Bumpkins Go to Saint Helier

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It is very difficult to get across to most people just how out of touch we are with modern living and specifically people density and noise. Aside from medics, tradesmen and checkout people, I speak with nobody other than the wife. This has been the case for quite a while, over six years. I have spoken in person to/with her brother and friends when they visited. I have had very few zoom type calls in that six year period. Certainly, less than two dozen. I do not speak on the ‘phone. Nor do I chat via email or WhatsApp whatever the hell that is.

In many ways I am a bumpkin, a pikey and a hermit. I am no longer accustomed to “sophistication” nor the high octane pace of somewhere like Saint Helier Jersey. {Population~ 30k}

I am unaccustomed to any social interaction.

Part of the purpose of visiting Jersey was to see how it felt to be surrounded by people and anglophone people at that. It is fair to say that I am still a little shell shocked. We were out of the compound for less than 48 hours and in the Metropolis for 24.

The fist thing I noted was just how frantic and ill at ease people were. The energy they were giving off was edgy and wanting to please, to fit in. The manager at Pizza Express asked us if we wanted the app…Why? I don’t use apps and we have not been to a Pizza Express for more than six years. I did not even have a ‘phone.

The people in Jersey seemed rushed and hassled compared to here. And boy were they loud when bullshitting each other. I noted several chunky “personal trainer” types, keen to exploit the Jersey dollar for fitness and “well-being”. There is money and it attracts.

The only calm experience, outside interaction, I had was when I sat on the bench outside M&S and a well-heeled woman older than me sat next. Neither of us were rushed. We shared silence for a few minutes. She went into Givenchy. The main street was a bit like a cross between high street Guildford and Bond Street London.

Jersey is clean and “posh”. It is also surprisingly multi-national with people there to meet the services sector demand. I used to hang out in posh places, South Kensington and earlier Mayfair / Piccadilly. I lived in Brixton.

The hotel we stayed at was very nice. We ate at the hotel restaurant. They played loud “party” music and people outside on the terrace were necking booze and smoking or vaping. The food was good and the service very, perhaps overly, quick. There was noise and laughter outside. I thought to myself that once I used to do that kind of thing. I would have been content as a Brit on the piss. It all seemed more than a little forced and false. It was hurried. There were ostentatious handshakes and kissy-kissy helloes.

I was the alien from another planet. I was able to order, in English, food from the pygmy African waitress. I was observing, earth.

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The rheumatologist suggested we move to Jersey for the “quality of life”. It did not seem that attractive to me. How do you explain quiet tranquillity with no social interaction and a gentle river running through the garden? That has quality and not a constant needy need for social interaction and social affirmation. There is no need for endless consumption, conspicuous or otherwise.

I am still sighing a little, a whole day later.

What is obvious from that visit is that it is probably not wise to live in a “built-up” area and that I do not miss the people in whose country I once lived. I do not need that English vibe.

It might be possible to live in the countryside and visit an urban “metropolis” when there is a need.

Unfortunately, I am like a sponge and can pick up all that emitted jangly nervous energy. It made “in town” sleeping hard.

Theoretically It would be possible to earn money tutoring wealthy kids in physics and chemistry on Jersey. But I don’t think there is anywhere there far enough away from “civilization”.

If I found Jersey difficult to hack, London would cause a complete meltdown.

Did I really get on the Victoria Line every weekday morning during rush hour? Really? And without any medication?

In terms of incarnation that seems like the most surreal incarnation that I have ever had.

Still more than a little shell shocked after only a very brief jaunt…

Buddha Says, “Don’t Be a Drama Queen!”

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One day when he was sitting under the Bodhi Tree a question popped into Buddha’s mind.

“Why do people make such a big fuss about everything, why are they overly dramatic and highly emotional about their normal lives and how they think life ought to be? Why are they forever whinging and complaining about their lot?”

And then he had it, the essence.

“Don’t be such a drama queen!”

The Bhagavad, the Tathāgata, the Venerable one, the Blessed, had come up with a simple piece of advice which would help people ease the imagined burdens in their lives. To lighten their imagined loads and to thereby enlighten them.

“Don’t be such a drama queen!”

He had found the precious jewel of wisdom. If people could live life as it is rather than with an overly dramatic soap opera style overlay there would be much less suffering in the world. People would stop flailing about and over-reacting. Calmness, harmlessness and peace might abide.

