldn't do it. They said that it was fine, have I had a good shift? I said no, took my badge off and left it on the shelf.

I got out and got on a bus to Notting Hill via Victoria, and thought I'd get off at the latter, but ended up in Bayswater. I was hating myself by that time. I asked the receptionist at Royal Bayswater, and he said the buses had finished for Christmas day. I did manage to get on one to Selfridges on Oxford Street. I saw a number 13 going up to Golders Green. I went to the stop and checked the timetable, and realised, at 1.05am it was the last one, and there was no night service. So, I had to walk all the way to Swiss Cottage. I did so, ate a stale Slimfast bar on the way, then just watched TV and slept.

Next day, Crisis rang to see if I'd go back and I said NO, and they were friendly enough. I went for a walk.

Christmas wasn't my best day ever, but I've had worse days to be honest. I went to a walk, Ye Old Swiss Cottage Pub was open, so I got to have a coffee and write an into for a book I'm doing (this book actually, i.e. the book which will contain the text I am presently writing). I ate noodles, augergine and made some mash with the kettle I brought with me. I saw two episodes of friends. Went for a walk. Passed a statue of Sigmond Frued by chance, and that was pretty much Christmas.

Went to bed, and here I am.

OK, I'd better wrap it up. I'll mention the practice. I am indeed doing practice. I'm typing this with The Simpsons blaring away in the background. Basically, I realised that not just in life is the most important thing letting go, but also meditation and magic. Everything comes down to letting go. For about a month, I have been meditating every day, and doing well, letting go any distractions and reestablishing my concentration. I state magic intention every other day, adlibbing, apart from that, I try and let go to the present moment, in each moment, not allowing any mindless daydreaming. This way is better. I'll try and write more about it, somewhere, later. As it is, I'm off to scroungue a piece of fruit if I can and decide what to do with my day. Nice to bring the diary up to date. Let's hope I live long enough to link this text to the main dairy!!!!!

Date: 28th December 2006

Surf Internet Cafe, Finchley Road, London NW11

I'm just writing up notes from the little notebook I carry around with me.

I've written something about watching a man talk to himself. I can't remember where, but I notice it every so often. When I was in Hong Kong over a decade ago, it was really common and I put it down to the way the money obsessed culture of the then colony alienates people.

I'm not talking about schitzophrenia. Like in Kathmandu once, I sat and watched a Japanese man of about 20 sit and, not exactly talk to himself, he just mouthed his thoughts a little and gestured, but not so much that anyone but me noticed.

I think it's something that people who spend too much time alone do. There's some part of the brain perhaps that stops us acting out our daydreams and fantasies, and much of the energy of it is a looking-glass self, and when you spend a lot of time alone, then there's no one around to subtly let you know that you're crossing the line.

But it's nearly always men who do it, and I didn't really notice before, but now I do and I have given it some thought.

A fact of life is that, sexually, men pursue and woman are pursued. There are very few differences between opposite genders, but this is one. So it's far more likely for men to spend long periods alone without conversations as any woman will be periodically approached by a male hoping, however subconsciously, for sex. So men that don't pursue can go off the rails far more easily because if you don't make the effort to connect, in that gender, no one's gonna do it for you.

---

I don't know if I should admit this, but sometimes I watch the behaviour of individuals who weren't born in the UK. Say they do something which is largely unnacceptable here, such as throwing litter all over the place, drinkingi in the street of wearing the burkha. It used to be the kind of thing that would have wound me up... but nowadays I see each instance as one more nail in England's coffin. I know it's naughty to admit to so much bitterness, but I think, to the multitudes that read this far, it's quite obvious that my heart's turned sour.

---

I think, growing up as an Asian in the UK, you have no racial identity, or you try and get away from ethnicity as all of the stereotypes are negatives. But when you look up, you realise the people you connect with, that they are an actual people and you should be happy and proud with that.

---

Something I've written down, though I'm not sure why I wanted to mention it. I got in the habit of going to bhs in the evening before walking back. There are a group of old women that sit and chat. One of them has a really bassy voice that travels. It's so insanely, bassy. I've sat on the other side of the room before and yet not been able to ignore the conversations, often about her son and all the trouble he gets in with the police.

Well some woman turned round and told her not to talk so loud. She really took offense, telling her to go and drink elsewhere. When the complainee finally went, there was a lot of effing and beeing. Eventually, the bassy woman ended up saying that she used to be a hospice worker, and worked for royalty etc. I sat there listening to all of this self-justification and realised that she felt she had to justify her existence because that critisism had made her feel that it was an attack upon her self. But, yes, this is why I wanted to mention it come to think of it, it's sad to have so little self insight as not to see that game of the self and how it causes unhappiness.

Retrospective dream 10-12-06

I was bleeding profusley from my mouth.

Note: only vaguely remembered, might have actually been a daydream.

Sunday 31st December 2006 -- New Years Eve

An internet cafe in Victoria, London, about 15:15pm.

I don't have so long, and there's a pretty good chance that I won't get to write again until New Year. I'm just connecting to go up to Salisbury for two nights, so that I've gone somewhere different, as usual. I will write New Years day, but will have to do it in my notebook and type it retrospectively.

To carry on updating from my notebook:

I saw some famous people. Once, while getting onto a tube train I saw a finalist from X Factor, who actually had his guitar with him. Yesterday I saw the well known Chat Host Trish in Whetherspoon. There was someone else. I'll write it up if I find it elsewhere in my notebook.

A big deal in the months leading up to Christmas was getting through boxing day. If you recall, this is the first one without my Mother, and in the experience that prophesised her death, she said that she wouldn't be here for the feast of St. Stephan. So I had worried for quite a while that it's me going.

As it was I was in Palmers. There was nothing particularly significant. The one thing that came to mind was watching Alice in Wonderland, the Hallmark version with Gene Wilder and Miranda Richardson.

I remember when I was living in Calcutta the second time I was living there. I was having a horrible time, staying in, I think a place called Paradice, but basically an Islamic hovel. But there was a black and white TV. It only had one channel, the Hallmark, and the company had just funded this version of the Lewis Carrol classic. They used to play trailers, and a mini-documentary about it so often throughout the day that I knew it by heart.

So it was strange to be there in such a different place in such a different time, and actually get to see the latter part of the film, and listen to the songs and stuff. It was nice.

So I think that 'Feast of St. Stephan, I shall now interpret as being trouble with G. Which if you recall he inspired a breakdown in my Boxing day, I think 2002.

Christmas was OKish I suppose. Sitting out in Palmers I got a cold. Most days I went in Whetherspoon drinking cough medicine and fighting off lethargy. I thought about J. all the time and watched my efforts at letting each thought go into the moment, as usual (the former as usual at least). I went back to A's last night and my book and Life Magic CD had arrived from Lulu. I opened them this morning. There was only time to glance at them, but they look great.

I was walking past the Virgin Megastore in the Grovsner and was thinking about sending the book and CD to J. and there and then I recalled a dream I'd had ages previously about her not reading or receiving any of my post anymore. I don't recall if I wrote that up, or if I just recalled it for the first time there and then.

I think when you get used to remembering your dreams like this, one thing your mind can do is to hold back the moment of when they are actually recalled until the timing is significant.

I've less than ten minutes now. To sum up, it was indeed an interlude year, and I've wrapped up that part of my life, the previous part, in the books and work I've done up until now. Basically my methods/philosophies of life and creating, straight from within.

Since M. died I've gone much more in the direction of Asian religion, rather than from tabula rasa from withing, I've had more input. I think the impact of constantly listening to lectures on an mp3 player can't be overstated. So I want to, have decided to, do a new piece of work based on that direction, heavily illustrated, plus a few other projects that tie in with my idea to get more educational certificates, and about investments etc.

The practice, of occasional intention and continual moment-to-moment letting go into the present, I shall continue.

I shall make it into a new web site, serialise some of it to make into podcasts and blogs to market it. Basically make a go of it all. I shall stay in another monastery, find a suitable living arrangement to write and do all this.

I'll write it up tomorrow, either on the screen or in the notebook. Right now, I must go. I dropped a line to Mian incidentally, and never heard anything, but I hope she's OK.

So, I'll sign off for now, perhaps redo the conclusion thiseveing or tomorrow, and then start a new section.

