I may have over-stepped my On-Spirit empty guru in the shallow room impulse, but I just sat down to some Eastern Thought...so the colTRANE of thought--the most beautiful I get to feel in an I & Nature moment, is the narrator to what it is that is out there where I am HEARD. (THEREin lies the giving & RECEIVING) I mean, it just seems it spills from my antiquated dust layering me in xenophobia...that I believe the body is all we can bespeak, and life's pollution keeps telling me to attend to it!! **Called Samkara. So, I IS Body MInd Spirit Speech & answers to one thing: Bodies' reaction from all of it, and is received unto the Atman/ the eternality!! Ok OK back down to earth... I think an answer is not your goal to correct what it is you contend should be your change, but just that "change" is evident...change just IS. If you live you love, if you give you get. Life is FOR the living--our potential to live!! My brother in Ca. is such a freaking athlete, and I don't know what it even is he does that I want to do. It is the fact that he is at moments comfortably immersed in his art, AND we all have become willing agents to believe his learned potential: he knows something about himself that makes him more a part of us than the things we meet now becoming all plastic. OK, so an answer yes, but I can't see something as valid in my so-called identity unless I know I am working to catch UP. I love goals, but material ones I just can't fathom. I am a bean eating fool--require very little, but music & books... don't need a big car!! So, its clear nothing is really going on--I have no place to be. Everything has happened where the grass is greener...it is an absolute to believe that. I give something to the weirdness that someone else is going somewhere. What I give is the sense that I should rationalize my latent reasoning I should have anything to do with it. The peak moment is also when it seems I have pointed out a bright star for so long, suddenly I see all my energy in dialogue with something that star had NOT heard before...
*** Trying to be integrated & letting all the character I know of whom I need to speak, H S Thompson brings me to a better renunciation of maybe the kind of memorialized space this domicile eclipses, but reminding me long enough that I should watch the urban myth collaborate - thru man yielding to his nature - with nature as in the pollen messenger giving me the meter of the Summer's passing. HST has a shiester, hedonist or maybe anarchical perspective making me actually think of friends ever in lowly fits & sighs without me. There are pivotal facts dealing with this GONZO writer, the way he lived, that are upon the in-between places I see shared amongst just a few others. It could be something eclipsed from our English classes at Lafayette high school, too!!
~~~If this world is entirely fictive, then it is personal suffering, between you and "your" Creator that delineates history as WE perceive it. The pain & excesses from the abuse of the powers that be, jettison us thru a narrow door, leaving us with meager choices. Sometimes if only to say we ought to meet the light of day!!
^^^There is the "I" of the body-- or there is the "I" of what has no substance thus unanswered, & really wouldn't exist. WE know only what we are in relationship with. Obvious right? time or nature; significant other, you & I; then I and We...an ego bound value. I always had let my mind find the understanding in passive waves. So, an understanding may be like the concepts borne unto merely a word like "Mediterranean." That it would be consistent with some learned response to a world map would not be how I further memory & mental illustrations. That it makes sense at all would be mind as claimant upon the well of silence, yet not formulaic. Now, I see I can know things this way. I can Wait. Just wait, and the appeal is that I'm not conflicted with wanting more out of Understanding than the look at yellowing page of letters & symbols transitioning to abstractions. Still, the patience is become a normative inquiry--I am too comfortable, so seeing or believing an answer is forth-coming is mind's lie that a measure for light to avail me at the tunnel's end is goal, whereas process defies me. Such is the romans bildung in my academician mid-life. ***
I had a girl-friend that did art at Ringling School of Art & Design, and they would have to paint nudes... This is where I gathered the term throbbing member, as she described the large black man who was her subject at one point. Her seductress demeanor had me anticipate the inevitable... she'd be with another, meanwhile I remember her as the bee-catcher pollen messenger dropping me off at the door of "every woman" = my wife now of almost three yrs, having known/dated her for almost 9--is, I want to obviate, is THE Woman. The lavender mood has me repose in a blue slumber til she arrives, and thence my language conveying meaning to which I imagine my day, is how I feel I participate in what she does mnemotechnically!! Suggesting I know I am thought of, I am "remembered."I needed my wife as none other when we met & significantly I realized this sets me up for what the entirety of life will reach-for going forward. Loneliness is really upsetting if it is clear to you life has meaning yet you can't quite write yourself in the book of dreams...life et al. Lost in process gave colorful ideals for me, yet I had seen the ease with which the other was resolved in contentment, because they'd been understood. And I wanted that--as now I do. Life is a long distance run as if the river of life with which I live in proximity yields the slow fidelity and thus its irony that catching up--as I am inevitably socially--is a solitarian achievement. Thus, I haven't lost by secreted identity in the hrs of meditations when solitude had me kill ego at all costs even thru inertia which I could measure only simply.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I Will Save a Spot for you--a Place you may not Know
The single-most actionable path to trod, is the one we take when we ask what has this life Become?--or more mythically, IS it worth it? What is it to live--& conversely to die? The 3 sequentially proximal deaths just occurred around me...THis thing about the ad absurdum (this subject with which there is nothing but sublime observation) is that it is phantasmal, abysmal too--looking at my feeling that the mind demands order, even in patterns that have no conclusive state to be mitigated. I have that CAMUS book too, The Myth of Sisyphus--couldn't get through it because I start matching the "force" (not the erudition, perhaps) with which the compartmentalized temporal (=impermanence)thing HITS me with (so, the vox musterion is my sense, rather than a fantastic concept)--lots to think, and I don't necessarily want to kill it--just want it to stream til the moment is entirely indicated & I am on the ONE.
