Anglo Alba Borders
Continued 2/2
The ground was completely frozen and very slippy unto stature of foot. Driving North we passed 30-metre-high (98 ft) horse-head sculptures depicting kelpies (shape-shifting water spirits), located between Falkirk and Grangemouth.
We stayed the night in a Hilton near Dundee (two single beds), I never managed to rest in this busy hotel full of strange people who I felt uneasy being around. Below is a picture of my Camera I took with my Samsung note 5, the DSLR is an oldish Nikon D3200 and is pictured upon my bedside table...
Checking out of the hotel was quick, in the morning we drove south through Fife and over the Forth bridge. Although our southern direction was chosen our next destination was not assertained but rather found through road signs.
There was always a fullness of so much more to see, but yet a sustained emptiness that cramped the stomach. I do not believe genuine kindness exists any more, even less hospitality, in a disinherited and ruined world of alienated, faceless strangers.
We arrived at what I perceived to be a mill come workhouse, but the imposing building had long been occupied by other concerns. I enjoyed the footpath probably more than I did the Falls of Clyde.
At the beginning of the river Clyde there is told to be a gold mine, and it is said that the River itself is full of Gold particles. I shudder myself to think of this river running through Glasgow's poverty-stricken streets, a richness in resemblance of life, but surrounded by a city locked into artificial scarcity.
The falls were far back from the otherside of the river, we were quickly joined by other members of the public, whose intrusive and cranky presence we found both disturbing and annoying. The area was humming to the sound of electricty hydro-generators resonating EMF energy which also disturbed any chance of tranquility.
I am known in familiarity to the Sangha at Samye Ling Buddhist Centre, as I visited more than ten times, on this and the only occasion I was accompanied by a friend. I no longer believe in Buddhists or Buddhism, faith in anything is always exploited as obfuscated worth. Furthermore, I didn't know then what I knew about the Dalai Lama now.
Walking along the road from Eskdalemuir you'll find the victory Stupa, this has a corridor of prayer wheels attached to it. You'll find the Stupa locked shut unless there is an auspicious occasion going on with it, I've never seen this Stupa unlocked.
The Buddhist centre, the largest of its kind in Europe also tolerates local tradition within its grounds, I believe the reason is to defuse it's strong alienating presence upon the landscape of the Eskdalemuir Forest. Other than a few photos credit for creating solely given to a murdered lama for created Samye Ling, there is however a patron board in the centre's foyer.
The centre venerates the Nāga, who are regarded as divinesemi-divine deities, or a semi-divine race of half-human half-serpent beings that reside in the netherworld (Patala) and can occasionally take human form. This is where I believe theosophist David Icke got his idea of people being reptilians from, other than the 80's sitcom cult classic "V".
In the grounds there is a medicine Tara, I believe this to be completely relevant to our era, considering how sick our world has become, polluted with the Vatican's diseased flood plains, continuous centuries old pestilence. To the east of Samye ling two rivers meet, here there is a cairn with a picture of a Bodhisattva cemented to it, etched into metallic plate.
Great attention was given to a drive into the Buddhist centre, these western Tibetan monks revere hierarchical stature in every sense. The monks are said to have given up possession of the material world but they have merely given up those pointless things that have been created to reflect our ancestral light, to distract and misguide our ancestral might. Lineage is also very important to the Buddhists.
About 800 yards away from Samye Ling there is a hill where those who relate to Buddhism but find the automaton uniformity as obscene go for their sanctity. The hill is owned by somebody who tolerates it, the Buddhist centre has been influential in the area, but not everybody views the centre as a positive experience.
The Buddhist monks only believe that people have something to offer them when they are approached by vagrants suffering diabolical poverty, who are suffering detachment, driven mad from dejection. This was how the Buddha came to them from his wanderings, they gave him Refuge, he gave them Dharma, they thus created Sangha. The Buddha was an unresolvable alienation, he roamed unwelcomed by all, admist cultures he could not fathom to understand.
Contrary to the Dalai Lama being driven out of Tibet by the Cultural Revolution the buddhist monks have always embraced Communism, but has sort to keep they monarch link with the Buddha's genetic admixture. Through the Dalai lama Buddhism held postion for over a decade, notably during Chinas great famine, Buddhism also historical ties to Fabianism, the Society of Jesus, who I believe created Communism.
The story of the Buddha has similarities to the cloth tearing dream of Saint Martin of the Tours, a man sitting on the floor, surrounded by spare change, Jesus the Beggar taken in by Saint Martin, Buddha taken in by the Tibetans. At Connections in Saint Martin's there was not only a support worker who was connected to Samye Ling but a monk practising meditation with Soho's neighbouring GLBT community. The biggest sin of the Buddhists was cast upon the divinity of Guanyin during the great famine of China. Is this why we are being sacrificed as multicultural fertilizer, given the hordes of middle age white women who frequent this place?
For me, writing about this place is a complete waste of time, so I write to warn the weary traveller not to be consolidated by this mechanism of automation, monastic life should never be embraced, to live as a failure, withdrawn from life is not the way out of this world, otherwise why would such a disparity be imposed upon me. Over time the centre began to see my presence as a hindrance, I was refused access to their laundry and accommodation used by their visitors which I offered to pay for. One visit told me they always make those grubby and tired that they want to bring into the fold, monastic life is so not for me.
We left without feeling any attachment to this place, and in hindsight of writing this page in 2022 I guess that had been planned all along, not only for me but all those stupid enough to waste their lives dwelling around this momentous group delusion of grandeur as if it had some meaning for them or their estrangement from their alienated ancestors.
In hindsight, it is with some sense of irony that our last stop before returning to Stroud was Blackpool. The fake Effie Tower, remember the illuminations that sought to dwarf our ancestral light from a successive but alienated generation of our forbearers. When I was a child I visited here with my single parent mother, I was landed in hospital after months of stomach pains from eating a toffee apple. Black pool, what a joke, but on a more serious note lets not forget the school girl that was made into kebab meat.
Wake up from the sleep walk, and altercate your way from the road of annihilation.