Sunday, 10 February 2013
I've spent the past week under the Bagwash Pastrami; Dr Mahatma-Cohte Ayemowdaheer
Dashed odd sort of week. Brain been behavin' like a damp Austin Mini - cough cough splutter chug chug kangaroo, that sort of thing. Should be grateful to have a brain at all I suppose but I do wish that the ruddy thing were more reliable. Can't get more than about twenty mph out of it at the moment. Fog between the ears; rest of the world cut off, as the famous old weather forecast went.
Did manage to start an excitin' little experimental adventure on the interwebnet, scribbled a few more lines towards the next weighty opus magnum, the tome of the year and whatnot, that sort of thing.
Spent the rest of my time loinclothed and perched on top of the Henry Moore sculptures in the formal garden. Less of a wind in the formal garden, reduces the wind-chill do you see? The venerable Bagwash keeps tellin' me that hypothermia and chilblaining-of-the-butt-ox is all in the mind anyway. May well be for him, since he spends most of his life standing on his head wavin' his sandals in the air. Not convinced, personally. Never understood why I have to get into minimal native clobber and practice lateral head-nods to find enlightenment. Still, you pays your money and you takes your medicine. If it was good enough for The Beatles its probably not going to do me any lasting harm.
Anyway, it was around about a quarter to lunch on last Wednesday when I suddenly saw the meaning of his words - everything is in the mind, absolutely everythin'. Everything of value, anyway. Can you imagine if it wasn't all in the mind? Where would we be if happiness, fulfilment, success, peace, inspiration, love and that certain self-satisfied smugness you get from a good belch were actually tangible things to be found under bushes, behind trees, tucked away in cupboards or hidden behind sedentary people who haven't been moved for a while? If they were real things that you could look outside of yourself for? What then eh?
The whole damned planet would be like a ruddy Calcutta riot, with folk searching everywhere and a stampede every time someone held up a tin of "Higginthorpe's Lifetime Achievement" and shouted 'I've found one'. Ooh look - there's a sack of "Slightly Salted Marital Bliss", I can see the corner poking out from under that cushion - everyone rush over there. Gosh - I say - I say - no, do listen - a pantechnicon carrying ten thousand 20kg boxes of "Total Happiness" has overturned just around the corner - boxes of the stuff strewn about for the taking... follow me!
No, no, much better that these things should be found on the inside only, through enlightenment and through a certain inability to either get out of the full Lotus position or to slide down from the shoulders of Draped Reclining Woman with any sort of dignity.
Introspection has a lot to be said for it, though I do look a tad ga-ga barefoot in a loincloth and wavin' a formal black umbrella to the vibes of a popular beat combo sitar band brought in from Wolverhampton to help with cleaning the chakras on the terrace.
Enlightenment is one possible reason I suppose for the old brain runnin' slowly, venturin' into new territory, that sort of thing. The frostbite doesn't help of couse. If only the Bagwash would let me meditate indoors.
Other than that it's been a quiet week really. Quite groovy, I suppose, even with a foggy brain. May commission a portrait before the Bagwash flies home, somethin' in oils with me and an elephant under an umbrella, gardens in the background. No idea where I'd pin me medals though, there's so little substance to this native clobber.