inside the church steeple & surrounding environs at 16 yrs./don't be fooled-esoteric below

Whether we are consciously inspired by a heavenly accord, or not--though it be from a churchly experience or a sense of clarity, perfection is guaranteed to be the projected-temple of the wastes of consciousness, while under duress or anykind of acute consciousness. A sacrifice is made when an individual renounces immediacy of rewards through pleasure seeking, or worldly gain. But what is true for the macro-world is true for the microcosm! Patterns are like the abundant mundane ones where our time is caged, & then habits lend cognizance of the temple-projected. Seeing the road unfurled like signs of dispensation you belong, the car seems to lurch in rhyming procession at the pace of your heart--each beat brings on the next blemish on perfect plains of pavement--the explanate moment not unlike the heat mirages in constant amidst we are wired to define as abstract, & the road lives at will. We give all the unrealism its just due, and tend to ignore this taste of liberation--maybe we are all on the alter of sacrifice as each moment is at least evaded by some extent w/out an enduring resolve.

the disquieted thoughts of judaica

The promise of fulfillment through the practicing of mitzvoth (meritable tasks) is their big push. (this may be nothing less than beneficence, however...) When I visited Ohr Somayach the 2nd time I had a chance to go to some Kabbalistic session where there would be chanting & clapping & such going on. I was just thinking I don't need to see this bunch of monkeys hoopin' & a hollering with such a serious intent there & then. (though now I fancy it would be quite interesting) My focus wasn't illumination, though I may have said so, but rather episodic. Just riding waves into the space of experience as if one was cut off from the next. Very disparate behavior here. But in a way it helped in the decision making process--just being able to nip things right then knowing something else would come around was the general mindset, small world though it be. At the Yeshivah I imagined apparitions as if I adjusted to new light, unsure of shadows. I felt in a solitarian room, thinking, construed either dimmer vision, or lit eyes adjusting... But it all meant that immersion into psychic phenomena of one's own mind had an obfuscating affect--seeing the world colored differently, but this nevertheless a trip wire into formidable characterization of self. A new environment is the new color, or a room, a person, or what I ever could emote & project into my strange world. In this case, I sought out images of a Judaic bent, I thought inhabited the earth as spirits, ophan, angels--whatever, but in the stream of my consciousness, which was becoming of the mental furniture outside of the physical.

sisyphus & music

hiddenreceivedThe back of Dylan's Desire had a canto w/ Rimbaud mentioned, makes me think of Springsteen's "...strap your hands across my engine": our momentum surveilling the inner-city. Rimbaud was a nationalist of sort, infallible because of the illusiveness of it. The mystery of the enemy makes him a nationalist... only in regard of his meeting him & representational of France in north Africa, where then as before he crosses to the other side, their side, if only in his mind. The attention I gave to the music I listen to, like last night's Rasta Revolution leaving off inquiry & wanting like my offering yeahs here or there, because I tune into a possibility of a message here or there. (Like less inquiry than pop on the radio I can't hear anyways.) Confusion like corrugated shadows is as old as barbs on the fencing, say down by the water tower where we'd cross a profusion of upturned sod furrowed by Mr. Ogden, whom I never met on Parkers Mill rd.-- a puzzle no doubt in the offing. A puzzle with no match skyward. What about this fence between me & my confusion? The world I know is clarity--the void of materiality offset maybe by the insanity of the Egyptian we saw on the road to the train station (in Luxor) by a fly-ridden halal? butcher shop. His frenzied banging of a tambourine upon his head and muttering looked alighted to the mosque doors let out to that street. Just his giving voice & weird credence to the pity born of ritual/religion--his music, like mine as if it is being pecked away by the hope we'd at least have something to say. This probably goes to the head of Sisyphus, going toward the valley. This is where Sisyphus begins: the entering into confidence.

to complete a thoughhht

hiddenreceivedI only want to suggest that we at one point do recognize to whom we are speaking--& I thought I was talking to one person until I realized there is more to it than meets the eye. I had more going on. I was caught up in my pantheon of relationship, simple & perhaps evolving & beneficent though it is. Something biblical in characterization from our conceptualizing something within that context sometimes means we have more (some image) than just who is in front of us, in mind. Our experience is more observable if we start here--it is always there in the BACK of our mind, & I would ask why should it remain there? So one example is in conversation w/ my Mom, I think somehow she is more cognizant of a nuance suggestive of the-growing-up-&-continuity-of-religious-thought, I may otherwise would have directed from & to an interior self &/or you. But in your absence & in my lack of tangible grip upon inner-selfhood, as anyone, someone else will do! No fault of hers per say, I just think we should know our bounds--we should indulge & project that make-believe audience, because that is where it starts. It remains subtle to assume to whom we speak. Create your relevance. It could be anyone in the back of your mind to whom some self-identitied hesitancy is suggestive of him/her & not who is in front of you. Right now I speak to Krishnamurti, begging your pardon.

as in the received (=kabbalah)

hiddenreceivedLets say there is one prime Source from which all else emanates. Call IT what you will. If there was a unified existent consciousness, say any monad is a unit of consciousness--wouldn't it be like the scenario of the worst & best students as agents of the Principle (His? power) and thus reason enough to stay as clear away from the Source and its exigencies (those punks) as possible. I say this as if it were true what an early Church Father says: the further from the Source we go, the more clarified becomes its emanations (Enuma Elish). So we deduce that if there was immediacy in comparisons w/ the Source and what is derived thereof we will have been blinded by its negative space=we can only be objective as the Condition stands on its own. Individuality is the rule, buck the One who wants to author your identity).