So, whenever you find yourself reacting to a situation remember and enact the precious jewel of wisdom garnered under the mighty Bodhi Tree.

Buddha says, “don’t be such a ridiculous drama queen about everything!”

Savoir distinguer douleur physique et souffrance ajoutée.

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Sallatha Sutta (SN 36.6)

La flèche : Savoir distinguer douleur physique et souffrance ajoutée.

Traduit par Jeanne Schut

Excerpted from The Dharma of the Forest

« Moines, une personne ordinaire a des sensations de plaisir, des sensations de douleur et des sensations qui ne sont ni agréables ni désagréables. Le noble disciple bien entraîné connaît lui aussi des sensations de plaisir, des sensations de douleur et des sensations qui ne sont ni agréables ni désagréables. Alors, quelle différence, quelle distinction, quel signe distinctif y a-t-il entre le noble disciple bien entraîné et la personne ordinaire? »

« Pour nous, Vénérable, les enseignements ont pour origine, pour guide et pour arbitre l’Éveillé, le Bouddha lui-même. Il serait donc bien que vous nous expliquiez le sens de votre question. L’ayant entendu de la bouche de l’Éveillé lui-même, les moines s’en souviendront. »

« Dans ce cas, moines, écoutez attentivement ces paroles. »

« Nous écoutons attentivement, Vénérable. »

Le Bouddha dit alors: « Lorsqu’une personne ordinaire ressent une douleur physique, elle s’inquiète, s’attriste et se lamente; elle se frappe la poitrine, pleure et se désespère. Ainsi, elle ressent deux sortes de douleurs: l’une physique et l’autre mentale. C’est comme si un homme était blessé par une flèche et qu’on lui en lançait une seconde juste après; il sentirait la douleur de chacune des deux flèches reçues. De même, lorsqu’une personne ordinaire ressent une douleur physique, elle s’inquiète, s’attriste et se lamente; elle se frappe la poitrine, pleure et se désespère. Ainsi, elle ressent deux sortes de douleurs: l’une physique et l’autre mentale.

« Ressentant une douleur, la personne y résiste avec amertume. Du fait de cette résistance et de cette amertume, une tendance sous-jacente de résistance à la douleur physique remonte à la surface de son esprit. Sous l’effet de cette douleur, elle se tourne vers la recherche de plaisirs sensoriels. Pourquoi ? Parce qu’une personne ordinaire ne voit aucune échappatoire à la douleur en dehors des plaisirs des sens. Du fait qu’elle recherche le bonheur dans les plaisirs sensoriels, une tendance sous-jacente d’avidité pour les sensations agréables remonte à la surface de son esprit. Elle n’a pas connaissance de la réalité ; elle ne sait pas que toutes les sensations agréables apparaissent puis disparaissent, qu’elles sont aussi attirantes que dangereuses et qu’il est difficile d’y échapper. N’ayant pas cette connaissance, une tendance sous-jacente à l’ignorance des sensations neutres remonte à la surface de son esprit. Qu’elle ressente du plaisir, de la douleur ou une sensation neutre, cette personne est comme enchaînée par ses ressentis, elle s’y identifie complètement. Voilà pourquoi il est dit que c’est une personne ordinaire, quelqu’un qui est piégé par la naissance, le vieillissement et la mort, par le chagrin, les lamentations, la douleur, la tristesse et le désespoir. Quelqu’un qui est enchaîné par la souffrance.

« Par contre, moines, lorsque le noble disciple bien entraîné ressent une douleur physique, il ne s’inquiète pas, ne s’attriste pas, ne se lamente pas; il ne se frappe pas la poitrine, ne pleure pas et ne désespère pas non plus. Il ne ressent qu’une seule sorte de douleur : une douleur physique, pas une douleur mentale. C’est comme si un homme était blessé par une flèche et n’en recevait pas une seconde juste après; il percevrait la sensation causée par une seule flèche. De même, lorsqu’un noble disciple bien entraîné ressent une douleur physique, il ne s’inquiète pas, ne s’attriste pas, ne se lamente pas; il ne se frappe pas la poitrine, ne pleure pas et ne désespère pas non plus. Il ne ressent qu’une seule sorte de douleur: une douleur physique.

