Gaijin DO have souls!

Studente di Italiano!

Mi chiamo Mat Saunders, io imparare Italiano. Io abito a Rugby, in Warwickshire. Ho bisogno prova il Italiano lingua, io non é bene! Mi piace calcio, gioco di video e cucino di italiano. Gli amici Max e Jimmy abiti a Roma, Italia. Io spero parlo italiano bene, prendo l'aereo in maggio! Io scrivo qui, per prova!

This folly goes out to no-one in particular

For someone with an awful lot to say, especially one such as I with a tendency for the allegorical, a fancy for the mixed metaphor and a partiality to the occasional verbal ramble and flight of fancy, I would say I don't use this here website nearly as often as I should do for venting of spleen or the recording of my muse. I intend for this to change, two followers be damned.

Innocenti

Just beautiful... and fitting for me today...

 To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage

Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons

Shudders hell thro' all its regions.

A dog starv'd at his master's gate

Predicts the ruin of the state.

 

A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare

A fibre from the brain does tear.

 

A skylark wounded in the wing,

A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight

Does the rising sun affright.

 

 Every wolf's and lion's howl

Raises from hell a human soul.

 

The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,

Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,

And yet forgives the butcher's knife.

 

The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won't believe.

The owl that calls upon the night

Speaks the unbeliever's fright.

 

 He who shall hurt the little wren

 Shall never be belov'd by men.

 He who the ox to wrath has mov'd

Shall never be by woman lov'd.

 

 The wanton boy that kills the fly

Shall feel the spider's enmity.

He who torments the chafer's sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.

 

The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,

For the last judgement draweth nigh.

 

He who shall train the horse to war

Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar's dog and widow's cat,

Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

 

The gnat that sings his summer's song

Poison gets from slander's tongue.

The poison of the snake and newt

Is the sweat of envy's foot.

 

The poison of the honey bee

Is the artist's jealousy.

 

The prince's robes and beggar's rags

Are toadstools on the miser's bags.

A truth that's told with bad intent

Beats all the lies you can invent.

 

It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Thro' the world we safely go.

 

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

 

The babe is more than swaddling bands;

Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

 

This is caught by females bright,

And return'd to its own delight.

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,

Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

 

The babe that weeps the rod beneath

Writes revenge in realms of death.

The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,

Does to rags the heavens tear.

 

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,

Palsied strikes the summer's sun.

The poor man's farthing is worth more

Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

 

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands

Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;

Or, if protected from on high,

Does that whole nation sell and buy.

 

He who mocks the infant's faith

Shall be mock'd in age and death.

He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

 

He who respects the infant's faith

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child's toys and the old man's reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

 

The questioner, who sits so sly,

Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt

Doth put the light of knowledge out.

 

The strongest poison ever known

Came from Caesar's laurel crown.

Nought can deform the human race

Like to the armour's iron brace.

 

When gold and gems adorn the plow,

To peaceful arts shall envy bow.

A riddle, or the cricket's cry,

Is to doubt a fit reply.

 

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile

Make lame philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees

Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

 

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They'd immediately go out.

To be in a passion you good may do,

But no good if a passion is in you.

 

 The whore and gambler, by the state

Licensed, build that nation's fate.

The harlot's cry from street to street

Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

 

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,

Dance before dead England's hearse.

 

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born,

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

 

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not thro' the eye,

 Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

 

God appears, and God is light,

To those poor souls who dwell in night;

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.

 

Auguries of Innocence - William Blake

 

 

 

There is no other alternative

Trust.

What is this ideal? What are its properties, its boundaries and it's limitations? Can it be evaluated, and more importantly, tested? Wikipedia tells us:

'In a social context, trust has several connotations. Definitions of trust typically refer to a situation characterised by the following aspects: One party (trustor) is willing to rely on the actions of another party (trustee); the situation is directed to the future. In addition, the trustor (voluntarily or forcedly) abandons control over the actions performed by the trustee. As a consequence, the trustor is uncertain about the outcome of the other's actions; he can only develop and evaluate expectations. The uncertainty involves the risk of failure or harm to the trustor if the trustee will not behave as desired.'

Yet about the concept of 'Faith', it has to say the following:

'Faith is confidence or trust in a person or entity. In religion, faith is belief in God or gods or in the doctrines or teachings of the religion. Informal usage of faith can be quite broad, including trust or belief without proof, and "faith" is often used as a substitute for "hope", "trust" or "belief".'

