UTOPIA is in the doing

Kerouac lying on his back at the edge of the clearing, with Mt. Hozomeen in the backdrop & Kerouac on the incline leading down the ridge, upon which sits his ranger station he occupied by himself for about 2 1/2 - 3 months---thinks about solvency to his struggle for Higher Ground / his cntr. that being accrued by ascendency of Avalokiteshvara laying his diamond hand upon his subject, so that he might think himself outside the box. ...as close as I could get to the skies shared with the ones blanketing Israel before my trip there was to begin, was having climbed out my second floor window, in the house I grew up in, onto the motor home, then to the roof of the house, & over to the porch where I'd sit beneath the tree hovering above its roof limiting the cool prevailing winds in the early morning hrs. As I looked through the limbs like windows out a door of perception, to that of a sky I could only wistfully conjecture at its delimited space temporally: I knew I had legs, and I felt I was on the ground, like B. Marley numinously prevails upon us.

Sitting on the Back porch steps

Reading "What is G-d?" --Karen Armstrong's book, left me off less concerned with any spiritual headway at first, though I wanted it. I wanted to be concerned. The ideation of worship doesn't cause offense in that I can't be mistaken for leaving my salvation at the foot of any church. Knowing we impugn the outward fact in our respective worlds, the object worthy of worship developed of its own momentum. The SUN is rife with adherents for this reason, so with circumspection I just assumed I should take it in therapeutically as if it would suffice only for obvious reasons, my dissipation. But why not immerse whenever, wherever into its fullness? Never identifying with it was never plain to me, just that it was our gravest resource and life-giver excused it from a life thriving in minutiae (namely mine), and beyond its healing. I'm managing from page to page in the book wanting to compliment the Ultimate Reality with a glance into the yard, or skyward, and then I get to an exegesis from a Sufi poem. Something with the SUN mentioned in it and I felt NOW, then, and if my thoughts were intervallic with a lesser attention as I get sometimes, this kind of formidable moment yields to a vastness, creating a story and always a pattern to get back to.

On the Backporch Steps

Reading "What is G-d?"--Karen Armstrong's book, left me off less concerned with any spiritual headway at first, though I wanted it. I wanted to be concerned. The ideation of worship doesn't cause any offense in that I can't be mistaken for leaving my salvation at the foot of any church. Knowing we impugn the outward fact in our respective worlds, the object worthy of worship developed of its own momentum. The SUN is rife w/ adherents for this reason, so with circumspection I just assumed I should take it in therapeutically as if it would suffice only for obvious reasons, my dissaption. But why not immerse whenever, wherever into its fullness? Never identifying with it was never plain to me, just that it was our gravest resource and life-giver excused it from a life thriving in minutiae (namely mine), & beyond its healing. I'm managing from page to page in the book wanting to compliment the Ultimate Reality with a glance into the yard, or skyward, and then I get to an exegesis from a Sufi poem. Something with the sun mentioned in it and I felt NOW, then, and if my thoughts were intervallic w/ a lesser attention as I get sometimes, this kind of formidable moment yields to a vastness, creating a story & always a pattern to get back to.
(The Gospel of Thomas found out in the Sinia desert, in some cave, I think, says look within, this is the light of the LOrd--whereas the Gospel that made it into the canon says, look to the church, this is the light of salvation... so remaining beyond the reaches of any church theological conflict, which, I'm suggesting here, WHY wouldn't we? then how can anyone doubt the relevence of pseudepigrapha, though of course one would not thusly call it such!!)

I'm cold Lampin' -- Glimmer on the lamp

I keep honing down to the light source at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Disregarding all reflections that tend to distract or worse like Dostoevskii, himself or his characters, find themselves at the bottom of a well (figuratively) more likely to grant the source of light, but losing expectation of ever joining it. If consciousness is a gem in a field of gems, say, at any one moment the sun illuminates them all with an equal refractory. But light is what sets off his mystical theophany. Couldn't this be as if rather than the sun the outward fact is just a flashlight's light and the refraction is begun by encumbering one gem, & therefore has limited affect on the rest? I'm exposed, posturing towards hope, something creeps up on me--a poison headache, or more solvent really than that, but I feel alright: like a bridge it's the physicality of knowing, corporeal, because the dot of angst is enough for me to pursue the heart of balancing you & what delivers me. In his books the protagonist may say at some point, "Now you know everything!" If we were to assume there is nothing outside of the known, we are in fact the story unfolding & his/her companion to whom the statement is made really is the model for expectation, & yet we lounge by the river of sight thru the eyes of the one divulged.

VISION-SCAPE--I'm a soul Vendor

For every word, there is the accompaniment of an illustration--it's done intentionally, perhaps even superficially, but to experience the world & give it expression, the word in our mind is, beyond it, colored in--a different similitude to conjure the value we must obtain. It is also decisive to yield to the vision, rather than the ration. In terms of meditation visualization is paramount to the Arahant, to use Buddhist etymology. This is the individual who seeks the world beyond the surface, and becomes a product of it, i.e. Soul-adventurer. Just a shadow of the reckoned equinox between two minds, is the shadow of koddesh (Hebrew)-- a separateness, from that which cannot in & of itself instruct us. At least recognizing our solitude in this world, the power of observation will grant exceeding depth to the star showing the gap through which we are exercised, drawn into, & left to appreciate.