***It is absurd to reckon the OTHER as your submissive. You see, we are united but momentarily, and there is a shadow to catch where we can feel rescued in perpituity... good enough or actually a little sad, but OK that it'll go away but not recognizably as a deterant from what I do. Peers are what I told my mom now about 35 yrs ago--"MOM," I said, "I know EVERYBODY--no one is any different than the next guy." Yielding to a small village, is as purblind as the deep sleep we remit having no dreams, but entirely convalescent. My Zadeh had a book by Scholem Aleichem called Tevye's Daughters, Mom had something of a span of Jewish authors--including him--a piece taken from his book: The Song of Songs. So I finally went and found this book, which is a mystical endeavor--even for me. The boy, who is our protagonist, with his cousin, & she'd be the Shulamit, together they run through the hills of an eastern European setting outside their village--& they decide picking barley greens for Shavuot would be their task. My question for you is, what does this reference for this holiday--oh, and this may be really dumb, but do we call it a "hag?" I guess I am curious because the East European of dank vistas, and lost continuity for our religion's survival, has light at the end of those days, and how things are celebrated in Eretz Yisroel leaves me wondering if this fragmented history is attenuated? I remember my Rabbi here in Lexington Ky, as we students learned chumash, said our pronouciation could be sefardic or ashkenazi--whatever we chose is fine. So, in my less than detailed way I tried to say tav rather than sav, etc. But, in the end, I know next to nothing about the diversity we could embrace, hence my question. Confessionally, I am so not religious, but consider myself a ready student for Jewish mysticism and the more. Zalman Schacter-Shalomi was first introduced to me in a read called the Jew and the Lotus. He'd been to see the Dalai Lama with a JEwish delegation discussing our success as a community having lived in exile, but primarily the book was a Kabbalistic study. Anyway, I am compelled to immerse into more of this. A book I had that Herman Wouk wrote--something suggesting if you haven't processed the ascetic & energetic like your catching up, then it's just not worth it. Neil Young's album title Comes a Time, seems to accomplish the satisfied feeling Wouk's book's title conveys, his being The Will to Live On!! These Hasidic Jews w/ fewer antecedents for community to evolve, have founded Belief on equal footing to Babylon falling as before them. Anarchy, or atheism is a natural prerequisite for a good Talmudic student (Wouk relates). The institutions are beknownst in all-profundity from what is "good-enough" to raise in high esteem your fellow man. Good enough, again, because the guru i.e. Tzaddik or perhaps a melamed/teacher isn't in the room. So, because pilpul--discussion, is principaled that we take to a referendum on Immanent Creation, anything thus could be said. To the disqualification project of the "Orthodox-other."
***Martin Buber may have had something to say about k'fitsas haderekh, a sentient presence felt on two different points on a map, or delug, a type of meditation where ad absurdum reigns. He definitely indicates the source in Jewish esteem with the Herodim/ Hasidim. "When you call them they are there; when you want them ...etc." A way of feeling presence thru somekind of intensional meditation, or otherwise: ** I look at it like this: at a certain threshold in the day, when I am mindful & things have elapsed, I wonder if it is the persistant ego that is dissociating my immanent time & place w/ the "feeling' somebody else has otherwise affected in my self-awareness. THINK on a friend, you thus are out of relationship with them, I contend!! Maybe integration is what lapsed...so I want to feel indicated by relationship. WE have I & Nature, & this is, according to Martin Buber, the most elusive. But my guess for me IT IS the most undeniable--simply because I find causality irrefutable once I am overstanding the epiphenimenal moment. But also the obvious I & I... or shall we say in collusion w/ the Rastas', I & I & I? AND then there is the I & Thou & the I & WE... It appears to me, comes around in my thinking that I've crashed all the obvious sensibilities, and then because my ideal content of mind's fulminate comfort has its very effect toppled, "NOTHING"--the education about nothing is an answer. With the pretense that the guru in the room is some shadowy affected self-hood, I started projecting ambient relationship w/chairs consigned to a thousand deaths
***It is absurd to reckon the OTHER as your submissive. You see, we are united but momentarily, and there is a shadow to catch where we can feel rescued in perpituity... good enough or actually a little sad, but OK that it'll go away but not recognizably as a deterant from what I do. Peers are what I told my mom now about 35 yrs ago--"MOM," I said, "I know EVERYBODY--no one is any different than the next guy." Yielding to a small village, is as purblind as the deep sleep we remit having no dreams, but