Are the two concepts interchangable? Or, more pertinently, are they one and the same ideal under differing pseudonyms? Is faith a sobriquet for trust? The idea that in order to enjoy the benefits of whatever conceit with which we choose to use to insulate ourselves, that a blind emotional investment in undefinable and unquantifiable behaviours we cannot possibly be a party to is required. How far can one travel based on such ideologies? The belief that others will act in our best interests no matter what the circumstance?

When all has been said and done, social humans by nature, are all natural (and skilled) liars. Whether it is that we lie to ourselves that we are good, generous, kind hearted individuals, yet also people who pass on hurriedly by the average homeless individual with nothing but a mild feeling of awkwardness, muttering something about not having any change. Or whether we lie to our loved ones, that they look good in a certain garment of clothing or shoes, when they in fact appear patently otherwise, or further still even more serious and grave deceits, and so on and so on, ad infinitum. The world of politics, the governmental infrastructure that runs the society as we know it is built on smear, character assassination, claim, and counter claim. The western justice system operates on lying and deceit as a matter of prosecution and defense of our criminals, concerning matters that threaten some peoples very existence in the world. We depend on lies to make the system we live in work. We use a system of white and black lies to make not only our own lives, but the lives of those around us who we love and depend on, more managable. We use them every day, for better or for worse. But do we we live in harmony with them? When we know that they not just make everyone's world go around, but ours personally too? Is one to makes ones peace with the fact that you will be deceived to varying degrees by anybody and everybody at any time, in any place? What is the alternative?

Is trust based on good judgments? Do we have to assume that our sound appraisal and subsequent judgement in a person or an entity is the first block in the foundation that eventually builds the wall of trust? Or is trust just a feeling we have to say we feel in abundance, even when we feel otherwise. Should we be putting our faith in the good and honorable nature of the individual, even at those times when ones instincts are indicating there is something amiss, that internal alarm that blares, dull yet insistent, when something isn't quite right. Some detail omitted from an account, a grey area in a memory, a distant recollection of something skirted over and quickly hurried on from. Only when such situations occur does the trust card become the trump of the deck. See fit to call integrity into question, and the illusion of trust is quickly decimated and replaced with anything from confusion and bitterness to outright resentment, assuming of course that any accusations or mere suggestions made prove to be in fact, false.

A bond of trust is essentially developed based on assumptions, made through what can only be desribed as educated guesses. This guess work has to be worked out based on other, equally ambiguous conditions. The following questions may be asked of the trustee to help check or uncheck certain boxes:

1). Who/what is this person/entity and what is their relationship to me?

2). Have they proven themselves worthy of trust in the past?

3). What is it this person/entity aspires to, ie: what do they want?

4). Having answered this question, does what they have in their life currently fulfill this criteria?

5). Finally, has their trustworthiness been put to the test?

Until one defines the answers to the above questions, how can one really say with one hundred per-cent certainty that they can truly trust in someone or something else?Until it is proven beyond a reasonable doubt that a person/persons or organisation is incapable of lies, deceit or betrayal, how can one operate under such assumptions?

To quantify such an ambiguous term such as trust, test it thoroughly and become aware of its limitations, boundaries and weaknesses, is impossible without essentially annihilating it outright. A method known in manufacturing as 'test to destruction', if you will. The crossroads one reaches is whether to make that 'leap of faith' (there's that word again), to place in someone/something the faith that no matter what is put in front of them, no matter what temptations they happen across and no matter what offer is tabled, that person (or persons) concerned will do what is best by you, the trustor, under any circumstance.

What is the alternative?

Quote: 'Remember, it ain't about what you know, it's about what you can prove'

When you dance with the devil....

... the devil don't change. The devil changes you.

And when you willingly invite him across your threshold, don't be surprised when he sets up shop.

Why do I do it to myself? Why this incessant, moth-to-a-flame like attraction to that which I know repulses me, and will only subsequently create misery and heartache in the longrun. What dark desires dwell in the hearts of the common man is no secret to anyone with any experience of people, yet I find myself surprised by the fact that I'm still surprised about what I find is truly in peoples souls, that same black roiling river of selfishness and decadent desires that serve to unify us all. Am I thirsting for purity? Clearly not, as purity would not satisfy those same desires that, I too, am a slave to. Furthermore, the last time I had what could be described as purity and held it in the palm of my hand, it withered, died, and the fragments of it blew away in the wind like a dessicated flower on an autumn breeze.

