Thoughts Feelings & Actions are allegory to Higher Ground

"At this point, you are still making the choices, but you are needlessly burdening yourself with the idea that there is a right choice out there to make, and if you don’t take it, then you have made the wrong choice and will suffer the consequences." THis is crucial and very well developed point in Krishnamurti's discussions. In the river of sight we see our peers move from point A to point B. Thus we think and assert ourselves in the fray where the action is. Now we are goal oriented as if to obtain that figment of intent we associate with normative circumstances. If we thought for a moment we'd see there is no norm. That it is observable that the other is answering for you, takes discipline to say it is good enough they do things for themselves, yet you have no place to be. Here is where I wonder at certain avenues of thought folks encourage toward nostalgia: if someplace is a comfort and sense of security otherly, we may be leaving a piece of ourselves somewhere in the bidden past. The now emerges, the past must be projected forward in the pattern of what this life has become, rather than maintaining a belief we should encourage the illustrative thought into the corner we look out from... In the corner is necessarily NOT in the middle of the room where the potential is greater.
What we have become is asking What is this Life Become, Not what is happening to me so that somehow collusion of our strange straits must be answered for... Start with I AM, & all else follows:
If I carry around with me an answer to my human archetypal sense of relationship, then the mother of the womb that ensured a departure of her consciousness into mine, is this answer NOW in the form of relationship= mother, father whatever!!

But the mother image has to be antediluvian, because I knew her before I knew myself. & father is purely experiential, had I ever bothered to look.
Honestly, it sounds like a cop-out but when I used to smoke a little herb sit in all kinds of uncomfortable positions for long intervals, it is emotionally cathartic...spending the currency of all the frenetic day in that conscious albeit physical/body conscious moments. I liked that, yet even now tho' those conscious pockets say late at night seem as enduring hypnotic, as I think about it now--and a certain Buddhist read will avail my day going forward here momentarily, & makes me feel very comfortable in my own skin. This is the precise affect I am talking about--and no smoking is necessary. According to Dalai Lama's writing in this book AN OPEN HEART, meditation can be had without the requisite (seemingly) mantra & tuning out motive. (mantra is prosaic formulae per ritual) Meaning, he says, what we do as alliterative beings, before his book, is a thing called Analytical Meditation. Just as worthy as any other. I read in his or K. Armstrong's book as well, that Meditation does not lead to compassion, rather a more acute memory... We are not these illustrated thoughts in a thread from point A a particular epiphenomenal fact to point B now projecting that wave now crashing upon the nomenclature of the mind. "THought" is dissolute & all thought is fear, because we seek self-preservation in the current of our "expectation" in the river of sight.
I mitigate loneliness: I stick my nose in a book & I call it a currency of a kind of expression of who I am. I sit here at work & do this as if I am forlorn in the woods where the (real) People are the trees & I am destined to wander. I look down to the earth (the book), it seems to block out the rays of the majesty & penetrating Solarity, I am turning toward something however, I am convinced. Everything I do, wanting to achieve, begs the question,” who will pick up the tab”—I’ll be left wanting that much more, so the answer is always forth-coming: I will pick up the tab!!. Staying up late, a reckless life-style means looking forward to release, so digging deeper into the earth means I’ll bring up more terra-cotta to scatter into the winds, that dissect the earth, blow in my face with scorn-- because a regimen is interrupted—the one suggestive of time well spent. It can be a worthy distraction too, to awaken to the fragmented mind as is our usual condition & the condition we ought not assume its lessening control over our actions. Dostoevskii’s monk sips the vodka, eats the pork--a change is at hand, he saw it, this is against his Orthodoxy ways: his elder rots as he lay dead, so something in life rots (interpreted thusly). There is a world around us, take it in & blow hard. We just need to keep turning-- I don't really get very lonely...I have a lot of solitarian time, as compared to social release & expectation.
No CREATOR, NO meaning, heart OPen Diamond Mind LIGHT STEP~~~