« Conscient de cette sensation douloureuse, il n’y résiste avec amertume. De ce fait, aucune tendance sous-jacente de résistance à la douleur physique ne remonte à la surface de son esprit. Sous l’effet de cette douleur, il ne se tourne pas vers la recherche du plaisir sensoriel. Pourquoi? Parce qu’un noble disciple bien entraîné sait que l’on peut échapper à la douleur autrement que par le plaisir des sens. Du fait qu’il ne recherche pas le bonheur dans les plaisirs sensoriels, aucune tendance sous-jacente d’avidité pour les sensations agréables ne remonte à la surface de son esprit. Il a connaissance de la réalité; il sait que toutes les sensations agréables apparaissent puis disparaissent, qu’elles sont aussi attirantes que dangereuses et qu’il est difficile d’y échapper. Ayant cette connaissance, aucune tendance sous-jacente à l’ignorance des sensations neutres ne remonte à la surface de son esprit. En ressentant du plaisir, de la douleur ou une sensation neutre, il n’est aucunement enchaîné par ses ressentis, il ne s’y identifie absolument pas. Voilà pourquoi il est dit que c’est un noble disciple bien entraîné, quelqu’un qui n’est pas piégé par la naissance, le vieillissement et la mort, par le chagrin, les lamentations, la douleur, la tristesse ou le désespoir. Quelqu’un qui n’est pas enchaîné par la souffrance.

« Moines, voilà quelle est la différence, la distinction, le signe distinctif entre le noble disciple bien entraîné et une personne ordinaire. Le sage qui a pleinement réalisé le Dhamma n’est pas charmé par les objets désirables selon les critères du monde et les situations non désirables selon les critères du monde n’éveillent en lui aucune résistance. Désir et aversion n’existent plus en lui. Il a atteint l’autre rive. »

To paraphrase:

Whilst physically incarnated pain is very likely, how you respond to this phenomenon is up to you. You have a choice.

Pain is inevitable, suffering optional.

None the Wiser

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Not long back from a visit to Saint Hellier Jersey where I saw a consultant rheumatologist. They suggested that there is no extra immune-stuff active in my skeletal problems and that most of my “random” inflammation events are probably so-called gout.

There is a lot to unpack mentally and in terms of feelings. There is a question, “did I really live like that once upon a time? Really?”

In the space of a few weeks, the consultant was the second to note and comment upon my recently measured elevated haemoglobin levels. Which could be due to my prior smoking, my COPD, genetic causes or living at elevations during early adolescence. Others causes like blood cancer are very unlikely.

In nearly every medical situation the fab three are rolled out as the most likely cause. The trio of obesity, booze and fags are the go to default diagnosis. In the UK there is a bit of fetish about BMI. It is a well-used mantra. This trio may have a confirmation bias effect. I am / have been triply holy.

In the 1994-5 when the people at St Thomas’ London were looking into the haem thing it was put down to smoking. They bled me on a regular basis to try to drop my haemoglobin levels. It was a part of a whole host of “lab-rat” tests that I had done back then. I was a very cooperative rat, happy to be in anyone’s research programme. This probably rules out esoteric causes.

The most surprising thing with the consultant was their surprise that there was no bone density follow up after me falling and breaking the head / neck of my femur. I fell only from standing in the kitchen at the age of 55. The drop was well under one metre. The rationale was that this was a major break from only a small fall. There could have been something wrong with /weakening my bones. I am male and osteoporosis or osteopenia is uncommon at that age. They were surprised that it was not investigated. They may suggest some follow up tests in a letter.

They were also surprised at the severity of my hip osteoarthritis and the near complete lack of motion, sideways.

Here is something that I may have picked up. When people note or examine me, they perhaps transfer some imagining as to how it might feel / affect them if they were in the same condition. They may see a bleak future.  I have had a number of people talk about quality of life to me. Given my flexibility and pain, it might inhibit their current life-style in which they “do” stuff. There is a bit of a shudder. “What if that happened to me?” The advice is to have a bilateral operation so as to have “quality of life”. My serene quality of life far from the loud and maddening crowd may not appeal to them. Quality of life is very subjective.

So, does one cling and try to maintain an active quality of life according to the common view, feeling miserable every time life stops you from doing what you once did and feel you ought to do?

Or do you simply adjust to your new reality, to come to terms with your lot?

Philosophically I suspect that modern medicine is bad in a Darwinian sense for human evolution. The weak and the sick can live and breed. They can live to old age. People have children at a later age increasing the prevalence and propagation of birth defects and damaged genes. Humanity will live longer but it will be sicker and less healthy.