The question is, how to live with it, if one indeed can. Is it right to wander around, pretending that you're okay with the dynamic when in reality there is a rock sat in your gut, a boulder forged from a mix of anger, disappointment, shame, inadequacy, confusion and sadness. I am not ignorant to my situation, I am aware that my investment in my situation is a whole and total one and that should I or it fail, I am truly left fluttering in the wind. So is one to modify (see 'lower') ones expectations and decide to make peace with that which pulls at the consciousness like a loose thread day in, day out? Or alternatively make known ones feelings, disclose that potentially arbitrary issue and hazard the risk of being called out as overreacting, petty and insecure? Is that what I am?

Perhaps I'll discuss it with the devil. He has set up camp, and one way or another, he's here for good.

You are my

Thalidomide

The Marionette

I have been mulling it all over and I think I have had just about enough of you making me feel and look like a fool. You have had more grace than you realistically deserve given your past indiscretions, and I am starting to find being endlessly at the mercy of your whims rather irksome. Say what you might about what the purpose of this period of self analysis and exile from me may be intended to accomplish, I am starting to feel that you think I am some kind of plaything, that you may toy with my affections and take endless liberties with the good graces I give you, safe in the conceit that I will just sit patiently for you to make your mind up (all the while you knowing full well that you will do no such thing) and wait for you to wave your hand, beckon me, and that I will come bounding along joyfully like a lapdog happy to see its master home.

I wonder what it may mean for me then that you are right?

A Looking in View

Well yes, I am sure you are sorry. Like I said before I blame myself for putting my head in the lions mouth and expecting it not to close shut. I knew what I was letting myself in for when it happened so I can't sit there and say I am the victim because I willingly and openly deconstructed every defence I had spent so long putting up in the hope that you may come to feel the same way. In a way you are probably right because things have probably irreversibly changed for us forever in the sense that its going to be quite difficult to be friends when I feel like I do about you, especially now you know. It was easier to pretend before and just enjoy your company and hope that one day that things could be different. Then, for a brief fleeting moment I held you in the palm of my hand and dared to hope that things might just turn out ok. Then, just like that, everything fell apart and I was not only back to square one but also beating the hell out of myself for opening my heart to someone, something which I had long ago vowed to never do again, as the risk of getting ones fingers burned (like I did) is too much to bear. Now things are better but it will not take long to be around you in any way before the ache returns. I was forced to reveal my feelings in a very last ditch and hopelessly desperate attempt to keep hold of you when in my heart of hearts I knew you had already slipped away. Try as I might I could not resent you or curse your name because as I said I looked at it as all my fault. But some things don't change, and one of those things will always be how I feel about you. Because of that always bubbling under the surface it is probably going to make us having any kind of platonic relationship all the more difficult. Because I know it will never change. So once again, more to chew over before you decide to proceed any further. x

An Angel took off and flew away home

18/01/11 - I love you so, so much. I cannot believe you're no longer here, that centre of gravity that I have orbited around my entire life.. We will never, ever forget you, I owe you everything. I hope you know how much you mean to me, and how my life will never be the same without you in it. Don't be scared now, theres nothing to be frightened of. Go off and be with the other angels, I will see you again when its my time to join you. Keep safe, look in on me, Paul and Sophie from time to time. Let me know you're there if you can. I lit a candle for you so you can see me from where you are.

I love you Mum, rest your head now.

Matthew x x

The Shape of Things to Come

Wings over the World. What to make of that I wonder. The much discussed parallels and similarities between H,G Wells's seminal work from the 1930's and events that have since come to pass are staggering. Submarine launched ballistic missles, tensions between so-called 'super powers' leading to social and economic degradation and eventual destruction, various wars and conflicts in the pacific and beyond. What it must be to have such foresight in fancy, to create literature based on excrutiatingly detailed analysis of the ways of the world, with all of its political posturing, religious dogma, social alienation and endless rheotoric.

The Wings over the World. Friend, or foe? A brutal organisation dedicated to oppression of free speech and free thought? Or a forward thinking, dynamic and ultimately benevolent benefactor intent on diverting an errant humankind from its hell bent path of self destruction? I prefer the idea of the latter, though I am certain many would beg to differ.

What it would be to be able to apply a shard of the same ideals to my own future. Both from the authors point of view and from the viewpoint of the characters detailed therein. To be able to see even a few days into the future would be a blessing indeed, to be able to gauge even the tiniest of ideas about what may lay in store the most welcome of tonics. The reality of the inevitability and hopelessness of the situation was acknowledged, accepted, and possibly even overcome, seemingly a good deal of time ago. Yet the acceptance of these undeniable facts have eradicated one question mark by throwing multiple alternatives into its place. How will I feel? How will they feel? Why don't I feel anything? Will I ever? How will we live? How will I?