YOGA = to yoke, harness... Mantra is an interesting subject; if you take certain words having antecedents with a unique sense of community as it will become reductive, and we thus are indicated in the baring out of the moments in alert repose--you can get that fly-wheel spinning so that time & place fulminate, and consciousness seeks light. But, mantra is not always necessary, according to two very different practitioners of meditation. I think mitigating your mantra was Crowley's point in BOOK 4, his only relevant read I have come across: from nursery rhymes and obviously the typical AUM. The idea being if you meditate upon Nothing Nothing is its provenance thence. And like what is said in Dalai Lama's book, thinking on "these" things doesn't make you subject to emptiness, as dissociation manifestly will be less of a complaint--that analytical meditation gives you a subject to develop.
Trying to draw in adherents is precisely against the Buddhist's intent. We in the West somehow want to spread equality thru clinging unto belief, & if they can't admit that, then our problems are incindiary visions of the mental apostate's less than compassionate moral polity, breaking the back of those who struggle from those deceptions.
^^**I read about the pre-Aryan reality of Harappa & Mohenjo-Dara (North-western India)=they had some talisman looking like a Shiva god, and this community may have been developing ideas that Hinduism had become. The Aryans coming into the Sind may have recognized certain value in some of their gods, the perennial philosophy placing the gods subject to the same stresses and appeasement as the community of believers incur here in temporal reality...: What happens above happens below!!

Eli Eli Lamach Sabachtani!!