Sounds a bit eugenic…but we are seeing the “success” of modern medicine impinge of health services and economies.

If karma has caused me to have badly arthritic hips, is it wise to try to outsmart karma by having a modern operation?

Ok, I was born in a time where such things are possible but is that a temptation of our times, trying to have life on my own terms? Maybe I should simply settle my karmic debt and endure quietly without complaining?

I am speculating that maybe I need to stop taking any medication whatsoever. It is not making me happy this endless merry-go-round.

As I said, I am none the wiser…

Being a Part of a Wider Story

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We all have stories about our lives which we tell to others, we have the so-called curriculum vitae which we use to gain {or otherwise} employment. More often than not we may be bigged-up in our own version of our events, our narrative assimilation. Rarely do we cast ourselves villain.  In our stories there are other people, other cast members, upon whom we may apportion blame. The “baddies” are not us or ours. There is propaganda and PR about our role in the world. To imagine that we recollect and then retell with 100% accuracy is delusional. Our perception is not omniscient and our bias remains. Our stories contain fiction and are skewed.

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From time to time events can happen which can get us to completely re-evaluate our lives and the events therein. Our erstwhile self-diagnosed angelic roles may be called into question. How we see someone can change dramatically and that can unpick our previous narratives.

I can envisage this story, told piecemeal in the blog, being part of a much wider picture. One that could attract media attention and upend many things. For example, were I to be outed as a tulku then everyone who has ever interacted with me might change their story. There may be a few lines in a newspaper and even a wiki page. People could have an interesting snippet to add to conversation over dinner. Some might view an incarnation as a science academic interesting, if only for a fleeting moment. Before they watch the next TikTok.

“When I knew him, he was a right piss artist…Tsk, Tsk.”

In other contexts, some might imagine tremendous luck and an auspicious meeting.

This is of course hypothetical. In this corner of the internet, I am not a part of a wider story. It is / I am unknown. But you never know when our stories might come crashing down.

Because of what I can envisage I am pretty confident that I could handle it. Not that I am likely to need it.

Unless people are monitoring this blog, only a tiny few people know. If it is being monitored then that too adds to some wider story, which in the fullness of time might emerge. It adds flavour and spice. Secrecy is always a tasty plot line.

We sometimes are a part in a wider story of which we are almost completely unaware.

You the reader may be a part of one, which you may or may not ever become aware of.

One day everything you thought you knew, might change.

Then again it might stay the same.

Senior Tutor – Waifs & Strays – Great Compassion Dream 13-05-2025

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Here is this morning’s dream. I have often thought of my stint as Senior Tutor as a karmic payback caused by my own days of depression and misery.

The dream starts on a dreary wet grey council estate multistorey housing facility. There are runway balconies connecting the apartments. This is grey and tatty. There is a smell of piss and there are graffiti tags. The feel, the air, is of decay and danger. It is in South London, the rough side of Brixton. I am approaching a red door. There is music and a whiff of skunk cannabis.

I knock on the door and ring the bell. There is some talk inside, someone goes to the net curtain and checks through the window. The music goes off and a young white American man answers the door. He has blonde skanky corn-row dreadlocks. He is both surprised to see me and not surprised at all.

I explain to him that I have come looking for him because he has been cutting classes and not turning up for lab work. I ask if I can come in. He is reticent to let me in. I explain that it is ultra-unlikely that I will be shocked by what I see. I have been to drug dens before, and I will not judge him for a few spliffs.

He lets me in, and we sit in a scruffy lounge area where there is “party” debris. He ushers to his flat mate to leave us alone. I ask him what the problem is. He says that he has some debts and has to earn a little money on the side. He is into some gang related problems. I say that if he wants, I can come to talk with his gang contact. He does not think I can hack it. I explain that I have talked with gang bangers before. They do not scare me.

I say that he needs to find some way of balancing his work at university and his gang activity. He needs to stay off the class A drugs. I suggest that he comes back to college and tapers off his involvement in selling drugs. Otherwise, I will come and talk to the gang. He realizes that I am serious.

