A Poem for Grayson to make LIGHT of!

Tea, the peace like taking in the ocean one sip at a time// Sea, like a void we walk up to, to glimpse the sublime// Explore, everything until that point--in this rhyme// Pieces of beyond, we hold in just this one pond// In our hand, grappled unto abstraction--our struggle and...// Focus, which gave us allegory, the fusion is a gate all hoary// A bus, the cavalcade of what is known, stretch the fiction, pick a bone. ***Rationalsim IS the HIGHEST Spirituality*** If there is a thought, then there is the principle to thought, the simple beginnings. If there is intelligence in the world, then there is its beginning, the intellect. For every condition there is its potential. This simplicity is known as G-d, according to the rationalists (I think, the Mutazilas--Muslim). If we dream thereby we must exist. To exist then whence that energy promoted reflection upon the necessary condition, there is a principle to existence. Though it may be beyond a dualistic approach as our minds accord, still one may necessarily expect a Principle behind that value. Why do the Fundamentalists therefore say, leave the most profound queries about origins (cosmogony) up to faith i.e. mystery? What is it do they not want to think about?

I potok-ularly like reading POTOK!

I'm following the conclusions of yiddishkeit there for my perusal via Potok's spin on Jewish up-bringing. I see myself assess from a cntr.-my cntr., which leads to expectations like: this is Jewish because..., but I can't finish. Yet the cntr. is never exasperated and I demand more. Religion is to me these few moments: a cntr. unfulfilled yet dwelled upon the constraint as if no other thing could have brought me to it. The human condition to be naturally parasitic is relieved of its affect on me, because change begins with me, & I'm not trying to convey expectations on anyone else. If asceticism is a product of danger (desperation is desire's brain), then I am rehabilitated, because a healthy mindset means the path I am on is from the minutiae of where we are all prone to lead i.e. solitude.
****Shlomo Almeoli's is one of the numerous books Potok mentions as curricular to what has developed as an immersion into the secular encumbering the ascetic. A character would find resourceful allies in literature shared from an anonymous world or perhaps a mystical old lady, from which, in this case this Book of Dreams is proffered. I see the world unqualified to go along for the ride as an illustrated artful world of ideas allows the characters to close doors, and we find their eyes adjusting to abstractions out of which the material world ceases to be observed. Books within books, threading tendrils which hook me into an evolving surveillance of the zwischenmench (in-between man); everybody is half of something!

Submitting to Peaceable REASON

I am of the mind to expose maybe an underlying psychology of the circles I moved in, at one time, advances on indicting relationship which is conjured and not real is thus embarrassing. I gained ground just with thoughts like I was being written in the book of life as long as the mundane was eluding me, because spontaneity wholly meant quite the opposite, that it was not written (predestined), it (my life) would have, rather, made its own current. It is a fine point. Timelessness has the same sense. At my detached best I would look at the gods of abundance, that being whatever sense of the providential I could construe, and ask that I may have time: time to live rightly, time to create movement of thought so that I may consider the corner I occupied. This now gives me the sense that I am not ridiculed in the face of impermanence. But because i feel dropped into positive and novel circumstances, there still is a sense of artificiality to it. I have begun erasing what is beneath (I am a palimpsest.), though the past is jumping off points, its happenstance is irredeemable. In medias res!

REBEL ROAD

When I worked in some kind of capacity that seemed filmy & unnatural, for the business, when Eric first started it, I remember the phenomena of only seeing off at a certain distance upon the vistas that surrounded where I was spending most of my time (this neighborhood). I said to my cuz Andy it was like being in command of views that would go dim in a really overt way the moment I'd project into those perimeters. So Andy, as if his physical prowess could help, picked me up & said now look... & if not for that I wouldn't have been true to my contempt for my condition (not quite contempt, but rather grappled unto abstraction). It was like a pipe dream realized: if these soul-eyed observations where ever on a grand scale i.e. if my soul wasn't simply this small constraint which I find it to be, then the whole picture would be jaded, shaded with say the majesty of what I envision as the convalescence of the souls I see just passing through (around me). What I'm saying is, is that the view is more organic the more one observes at one time. On Oprah there was a soul-dynamic discussed which explains the bridge to awareness when I pass-thru as if I were cast out to sea, like a small sea-worthy vessel & I am destined to follow the mothership, just follow, no goal in mind to where I'll end up. If you seek the ocean as a path, you are lost!

the Dream & Sqqqqecial Media

Sometimes I wake up with just a black field & one image (personality) upon it. I am of course sleeping with Valerie, and this is a status quo dream, because I am electrified from conveyance then in those moments, as if I was looking around the room, but my eyes are closed. I have to ask myself why is it I inculcate & suppose Valerie in a dynamic with our slumber characterized. And I guess the answer is, this is what we do. We sleep. And I have a nocturnal conversation with her, which is only answering me with a soft question: "Why?" To perceive relationship, it seems, we first place identity at our cntr., apparently--this is homeward, rather than wayward.****************************************************** (about a week ago) My eyes feel feverish today--recently. The image of the primordial man (Adam-kadmon) on the cover of Gershom Scholem's Mystery of the Godhead has no eyes, but is reverential of the solitarian me (or anyone) like to guess at a face from the back of someone in a crowd is the same demand we have of a facade of self-hood thru images. The guy at Sqecial, who always trades for my books, had a sleepy Al Joelson look to his eyes--I am used to seeing by now elsewhere, like lines of reflection from intensity, concentration & everything I guess at, respective of me (though I don't have these eyes) are like my sense of my power spot, which is under the cascade of shadows cast under the auspices of community, an entirely visual reality. I remember in around 2000 visiting my brother there in Newbury, Ca., sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed (just a mattress on the floor) as we carried on. I still see him peering from furthest-most reaches than just the few feet between us--even at that point I imagined novelty in that look (and the point is not necessarily fraternity), though I knew til now now I remained intellectually un-intimidated (like anyone with an attitude of benefits to studying regularly). On one level we ceased regarding anything grander than ourself because its torpor cannot surfeit our exhaustion.

the little smoke & the Brujo=JUST allusions

The sense that we can have self-realization out in the wilderness is interesting to me. (though the concrete jungle remains available) Sakyamuni, the Buddha spends 6 yrs. with 5 ascetics, those who live in renunciation of the world. (stark) The perspective is that IF we must struggle to survive i.e. work, then life is worse for it in the samsara, karmic-cycle. So he sees a local girl down by the river, from the deer park in which he currently resides, & she offers him a bowl of sweet rice, which he decides to partake of. Then he sets the bowl in the river & it flows upstream: this is a sign to give the form & nature of the body the things it would require=the middle path. As a child he had reached the First Jhana, trance, the first sense of concentration cognitive of compassion, near the planting field, under a rose-apple tree. He naturally acceded to a position of just the right amount of tension, his breathing was tempered (pranayama)--the breathing yields to patterns as we promote a certain control over it, & thus affects consciousness. A centeredness! Being, a the peak of monster consciousness, the deep aside to sensory perfection. I turn upon a ritual-realized thing like attuned to the cultish don Juan's apprentice going out into the desert & "seeking" a higher ground, as conditions in the natural world would be the closest to a freed imagination (spiritual ally). Nature is allegory, in other words.