Do I Have an Attitude Problem, Am I Too Irreverent?

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41. Bodhidharma Pacifies the Mind

Bodhidharma sits facing the wall. His future successor stands in the snow and presents his severed arm to Bodhidharma.

He cries: “My mind is not pacified. Master, pacify my mind.”

Bodhidharma says: “If you bring me that mind, I will pacify it for you.”

The successor says: “When I search my mind I cannot hold it.”

Bodhidharma says: “Then your mind is pacified already.”

Mumon’s comment: That broken-toothed old Hindu, Bodhidharma, came thousands of miles over the sea from India to China as if he had something wonderful. He is like raising waves without wind. After he remained years in China he had only one disciple and that one lost his arm and was deformed. Alas, ever since he has had brainless disciples.

Why did Bodhidharma come to China?
For years monks have discussed this.
All the troubles that have followed since
Came from that teacher and disciple.

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Excerpted from“The Gateless Gate”,

by Ekai, called Mu-mon, tr. Nyogen Senzaki and Paul Reps [1934], at sacred-texts.com

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I suspect that many people are uncomfortable with clarity.  My own experimental evidence suggests that providing clarity can be unpopular and politically unwise. People are fond of brown nosing and otherwise sucking up to those with kudos related positional power. If one is not sufficiently reverent one can become a “problem”. Upsetting the applecart etc. can go down like a lead balloon on a planet with very high mass and low diameter.

If for example you think I have an attitude problem, where does that stem from? Is that from my behaviour or some preconceived idea you may have about how people are and should behave according to the gospel of you? If you say that I have an attitude problem are you in effect simply criticising your own reflection in a mirror?

Who defines which attitude is correct and/or appropriate?

Who is the expert and/or authority on this subject?

It is a part of my nature to take the piss. This can seem irreverent particularly to those who are pompous and very self-important.

I am reasonably confident that some people think that I am not sufficiently reverential and therefore I have an attitude problem. I don’t have a problem with my attitude but others might…

I had this sudden intuition this afternoon that people think I have a bad attitude…there is nothing I can do about what others think….

Martial Arts Dojo – Dreaming Courses – Dream – 31-01-2026

Here is last night’s dream had around 5 AM on a night with unbroken sleep until 6.44 AM.

The dream opens in a large martial arts dojo. It is in a hangar like building which has practice mats of good quality in a light lovat hue. There are many people there, maybe a hundred. We are waiting for the instructor. He comes in with a small entourage. He proceeds to engage the crowd in a manner to whip them up and get them excited. It is almost evangelical. I think to myself that this does not bode well. I am there with the wife and we are both in white aikido-gi. The instructor asks who is ready to rumble and take part. They are to stay on the mat the others are to go to the side. I nod to the wife and she stays. I make my way to the front of the hall where there is an un-matted area.

The instructor notices me and asks why I am not going to stay on the mat. I say that although I have had previous experience with a Japanese trained instructor I cannot not take part until I have had a medical clearance, a medical note because I have just had a replacement hip. He wants to ask who I have trained with but does not do so in case that makes things uncomfortable for him. He turns back to the crowd.

Sat leaning against a table at the front are two women whom I know to be acolytes of his. It is not uncommon in some “martial arts” circles for there to be groupie-like fans. The women are club secretary like “officials”. One is early thirties of Asian Indian background with long jet black hair. The other is blonde and more matronly with a certain girth. She is the boss. I see on the table an excel spreadsheet of upcoming courses for the “Shenji” martial arts academy. I see a number of days blacked out. I ask what they are. The younger woman says that they are for dreaming courses that the teacher wants to give as a part of the martial arts training. I say that I have been doing a dreaming practice for 25 years or so and that I have an interest in dreaming. She suggests that I might learn from their courses. I say thank you for the offer but I think that it is very unlikely that they could teach me anything about dreaming. Rather it is they who could learn from me. The Indian woman is slightly interested. The matronly one is not overly pleased. I say that I could probably run dreaming courses but that it is not something which can be taught, it has to be started and then left free rein. In the dream I note that the notion of dreaming courses has once again risen up in the dream.