The scene changes and I am in an office, my office. It is in a university hall of residence, and I am tutor / warden there. It is late in the evening. There is a knock on the door and a young woman is there. She has been crying. I let her in. She says that the American man from before has suggested that she talks with me. She is highly suspicious and on edge. I invite her in and have her sit in my living room. I say to here that it is my job to look after the lost and the wayward. I have seen most of it. There are few surprises. I deal with boy girl problems, coming out issues, parent problems, depression, hyperactivity. I can advise on finances, condom coming off type problems. I can refer to health services. I deal with handicap and disability. Sometimes I just listen for a while. I can change her tutors if they are being arseholes. As a Buddhist I am well placed to discuss faith from all perspectives and am non-judgemental and widely read. I can hear “confession” if there is something she wants off her chest. Try me I say. I will see if/how I can help. I pass her a box of tissues to dry her eyes. I say that I am not an ogre. She smiles.

A while later in the morning I have another knock on my door. It is a young man a dwarf with achondroplasia.  I let him in. Now I am wearing maroon monk’s robes with a yellow under vest. It is my job to “simply love them” to offer my great compassion. I usher him in, and he plops onto the soda. I ask him about his general health and how his dwarfism may be hindering his studies. He says that he has some thyroid problems which are handled medically and that from time to time the arthritis is his hips plays up. I say that if he runs out, he can have some of my hip arthritis pain killers. I joke that we should go dancing. He says that the girl from before, has by word of mouth, suggested that he talk with me. I ask him how I may help. He says that he needs to get some height aids and a reaching device for high shelves. I say that I will sort it. He has been in trouble with the warden for being drunk and disorderly. I remind him that because of his low body mass he should not try to drink pint for pint with the other students. I will tell the warden he has been to see me.  I say that my door is always open. He notices my rosary on my left hand which is made out of antique yellow-amber beads. I explain to him that I am not easily shocked and am not prone to judgement. He wishes me a good day and leaves.

Next, I am in the corridor outside my flat and another young male student approaches me. He taps me on the shoulder and asks if we can have a word. We go to sit in a coffee bar. He is agitated and keeps glancing over his shoulder. He says that he is in deep trouble. I ask in what way and what his name is. He is sat on a sofa, and I am sat cross legged on the carpet of the coffee shop. He says that he does not want to give me his real name. He gives me his passport name. The one he uses. He is Eastern European / Russian. I ask him to tell me is real name. Anayin, or something like that. He writes it in Cyrillic for me. I know this to be the name of an exiled Russian mafia boss. He is having problems with immigration and the Home Office. His father has a security services protected identity. He says that the officials are being shirty with him. I suggest that for his next meeting I come with him. I can show them my University Identity card and confirm that his application and attendance at university is all in order. He is doing well in his studies. I say that my manner of dress can have interesting effects on uppity officials. It wrong foots them. He agrees and we will keep his familial identity between us. He says that the girl who came to see me before is his girlfriend and that the morning after pill has worked according to her recent self-pregnancy test. I suggest that he needs to be more careful because the last thing that either of them needs right now is a baby. The studies are hard enough. I punch him playfully on the arm.

The dream ends…

Something Changing…

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Over the last few days I have had the sensation of things stacking up, coming towards some kind of nexus. After which the future might be clearer. There is a sense of tension and of missed opportunity exterior to our world. I feel an avoided crossing which may not get close to manifesting for a large number of years or ever again. The sense is of an aperture closing, of time running out.

Life can take trajectories other than we might imagine.

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It does not turn out the way we might anticipate or expect.

The upcoming rheumatology appointment may shed some light on what is going on with my skeleton. It is wise not to get too optimistic. Life has shown me that I have to endure on a number of occasions, there can be no solution or let up.

I feel one pathway one trajectory  may be closing off.

I do not see a way forward.

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It is all a little up in the air.

This little foray upcoming may come to something or send us back to where we started.

What may be happening external, according to the banging jungle drums, I have no control over. But my gut feeling is that if anything is incoming it will be a foxtrot unicorn. An overly complex “cunning plan”. If such a thing is in the pipeline I would advise, desist. But since when did anyone listen to me.

It is weird. It feels as if something is afoot exterior to the compound here…

What may come in dreams tonight remains to be seen…large pink-bunny steroids don’t sound all that attractive.

I will be all Timmy Mallet – wide awake.

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Turnpike Inn – Ghost – Hitech – Pink Tablets Dreams – 12-05-2025.

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Here are last night’s dreams.

