Mon 23:06. I don't have to finish things - cups of tea, cigarettes, chapters. I can just turn out the light, and lie wide awake in the dark, listening to the crickets, and fall asleep . . .
Reading 'Housekeeping' is infectious.
I think I'm going to do a coffee fast. 5 days, no coffee. Just to see. Coffee's a quick fix for me, like bread and butter, or a drink. I need a positive substitute. I don't think hot water or another cup of tea will do. Hence Belle's 'treats' - it's not about giving up, it's about positively replacing.
A warm wet Irish morning. Like after a night on the cliffs in Ballybunnion, camping with the boys.
I smoked in the loo this morning. I didn't want to be late for meditation (at 6:15) and I wanted to finish my fag. I lit the fag ends of two incense sticks and left the ventilator on while I washed my face. I should probably confess at morning meeting.
Meditation 'images'. A few months ago it was riding a horse across an empty prairie, and dismounting. Then it was a swimmer on a rock, surrounded by a warm calm sea (somewhere in the Aegean or Adriatic). Now it seems to be a little boy, left alone in the front room, with soemthing to do - the mantra, or focus on the breath - to maintain energy, not get distracted or into mischief, which will take energy away from the other, the adult or carer, who is doing something we don't need to know about, in the cellar, or the attic, or the garden. Actually, I think the adult is in the front room, saying the mantra, and it's the small child who's in the attic or cellar or garden. The point is not to get distracted (that just wastes energy and leads to frustration, like pissing about all day, doing/finishing nothing) but also, to pay no attention to what the child / other is doing or experiencing. It is not that one is not aware of it (after meditation, if nothing else, of the effects) but that it cannot happen while we consciously focus on it - that just makes it an it, an object of attention, an object in our awareness, which it really isn't and cannot be, because, in some limited sense, it is our awareness itself. It's a little like peripheral vision, or the blind spot.
8:00 am. I've meditated (with Andrew, Thomas and Rita), breakfasted (Thomas' uneaten porridge from yesterday), banana, magnesium, pulsilla pills. Not brushed teeth. Yet. Washed up and tidied. Put away bed. Sorted out paperwork (urgent, important, file, chuck away) with bulldog clips, paper clips, plastic envelopes, rubber bands and post-it notes. Half an hour to morning meeting.
I've decided to allow myself coffee as a treat, like fags. On breaks, after meals, not endlessly repeated. And to be properly enjoyed.
Washing up, with a glass of hot water and a couple of slices of paper towel. Works just as well on my few things as a great big bowl and washing up liquid. Like the priest's washing up after communion. Just clean white cloths, and water and wine. His cleaning lady / verger might do something more thorough later, but I suspect not. These are sacred vessels. Benedict's Rule - everything in a monastery should be treated as sacred vessel - from the gardener's trowel to the Abbot's chalice. With care, reverence, respect, for the sake of the things in themselves. I'm really enjoying Benedict's Dharma (much better than some sanctimonious commentary that treats it like Holy Writ) - a practical, real world response from people with actual experience of other non-Christian communities, and they get it all. It'll be interesting to see who, if anyone, Eileen Dutt comes up with as a mentor.
It's fun playing neat, tidy, organised, being efficient, getting things done. Then it gets oppressive and OCD (a bit like not drinking, or following the Rule / a routine) and I have to blow up. Like Saturday / Sunday, then it was such a relief to get back to proper meditation with the Dutch Nazi running the show, on Sunday evening. The tornado was the physical exemplification of chaos - power and excitement and drama, but disturbing and destructive and frightening (I wasn't, perhaps I should have been). How to allow a little chaos, freedom, treats, into each day, instead of letting the pressure build up. Or just building it up myself.
In the end a bit of a frustrating day. I did stuff, mainly my timesheet and expenses, which was important, but didn't feel worthwhile (Rita said the same thing, feeling a bit miz because she didn't feel she was being useful, which isn't true - and I meant to say, that's just ego, valuing this as more important than that, and I'm so important so I should be doing important things, or anything at all. If there's really nothing to do, then don't do it. Just sit. Or stand. Or walk. Or sleep. Or do something for fun.) I sort of fiddled with fixing the broken window panes, in between doing the timesheet, and setting up and leading midday meditation, at 12, because Thomas had to rush off to a blahblah rendezvous, he's going to stay with his mum in Fontainebleau for 10 days and do yoga. I enjoyed doing the meditation, felt it went well (i.e. on time and no random blathering or faffing about getting the right reading or psalms. Finally started properly on the window, but by then I was running out of time, wanted to do the Rule with Andrew (we didn't), and meditation at 6.15 and I said I'd cook supper, so I was impatient and not sure what to do with the funny French mastic verrier which was much solider and more rubbery than putty, so I ended up breaking a pane with Andrew and Delyth looking on. So I stopped. Do it first thing tomorrow. Laurence and a couple of mates arrive tomorrow evening. He's staying at Le Cadoue, with his chums, which seems a bit of a cop out as we have plenty of room in the house. It's been rather nice being just the 4 of us.
