The Rambling continues.

  I have expressed time and again that I write not because I would one day become a great writer, I beleive it is too much work for one thing, I write simly because I enjoy writing about anything and everything that comes acrosss my mind. Yes, things are never ending in coming across my mind like and endless flotsam floating up or down the river depending on the tide and I like to sit and watch what floats by, sometimes the same piece of garbage would turn up time and again like an old buddy seeking attention. These are my mental formations from past accumulations of attractions and attachments, from experiences and projections, these are the by product or the waste matter of my actions and consequences of. I sit and watch them float by, who am I sitting and watching? I write to keep reminding myself that there is a part of me that has been doing this like a watchman who job it is and has been to be an observer of what is going on with my mind in relationship to what is my external relationship to the external manifestations of my consciousness; for the river or the highway is my consciousness   

What a tedious and boring thing to be doing this sitting and watching what arises and what disappears before my mind's eye day in and day out, while awake or asleep? I thas not earned me a nickle or a dime and it is like watching clouds in an empty sky as the come and go? But do it I persist like ther is a mandate for me to do so by some unwritten laws of cause and effect.; like God or the Buddha insist that it is my duty to do so and what is worse, I gave it a name, I call it meditation. Then I began making mental notes of what attracts me most among the garbage that floats along before me and I attach myself to dwelling upon these for whatever reason they evoke in me by their very appearances. The moment I am attracted to an item it attaches itself to me and my mind elaborates and exaggerates over its form and identity, giving it my attention like an episode or a story that it is related to; I bring it to life and it stays with for as long as it seemed interesting or until it becomes a pain or a nuisance and I am forced to let it go. Yes, this is how my mind works, this is how my time has been wasted throughout my entire life and I am writing about it just to remind myself of what a waste of time it is; calling it a form of practice or meditation.

However if persistency is a virtue as a part of a positive human development process, then, I must admit to myself that I am on the right right track towards attaining whatever it is to be attained at the end of the line. I have been writing for  most of my adult life mostly about nothing worth bragging about other than about myself, my personal take on life in general and where and what I have done. As it is said that nobody reads anymore from books or journals, so who or what I am writing for is really of no significance except towards my own personal self development; how I grow old. If there be any lesson worth to be learned, it is in seeing the progression of my inner and outer journey for the past seventy odd years. I have inadvertently been doing what any psychiatrist would advice me to do if I were a patient and that is to wrtie down my thoughts, feelings, dreams and imaginations and so forth. Has it been a help? Yes and no but it is still a fun thing to do especially when you are trapped in your home during this COVID-19 pandemic.