OK, to run with the Ignorance is Bliss thang: A Rasta biblacy adage I heard lyricked is, A Man shall not know his Covenant. Taking back the obvious entrenched traditional standard, and just looking at what it is we shan't be mindful of,... I have a thought that this is only a saying in the attempt to measure the far flung reality that we must respond nee' (in their view) must respect some kind of mystery or musterion (sacrament) that a life well lived without the sentient greed of reward and after-life expectation, we'd just do our karmic best... That it is construed that the bible thumpers live for a heavenly reward, is not the responsible assertion of those professing a kind of razor's edge, yet in theism. It certainly isn't acceptable in Jewish thought to do anything meritable for a gain of some blessing in expectation of a World-To- COme. So, if we peer thru the mess of concretized belief & ritual, it still makes sense, to act rather than Think upon your world apart. Gandhi says something to that affect.
***Let me get to an essential point in the discipline, so important to anyone wanting self-actualization thru release. Take this man who was enlightened, a mensch, even superstitious yet open to personal transformation at the expense of merely accepting hard & fast tradition... while accepting that too, Gandhi!! He in fact believed the Jews were too bound up in legalism at the expense of a sense of spirituality or rather at the expense of lingering on ancient iconic beliefs with little relevance today... Of course, Gandhi could have been wrong in a general sense, under that sway, but as to living with the Other, what obviously would he do endlessly to bridge the radical departure of one community from having compassion for another? He'd work everyday to find just one other way to accept them. Pretty humble, huh? The lesson is plain, a thing many haven't learned--and not glittered as in reception and long awaited communion with what one can reach for from a certain POWER Spot. Our sacred room is one, Al-Aqsa is another, under the right eve of facing the Wailing Wall is where the Shekhina is suppose to emanate--certainly very powerful to find oneself reflecting skyward here. It is the places in-between, the temporal kingdom, that Judaism emphasizes. That means, dealing with the now+One World, many people upon its face, yet soulfully inter-dependent had we looked. WE are only talking about identity=usually, so next we need to make a hard decision about the "Other." Judaism doesn't have to wait because their neighbor's instinct is as grave as our own to finesse Higher GRound from mutual resources. From same Source, from the same G-d under the guise of different names... Especially at this strange dispensation. In the end,as Elie Wiesel subscribes, our suffering is only between You & G-d alone...anybody's else doesn't lessen your responsibility to grasp your duty to learn from it. And anyone suffering in our proximity is that duty to self.
******Acid? next...the knowledge born of mental strain!! The last dose I took now 20 yrs ago, had night-dreams in daylight, & blue filmy thought bubbles palpably painting of its own volition my sideways glances. How possible do you think it is, if your won one avenue of visualization, so nonchalant, starts to be found in places outside your normative weight of corporeal hulking thoughts... & rather in the intermediary space, which used to prevail with your freedom of consciousness? In other words they are found in other astral entities? Now thought gets stolen in the valley of decision, this is why pointing our emotional responses to things previously controlling us is the only transcendence we may know. Saying we Know, isn't enough--saying I feel I know that I know...is the heart in humanity redemption. We pivot at pitches from frenetic days, and somehow we allow desire to shout down intensity... intensity is a stream like a voice scrawled lightning babel from conversation that is our ancient dialogue, "Our Yoke is