Eileen Dutt got back to me, asking what I'd been up to the last few years, so she can decide who to suggest as a mentor for me, so I sent her a longish email with a history of sorts of my last 10 years.
And Pol wants to come and stay for a week's 'retreat' - I'd sent her an email telling about the Auberge and Le Cadoue as possible places to stay, so she says she'll come around the end of July. She wanted to come for her birthday, but I'll be at Oscar's christening. She's been in touch with Le Cadoue about possible dates.
I cooked pork chops and herby boiled potatoes and broccoli and baked beans as a treat for Andrew, and he gave me two Magnums. We ate outside. It was very pleasant.
I bought some saffron in Greece. I should try a pollo sarsa. It's nice not being overrun by veggies.
I've been thinking about my 'lapse' on Saturday, and my other ones. The trouble is I've really not been drinking for 8 months, whatever the 'official' day count is, and Belle says this is a difficult time / stage - a long way from the initial thrill, starting to feel normal, and unthreatened, and 'just one won't hurt', not valuing the wonder of doing so much and spending every day sober, it doesn't feel special any more, as if I've achieved something, even though it is still very special, and a considerable achievement. I really don't count the lapses, I count them and report them because that's how it works, especially the not lying about it, however tempted I've been to keep schtumm. I have to keep telling Belle the truth, or I'm sunk. And myself. And the people I care about. Don't start pretending, hiding, lying, even in a small way, about small things - because if one drink, or day, doesn't count enough to fess up about, soon it'll be one bottle, or one week, or a boozy holiday.
Belle's reponse was to suggest I emeailed her 4 times a day, which just seeed silly, but mybe it's not. I have actually been emailing her a lot about her book (she's rewriting it and I think her first verssion is better - her agent / piblisher says it wont't sell, because it's not like other books, but I aid good books are by definition not like other books - ifthey wete what would be th epoint). Anyway keeping in tpuch and being honest definitely helps.
I did have another thought about why I drank on Saturday, and why I'm afraid I might repeat the mistake (I probably will, but it would be nice to make another long stretch, or even not to fail at all) but I can't remember it and it's getting late. It is quite nice to thnk that I really haven't had a drink for 8 months (or that the few I have had I can give an exact account of and of what I was doing - that I didn't get drunk, and I didn't just carry on drinking). I am a different person and in a very different, and much nicer place.
Reading 'Housekeeping' is infectious.
I think I'm going to do a coffee fast. 5 days, no coffee. Just to see. Coffee's a quick fix for me, like bread and butter, or a drink. I need a positive substitute. I don't think hot water or another cup of tea will do. Hence Belle's 'treats' - it's not about giving up, it's about positively replacing.
A warm wet Irish morning. Like after a night on the cliffs in Ballybunnion, camping with the boys.
I smoked in the loo this morning. I didn't want to be late for meditation (at 6:15) and I wanted to finish my fag. I lit the fag ends of two incense sticks and left the ventilator on while I washed my face. I should probably confess at morning meeting.
Meditation 'images'. A few months ago it was riding a horse across an empty prairie, and dismounting. Then it was a swimmer on a rock, surrounded by a warm calm sea (somewhere in the Aegean or Adriatic). Now it seems to be a little boy, left alone in the front room, with soemthing to do - the mantra, or focus on the breath - to maintain energy, not get distracted or into mischief, which will take energy away from the other, the adult or carer, who is doing something we don't need to know about, in the cellar, or the attic, or the garden. Actually, I think the adult is in the front room, saying the mantra, and it's the small child who's in the attic or cellar or garden. The point is not to get distracted (that just wastes energy and leads to frustration, like pissing about all day, doing/finishing nothing) but also, to pay no attention to what the child / other is doing or experiencing. It is not that one is not aware of it (after meditation, if nothing else, of the effects) but that it cannot happen while we consciously focus on it - that just makes it an it, an object of attention, an object in our awareness, which it really isn't and cannot be, because, in some limited sense, it is our awareness itself. It's a little like peripheral vision, or the blind spot.
8:00 am. I've meditated (with Andrew, Thomas and Rita), breakfasted (Thomas' uneaten porridge from yesterday), banana, magnesium, pulsilla pills. Not brushed teeth. Yet. Washed up and tidied. Put away bed. Sorted out paperwork (urgent, important, file, chuck away) with bulldog clips, paper clips, plastic envelopes, rubber bands and post-it notes. Half an hour to morning meeting.
I've decided to allow myself coffee as a treat, like fags. On breaks, after meals, not endlessly repeated. And to be properly enjoyed.
