A rebel without a clue.

Monday morning. I had a quiet afternoon. I listened to the preface, introduction and part one of chapter one of ACIM, again, it was surprisingly fresh to hear it once again. I played complete attention to it for an hour until I sought sleep and it was a good night's sleep. Intentionally I'd left the Course's lessons, which I had followed from the 1st January up to and including the 31st of December. Almost six months gathering dust and my mind was desperate for its rhythms and devices to bring me back out of the doldrums. It definitely works for me so I am beginning it again. The text first, obviously, then the lessons: I am so incomplete spiritually that I still haven't really attempted the Manual for Teachers... I am not in any position to be a teacher of anything spiritual... But one day? I've been away from the Text for more than a year so it's had time to settle in my long term memory. As usual I began seeing the swirling patterns in my mind's eye - lik...

Avoid Leeds like there is a plague in town... There is though. It's the human vermin who litter the streets: those sleeping in doorways and those clinging to shop entrances. What happened to humanity to bring it down to a level below animal? Greggs? Quite possibly. The bus was a little late and I am currently the only soul on it as we turn onto Eastgate... Then everyone got on. I walk to the departure point on Boar Lane as it is a fair distance from my flat. The one on Eastgate is closer and the one on Roseville Road is much closer, but I prefer to go furthest. When the bus departed from Infirmary Street that was ideal as it isn't where the 'lice' of Leeds generally cluster: I didn't see those who are just clinging to life. *** I can see that I am firmly in the midst of another depression. How is it possible to keep going lower? Perhaps it's not another low low, but a return to the normal low I experienced over the past 10 years? Like in the film Awakenings the ...

This morning, after I left the flat around 11, and since noon I have been perambulating around Leeds University Campus. It's the first time I've set foot in the Refectory and the Terrace Bar since Autumn 2001 when I was deciding not to continue with the PGCE. Knottingley High School and The Dixon Academy in Bradford didn't instill me with any confidence and I was having trouble paying any attention to lectures in the monolithic structure known as the Roger Stevens Lecture Halls. I've since grown to quite like Brutalist architecture, but back then it just reminded me of the awful 1970s, and I just didn't understand what the lecturer was rabbiting on about Pastoralism/Pastoral Care I thought pastoralism was sheep going baa baa or something related to the Romantic Poets; wondering lonely as a cloud? It's a poor day weatherwise and I think it's got everyone's mood crumpled. But the Allotment needs rain when I can't tend to the tomatoes. It's still Ma...

A patron. Someone to give me the security to know I can carry on walk, thinking and writing. All good artists struggle, but some are supported enough to reveal themselves in all their glory? When I wander, lonely on the hillside, I live in hope of meeting an immortal or some being outside of my experience to show me the path I am on is not a false one. Do I believe in magic? Well I used to be involved with AD&D quite heavily and read the Time of the Twins cover to cover, year after year, and lived in Middle Earth - Beleriand mostly, after I'd read LotR and and found it lacking - for a hell of a long time; I knew the Shire very well... *** The dawn chorus woke me this morning just before Lola climbed in next to me. She was pretty tired last night and crawled into her duvet after a little time nestled with me, head in the space between upper arm and chest on Wednesday evening *** Something I didn't expect to rear it's ugly face has come over the horizon once more: depress...

Sun pouring against my bedroom wall, like a flame licking from the centre of a hearth onto the exposed skin... And I was awake. Sleep or hayfever clings to my eyes: another season of itchiness and soreness is here: summer has occurred. Bugger... I so like spring! Summer can get a bit relentless and I just know it's a race for nature to grow, seed/fruit and then nothing... Ashes to ashes. From dust back into dust...and now I long for Pilgrimage. Yesterday I was low. I was considering visiting the doctor's to ask for be prescribed antidepressants again... I've had a good year off them. But I must find my own way out of depression. Killing those negative thoughts before they devour me... Pilgrimage... Portugal? June? Now I am wondering how Michael is since he got back to Frankfurt Hahn(which is not near Frankfurt) and drove back into his usual life with Steffi, Bad Vibel, the court work and memories...

Yesterday I felt my life had run out of purpose. A feeling that in the past my existence was going somewhere, but now seems to be going nowhere. It's a pretty bleak feeling and, no matter if it's true or an illusion, I really felt my life wasn't worth the effort anymore. That's it - I was going to end it. Some how, by the time I left the allotment with tomatoes in the ground, that feeling of total worthlessness had receded and on Tuesday morning I am with Lola once more, going up that hill struggling to make the next 24 hours not feel pointless. She's done well so far as I won't feed her until seven. It's the rule! She needed a toilet break at 4am and then she got in alongside me until 6. Six! Well done the two of us! It's usually 5:30... Blue sky all the way and it's going to be hot. We're going out at 8 to beat the heat. Up to the Racecourse the back way through Carr Lane and Swinnow Hill, I think, as it is some time since we went that way. Tim...

At 1620 I realised I didn't blog today. Too busy with nothing happening. I slept well in the Z-bed in the spare room as we've AirBNB in my room. Apparently I was making noise at 5:30, but I had to stir mother at 8 so she wasn't so disturbed. Back in Leeds now to spend money I don't have in the hope of conviviality, but I've something covering my face: fifty years of dust... How do the crows living in cities feel about their relatives rurally, who live in murders differently, do they have a concept of a city or the countryside?  I don't want to go home. It's not my home. Nothing is. These crows circle in the same manner, but over a different carrion. It's not 6. I've a heap of chard to drown myself in, but I don't want to go home. It's the end of the week and the end of a long 10 days being different with Michael. Suddenly I am missing him, it and them. Those moments. I am rock solid from English Breakfasts, but I turned the corner: if I didn...