Pictorial Interlude It's been a long time... because quite a bit has happened; I always seem to be writing in retrospective now... nowadays I mean. The best thing is to label the pictures that I took of the time and hope that it jogs my memory. This is the night cafe in Picadilly where I used to sit when I first returned to UK and was staying at Picadilly. It's where I was when I first started using the newly blanked memory card. It is of course the picture of night cafe in the night cafe. There's also a picture of more recent iris's by someone else. It was weird sitting in that cafe because I was mostly listening to dharma lectures. Outside, someone was robbed, I think near the atm. He tried to laugh it off but inbetween trying to laugh with the owner, he was screaming wildly about the 'yobs'. I was in the night cafe for ages as there's not really anywhere else for that price in Picadilly, at that time of night and not busy. I was planning another 'grand tour of london' to put up more posters, so I coloured them in there. That night in Picadilly backpackers, the fire alarms went off about five am. It was mad. We lay there for a long time, me and the other three people. We could hear loads of thundering footsteps outside and realised it wasn't a drill (a five am. fire drill?), so they ran out. I ran out too, the last one. Well, strolled. When I got to the stairs, it was full of hundreds of people inching down the stairs. It was like this for ages, then the noise stopped. We all waitied expectantly and noting happened, so slowly turned round en masse, and started inching back up... but then it started, so we turned and inched down. Then someone shouted up it was a false alarm. I waited in a corner and let the never-ending stampede go past me, and then went out. I couldn't believe that macdonalds was open... but it was, so I went and had a coffee outside at the bus stop. This is the outside of the night cafe, taken from the bus stop it faces. It was so early that it actually was still night. Mac Donalds from the 0utside. Signing on at Hammersmith. I think it was the same day; this is the benefits office. Of course I had my bag with me, having checked out. I almost always have all my stuff when I go there as I still, after nearly a year, move daily. This was the start of the 'grand london tour 2', to go all over and put the posters up. The picture is the first stop, Shepards Bush Green, where I put one up in Morrisons supermarket. Changing trains at Notting Hill. I went to the YMCA at Parsons Green. The warden was a disabled woman, unbelievably friendly. I think people with their own pain often are friendly... and sometimes not. Anyway, it's only for working people. Threshhold had given me the wrong information. I was going somewhere and absolutely had to use the toilet, so stopped at Euston. It's 20p and the change machine, both of them, were out of order. Changing lines. Don't know where. Underground lift. A strong colourcast. As the camera does this so often, it might me best to just make those affected black and white? Same list uncorrected. There's another Morrison in Belsize, so I put one in there, then went to check in. I had a day ticket, so wanted to get the bag off my back. Belsize hostel detail. I couldn't believe it. Belsize was closed for an audit. I went down to the kitchen and the French chef thought I was applying for a job, and when he realised I wasn't, couldn't give a damn and just left me there. I hung about and was eventually checked in, but I was trying to cover as much as possible on my day ticket, and so it was frustrating. This is the front of the second house that Belsize own. For some reason, there was a lifebelt in my room. The washing there is cheap, so cheap I think it might even be subsidised. Whetherspoons in Finchley. Adamotel. Oh God, this was a weird night. As usual I'd tried to plan my week ahead. The only place I could get for the Saturday was this place. I'd always avoided it as when it first went online, it was billed as 'London's only gay hostel'. But it was all I could get. By the time I had been in the wrong hotel and redirected to the right one, I'd managed to convince myself of any misaprehension, that I was being silly. I walked in and the first thing that greeted me was David, the famous male nude statue, at the top of the stairs. I went to reception and an effeminite man was all flustered that someone was trying to check out far too late, using a computer with matching screen-saver and wallpaper of... male nudes. I had to wait in the tv room, where a man was watching a talent show, emotional with the ones who were being rejected. It wasn't nice, but at least near the big Sainsburys, so I went shopping. I ate before going out again as the kitchen closed. I sat in Mac donalds until 2am as... I didn't like the hostel. Although wandering round and staying out as late as possible is often the norm for me. At least I have dharma lectures to listen to. Back at the hostel, there was a little 'patio' thing to sit at. I was there until about four am and only had a few hours sleep. This is, I think, Tower Hill. I was on the way to Grenwich as it was the only hostel I could get, though I don't recall the date. I keep noticing Sunflowers now, as they decorate the Curse and Miracle. As an update on that. My domain expired, and www.uk-cheapest.co.uk ignored all my emails, except to send invoices, so I signed up with www.oneandone.co.uk. They checked I owned the domain, took the money and gave me forms to send to the original company. I did this, twice by registered post, and was ignored. Oneandone eventually replied saying I'd have to pay for renewal at ukcheapest, then transfer, ukcheapest said I can't transfer except if I pay ten pounds, nominet said they'd overrule them... then... basically it's all a trick and I've forever lost the domain. And I've paid for advertising at www.nexusmagazine.com, in their international print magazine, using the domain -- and so this is all lost and wasted. St. Christophers, Grenwich. Bow Church, City. I think... let me think, why did I go there? Oh, changing lines from Grenwich I exited accidentally, and so went to the church, so it was closed. I stayed at Belsize again, or was it? Anyway, it was time for another London tour to try and put the leaflets up, this was before I knew I'd lost the domain. I went to Morrisons, but my leaflet of earlier was still there. There was supposed to be a Morrisons in Angel; I couldn't find it, and ended up sitting outside the local Whetherspoon. I was tired and in pain already. I went right up to, I think Finsbury park to find this occult shop. When I did eventually, it was a tiny place, not much more than a front room and there was no notice board. Anyway, it was Voodoo rather than new age. I basically had to give up on the day due to pain, but decided to try and get the phone that A. had given me money for. I went to eat in a backstreet near a bird-mess covered car. Then had a coffee. This was the last picture I took before walking up and buying the same phone (bar colour) from the same man, with an even better deal, thirty for the phone, and twenty credit free as I already had a sim, so the phone was basically a tenner. I was wrecked... and so went to sit in my usual little place in Lester Square and had a look at my phone... THEN IT HAPPENED. I've written this so many times that it's irritating to write it again. I won't. Succinctly, I was sitting in my favourite, usual place, near the yoghurt bar, and a police dick came up and asked me what I was doing. I just looked at him confused (and getting scared) as I was doing nothing the same as everyone else. He pulled me to one side and it was a stop and search, with everyone looking. Awful. He said the reason was that I was alone and had chosed to sit 'quite close to some other people', and that fits the profile of a theif. Of course, I never went back there, and the ensuing attempts of complaint have met such a brick wall of apathy, that they've become a seperate ongoing page where the full details are explained, in a seperate Police Complaint page , and there's also a Mirrored Police Complaint page . Afterwards, I walked to Covent Garden to try and pull myself together, as I heard it's quiet. It wasn't, but it was good to be elsewhere. There was this article in the paper. It's about a tea shop owner in Cochin, India, who's renamed his tea shop after Ken Livingstone. It's weird as it's the place in Ernakulam where I used to stop for a quick soda before going to Cochin Island. This was the phone, well, is the phone I bought. Underground on the way home. Belsize House The domain transfer from from oneandone to ukcheapest, on my ill-fated domain fiasco. WHAT IS GOING ON RIGHT NOW? This is a composite picture of Frued's life in Whetherspoon in the O2. It doesn't photograph so well. I love it though. Frued must have lived around there. On the way home there's a little shop that sells almost exclusively Frued books and has postcards with famous quotes by psychologists. I like 'To be human is to feel inferior'. I think that was Adler. O2 from Whetherspoon. I was staying in the palmers and went to the shop nearby. There was all this commotion nearby, and when I went to see what was going on, a tree had fell on a car, because of the high winds of the time. The shop near Palmers. Hindi-speaking, 24 hour and brilliant coffee. I had dinner that night down-stairs in Palmers, and decided to catalogue the food I often make there, nice because I usually do this on a bench somewhere on the streets. How to Make Perenial Drifter Mushy Surprise. INGREDIENTS As illustrated. STEP ONE: coat bottom of sauce stained lunch box with dried soya. STEP TWO: add small can of Brushetta topping. STEP THREE: MIX. STEP FOUR: add one small tin of naturally sweet sweetcorn. STEP FIVE: add carrot tin. STEP SIX: garnish with weight-watchers spaghetti, tinned potatoes and three slimming breads. I went for a walk. This is a lifestyle shop display on the Finchley road. I was on the way to O2 Whetherspoon. Next day was another, and I think the last, grand London tour. It started with a trip to Marlybone library. I was hunting down travel books as I'm getting itchy feet, and was thinking that a spiritual retreat would be a cheap way to stay away, now I've been teetotal for OVER SIX MONTHS, as I have been on minus 1200 calories a day. I had to wait on an underground train changing lanes at Edgeware. This was the private hostel in Hammersmith that Threshhold had recommended. I walked in and they just said no straight away and that was my last housing option. Getting another book, travel of course. This was a really nice, dead quiet pub near the police headquarters in Wood Street. I went there about my complaint. It was supposed to close 7:30 but did so early and was desserted. It was too late to do anything else. In the morning I listened to Dharma lectures and this lorry was in Palmers car park. I am starting to notice Asian things as I'm starting to yearn to be away. These signs are outside the O2 centre. I looked up and noticed that there are little spikes over each letter. I thought how weird this was as no one could get that high, then realised that they are supposed to keep birds off... as the pigeon on the Homebase sign politely explained to me. I found this book by searching online, then ended up getting it from Charing Cross library. This was the back of a shopping centre, right over... zone three district way. I went there for a new age shop, to put a poster up, but it was actually only for psychic readings, and there was no notice board. On the way home. Whetherspoon, illustrating over-hype of dead Christian ideas. This 'Japan Homes' is on the Finchley Road. I used to think they sold Japanese properties. But when I went to look, they rent top end London properties to well-heeled Japanese people. I went back to Northampton. The New Tung shing restaurant, of my childhood memories, is just opposite where I get off the bus when I want to go to the coop. This is the back of St. James Picadilly. There's a little garden. All the times I've ever been there, I never found it; I always sit in the more obvious market. The only reason I went this time was reading about the 'little known garden' in some of their literature. There's even a little 'wishing wall' to put stones on. Picadilly itself. This is me lying under a tree in Kennsington Gardens, and the sign on the path is the one I photographed during the heatwave to illustrate The Happiness Hike book. By this time, believe it or not, I had decided to go on a spiritual retreat. It was a place up north. I know it's not the kind of thing I would usually do, the thing that made me send a fax to ask if I could be on the weekend retreat were: It was Zen. More specifically, it was Soto Zen. It was near Newcastle, where I could get a cheap bus ticket to. It's funded by donation only. They have a website. They are used to dealing with people with a range of disabilities. They have mp3's online. It would be a good test of joining something long-term. It gives me leverage when I tell A. I'm going, as I can be going for a reason. Their founders day is Nov 5. The main thing that excites me about leaving is doing Zazen alone in a rubbish room. I started to get cold feet once I'd sent the fax... but then thought, what the hell when the confirmation came in. I was staying in Smart Bayswater the morning before I left, and there's not really anywhere to go very early, so I went to my usual 'nowhere to go' place in Inverness Terrace and just sat on a wall opposite the school. This was on the way up. We stopped off at a service station. Good to see a familiar face. Painless trip. I arrived and had a coke at Newcastle Station, unbelivably expensive. Checked in and the place was also expensive, but seemed nice. I don't think the night boy liked me though. The Thai ladyboys are touring Newcastle. I was tempted to be one. There was absolutely nothing open in the centre and I had to get a train right out to the sticks. The hostel had a really nice area to sit down in, very atmospheric. OK, I've dieted for six months on 1200 calories a day, and I decided that anything the Sangha gave me doesn't count towards my allowance. So I had a last meal and then the policy was to eat what I'm given and not more. This was an organic Thai curry I made myself. No, I promise a ladyboy didn't give me it. I'm in a bad habit of delibrately photographing my feet, I know. I hang about smoking down there for ages. I think that's why the room boy didn't like me. It was my last night in the world. I had to walk up into the centre for the bus. Waiting for the train to Hexham. Arrived in Hexham. I went up to the bus and had just missed it, one that had actually passed the railway station without me knowing it. I ended up watching bowls. It reminded me of a day I bunked off school once, one of the few happy times of the period, where me and Adam Winkworth watched old people play bowls rather than be shouted at for the sake of it and be constantly intimidated and ... ah, forget it. I thought I'd have a look at the church while I was waiting, and passed a wedding on the way. The abbey was OK; I lit a candle. The bus driver to Carrshield was really nice. He showed me where to get a taxi in this tiny little town. This was where the taxi was from. They asked if it was for the monastery as soon as I walked up. She phoned the driver, and said 'ten pounds' to him, meaning I was being screwed. I knew that for certain when she laughed hysterically when I asked if I was supposed to tip. The driver dropped me in the back because it was easier to turn. I walked back down because I couldn't work out how to get in. I wanted to have my last cigerette, but felt bad, so just threw it down. Then walked up. The last picture before entering. I walked in and a woman greeted me, a monk of about 25, sorry, I mean nun. She welcomed me, and told the abbot I was here. The abbot gestured like he was about to offer his hand, but I looked reluctant, and so he didn't. He was dressed normally and would change later. The woman showed me up to a common room, toilets, the ceremonial hall. I had been assigned a cupboard which I would sleep in front of. I had only blankets, and so she went to get a duvet, and I went and sat in the common room. I wondered if I was supposed to go back, so I went to the ceremonial hall and I did. She was there and had put a blanket and duvet in the cupboard. It was OK but I got flustered, as I said then I already had sheets, but she was going to get a duvet, and I thought that's so mindless, then I thouhgt FOR GOD SAKES CALM DOWN. I was the first person there. I sat and waited for ages. In the ceremony hall, some people introduced themselves as ... Linda? and... someone? The man had a limp. They were brother and sister. The latter had been into it, but then left and now was back. There was kind of a forced friendliness about them I thought, and also a genuineness... if you know what I mean. I waitied a bit longer, and then this woman came, actually, I think *she* was Linda. She was about 40, figety in a slightly enduring way. She went and sat down in the garden. A man came who had we had passed in the taxi. He was Dutch and had come especially from Holland. I don't know why he didn't go to his temple there, but he was here. He had a very deep kind of voice, but was OK. Another man who came up and spoke to the brother and sister. He had been joining all kinds of things and read a lot about Buddhism. We were all in the common room about then. There was a car coming from the station, but it would late, so there was just an awkward silence. An Indian woman of about forty, nice smile but no dress sense (did I just write that?) and I was glad to not be the only Asian. Then the taxi arrived. This one had in it all the people who had chosen to be picked up from Hexham. There was about eight, and I incorrectly thought that they were all part of the same group. I don't recall who came in, but I remember one woman came in looking really miserable, and another came in and sat in the corner. A man spoke to her to chit-chat and straight away she was saying how she'd turned up because she'd recently had three major operations and felt directionless, and felt that she had healing in her and had been to a healing course and now the spirits had brought her here. Somewhere in the middle of this the monks came in and introduced themselves. I sat at the table at the back and just listened to the induction. Writing so long after the events, it's difficult to remember what occoured when. I think we went down and ate after a while. This is the ceremony hall where I slept. All these pictures were taken in retrospect on the last day. But to carry on with that first day. We ate, and it was explained to us how meal times are done. The first meal would be a talking one, as would the last, but apart from that, all mealtimes, and the whole retreat, was to be in silence. This was fine by me. There were three tables in the dining hall, long ones with about fifteen people at each. Each person has a 'plate-set'. This is a plate with a bowl on and cup in, and cutlery, covered with a drying cloth and top cloth with your name on to keep it neat. You have to basically leave it on your place each time. I remember with that first meal, I was sitting with the monk who was