Need to cannibalise one of the other gas heaters to connect my pipe to the new detendeur.
Listening to Jeff Salzmann talking to Scott Ford (Integral Consciousness and Sport - Integrating Body, Mind and Spirit through Flow) he's an integral tennis coach - about the zone - it's not about keeping your eye on the ball, (subject/object), but focusing on the point where you will hit the ball, all the time. The invisible window or plane where the ball and your racquet will connect. Flow. Search for where I talked about tennis before. The Inner Game of Tennis by Timothy Gallwey (wasn't he a Guru Maharaji premi at some point?) pub 1974. Don't think Andy Murray knows about this! Suspect Federer, and maybe Nadal do. And Borg. Not Becker. All the prima donnas, using their anger to try and win.
nunc fluens vs nunc stans
Meditation zipped by this am (and a full house, with Marine and Arthur, and John not leaving for the camino until 8.45). Thinking about the mantra vs breath (and I used to try and use the breath in the same way as I started using the mantra). And the monkey story I told John yesterday - the mantra is almost a trick, something for the mind to play with while the attention is off the self (or off the shelf?). So I was mostly breathing, or paying attention to my breath, and as I say, it just flew by. Ridiculous that the Kingdom is right here, we just have to reach out, or let go, or both. Meditation is nunc stans, action / daily life is or should be nunc fluens. Tricky applying it to gliding - I needed to be goal-less, in the moment, but how to fly perfectly - mindless / mindful thermalling, maybe.
Stole the pipe and connectors from one of the gas heaters in the church. Heating on, fridge on, pan boiled. Connect the inverter, after my croissant. Before our meditative mass with Adam Boulter.
Belle suggested a kitchen timer (for my running). And I can run in my sandals and my tan shorts.
Funny how my description of Sally's brain tumour in Metanoia pre-dated my reading Do No Harm by Henry Marsh - yet I got it pretty well right. Could try and give her tumour a name (like Pituitary adenoma or Glioblastoma) but I don't think there's any need.
Dancing (my best dances, with Sal at her 50th, or Steve Wright at Crowland Gliding Club, or Penny Taylor at her party) is at its best being in a flow state with another person, in the we-space, the lower left quadrant. It can be bad / dangerous too - a mob or a football crowd, or a Nuremburg rally. The same loss of self, but to something dark in us all - what Jung talked about in the run up to WWI. The beginning of Europe's psychotic episode - and is it it truly over, yet?
It really isn't about making a living 'out of it' as Scott said. The living makes itself. I'm 'making a living' here in Bonnevaux, but it just sort of happens. The funny conversation with the Wescot guy about my finances - I really am richer, being poorer, than I've ever been in my life (at least, since I lived in the ashram in Nottingham).
11.30 - meditation - heater - sweep. Tabac. shave and shower. run. not necessarily in that order.
Finished proofreading the final chapters. Send it out today.
Lovely eucharist held by Adam Boulter in the Chapel at 12 with meditation instead of the Creed. Unfortunately he gabbled a bit (nervous about his children?), his wife didn't seem very happy (spoiling her day out?) and his middle child, Hannah, 6, really didn't want to meditate, but instead of taking her out for a chat or a play, he kept her in, and has probably put her off meditation for life. As Andrew said afterwards, a minute for each year of their life is best, so half an hour was really asking a bit much. The baby and the eldest boy Joe were good as gold. Nice lunch, after which I went off tobacco hunting - everywhere is shut it being May Day, apart from a Dante's Inferno of a routier stop on the road to Angouleme, which seemed to be filled with the dregs and alkies of Poitou-Charente, it being the only place open and selling alcohol.
Came back and started wiring up the inverter. All OK until I wired my battery +ve to -ve, twice, and blew both my 20 amp fuses before I realised what I'd done. The inverter's now connected and I think charging my caravan battery and running the fridge, but none of my plug points in the caravan seem to be working. I think the fuses are OK. I've plugged a two plug extension into the inverter, with one plug going into the caravan's mains socket, and the other I can use for whatever (charging this at the moment, but I could plug in a light or kettle, just to see what happens). Meantime I think I'm draining my mega batteries very fast and the sun's gone down. Progress, of a sort.
