Saturday, December 31, 2011


I’m aware of some TV shows, some movies, TV programs, dimensions on political issues, spiritual issues, software, hardward, gadgets, life with the elderly.
In the impersonal Indian philosophy of Shankaracharya, correct me if this is not correct, awareness itself is viewed as God. I am grateful to Jackie Mott for making me aware of the elderly, also for reawakening my remembrance of tough love.
Her story on a child who died, 40 years old from things his elders were unable to keep him from, made me wonder if I am not viewed as such. Not drugs but money. Eddie Money, maybe. It's a joke, I know. School did not have a class, or a course of training, to teach me about money, me nor my peers. I often begged the drugs and concert going that were our lifestyle. When I went to Santa Fe Community College I let my parents pay the tuition. It was cheaper than the 4 year University of Florida and so I thought no problem, but as I got older, was turned away by my peers and had to live with my parents, I learned. Mom could have used financial aid to go to the community college. I reflect, did this illusion of a lack of need, help me get through, earn my Associates Degree? Then again I wonder, if I had had financial aid would it have freed up money in my parents account to let me go out to eat, date or even buy a decent car. Was it my thinking that school was easy that made it so? It was not easy at UF but my parents needed aid to send me there. It did not free up any money and I fell victim to my ego in those days I believe. I fell victim to my worship of the rock and roll and political idols of the day. It sounds like I am throwing them under a bus, I know, but I could not take hair cuts and perfect behavior very seriously. Maybe I should have never taken up smoking cigarettes. I think cigarettes make you cocky.
Now, my heroes and heroines tell me it is all MIND. This writing for hours my thoughts and reflections, on MIND. I can do it some, one course said, before or after meditation. This was an Intro to Meditation in Siddha Yoga. It is really an intro to contemplation. You must complete to get to the meditation. Sounds like a commentary on Christianity. When you finally get through with all your contemplation you can come to me and meditate.
I picked up the meditation course in Siddha Yoga at a bad time though, I have to tell you. It was after my mom died.
OK, that was just some things crossing my mind as I open up today at the library in KH. I'll fill you in on more.
Had a great dream where I found an old friend. His name was Dan Hawes. He was working at Chevron station in Gainesville. I was riding a motorcycle. Odd because I have a minimal knowledge of motorcycle riding. Either my mom or Jack Collins or bother were in the dream asking about Dan. Dan's hair was long. Very nice. It was obviously when he was younger. I was looking at my hair this morning and I wondered if I should not have more gray on top. I wondered if my lack of gray on top, I say on top because there is plenty of gray, though actually, I think, white in my sideburns, was because I had not had enough WORRY thanks to mom who let me stay at home and even gave me her car and put me on her credit cards. What an innocent thing I was and there I would have to blame my father because he wasn't a good father. He didn't care to get close to me. He didn't care when I refused his gifts and was cold to him He just acted surprised. I wonder now that he had not gone through it all with my older brother. I have to say that he just didn't care about these kids but just about his own survival and that's why he hung on to mom.
Enough now. We've told about the dream. A nice dream it was, really, full of nice common settings. The Gators even got into the dream, creaming some poor defenseless team in football. There was a blue convertible too in which I drove up to the station where I saw my good old friend Daniel Patrick Hawes. There was a little more to the station activity. The convertible was safire blue, isn't that the dark metalllic blue? I think the interior was black. It was large, luxury like. That's really something given my current situation. It was like all problems had bee solved.
I have no closure for this. It just ends here, I'm sorry to say.
I wonder how I am going to get all the shit in my apartment out of it and what I am going to do with it. Give it to Goodwill?

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