leading the retreat, Rev... hmmm.... let me think. Nope, it'll come back to me. Anyway, I asked him what the winters were like, and if he found it harder to practice when it is cold and miserable. He said no because if he did feel that way then you have to go within and investigate why. When the bowls and things were passed down the table, you have to bow to the person you receive it from, and the one you pass it onto. After the meal, we went up and, I think the monk was called... no. Actually, there's one with a name I always get mixed up with so I won't guess. Anyway, upstairs in the ceremony hall he explained the practice, Serene Reflection Meditation, which is basically Japanese style 'just sitting' ala Dogen. We could experiment with various sitting postures and I was shocked at how comfortable the kneeling stool was. The only instruction you get is to just let anything come into your mind, and just let it go. That little instuction, little in terms of amount, is normal for Zen I think. At the end of this there was a meditation. Every one faced the cupboards and basically stare at it with your eyes open. It was only a few minutes. Then he explained about going to bed. A few people had rooms, but everyone else would be on the floor, as I would, and there was a curtain dividing the sexes. He said there were earplugs downstairs because in any group like this you always get a snorer. Everyone laughed, except me of course, but I don't think anyone noticed (they would later). So we went to bed. About half an hour later this guy in robes came round putting candles out and I slept. Next morning at seven am. we were woken by someone walking round with a clanging bell. I didn't actually wake but the guy next to me shook me. I had about fifteen minutes to pack the bed up and put it in the cupboard, then go toilet. Then I was back for about fifteen minutes of meditation. Then the ceremony. We all stood facing the shrine in two lines. All the monks (which refers to both genders there) filed in. There were six prostrating bows, so I just stood there like an idiot, but there was someone else quite old and shaking, like with Parkinsons, and so I wasn't alone. Then there was a really weird singing to the Heart Sutra, which I read every day (or try to). But this was an odd version which they were calling the scripture of perfect wisdom. I noticed two things. One, they translated emptiness and 'pure', two, the sutra was never meant to be sung. It wasn't great. Are purity and emptiness the same thing? Surely pureness is only one thing, and emptiness in no-thing, as in shunyata. Anyway, then we got breakfast, which was kind of granola. All passed down the table, with grace and bowing. There was a really overweight bald person opposite me. At the talking meal he'd mentioned he'd been into Tibetan Buddhism. He did this little palm bow in such a nonchalant way. Young and goofy and kind of sadly resigned to everything. I don't recall the order in which things happened. I really should have took notes. I'll just write down everything I can recall. We had a talk about the precepts. The basic five, plus the five they add. This was interesting. Because work is part of the practice, there was a working meditation. For the first one, they put me on shaping candles to fit into the holders. I was paired with the woman who had come in the taxi and gone one about her operations. It was all supposed to be in silence. But she couldn't help chatting in a London accent. She was called Deborah and from Heathrow. We could only whisper, but she'd been on the Internet looking for a retreat in India or Thailand, then realised that you can do it here. She turned up after having booked the taxi and though there was no one there, there were just these people milling about, so she phoned the centre. It turns out that when the taxi arrived, all the people around her were also going to the retreat. I'm not sure why, but we both went into a giggling fit when she was saying about this. Perhaps it was the silence, but we just went into side-splitting laughter. There were two working meditations. For the second one she was excused because she had spiritual counselling, but they put me out in the garden. I was on my knees weeding, but it was kind of OK. I was shocked at how much I could actually do. I think it was on the morning of the first day. I was sitting in the common room, and the woman who had arrived looking miserable was talking to her husband, or whispering. She wasn't enjoying it and was speaking in an angry, snapping way. She said all the bowing in the ceremony was stupid, and the singing was straight from a school assembly or sunday school. She said that she wasn't interested in meditating. She said what if she discovers her true self and it wants her to be happy at eleven stone, even though she's already decided that ten stone shall be her ideal weight. Then she said it's all bad enough, on top of getting no sleep all night because of that bloke snoring all night. There was other evidence that... I might have been a bit loud. On one of the morning talks, the acting guest master, Rev... Loana (or something) said with a note of deep concern, that everyone looked really tired and was everyone sleeping alright in the hall? And the morning of the last day, I heard the woman who wasn't enjoying it guessing who it was with another. Now when 'the german guy' was blamed I should have jumped up, 'no, it's me!!!'. On the second night everyone was again asked if they were sleeping OK in the hall, and there was a collective sigh. The 'German guy', turned out to be Eric. He was from (actually) Holland, and had flown over specifically to retreat. There's a temple in Holland but it's much smaller, so he came to the UK and was going to be staying on a few days after the retreat. Every day there was a question and answer session. The only quesion I recall was from the fat goofy one, I remember I was subconsciously calling him rat boy. He asked 'What is the sound of one hand clapping'. They didn't know because it's a Soto Zen temple. Personally, if it was me, I would have demonstrated the sound of one hand slapping. In one of the Q&A sessions in the ceremony hall, the woman who wasn't enjoying it said, 'I don't get it', as a prelude to jush pooh-poohing meditation and everything generally. The last meal was a talking one. There was chocolate cake as a treat. I got to chat to the monk again, but my voice was gruff. I remember hating myself because of the snoring; I probably ruined everyone's retreat. I was deciding not to come again, although I like Zen and was getting somewhere with the meditations. I had no transport booked back and had the choice of networking... or begging depending on how you look at it, or just having a twenty pound taxi. While washing up, I spoke to the shaking man, who said he was staying long-term and told me when I asked, about taking the precepts. This is ... Chilarepa or Chillaharta or something, it's actually a Bodhisatva who represents delusion that is converted to protect the Dharma. Abhidharma brought the teachings to China and established 'just sitting' type meditation. Maitreya Buddha, the coming Buddha of the future who also is now whenever you want. Kanzeon, the Japanese version of Kuan Yin. Waiting in the car park. By this time I had got a life. Behind me in the washing up queue was, I think, Linda. She was about 40 and I think in social services. She was, or had, I noticed, the habit of becoming busy and over-emphasising her gestures when nervous. I think she was a good soul deep down though (ain't we all). I knew that she had a car, and so asked her for a lift, and it was that simple. We were all given a book written by the Abbot as a gift. I left a donation in the alms box of about the same amount as I would have spent in London, and that was basically it. Rev. Aiden came to speak to me. He asked if I would continue the practice and I said that I would but explained that I was basically homeless. He recommended meditating in a church if it was convenient. I had been designated as navigator, though it was fairly simple. We were joined in the car by and old guy and Deborah. we chatted about the retreat, and I asked about the woman who didn't enjoy it. I'd heard rumours that she'd had a go at her husband in a Q&A session upstairs. They had noticed she didn't like it, but explained that her husband was into it and had dragged her along. I do remember at the last dinner, the last time I saw her, the monks had explained that it's all done by donations. You go alone to the alms box and no one looks etc. But she insisted in going up to the monk with a chequebook and asking how much he wanted. Linda and the man drove off as he was going on somewhere in the same direction. I had another night in Newcastle before going back to London. Deborah was going straight to Kings Cross but it was the same train, so we waited together. She asked if I wanted a cigerette. I hadn't had one since going in to the monastery. But she had got to know the brother and sister and had apparently been going down onto the road all the time for smokes. We went to the platform and chatted. I passed the guy who had been sleeping and meditating next to me but had never actually spoken to him as eating was about the only thing I didn't do next to him. I thanked him in passing. Anyway. Deborah said she'd enjoyed it and was going back. During the second work period she'd had spiritual counselling with the Rev. Leona who had given the precepts talk. She'd broken down and was immeadiately invited back to stay indefinitely. The monk had wanted to go and get second hand clothes, but Deborah had decided to back to London and then return. She asked me why I didn't go back as well and I said maybe I would. She said she couldn't have children. Then asked, 'Do you get to see your kids?', so I said I was single and childless (am I mean). It was odd, almost in the first five minutes, to get the assumption that I'm divorced, seperated from children and heterosexual. I'm one of those things, but weird. She talked a bit about her problems. She'd had Khromes disease and the operations etc. She lived in a noisy place full of Asians. She said she knows the Asians, but they're not from England. Another time she said about how all the Eastern Europeans had come over and taken the work and were just there for the money. She obviously wasn't so happy with immigrants. Then she asked if I was born here. She'd been all around the world, did about fifteen years in the Carribean, and now was alone since her father died. She had his house and lived there with a female friend, and was divorced. There was this weird energy, mainly in that we just couldn't stop laughing at things. I mean, side-splitting laughter all the time. She kept saying how spiritual she was. That the sprits want this and the spirits want that, and I wasn't sure how this would go down when she went back. We swapped phone numbers and I said that if she went back, then I probably would as well. At Newcastle, we sat and had coffee. We were joined by this old eccentric and I got the impression he always came to the station just to be around people. He had a really thick Gordie accent and was talking about the time he accidentally threw away 20,000 pounds. Deborah went to toilet, and he became a bit more serious and talked about his two children, whom had both died in infancy from what I could tell. It was sad as my heart was a bit raw having come out of the monastery not longer than an hour. Deborah went to get her train and I said I'd return the coffee she'd bought me when we met in the same place on our return. I felt really weird to be back, out of place really. So I just walked about Newcastle City Centre. This is the tv room in Albatros. It was nice and not nice to not be speaking to people (if you see what I mean (or not)). Picture noir out back of Albatros. Next day I checked out and decided to get some pictures of Newcastle. I passed this bar and there was a pub named after the Buddha next to something about Australia or Osaka or something significant. I don't recall but I noticed enough to photograph it. Milenium bridge. Then I was back in Globetrotter, but their Edinburgh branch in Scotland. Better view out back than the London version. The dining hall. Next day, my one whole day in Scotland, I decided to go to Perth. The Perth in Australia was obviously named after the place in Scotland, and so I decided to go and see the original. I went to a couple of galleries but ended up walking straight back out as photography was banned. So as usual with my UK sightseeing, I didn't get to do any. I was really bored there by afternoon. I got lost big time, but ended up finding a pub the guidebook recommended. I wrote a letter to Rev. Leoma thanking her for the stay, saying I like to practice, and that I might be back with Deborah. Of course I wrote to Junko. I was really ready to leave by the time the bus came. Back to Globetrotter. I was still taking the advice of 'the voice' then, and eating eggs when I could. I went for a walk by the water. I phoned Deborah. She said she was still on for going, but had to go down to Devon first to get her father a gravestone, and would phone at the weekend. I tried to sit and meditate on this log, but the surface was far too uneven to be able to keep my back straight. I've been walking around with the magic for ages now. I started it when mother was still alive and practiced every day. Records were kept and there was some good result. It was all based on a system of scoring, mainly delibrately cultivating happiness and excitement during a specific practice and then throughout the day and scoring the strength of the emotion. Then there were two other recorded scores. One, every time I took some proactive action in obtaining one of the goals. Two, each time there was some meaningful coincidence or 'foreshadow' this was also recorded. But it became a bit sterile... or complicated, when I tried to start scoring too many different things, plus I got more into the straight meditation, re-evaluated my goals and just wanted to do a new practice. I spend a lot of time now recording the observed facets of my self, with a view to... getting rid of it, or at least living with it at a distance. I'm working on a new practice now. Back in Hammersmith. I arrived Wednesday and signed on the next day. The out of hours man at the job centre is Paul and is pretty easy going. Job seeking papers. The food at the monastery had been really good. I've stuck to my diet religiously since March 20, as I have tee-'totality', except for what I took from the Sangha, when I just ate what I was given and would have been on a maintenence diet. But there was something nice about arriving in Bayswater and making my usual mid-work picnic. Food eaten lying on grass just tastes better. My diets really healthy, but most people would consider it deprived. The thing is that you get used to anything. I really look forward to a tin of lentils or a Slimfast bar sometimes. I've even woken up craving Slimfast bars. I went back to A's and talked about the retreat. I told her I might be going back. She was really enthusiastic. She wanted to know all about it. I showed her the book we'd been given and she looked at it for about half an hour at the table; pretty much skimmed the whole text, and asked quite a few questions. I don't recall exactly, but she said something about her thoughts, and it was jarring, as it's the only time I ever recall her speaking about her mind. Walking around Northampton before taking the bus back. On the way down to London, the National Express driver was late and bad tempered. He kept the toilet door locked for the whole journey. People kept complaining but he wouldn't open it. We stopped at Golders Green and a passenger asked if he could go, but was given a real dressing down about how late we were. I got off anyway as I had no choice. Though it's easy enough getting into the centre on a number 13. I had a night in Shepards Bush. There was a new alfresco cafe, but the atmosphere was spoilt by the radio playing. It was an OK night though. Back in Leicester Square, I was getting ready to leave North. I stopped for a break just where the stop and search had taken place. I wanted to take various things to try at the monastery. I've been meaning to retry the homeopathy for some time, same remedy. There's a place in Covent Garden ,but the website said it takes four hours. As it is, it took two minutes and was only three quid. This is my main remedy, only the second one I ever tried after doing my own reperotory. I noticed one of the lesser rubrics is snoring. Then back for an ambrosia lunch at the garden of St. James Church. Then I was on my way. I stopped off for a coffee at Victoria. I had faxed the monastery to say I was coming, for at least a week, and longer if I could make it. Now, I had signed on and filled in a holiday form that meant I could stay about two weeks. I emailed the monastery a few days after the fax and Rev. Galen replied that they hadn't received it. So I attached it to an email. I still had heard nothing at this point, and there I was sitting in Victoria. So I phoned. I spoke to Rev. Leona, who had been on holiday. She said the fax was recieved and that I could come. I asked if the market bus still left on a Tuesday and she said yes, then concluded that I was leaving on the Tuesday. I said I had no definite reservations yet, which was true. Once in Newcastle, I booked tickets back a week Tuesday, which allowed me to sign on again. This was one of the reasons that I left the second time when I did. Although, as it turned out, I toyed with the idea of staying until December, it would have meant signing off and not working on my reterospective. The following Tuesday, at the monastery, in the morning the head novice had thought I was leaving, so they marked me in for another week. I did ask the guest master, Rev Finnon, if I could stay until December, and he agreed but said there was a weeks hungry ghost retreat that was full and I might have to leave. But it was never written down that I was a long-term guest. Anyway, this is all jumping ahead. Having a coach break on the way up. I bought a clock for two pounds. In a monastery, you want nothing. Like when I'm in London, I always walk round with a plastic beaker. If I get a can of drink or coffee, I put it in the beaker. I took this to the monastery. When you check in, you put all your possessions in the cupboard, and then walk round from place to place according to the schedule. But there are so many places you can't take the beaker, work, meditation, and there's absolutely nowhere to put it. Even though it's just a beaker, it was really cumbersome and I ended up putting it away for the first time in years and just using the mug on my place set. This picture was taken in Albatros the night before I went up. I bought these two books on the way down from a charity shop. I gave the yellow one to Palmers, but really enjoyed the how to be good. I finished it the next day, just as we arrived in Hexham, and so left it on the train. I got these from the library. I wanted to try and tone up a bit since I lost weight. Also, I've been getting some back pain since I'd done the meditations on the first retreat; I've always had problems keeping my back straight, in terms of