entirely convalescent. My Zadeh had a book by Scholem Aleichem called Tevye's Daughters, Mom had something of a span of Jewish authors--including him--a piece taken from his book: The Song of Songs. So I finally went and found this book, which is a mystical endeavor--even for me. The boy, who is our protagonist, with his cousin, & she'd be the Shulamit, together they run through the hills of an eastern European setting outside their village--& they decide picking barley greens for Shavuot would be their task. My question for you is, what does this reference for this holiday--oh, and this may be really dumb, but do we call it a "hag?" I guess I am curious because the East European of dank vistas, and lost continuity for our religion's survival, has light at the end of those days, and how things are celebrated in Eretz Yisroel leaves me wondering if this fragmented history is attenuated? I remember my Rabbi here in Lexington Ky, as we students learned chumash, said our pronouciation could be sefardic or ashkenazi--whatever we chose is fine. So, in my less than detailed way I tried to say tav rather than sav, etc. But, in the end, I know next to nothing about the diversity we could embrace, hence my question. Confessionally, I am so not religious, but consider myself a ready student for Jewish mysticism and the more. Zalman Schacter-Shalomi was first introduced to me in a read called the Jew and the Lotus. He'd been to see the Dalai Lama with a JEwish delegation discussing our success as a community having lived in exile, but primarily the book was a Kabbalistic study. Anyway, I am compelled to immerse into more of this. A book I had that Herman Wouk wrote--something suggesting if you haven't processed the ascetic & energetic like your catching up, then it's just not worth it. Neil Young's album title Comes a Time, seems to accomplish the satisfied feeling Wouk's book's title conveys, his being The Will to Live On!! These Hasidic Jews w/ fewer antecedents for community to evolve, have founded Belief on equal footing to Babylon falling as before them. Anarchy, or atheism is a natural prerequisite for a good Talmudic student (Wouk relates). The institutions are beknownst in all-profundity from what is "good-enough" to raise in high esteem your fellow man. Good enough, again, because the guru i.e. Tzaddik or perhaps a melamed/teacher isn't in the room. So, because pilpul--discussion, is principaled that we take to a referendum on Immanent Creation, anything thus could be said. To the disqualification project of the "Orthodox-other."
***Martin Buber may have had something to say about k'fitsas haderekh, a sentient presence felt on two different points on a map, or delug, a type of meditation where ad absurdum reigns. He definitely indicates the source in Jewish esteem with the Herodim/ Hasidim. "When you call them they are there; when you want them ...etc." A way of feeling presence thru somekind of intensional meditation, or otherwise: ** I look at it like this: at a certain threshold in the day, when I am mindful & things have elapsed, I wonder if it is the persistant ego that is dissociating my immanent time & place w/ the "feeling' somebody else has otherwise affected in my self-awareness. THINK on a friend, you thus are out of relationship with them, I contend!! Maybe integration is what lapsed...so I want to feel indicated by relationship. WE have I & Nature, & this is, according to Martin Buber, the most elusive. But my guess for me IT IS the most undeniable--simply because I find causality irrefutable once I am overstanding the epiphenimenal moment. But also the obvious I & I... or shall we say in collusion w/ the Rastas', I & I & I? AND then there is the I & Thou & the I & WE... It appears to me, comes around in my thinking that I've crashed all the obvious sensibilities, and then because my ideal content of mind's fulminate comfort has its very effect toppled, "NOTHING"--the education about nothing is an answer. With the pretense that the guru in the room is some shadowy affected self-hood, I started projecting ambient relationship w/chairs consigned to a thousand deaths
Monday, August 10, 2009
THE DEVIL didn't make me DO IT!!!
Subject: Thoughts on this weekends activities
I'm noticing the sense of gratuity that I coalesce around with what I want to tell folks. But I opt for the punch of self-mythologizing, like my sense of ascetic science, in stock statements, because the conscious pocket or well of language makes their statement of presence - the other as before me - an echolalia muddle not to be believed, but also not to be my pallet for just my own simple caprice. I had bought a sticker at Sqecial w/the Tree of Life symbolized on it. Made reference to it in convo, earlier yesterday--then around the track at the Arboretum, I enlisted the verbage (just in mind) about ITS different energies, the seferot attributes. I have to say the pagan (Celt? Druid?) tree in geometric form looked much cooler than the Atz Chaim of Jewish Kabbalah (but images of the Kabbalist icon have always been sterile & bookish, there's been ones besides that would be very artistic).