Light--yoga like some Shakya yogan's early sense of seeking release..." That some yoga practitioners were of the mind that there is no after-life, show the wisdom (generally "knowledge") of what we may observe conditionally, that life is just for a little while--why strive (dukka) over a mystery? THe Zen thing about gods (so, in the Buddhist sense=states of mind equals the gods' relevance) I thought of as a youth was, can a Higher Power put a thing-bigger into the context of something proportionately smaller? Well, a black hole answers that, and if we are "light" bodies, then consciousness is contained from emanations of a greater conscious entity... But, I digress. In terms of being a challenge to your easily prone habits, when do you become imbued with overstanding a force with the least resistance, from yourself? (have you the knowledge of that pattern of behavior?) Value statements are run of the mill, the grist of the mill is rather making the path of least resistance the most fulminate awakening any one moment can offer. Dulling your senses with --"whatever"--is an easy thing to assess. If I asked, can you give me peace of mind? the guru might challenge, What controls you? My answer would be, Nothing!! The guru says, then what do you seek? Not, rather, you've been liberated in all your knowing--Because of course awareness (or knowledge of self) is a process...
**Guru or some archetype teacher I gleaned from a new dawn fading...**
Mural on the wall to my left--an ancient Semite 'pon his magic carpet, and his view thru its flipped draping convened by a window painted in it. I'd listen to the poet Dylan Lay Lady Lay, or I Want You, and my present circumstance was consonant then. Mark (my oldest brother) had a GI Joe net laid down from the top of the dresser mirror, obfuscating my image with rather star-fish & coral. I'd implore Dylan to move me more..."you're almost there, man," I'd think. I'd start a dialogue, "you know a lot folks feel reached by you, & because I know so little of myself--having been lopped off a world of conscious satellites, way away from a field at play in my own mind, if you gave me Word now, it would never be diluted with the masses...because I just can't know them!!" To open up to relationship is usually to find disappointment that nothing was on offer to receive, so the tent-poles of consciousness collapsing in upon me, at least made the vacuum intruded upon as if... Something banging those interior facade-like mind shores, and I was just going throw whatever seemingly like an "everywhen" in limitless long distances between me & he who'd know. On the blue Greatest Hits album, his head wizened and in profile, the expression expected as all faces are translators & masks--is the Buddhist perspective--had a glimmer of self-emulation yet nothing but white light as the prism though which I'd look. "Muttering small talk at the wall, while I am in the hall"--is to the affect Dylan comes with in Visions of Johanna. This stuttered position one peer right out of the midst of the other, speaking otherness apropos for a mind possessed of this woman, perhaps in whose house we are remaining in corridors... Heated-conditions of forced thought scenarios, is the refrain of what loneliness heralded for me, above Two Keys pub , as I waited for my then girl-friend to walk out her apt. door, me in prone state above in an empty loft...nervous, forsaken, the certain end ready to be my bitter pill toward a new convalescence. I could hear her fish tank gurgle as the wee hrs waned, salt on my lips, and empty pockets--no sweet livations, as if I could reprove my peerless wandering. I enter her place when she goes to her common bathroom, undress and get in her bed as Geraldo's am. talk show sheds boisterous uneven daily continuum feelings that I had so badly wanted to jettison... The first step to take unto raw spent extremely fragmented existence was this baby step away from her comforts I'd never appeal to again. These visions of her have conquered my mind.