pain, starting at school assemblies when I was about six. My father telling me to try and keep my back more straight is one of the few things I recall about him from that time. Waiting for Deborah at Newcastle station. She arrived but the trains were late. I bought her back the coffee and we talked. There was still this laughter energy between us. She told me about her car, a jeep, that she liked because of its size and you can get a lot in there. She hadn't had time to by nicotine replacement therepy so I walked back into the centre to get some. That old eccentric guy from last time wasn't there. This was arriving at Hexham, where there was a good sky. Then we were there. We'd had the taxi stop early for a last smoke. I had to pull this huge case up the hill for her. On the way up we remenised about the first retreat and agreed how odd we felt to be back and kept saying things like: 'What are we doing' etc. It was kind of ominus. When we got up, Rev. Galen met us and said hello. We'd just missed dinner, and even though we were hungry, Deborah spoke for both of us saying it was OK. She had a private room again and so went up there. I had to go to the ceremony hall. I met Rev Finnon, who is actually the head of the guest department, and he was welcoming and sorted out all my linen and stuff. Then I went back to the common room. This guy who'd been on the retreat was there, as was Deborah. Her and I were whispering, and he said it was OK to speak because it was Thursay and so normal talking. She'd written down the schedule. It was odd to be back, and didn't feel great. I wrote in my notebook how many days there were to mentally calculate if I could get though it. This was pretty much the first night. We sat and talked in the room and I went to bed on the floor in the ceremony hall, joined only by Robert this time. This is the novices common room I think the next evening. It's hard to, as I keep saying, recall what occoured when as each thing happened when I'm looking back in retrospect, but I'll try (just for you and the millions of others who read this far). The First Day The first thing I recall was the first morning, or the first few mornings. The bell went as usual, at seven as it was a Friday, which was a semi-respite day. Deborah came in looking absolutely wrecked, saying that she couldn't take these early mornings and instead of staying until December, she would only stay until December. This went on every morning every morning until for about five days. The second day she was saying that she would be coming back a week Tuesday when I went back. She looked absolutely wrecked and just wasn't good in the morning. Personally it wasn't so bad, mainly because we were forced to sleep so early. I think the hardest thing for me was at night time. I would have to be bedded down about ten pm. and it would take maybe two hours to fall asleep. Lying on the floor before the Buddha statue, trying to meditate but alone with my thoughts, and sometimes letting go of those thoughts and sometimes not, it just wasn't easy. I got in the habit of staying up in Deborah room and talking, sometimes until about one AM. I confided to Deborah that it was bothering me if my... yeah OK, horrific snoring (I presume) was keeping Robert awake, much to her merth. I think she hinted the question to him once in a monks Q&A session, and he went on about this guy who used to be there who screamed in his sleep (which I'm always apt to do). One morning she asked him how he was sleeping, and he said he was OK but when the monk came in, I wasn't in bed yet, and it was really best to be there by ten pm. and pretending to be asleep at that time. This was all because a week Friday after we arrived, there was another introductory retreat and they wanted people to stick to those bedtime rules so we were gettiing hints. There was another hint once, we had another monks Q&A session once in the seniors common room. Rev. Galen was in charge. We sat in silence for a bit, and he asked, 'How do you feel that our tradition is a silent one?', which was a hint, that it was all supposed to be in silence, but Deborah and I were just clicking then. We would sit up all night and just laugh and talk and stuff. It wasn't just us. There were other people there. One was Kath. She was about 40. I never got to hear much about her. She used to really look at you and study you sometimes. Deep down I think she was fairly easy-going. Like at dinner once, we had some treat in the novices common room. Someone joked if it was OK to grasp at it as they took a piece, and she said it's OK to grasp, but don't cling to it because we all want some. She never opened up about her life so much, except when we were talking about the precepts once, and she talked about where she worked, and there was a very judgemental situation that she found it very hard not to get dragged in to. Then there was John. He was OK and came accross as a bit... normal I suppose. We had a festival the following Sunday; I'll talk about it later. Anyway, there was a talk there. It was about healing and the medicine Buddha. Basically, we are ill for different reasons, and Master Jiyu, the woman who founded the monastery, had written about illness, and had said that if you are born with certain weaknesses in your body, then it's because of the way you lived in a past life. John took this to mean something personally. The dining room was packed, but he opened up about his son, who has schitzophrenia, and he phone him every week and rants, and is he liked that because of something that John did in his childhood. While he was talking, and receiving the answer, he started crying. It was so unexpected, that I wept, but Deborah also cried. It was really say. That evening, we were in the common room, and he talked more. His first wift was an Indian, but she had a chip on her shoulder and had never really integrated into this country and was always putting down white people, or feeling like an outsider, and because of that, the boy had gone mad. So he'd been placed in special housing where he started a fire and so on. But John didn't talk about just that. He also talked about his work. He's an academic, with a background in sociology. He'd been around the new EU states helping, and was really into the social change that community gardening projects can make. We stayed up talking about that one night. Deb. was also into gardens, and had gone as far as looking into getting qualifications in it, but it had come to nothing. She started thinking of plans of making a garden that monks could grow their own stuff. We thought about writing a plan and staying on past December doing it ourselves. Things were chugging along and it was looking like I was going to be staying some time. This is the way it was going then. Anyway, about the other residents. There was a Scottish woman, who I think was also a minister? Or just her. I accidentally snapped at her in the meditation hall when I thought she was putting her stuff in front of 'my' cupboard, but we never really had so much to do with each other. There was also George. He was a lay trainee. A no nonsense, practical man who lived nearby in Carrshield. He didn't sleep at the monastery, but would turn up for the training in the day time. He also seemed just a normal guy, living alone and about fifty. Once he opened up in a monks Q&A, about his battle with alcohol. He was also into the idea of hermatage, and becoming a Therevada monk in SE Asia for a while. Eventually he found a place in Sri Lanka that would take him, despite his age and having had cancer, and he stopped coming. The last resident was Julia. She was definitely a lay minister. She had been there for the introductory retreat. Personally I thought she was nice, but Deborah had some problem with her, saying she just didn't like her. I think she took it upon herself to tell us the rules, so there was maybe the friction because of that. Deb told me that at the introductory retreat, she had been told off for not singing in the introductory retreat, singing in the morning ceremony I mean. Then when we came back, Julia had said to her, 'You're wearing some scent that doesn't agree with me'. You're not supposed to be wearing any scent in the monastery, and she wasn't, but commenting on a way that a woman smells, even if complimentary, is not a good way to endear yourself to her. So anyway, these too were never best friends. This was the novices common room. We had most informal evening 'medicine meals' there, as well as an informal brunch on respite days. Also, when the introductory retreat was on, we used to have a tea break there with all the monks. I'm not sure if it was a rule, but all the lay people didn't say anything. We just used to listen to their stories. Like Wilbert, that's the name I just remembered who used to lead our own introductory retreat, talked about a mole repeller he just bought. Another one talked about Haloween and his memories of trick and treating. I think this was the first Friday afternoon. We had about three hours off, although the schedule was so busy that it seemed like a million years. We decided to try and get to a shop for smokes, but ended up walking for a long time and not being brave enough to hitch. At this time, plus other times, I got more of her story. She was very self-absorbed, though I used to just listen. She never once mentioned her mother, but did say that her childhood was unhappy. She used to sometimes ask me to open up, so I would start to say a little about myself, but pretty much after the first sentence about me, there would be what was puportedly a pep-talk, about how I should be stronger, but then would immeadiately go into her own story and what had happened to her and how she bounced back, and she had this disease, and she doesn't have anyone left. It was OK to listen to her I suppose. I resented the fact that she was so full of this though but didn't know anything about Buddhism. She was still talking about spirits at this time. On our day out, we were in the library and she was trying to remember the grace we have to say at lunch time and she asked me some questions, to sum it all up, so I told her the four noble truths, the eightfold path and the Buddha's last words, and she took notes. She'd been in the Carribean for fifteen years, with her first husband whom she never talked about, refitting yaughts and stufff. I think for about five years she'd been in the UK. Her father had died and left her a house, which she'd done up and was renting out the rooms to pay off a mortgage. She lived with a female friend whom she never talked about. She'd done this healing course, thinking she might die soon because, I don't know, she didn't have anyone. On the course, she'd been paired up with someone and had to ask questions, but she didn't know what to say because she 'hasn't talked to anyone for four years'. Anyway, we didn't get any smokes on our little trip, but ended up just walking back and carrying on with the routine. The Day Out Monday was a proper day out. After eleven, we had the day off until six. Robert had to go in to have his hair cut. Breakfast was a brunch with fried tofu ambrosia that only I liked. It was good. I can't remember what we were talking about but Robert ended up opening up, as he did in various Q&A's. He's one of twins and one of the reasons he's there is that he wants his sister to be a little less reliant on him. Another thing is that he's a female to male transexual, i.e. was born a woman. He was quite politically active and had once joined, or at least applied to, join the police force, in protest of the fact that the police don't allow people to join with a new gender. He was a music teacher from Camden. He'd been involved with Kosovan music and refugees and refugee music. He had two close friends who were dying. I did actually get to chat to him a little in the car on the way in. He liked running. He'd been at the temple for three months because he was thinking of becoming a monk. He was kind of middle-class schoolboyiy kind of person, and quite sichophantic about all of the monks and 'Reverend Master'. Towards the end of my stay, I got really strong vibes that he didn't like me... though that could just be paranoid. Anyway. He drove us to Tesco in Hexham and we swapped numbers and he later phoned when I was alone in the park to see if I wanted to be taken back. I think he was a very different person to me, but essentially an OK kind of bloke. Once we were in Tesco, Deb and I walked around looking for a place we could smoke. I said we should go in the department store, but she was certain it would be no smoking. In the end she agreed and it was OK. She went to the toilet and I phoned A. There was no news particularly. We split up and agreed to meet later in a cafe which Robert had recommended. Alone, I went to sit in the park where I had first sat before going to the introductory retreat. In the morning I'd been asked to help an Australian female monk do laundry as she had a bad back, then I thought about the present moment, very much, I could stay in the present moment by then, mainly because of the medicine Buddha ritual. I went back to Hexham Abbey for a bit. This is the cafe recommended by Robert. Deb turned up with an iced bun, which I ate as it was a gift. I'm not sure if I put weight on over that period. Postcard to Junko, of course. We were sitting in the library, as we both needed to get stuff done, though I did mainly, she just spent time learning the breakfast ritual. I wrote quite a long letter to A. When I had been back at her house, she'd mistakenly thought I'd be staying for a few days, but when she realised it was only for a night, she made a point of talking to me at the table. The accountant, Mr. Smith, has come every two weeks since M. died to sort out my finances and credit cards or something. I'm not sure. He was coming for a special meeting to talk about A's will. A specifically asked me what I wanted. She want's to get G out of it as executor, and also remove his power of attorney, mainly because of the way he acted when mother was dying. I'm not sure who else is going to do it. Anyway, she wanted to know, if she leaves me the shop, do I want it kept on and have the rent, which would be about 150 a week, or sold. I said I don't know but would reflect on it. She's been against Geoff for ages now. Since M died basically. Carly comes up about every two weeks and bitches about him. I think A doesn't get to see so many people, so gives a lot of thought to it all. He was funny about the rings that M wanted C to have, basically calling A a liar, and that's when it started. But now, whenever I speak to A. there's always an update of how bad he is and that's really, you know, he's shot himself in the foot. Anyway, I didn't answer the question in the letter, but did mention points that came to mind. I.e. where would the money be paid. Would I have the right to force a sale at a later date if it wasn't working out. Would I be liable for UK tax and how would I pay it if I didn't have a UK address? This is the five thoughts, the thing you have to say at each meal. This little shop was next to Hexham cathedral. We had quite a bit of time to kill. We missed a bus and would get the one at ten past five. I was getting wound up because we were supposed to say if we were going to be late. I phoned and spoke to the Australian, but it was out of hours. She said she'd pass a message back onto Robert, but sounded put out. Waiting for the bus. There were some kids there, and one of them shouted at me, 'green shoes!' As it turns out, we did get back on time. I phoned the taxi company while on the bus and they were waiting for us as we got off. When we went in, Rev. Murial passed me. She asked if I had had a good time, and did I have a 'coffee for her'. I said no, but a whiskey. I noticed in the order magazine, that Rev. Murial was the newest monk there, and definitely the nicest. She was German, and used to make me laugh when her English was confused. She was a little eccentric I suppose. Like once, we had to be chopping onions, and she told me about this accident she had when she was doing the same and hurt her finger. Now she cut them up with both a knife and fork. Once, Rev. Wilber (whom I always refered to as Wilma) had a go at me for sitting on a work service. This was the only time anyone was ever directly short with me. Other times, people went out their way to make sure I had a seat when my leg hurt, even though I never complained once, they were just generally compassionate people who just noticed that my leg was bad. My duties were things like, peeling and chopping onions, cabbage, zesting oranges, once I spent a whole morning breaking eggs into a bowl. Also, I dried and put away after meals. Anyway, after Wilma had had a go at me, she came straight up with a face of pure compassion, and asked if I was OK and do I want a chair. I said no, but she kept asking and eventually insisted. It was so sweet that it nearly made me cry to be honest. At night time, we had a shorter meal. Everything seemed normal. When I went to wash my plate set up, everyone was milling about the entrance to the novices kitchen, and started shuffling out. I went to look in and Deborah was in tears, being held by Cath. So I left with everyone else and nothing was said. Later John asked me if something had happened or was it ongoing: I said the latter. I decided not to mention it unless she did. She didn't, for a while. Later we were on the road outside and she said that it had been Cath asking if she was OK, and she said how she'd felt ill on the bus and cried a bit. It's weird, as I couldn't see Deb on the bus back, but had been thinking aobut other things, and had also ended up crying. There was a period of about three days where school trips visited. We had to meditate in the common room or in the seniors common room. Shrine at night. Introductory There was another introductory weekend held while I was there. There was quite a few extra things we were asked to do. I thought we would get the Friday off, but we didn't, we ended up working, which was fair enough. We did get some time off but not enough to go into Hexham. We had been hoping for a lift there, but when one wasn't forthcoming, we decided to walk to Carrshield. There was just a little drizzle. We walked and walked, always thinking we would site somewhere around the next corner. We argued about who should hitch. Eventually a car just stopped. They were local pensioners who knew where we were from and going, and also knew we would have badly miscalculated the distance. As the car drove along, we realised that we never would have made it. They were a really friendly old couple who talked about the outsiders moving in and pushing up house prices, and general chit chat. Thank God for them, basically. We sat in this little pub. It was really good. We basically sat and were mindless and did nothing. When it was time to leave, there was no answer from the taxi. The coffee was brilliant. The owner gave us the taxi's mobile, but also no answer, though we did eventually get a friendly guy who chatted all the way home about this rogue unlicsenced driver who get's all the weekend drunk business. This is a blurred shot of the kitchen. Generally, my memories of being here are good. When you work, it's supposed to be a work meditation, and I did