There's A Seeker Born Every Minute.

I guess the point in question is no matter what end of the drug trade you're in, it's all about the high.

Despite all my noted cynicism about this increasingly screwed-up world, and people in general, I choose to believe at least eighty per cent are good at heart, and the rest more than likely somewhere close to evil as that's their nature. However, I'm not to be quoted for that figure.

I'm more than likely excessively optimistic in my estimation of the human race overall, as some might say, and naive to others. You see, while, like everyone else I will never be perfect I've always strived through sometimes hugely challenging personal circumstances to raise my game, time and time again.

To conscientiously improve myself in mind, body and spirit to reach a higher state of consciousness in this increasingly challenging world, and the further I distance myself from all the crap humanity brings upon itself the more content I feel within.

However, in contrast to this, I also have to go outside, socialise, communicate, and live somewhat uncomfortably between these two entirely separate worlds, and every now and then these two worlds will collide. In doing so I get to learn yet another harsh reality of life. This I can absolutely count on. There are even times when not having learned my lesson when I should have, history has repeated itself, and it's usually when I believe I'm reaching out to someone who, through similar circumstances to my past needs a hand up.

You see, back in the day when I was a homeless itinerant everyone's poison was a bottle of the hard stuff to keep the chills at bay, so to speak. Now, when I say 'hard stuff' it didn't get much harder than methylated spirits, and God help anyone who lit a fag after taking a swig! Sure, there was an abundance of Sativa to keep whatever dreams people had alive, and it was a nice, mellowing smoke until Amsterdam's Sensi Seed Bank began messing about with the raw plant and creating hybrid seeds to the point whereby nowadays, in my view, it's just commercialised crap grown for strength of smoke rather than the nice, mellow pleasure it once was.

Nowadays, the street currency is spice, rock, and iv heroin that's way out of control in terms of supply, distribution and users who, for the most part, are those literally on the streets - and on their arse in life. It's a filthy, horrible trade that targets life's most vulnerable while those up the supply chain live lifestyles those at the bottom will rarely, if ever, aspire to without serious intervention that available services seem incapable of delivering due to what could be funding issues.

I recall an incident around three years ago that had a huge impact on me and stayed thereafter. A twenties-something female was sleeping in a Park Street doorway and causing no trouble whatsoever when a couple of drunken men thought it would be acceptable to urinate all over her. How on earth can this ever be regarded as acceptable in what's supposed to be a 'civilised' society? It would have been bad enough if it was another male on the receiving end, but a female? No. Absolutely not, under any circumstances!

That was a major turning point in my life that shocked me, as much as it would any other normal person, and since then I've always found it totally unacceptable for any female to be on the streets. Whereas, blokes, to a reasonable extent, at least, are more capable of defending themselves. And, you can bet a pound to a penny that the likelihood of the same happening to another male is far less.

So far, over the past few days, I've learned of one female who is being consistently and violently bullied into handing over what little state benefits she receives by a drug dealer, and subsequent to this my flatmate told the guy where to go, in no uncertain terms, and has since been threatened himself for doing so.

In a separate incident, another female who I've got to know extremely well found herself in what could have turned out to be ending up in hospital with some very nasty injuries had she not had her wits about her, read the room correctly, and on realising a potential threat to her own safety managed to extricate herself in the nick of time before her captors realised that she was smarter than them, before swiftly going after her. By this time she had reached a place of safety and was out of their reach, for the time being, at least.

Otherwise, they would have violently coerced every penny she had in her bank account out of her. I wouldn't say Bristol is totally out of control at the moment, however, the black market drugs trade and the violence incurred are getting worse in certain parts of the city, including my own, where from what I've seen is run by young Somali lads in terms of street distribution, at least. The disposable foot soldiers do all the low-level work while those further up the chain keep themselves a few arms-lengths away.

It doesn't matter too much how low, or high you are in the food chain of illegal drugs, it's still a mug's game. All the flash cars, money, and designer clothes may well feed the ego at the time, but when you're eventually banged up in a cell for a few years and no longer enjoy all the freedoms and joys of being on the outside world - and everything you left behind on the outside world becomes completely meaningless, what is the point?

I guess the point in question is no matter what end of the drug trade you're in, it's all about the high. That ego fix will be the same if you're an addict at the lower end of the food chain, or the masterminds further up, it's just the buzz you get which is ultimately the main driver.

The thrill of the moment creates the desire for more of the same, and where enough is never enough. The reality is that we live a life where nothing is permanent. Where, metaphorically, we can lose everything except the skeletal frame we stand in, in an instant - and even this is by no means guaranteed due to potential illnesses along the way as we navigate our way through whatever lifespan we have as individuals for the duration of our existence.

To be a Buddhist monk who, with little or no possessions enjoys a somewhat idyllic life in comparison to the bullshit of this screwed-up, materialistic world I inhabit, has to be one of the luckiest, most fortunate, and happiest people on the planet as he/she watches humanity collapse around him/her and still feel at peace with him/herself while at the same time also feeling a deep sense of compassion and sadness within.

While there is no way I would ever compare myself to the higher consciousness levels of a Buddhist monk, I can fully understand and appreciate what their overview of the world must be like to live with while still feeling a sense of inner peace. My view of the world as I look out my window, estranged from the craziness outside of these walls instils a similar sense of peace and calm I have discovered, and now thrive on.

To be immersed, as I was, so deeply in the interwoven fabric of a society I was never truly comfortable with, and haven't been for many years - if I'm really honest, to now be a step back from it and not just thinking, but feeling a genuine sense of inner calm and peace as I continue to grow within myself.This feels like the final achievement in a life well lived. Except for one.

Possessions.

I'm of the belief that to complete the circle of life, as we came into this world with nothing we should depart in the same way. To be honest, nearly everything I own could be junked anyway, and this is a thought for tomorrow.