The scene changes and the teacher asks me to go up on the roof as there are some kids from the school there who need to be gotten down and admonished. I go up to the roof and call them off. They want to play fight with me. I do this putting a wrist lock on one while picking the other up with one hand. They know they have been “naughty” and we go back towards the dojo. In the entrance hall the instructor is there. He mentions that I could be affiliated. There is simply a question of the joining fee, the licence fee and mat fees. I know that he is solely interested in money and that this is not attractive to me. It is more business than school. It is money which is the priority.

The dream ends and I note that again the theme of dreaming courses has cropped up.  

Wet Memory – Intrinsic and Extrinsic Entropy Dream – 30-01-2026

Here is last night’s dream which is out of the blue and does not relate to the day to day of fence repair after another visit by the wild boars. Where this came from I have no clue.

I am walking through central London, Mayfair Piccadilly. It is a bright sunny day. I notice people converging on an ornate building in light coloured near white stone. It is a hybrid of Burlington House the old Royal Society of Chemistry where I spent many enjoyable hours in the library and of The Royal Society. People are gathering for some kind of scientific meeting. There is a mixture of academics and industry figures. I am not invited to this meeting. Through the doors and in the atrium I can see a reception desk which is being staffed by some women whom I used to know, a generation younger than me.

On a whim I walk in to say hi. They greet me and I ask if there is any chance of a cup of coffee. They get me one and warn me that it is not all that. I see that the conference is on “New Frontiers in Memory”. It has the theme of molecular architectures and memory and is of a think tank type of conjecture meeting. Rob walks in with one of the invited speakers who is a yank around 40. He is some kind of big cheese at the conference. Rob and I recognise each other after all these years. He introduces me to the speaker who is going to talk on protein molecular architectures and memory storage in the brain. He tells me that memory is all about entropy. You have to work against entropy to remember.

Rob invites me upstairs to look around. There are academic posters and a coffee service area. We queue and get a coffee and then stand at a pub style chest height table. In my mind’s eye I can see the way the cheese tries to address a memory array stored in a synthetic gel matrix. It is his way of modelling a wet memory, a mimic of biological memory which he seeks to incorporate into the next generation computers. I say to him that the encoding is of two types and that there are intrinsic and extrinsic entropies. The intrinsic entropy relates to where an individual amino acid is found along a protein chain and the pattern of its neighbour molecules. The extrinsic entropy is related to its local environment, degrees of folding and how space filling it is, how many gaps and voids are incorporated in the macroscopic protein structure. He says that he not previously thought about the molecular location entropy within a given protein strand. It might answer one of the questions he has. I can see in my mind’s eye an address matrix or tensor in mathematical form which defines coordinates for a given amino acid in a 3d protein amongst a wider gel matrix. The intrinsic lack of entropy is how a memory is stored. Memory works my comparing entropy. Anything not expected entropically is a memory. Low entropy is memory.

I say that the coffee is poor and that I hope they enjoy the meeting. I am off in search of a Starbucks, Costa or Caffè Nero.

The dream ends and I think WTF was that…

Armitage Shanks™

Dressed in his resplendent uniform

and his white silken gloves

each with three buttons

he shines porcelain daily

He places ancient scrolls of parchment

in the sacred reading cubicles

he wets the terracotta dreams and waxes

filling all the phials with ointment

He tinctures the air with incense

and places floral offerings in the vase

he cleans each shining altar with love

adding Naptha where it is needed

Cleanliness is his obsession

and soon they will visit his shrine

the one he cares for day after day

spick and span, spick and span

He knows his place.

Soon the Temple doors will open

and they will flock for confession

for some welcome release on their journey

just passing through, passing through

He knows that they cannot see him

untouchable the Brahmin in his Soul

does what he must always do

he shines porcelain daily

He buffs the vanity mirrors

and fills all the machines with fayre

adding blue pills and plastic

which perhaps, they might later wear.

He knows his place.

And when his shift is done

he reads Nietzsche in the night

and Lao Tze at dawn

he worries at the fading of his sight

As the eight bells toll at five

once more he becomes alive

he shuffles off the duvet warm

and reveilles at his alarm

Dressed in his resplendent uniform

and his white silken gloves

each with three buttons

he shines porcelain daily

He knows his place…

Am I a Figment of My Own Imagination?

Over the last few days, on and off, I have had a sensation of something going on. That has a kind of French connection. It pertains to some people I have never met. Being objective I am very unlikely to ever meet them. We do not move in the same circles, nor are we likely to. I could be imagining it, or it could be real. I have no way of knowing for sure.

