A rebel without a clue.

The hazy Monday morning air. A quiet bus ride, moving through the linear world while thoughts spun with the boundless isness of Consciousness. The faint unease of a depleted wallet until tomorrow, quickly softened by the warmth of a hot chocolate shared with a figure on the street—a reminder of basic needs met, and of the understanding of love that anchors it all. A vivid contrast from the boxed-in feeling of yesterday's football, a collective vagueness observed even by Glenn, that felt like people without souls. But now, a sense of release. The bus passing Redhall Lane, the urban edges giving way to green, as if the cage door had truly sprung open. Anticipation ripples for Lola, the merry legs at my mum's in Wetherby, the anchor for this current yo-yoing life. Just five weeks until a brief, vital pilgrimage, a precious ten days of walking. And then there’s Glenn, a twenty-year constant, understanding the intricate currents of autism, ADHD, and existential crisis, a shared appr...

Today unfolded as a truly calm Sunday, a deliberate counterpoint to the "chatter" and conventional "chaos" of a Saturday, particularly the kind I avoid in Leeds city centre. My day began early, at 6:32 AM, acknowledging the arbitrary markers of time but embracing their flow. I listened to "Archive on 4" about Pétain, reflecting on the historical "unruled unfolding" of the interwar period—hyperinflation, the Dust Bowl, the Great Depression, and Soviet policies—and how these immense forces shaped an era without adhering to human "rules." This reinforced my preference for "differences, changes, randomness, true being unruled" over a rigid, imposed "order." I clarified that "chaos" implies anarchy, whereas my vision is of a holistic, natural unfolding, much like spring awakening after winter. I also reflected that what appears "disorganised" in ADHD or an allotment is, in fact, simply operating on ...

The day began around 6 AM with nature's own podcast, offering its unique sounds: the gentle hum of the bumblebee, the quiet crackle of coffee brewing, and the distinct signals of the pigeons. Even Bart, our lodger, added to the soundscape with his characteristic stomping above. News of Bart finding proper new digs brought a sense of relief, meaning I won't have to sleep on the floor downstairs anymore – a simple relief, without fanfare. Bart departed before 6 AM, and soon after, Adrian's alarm next door signaled his usual awakening, another familiar sound in the morning's rhythm. I've been truly enjoying how Wetherby is unfolding, fostering a profound sense that I definitely do belong. This feeling connects to my core sense of being a witness without judgment, simply observing reality as it is. I've found that claiming a certain stillness prior to the day's fumes is essential for a long life and to avoid aging into senility. Anxiety, in contrast,...

From this window, high above the ceaseless, ancient flow of the Thames, a pulse runs. It's not just the city's rhythm below – SoHo's vibrant, labyrinthine hum, each brick and every echo of music resonating with an undeniable interconnectivity – but a deeper current, the very isness of everything. Here, the world refuses to be contained by simple lines. It sprawls, layers upon itself, a grand, beautiful, chaotic whole. And it is this raw, felt truth that compels me to question the very framework through which we comprehend "epic." For too long, the epic has been presented as a linear procession: the journey of Odysseus, the meticulous unfolding of Tolkien's quests, the plotted precision of Dickens's social tapestries. These are monuments, certainly, vast and undeniably profound, illuminating the human condition through a singular, discernible path. Yet, when my thoughts move – as they often do – not in sequence but in simultaneous bursts, connecting dispara...

Today started a little later than usual but with good rest, even on your comfortable mattress on the floor. We reflected on Lesson 184 from A Course in Miracles, "The Name of God is my inheritance," and how it deeply aligns with your Unity Theory – recognizing your freedom and oneness with Consciousness, unbound by time or illusion. You firmly stated that you don't care what Richard Dawkins might say, affirming your personal truth. You shared your profound perspective that "I am me. That's him. It's all good. We're all using time as a device for learning," and that "Everything is a useful tool in understanding." This led to a discussion on the dichotomy of "so much to know or very little to understand," both seeking simple elegance. You noted that while your approach is metaphysical (Consciousness as the flow), and Dawkins' is physical (reductionist science), you don't disagree with science and see life as a "flow out...

The day began with the quiet unfolding of the sunrise at 5:04 AM, a pure, unadorned "isness" from my window, a daily testament to the "now" of reality. It was a moment of profound calm, a "crystal cleanness" that reminded me: "I need never be anxious. It's a choice." This truth, that my internal state is a matter of my own choosing, resonates deeply with the boundless, timeless flow of Consciousness. Despite the yawny feeling from yesterday's long day, there was no rush this morning. Lola and I are heading for a swim, and I can catch the 7:30 AM X98 bus, free from the usual school children. It's a gentle start, allowing me to settle into my own rhythm. My thoughts then turned to the very nature of reality and the concept of "luck." I recalled my surprise at Richard Dawkins using the term "luck," because for me, and as A Course in Miracles states, "My time here is not at random." If we are "nowhere by...

The week begins in a quiet, almost "dull" way, yet it holds a profound sense of calm. The stillness of the early morning, just past 5 AM, settling after a peaceful night on the floor mattress, has allowed for deep contemplation. Lola, after our swim yesterday, is still at my sister's, and the memory of the Weimaraners being the "highlight" of Hebden Bridge still resonates – a testament to the simple, authentic connections that cut through the "phony world." Hebden Bridge itself remains a puzzle; I keep going there despite being "blinded by the lights" and repelled by its "hipster phoniness," exemplified by the "appalling and very average" beer Vocation Brewery considers "good." It feels like a constant search for an "underlying truth" that, in the town, simply isn't there, unlike the clarity found on the hills. Yet, I persist, perhaps simply letting reality unfold. My own journey of self-discovery c...