actually meditate. I had some really lovely periods there. Lay common room. This was the workshop. While the introductory retreat was on, they put me to work there with Rev. Galen. Well, not with him, but under his direction. The first day he expained that I was to sand and varnish a table. He showed me an old sanding machine, but the belt wasn't straight and I had to adjust it every few seconds. I hated it so much and was alone there. So in the end I took the sander off and just did the whole thing by hand. The second day, I was supposed to have everything left with me for varnishing. When I went there, the varnish was solid and there was a big ring folder, Readers Digest DIY. I wasn't sure if it was a Zen thing and I was supposed to work it out. I hated it. A monk came in and I asked. He said I shouldn't have to and to go and find Galen. I did so, and was given new varnish, and shown how to used sawdast to make the other stuff safe for disposal. The table ended up looking great, but I still didn't like the job. I never did like 'manly' type pursuits. You could say it's either genetic or I lacked a fatherly influence. I just know I hate cars, football, petrol or tar smells, noise etc. Weird, as at school, they had tried to put me into building(!). Looking back, that's because there's a shortage in consctuction rather than myself having any chance of happiness at that. The day after that, I was assigned to even more varnishing. Again, I hated it. It wasn't that I couldn't do it. I didn't understand. There were supposed to be rough patches that needed more sanding, and I just couldn't feel them. I didn't know what to do, but meditated and did it anyway. This is a statue in one of the new, as yet unused rooms I was working in. I mean, look at it; can you see a difference anywhere on the wood. I ran my hand over it and it all felt the same. Again, it might have been some zen thing I was supposed to work out. Draws i n the new room. No, I didn't sand that. The ten Mahayanist precepts. This board is used to explain them to people on introductory retreats, which was still running at the time. I thnk it was on the Saturday when I walked down the cloister and said hello in passing to one of the introductory people. She later came and found me and it turned out to be Linda, the woman who had given us a list. Deb joined us and we ended up chatting in the common room, the three of us. I asked if she used to be a catholic, which she'd mentioned. She said how it was all just for appearences, and you might as well say you're in the RSPCA as a Catholic. Later, she was talking about how she had got involved and ended up coming back. She was with two other guys who were part of her meditation group. I said, was it either Buddhism or the RSPCA? i.e. the reason she was back. Seniors common room. The schedule was really disjointed while all these people were here. This day I walked in late and they were just sitting there, so I sat down and talked, but it turnedo out that they were just sitting in sofas meditating. I could feel myself being pulled away, or pushed out depending on how you look at it, from the group. We had just a few smokes left. Deb seemed angry all the time about then. She wanted to smoke, so I said I'd meet her on the road. I shaved and joined her. She was right around the bend to avoid the workmen working next to the monastery on a Chapel. She was with a guy called Dan, on the introductory retreat. He said he had been on retreat in Devon and this place had been recommended by his boss, who actually owned the estate agents in Bayswater opposite the tube station. He was staying on for a couple of weeks and had a private room as he was scheduled for an operation. He had no smokes and so kind of joined us. Surrounding area. Seniors common room. The retreat was ending about then. I was starting to dread the last meal with them all as that would be talking. There was this guy opposite to me left at dinner who was obviously really getting into it. He used to bow really mindfully and everything. When eating, I used to just look down, but once, he asked if I was OK and apparently, Deb said, had been looking at me for a long time. At that last meal, the woman opposite me was from Hexham, and Rev. Finnon was the server at our table. She basically only wanted to know about celibacy, saying she couldn't handle it, even though she was now but not by choice. The guy who was really into it chatted about his life. He had four kids, one of them a daughter from a dallience he had as a teenager. He'd just contacted her and now was leaving the ball in her court to see if she wanted to take it further. I remember the morning before they all left. My work job had been to hover the lay common room, that's the blue one. I was doing so and this guy insisted on helping me move the chairs. A different guy dropped his tea and came to me for help as I was kind of working there, so I cleaned it for him. As I was downstairs, a third guy came up to me and said 'thanks for doing that'. It made me happy, but I wasn't sure why he'd said anything. I eventually worked out that they were all really into it and he was thanking me for my compassion. Ugghhh. True though, it was a nice feeling. The Sunday before I left... no it was the first Sunday I now recall, was a festival for the medicine Buddha. It was really nice. First of all we had an easier schedule and all of the work was voluntary. We'd been joined by a new guest, Barbara, who only opened once in the common room, the seniors. She was about 50, and one of identical twins whose sister had recently died. Robert was really sympathetic of course. This was pretty much all she said about herself. I do know her husband dropped her off. She was very middle/upper class. Anyway, for the morning's work, I was put with her making place sets for people... no, this was for introductory retreat... what happened. Anyway, the medicine Buddha festival, this was when John cried. We were all on easy schedule. I already mentioned the second time I saw Linda; that was the festival. Basically there was good food and a load of people who turned up, mostly from surrounding areas, for this talk and ritual. The ritual was really nice. There was the usual rubbish singing, but then some really nice chanting. The end of the festival was when they kept chanting about the medicine Buddha and we all formed a line and shuffled before the Buddha, taking turns to take some insence, putting it on the bindi mark of ourselves and sprinkling the rest on burning coals. There's something that stayed with me from the ritual. In one of the songs, it was the one that was being continually repeated as we were going up to the Buddha, the verses sang about the medicine on offer from the medicine Buddha: it's the medicine of the present moment. I'm not sure why that anchored in my mind, but it did. While meditating, I became really 'present'. Every couple of nights, as part of vespers, we would have to read out 'The Rules of Meditation', I think possibly by Dogen, and am almost certain a rubbish translation, but I also recall the single sentence, to be aware of the passing of time. And this has taken root in my mind for some reason. I kind of sit and meditate, and just am really now, I don't mean a little now, I mean NOW. Not a little bit in the past and not a little bit in the future, but in this moment, aware of it going from one moment to the next, but not going into the past or future, but only ever now. It's almost impossible to explain. I mentioned it to Deborah. I was explaining what my meditations were like at the time, and still are I suppose. It's like the meditation... or my reality, it like a speeding train with everything (the world) is racing by, but there's this unmoving point at the start of the train. Yes, that's what it's like. Thing of being in the drivers compartment of a train and looking down at the very, very front part of the train. Everything is speeding, but now that part as it's stationary in relevance to yourself. This is what the meditations like. Random memories Yes, I really should have kept notes each day, but there you go. As it is, I'll have to just add anything here if it comes back to me. I remember once in Q&A, Robert opened up about his mother, and her reaction to his sex change. She came across as the kind of person who won't allow herself to feel anything. Anyway, the mother had got together with the violin teacher, to mourn the 'girl what was to die'. Unravelling And then, things just started to unravel, I suppose. There were different lead ups to it I suppose. One was during the introductory retreat. The introductorees only do one long meditation and it's overseen by a senior monk. I was meditating there, and Rev. Finnon was overseeing. Afterwards, he came up and said that I have a 'terrible posture' and was there something wrong with my back? I explained there was a joint problem and he said OK, fair enough as he didn't know... But he went on to say that, it was 'me generally'. The way I walk, think and hold myself. I don't recall exactly. He said, 'There's a lot of brightness there, but you've got to let it shine'. That night I was out with Deb. Next to the Abbey there's a disused chapel that's being renovated, and we used to sit and smoke there. We had our last smokes there and I told her about it. She went into this pep-talk about how you've got to bounce back, sensible ####### advice and so on. Like most of the advice she gave out, it only lasts for a moment, really being a cue for her to talk about herself. So she went through this and people dumped all over her. But she did note, from this and from other things about me, that I'm too sensitive. She said it and looked at me for a long time, then repeated it, like she was really noticing that about me. I mean, it's true, but no one really notices, well, of course not as I don't really know anyone. Anyway, other things that were the undoing of it all. One thing. The second time we went out, when we were, I don't recall where we had come from. We had been up really late the night before and got back very tired. She lay on the bed and I lay on the floor in her room. We decided to skip dinner, but then I said I would go down and she told me to say she was tired. I went down and dinner was in the seniors common room. It was soup and bread and I wasn't so hungry. My place set wasn't there and Robert asked if I'd taken it out the dining room and left it in the cloister. I said no. If it was still there then I would have to go in while all the monks were eating and retrieve it. I asked if that was the case, and he seemed really irritated, and said, well, yeah. So I walked out. In the cloister, someone had put my bowl out but I wasn't on for the soup, so I went back to D's room and lie on the carpet. After a while, I went to the toilet, and Rev. Finnon came and noticed we'd skipped dinner. This was the second meal I'd missed as I'd been shaving once. He said it's not so good, as food gets wasted, and also it's one of the ways that they all stay together as a community. I said OK and he told me to pass it on to Deb. I did so and she went mad. We went to the common room and agreed that we should try and fit in a bit more, spend less time together. She said something like, 'they don't like couples who are too close', and I said, 'We're not a couple', although with all the laughing, we were pretty much like one. So we agreed to join in a bit. But what happened next was vile. She ended up with Barbara and Cath, talking about Chromes disease. She said that it causes tiredness and she hadn't been able to get off the bed, oh she's tired all the time, and you shouldn't have early mornings like this when you have Chromes disease. They all sat round and she took all this sympathy. But basically, she'd missed dinner for the same reason I did. Instead of getting early nights, we'd sat up talking and laughing in the common room. We were both wrecked. Also, she'd joined the group, or arrived in the first place, to 'open up', and 'sort things out', which is fair enough. Well, she did so, but a lot. I'd get chastised when I wouldn't open up. She kept saying you have to do that. This is why people come. She wasn't really interested in the meditation; this is the impression I got; she just wanted to be away from her life in London, and to open up and have some sympathy I suppose. This is fair enough. But I listened to her point and started trying to open up about me, the illness etc. and I never got further than one sentence before she went into the, 'keep going and get over it' pep-talk, which consists of two sentences before become a list of all the things she's been through and all the people who've dumped on her. I noticed she never mentons her mother or husband at all. Anyway, the full day was Sunday. We both had dirty laundry mounting up. We'd been trying to arrange how to do it and Robert said he would show her. She said, when we get a chance, just put your stuff in with mine, as long as it's colours. Fair enough. On the Sunday, we were all assigned to Rev. Chandra. She's introduced herself to me when I was previously varnishing the table in the tool-shed. I'd said straight away how that means moon, and she said yes, she's the only one who's been given a Sanskrit name. When I went down with her on the Sunday, she asked me how I knew that and I said the modern Hindi word for moon is the same. We had to put boots on. I went to get them and Deborah came and said that Robert had booked the washing machine for her and she was going to do it. I asked if I could put my stuff with her and she said that he's only put his and her name on the laundry roster. I said no, I put her name on it in passing a few days before. She said she didn't know. I have to go and ask Robert. I went and asked Robert, and he looked at me like I was an idiot and said to ask Deborah. So I went back and had to fill pots up with soil to plant seeds. I asked her why she was just planning to do her own stuff and she ignored me. We kept working and I asked her advice a few times as she knows about gardening and I realised she was being a bit short with me. We then were excused to do the washing, so I went up to get some bits, it was only a few things, enough to hold in my hands, and I went to the laundry room. When I went in, she was putting stuff in talking to Robert, and I heard her snap the word 'Bollo***' as the end of a sentence. I asked her if I could put my stuff in and she snapped that it had to be dark stuff. It was dark stuff, but I said OK quietly, realising there was something wrong, and went upstairs and put it back in the cupboard upstairs. I went back out and a monk said I was looking stiff and was I OK. I said yes, and Rev. Chandra made us plant some little organic things. I threw the dogs ball and lost it in a hedge, then we were sent down plum picking. Deborah never came back. Later I needed my shaving stuff, which was in the room. I went there and she snapped, 'What do you want?', so I took it and shaved. I didn't speak to her again. The last day she ignored me at breakfast. I went upstairs and she came and asked me for the taxi number, meaning she was going to town alone. There was a new monk from Hungary who'd arrived. I'd got chatting to him the night before and he needed help to make a dentist appointment. So I phoned for him. Then it was the day off. I was going to Hexham anyway, and basically decided to leave. I went to the guest department and Rev. Galen was there. I said I would go a day early and he said OK. I packed and left. Lazlo asked me to get him some asprin and I said OK. I walked down the path and Rev. Muriel asked him if I was leaving and he said only to Hexham, but she seemed to know. She came and said goodbye as I was leaving. I turned and bowed, and told her she was the nicest one there, which was true, and she waved off the compliment with a smile and a sweep of her arm. She was a lovely person. I walked down to wait for the taxi, it arrived. I got in, and off I went. I took pictures of pictures, from an album in the shop which helps you remember who each person is and use their names, which is very useful actually. This one is the abbot, but he was always away and I never really got to speak to him. This one was easy going, especially when she caught people smoking. This one was funny. I only spoke to him once, on festival day. We were sitting eating the apple pie treat, and this little girl got snapped at by the dog he was in charge of. But before it happened, he kept saying how he doesn't like being tugged by kids and was nervous as to whether it would be OK. Ah Wilfred, that was it, he was in charge of our introductory retreat. I never did get to speak to him again, except to say hello the moment we returned back. Though it wasn't hello. More some comment. Don't recall. Whatever. He was sweet. The guestmaster on the left, who noticed my 'terrible posture'. I never really had anything to do with the one on the right. I took a few shots of the dark ceremony hall when I went to bed. I don't recall why I got to the common room late; I think this was the last night. There had been a biscuit treat, and indeed one had been saved to me, though the place was desserted. We had a Q&A with this one in the prefects common room. He talked about losing the sense of self in response to a question by Barbara. He was also in charge of the magazine that the monastery publishes. The infamous Galen. He comes across as very imposing. For this reason I'd assumed he was the abbot while on the introductory. He was actually, kind of absent minded (bad news for a monk) but nice enough I think. I think he's not impressed with my woodwork. Rev. Willard was in charge of the kitchen, and very nice. There was one Q&A with him. Someone asked him, actually it was George, about ethics and euthanasia. At one point he talked about not judging, and that he'd just come from a situation where there was a lot of judgements, but he couldn't go into it because he didn't really know some of us so well. He had a very... perhaps you'd say expressive face. Specifically, his eyebrows moved, a LOT, from being right close to his eye, to going right half way up his forhead. He'd move them like this to say hello, or think, or anything; it was really endearing. Chandra, whom you know of. Rev Aden is the one who came and spoke to me after our introduction retreat, saying about meditating in a church if I'm homeless. He kind of singled me out for a chat for some reason. Leandra, of course. Did I mention the Q&A session. Deb talked, saying she was getting it, opening up and so on. But then she got me to talk, about my previous practice, so I talked about a dream I had in Nepal, and my breath practice, all the mp3 lectures I've been listening to for a couple of months now, about two hours a day, but I use them as a concentratio exercise also. She was an American. My only contact was a single Q&A session, where she actually recorded her own talk to us, which was about the tenth precept, not defacing the triple gem. It was useful actually. So if someone is practicing in a certain way, even if it's destructive in your opinion, that's still their practice because they're looking for happiness just like everyone else, and to critisise them is to attack the dharma. And when you think about the Sangha, you can include all living beings on the