I have become very wary of expressing any opinion – it can so easily turn into aggression.

As well as astonishing dullness and conceit.

A couple of cases made me aware recently that I should very probably remain silent, whatever I feel or think about a particular subject.

I had dinner with one poor fellow I have known a while, whose company has sometimes been something of a trial.

Whatever anybody says, he will automatically disagree in a manner which has always seemed rude and bullying.  Others excuse him on the grounds that he has a kind heart, which may well be the case, nonetheless I find his behaviour grating, to say the very least.

I always try to psych myself up before we meet, making a firm decision not to engage, to stick to small talk, not to venture any view on anything.

For some exasperating reason I found myself slipping recently and ventured an opinion on a fraught matter of philosophy.  I was immediately corrected and treated to a view very different from my own.  A view which did not appear to be particularly well informed.

I found myself veering into a mild argument – it happens to be a subject upon which I have read widely over the years.  Unfortunately, my “opponent” did not appear to have read quite so widely, and I was firmly and somewhat impolitely corrected on every single point I made.

I remained calm, and I hope polite, but I am sure my annoyance must have shown in my face.  Exasperated, I suggested my guest might perhaps be best to read a little more widely on the question before tackling me again on one of my pet subjects.  He blustered for a little longer, went bright red, and then, mercifully, ceased to talk.

Immediately, I deeply regretted what I had said. I regretted that I had ventured any sort of opinion. On anything. It would have been so much better to have smiled and remained silent, however provoked.

Other opinions which I recently been wearied by have been found in books.

There can be few opinions so dull as those ventured on the topic of “enlightenment” and “awareness”.

Religious and spiritual salesmen are very fond of selling books and seminars and junkets on these topics. Out of which great fortunes have been made and continue to be made.

When greed comes through one window, honesty and decency fly out of the other.

Think “mediaeval catholic church” and the chantry.  Salvation and heavenly bliss for the founder in return for cash.

Think “power of now”, think “12 steps to…… ” such and such unachievable goal.  Opinionated bollox on enlightenment or a calculated and dishonest sale of snakeoil in return for worldly riches? Who knows, but the latter seems a strong possibility.

I bought a book recently by a psychotherapist who seemed to have some good common-sense views. On the absurdity of unprovable faith in religion and the awfulness of snakeoil salesmen in the New Age movement and elsewhere.  On the need to drop belief in most things and simply go with the flow.

Unfortunately, by half-way through the book I realised that the fellow was probably just as opinionated and boorish as any other writer on self-help and, loosely speaking, spirituality.

I found his nihilism eventually just as grating as those who try to make me believe in miracles or a benign deity.

We are all robots apparently, there is no such thing as the self or panpsychism and anything other than pure physicalism is nonsense. And so is everything else which cannot be proved conclusively in a chemistry lab. Today.

And so, the book turned out to be yet another long litany of opinion. Occasionally softened by the author admitting he “did not know”.  Unfortunately, despite this denial, it became very clear that the author very firmly believed he did know, and eventually his professions of unknowing became very hollow indeed.

Here was simply another book full of strongly held opinions.  The author is right and anyone who does not share his views on the much-disputed field of “awareness” is dismissed as simply wrong.

So, what of myself? Where do I stand on all this shyte and what do I intend to do about it?

I will repeat once again that the older I get, the more I understand my fallibility.  Every time I think I am getting somewhere, something happens or is said which makes me realise that my apparent progress is almost certainly illusory.

And so, if I continue to write at all, it must be from the perspective of a very personal diary which merely follows my “progress”, my daily search for meaning and happiness.

And outside of these pages I must try very much harder to keep my mouth shut. To keep my opinions to myself.  Who knows, some of my views may turn out to be right, but realistically many of them will be seen eventually (perhaps even by myself) as nonsense.

So, I will read no more books on questions to which I know so well there are no answers.  Which, in all honesty, leaves me to read for simple pleasure. Sci-fi, spy stories, adventure, fun.  Stick to Tom Wolfe or John le Carré, Ian Banks. Evelyn Waugh perhaps or Graham Greene.

And I will certainly continue to meditate.  The guy whose book I got halfway through thinks it’s crap. That people who meditate are merely self-hypnotising, anaesthetising themselves against the trials and tribulations of the “real” world.  This guy toughs it all out and presumably feels good about that.

Meditation straightens my mind out. It relaxes me, it helps me to see the world in perspective. It enables me to see what is important in the world (very little) and what is not (most of it).

It helps me to observe my own mind, my own behaviour. It helps me to be a kinder, better person (an ongoing endeavour).

Far from hypnotising myself into a belief in a god or gods, or some heavenly realm (here on earth or elsewhere) I find that meditation makes me more realistic. About the state of the world, about my own behaviour, about what matters.

But there I go again – I am pushing an opinion, mine. That mediation and other ways I keep myself amused has a benefit. Or, worse, a truth.

Well, let me make it quite plain: my way of life suits me. It might suit you, it might not. I need endless quiet; I need to go within. I need silent contemplation and art and beautiful music.

Perhaps it doesn’t make me “better” (but in whose opinion)?

But it certainly makes me feel better. And I believe it makes me more tolerant and hopefully easier to live with.

So, if you read any more of my diary, recognise that it contains no “truth” as such.

It merely represents one old man’s attempt to make sense of his own life and the complex world around him.

Illustration: Jean-François de Troy – Time Unveiling Truth