Just finished a book on Tolstoy & Gandhi, last evening. The only midnight sky personas to visit me in realistic visions, were Mohandes Gandhi & Bob Marley. One before me, one behind the facade of the translator mask/Buddha face. Got to give thanks somehow to something for that--just CAN'T answer to whom. Tolstoy became vegetarian & Gandhi would have been his diet consciousness confessor. Though we can look back and see historical figures answer for social inequities, seemingly so adolescent--like a Creator would have otherwise deemed a compassionate edifice from Higher Will, making us commit NOT Just-Actions for a Greater Good, which IS Higher Ground, but rather demanding communal identity. The heights of strength in character is as much an example back-when as anything marked as the founded Higher Ground supposed in this age.
***I was listening to Remain in Light--I'd call this album probably a favorite surpassing anything else jazz or reggae enlisted, as well. Talking Heads. I thought about David Byrnes poetry and auditive symbology, like how the listener has lifted off the provenance of certain media, whether digital data, or written tablas, and the Aleph-Bet met my eyes like wind, and vision was a kite pointing out the blue blue windows behind the clouds. Dalit, the letter "D" made patterns with frequency & inertia, and this letter symbol related to the Hebrew word for Knowledge--started proliferating what is the specific goal of Traditional Jew or Mystic alike--a word meaning to cleave, called devekut. If we are to Merge with Higher Consciousness, then cleaving means it is not just the mind that which unites with Awareness, but I imagine the body in repose in ideal circumstances, and its organs working with One & Against itself til Mind Body Expression arc from the mundane to raise it in high esteem as unto the supra-mundane...
Subject: responding to making a deal w/the devil
***In Jewish book of Ethics, called the Talmud, there is a section on making a Fence for the Torah (literally "Law"), our bible, the Old Testament. So, yeah, striking a deal of chthonian forces, to use the pagan Greek threat(?) in its historicity=meaning the dark forces emitted out of the earth, is frowned upon. It is called epikorous, which is where we get the word epicurean. In the original it means Secular, non-religious. But also in Judaism there is NO devil, as such a force of evil, in that all is created from G-d, so evil, is the absence of G-d, no persona as such. There's your concept to chew on.But if we were making a contract w/the devil I'd say it was by laying your salvation at the foot of a religious institution, rather than as in the Gospel of Thomas's words, looking to the LIGHT WITHIN.
One Summer's day, mowing for a living... I'm walking across the client's drive & a whirl-wind surrounds me of dust dirt & grass. I look out across the frontyard's expanse, & see at least 2 more. Like turbillions, I want to collapse into an abyss, til my head rests peacefully within emptiness...this was probably the worst day of my life.
I read that word in Rousseau's philosophy, I think. So anything that turns like a turbin would be indicated. It was a weird day. I smoked cigs then--which maybe unlike other folks really debilitated me... I guess I don't have the intensity to get high and enjoy that nicotine. So, I was really weary, wiry, & frankly, I wasn't on meds as I am now, so confusion was the order of those days. Then toppling disorientation was helplessness from those dust whirlers, and that along w/the emptiness as my kind of cause a priori, was almost laughable, but I had to endure... If making a contract to feel informed of some new day meant a pact within and unto an alterior self, I'm certain that the unity of humanity is as singularly a losing proposition, as is feeling instructed from complacency that makes the temporal world elude us. Sad, but numinous!!
It is ever & always about convalescence and purity as a goal. I envy others living in proximation to a forest. I'm getting used to a one world village map, and it seems the long trodden dust at the feet of the resourceless masses, is the image I get fed & enlivened from... I believe in something of a CoNscIOUS MaP too, as if IT is called down as a veil of things before me, making a room the intermediary space of dreamt-mind fulfilled...given a new lead on life. THINGS are new yet old. I am getting on a serious health kick that I must fight to maintain...battle yet to be won. PEACE.
So that good oxygen breathed in the wilds, as opposed to lawn-mower exhaust, were breaths marking white check marks on the ceiling of consciousness, so that clarity in where you belong is become the alliterative path... But, to elaborate to you - I was up last night reading about the Jews of Cochin India. Really a moody & good vibe (as I sit here drinking Taj Mahal Indian black orange pekoe tea while writing this). I had a convo w/Valerie my wife before I laid my head down, but she was asleep, so I was talking to myself. This thing about the mind being freed up because the space you occupy is the memorial of in-between places you've ever known--is what I got long winded about, as she lay there as a tabla rasa no matter how I wanted the words to penetrate the"other" in her. Still, this morning has the Americana trekker Kerouac as my day's concept to avail a motive in the Rub up Push up w/ folks in & out of this place deigning this small life a little allowance for resources. One book I'd suggest to you per the struggle to maintain sobriety for some, or being true to one's self to others, is Jack Kerouac's Big Sur. It is a phenomenal book, literally. The headiness gets grounded in moments when this author (of ON THE ROAD) sees all that is lost... yet his addiction killed him. Sometimes we have a thousand deaths to reprove a threshold that we cross to awaken to our best selves. Sometimes, we get no other chances...