Y-H-V-H shalam (Jerusalem)

Words have no solvency in my Higher Ground, so I take the Lawd's name in vain... anyways. While in Jerusalem ('86), my friend & I were staying in this lousy youth hostel, and I, up 'til then, liked the headiness of coming out of situations from smoking cigarettes or pot (& in this case we had done a hit of blotter a piece--I promise I am not advocating using), because it gave me a sense of being impelled to do something different now that the later moments had arrived--& anything with direction or movement was bound up in positivist vibrations--mine & how I was tied into some worldly abstraction. The thing I noticed in dwelling on such a small world was how loud my inner voice seemed in galloping toward assumptions, that of release. I would be like, damn if I could smoke now this place wouldn't seem to be such a drag anymore, instead of seeing the diversity in the change of my conditions, as mundane as they seemed to be -- like figuratively sitting before the wall, in order to gather its relevance. Man, I want those walls now / its a better fight than the one against oneself.*****
Some thing vital was needing expression, but unformed in my mind's eye then-at age 21. Intrinsically I felt a need to attempt at conceiving what about me was Jewish in identity, as a young person. I could not draw upon an experience & just say, yes that is what makes me Jewish. So now I'm left with the desire of desperation's brain--desperate to get to the abundance of experience in a way that the void of ignorance would seem negligible. This takes active thinking, & reaction to the outward fact, which means nothing unless one becomes an observer, and believes in its value to your condition i.e. complacency. Yes, but my whole point starts out with being without experience (e.g. not having a Bar Mitzvah, like my 3 bros.) and with a goal of essential clarity--a desire to make it right. But this is the grit of knowledge as advantageous w/o any need for a particular balance between extremes, (say living in a chasm straddling secular on one hand, religious on the other). No decision (or conflict assumed) meant immersion, rather than bouyancy. The bottom of the ocean has just as much vitality as the gravid waves.

Scat-MAN on the Tube

Feeling less than essential, watching Valerie's expression of duty at her new entrepreneurship--definitely in those few moments I want action to multiply, but I'm looking inward as if I hold her at a deep resolve; looking to the corner windows, that now happen to be open, I fly out to the gravid world with nothing to match it. I fill up watching her, but I don't peak, so there is no verb to perform the effulgence of this contrast. I think about the nights adding up--over at her former bosses' house, watching the dogs (& now). We were watching The Shining there, and crows on my shoulders seemed to help me project into the cover of distracted moments in the house where I grew up. I remember thinking Dad's reasonable response, or not, to a certain amount of utility stress I seemed immersed in & no different than his daily deconstructing of identity, had leveled the endurance I had in balancing between my schizophrenia, & my clarity on the other extreme. The capacity to intuit fates beyond your control*, so hopefully if we're true to Kharmic law=all of them, seems more & more probable & realized as time goes on. I'll assume this is because we created benchmarks of otherness--those who we have begun to project their sense of things too. At a certain point, its the only promise of the movement of our spirit into materiality.
* Midnight's Children is excellent on this reference

The SPIRITUAL man is mad/ Tic Toc Teac

A mystic may say: go sit at the right hand of G-d, Be at His throne. G-d may say: you've entered the 7th heaven, didst thou expect to be absorbed into the Whole (cosmos)? "But Dharma, my dog, had me follow Him, this was Right thinking," Arjuna of the Bhagavad Gita, might say. G-d would say: Your body is the Temple, seek G-d Within, & the Light of Judgment & mercy will be found ...thinking (see Krishnamurti) is the addiction of thieves, they are only concealed because they remain at a distance. ---If you were to see the stones, you'd have no reason to throw them. The stones lie at the town's edge. Villagers perspiring in the dust collected as a seal upon any advance beyond the communities' measure. One Organism. Dust motes taunt me to swing verbs of contentment, in the air, in the basement. By the window, looking at the philosophy that held one race superior--but the individual knows better. No movement, legs akimbo. A tractor sleeps a blue slumber this morning. We dreamt it still runs, but nature will subvert plastic energy: there is only a dream to make it run. **** How do we justify the frenetic moment? There is of course release--& release is a way of life, just as internalizing our experience is just as much a response to the indulgence of experiential knowledge, whatever that may be - like relationship, or book smarts, or how we take in a vista of landscape, which is making up the pattern where we spend most of our time. But we have motives, and to let go of these symptoms (e.g. motives) of the outward fact is opting to reflect on how we make the scene (just talking about observation here). Why does the frenetic moment make us so unstable as to forgive intentions, and behave desirous of decision making, to which we are addicted? Nothing is the result of nothing i.e. confusion is the result of the wealth of stimulants to which we are addicted. The message here is to stop coordinating & planning etc. "Some people have hopes & dreams, some people have ways & means." (--Bob Marley, from Survival)

That which I READ, & its GOAL

AS I absorb these histories, I begin to suss* out the typical alluding to what, & why the researcher's style divulges the concept. Like vignettes I am responding in kind, as if I hold out for just so long, & then I know someone has directed me to move on. (interval-thinking) My counselor read something of mine & said it was poetic, a common critique of my material. I said I can't put it in a varied form to convey the ideas in any other way. Dr. Memsophi was like, true, because it would put variable rules on your intentions. But my intentions change, nevertheless. I cut into the fat sould of plenty that is my ignorance, willingly, to prove an Ultimate Reality is the concourse of the Mind. The seething infra-structure of my city, or any particular one, & seeing the mess of masses move throughout, are refractions of moments of the unbearable likeness of being. The tree we characterize as a reflection in identity-personified, is too simple--now I am literally PEOPLE, wholeheartedly the "group," & I burn in their vision-scape, no longer in their fray, but frenetically in the migrant mind-sore.
* a Rastafarian or Jamaican term, =to find out. Ras=Head, tafari=creator