Drinking Yourself Sober As Meditation
My last post. Sounds more like I was on a seriously, heavy heroin dive.
There was a point to it. There is a point to it. So, appeal to my Buddhist books when I know goddamn well what’s going on?
Yeah. No shit, Sherlock. Release.
The (possibility of) cancer.
Pondering my mortality of late. A lot. But some of these things (at least one I remember) happened before I knew any of this. But it was way up there on the “Most Extremely Beautiful Things In My Life List.”
All of what is happening I can write about, or will, but in small doses. Maybe? Yes, probably best that way. So much.
Just, was it yesterday? The day before?
I can barely interpret what this professional artist said to me. I’m on my mobile right now so I can copyright it later! This is too precious. Even if dumb, Aspie PA still is confused by it. Excellent writing fodder!
We talked about a class she was teaching. Visual. Not my strength beyond some photography? Then further.
I had to tell her of my psych issues as they affect my perception. And as such, these are what I can do, but these others?
She sat quietly for a moment and then said this:
“You’re an angel trapped outside your own body.”
I didn’t know if I should run screaming from her store (I sure wanted to!) but I just said thank you.
So there’s a taste? It is happening everywhere, out of nowhere. It is very, very good but also overwhelming as I am sick.
Been meaning to buy it for sooo many years. “Tibetan Book of the Dead” in English meaning. It guides you through the Bardos, Buddhist stages of living your current life and body behind.
Sorry, not explaining this so well, I don’t think. That means I’m tired and should stop writing.
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