NEXT STOP: MANIFESTATION, Wide-Open in No-MIND

Think of all your enemies, then the patience bore of the apathy maintained when within the theatre of the mind --like "the little box at the top of the stairs" (Neil Young's lyrics) at home, the imagining of his eyes is less concealed now that the philo-air is the white smoke of deep exhalation. Breath in the black smoke exhale the white, as is the Buddhist way of release from uncertain distraction. Just as inevitably all thought will reconcile with an amiable world, he'd be the guru trying to compete with your last breath, but it was just so. So, you'll see the higher you climb the more you are exposed. And to be exposed to knowledge as a vehicle for transition in just long ends of our days, is the only real choice we have. But the surprise is, I may have a right to say self-actualization banter is captured in a way that after having read so much of Karen Armstrong to Edward Said's profound indulgence in recording his people's identity--and I am so alighted with the great pains folks go thru FOR identity, that others like Rushdie in the fantasy Hindu Islamism of Bombay for one locus of the immensity in Indian consciousness, as good as Nabakov under his parents instruction, make me go-down or waft to the commission of incredulity at the simplicity of life.

It seems for those who seek transcendent values so separate from their fellows, had better have that ascetic tool they use to pry the episteme of relevance, as they repose at the "bottom of the sea" in the human market place, rather than make haste with self-actualized moments to leave the "other" behind--say away from its shores, or just from its surface splurb & plash. Tolstoy, in narrowing this necessary social condition, imminently decided that to write was better under the prevailing public square to make the best of all possible worlds to the exclusion of inner-mutiny--or unsatisfied self-reverence.
Native American ritual as pagan is not to the exclusion of what is worthy of my ascetic wandering. But Native Americans in my perspective, as if, let's say the example of the Anasazi were developing - this thing as a people in that history barely giving backward glimpses in their worlds so unknown, is such that they were fearing change and the unknown & reverting to cannibalism, and would have been better had they instead decided not to expend resources to justify the ascetic purchase of more of the same. No festival to imagine an Unknown Shall Provide, would have been the more advanced survivalist polity. Rather utility in language to discourse over just those cloudy ethereal ways to get to the existential. This "separation" from superstition --as it traduces the very communal ideal that survival is now at hand, can be looked at thru iconoclasm. This is what helped Jews when they said, G-d is Nothing, yet life is a material-Void/ Ein-Sof, an Absolute. Too often the Adherent wants to say a "There is There," that Creation is contained in any one self-conscious moment. I heard recently an interesting way to perceive the Ultimate Reality: If G-d is Ineffable, then maybe his Creation is as unseen. Independent thought allows religion to proliferate, in opposition with tradition which lends its dissapation, otherwise we'd diffuse into the middle of stream. Ijtihad is the Islamic jurisprudence that allows the Mu'min to adapt to the availing conditions, unrealized & un-noticed before. The gathering of resources is sometimes not the acquisition of those material supports, but the alliterative path where ideas are proliferated from just the fond existence of those resources--our seeking is instructive enough.
THinking about the conscious party man. Jesus, Muhammed, the Jewish Messiah, or the prophet Adam Kadmon are looked at like the Perfect Man. But, Buddha was a type: many Buddhas before and after Sidhartha.(Siddhatta in Pali--the oldest of Buddhist liturgies) Here's where I am going with the archetypes--Jesus/fine; Socrates, so much like Krshnamurti that I find thoughtful resolve that touching the earth in some ancient day is mine for the caress; and then obviously Buddha, because he stokes individualism yet not at the expense of ubiquitous pain in our world(s) of sorrow...because to find wisdom is sometimes mitigating life, and rather death is embraced. Karen Armstrong, in her "Bio" of Buddha, called Buddha--has mentioned Jesus & the gospels a few times already in her intro. This is a small delicate book. I read something Dalai Lama put out--so understated, I find it dubious, so accessible and wonder if it is meant for me. But it is, I am--and Unity thru Mind & Body is spirit & expression objectified. I deal handily with self expression in that latest blog piece... good vibe for you man, I have fulminate consciousness with your company, somehow, at the moment... In Judaism, the messiah is an agent for g-d, a good-doer, not something divine. Our prophets typically have flaws--this is really very exemplar to what our human condition is like for most of us. Those who are positive thinkers, sometimes see amenities as a survey in propriety. Yet, thru a life without conflict in finding resources, can also make us more prone to what others must answer for: when I see my stress drift away, rather than lie in dormancy, I'd rather animate my comfort thru meditation. Meditation is not said to make one more compassionate, but memory becomes more acute--so the surprise of responsibility (and that can be for the other) doesn't catch us with that remanded pattern.Nirvana (nibbana in Pali) is suppose to be what it is like after a heavy workout ordeal, with that skim of perspiration now cooling your body--coming down from the mt, so to speak, when after the report of the mountain's path disappearing we automatically become fixated in destiny again. I am guessing, we are now Looking-forward, rather than "what has this tramatic self-involvement done to me?" i.e. looking back! Convalescence is in point of fact what Buddha considered as our greatest sense of actualization. Battle already over, healing is become our predilection... Reading to the effect in Karen Armstrong's "Buddha" a bio!!! Just beautiful!!
***I am really motivated in this direction. All things being equal, this Buddhist trajectory I am on instructs me toward (people'd pantheon) relationship finally in a way I was not so sure of til now. I Liked when I read that even gods were susceptible to samsara, the endless cycle of birth & death. And that gods were states of mind in fact--as we ought to look at Higher Ground as THAT proximal... In Dalai Lama's book AN OPEN HEART, so accessible, makes the point that analytical meditation, that it is not just a ritual act as in mantra repetition, but is everything to do with putting before you some subject that you'd consider as deeply and fully as you can maintain... If you meditate on nothing, nothing is its proffer i.e. "gom" (Tibetan) or "hitbodedut" (Hebrew) = "meditation" have a construed motive either personal or some conscious map allowing merely a communal body un-approximated as that thing in which I am piece-meal received.