basis that we're all trying to be happy whichever way we know best. Never spoke to her. He was kind of the kitchen assistant, but usually the one giving us work. Another really nice, gentle person. There's one annecdote that comes to mind. One day, there wasn't so much work, so he decided that I was to clean the accumulated goo off things like mixers and the scales and so on. He said to me, 'Orange Oil' is best for that, and went off and returned with a white bottle that had kind of cartoon advertising on it. I looked and it didn't say Orange Oil, so I asked where it was labeled. He said that it wasn't. He said that's just what he calls it. He looked at the label, and said that it's actually called 'Sticky Stuff Remover'. But the quiet, educated way he said it made me laugh. He said that he still calls it Orange Oil because he thinks it's make with essential oils and stuff, so he went over to the window to read the label in the light. It was full of things like sulphuric acid, potassium this and chloride that. His face dropped as he read each ingredient and he returned holding it at arms length. He said: Actually, that doens't sound so good. But I think it's OK as long as you don't drink it or give it to some kids to drink. Whoops, I got them mixed up. It was this one, Rev. Garath, who gave the talk about losing the self in the seniors common room. I only spoke to this one a couple of times, usually she was giving out jobs during kitchen clean up. The one who had a go at me, but I think he was OK really. He's been a novice for nine years. Once in the common room he called me by name to check why I hadn't brought a tea with me. He was a bit glum and irritable overall. We're all different though. The head novice, used to give out work during working meditations. She was an Australian who played the organ on festival day. I had to help her launder rags once because she has a bad back. Another time I phoned from Hexham to be late and she sounded really irritated to be passing on a message. This is the one I first ever spoke to when I first turned up on introductory retreat. She was linked to the guest department. Muriel. I just remembered something else about her. I was given the job of slicing bread once. It was the only job in the kitchen I hated. The slices were awfully different, and I told her so in apology when I had to hand it over, and she just said 'so are we (different)'. She radiated kindness. I don't know if she was always like that, or if it's something she learnt through Buddhism. If so, then I'd better start practicing metta. I took some last pictures of the ceremony hall, including me meditating on one side of the room, and packing my bag outside 'my' cupboard, where I'd been sleeping. Then I was outside, checked out and gone. The taxi came and the guy remembered me, and Deb. I told him about the time we walked, or tried to, to Carrshield. As we got in range, my phone rang, delivering a stored text, someone asking for info about the book (my book). I had a quick coffee in the same pub, then went and waited for the bus. When it came, Deb was there, though she just got on completely ignoring me. It drove onto Hexham and she wordlessly got off, so it was definitely best to leave then as you can't really carry on in that kind of atmosphere. Hexham station. A pub in Newcastle. I just sat, with terrible coffee, thinking. I kind of walked around Newcastle not knowing where to go, just relaxing. It was nice to play some music. There was a pub, I think it was called star or something. It was good to just sit there at night because it was so quiet. Next day I went for an expensive coffee in a shopping centre. Eden Place I think it was called. Letter to Junko. This pub was called Goose. This place was really nice. I phoned A. and she told me there was a reply from the police, and read it to me. Letter to Rev. Finnan. I enclosed a cheque from Nationwide with it. The two above are a place I had a quick coffee before leaving Newcastle. The coach down stopped for a break in Leeds. This is where I was just after M died when I went up to York before Newcastle. The coach stopped at the same place on the way up, I think it might be near Sheffield? It was dark by the time we pulled out. Then I was back at Palmers. I took this picture in the morning because there were all these sunflowers next door. Though I've just notice the disabled sign in the shot. Does that have a meaning? The next Thursday I signed on, as originally planned. Then, of course, a coffee in William Morris. Date: Thursday 26th October 2006 Royal Bayswater Hotel, London W2. Finally catching up. I think it's better to write what I recall from my diary, then when I put new pictures up, I'll add anything else I remember; I hate falling behind like that. Dream (Saturday 7 Oct 06 (while still at the monastery)) I was watching a cartoon. It was a surreal Simpsons type thing where the character went to the moon. Interpretation Probably just saying that the Zazen was doing me good. Dream, next day. I was with someone somewhere, and they told me to stop dieting. Interpretation I ate what they gave me at the monastery. Apart from that I've been 100% sober on 1200 strict calories a day since March 20. I weighed myself at the weekend, 70kg (11 stone), less than when I was at school and a total saving of 25 kilos. I signed on the Thursday following the retreat or whatever I was on. I changed lines at Green Park and saw Mick, the musician who used to, and I'm pretty sure still does, live at Leinster Inn. He was playing guitar in the tunnel. It's strange as I passed Leinster today and saw one of the staff who what there when I was. Friday 13th was a hard day. I mean really hard. London was all booked up, so I booked a place called Journeys in Deptford. I got there really late and knew it would be a little rough as it's near Whitechapel. But I was in for a shock. I had to go in a little pub which was mostly black. Fair enough, but it was loud and so rowdy. The barmaid didn't know what I was on about but called over to an old black woman who was kind of motherly in a harsh way. She checked me in and a Canadian woman took me to an ajacent building. It was absolute anarchy. There were people running about screaming. I went to the toilet and there was an unconscious man I had to step over in the doorway. He was pierced and with a moheaken, but said, or make some noise in salutation. Then this Polish guy accosted me on the stairs, absolutely wrecked, and went on about how hard it is understanding English. But like most times, the rare times I go, everyone's friendly over the east. There was a Polish couple who shook my hand and introduced themselves in the room. But it was above the bar and the music was thumping. I have some earplugs I had because of A's tv, but this was something else. I was straight out the next day. But I managed to lock myself out the room about four am. but after an hour in the cold in my underwear, someone let me in. Next day I was in London House. I decided to turn a decade of my diaries into a print book, and to make a cd of The Happiness Hike, plus upload Life Magic. I managed the latter. I went to see The Lake House at Prince Charles Cinema, then had a few days over Swiss Cottage, mostly on a downer. I always am up there; not sure why. Then I came back to Baywater. I've been doing basically the same work. The police got in touch and I'll try and pop over tomorrow. I'm in Picadilly, tomorrow, if I get any sleep. Then two nights in Belsize, three in Palmers. Hopefully I'll have enough to do to stay up. I went to A's on Saturday night, mainly to pick my post up. There's no news really. M's house goes on sale in December. There are various other things to say, but it's so late. I'll likely have some time over Picadilly I suppose. It's so late, and as usual, I'm wide awake. I'll say it quickly. The premenition I had about M's death back in India plays on my mind a lot. In that, she said had a list of all the places in the world she was planning to see. But the nun, who turned out to be death itself, said she won't be here for 'the feast of st. stephen'. The thing is, she was for the next one. This is the first one she's not here for. And now, stuck in London, it's me looking at all the places in the world I'm planning to go to. So does it mean I'm going now? Another thing. It's Nov 5, I think a week Sunday. I don't know whether to stay or go. I know I want to destroy a lot more of my possessions. I wanted to say what, plus my conclusions about the monastery... but it's late. I'll go down to the kitchen. I might come back. Hopefully I'm going to be tired soon. Same day, 9.00pm, Prime Time Video Cybercafe, Covent Gardens. Well, I slept since then but only a few hours, then came here. I've had one of those weird days. Weird in that I've seemed to irritate everyone I meet, though I didn't mean to. It started when I went downstairs to check out of Royal Bayswater. I was packing my bags in reception and a guy from the 20 bed dorm where I was staying asked if he could change rooms. When asked why, he said about the snoring (Oh God....). Well that can only be me as I went to bed at four in the morning and walked past nineteen silent people to get to my bed in the corner. The receptionist said he should have 'told him', then said to throw possessions at him, aiming at the mouth. He couldn't move as the place was full. Then he looked at me and said 'is that the guy', but the receptionist said no to spare trouble. It's horrible though. I'm sleeping with my bag under the mattress to raise it so high my back hurts, using menthol and homeopathy seperately. I hate me ... for this and everything. Anyway, I went out and had a coffee in Queensway, in the street, then went up and brushed my teeth. The attendant came over and said 'Don't do it next time'. I asked why and he said that the management doesn't allow it. Not sure why exactly. I've done it loads of times, there and everywhere, and no one ever complained. Perhaps it's because it's a private place, and they don't want to attract bums... bums like me that is. Thank God there are cubicals there, because since it's gots cold, I go in the toilets there, open cans of lentils and potatos etc. and eat it sitting on the fountain. But I'm sick of all this. Then I went to Maplins and bought a case. I'll say about it later. Then I came here to Picadilly. It was really busy checking into Picadilly Backpackers. Both the staff were knew. The guy checked me in, then told be to come back later for the bedsheets, even though they were only just beside him. He seemed to have an instant dislike for me (ha, try sleeping with me my lovely (second thoughts, bad idea)). Anyway, I walked off and accidentally left a tissue on the counter. He called me over and went mad, saying to leave it in the bin, why did I put it there. I mean... it was just a dry, ripped piece of tissue. I went upstairs but the bed was occupied, and in an tiny room. I went back down and an ethnic Chinese British woman was much nicer and I got a better room on the sixth floor; if I can stop despising myself long enough to sleep. Then I showered; I really needed to. Then I got lost in Soho somehow, but got to Covent Garden, where I had a coffee on a bench listening to a busker, who said he was personal friends with the man who wrote 'Streets of London', before performing it. Anyway, the other things I wanted to say about the situation generally. I feel mixed about leaving the monastery in the way I did. I wondered for a long time if it was a mistake. Perhaps it was some lesson I was supposed to learn in equminity? I barely ever have anything to do with people, but when I do, it ends up like this. It must be me? Perhaps I should accept that it's going to always be like that. I've kind of changed my practice, and sometimes feel really present and in the moment, and thus often can really comprehend that it's all we can own. I'm a little less clingy I suppose. But I must stop this always yearning after some kind of mythical company of great friends I can meet one day. -- Travel alone before travelling with a fool. Most people are just wholly wrapped in in nothing, the trivialities and illusions of life and you're better off not knowing them. Perhaps if I get much deeper into Buddhism, attending things and being with the sangha I mean, then I would meet people who can put up with me and are worth knowing, but one should neither bank on that nor need it. Another thing about leaving, it could only be temporary. So my situation was the same when I left. But having been there for that time was good. I know I need to work on the posture, or at least mention the problems before I do anything else. I also know that I can take the routine and the meditations and that I enjoy working meditation as long as it's with compassionate people and mostly seated. The only reason really, I had to leave I mean, was the bad feeling and the country. I made the 'mistake' of going with someone a little self-absorbed perhaps, or perhaps it's me as well, I'm not used to being with people. But I probably wouldn't have gone back the second time if I hadn't have met her, so it was fair enough for the experience. The situation is the same now I'm out; but I could have stayed until January or something, and then it would have been the same. England is a problem. It's the culture, the whether and the people. Now I know you should practice where you are... but the thing is, when the Buddha decided to just sit until he obtained Nirvanah, he sat under a tree. He could have just sat there where he was. So even though he only walked for a moment for an optinal position, he _did_ find the tree first. I want to do the same thing, but not here. So it's a matter of finding a place with a few possible locations, and going to live there. I need to further cull the possessions. This is why I bought a case today. It's a metal flight case in the sales. It might just be able to contain the absolute essential possessions ready for storage or quick removal. Since M. died I haven't spent longer than a day or so at A's. I still have the books and jackets and so on to put on ebay. November 5th is coming up. It's a full moon, and there were a few retreats going on, but not near and I can't likely get on them. So I think better, perhaps, to go to A's Friday for the night. Get some things I can destroy, the diary I kept in the Philippines comes to mind, as well as an Indian diary, the first diary when I left England. Perhaps I could keep a bag with non-essense, and then essense (basically Junko's stuff). My times running out here. After Nov 5, I'll go back and tie up loose ends. Before then I'll get my options sorted out. I have to leave this life in London and go elsewhere, sleeping alone and practising. I might get another chance a bit later. I'll see how I do for time. IT'S COLD COLD COLD TONIGHT. Thursday 2nd November 2006 London House Hotel, Bayswater. Dream I was in London somewhere at a bus stop. The stop itself had some kind of recorded attached to it, so it was kind of set up to record programmes that people could watch if they wanted to. But some guy took it down and examined it and said that there was something wrong with it, it was only recording half the programmes. I walked on a bit and a coach passed that I noticed had come from Bath. Then I noticed the name of some of the buses. I said to someone I really like the quirky names for destinations that you get in London. Then I don't recall if I mentioned such a destination, or if I saw it go past, but it was called 'black angel'. Interpretation The first part is basically what I'm doing in London. Yes, I'm doing this retrospective of work, but also I'm listening to the dharma lectures on my mp3 player, which I do for about half the day. They've really changed me, strengthened my concentration, changed the way I think, the frequency of insights etc. But only recording half means I spend more time listening rather than going somewhere and practicing properly. The bus from Bath means the dream is about Christmas, because I was in Bath last Christmas. The black angel is about the premonition of mothers death I had while in India, where I did actually see the black angel. This, as I've mentioned before, is really playing on my mind now. Mother said she wouldn't be here for the feast of St. Stephen, and this is the first such time that she won't be here... so what's going to happen on that day, which is December 26th. At the time of the dream, I thought perhaps I'd hear from J. but it feels, I don't know; I'm scared. So rather than make a decision and go somewhere, I'm hanging around London only doing half the practice while I hold on to see if I"m going to live or not. If I do, then I know that in some way, some how, I'm going to go somewhere cheaper to practice, maybe even ordane. Dharma willing, of course. Since I last wrote, I had a couple of nights in Belsize, and three in Palmers. The last night in Palmers, yesterday, I was in the common room and I think people were talking about me. This morning I woke up, and I heard the guy say that he slept well... 