The first dream starts in a 18th century style horse drawn carriage. It is closed and very much like an Adam Ant video. We are heading north to Edinburgh. There is a couple who are well off, myself and my helper / lieutenant. I am dressed casually in white blouson and with my long grey hair tied back in a pony tail. It is getting towards dusk. We will be staying at a large turnpike inn just inside the borders.

We pull up in front of the inn and the horsemen steady the horses and let them drink. We dismount and I am greeted by the landlord who has been waiting for me. He has a lantern and is accompanied by his wife. He has a Scottish brogue. The otherwise bustling turnpike inn is fairly deserted. He has called me north to investigate. There have been a series of haunting /poltergeist like happenings which have scared his customers.

He leads me into the bar and we have a drink out of pewter cups. It is some kind of port. He asks me how I want to proceed. He then comes with me upstairs into a wood panelled suite with a large four poster style bed and a dressing room with commode. He says that this is where most of the “action” is. He puts a lantern, the port bottle and a pewter cup on the table. He backs out nervously.

I know this physical body from before. I pull my pony tail gently. I introduce myself to who/whatever is there. I take a cushion off the bed and put it on the floor next to the wall. I sit there with the cup full by my side. I am getting ready to wait. I can see my pantaloons, the tops of my stockings and my brown leather riding boots.

I say out loud, “Don’t be afraid because I am not. If you wish to materialise, please feel free. I will just sit here. What troubles you, what ails you? I am happy to discus and help put your mind at rest.”

I reach over and blow out the lantern and sit quietly adjusting to the darkness. In the night I can start to see. I note the semblance of fog-like patterns forming. I start to get a very strong sense of camaraderie as if someone/thing has sat opposite me on the floor. It is the ghost. He is now relaxed. We just sit and share each other’s company. He has no need to talk. We just feel.

This segment ends. This more towards dawn.

The next segment starts in a very brightly lit hospital environment. I am on a hospital bed which is raised for me to sit up. In the corner of the room is the large doughnut of an unspecified high-tech scanner. A male nurse is taking a cannula out of my arm through which I have had contrast agent. I know that it is a CT scanner. The nurse is chatting away.

A young girl who is in a wheelchair comes in. She manoeuvres towards my bed curious of me and what is going on. She has a nasal oxygen supply and is wearing a hospital gown. She is hairless and smiling with me. Her parents come in and call her name, Abby. They come over to us and say hi to me.

A female doctor in a white coat comes in with a small retinue of medical students. She hands me a blister of large bright Rhodamine-pink tablets each about the size of the end of my little finger. She gives me a small bottle of medicine. She hands several blisters of pink tablets to the girl’s parents. Her tablets are the size of the end of my thumb. I joke with her that the doctor has mistaken her for a horse or an elephant. She says that she is used to these tablets. I know that these tablets are very high dose steroids. They are on clinical trial. We both have to take them.

The dream ends.

Importance and Priority

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“What is important is seldom urgent and what is urgent is seldom important.”

Dwight D. Eisenhower

People can deem all sorts of things as important; these can be personal or of a wider more general import. I think it fair to speculate that the majority have a me-centric sense of importance. The things which matter to them concern themselves, their lives and those of family and friends. Things on their agenda are more important than those not.

I am important in the lives of one human being and three cats and maybe some birds which we feed. That is the extent. My priorities are in and around this sphere of influence. My significance to the wider world is very small. In terms of social kudos I have none. My passing is unlikely to impact beyond my circle, my sphere.

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I have just gone and lost a piece of tooth filling. Which is actually both important to me and ever so slightly urgent. I am due to have a titanium implant fitted soon. It is due next to the broken tooth. Unless the tooth is repaired, they may not go ahead with the implant. In my me-centric world this is horizon stuff. We need to know so that we can free up a dental slot by prompt cancellation if that is the case.

The concatenation of various health problems is getting to be boring.

What happens here, in principle, has a wider impact elsewhere. But I doubt anyone in San Francisco needs to fear the butterfly effect from our compound.

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Self-perception has implications. We watched a film last night “The Substance” and surprisingly it had a big affect on me. This is unusual. It was about human folly and the desire to be young / look young and operate in an appearance obsessed society. People go to extraordinary lengths to keep up appearances. I can’t remember being much concerned about how I looked. All I wanted as a teenager / early twenty was for my fairly severe acne to pass. Being called “pizza face” is not a great deal of fun, named after a Margherita.

