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.