Routine and manna from heaven do not run together. This is today's 'diary' post, separated from the philosophy. When you're in the desert you dream of water. When you're in a vacuum you dream of pleasure. I imagine and fantasise over any nice event just landing in my day, using the 'unconditional miracles' principle, as it's the usual way it happens for me, in my imagination.
Instead the inevitable and much hinted at email that my friends will be remaining abroad indefinitely arrived today, so that (it never really was on) is off the system. The day was punctuated by a cancellation which allowed me to nip out and do my chores (shopping and tablet related). I was tired, this time not from lack of sleep but an alternation of bad nights and catching up nights. Clearly irregular sleep takes as much out of you as not enough. I would always go to bed early if with someone else, but otherwise it's like a little death every night. So rather than accept things as they are (a good Buddhist I'd have made...) I imagine lists of what I wish would happen when it goes dead.
From the email I received today (but in reverse form) to hearing from old friends and girlfriends, good news (whatever that is), and basically getting anything nice I haven't worked for or earned is how my mind works. Masturbation on non-sexual subjects and just as pointless. But that's our lower brain, the animal part and the one that stops us being spiritual and good Buddhists. I am on the lower path clearly and haven't a zen master beating the crap out of me to keep me on the right track (that's what they do).
I accept my mind is doing what you can call 'self medication', making up stories as a distraction to reality, which is the same as having imaginary friends, which would also be an asset at the moment. This isn't depression speaking, it's a description of a place as near to photographic accuracy I can create using words, just as when I do a painting.
A house is half what it appears. Empty it's not anything as you aren't there to experience it. So it's either occupied by you or you and others. So technically an empty house is one you enter and is empty. It's like a corpse. When a parent dies and you look in the coffin (as many cultures do) it's not a person. It looks like them but there's nothing there. Same with a house. If you enter an empty house it's dead and can't be any more. It's like a lucid dream where you know there's no one else really there, just you and your imaginary army of people. So I am affected by entering a house which has the chill of death on entering and after 10 years (and a few elsewhere) alone is beginning to get through my spiritual clothing. It's the situation many people I've spoken to recently are in, and they showed it's not a 'David' reaction but a normal one.
The bed represents the coffin the best, so going to an empty bedroom is like going to ones grave night after night, where the reality is hardest to avoid as the silence (besides the radio) is no different to that in a coffin.
I reckon I'd have to be superhuman, or at least have a brother or sister alive as a connected human being in spirit wherever they may live. That helps many people who are alone I think, if they get on at least. Otherwise you're literally on your own full stop, and I could envisage an experiment where 100 people are made to live on their own plus (as it's the killer part of the situation) imagine it's for life. If you knew it was temporary it would be a lot better. But it isn't. Then watch their mental decline, phobias and emotional problems develop gradually as loneliness ate away at their being. A few would rise to the occasion, but my intuition (proved reliable enough times to trust) most would go downhill till they ended up like the ones I know. It's simple cause and effect.
By the way, anyone who watched the new House Doctor programme I said after 20 minutes the couple would split up before the end of the hour, and they did. That is intuition and why I trust it. It pisses of rational people who want lab experiments but works for me. Sorry!