Kidnap intervention by Buddhist monks for Xmas. Diolch!
Yes it has been 16 weeks since tha last entry here. My computer did a back-flip and keeled over, I was up before magistrates and with the Union rep for all that shite that occurred in the centre of Cardiff and as such went home and couldn't even look out of the window of the flat for about two days after all that. The great bird of the galaxy truely had left a big one on my shoulder, and as such I was , I am sorry to say, well and thoroughly down. That isn't like me, and the monks in the converted church downstairs noticed, bless them. They brought soup and made me sweep the garden leaves up. When we ran out of leaves I swept the High Streeet until the council bloke stopped me, and at that point the lead monk gently led me into the little room at the back of their church. The room that is piled high with alll the junk and spare robes from the dry cleaners for holidays and has two chairs with not enough legs and those curious over-long books written in Sanskrit that look more like a collection of seventies ties than ecclesiastical literature.
Attempting to fold myself into a chair with a busted raffia seat and one short leg I was struck by all the dust streaming through the victorian high thin window in a pattern of sunshine. The Abbot looked at me-well, the way he always looks at most people and things if truth be told, but got shushed by all the other monks there. There was at least most if not all of them, sort of folded into the wood and detritus in that room. Fitted together like a kind flock of orange birds in a indoor tree, they all had that expression I looked back at them.
I felt I had to break the bad news first, and then I remembered all the times I had spoken the first news of death to the relatives of strangers as a copper, and I realised in a way it was me that had died, in a way. I fukkin' hate being alert and depressed.
The mood was the exact opposite of electric, I can tell you. I just sat there, and then it all went through me in a second. What I'd had, lost found and thrown away, in a matter of a moment seeing the children taken and how I fought as me. just me for a change. And how it had all soured everything.
After embarassing public display of sentiment i dried my eyes, and the Abbot looked at me still kindly and with a purple quiet about him, sort of regal. Then each in turn told me a reason why they valued me, or a kindness i had done them and that lasted for an embarassing long time. But this time the warmth was not shame or vagueness of the right way that I had had and had blocked me. That is the worst kind of depression, not even knowing where you are to be lost in.
Fro nowhere there was more soup, and bread. And a work plan for the next few days. Man, the lads are lifesavers.
You can lose work, home family and some of your anchors and hope in life, but there are enough good people to help you get back up to speed and running again.
But i won't be shaving my head. And orange is too much bright for me. And trousers suit my way of life.
Bloody hell I'm still celibate. Tch! Ha ha ha!
Attempting to fold myself into a chair with a busted raffia seat and one short leg I was struck by all the dust streaming through the victorian high thin window in a pattern of sunshine. The Abbot looked at me-well, the way he always looks at most people and things if truth be told, but got shushed by all the other monks there. There was at least most if not all of them, sort of folded into the wood and detritus in that room. Fitted together like a kind flock of orange birds in a indoor tree, they all had that expression I looked back at them.
I felt I had to break the bad news first, and then I remembered all the times I had spoken the first news of death to the relatives of strangers as a copper, and I realised in a way it was me that had died, in a way. I fukkin' hate being alert and depressed.
The mood was the exact opposite of electric, I can tell you. I just sat there, and then it all went through me in a second. What I'd had, lost found and thrown away, in a matter of a moment seeing the children taken and how I fought as me. just me for a change. And how it had all soured everything.
After embarassing public display of sentiment i dried my eyes, and the Abbot looked at me still kindly and with a purple quiet about him, sort of regal. Then each in turn told me a reason why they valued me, or a kindness i had done them and that lasted for an embarassing long time. But this time the warmth was not shame or vagueness of the right way that I had had and had blocked me. That is the worst kind of depression, not even knowing where you are to be lost in.
Fro nowhere there was more soup, and bread. And a work plan for the next few days. Man, the lads are lifesavers.
You can lose work, home family and some of your anchors and hope in life, but there are enough good people to help you get back up to speed and running again.
But i won't be shaving my head. And orange is too much bright for me. And trousers suit my way of life.
Bloody hell I'm still celibate. Tch! Ha ha ha!