IF I am in exile_,then how else would Coltrane stand alone^?

I just watched Deepak Chopra's utube vid, MY yoke is Easy, MY burden is Light. So, I ask how is it that we access these ideas about self-realization without having to set a standard? He will be using certain language, sometimes seemingly entertaining notions that may in fact be second nature, because the language is all too familiar. But, letting go of the sense that what he says is anything Other than immediacy, must be the intent as the event of such dialogue compels us to self-scrutiny. If anything, we are laughable appearances, and since we can only manifest what Is, the surface demonstration of mundane dialogue, even if we don't seek, but remain alert, becomes a conscious prop. That someone as adept as he can turn shadow to light, just through inertia & creative sincerity, makes me look at what would otherwise be the bubble of experience around him as my jumping off point... That ground is become the floor of consciousness, and once we see that no standard need avail expectation, the imaginative narrative takes over. When he speaks, my grandfather speaks...when he looks for the right word, I imagine what Gandhi & Elie Wiesel had in common, a thing called talk-embarrassment, which is when we know the observer feels over-wrought...and the awakened sense, if we were to ask, may be otherwise of "fullness," rather than his/her fragmentation... "Torpidity" (to create a spin on fragmentation) is rather an opportunity, opting for compartmentalization of non-linear details, rather than objecting to potent confusion... Looking inward leaves us with half-thoughts, mere expectation...this is a fragmentation of what is also observed in the Outward fact, that nothing much portends continuity. For a moment we feel the dialogue with the likes of Chopra is something we can reciprocate...that we equal the Outward fact tells that continuity is fleeting: I'd suggest equality is Not a state of mind. Rather, making value statements is the first mistake on our way to the Compassionate Void (EIN-sof). Look at that, perhaps, and say, what we are in relationship with in any one moment IS good enough. ***Natalie Goldberg's The LONG LONESOME HIGHWAY is fantastic & motivating. I wrote my thoughts about her creating that moment for me. Something to the affect, that her lavender mood takes over like the bee-catching bird, creating a new animate architecture in the sky-line over-taking... Just as a blue mood all androgyne portends that I could be reached, even from that which I remit no control, nor desire to control, this ascetic woman in auspicious dialogue with those requiring so little material resource... In resourceless moments, one is more exposed--and that would be when thoughts are elevated in the great heights we climb, to gain objectivity. After all, it is meditation she speaks to, & so eloquently about--and conscious space thru our sensory solvency, has that distance between point A =me in free fall, & point B =her, in the guise of the Known where I want to be received. So, androgyne may be strange way to depict this sense. But the inter-play of two mutually arising & contrasting experiences, in Kabbalah, is of an erotic nature... The word used is ZIVUG, an intercourse of attributes, energies. Knowledge, da'ath, is the result of being the convergence of the inter-play of the sefiroth/energies. Being able to look at convenient language used by those we feel who herald the sense we imbibe from our religious values, is what is called a standard. To withdraw from what we strive to have answer for us--authority & their power of ideas, is how we observe its power to make identity dissolute. G-d withdrew from his self in order to make room for creation. Withdrawing would be a negative state, looking at it!! The ideal to find ourselves in relationship with Higher GRound, is thru apophasis. Thru silence a dialogue ensues. Two seemingly opposing ways to find one's self in self-realization. Unrealized Self or consciousness is identity, but not as an objective truth where identity can be maintained. When the spirit which makes us imbue our condition with tangible language, proves we cannot any longer sequester time, we see then the obverse of self-expression as symbolic all the same. Language or its teleological proof "voice," exists only because it is one aspect of soul--that being part of the body & mind. But, as it may occur to us the theophany exists as an entity apart, Higher Ground by any other name is off this planet...: our voices are led astray, I mean. And while in these moments as linear flow of consciousness these strewn words demands the receiving ground, our interlocuttor, on this limb where we now get pinned, is penned "change" that has nothing to compel us other than the feeling of freely falling like a turbillion of victuals in its preparation (stirring the proverbial pot), yet unserved. That what we typically consume is having managed gluttony & self-servitude, ...so when words stand alone in corridors of thought, we can be restrained by knowing merely expectation & potency. This iS better, lest you be believed & your easy-speak changed someone's mind. LIKE a Nun in her habit, whatever she can say about G-d, is acquiesced to liturgy where no god can be found. Appearances are penetrated only when one is objective over the formula, that somehow we cease spending our dialect with-what-is *on its spectacle.* ***
. We want a sense of our potential--a way to self-adulate: mind, body, and rather than spirit as we have seen, expression instead--which in terms of sublimating our experience, is the most profound. It is particularly interesting to me thinking about my ole, now passed, Grandfather. The images he'd draw up to yield toward the outward fact, somehow where less imagined, thusly I began to think there was a there there. If our spirit is the chi or essence of the godhead's representative on earth, that of the primordial man, then at a certain point that sense, or example of some extremity form of Him, is measurable i.e. the image is no longer hidden beneath the veil of materiality, but becomes the most realistic of what is gathered, perhaps in a dialogue. So Zadie as its maintainer, a maintainer of the Absolute. Just his name Abraham, the thing submitted to in light of a name's import--a duty to one's humility because the herald of his name brings on a certain responsibility. This was a way of filling in the spaces where identity wouldn't otherwise cross water... In Judeo-Arabic to "submit" to the title by which we should be known is called koniyah. The root of this word is "yes, or to yield."
Remember that song by Coltrane called Soul Eyes. Something begins to do the thinking/ perceiving for you in its current. It seemed to be lyrical, & there was no word-accompaniment. Coltraning in like a long yawn of vox-cognita streaming toward the head of divulged self-actualization, the prince at the end of trodding that corridor of self-hood, remains lost in a labyrinth which he will never leave--expression and its laconic ordeal. He thinks he witnesses his loss--that he'd be able to bridge his feeling with the then numinous, if only because some thing has made it through, and keeps his dilemma tangible. Yet a truth hard fought for, is sometimes excused if only to immerse into the theater of the mind.

