Alarm at 5.30. I think it rained again in the night. Dull, grey morning. Andrew didn't wake up or ring the bell. We meditated in the salon. Henriette leaves today. I shall miss her. Marie Dominique talked in the car on Saturday about Philippe (Mr Frederique) wanting us to use a logiciel for the accounts. Probably a good idea but I'd like to sort out the Excel system first.
Cherie sounds funny - seems to do a lot of covers - Amy Winehouse singing Rehab, but it sounds as if it's someone imitating her, and the same for a lot of the better known songs. Covers cost less than originals? Unless it's something about French sound reproduction.
I've got another creature in the caravan. Can hear it scrabbling in the bathroom or the cupboard. A mouse maybe. Turns out I have an entire family of mice in my plastic bag store - 6. err now 7. They actually prefer plastic to food (they destroyed my plastic rope when I was at Sweffling - cut it neatly into 6 inch sections). Anyway they've all gone running back to the bathroom end. I wonder where they'll go next. (My cupboard, where there's another plastic bag and all my winter jumpers, which they'll probably turn into nesting material and piss all over).
I was smoking under the ventilator and looking at the wasps. As soon as a wisp of smoke got near the nest, one of the wasps starts whirring its wings like mad, whether to fan the smoke away or the hot air I'm not sure.
Sad about all the little tits. I think every one has died. No more corpses this morning. Although there are tweets coming from what sounds like under the caravan - a much more sensible place. I should have put them all in my bread basket and stuffed it under the caravan. Only the snake would probably have eaten them. Nature red in tooth and claw.
I've brought the canna lily inside - it keeps getting drowned in all this rain.
'humility is the absence of anyone to be proud' Wei Wu Wei (who he?).
When I stopped wanting to become enlightened, it all got much easier, and better. I think now little me says the mantra, and pays attention to my breath, while big me goes off to god. 'let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing.' Humility is not trying to follow big me off into the unknowing. Little me has no place there.
And I thought yesterday, that I really am between the cloud of forgetting and the cloud of unknowing. Forgetting past dreams and fantasies (whether enlightenment or land on Naxos or a wood somewhere) and all unknowing what the future holds, whether this place or another. Or even what's going on now.
The reading the other day 'if your right hand offends, cut it off, if your eye offends pluck it out'. It's the same as the barren fig tree - kill what is unproductive, remove anything that distracts or detracts from your aim.
Time for bed. A good, productive, balanced day. And not so much smoking. Henriette and I are going to have given up by the time she comes back. hmmmmmmm.
Stuart's getting dead picky about the book. I'm going to have to tell him this is the final final proof - no more fiddling, or I'll start sending him bills.
Cherie sounds funny - seems to do a lot of covers - Amy Winehouse singing Rehab, but it sounds as if it's someone imitating her, and the same for a lot of the better known songs. Covers cost less than originals? Unless it's something about French sound reproduction.
I've got another creature in the caravan. Can hear it scrabbling in the bathroom or the cupboard. A mouse maybe. Turns out I have an entire family of mice in my plastic bag store - 6. err now 7. They actually prefer plastic to food (they destroyed my plastic rope when I was at Sweffling - cut it neatly into 6 inch sections). Anyway they've all gone running back to the bathroom end. I wonder where they'll go next. (My cupboard, where there's another plastic bag and all my winter jumpers, which they'll probably turn into nesting material and piss all over).
I was smoking under the ventilator and looking at the wasps. As soon as a wisp of smoke got near the nest, one of the wasps starts whirring its wings like mad, whether to fan the smoke away or the hot air I'm not sure.
Sad about all the little tits. I think every one has died. No more corpses this morning. Although there are tweets coming from what sounds like under the caravan - a much more sensible place. I should have put them all in my bread basket and stuffed it under the caravan. Only the snake would probably have eaten them. Nature red in tooth and claw.
I've brought the canna lily inside - it keeps getting drowned in all this rain.
'humility is the absence of anyone to be proud' Wei Wu Wei (who he?).
When I stopped wanting to become enlightened, it all got much easier, and better. I think now little me says the mantra, and pays attention to my breath, while big me goes off to god. 'let not the left hand know what the right hand is doing.' Humility is not trying to follow big me off into the unknowing. Little me has no place there.
And I thought yesterday, that I really am between the cloud of forgetting and the cloud of unknowing. Forgetting past dreams and fantasies (whether enlightenment or land on Naxos or a wood somewhere) and all unknowing what the future holds, whether this place or another. Or even what's going on now.
The reading the other day 'if your right hand offends, cut it off, if your eye offends pluck it out'. It's the same as the barren fig tree - kill what is unproductive, remove anything that distracts or detracts from your aim.
Time for bed. A good, productive, balanced day. And not so much smoking. Henriette and I are going to have given up by the time she comes back. hmmmmmmm.
Stuart's getting dead picky about the book. I'm going to have to tell him this is the final final proof - no more fiddling, or I'll start sending him bills.
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