I've assembled all my chapters - just need to pdf them, as one file if possible, and send them out. Try and do it this evening. No-one's summoned me to supper, and I'm quite happy here with my tonic and ginger and lemongrass with fresh limes and bitters, and my Camel tobacco. Got cold as soon as the sun went down, but it's been a lovely sunny day, and a bit of a holiday. I think I was supposed to sweep the kitchen and clean the loo, but I thought Andrew meant sweep the chapel, so I didn't. I did prepare the chapel for our mass and meditation. I've nicked the pipe from one of the heaters in the chapel to connect my new gas cylinder, which is 11kg. My last English/Calor one was 6 kg, and has lasted me a good fortnight, boiling water and running the fridge and occasionally the heater, so the leak from the first one was obviously quite bad. It certainly smelled bad enough.
Sort of tempted at the routier stop by all the slobs sitting around drinking, but then kind of not - it did all feel very tacky and sordid. The truckers have nowhere else to go, and nothing to do - not allowed to drive on public holidays and weekends. I did wonder if the women were on the game. Good spot for trade. Everywhere else is as dead as a wet weekend in Wales. Went a bit off track on the way there and drove through some very pretty countryside and little hamlets, including a little jaunt down the Rue du Paradis, although what was especially paradisiacal about it I didn't spot. Nice place to explore on the bicycle.
I haven't gone for a run as I sort of planned. Belle said she used an egg timer the first few times, and I've got my nice sandals which will do for running in if I stay out of the mud. Do it tomorrow. Might have a shave and a shower.
Had a nice chat (i.e. I spoke continuously for an hour about life the universe and everything) with Suzanne. She only started meditating when she came here a few weeks ago, and has found it vey powerful. She's very off religion generally and Catholicism in particular but has really got into the meditation.
Listening to Jeff Salzmann talking to Scott Ford (Integral Consciousness and Sport - Integrating Body, Mind and Spirit through Flow) he's an integral tennis coach - about the zone - it's not about keeping your eye on the ball, (subject/object), but focusing on the point where you will hit the ball, all the time. The invisible window or plane where the ball and your racquet will connect. Flow. Search for where I talked about tennis before. The Inner Game of Tennis by Timothy Gallwey (wasn't he a Guru Maharaji premi at some point?) pub 1974. Don't think Andy Murray knows about this! Suspect Federer, and maybe Nadal do. And Borg. Not Becker. All the prima donnas, using their anger to try and win.
nunc fluens vs nunc stans
Meditation zipped by this am (and a full house, with Marine and Arthur, and John not leaving for the camino until 8.45). Thinking about the mantra vs breath (and I used to try and use the breath in the same way as I started using the mantra). And the monkey story I told John yesterday - the mantra is almost a trick, something for the mind to play with while the attention is off the self (or off the shelf?). So I was mostly breathing, or paying attention to my breath, and as I say, it just flew by. Ridiculous that the Kingdom is right here, we just have to reach out, or let go, or both. Meditation is nunc stans, action / daily life is or should be nunc fluens. Tricky applying it to gliding - I needed to be goal-less, in the moment, but how to fly perfectly - mindless / mindful thermalling, maybe.
Stole the pipe and connectors from one of the gas heaters in the church. Heating on, fridge on, pan boiled. Connect the inverter, after my croissant. Before our meditative mass with Adam Boulter.
Belle suggested a kitchen timer (for my running). And I can run in my sandals and my tan shorts.
Funny how my description of Sally's brain tumour in Metanoia pre-dated my reading Do No Harm by Henry Marsh - yet I got it pretty well right. Could try and give her tumour a name (like Pituitary adenoma or Glioblastoma) but I don't think there's any need.