How to be objective, the wings over my own world, if you will. Am I already my own fiercest protector? Have I armoured myself so comprehensively so as to render myself literally impregnable? Have I, in my eternal struggle to keep the levity in the gravest of predicaments, ultimately lost sight of the gravity of it altogether? I feel nothing but a deep and penetrating numbness. It had always been my idea that the pain and anguish accrued from the years of living beneath the sword of damocles would at this point become apparent, eventually unfurling themselves from that deep dark place in the pit of my stomach where I had chosen to house them, and allow me to cut them loose. Instead, a void has opened inside me, a vaccuum sits in that place, one that I am beginning to believe is permanent. In my efforts to become the wings over my own world, I fear I have brutally oppressed my own emotioanl empathy to the point of non-existence.

The future is a dark and uncertain place.

'Well it's late in the hour
And a few more grains of sand will fall
And the colourful flowers, drawn upon the dust and moss
Now I fear the worst is near
I hold them close and count their years
I pray a ray of light appears
To shine down on us here

Break down in the shape of things to come
But I'm moving on like a soldier
And I pray now, when all is said and done,
Its not ours to break, the shape of things to come'

Taken from 'Shape of Things to Come' - Audioslave, from the album 'Revelations'

Unreliable Narration

I feel like one of those old divers, you know the guys in the metal suits? The ones with the big round helmet with the gridded faceplate and a metal starfish shaped body that was connected to an umbilical which fed the inhabitant oxygen and no doubt other life sustaining gases. Just like one of those, floating around at the bottom of the ocean, totally listless yet connected to something, something familiar. Never quite drifting away, but never quite really being pulled back to safety. Peering through the gridded faceplate into the murky depths, unsure of what could lay in wait, out there in the dark and the cold. The only certainty is that it is definitely dark, and definitely cold.

Outside looking in.

The unseen observer.

The fly on the wall.

The unreliable narrator.

Know what I mean? I am fully aware that I lie in the belly of the beast, I see it with both eyes as clear as day, feel it in my heart and at the very core of my being. Yet something is so hardened to its horrors that its almost as if its not actually happening, like its someone elses life and I am just watching a movie or reading it in a magazine, looking on as the pitiful events unfold right before my eyes. It can't be indifference? So when does the bird come home to roost? When to pay the piper? I ask myself daily if I really am being as strong as I think I am, or if in fact my heart has become so hardened to the harsh realities of things so as to become almost unreachable by them. I cannot think that I am that well prepared.

Many an insulating conceit has proved effective up to now. Best to I continue to shroud myself in those and take refuge in what appears to the outside than to contemplate what manner of foul beast may lurk within.

Yours,

The Unreliable Narrator

Advice for the Cold at Heart

I once heard that the best way to start a piece of writing is with a question. Well my question is this. How to console the inconsolable? And how to repair the irrepairable? When presiding over the wreckage of something so comprehensively annihilated through years of bombardment, how can one contemplate reconstruction? A blasted, barren landscape indeed lies before us. How on earth is anyone surprised it has come to this?

When a nebulous, nefarious individual such as our hapless antagonist dedicates year upon hateful year to whittling down good graces, chipping merrily away at peoples tolerance levels until all those but the ones with the biological and marital ties to him abandon him as the lost cause he has workly tirelessly to present himself as, you tell me how to look upon that man with sympathy and forgiveness. With understanding. For the he lies on a bed of nails of his own making. Irretrievable? Inconsolable. Irrepairable.

Yet despite these undeniable and unavoidable facts, one still feels compelled to fruitlessly pick up ones tools and dedicate time and effort to separating the myriad shattered mirror pieces in the vain hope that one might be able to somehow find symmetry in their jagged edges, find the parts that match each other and in time find some way to fuse them back together through sheer effort of will. A misguided enterprise indeed I fancy.

I heard someone once say that the definition of insanity is the repetition of actions with the expectation of differing results.

We rest, my lord.

Seven Moons and Seven Suns

How long to wait? How much more anguish? How much more pain for you, and for those around you? It seems so long that we've had this in our lives that its difficult to remember anything else. Here we stand under the sword of damocles and its grip on the chain seems more tenuous than ever, yet its difficult to know what to truly feel. The whole situation is such a swirling miasma of raw emotion that its difficult to stop, step back and take an emotional inventory. I think know what I should be feeling, but the biggest thing I sense is a numb ache in the pit of my stomach as I attempt to contemplate a very uncertain future and a nagging sense that something is missing. For five long years I (and all) have wrestled with what the future might hold, now it has come to pass it seems that the future has simply ceased to be.