Washing up, with a glass of hot water and a couple of slices of paper towel. Works just as well on my few things as a great big bowl and washing up liquid. Like the priest's washing up after communion. Just clean white cloths, and water and wine. His cleaning lady / verger might do something more thorough later, but I suspect not. These are sacred vessels. Benedict's Rule - everything in a monastery should be treated as sacred vessel - from the gardener's trowel to the Abbot's chalice. With care, reverence, respect, for the sake of the things in themselves. I'm really enjoying Benedict's Dharma (much better than some sanctimonious commentary that treats it like Holy Writ) - a practical, real world response from people with actual experience of other non-Christian communities, and they get it all. It'll be interesting to see who, if anyone, Eileen Dutt comes up with as a mentor.
It's fun playing neat, tidy, organised, being efficient, getting things done. Then it gets oppressive and OCD (a bit like not drinking, or following the Rule / a routine) and I have to blow up. Like Saturday / Sunday, then it was such a relief to get back to proper meditation with the Dutch Nazi running the show, on Sunday evening. The tornado was the physical exemplification of chaos - power and excitement and drama, but disturbing and destructive and frightening (I wasn't, perhaps I should have been). How to allow a little chaos, freedom, treats, into each day, instead of letting the pressure build up. Or just building it up myself.
In the end a bit of a frustrating day. I did stuff, mainly my timesheet and expenses, which was important, but didn't feel worthwhile (Rita said the same thing, feeling a bit miz because she didn't feel she was being useful, which isn't true - and I meant to say, that's just ego, valuing this as more important than that, and I'm so important so I should be doing important things, or anything at all. If there's really nothing to do, then don't do it. Just sit. Or stand. Or walk. Or sleep. Or do something for fun.) I sort of fiddled with fixing the broken window panes, in between doing the timesheet, and setting up and leading midday meditation, at 12, because Thomas had to rush off to a blahblah rendezvous, he's going to stay with his mum in Fontainebleau for 10 days and do yoga. I enjoyed doing the meditation, felt it went well (i.e. on time and no random blathering or faffing about getting the right reading or psalms. Finally started properly on the window, but by then I was running out of time, wanted to do the Rule with Andrew (we didn't), and meditation at 6.15 and I said I'd cook supper, so I was impatient and not sure what to do with the funny French mastic verrier which was much solider and more rubbery than putty, so I ended up breaking a pane with Andrew and Delyth looking on. So I stopped. Do it first thing tomorrow. Laurence and a couple of mates arrive tomorrow evening. He's staying at Le Cadoue, with his chums, which seems a bit of a cop out as we have plenty of room in the house. It's been rather nice being just the 4 of us.
Eileen Dutt got back to me, asking what I'd been up to the last few years, so she can decide who to suggest as a mentor for me, so I sent her a longish email with a history of sorts of my last 10 years.
And Pol wants to come and stay for a week's 'retreat' - I'd sent her an email telling about the Auberge and Le Cadoue as possible places to stay, so she says she'll come around the end of July. She wanted to come for her birthday, but I'll be at Oscar's christening. She's been in touch with Le Cadoue about possible dates.
I cooked pork chops and herby boiled potatoes and broccoli and baked beans as a treat for Andrew, and he gave me two Magnums. We ate outside. It was very pleasant.
I bought some saffron in Greece. I should try a pollo sarsa. It's nice not being overrun by veggies.
I've been thinking about my 'lapse' on Saturday, and my other ones. The trouble is I've really not been drinking for 8 months, whatever the 'official' day count is, and Belle says this is a difficult time / stage - a long way from the initial thrill, starting to feel normal, and unthreatened, and 'just one won't hurt', not valuing the wonder of doing so much and spending every day sober, it doesn't feel special any more, as if I've achieved something, even though it is still very special, and a considerable achievement. I really don't count the lapses, I count them and report them because that's how it works, especially the not lying about it, however tempted I've been to keep schtumm. I have to keep telling Belle the truth, or I'm sunk. And myself. And the people I care about. Don't start pretending, hiding, lying, even in a small way, about small things - because if one drink, or day, doesn't count enough to fess up about, soon it'll be one bottle, or one week, or a boozy holiday.
Belle's reponse was to suggest I emeailed her 4 times a day, which just seeed silly, but mybe it's not. I have actually been emailing her a lot about her book (she's rewriting it and I think her first verssion is better - her agent / piblisher says it wont't sell, because it's not like other books, but I aid good books are by definition not like other books - ifthey wete what would be th epoint). Anyway keeping in tpuch and being honest definitely helps.
I did have another thought about why I drank on Saturday, and why I'm afraid I might repeat the mistake (I probably will, but it would be nice to make another long stretch, or even not to fail at all) but I can't remember it and it's getting late. It is quite nice to thnk that I really haven't had a drink for 8 months (or that the few I have had I can give an exact account of and of what I was doing - that I didn't get drunk, and I didn't just carry on drinking). I am a different person and in a very different, and much nicer place.
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