The imagery behind this scenario is the kind-of-event I felt occurring to me down in the basement apt at the old house on Rebel. Like an uncarved block showing its potential, because I was insignificant in a way that I, alone, understood/ part of a greater whole no matter how far from relationship I became. In the half-light of chimerical ams, before getting up and after the light of am trapped my eyes from leaving my dormancy, I’d dream of the immediate, perhaps the room in which I lain. Once I thought I actually laid my hand on the stepping razor of blood images from Granny (my Dad’s Mom) emerging from my heart… if we begin to set the plates for the mind sore of characters that occupy our world, particularly when it is strictly unrealism, in the end it impels us to design the realistic.
What if THE House Maiden, this cosmicblack Kali Mango devi of Love & Transcendence watched over us ever since we innocently secreted our ways into & out of time & place. And we were never to actually meet, though she’s represented in our thoughts in our psychic maneuvering, & that is actually a piece of her like the indiscriminate grains of sand in the cracks of our pavement. Like showroom dummies the affable self is never strident enough to look underneath the veil, until we see the fading away of even that surface-able union w/ the mundane. So perhaps it does happen, after ineffective moments when communication proves the OTHER lives by predictable presence rather than announceable-images/the immediate. Presence or image, we look forward to their collusion, but presence wins over because it absconds w/ & is answerable to our ignorance. But why appearance won out finally in my circumstance is instructive, if only because an exclusive peak in enduring solitude left me to appeal for her assistance.
Who AM I? And how is it that I know that there is no where I need to be? The answer: The effort to remain relevant is wholly static, no matter that our vitality says to RUN.
I'm noticing the sense of gratuity that I coalesce around with what I want to tell folks. But I opt for the punch of self-mythologizing, like my sense of ascetic science, in stock statements, because the conscious pocket or well of language makes their statement of presence - the other as before me - an echolalia muddle not to be believed, but also not to be my pallet for just my own simple caprice. I had bought a sticker at Sqecial w/the Tree of Life symbolized on it. Made reference to it in convo, earlier yesterday--then around the track at the Arboretum, I enlisted the verbage (just in mind) about ITS different energies, the seferot attributes. I have to say the pagan (Celt? Druid?) tree in geometric form looked much cooler than the Atz Chaim of Jewish Kabbalah (but images of the Kabbalist icon have always been sterile & bookish, there's been ones besides that would be very artistic).
Just finished a book on Tolstoy & Gandhi, last evening. The only midnight sky personas to visit me in realistic visions, were Mohandes Gandhi & Bob Marley. One before me, one behind the facade of the translator mask/Buddha face. Got to give thanks somehow to something for that--just CAN'T answer to whom. Tolstoy became vegetarian & Gandhi would have been his diet consciousness confessor. Though we can look back and see historical figures answer for social inequities, seemingly so adolescent--like a Creator would have otherwise deemed a compassionate edifice from Higher Will, making us commit NOT Just-Actions for a Greater Good, which IS Higher Ground, but rather demanding communal identity. The heights of strength in character is as much an example back-when as anything marked as the founded Higher Ground supposed in this age.
***I was listening to Remain in Light--I'd call this album probably a favorite surpassing anything else jazz or reggae enlisted, as well. Talking Heads. I thought about David Byrnes poetry and auditive symbology, like how the listener has lifted off the provenance of certain media, whether digital data, or written tablas, and the Aleph-Bet met my eyes like wind, and vision was a kite pointing out the blue blue windows behind the clouds. Dalit, the letter "D" made patterns with frequency & inertia, and this letter symbol related to the Hebrew word for Knowledge--started proliferating what is the specific goal of Traditional Jew or Mystic alike--a word meaning to cleave, called devekut. If we are to Merge with Higher Consciousness, then cleaving means it is not just the mind that which unites with Awareness, but I imagine the body in repose in ideal circumstances, and its organs working with One & Against itself til Mind Body Expression arc from the mundane to raise it in high esteem as unto the supra-mundane...
Subject: responding to making a deal w/the devil
***In Jewish book of Ethics, called the Talmud, there is a section on making a Fence for the Torah (literally "Law"), our bible, the Old Testament. So, yeah, striking a deal of chthonian forces, to use the pagan Greek threat(?) in its historicity=meaning the dark forces emitted out of the earth, is frowned upon. It is called epikorous, which is where we get the word epicurean. In the original it means Secular, non-religious. But also in Judaism there is NO devil, as such a force of evil, in that all is created from G-d, so evil, is the absence of G-d, no persona as such. There's your concept to chew on.But if we were making a contract w/the devil I'd say it was by laying your salvation at the foot of a religious institution, rather than as in the Gospel of Thomas's words, looking to the LIGHT WITHIN.
One Summer's day, mowing for a living... I'm walking across the client's drive & a whirl-wind surrounds me of dust dirt & grass. I look out across the frontyard's expanse, & see at least 2 more. Like turbillions, I want to collapse into an abyss, til my head rests peacefully within emptiness...this was probably the worst day of my life.