All I can say at this point is that you are loved more than you can know. In time I will come to find out whether I told you how much enough, whether I did enough to let you know how grateful I am that you bought me up the way you did. I suspect after this analysis I will be found wanting, but I cannot muster any other means of expressing the inexpressable. In a sense, that is the biggest and most onorous of emotional burdens, as those of us who are mature enough to have acepted the inevitability of the situation should surely have by now instead tried to focus our energies on the expression of the sincerest sentiment that can be assembled under such circumstances. But my biggest fear is that you will leave us not ever really knowing what you have been to me, what you have achieved in your desperate battle not only over recent years with your condition but in the wider amphitheatre of life itself, and just how different things could have been if you were not the amazing person you are.

Unfortunately words are merely words. What else....? What else?

Room # 6

I feel like I should say I've been watching you, but its more like I'm looking out for you. Can't figure out what I'm gonna say if I get the opportunity, just got to hope they are English words and not something ridiculous. I fully expect it to be a massive let down and for some component to be totally wrong, or for some obstacle be barring my way, but who knows, perhaps its my time to be fortunate. Its odd that I'm starting to feel the need to care again, its been a sentiment so lost to me for so long outside of my family circle that I wondered what it felt like or if I ever really felt it at all. Is it the whole 'right person' thing? Or is it just a defect in my personality that I draw people in and then push them out again for reasons unknown? Test to destruction. No more? I feel odd stirrings of compassion and tenderness inside that spring to me at the most odd of times and towards even more odd subjects, situations and people. The thinsg that choose to yank at my heart strings are so obscure sometimes that its no wonder that for a long while I have questioned my own sense of humanity. I've nurtured so much apathy for so long that I thought that was all that was left. Sometimes I often put these little emotional epiphanies that punch a sliver of color into my dark sea of empathy down to my weekend activities, the things I do to my body often making my emotional states unpredictable. But then there is a side of me that wants to believe that anyone in my set of circumstances would be volatile at best.

Is it penitence?

Is it chemical imbalance?

Is it desire?

Or something else?

Room # 5

Okay, so there it was. My first crack at meditation. I had scoured a few resources, picking up tips on the basics from instructional videos for beginners and reading up on some helpful tips that had been posted on various sites around the web. Some of the stuff out there seems a bit far out and I suppose that a lot of it is open to interpretation and case-sensitive to the individual, rather than a one rule for all kind of situation. With these things in mind I set out to try and make it as tailored to myself as possible.

Simply put, it was a really interesting experience. One of the tips I had read that seemed pertinent was that in order for your mind to be calm and settle that the area around you be free from clutter. So, before my attempt I spent an hour and a half cleaning generally around the house and ensuring that there was no clutter in any area. This seems to make general sense, as if you are like me then mess somewhere always means something you're going to have to do later. So I cleaned to a reasonable standard and then set out creating a suitable environ for the act.

I had read that a posture sitting on the floor, or as low as possible, is ideal, the whole lotus position thing is more buddhist in origin and as such is not strictly necessary or an intrinsic part of the discipline. I would be lying if I said I didn't at least try it, but as it stands I am about 13% as supple as you need to be to do something like that. So I settled for cross legged. I locked myself in the bedroom, where it was quiet and dark, with gentle evemning light spilling through the blinds, and decided to light three candles I had been keeping for a special occasion (yet to arrive it should be noted) to further enhance the mood.

And so I settled in, back as straight as possible, on the floor in my little bedroom and began trying to replicate what I had seen and heard. Pulling in breaths through my nose, and ponderously exhaling through my mouth, trying best toensure that I pulled my breaths from my gut instead of my chest. Almost instantly, the effects of such breathing regulation are noticeable, the sheet of black in front of your eyes swimming as no doubt the levels of oxygen in your blood change and the heart assumes a different rhythm from it normal tattoo. I was concerned at first that my posture was incorrect as already my legs were beginning to feel the pinch from such and unorthodox (for me anyway) sitting position.

As time progressed however, keeping the rhythm of the breathing became less of an intended act and more of a natural activity, the slow rhythm of in through the nose, out through the mouth becoming intuitive rather than intended. As this became more natural, the uncomfortable feelings in my legs began to ebb away and the whole process seemed more organic instead of forced.

