SHADOW-PLAY=Jah like that!!!

I once characterized a watchmen over my domicile as a shadowy persona, while dreaming of my repose in dream-state. So, there over against the wall adjacent to my bed was an officer-like guy, like he'd been this hold-out for my feeling that these conscious barriers--manifestly the sense of a kind of power-spot in which I lived, were dissipating
"under the shadows of rescue" is lyricked by Bob Marley in Hallelujah Time off of Burning..."as we go singing, by & by." There is a book about a this Polish reporter's travels in Africa, it is called something interesting implying that the sun has its own shadow, as in something even brighter casts its rays upon a subject sun. I thought about this with a measure of asceticism, and that we can be converged upon by greater things than ourselves...ultimate realities are giving us context & awareness all the time, then "reason" shines a brighter light than the material objectivity we see in the suns immanence. Or rather if we have cosmic consciousness, it emanates from even more immense distances than our claim of even our own sun.
The minor hikes I took thru my neighborhood of my growing-up, took me through Beaumont park, a place of a lot of my changes--where I'd go and read and find reprieve under the boughs of maples, next to an old cistern. On thru the park, sometimes in a few hesitant moments, my only accompaniment was my shadow--and it felt less than auspicious because I had already filtered out self-INflection from the earthy loam of my empty cast in waves of bluegrass. So, what my mind did gather was lighted boundaries around my physical cast upon the ground, around the eyes too!!--yet the rest of the black pith of self was gray grass tethered to what I so vaguely wanted to transcend...
The word kaleidoscope as a descriptive term is never used, seriously I never see it, but it announces a lot of obvious ideation into a compounding hammer=the thud of a construction piece, like language is verbose..., like verging on too much all at once. Rushdie may have used it, but his mural-istic play on words takes me to it, regardless. In Midnight’s Children, the children born on the eve of India’s inception of modern independence, all have strange powers. This one youth can go to the intimate histories of those neighbors & family members whilst their minds have stored these scenarios & they are ambulatory w/ everyday-ness thru his anonymity of his perception . So to imagine someone whose mental imagery is not an equinox of the minds they are projecting consciously, but rather as trails left in innocent pug-marks they’ve not been able to expunge, & therefore as clues & gestures to an ulterior reality. When I was likely exactly 15, my friend & I would climb up on this church roof, across from Lexington School, into its steeple’s roof. So one afternoon public school being out that day & private schools still in attendance, I alone got up in the steeple, but sat in a kind of screened in area below the pinnacle, obfuscated enough from the height & angle that the mothers & their kids couldn’t see me. It all seemed so purposeful. Jolly walking rich brats, some morose ones et cetera, were all lending to my intuitive faculty but not as construal of actually what "they" may do next (there was a big question to muse over), but only in that I was jettisoned out of unknown imaginary day’s quality to a perceptive map-like cognizance—a compelling animal hunt, though they themselves manifested what quarry was to be divulged. So cars & sheens from windshields , or his/her friend on the way would be this, or the rest of the day instantly surmised, perhaps a solvent impermanence & a threshold never to be reckoned again…
I'm beginning to appeal to all the sincere metrics--good folks are telling me--of their artistic acquiring of self-knowledge - its effort--like dhammapada is what you know, and knowing what I defer as the best reggae album I have ever heard, gets me sprung from under the hand OF all that Marley I know--that context I see--many days as a student of his moral strain. Marley's dad was a Sefardic Jew, a Syrian, yet a British subject. Bob is more likely to have that secular crowd in Israel listen to his influence than radio provides in our middling America. Significant to me in thinking of Israelis as Progressives, and those who are finding themselves as part of a sea of humanity (even viewing the reality as neighbors to Syrians & Lebanese) despite its roiling plash against the rocks of fundamentalism. Reggae was what rooted me more than anything else, and the Jewish thing as the root in ascetic self-knowledge, meanwhile, added to the conscious music--the train to get on, like life portending a long road, is Rasta ideals having me pace the long ends of the day's river of sight. There is a lot of jamming on Third World's first album, a singularity if at its terminal auditive universe, we look up from what Marley calls intra-mantra slavery, and see it speaks right to us. A statement of presence, the presence of Mind sublimating us in relationship, reliably similar with the Jewish tip if we appeal to "Jah" like the Greater Reality compels us from Without...the Ineffable, as we become His experienced-form is but accessible when gods are looked upon as Layered-Reality=wherever it is we find ourselves the convergence of I & Nature!! Integrating what is actually disparate notions in Buddhist thought, looks to me like immense powers mutually arising as I forage in Eastern Thought langour supposed piece-meal by the likes of Kerouac, or indicated by Alan Watts, yet thru my jaded lense. If Avalokiteshvara laid his diamond hand upon the numinous impulse looking at black fire abstraction lying on white fire pallets (this medium), then the semblance my mind allows for is vipassana--a visual of deep-aside that carries me thru patterns of remorseless days...just freedom transpiring.