'considering...' and then this ominous pause. I know this sounds like some joke, but it's really getting to me. I don't want to think that I irritate everyone. I have to stop being in London. I finally got a call from the police. Now it's arranged to meet them on Thursday 9th at Charing Cross station, so hopefully that will be closure. Noting happened concerning halloween. It's half past twelve in the morning here. I'm signing on at eleven. The signing after next, it will be a year exactly, so I expect that there's some kind of interview, and perhaps I'll be forced into something I can't do or whatever. If I end up getting signed off, it wouldn't make an awful lot of difference, mother's house goes up for sale this month and I wouldn't be entitled to anything after that. It's just a good excuse to go. Today, 02/10/06 is twelve years exactly since Junko came to my door at the Perth travellers lodge and invited me to the Jazz club. Yes, all of those anniverseries are coming up. It'll be horrible alone at A's house thinking of that day... so I'll try not to. I'm back on Friday for a night at Belsize. On the Saturday, there's a meditation group thing in Charing Cross I might go to, plus I'm moving to London House, where I'm typing this at the moment. Then back to Belsize for a night, then Hyde Park (smart hostel). I'm going back to A's the Saturday after but don't have accomodation. Friday is the twelth anniversary of moving to Perth Victoria YHA for the only happy time of my life... with JUNKO IMANISHI of course (I really must stop doing this to me). Well after that I'm back and forth, basically planning to destroy the last of my possessions. On the 5th, I'll likely go to a fireworks display. I might burn the last and most precious diaries. This last fortnight of back and forth I'm going to be essentially putting the last of the retrospective on the web the best I can and destroying the possessions the best I can, and that's about it. I picked up a terrible cold also, I'm sitting here all bunged up (ahhhhh). So I can't really help the back and forth situation, but am planning, this really is the last of what I need to do in this country, so I'm kind of preparing and must just knuckle down. Also, I did manage to book palmers over christmas. I arrive xmas eve and leave 29. I'm looking into a Tibetan teaching retreat and another one in either Surrey or Oxford, so we'll have to see. There's not too much... what? I don't know. I'm whittering. I hate the cold. I really *really* hate the cold. Now, I have to print out my ticket, print out my friday reservation, eat, wake up and shave, put my stuff in storage, sign on in Hammersmith, go and get info about the retreat on the other side of london, come back and get my bag, get to victoria then get back to npton, write to J. go to A's, spend the 12th anniversary of one of the only happy times, going through my possessions to be later destroyed, come back and move every day, hating myself for the trouble and distress I cause people by being myself, come back, meet people in meditation classes, do the oracle about my options, sit freezing in Hyde Park, see the police, go back, destroy my possessions, make another little box for J's stuff, come back and sign on, back to A's to sell things, last things, on ebay, then back to sign and be signed off, then go to A's. Come back and live xmas at palmers and see if I die or if there's something good or whatever it means. Go on retreat. Buy a ticket. Manage to survive until I can get out. Leave the UK and practice the dharma. I hate this country. Saturday 18th November 2006 Kettring Road, Northampton Anniversary. Twelve years ago today was the day Junko and I went to Freemantle and had our day together. This year I've been traipsing round town and periodically details of the day come back to to, lunch in sweethearts cafe, the old jail, buying the ring, and my whole stomach kinds of flips and I forget where I am. Flashbacks almost. Why is this. I'll write soon, in the diary I mean. Well, to J as well. Oh, what a strange life for a strange consciousness. Date: Thursday November 30th 2006 London House Hotel, W2 Bayswater I'm back for signing on later; it's just gone 1am but the computer is free, so I'm here updating. I just wanted to label the last pictures before I started a new memory card. Friday 15th December 2006 Film night Internet Cafe, Covent Garden, London. Yesterday was twelve years since I left Perth. I went to the Serpentine. I have to leave London now; I'll write it all up later. Some mind maps about... my thinking. I bought this book in Newcastle and the maps within it shall form the next of the work shall I survive the New Year. Lunch in the 'hidden garden' in St. James Church Grounds, Picadilly. It was strange to be back where I began as if I'd never been away. I stayed in this AWFUL place in Dagenham, did I mention it? I had to step over someone unconscious to get to the bathroom, there were people running around screaming, the entrance was a hard pub full of gangsters. UGH. One of the worst ever... funnily enough, very friendly though. Pretty certain that's Hyde Park. This is the Jessops camera shop in Northampton. I thought my camera was broken and took it back as it was still under warrenty, but it turns out I'd put batteries in that weren't powerful enough. This is the pub next to Victoria Coach Station; I've often wondered what it's like, and now I know, nothing. The common room in Hyde Park View Hostel. Average place. Paperwork about my police complaint. Prince Edward Pub in Bayswater. I've passed it for years assuming there would be no seats, but right in the middle of hostelworld, I went in and it's really comfy. The coke tastes weird, but it is very nice indeed. A retro poster outside the whiteleys centre. Stuff I picked up from Throssel. The fateful day marked in my diary. I've thought a lot more about that now and am in more of two minds about it. I was in Royal Bayswater one day and it was really chilly, so I micorwaved potaotes, lentils, tomato and boiled egg, and it was so nice eating it in Hyde Park. 'My' seat in Royal Bayswater, in the reception. At least it was my seat, until people got nasty about the snoring and I moved. The Metta Sutra, which I've stuck in my diary and chant daily, on Gill's advice. I also say the Kesa verse every morning. Taken from the Indian Golden Jubilee Bench in Kennsington Gardens, another favourite eating spot. Back at Picadilly backpackers. A flight case I'd got on sale. Currently I'm fitting in every thing I own, getting ready to leave. Internet cafe in a #### dvd rental place, actually not so bad, in Covent Garden. 'Cooking' in Picadilly Backpackers. Books in Waterstones, Picadilly. The two books I ended up reading really summerise the way my mind has pondered for over five years. The point of magic is to use intention/desires to manifest reality, the point of Buddhism is to not have desires. I think I'm just recently working out the answer. Outside Whetherspoon, O2 Centre. At A's, starting to repack the flight case. Passing an enviromental demonstration on Charing Cross Road. More artwork from the book, well, artwork... research, pictured thought processes or whatever. London House Hotel Raphellos in Bayswater Common room of the Belsize House hostel. About two weeks ago now (mid december) this was on TV. The bbc were having a long themed period about homelessness and there was a film on. Well, in the story a girl gets taken to a hostel after being assulted, and it was Belsize. So there I was watching the story on TV, with the girl in the reception I've been in, sleeping in the room I've slept in. Very strange. The 12 bed room in Hyde Park Inn. Two Sweedish women cheered when I checked out. My poor, sleepless neighbours. Around Trafalgar Square, the day I went to see the police at Charing Cross. I think this was somewhere on the way to Grenwich. A church in Northampton town centre. I think I took the pictures because it was such a crisp, clear day. Me wearing clothes that a few months fitted me, but now I am throwing away due to weight loss. St Pauls Youth hostel, the night of the second stop and search. St. Pauls. Paperwork about the previous and recent stop and searches. Looking at the sky for new magic. From a hastily-made shrine in A's house, magic from a year or so and six months. Do I ever stop doing this? Bus stop on the way to Northampton town centre. For some reason, there were dancing traffic wardens there. Letter to Junko. I did finally sell the signed book on ebay. Didn't get much, but it was all positive feedback. The ad I put in Nexus magazine for the book. It netted me one query and no sales. Police box outside St. Pauls church in Covent Gardens. Yasmine, absolutely wrecked in her house. I found there papers in the cupboard, mine from before I left England the first time. They were about Hopi prophesys, new age travelling, the kind of thing I pursued. Ebay. Junko's New Year Card. The launderette in Northampton. Shrine in A's house. Ebay. Ebay. Can't think where this is. Letter to Junko. I sent her some old pictures. Me, phoning up to book my flight out of England the first time ever. The various pictures I sent to her. BHS. Parliment on the way to the Crisis meeting at the Abbey Community Centre. Waiting for the Crisis meeting to begin; it got much busier than this. Parliment/Westminster after the meeting. Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square. This long sequence was everything I did on 14th December, twelve years exactly since I saw Junko. I went to Hyde Park, sat in the restaurant there, wrote her a card, destroyed a lot of earlier possession, did some magic with a piece of slate over the bridge and went to check in at Menninger. Finally, the matter with the police was sorted out and I got an apology. I cook up quite complicated things in A's house now. I'm still on the diet, but can make all sorts and spend the evenings cutting up vegetables. The Racecourse opposite A's. There was a period of severe fog. Yates, a newish pub near Riders Arcade in Northampton. I know it's newish as if it had have been there previously, then M and I would have tried it. Letter to Junko (of course). Foggy Northampton church. Date: 26th December 2006 (The Feast of St. Steven (Stephen?)) Palmers Lodge, Swiss Cottage, North London. 7:40am. It's really been since bonfire night that I sat down properly to write, for various reasons I suppose. Now, it's the start of the big day. The day I was wondering if it's my last. I can't get this computer online, so I'm typing to usb to update later. I have my little dataday, so I'll write what I was up to the best I remember. I think I stayed over Hyde Park in at the start of November, but didn't write it up. It was the usual kind of experience. But I got very sick bowel-wise. I woke up one morning and there were a couple of Northern European women. I was semi-awake. The cleaning woman came in and they asked if anyone was checking out and she checked her list and pointed to me on the bed. I must have looked asleep, but the women high-fived and started quietly shouting 'yeeeaaaassss'. That was painful, especially as I think the night before I'd checked out of Royal Bayswater and a long-termer made no bones about scowling about me as he changed rooms to be away from the chain-saw (I'm talking about snoring, in case you've just joined (yeah right, someone reads this). I stayed in Grenwich for a night, and that was as normal. I had an appointment with Scott the solicitor on the 14th to sign papers to get a life insurance policy released, well, the (small) funds released. I phoned him a few days later about Mother's ashes, and he's going to bring this up with Geoff. Looking at it now, it's quite obvious that it's been asked if, for the rest of his useful life, he'll mediate between Geoff and I. I signed on for unemployment on the 30th. It was a year exactly since I signed on for the first time. I was kind of expecting them to put me on some scheme as I previously had an interview after six months of signing. I subsequently found out that it's after 18 months for people who are over 25. I went back to Northampton at the start of December. I had enough of hating myself each time I sleep in a hostel. I know snoring is something people joke about, which is fair enough, but it's not nice to know that your presence disturbs everyone around you. I though I will sort out all of my possessions. I have the little case I want to store things in, and too many things to put in there, so decided to deal with this. I finally put more stuff on ebay. I sold some books, I got a fiver for the broken Nikon camera. I have my ebay feedback rating up to 93 100% positive, and I'm proud of that as I do go the extra mile to make people happy. I bumped into Darren on the way into town. He was with a friend, who didn't believe we were school pals as I looked so much older, and had no problems letting me know that. Darren and I exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up or phone to arrange that when I was next back from London. I sent him some pictures of us from before I left England for the first time and told him to text me, but I never heard from him. I went back to London on 13th December. I had applied online to volunteer for the Crisis Open Christmas, to help homeless people over the festive period, and there was an open night in Abbey Community Centre in Westminster. I arrived about two at Victoria and walked to Westminster, and it wasn't so long until the meeting, so I hung around St. James library for a few hours, then went to the meeting. It looked really interesting. You have to help the guests, wash them, talk to them, do door duty, serve food. I was really glad I had applied. I was staying in Picadilly that night, so I walked through Trafalgar Square after taking some night shots of the houses of parliment. I signed on the next day and again there were no problems. This was the 14th, and exactly twelve years since I last saw Junko at Perth airport. Each time I deal with my possessions, I try and lessen them. I take things I have decided I want to keep, and decide otherwise. It's not nice, but A. has thrown most of the things I really care about into the bin over the years. I think about it all the time. I think of things that people, including Junko, sent me from Asia that I never even got to see. Some possessions I left behind in 1993 she basically stole. She doesn't do it purposely, as I thnk I've said in the past. She's just not capable of understanding that just because somethings in her house that it doesn't mean in belongs to someone else. Like in the loungue, there's a little wooden box that I used to keep my jewlery in, and somehow that's become hers and is now an ornament. And how did she end up with a peacock painting that I did for Junko. Yes, mother assumed it was for her. Oh, and the times she sold all of mother's rings. I did mention that to her. I didn't say that they weren't hers. She was talking about the shop, and there was this time that the rent wasn't being paid, so she had to sell off some of her jewelry. Straight away I recalled M. saying that she'd sold her jewelry as well. So I asked her, 'wasn't some of it mother's also'... and I don't recall what she said exactly, except, without reflection, understanding or any comprehension, she just repeated that she had wanted to sell it (... so what does it matter if it's hers or not). Oh, the implication was that it was for me. Because I lived there I was costing money. Of course, she could have just asked M. for more money. But no, she just sold that stuff. Mother told me this, as I said before, when I was sitting in a restaurant in tears about all the things of mine she's thrown away, to make me feel better (lsi209480w9rjwru0wr8230wu823w0r9uwa[0erwea0tuj4w0atu0w4aetu0tewt nononononnoonnonononononono). I hate this. I don't want to think about it. Anyway, on the 14th I went to the cafe on the Serpentine and had a cold tea. I ripped up some more possessions, as it means I at least get to do it and not A., and put them in the bin outside. I walked over to the magic bridge and threw in a piece of slate with the words 'let go' scratched on it. I picked that up in Bayswater, a long time ago, carried it right up to Glasgow and had been burning insense cones off it. I stayed that night in Menninger, in Baden Powel House in Kennsington. It was so so but at least there were no complaints. I can't remember when I saw Yasmine. I think it was when I returned on the 1st but... yes, that was it, it was on the first. Anyway, I had already agreed to phone her when I got back one day. So I got back, and phoned her about 9pm. She was screaming and laughing hysterically, and said she was in the Goose with her friend, so we agreed to meet in the Wedgewood. I got there and she was with a woman of about 40 who seemed very sober compared with Y. She said hello but didn't engage her in any conversation and I got the impression that she didn't want to be there. After five minutes she went to speak to someone elsewhere, then left without saying goodbye. Y. had been saying how they were best mates and were going on holiday next year, but when she left she said that she only cares about money and sleeps around. She doesn't consider it a good night out unless she ends up in bed with someone is what I was told. Her friend Adam was there, and he remembered me from before. He just said hello and left. Y introduced me to the manager, a young female with yellow teeth, so said we were so alike (I just wrote alone accidentially (fruedian slip)) that if I wore a wig I would be her. I had seen Y. previously outside Sainsbury. I had very stupidly let slip that her two children were in the will. I must have implied that there were sharing a third, which may not be the case. Anyway, Y. was thrilled. The main things about that time in the Wedgewood was how drunk Y. was; remember, I'm tee-total still. She was so drunk that she was accidentally spitting over me when she talked, and she kept falling onto my shoulder and holding onto me as she talked. And of course there was the usual conversation. How everyone in the world, especially me, is stupid and worthless compared to her. She's got her whole life worked out and perfect children who adore her, a great place to live and fantastic job. Of course, she has a new job for Coral now, her children still avoid her and it's a pokey flat, but never mind. After telliing me what a #### her friend was, while hanging onto me and spitting on me as she spoke, it didn't take long for her to start on me. She said, 'now you're alone. Mother didn't give you that money she left you because she loved you, she did it because she felt oblidged to. I know how to love my children, she doesn't love anyone. She doesn't know how to love.' Then we went through the usual, I mean she went through the usual, that mother was sleeping around, was violent, hated everyone etc. At one point, she looked at me and said, 'how many people in the world love you', then went on about how she spends all her time giving money to her children, she has to pay off their credit card debts and paying their rent. Everyone always told me to be very careful of the things you say to Yasmine, and it's very true. I very, very, very stupidly mentioned the money that mother gave to me before going, and it's obviously been going over in her mind. But there's such open hatred in her; it's sad. She's not that much better sober to be honest. Still, she's my sister, so I focused on my breathing and said nothing. I basically carried her home and she got really sentimental all of a sudden, saying I was the only family she had and that we would always be together. She got in the flat and I took a picture of her. I was a nice little place actually. She pointed out each of the ornaments and told me where her son had stolen each one. Then she pointed wildly round the room shouting 'STOLEN, STOLEN, STOLEN', shouting manically. I was walking home, and I recieved a text from her, saying 'gone home'. I didn't know what it meant, as yes, I'd gone home. I bumped into her in the supermarket a few days later. She looked awful. Her eyes were all bloodshot and I noticed how overweight she looked. We chatted, and I told her about the volunteering I wanted to do. She wasn't interested, but started laughing, saying that mother would be turning in her grave with the though that I might be giving away some of her money. Ugh, the bitterness inside of her is so sad. Remember, I left UK in 93 and she was pretty much normal. It's almost like a mental illness has taken hold of her. I don't know. But there's such aggression if she hears anything she doesn't like. The only way to deal with her is to make each encounter an act of meditation. She seems to think I don't have any mind. She tells me to go mad and spend up all my credit limits on my cards to be rebellious and other advice to basically wreck my life. Why would someone say these things? Said it before, damaged goods. On 22nd I had planned to see the original 'It's a Wonderful Life' at Forum cinema. I forgot my UB40 though so didn't. I had a look around the shops quickly, then bussed over to Par's house (my father). He was ages opening the door and I got the feeling they had been in bed (his partner Elizabeth that is). Anyway, he didn't recognise me. After saying I was John and he said, 'John who?', I had to explian that I was his son. I was invited in, and there was a general chit-chat. Give them their dues, they didn't force food on me. There wasn't much news. I told them what I did since I saw them. Anyway, I asked about when he