Welcome to my blog which this morning
isn’t very happy. First, the minor things; the sweating body, the running nose,
hacking cough, toothache and general lethargy. Then, the more serious stuff. I
open my emails to find one of the headline bands wanting to pull out because
they feel under publicized. Already I’m struggling because my big investment, Copperdollar,
don’t seem inclined to do very much and, according to my son, should be
dropped. Meanwhile my artist friends tell me that I’ve left it too late to get
the art exhibition together, despite having spent six months trying to get my
main artist, Katrina, to decide what she was doing. A couple of weeks ago it
looked as if the children’s program was coming together but since then one of
the stalwarts has moved to Liverpool and the other boked herself a ticket to
Australia. All in all, not a morning of unhurried grace and contemplation.
What to do?
I’ll reread the letter from the band
later; too much to think about right now.
I could try my discouragement drill
which consists of taking five positive actions to counterbalance the
disappointment. Or is that whistling in the dark? I’ve written a couple of
emails and made an appointment to pick up the first batch of tickets.
Nevertheless the feeling that it is all going tits up predominates.
So I drove first to Wells where I
picked up forty posters, half of which may be redundant if the two acts cancel.
In fact it should have been 50 posters but he’d forgotten the fifth poster. I
then drove to Bristol and collected the printed tickets for the first event. On
the way back I received a phonecall saying that the owner of one of prospective
venues, for the cinema program, had suddenly died. By time I got home, my mind
was full of confusion about the wanting-to-pull-out band so I then spent the
best part of five hours answering his problems with a long email. I did admit
to him at the end of it, that if I cancelled their part of the show, it may be
a good idea and would limit my potential losses. I didn’t make a final
decision.
---
Next morning. Still feeling ill.
Later on today there is a big festival on in Bristol which has been organized
by my youngest son who actually is an event manager. 20,000 tickets sold out.
At 7pm my other two sons will be playing in their band at the event. They want
me to go. At midnight I have to pick up my partner from the railway station. I
really don’t want to go to the gig which involves tramping around fields in big
crowds but if I don’t go I’ll feel I’ve let the boys down. Feel so tired.
Whinge, whinge, whinge.
---
I feel I let myself down by not
going. On the other hand, I’m still ill.
--
Sunday morning. Woke-up feeling
awful. The phone was ringing. My eldest son, on his way to the airport, wanted
to know if there was anything he should have done before he went. I explained
the situation with the band and the theatre group. We agreed straightaway that shifting venues
but keeping the two headliners was the way forward. If the lead singer agrees (and
it was his suggestion) then I’ll feel the load has lightened.
--
My latest hero is Peter Wilberg whose
works I’ve mentioned a few times. He likes to succinctly dispel myths, such as
this one.
‘mental illness is caused by chemical imbalances of the brain’. Wrong. This is the myth of biological psychiatry and
the pharmaceutical corporations. The myth is based on the fundamental
misconception that consciousness is rooted in the brain. But since the brain
itself is an object of waking consciousness, to claim that it is the very
foundation of consciousness per se
is like claiming that some particular object we dream of is the foundation or cause of dreaming consciousness per se.
Science has not yet grasped the simple yet fundamental philosophical principle
that consciousness as such
- what I term ‘awareness’ or ‘pure awareness’ – cannot possibly be explained by
any particular ‘thing’ we are conscious or aware of - such as the human body or brain. To seek to do so is,
again, like seeking to explain dreaming as
such by something specific thing we dream of. http://www.peterwilberg.org/
--
The unreliability of memory is something
we recognise in others but can’t be so sure of in oneself. It so happens that two or three twenty-somethings
who I know have attempted to find things
out from their parents, only to discover that not only do their (separated)
parents disagree but that the parental memory is different from the child’s. A
girl I know asked her dad why he had left her mum. He said, ‘It was because of your
mum was involved with John and I felt she’d never let him go.’ The thing is
that the mum hadn’t met John (me) at that point in her life. In fact I only
appeared on the scene when his daughter was 2 years old. (And the mother did leave me.)
..
Now a new wet Monday morning. It
could this week is crucial to my enterprise. I await news from the band and
enthusiasm for me. Abscess and flu remain. Have to rescue my mind and put it on
the right track. Here's a picture of the mess that is my room along with a picture that is me in typical pose, staring at the computer blankly.
No comments:
Post a Comment