who the cap fit let them wear it

hiddenreceivedSay they have come to get you in the valley of decision! There you have maintained your modus operandi, but suddenly like a crystalline palace, it is too perfect & whatever the consequences, it is time to do w/o--you kick it over...exposing yourself in your four cornered room to the CHARACTERIZATIONS of self, which remain & function w/ a particular role (a unified in-dwelling, perhaps); they wear the respective hat. Remember you are still at a loss. Who will provide a way?There is no h2o to put out the fire. We are a single flame born unto a sun of all possibilities. If the spiritual man is mad, then this one emotion yields enough perspective w/o negligible results, because we indeed persevered. Laying on the floor of my washed out basement apt., pursuing some faculty of meditation--some quality of consciousness I was sure was there, made only resultant feelings of ambiguity--realized/unrealized! I dreamt lyrics saying things like "dare a guy in the Japan eye" & "black plastic, magic record speaking" as if a singular event was at hand. A grappled illustration of Eastern thought seemed cognizant squeezed thru my threading senses that I was everyman, If I could only choose now. The one & the many, became the one & the few & then I & I, solitude, that's it!

"The Source" & me--adam's children

hiddenreceived"Cain," G-d says, "Where is your bro.?" As if, rt.? But now the burden of interpretation suggests this is a lesson we hearken to, what does Cain find incumbent upon his sense of his condition to further his existence after his demurring, "Am I my bro's. keeper?" So is there a rock so large that G-d cannot lift? The answer is yes: the willfulness of his creation, that of man. & yet, does the Bee-catcher bird have the will & the nature we so easily construe just as the change in our climate, our expectation of it, as only a path can take us to the edge of the void so that we might look over & suggest to ourselves, IT is?! G-d only spoke to one person, according to Jewish tradition. Moses. & He said one thing, "I am." I can think of no greater mystical experience to occur in the human mind than to say to ONESELF, I am! All good graces to the powers-that-be, but spirituality is the product of man/woman & I see no greater endeavor than to be at the heights of rationalism & say to oneself that we are part of the whole & we shall disappear thusly. Dude from iamadick.blogspot.com had originally posed the ? to me--is there a rock so large...?

repairingOneselftheTube/impairing oneself making us the boob

hiddenreceivedAs I sit & watch TV sometimes, I begin to reflect on the surface-noise, blankspots as if I'd rather remain at the sense & thoughts slowly evaporating otherwise under threat at the muse of yammering making up the cntr. of activity & porous gravity in my family room. Just cause accompli, I can't understand it, I just turn from its clutches. It is not just turning away, it is turning toward. To induct memory takes no sensitivity-zonal (like zoned) or more active than that. I'd rather be sated looking at the corner of the room for a moment, because a lil' squeaking beak says I am more comfortable right there in my amused dissuasion. And believe me I don't watch much TV, if I find myself willing to listen/watch, it is because I want to preclude my interest in it from defenses of which I have become merely too conscious. There is a threshold that says to me turn-off, tune-out and I sense its arrival until visually my psyche is assuaged, & that just makes the betterment of the moment i.e. read a book, or do something around the house, all the more necessary.

ideals were born unto phylum animalia

hiddenreceivedIn agrarian communities sometimes a male youth of the tribe is given chattel, like a cow or goat he totes around to pastures, as if that animal was his peer. Walking down Williamsburg rd. when I was a teenager I had a thought & enlivened by the spirit of a kingdom of peasant-like reality, never colluded inwardly by the thought that this is at all the norm = I felt I was being trailed by an old cow, like sensitivity to what was around me was key to the locked door about to open thru-which the animal would enter. The thoughts seemed archaic, & I sought to bare the thought that it was old enough, but not recognizing any biblacy, as if? But rather it seemed OLD-new world, like 200 yrs. ago. I have had a dream of lying in a doe's lair,almost like awakening in the moment, there, & more to th pt., I had a dream of being in the cntr. of a varied group of chattel all of them wide eyed & looking prone to their own signature call, while I in a primordial slung moment felt like their little bro., & the barer of what subtly is communicated between man & beast if it were possible, like a Cabbalistic threshold being crossed into a cool watery realm of early self-hood.

hiddenreceived

hiddenreceived Life is patterns, therefore cycles & thus, yes I would say we spin on an axis of self-preservation. Never thru my times of confusion did I become depressed, because at the very least it was clear to me that see the inner-self I would increase thru "otherness." On the way back from Cinci. back in the early 90s, I considered the lack of movement I thought was interior to this life transporting me & mitigating higher ground, in ways that were purely manufactured/hypercritical--of my dependency upon the array of social verification I was then so afraid. To get to the bonds of assurance I only had to perceive the clarity that relationship would be. Upon riding in the back floor of these younger cats vehicle, making the scene, I only needed to look out to the midnight sky before utterly as I shut my eyes on its vibrancy,did I realize the images stuck there. This had to mean silence is w/out, confusion is w/out, intelligence is w/out--and the star I sought to hang my hat on was only there developing in me ways of acquiescence to that truth as I could no longer act from a cntr. belonging only to myself. Out on the street, I guess it was somewhere in Newport, I imagined this guy saying to me as I sat on this door jam& him just carousing by, "I'll see you up here tonight!" And he seemed to be looking skyward, too. & my inner voice said, that's right you will.

ifUfearit,youhateit,if Uhateit,Uloveit FROM "WE"

It is said that "WE" influenced the writing of 1984 (predates it). Anyways, the chasm between me and what the auric egg has revealed is likened to the prospects of interminable reading affecting the soft-machine (W. Burroughs) = the hope of being borne unto a new dimension pecked clean like crows in Mexico city eating the plaster falling off the Jesus figure (Radio Ethiopia, P. Smith) a part of a prayer niche, more Indian than quasi-European/semitic.