went to see G. last year, and A had got that wrong. Apparently, when he received the card saying about M. dying, he phoned up G. to ask about going to the funeral, but G. told him that it wasn't appropriate. Yes, there was no other news at all. Oh, they might be going to Canada in March. Considering how long I put that off, it wasn't so bad. They asked me to give them some notice next time, so they can get food in. They, as expected, made a big deal that I look thin and my face in thinner. I went back to A's Saturday night, and she gave me a present, i.e. a big bottle full of money. Then I got the bus down to London. I came here to Palmers and checked in OK. The receptionist gave me a letter that had arrived the previous week. It was from Crisis, and they wanted me to do a night-shift that evening, 10pm to 8am. I went downstairs and did my laundry, then went over to Whetherspoon for a bit, then went to Elephant and Castle. I was in the drinkers centre it turned out, a place for peole with 'addiction problems'. I found it OK. There was this guy on the door. I asked him if he was enjoying it and he looked miserable. I walked in to the reception, and three volunteers looked at me, kind of... I don't know, clannishly incredulous. They sent me up to another reception where I was sent somewhere else, a big room with bags on the floor and a guy by a table full of empty pizza boxes. I spoke to him and he checked and said that I wasn't on the list, but they gave me a badge anyway. I asked him if it was just me who was new, as it had opened a night before, and he just said, 'oh, most people have been coming for years'. I went over to the far corner and had to sit on the floor waiting as I was half an hour early. There were two smalling groups of people and a couple of males scattered around. Over the next half hour, the room filled up. Everyone seemed to know each other. There were about 40 people. A guy started talking, so I managed, with difficulty, to get off the floor. He seperated off new people and gave us a health and safety video, which I'd seen at the open night. Then they seperated us into two groups and said that there would be a tour. There was a warning that there was violence most nights. We were led around the place. It was a lot like the kind of hostel that I live in, except it was louder, with music playing. We were shown where people sleep, where they drink. The girl leading us round was really quiet and I couln't hear anything she was saying. I wasn't sure what the jobs were. At the end of the tour, we were standing in the middle of the room where the music was blasting, and everyone just walked off. I had no clue what was supposed to be happening. There was another Asian person; he looked so uncomfortable. He was talking to another volunteer and two residents. I joined them. They were talking about the previous year at the Millenium Dome where they had met previously. The sober volunteer seemed to be also uncomfortable, and forcing himself to laugh at the jokes. Someone came out of the 'dependency room', and there was a window in there, which I ended up staring out of. I sat and basically couldn't help tuning out of the conversation. After fifteen minutes, I realised that there was no way I could just sit like this until eight the next morning. So I got up and retrieved my coats. I spoke to the people at the desk. I said that I was sorry, but it was too much and I couldn't do it. They said that it was fine, have I had a good shift? I said no, took my badge off and left it on the shelf. I got out and got on a bus to Notting Hill via Victoria, and thought I'd get off at the latter, but ended up in Bayswater. I was hating myself by that time. I asked the receptionist at Royal Bayswater, and he said the buses had finished for Christmas day. I did manage to get on one to Selfridges on Oxford Street. I saw a number 13 going up to Golders Green. I went to the stop and checked the timetable, and realised, at 1.05am it was the last one, and there was no night service. So, I had to walk all the way to Swiss Cottage. I did so, ate a stale Slimfast bar on the way, then just watched TV and slept. Next day, Crisis rang to see if I'd go back and I said NO, and they were friendly enough. I went for a walk. Christmas wasn't my best day ever, but I've had worse days to be honest. I went to a walk, Ye Old Swiss Cottage Pub was open, so I got to have a coffee and write an into for a book I'm doing (this book actually, i.e. the book which will contain the text I am presently writing). I ate noodles, augergine and made some mash with the kettle I brought with me. I saw two episodes of friends. Went for a walk. Passed a statue of Sigmond Frued by chance, and that was pretty much Christmas. Went to bed, and here I am. OK, I'd better wrap it up. I'll mention the practice. I am indeed doing practice. I'm typing this with The Simpsons blaring away in the background. Basically, I realised that not just in life is the most important thing letting go, but also meditation and magic. Everything comes down to letting go. For about a month, I have been meditating every day, and doing well, letting go any distractions and reestablishing my concentration. I state magic intention every other day, adlibbing, apart from that, I try and let go to the present moment, in each moment, not allowing any mindless daydreaming. This way is better. I'll try and write more about it, somewhere, later. As it is, I'm off to scroungue a piece of fruit if I can and decide what to do with my day. Nice to bring the diary up to date. Let's hope I live long enough to link this text to the main dairy!!!!! Date: 28th December 2006 Surf Internet Cafe, Finchley Road, London NW11 I'm just writing up notes from the little notebook I carry around with me. I've written something about watching a man talk to himself. I can't remember where, but I notice it every so often. When I was in Hong Kong over a decade ago, it was really common and I put it down to the way the money obsessed culture of the then colony alienates people. I'm not talking about schitzophrenia. Like in Kathmandu once, I sat and watched a Japanese man of about 20 sit and, not exactly talk to himself, he just mouthed his thoughts a little and gestured, but not so much that anyone but me noticed. I think it's something that people who spend too much time alone do. There's some part of the brain perhaps that stops us acting out our daydreams and fantasies, and much of the energy of it is a looking-glass self, and when you spend a lot of time alone, then there's no one around to subtly let you know that you're crossing the line. But it's nearly always men who do it, and I didn't really notice before, but now I do and I have given it some thought. A fact of life is that, sexually, men pursue and woman are pursued. There are very few differences between opposite genders, but this is one. So it's far more likely for men to spend long periods alone without conversations as any woman will be periodically approached by a male hoping, however subconsciously, for sex. So men that don't pursue can go off the rails far more easily because if you don't make the effort to connect, in that gender, no one's gonna do it for you. I don't know if I should admit this, but sometimes I watch the behaviour of individuals who weren't born in the UK. Say they do something which is largely unnacceptable here, such as throwing litter all over the place, drinkingi in the street of wearing the burkha. It used to be the kind of thing that would have wound me up... but nowadays I see each instance as one more nail in England's coffin. I know it's naughty to admit to so much bitterness, but I think, to the multitudes that read this far, it's quite obvious that my heart's turned sour. I think, growing up as an Asian in the UK, you have no racial identity, or you try and get away from ethnicity as all of the stereotypes are negatives. But when you look up, you realise the people you connect with, that they are an actual people and you should be happy and proud with that. Something I've written down, though I'm not sure why I wanted to mention it. I got in the habit of going to bhs in the evening before walking back. There are a group of old women that sit and chat. One of them has a really bassy voice that travels. It's so insanely, bassy. I've sat on the other side of the room before and yet not been able to ignore the conversations, often about her son and all the trouble he gets in with the police. Well some woman turned round and told her not to talk so loud. She really took offense, telling her to go and drink elsewhere. When the complainee finally went, there was a lot of effing and beeing. Eventually, the bassy woman ended up saying that she used to be a hospice worker, and worked for royalty etc. I sat there listening to all of this self-justification and realised that she felt she had to justify her existence because that critisism had made her feel that it was an attack upon her self. But, yes, this is why I wanted to mention it come to think of it, it's sad to have so little self insight as not to see that game of the self and how it causes unhappiness. Retrospective dream 10-12-06 I was bleeding profusley from my mouth. Note: only vaguely remembered, might have actually been a daydream. Sunday 31st December 2006 -- New Years Eve An internet cafe in Victoria, London, about 15:15pm. I don't have so long, and there's a pretty good chance that I won't get to write again until New Year. I'm just connecting to go up to Salisbury for two nights, so that I've gone somewhere different, as usual. I will write New Years day, but will have to do it in my notebook and type it retrospectively. To carry on updating from my notebook: I saw some famous people. Once, while getting onto a tube train I saw a finalist from X Factor, who actually had his guitar with him. Yesterday I saw the well known Chat Host Trish in Whetherspoon. There was someone else. I'll write it up if I find it elsewhere in my notebook. A big deal in the months leading up to Christmas was getting through boxing day. If you recall, this is the first one without my Mother, and in the experience that prophesised her death, she said that she wouldn't be here for the feast of St. Stephan. So I had worried for quite a while that it's me going. As it was I was in Palmers. There was nothing particularly significant. The one thing that came to mind was watching Alice in Wonderland, the Hallmark version with Gene Wilder and Miranda Richardson. I remember when I was living in Calcutta the second time I was living there. I was having a horrible time, staying in, I think a place called Paradice, but basically an Islamic hovel. But there was a black and white TV. It only had one channel, the Hallmark, and the company had just funded this version of the Lewis Carrol classic. They used to play trailers, and a mini-documentary about it so often throughout the day that I knew it by heart. So it was strange to be there in such a different place in such a different time, and actually get to see the latter part of the film, and listen to the songs and stuff. It was nice. So I think that 'Feast of St. Stephan, I shall now interpret as being trouble with G. Which if you recall he inspired a breakdown in my Boxing day, I think 2002. Christmas was OKish I suppose. Sitting out in Palmers I got a cold. Most days I went in Whetherspoon drinking cough medicine and fighting off lethargy. I thought about J. all the time and watched my efforts at letting each thought go into the moment, as usual (the former as usual at least). I went back to A's last night and my book and Life Magic CD had arrived from Lulu. I opened them this morning. There was only time to glance at them, but they look great. I was walking past the Virgin Megastore in the Grovsner and was thinking about sending the book and CD to J. and there and then I recalled a dream I'd had ages previously about her not reading or receiving any of my post anymore. I don't recall if I wrote that up, or if I just recalled it for the first time there and then. I think when you get used to remembering your dreams like this, one thing your mind can do is to hold back the moment of when they are actually recalled until the timing is significant. I've less than ten minutes now. To sum up, it was indeed an interlude year, and I've wrapped up that part of my life, the previous part, in the books and work I've done up until now. Basically my methods/philosophies of life and creating, straight from within. Since M. died I've gone much more in the direction of Asian religion, rather than from tabula rasa from withing, I've had more input. I think the impact of constantly listening to lectures on an mp3 player can't be overstated. So I want to, have decided to, do a new piece of work based on that direction, heavily illustrated, plus a few other projects that tie in with my idea to get more educational certificates, and about investments etc. The practice, of occasional intention and continual moment-to-moment letting go into the present, I shall continue. I shall make it into a new web site, serialise some of it to make into podcasts and blogs to market it. Basically make a go of it all. I shall stay in another monastery, find a suitable living arrangement to write and do all this. I'll write it up tomorrow, either on the screen or in the notebook. Right now, I must go. I dropped a line to Mian incidentally, and never heard anything, but I hope she's OK. So, I'll sign off for now, perhaps redo the conclusion thiseveing or tomorrow, and then start a new section. Wadmead Hotel/Pub, Salisbury, England. 11:01pm 31st December 2006 This certainly wasn't the best period in my life -- but probably one that had to be lived. I was in England having realised that India and the dream of settling there was over. I still want to settle abroad, but not there. And some part of me knew that mother was leaving, because of the premonition, and because of just knowing. So, what happened, what is wrong and what shall I do about it? This time last year I was sitting in a hostel in Oxford alone with a vodka watching backpackers get drunk. Now I@ve been tee-total for ten months, first time as an adult. Good... for my health and wallet. Mother died. G got to say goodbye. I'm still in one piece. Good and bad. Got to Portugal and back, a country I've wanted to see for ages. Good. Spent two weeks in a Zen temple. Good. Don't know how J. is. Bad. Had to leave hostel life. Bad. Generally published my work up until now as a retrospective. Good. Started to repack possessions and have a place to store them. Good. Am still practicing and recording my spiritual search. Good. -- Mixed bag, but still going. What exactly is wrong with me, and what am I going to do about it? I have a lifelong condition of being lonely, but hating company. I feel a constant, underlying glumness, and pretty much always have. There's a two-week memory in my life, of meeting someone who made everything perfect -- and now it haunts me and has become an obsession. I have no CV of work history, and can't presently make a living. After it all: The essence of who I am is the seeker and writer who lives a continual spiritual search and writes up the results. That's just who I am. I'm always writing down a dream, recording a meditation, reading a spiritual text or writing down an insight which just occurred to me. This is who I am and I'm happy to get back to it. My answer, I think, is to live in the moment, on a continual... moment-to-moment basis. There's the problem of my underlying mood that seems to taint everything in my mind, including pure, meditative awareness. Concerning income, an abode (... h...o...m...e...?) then, the answer to pursue (am pursuing_ is, how can magic be present, in the moment? This is what I'll do, am doing, have always done... will always do. There are problems and possibilities. I try and I write. I'm back. It does, indeed, seem odd? to do this, with no popular interest in my work -- but I'm driven. I'd rather do this than eat. So, what choice is there? In for a penny... It's less than half an hour to New Year. I'm on a really comfy sofa in front of a real fire -- so I'll just conclude by expressing, to whatever it is which watches over me, my gratitude that I'm still here, and pray for assistance to make a positive difference in the world with my time. Wherever M. may be now, I send her positive energy, as I do my friend and all life. I pray for the happiness of all that lives. !!!! HAPPY 2007 !!!!! Just to update retrospectively. After I finished writing, the barmaid put the very impressive looking London fireworks on TV. Some kids dressed in gothic clothing came in, I think one was kind of a pirate with a sword. He went out for something and said 'Happy New Year' to me when he came back. There was only about twenty people in the bar, I think many of them regulars or residents perhaps. They all shouted out and counted along with the TV countdown. There was lots of cheering. The barmaid came over and wished me happy new year, then kissed me. I was for another ten minutes, then walked out. I was the first to leave after New Year I think. This is all that can account for the entire bar waving at me and shouting goodnight and happy new year again as I left. I'd decided that, for the first time in nine and a half months, I'd eat what I wanted just for a day, so I had some junk food outside the Youth Hostel. I looked at the stars, and you know what I thought about. And I also thought what a nice start it was to the new year. Christmas Eve, A. gave me this stocking, and it was nice as it was a bottle full of coins. Letter to Junko Christmas day in Ye Old Swiss Cottage pub. Definitely a better day than last year. The book I picked up from St. James library Christmas Eve while waiting for the Crisis meeting. I was bored in the evening on Christmas day, so I went for a stroll around Palmers. Sometimes I just go for a walk. It doesn't sound like a big deal, but you have to recall that I pretty much lived a decade with every step painful and I'm grateful to feel better most days. Anyway, this statue of Sigmund Frued is in the same street, but I'd never actually passed it until a boring Christmas day. The Christmas tree in Palmers lodge. Fish tank in the O2 centre, I think boxing day. Festive snowman outside the O2 centre. The book and cd I spent most of the summer working on arrived from Lulu. BHS New Years Eve, on the way back to connect to Salisbury. Blurred lights of Westminster taken from the second coach to Salisbury. The Youth Hostel was nearby, and it was nearly black heading up there. I'd carried a ready meal all the way from London, so it was nice to have a nice dining area to eat in. It was a tad depressing there. I met this guy though. He was in the army but had to leave because of some sex scandal which he didn't want to go into. At present he was a 'trade-plater', which he explained means that when a customer buys a car but it's not in the colour they wants, he has to drive them around. He gets all over the UK and basically supplements his income with fruit picking. So he doesn't sign on nor exist officially. His sister's address on on his driving liscence. He does't worry about the future. The last picture I took in 2006, of the Wadmead hotel/restaurant, with a very, very friendly owner! Diaries Continued Here