ENERGY, a dog bowl, in a garage, gas heater & cigarettes

......bowing out of my own *ahl al-kittab (literally People of the Book) moment while a determination in being *someone somewhat *literate is unfortunately unsated by stretched-thin-spans of authorial anthropology like my book's pages were read by some barely passable surrogate=as if passively the semblance of me experiences historicity--thus my point about not being an ahl al-kittab adherent, rather I became a man of no books (lower case "bs"in contrast with the Book, which is a somewhat different focus than this ideal iconoclasm)... This is when I was literally on the street, making our garage there on Williamsburg (now the current owners made it into a room) into my temporary personal space, very temporary--stark nevertheless, so I laid out on the autumnal cool exuding cement floor, betting the next day that security & domesticity would come tumbling down, "it is just going to happen," yet not trying to define "it" exactly--so I'd be prone & facing whatever. I lit cigs from a heater in there, while looking out the back door's window at a moon spiritually true. The maples taking over as allies, easily, & if Mind were G-d, trees are the moment in self-scrutiny, the reflection of vertical mutually arising, arriving like a yard recalcitrant in its promise that after its grooming we just keep saying, "I want it to go like that!" And yet it is LIKE that, still after matriculation we think to affirm the convention--"I want it to look like that,"...& no voice says, "but it is like that." "There is NO becoming."
The gloss of night's air made me think of X-mas, and sensing night at all made me imagine blue hues, so that something of a more familial force could be reckoned, maybe Hanukkah...& a countered thought, just meant the season, like a tree that giveth forth fruit & the harvest festival of life: So, Life!! But I was in shallows, sooo shallow that the report of a fealty to my mystic notions were rather leaving me as a shapeless mass, no energy to experience body consciousness and experienced-forms, no energy meant solitude losing its pay-off.
The sun is turning out of blue, & I know the sun is calling & the spirit is the moon: I derive my own vision of these few words accorded to elevated thought. A deflated ball is the sun & winter-time soon would have the pleroma in this event; the world is a desert/a void (& abundant). The Hebrew word can be one & the same. Possibly dreamt in my denuded repose, a boat on a windless lake, dimming dusky evening & a guy is laying in the boat upon the deep: a dream within a dream, this all being dreamt by a youth who feels personified by the image of an Uncle, the youth is possibly the one in the boat whose common name with the uncle is being called out. While he lays there in a half-dream state, slightly aroused as he will be up ready for the day soon, he smells the fresh squeezed orange juice being made in the kitchen in the other room. Now he dozes off again & three oranges are presented to him, rolling off a plate, across his pillow & onto the floor. This is the day of my youth he thinks = embodied. At the edge of the lake are rolling hills & a forest of life. From the hilltop, he'll begin to over-take a trail through the forest, at once under-foot, but the first step recalcitrant in his thoughts. Where I'm headed I have no idea, but the direction means multiply, "All I have is a path!" he says. Now he catches himself looking down at each footstep taken, he could be walking in place & yet. This is the self-hyponoses sung about, I have heard: the ground is magnificate & I am at the top of the world. He thinks, the thing about dreams is your having perceived that the world is moving around you, you are a quiet-static moment, & you'll sense THAT when looking at the observer in that moment as things move in flux! The content of my goal are only the elements I gather from this trail, and I'll know my destiny as long as my first step remains the singular advantage it purports itself to be. "Forest of life underfoot"**.Patti Smith's words from R. Gere's book Pilgrims

**^^Feeling "deserted," in haunts from lying on a garage floor in exquisite dust to a view into a city I once visited, having dust strewn across its gray antiquated presence:

For me--as to the day ahead of me, now a couple of days, I had hit a void in concentration. --I read really phantasmal Egyptian Coptic relationship with the first Muslim suzerainty then in the 600s, in al-Kahira =the "Victorious", Cairo, & particularly a small beginning part of that metropolis called Fustat... Someone told me recently, the Copts were heavily congregated of former Jews. This Judeophile friend thus may feel this sort of affinity with we Jews, knowing the correlation in our convergent histories. (history IN focus) Fustat whose name, according to this author may have come from the Greek=fussaton, meaning "ditch"--and this could have been a region's characteristic. No one knows, but the conversation I appealed to was a meandering transect of images of loam having human occupancy. It is precisely the tabla rasa caused by inertia when I've given up to the elation of over-standing just what it is before me: that being a conscious map, damned fascinating, but little long term intellectual yield--at least unforgiving sense that something still needs to be articulated. Really imagistic active reading, but I "give-up" to it too easily, rather than parsing what fulminate potential my mind has... Still, it is worth it--my motive is plain.
Cyrus and then Benjamin, the first then second patriarchs of the Copts when the Arab Muslim took control exacting taxation just as Rome & Constantinople, gave in rather quickly to Muslim Arab control. Dhimmi status for Jews and Christians, tho' we could have been in better stead--conditionally. Greek only going out of use slowly over that century, then the gov. using Arabic as well as absorbing Greek episteme (think: da'ath) as they saw what the Christians typically did not--that being "the wisdom of the wise"--to quote their apostle Paul, ought not be killed (the Christian ran from Jewish midrash i.e. the gospel saying KILL the wisdom of the Wise). This proclivity to advance rationalism is a trait we'd been in parallel paths with the Muslims, then & for many centuries.