I read that word in Rousseau's philosophy, I think. So anything that turns like a turbin would be indicated. It was a weird day. I smoked cigs then--which maybe unlike other folks really debilitated me... I guess I don't have the intensity to get high and enjoy that nicotine. So, I was really weary, wiry, & frankly, I wasn't on meds as I am now, so confusion was the order of those days. Then toppling disorientation was helplessness from those dust whirlers, and that along w/the emptiness as my kind of cause a priori, was almost laughable, but I had to endure... If making a contract to feel informed of some new day meant a pact within and unto an alterior self, I'm certain that the unity of humanity is as singularly a losing proposition, as is feeling instructed from complacency that makes the temporal world elude us. Sad, but numinous!!
It is ever & always about convalescence and purity as a goal. I envy others living in proximation to a forest. I'm getting used to a one world village map, and it seems the long trodden dust at the feet of the resourceless masses, is the image I get fed & enlivened from... I believe in something of a CoNscIOUS MaP too, as if IT is called down as a veil of things before me, making a room the intermediary space of dreamt-mind fulfilled...given a new lead on life. THINGS are new yet old. I am getting on a serious health kick that I must fight to maintain...battle yet to be won. PEACE.
So that good oxygen breathed in the wilds, as opposed to lawn-mower exhaust, were breaths marking white check marks on the ceiling of consciousness, so that clarity in where you belong is become the alliterative path... But, to elaborate to you - I was up last night reading about the Jews of Cochin India. Really a moody & good vibe (as I sit here drinking Taj Mahal Indian black orange pekoe tea while writing this). I had a convo w/Valerie my wife before I laid my head down, but she was asleep, so I was talking to myself. This thing about the mind being freed up because the space you occupy is the memorial of in-between places you've ever known--is what I got long winded about, as she lay there as a tabla rasa no matter how I wanted the words to penetrate the"other" in her. Still, this morning has the Americana trekker Kerouac as my day's concept to avail a motive in the Rub up Push up w/ folks in & out of this place deigning this small life a little allowance for resources. One book I'd suggest to you per the struggle to maintain sobriety for some, or being true to one's self to others, is Jack Kerouac's Big Sur. It is a phenomenal book, literally. The headiness gets grounded in moments when this author (of ON THE ROAD) sees all that is lost... yet his addiction killed him. Sometimes we have a thousand deaths to reprove a threshold that we cross to awaken to our best selves. Sometimes, we get no other chances...
The imagery behind this scenario is the kind-of-event I felt occurring to me down in the basement apt at the old house on Rebel. Like an uncarved block showing its potential, because I was insignificant in a way that I, alone, understood/ part of a greater whole no matter how far from relationship I became. In the half-light of chimerical ams, before getting up and after the light of am trapped my eyes from leaving my dormancy, I’d dream of the immediate, perhaps the room in which I lain. Once I thought I actually laid my hand on the stepping razor of blood images from Granny (my Dad’s Mom) emerging from my heart… if we begin to set the plates for the mind sore of characters that occupy our world, particularly when it is strictly unrealism, in the end it impels us to design the realistic.
What if THE House Maiden, this cosmicblack Kali Mango devi of Love & Transcendence watched over us ever since we innocently secreted our ways into & out of time & place. And we were never to actually meet, though she’s represented in our thoughts in our psychic maneuvering, & that is actually a piece of her like the indiscriminate grains of sand in the cracks of our pavement. Like showroom dummies the affable self is never strident enough to look underneath the veil, until we see the fading away of even that surface-able union w/ the mundane. So perhaps it does happen, after ineffective moments when communication proves the OTHER lives by predictable presence rather than announceable-images/the immediate. Presence or image, we look forward to their collusion, but presence wins over because it absconds w/ & is answerable to our ignorance. But why appearance won out finally in my circumstance is instructive, if only because an exclusive peak in enduring solitude left me to appeal for her assistance.
Who AM I? And how is it that I know that there is no where I need to be? The answer: The effort to remain relevant is wholly static, no matter that our vitality says to RUN.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Amanita muscaris==RED FLY NATION
Under a pine tree was the usual repose I'd assume while reading Isaac Babel's "Red Calvary" book one late Summer & early Fall. If "rosy-colored mourns" were seen in the faces of his Jewesses, peripheral characters to shtetl Jews--to borrow Kerouac's words--then the roseate suns of day in & day out troddings from the initial Socialist Revolution's reckless hammer on its perceived enemies, was the thud of thoughts lifted over my head and gravitated unto the sheen in the trees or magnificate skies abreast in my mind. The swath I would paint of Jewish constituency was a social marker just to make some one individual a little more received in the conscious pocket of my days in hitbodedut meditation. Its meaning is merely solitude, which is an abject cause of asceticism in Judaism, yet remained my focus. Elijah & Ezekiel's vision's have everything to do with the silent words of thought, the still-small voice, as an allowance toward what relationship with the Ultimate Reality indicates in us.