Dancing (my best dances, with Sal at her 50th, or Steve Wright at Crowland Gliding Club, or Penny Taylor at her party) is at its best being in a flow state with another person, in the we-space, the lower left quadrant. It can be bad / dangerous too - a mob or a football crowd, or a Nuremburg rally. The same loss of self, but to something dark in us all - what Jung talked about in the run up to WWI. The beginning of Europe's psychotic episode - and is it it truly over, yet?
It really isn't about making a living 'out of it' as Scott said. The living makes itself. I'm 'making a living' here in Bonnevaux, but it just sort of happens. The funny conversation with the Wescot guy about my finances - I really am richer, being poorer, than I've ever been in my life (at least, since I lived in the ashram in Nottingham).
11.30 - meditation - heater - sweep. Tabac. shave and shower. run. not necessarily in that order.
Finished proofreading the final chapters. Send it out today.
Lovely eucharist held by Adam Boulter in the Chapel at 12 with meditation instead of the Creed. Unfortunately he gabbled a bit (nervous about his children?), his wife didn't seem very happy (spoiling her day out?) and his middle child, Hannah, 6, really didn't want to meditate, but instead of taking her out for a chat or a play, he kept her in, and has probably put her off meditation for life. As Andrew said afterwards, a minute for each year of their life is best, so half an hour was really asking a bit much. The baby and the eldest boy Joe were good as gold. Nice lunch, after which I went off tobacco hunting - everywhere is shut it being May Day, apart from a Dante's Inferno of a routier stop on the road to Angouleme, which seemed to be filled with the dregs and alkies of Poitou-Charente, it being the only place open and selling alcohol.
Came back and started wiring up the inverter. All OK until I wired my battery +ve to -ve, twice, and blew both my 20 amp fuses before I realised what I'd done. The inverter's now connected and I think charging my caravan battery and running the fridge, but none of my plug points in the caravan seem to be working. I think the fuses are OK. I've plugged a two plug extension into the inverter, with one plug going into the caravan's mains socket, and the other I can use for whatever (charging this at the moment, but I could plug in a light or kettle, just to see what happens). Meantime I think I'm draining my mega batteries very fast and the sun's gone down. Progress, of a sort.
I've assembled all my chapters - just need to pdf them, as one file if possible, and send them out. Try and do it this evening. No-one's summoned me to supper, and I'm quite happy here with my tonic and ginger and lemongrass with fresh limes and bitters, and my Camel tobacco. Got cold as soon as the sun went down, but it's been a lovely sunny day, and a bit of a holiday. I think I was supposed to sweep the kitchen and clean the loo, but I thought Andrew meant sweep the chapel, so I didn't. I did prepare the chapel for our mass and meditation. I've nicked the pipe from one of the heaters in the chapel to connect my new gas cylinder, which is 11kg. My last English/Calor one was 6 kg, and has lasted me a good fortnight, boiling water and running the fridge and occasionally the heater, so the leak from the first one was obviously quite bad. It certainly smelled bad enough.
Sort of tempted at the routier stop by all the slobs sitting around drinking, but then kind of not - it did all feel very tacky and sordid. The truckers have nowhere else to go, and nothing to do - not allowed to drive on public holidays and weekends. I did wonder if the women were on the game. Good spot for trade. Everywhere else is as dead as a wet weekend in Wales. Went a bit off track on the way there and drove through some very pretty countryside and little hamlets, including a little jaunt down the Rue du Paradis, although what was especially paradisiacal about it I didn't spot. Nice place to explore on the bicycle.
I haven't gone for a run as I sort of planned. Belle said she used an egg timer the first few times, and I've got my nice sandals which will do for running in if I stay out of the mud. Do it tomorrow. Might have a shave and a shower.
Had a nice chat (i.e. I spoke continuously for an hour about life the universe and everything) with Suzanne. She only started meditating when she came here a few weeks ago, and has found it vey powerful. She's very off religion generally and Catholicism in particular but has really got into the meditation.
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