Sitting in the front porch, in the warm Sun, writing the latest news from the strange life, which, naturally enough appears as normal to the writer, and you dear readers must make up your own minds about what you call normal ... the early morning walk took longer than expected due to circumstances, so morning became afternoon, coffee before eleven became lunchtime and the Sun in the back porch moved round to the front, meaning coffee just after noon ...
Now, as is known, writing every encounter and all the details thereof, is hard work for a writer, harder still for a reader, and as for an editor ... well, let's just say he's away in France again!
Imagine writing every single thought, as it flits across the mind. That's what the meditators try to do, sitting uncomfortably on a cushion on a floor, with legs crossed lotus fashion, which is excruciating for Westerners, used to lounging on sofas and eating pizzas. To compound the problem, a Guru may check you are not sleeping, especially if they permit a proper chair on which to sit, recognising that some folks can still sit up straight to allow the kundalini to flow from your tail bone, chakra by chakra, until it bursts out of the top of your crown, blows your mind and you get your certificate to say you've been enlightened. Signed by a Guru, which is proof ... of a kind. Depending on the Guru and the gullibility of the seekers, of course.
Such scepticism is unkind to friends finding direct transmission of The Truth via an authentic enlightened being, does the trick. Nevertheless, it's clear enough that there are plenty of dodgy gurus seeking seekers to exploit ... known as the trap of the Guru, seeing the ego self as illusory, being worshipped by needy students, failing to notice the tricky ego lurking on the shoulder, and roaring back to bathe in the attention that egos crave. Good old J.Krishnamurti wisely taught: Leaders destroy followers, followers destroy leaders. Be your own guru! Believe it or not, K attracted followers from around the world ...
None of which leaves us any the wiser about the encounters and their details ... suffice to say each day becomes weirder than the last, due to the writer conversing with every sentient being along the walking path, more or less. Sheep pay attention when spoken to, cows, birds, humans, all sorts of life forms, even trees, too. And mushrooms, which are popping up all over the place, like magic. Bringing us at last to the title of this post, mycology. The hyphen is simply a device to infer a separate ego self, with a personal pronoun. That's how languages themselves trap us, and the reason they are used sparingly to break the habit of me and mine, my this and my that ... ownership! My wife, my husband, my children ... really? Do you own them? History reminds us that wives and children were property until relatively recently. So that's progress ... unless you fancy having a slave to do your work of course. And history again reminds us that plantation slaves became wage slaves, according to the Marxists. They had a point. After all, a feudal slave was a capital asset, whilst waged slaves counted as revenue.
Whether or not e-cology infers virtual worlds within this planet Earth, or whether weather patterns are really fundamentally changing so fast as to create panic about the problem of too many humans being too greedy, and wise leaders like Gates and other Eugenicists insisting on removing a few billion, not including themselves ... well, we'll see at COP in Glasgow as the gaze of the humans shifts from Paralympians, Afghans, Bio-weapons called vaccines, and all the other distractions making us more knowledgeable and less wise as the Universe expands exponentially and the ancient wisdom is either ignored again or respected as it must be ...
Crikey! Time is racing as well ... it's lunchtime on Wednesday and avid readers are still waiting avidly for the latest stories from the fertile mind of an old blogger ... never mind, there's plenty of time in an eternity, so don't rush, take as much time as you need to see deeper and deeper delusions or versions of Reality. The Sun is shining again in Stanhope, at A Place to Be ...
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