Had an ocular migraine last night. Feeling really restored now. Read about solitarian type yoga stuff--this same book G-d is a Verb--which mentions Jewish mekavanim/ kaballists, making all my silence feel accompanied w/a thread from that read--the day before. Ideally anyone wants to reckon an ascending pattern from days' long ends to the next. For me tho' in a cognitive lapse, I could see the appeal toward what I cleaved to--that being immanence, the Now, and that nothing colluded in this presentiment, so at least it felt crystalline that I presume solitude without a means of escape. In other words I was compelled to surfeit this condition. Seeing the new pallet this am., seems strange. Walls, time, place & community containing me once again. The event of passive listening to music, at home, makes those moments the convergence of illumination & art, and since it is there in front of me, I think the sounds are telegraphed in immense looks past those walls. Hand to mouth or "beans & coffee" in Roses for the Rich--as Paul K tells it. I liken the resolve to the Islamic professed name Abd-ullah=slave to G-d.
***A man has less truth in his eyes than the thing he sees as before himself that he ceases to meet. I try to make a referendum of Bob Marley's lyricked aphorisms, "You speak, I feel..." & otherly, "if you keep coming, then your Over." That this would be "identity" shows its fleeting conscious prop-- the midnight sky as liminal. And what becomes of us beyond an internacine conscious space is entirely the half-thought cast of shadows. ***This corridor week, if this pattern of time passing was a material thing I could manage, I imagine it like the hekhalot--the halls or temple rather, I've seen both indicated as referring to where we meet these Talmudic rabbis from 1500-2000 yrs ago as gate-keepers. All I am trying to do is give a persona to these low-energy moments when I am freed up from all identity machinations. Reading in Rabbi David A Cooper's G-d is a Verb book yesterday, Binah consciousness is the proliferate level of meditation so that Awe brings us into relationship with What-Is=G-d's Mind. He speaks of Nothingness, a solid definition for G-d if we see within our condition that we are compelled to put whatever constituent facts into that Void, whether it is a sense of our presence, or the Outward fact which is the experiencial immanent impermanence whose weight the tent-poles of consciousness collapse under... And then that fragmented result makes us look UP & yonder & personify the All or Nothing that received us.
I was made head-strong by the hand of the almighty, was Bob Marley's lyrics, and just seeing how folks persist from moment to moment sometimes informs me to a vast potential and "realistic" motives - I can see - that I know the "other" doesn't realize they should observe (themselves in that box.). I swear I feel I am floating way above folks sometimes, & weirdly I am content to call this repose a bird's eye view... yet what I manage to bring back to ground zero has no report of this distance travelled.
Had an ocular migraine last night. Feeling really restored now. Read about solitarian type yoga stuff--this same book G-d is a Verb--which mentions Jewish mekavanim/ kaballists, making all my silence feel accompanied w/a thread from that read--the day before. Ideally anyone wants to reckon an ascending pattern from days' long ends to the next. For me tho' in a cognitive lapse, I could see the appeal toward what I cleaved to--that being immanence, the Now, and that nothing colluded in this presentiment, so at least it felt crystalline that I presume solitude without a means of escape. In other words I was compelled to surfeit this condition. Seeing the new pallet this am., seems strange. Walls, time, place & community containing me once again. The event of passive listening to music, at home, makes those moments the convergence of illumination & art, and since it is there in front of me, I think the sounds are telegraphed in immense looks past those walls. Hand to mouth or "beans & coffee" in Roses for the Rich--as Paul K tells it. I liken the resolve to the Islamic professed name Abd-ullah=slave to G-d.
***A man has less truth in his eyes than the thing he sees as before himself that he ceases to meet. I try to make a referendum of Bob Marley's lyricked aphorisms, "You speak, I feel..." & otherly, "if you keep coming, then your Over." That this would be "identity" shows its fleeting conscious prop-- the midnight sky as liminal. And what becomes of us beyond an internacine conscious space is entirely the half-thought cast of shadows. ***This corridor week, if this pattern of time passing was a material thing I could manage, I imagine it like the hekhalot--the halls or temple rather, I've seen both indicated as referring to where we meet these Talmudic rabbis from 1500-2000 yrs ago as gate-keepers. All I am trying to do is give a persona to these low-energy moments when I am freed up from all identity machinations. Reading in Rabbi David A Cooper's G-d is a Verb book yesterday, Binah consciousness is the proliferate level of meditation so that Awe brings us into relationship with What-Is=G-d's Mind. He speaks of Nothingness, a solid definition for G-d if we see within our condition that we are compelled to put whatever constituent facts into that Void, whether it is a sense of our presence, or the Outward fact which is the experiencial immanent impermanence whose weight the tent-poles of consciousness collapse under... And then that fragmented result makes us look UP & yonder & personify the All or Nothing that received us.