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In an earlier post I postulated that “face” was one of the most expensive of all human notions, human folly. It appears to be very important to some and they will kill and maim in an attempt to preserve face. Face is behind conflict, face is behind war, face {loss} is causal of revenge. The weird thing is that face is a completely man made illusion. No leopard or tiger would acknowledge your sense of face or kudos in the jungle at dusk. Yum, yum…

As I was making coffee this morning, I noted that although I imagine that I have some knowledge to share. This notion is not widely held. It is not held important on a wider scale. It does not matter what I imagine.

Out there somewhere important people are busy doing things they deem important. They have their priorities whether considered or otherwise. I have never been so disinterested in all the hot air, hype and show which fills the news.

The world has lost its sense of direction. It is heading deeper into petty squabbles over who sells what for what price in the sandpit or behind the bike sheds. The world is arguing the toss about who is or isn’t a fair trading partner.

Thousands of people are dying and the world is focussed on “deals” and “bargains”.

The great car boot sale is on!!

Thousands no longer get antivirals; ordnance efficacy can be tested in vivo in Gaza and Yemen. Let’s boost arms spending hype so we can sell more weapons…

I think the priorities of humanity have been badly skewed and it is not getting better…

Seeing Things Differently

~ quantumdreamer ~ Leave a comment

Recently I was talking with someone who suggested that an in-patient group oriented intensive physiotherapy regime postoperative for hip arthroplasty was a good idea / French practice. He was, to understate, more extroverted than I. The idea of being around loads of people “helping” me to recuperate via conviviality just does not work for me. It would be close to torture, feeling unwell and having to interact in a foreign language on a regular basis, with others. No thanks.

This sounds like a showstopper to me. In my mentality I would delay or not proceed at all.

Maybe I am ungrateful or maybe I know myself well.

It is clear in this simple example how we see things differently.

“Jack Sprat he ate no fat; his wife she ate no lean.”

What works for one person does not work for others. According to all the common metrics I am socially isolated. Some might imagine that I need help. Poor Alan.

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They may even imagine that they know what is best for me. Because as every newspaper vendor knows it is always the antisocial loner, who is not well liked, that becomes the heinous murderer. Helping the socially excluded is an anti-murder prophylactic measure, which makes sound societal sense.

Unlike most people I don’t care what the ‘phone companies do with my data, because I don’t generate any. I am not in any target marketing demographic. Daytime TV however is full of adverts aimed at the likes of me. I’ll get my SAGA loyalty card soon, to use until my pre-paid cremation plan kicks in.

The problem with seeing things differently is that it is nigh on impossible to explain or otherwise convey that difference to others, specifically the scale thereof.

I look relatively normal. I can speak “normal” for a short while. But I know from experience that the way I assimilate the world differs radically from others. I am not prone to influencers, whatever they are. I do not swallow hook line and sinker what I might read in the news of whichever flavour / prejudice. As an outsider, I need help to rejoin the fold, the group lunacy. Bless…

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Most people suffer from worry and catastrophising. I can have brutal clarity without dramatic catastrophic thinking. I can envision futures and remain calm.

It is impossible to communicate the lack of ambition / goal to anyone who is beholden to theirs. I am happy to make unilateral decisions based on available information even when I know that information is incomplete.

Once you have attained impermanence, you change as does your orientation towards life.

“This too, shall pass”, is more than just a saying.

People in general have a need to “do” something. There is a need of immediacy. A desire, an urge, to get things “sorted”. I have learned that some things simply cannot be sorted. Some have to be endured. Some need let go of. Some need to calm in emotional temperature and thence to fade away.

It is economical not to intrude, to inflict oneself upon or otherwise interfere in the lives of others. This is a form of harmlessness.

A passive approach of response when needed tends to calm. Though it can also infuriate, humans being as they are.

It is impossible to please everyone.

I see apertures in the web of life, during which things may be possible. When I see them closing, I know that the possibility and probability of things happening drops. Until finally what once might have been possible, no longer is.

One of the aspects of impermanence is the notion of timeliness. Timeliness has a time limit. If things do not occur when they may or might, they do not and cannot. The moment has passed. The “permanent” possibility or opportunity is gone.

Impermanence teaches that complacency is unwise. It is a non-nihilistic implication which many fail to see. There is only a discrete aperture in spacetime for things to occur…

You have only my word for it, that I imagine that I see things differently from others…

I could be talking BS…

You decide…..