EXISTENTIAL, with BLUEGRASS Airport a Stone's Throw Away

Have you ever felt someone insinuates themselves in a way that eclipses that mundane venue a moment proffers? That is, you're quite sure this idealic domestic moment had been more cathartic til principals, like the 10s of relationships we have, make the time passage eclipsed. Like when it is become good enough to be reduced to a domestic task, yet when we consider having a reductive ambient transition--this duty to say "all is colluded with a chore otherwise just a merely lonesome broom," has your pantheonic acquaintance sit upon the spectral-look in comfortable self-scrutiny, recruiting you with recalcitrance--"you've gone ahead, yet left me behind...!" If anyone is left behind, none other than you is the vacancy. True we can find immediacy--but what proof do you walk away with that says, "but a dreamt day before you, is the current in a river of sight that has an infinite signature signed under a world in duress...," & meanwhile we've but risen into supernal langour, the room's fan is alight upon the same axis we call our center. But what is now is answerable as anything that takes antecedental facts, people places things...the exquisite dust as under the feet of strangers holding court--but the observable now is what in the end gets denied. Terribly at home in our head, in my mind--a fine mind, on some occasion after having read Isaac Babel's Red Calvary=about the Cossacks, I walk from the furthest point in our 1/2 acre back yard toward the porch, to proceed to unwind the collective thoughts needing the path of the long ends of the day, disabusing boredom. The sense of trees blowing in the trend the day makes replete in absurd patterns, the sentience from birds over-coming making a sky-line a new animate architecture, this "Now" is without any lag-- dreamed as was personas of self saying you belong - and are belonging thru self-preservation. Yet the now must relinquish that it is insoluably going to go away: meaning maybe it doesn't!! In the backyard, under this pretense I had then seen descended before me a footstep or two ahead me, Mom--like she was heralding this alliterative repose--is what I adduced in cosmogony, if sociologically we saw the connection to linear thought & how thru literacy "holistic-anthropos" had gotten mismanaged, marginalizing the feminine spirit. Thus, maybe I'd champion the fragmented academe that "now" was the life I lived & become--at the bottom dregs in a floor of consciousness. Is it hallucination if at the furthest reaches of ocular phenomenon, one affects a sense of symbolism in his immediacy...?--a thing, chosisme in French, projected!! The dull abiding of my spirit usurped, then with motive as prone as I'd already become to the nation of One(self), is laughable that such marginal awareness in affectation can have the pivot of student-of-life submitted to a common back-yard, under simple maples, by a garden run-down, and future in the advent of repair.
**the old-world having become recognizable**
She supposed I should at least make a gesture to acknowledge her: she was wearing her midnight blue polyester blouse with little bougainvilla flowers--so I jumped up, more of a skip actually, at her giant self & plucked one from her back. Her gift, or the sun's surmise of my sentient greed to be subsumed by the first bookcase my mind characterized...gathering the concept of a lexicon in sleepy consciousness where I reside in her house.
What is not in this, is a lax measure of male to female
> circumstance, as if to imagine someone like their
> gender succeeds his/her humanity--it doesn't, humanity is
> primary. Then I thought, precisely, my Mom was, as
> such, in her element to be friend & woman
> archetype, noticing her out on the limb of
> recollection, she'd be wallpaper to my
> daydreams...always there in my curfew to imbibe
> restraint & kindness, and mostly there in the
> seance of fleeting details behind the
> transcendental bridge of awareness. I shove
> irreconcilable notions that I see past lives of
> my significant other--Valerie--as Mother all-the-
> same/maybe the one--yet not really, into a philosophical box
> every bit just what I'd accord as something
> inevitable--& submitting that we switch off as teacher &
> student anyway... & in anyway familial.