I do have a fairly good imagination. {My self-assessment}

A while back an ex-tutee of mine got back in touch with me. He told me that he had great difficulty finding me on-line. That I was difficult to trace. He was of a younger more tech savvy generation. In the end he used an email address which he had not used for a long time. The problem is that my name is common and that there are a lot of people with that name who are more readily found in search engines, they are more “famous” than me. Without additional key words I cannot be readily found in search engines.

In academia one is encouraged to have a profile with contact details. People do not just disappear without trace. I just tried my old email address and it does not work. No surprise. People may not imagine one sailing off the edge of the world. They may imagine you to be always contactable.

If I have no current named online presence do I exist? If there is no social media am I real or imaginary? If I am not on WankedIn can I be a professional?

There is no witness outside of this house/compound who can vouch for any claimed past history. I could have been spinning people a line…

Many of the people I was contemporary with are seemingly retired. They are dying out. I could have read the research papers of some arbitrary person and kidded myself that I wrote them. There is no proof, no witness, no referee. I have not left much of a tangible mark.

If we clean out our emails we may lose contact with people. This may at the time be intentional but that may be the only slim thread of contact. We may find a need to contact someone and they have disappeared into the aether. What we do in a pique, we may later regret.

People do not imagine others going “missing” or off the reservation.

I am pretty clear as to what my day to day reality is. A man has just delivered 885 kg of propane.

There is a whole other side which could only be imaginary or dream like. That side makes up ~ half a million words in a blog. If it is out of my brain, out of my mind, is it real? There is no physical manifestation other than in a blog. I am not passing it on in another way. It is a figment, temporary and impermanent in nature. Many texts online reference impermanent sources. There are many missing links. This too is impermanent.

There is a photo here taken a couple of days ago. It is possibly the only photo of me on the internet. That is unless you can trawl way back archived posts.

I could be lying. I could have taken someone else’s photo and be a catfish.

Many of us tell ourselves stories about who and what we are, what we stand for and are like. Many of those stories differ from those others hold and tell about us. Our personal narrative or legend differs from those more widely held.

We are all therefore figments of our own imagination.

There is a vague feeling of waiting for something. There are two important decisions upcoming which are not ours alone to make. These are whether or not my right to stay in France is approved and whether or not the new surgeon sees it fit and/or timely to operate and give me another new artificial hip.

These will define the year in a much more tangible way than anything I rabbit on about here. They are not figments they have real measurable physical plane outcomes.

O still small voice of calm

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Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
till all our strivings cease;
take from our souls the strain and stress,
and let our ordered lives confess
the beauty of Thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
speak through the earthquake, wind and fire,
O still small voice of calm!

John Greenleaf Whittier

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Over the last few days I have been on an off back with Narziß und Goldmund. A duality of aspects of me. I have according to my dreams been more often Narziß.

The journey into searching for me really began with St Francis and his famous prayer.

Là où sont les ténèbres, que je mette la lumière.

Là où est la tristesse, que je mette la joie.

Ô Seigneur, que je ne cherche pas tant à être consolé qu’à consoler, à être compris qu’à comprendre, à être aimé qu’à aimer.

In which he expresses his heartfelt bodhisattva vows.

I have yet to find a more erudite expression for contact with one’s soul than “o still small voice of calm.”

Which reminds us that no matter what is transpiring there is something which persists and remains unsullied by all that drama. It is an injunction to detach and not to be such a drama queen caught and enthralled in the maelstrom of emotions. The words exhort one to achieve balance and perspective. It suggests being the calm in the storm. It hints that ambitious striving is not the be all and end all.

We could all of us do with a little more near silent reconnection with our essence. For so often the quiet whispering wisdom of our soul, our inner being, is drowned out in the hectic cacophony of modern existence. Our list of seemingly oh so important devoirs inundates us and our FOMO steers us like a tiny boat in a raging tempest.

We have often lost touch with our soul, our anchor.

Our inner candle which burns softly and which silently radiates can be missed in the loud relentless fake CGI of modern ways. It is not flashy and relentless. It not unnerving and unsettling. It is always there should we seek it.

We should all endeavour to be more attentive to the vital utterances of our still small voices of calm.