ASANA (position) to Pranayama--prana=breath, yama=prohibit

I have a poison head-ache but feel alright--it's like night time is contiguous w/ dark symbolic thoughts of construed mysterions/mystic identification. In the tension I get a body conscious sense like it corresponds to lucid moments when walls have come down around me--almost imperceptible at the moment, but I've committed it to a self-understanding. The sounds arrive from without & I have co-ordinate thoughts policed by torpor. Torpor constructive as full-up senses yield to it from prohibitive breathing. It is all compassion and an appeal to the desire for my reckoning, however it may come. No hope. Only a stretch of path, made plain as if the Metatron drags my carcass to Higher Ground: Metatron proscribes & manifests the Greater Will--think Thoth in terms of Will.
For a story in truth see "Bug day... (gloom chic)." -- the March entry

Shem/JAPHET & their issuance

If time spent from point A., people in conversation around me w/ interests varying about Semitic studies, to point B., now when I entertain these ideas & unfortunately exposed to a bookish sensitivity to it--then there is a vessel with a kind of transient content in it from which is poured into an awaiting paradigm: the things of my experience, making them representative of this interest. (Though I can construct very little else to give me a basis of more of the same.) *** You know I get used to seeing some of the same ideas! al-Lah, as in El; Sanskrit as being the Hindu divine language--Greek & Latin, supposedly not reaching that level--(but why? just because of the vibe of self-actualization Hindi imparts??) Hebrew & Arabic do reach that level. Arabicized ideal of the Unapproachable, suggesting a similarity to our (Jewish) view, but lacking the collusion the Jewish ONe emotes of suffering as we know it. Other stuff stands out like I have been dropped in a foreseen plan. And if you link yourself by saying there is reason enough to know, then that is a broad step towards erudition.

RED river GORGE--HERE IN KY.

Deftly upon a rock I sit down on my haunches without using my hands, a couple of miles into a trail at the Gorge, by myself. I am matriculating with buzzing noise--a noise I always waned at my control at its emanation. I have a peanut-butter sandwich with me, which I eat though I am w/out any hunger to drive away. Up on Coomer's Ridge the forest floor descends before and after on either of its sides of its more determined peak, at the center. I am at the after part. Kerouac's Big Sur is my companion, & only if, if I could close the circle as to why the enclosing woods stands between me & its rescuing peace, I'd get a glance at omniscience--the bloodsport of meditation Kerouac leaves off unrealized by him & absorbed by us, his confidante. His wilderness is a tabernacle of loss; this sound pulsing in my ear gives to me my ineffective solitude, warranted in achieving pace wandering in Daniel Boone's woods. Widening eyes is his descript wakened moment up on some mountain, out West, in another one of his books. The appearance of the eyes, we countenance because the bubble of experience then, made measured words sussing out our kith & kin & friends alike--& they all (those eyes) are before me, like him, readied-explanate, but going away in a breath. (One would have to seek the unresponsive self to understand, as in Big SUR. -or just assume!!)

HERBAL remedy

Over at Howie's, he & I smoked a legal substance, a kind of sage called Salvia divinorum. The only sage plant having hypnotic properties, though ours was standard, one could still get 10x, 20x, 40x, etc.
Lou Reed seems to call OUT the crowd, its intimate persona, by saying heads were rolling on the floor, making him resigned to affability or whatever. I think it is more his having served up his head, like on a plate to those present with a sign in his expression saying, "enter here." The lull due to the herb was moody, not final, not strong, but condusive to subtlety because the sitar music w/ Ry Cooder's country-blues accompaniment made me look to box-in the headiness, which I did & it was gone, except for a dull solitarian night-time thereafter. I'll listen to these ole guys, Dylanesque in vibe (admittedly not exactly like him), and my inner-voice sometimes rails for that activity, saying, "don't leave." I have come or gone at these moments, in an awakening--it's the same thing--I know it is a departure, from what though? Dyaln's wizened, lazy head from his profile (like on that one blue G. Hits album), hid from me the translator-face-- I knew I was being introduced to a master (speaking of adolescence) still would give me no propriety, but wonderment. But this was the talking-head as a placebo, only I could determine thence its expectant mood, I was the drug, now with the other one gone, flushed out--I'm placated with seeking his, or do I just gather the momentum of departure?

Time IS what we NEED

Say in one way reading flow of consciousness type descriptive writing means to you only what the author derives. That can take you as far as enthusiasm allows, but how ever long that is will not suffice. But then take a look around you! There is a measure of ULTIMATE restraint the formidable time & place leaves off diminishing any prescriptive illustration for which you'd want to gain expression. Restraint. Now one would have to break these bounds--& only by actively, mistakenly, & dryly w/ half thoughts proclaim: I AM. For instance, bridging the gap to give security in your disconnect due to your condition. We want unity, and equality is outside of us. (The embellishing psyche always prevails, equality is not a state of mind.) We are enough alike to believe in this illusion (of equality) that your compassion is motivated from the same principles as another. It seemed others held for me the condition of my asceticism: "the rosy-colored mourn of old women" (Kerouac) holding court in the synagogue, & I half expected living in a valley of tongues i.e. under the spell of Aaron's blessing, as he was the one unswayed by miraculous events in this life's report, perhaps in sounds-arriving which I would illustrate, & they collude in a half expected half vainly pursued theophany.---The NOISE of Language. Time & place is a very odd thing (think restraint, again), at a certain point we see people who no longer vibrate on, they may not even define a path for themselves: they fall behind the threshold of time, they become late. These people then yield to & confuse the time element w/ place. They appear in YOUR world as reflections of you, & as individuals (?) who cannot be commiserate with doors in the Unity of mind-space, which have now been blown open. I drove down a treed avenue, a young fellow seemed squeezed out of pain, & therefore come to a peninsula of averages, my reflecting upon-him. Not that one could not observe MORE benignly, but then Aaron was the face looking back at me, and I said to myself, "Aaron," a station I toe-hold just like when I had a paper-route in Cardinal Valley & I walked the streets dreaming-alive the boy asleep back at home with no clue that he'd only be projections of others & cease to make his own gravity. We are in fact all judged with the comprehension of a one-organism consciousness. A black couple now walking behind me, whose feet I noticed stirred nothing on the terra-cognita (my word), had just touched the earth (descending), where I waited with my plans to live up, to be beyond exploiting my body-temple as a tool--...simple animals don't behave like spiritless machines, or if we do we become wisps behind greater ephemeral & AWAKENED BEINGS whose places act as guiding stars, which puncture one's experience had we deigned to ignore its quality.

Concealment

hiddenreceived== apocrypha/kabbalah--now you know! Due to my concealment I am able to bury my heart in the earth of otherness...