I am not going to lie and say that my mind was a blank cavas, in fact I would say that keeping your mind free of distraction, no matter how small, is the hardest (and in istelf, the most distracting) thing about meditation. When one such as me, used to living life at 1,000 miles an hour, who even when relaxing usually has sensory input of more than one type of fast paced or lively activity at once suddently attempts to completely empty ones chaotic brainbox,even for a few moments, it is never likely to just click on like a lightbulb (no pun on illumination intended).

However, as time went on, you do feel a certain calmness of the mind follow on from the relaxtion of the body. Its not unlike how I imagine it is when the body enters the first stages of sleep, when the brain shuts each part of itself off sequentially until you enter REM. The difference is that you can feel certain parts of your conscious thought start to melt and fall away as you focus your breathing. When thoughts and more importantly sounds distract you from what you are trying to achieve (thanks by the way to whichever of my neighbours chose this particular hour of the day to stand at their door shaking a box of cat crunchies and calling 'Tilly! Tilly!' endlessly) it can take quite an effort of will to re-centre your focus nd not get drawn away into a tangent of conscious thought.

The mostextraordinary part of the process however, is coming out of it. There came a point (I'd say after 25-30 minutes) where I just knew I'd had enough, I didn't make a conscious decision to break otu of it like I had something better to do or wasn't enjoying it, simply that, for now, I had taken as far as I wanted. So I slowly inclined my head, bringing my eyes straightahead of me and slowly opened my eyes. Remaining perfectly still, I focused lazily on the candlelight, which I had become all but oblivious to, and slowly picked up the spoon, tapping thrice gently on my makeshift chime to signify to my mind the end of the meditation (this will become important in advancement as the mind associates it with its alternate state).

There I sat for a further ten minutes or so, not sure if what I was feeling was like being awoken from sleep, just getting ready to go to sleep, like I was stoned, drunk, who knows? It can only be described as a remarkable feeling of relaxation. As mybreathing returned to normal and I began restoring the locomotion to my head and limbs, the urge took me to just get into bed and go straight to sleep. I will admit freely that exiting from my pose was tricky, both legs had completely gone to sleep as a result of prolonged placement at angles they are not used to being put in. So I flopped onthe bed and lay, enjoying immensely the kind of feeling that I am certain is usually reserved for waking from a long and peaceful sleep.

Now I'm not claiming to have reinvented the wheel here, there are myriad things for me to learn and I am sure that my preparations, techniques and execution are flawed beyond belief, but I re-iterate thatI lot of this I believe to be sensitive to the individual, and what I found in my meditation tonight is a sense of relaxtion and general well being unlike any kind I've experienced before, intoxicant induced or otherwise. I will defintiely be attempting it again and hopefully picking up new skills and knowledge along the way.

Now lets see if I can go and find Tilly before she does....

Room # 4

'A thousand doors, a thousand lies
Rooms a thousand years wide
He walks in the cold sun and wind
All this year can not begin
Tomorrow begins tomorrow
Tomorrow begins tomorrow'

Rooms a Thousand Years Wide - Soundgarden (from the album 'Badmotorfinger')

Room # 3

Meditation seems really hard. Far too hard for an activity that comprises of sitting on the floor and thinking of nothing for a long time

Room # 2

I had an epiphany today, and it may seem quotidian to you but try and really think about it. My epiphany was this. All life, and I mean ALL LIFE, relies on the consumption of other life to survive. From the mightiest meat eating carnivore to the tiniest single cell organism that floats aimleslly around a pond, these creatures and all in between rely on the consumption of organic matter to survive and flourish.

This may seem quite obvious and quotidian but to me it struck quite a chord in that there is not really any life that is not in some way parasitic, or at least parasitic by proxy. All life relies on the consumption of other life, be it the kind that walks around, the kind that grows in the ground or otherwise, to survive.

Life can only be life by eating itself.

Room # 1

1. Systematically identify and eliminate aspects of the character and personality that are toxic to the soul
2. Rediscover humility
3. Meditate
4. Strive to accomplish something daily
5. Reflect on accomplishments (or lack thereof) through mediation and reflection
6. Strive to appreciate the simpler things in life
7. Eradicate compulsive and destructive behaviours and circumnavigate circumstances that present opportunity for repetition of said behaviours
8. Display emotions through honest communcation of them to loved ones and friends
9. Function on an equal level with colleagues professionally and personally
10. Purify soul

=

CREATION