I was made head-strong by the hand of the almighty, was Bob Marley's lyrics, and just seeing how folks persist from moment to moment sometimes informs me to a vast potential and "realistic" motives - I can see - that I know the "other" doesn't realize they should observe (themselves in that box.). I swear I feel I am floating way above folks sometimes, & weirdly I am content to call this repose a bird's eye view... yet what I manage to bring back to ground zero has no report of this distance travelled.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
History as I've taken from Flavius Josephus' book. Zadie's collection
Subject: Balak & Balaam in the land of the Midianites****I'm not trying to be seen the dissipator and as supra-religious (not going beyond its accord I mean). I'll use that language as long as G-Dtalk favors the world-objective, say, calling this world as something like Higher Ground & not because it is always favorable, but the inertia that feels to me enough to lend my hope for less pain from the impermanent record. The reference to a god is merely good enough--some folks are just telling me something sounding a little too resigned to the obvious. Yeah, I agree, we only manifest what is. I am uncomfortably a shapless mass--live w/abstraction & also physical voids, my appearance as such. How does a god play to this awareness? It would be something vaguely meta-physical that I can almost seize sometimes, and hopefully become compelled, any kind of motive, to be creative as that Outward Fact: G-d, Consciousness, Relationship et al, I & Nature hopefully the more. ITs a big piece of the pie to know folks are indicating their deficiencies as they represent themselves as social animals. Ego alerts us to this--that quality of otherness, which most dismiss because it disarms us to know WE do it too. Yet, being imbued w/general notions, something objective, is being indicated by what is greater than subjective norms.The bible as revelation makes theX-tian a X-tian, but what makes a Believer a Believer, whether self-perception creates an obvious lable or not, IS IS iS someone respecting THE fact we all do this? THIS thing between the MUTUAL arising of other communities...!!!!
AND Think you would change your lifestyle if God existed for sure?: not really G-d damn, I just have to laugh at this question having no antecedents, except for this chic's thought & "answer-supposing" that church was always so "boring." Yaw, that boredom was to me a concretized memory of a short life lived, & the bullet's speed in which I saw this life thread into what seems to be Balak's ploy to have Balaam reckon a talking ass... as biblical & into prophesy as the peripheral magicians or priests who at once are condemned by Israel & again looked upon as learned from some verily temporal example
It may be an objective fact--I'm making allegory here--that your Mother was there for you or not in ways that made your reactions a little more considerate (HOPEFULLY)--but even if you've had relationships that fall short, you'd know in your heart what would be Right about it. And it still can be the face of this or that person, because the preponderance of that shared jumping off point--a bigger conscious map--should make us more humble. If G-d was on High, He/She/It would leave every other place vacant. And isn't that where we live? So, look around & see where you should put substance into all that distance between you and your INEVITABLE goal.
Subject: "Music a godly thing." Bob Marley
Felt my breath evaporate on the palm of a beggar in Jerusalem. Meaning, his meager arm extended out of rough djelabiya attire, grasped at my words--I was received into an unawakened state where my ruffian ways seemed superfluous. Rob Olson--my friend who I was travelling with, & I sauntering by, a few days previous to an impervious Jerusalem stroll on a hit of A. I probably should say "contentious" Jersualem stroll--we stridently were not imbued w/anything of a religious sense or syndrome, but rather took to ole brown, w/nothing better to do but seek a depth of antiquity in the rainy december air. Angry young men on LSD in the streets of Jerusalem at the brink of Palestinian's first intifada. We watched as a young man was stopped & searched-- his jam box-suspect on the ground, rubber-necking frowned upon by the Police... wasn't complicated weirdly, just thoroughly & freely an ugly American moment out of place, in a considerate mind!!
What if there is more that tells you to jump into the abysmal new dawn, yet something tethers you to what has faded... like the liminal & persistant "nous" as the Greek's deliberated on: your Mind. No place to go is answer enough--but I'd ask, are you in the conscious pocket? If not, any decision is the wrong one. Apophasis is the spiritual man's/woman's tool. The self-consciousness I felt on Winter's days there in the hills of Jerusalem, made me idealize the heat of thoughts & pained sentience as I felt the yawn of the parallel path widen - me on one side, plainly remote, auspiciously in wanderlust, and Judaic ascetic currency on the other, like a road too distantly conversant than the sign-post saying how to manoeuver upon it.
One gratuitous awe I thought would lead me to enjoin self-actualization (via Judaism) was sitting before Coltrane in dark blue yonders, and conversation ensues, I'm listening I'm listening, then as if I'm calling & responding...I am somehow heard!! The event of passive listening at home, makes those moments the convergence of illumination & art, and since it is there in front of me, I think the sounds are telegraphed in immense looks past those walls.
Think of what it would be to be compelled to devolve in one station in life--and if this be the case, what it is that keeps you looking at the light at the end of the tunnel. Hand to mouth, beans & coffee--as Paul K tells it. I liken the resolve to the Islamic professed name Abd-ullah=slave to G-d. If G-d willed things thus, we just live work-a-day in & out. Only HERE to live UP--one dimensional!!
AND Think you would change your lifestyle if God existed for sure?: not really G-d damn, I just have to laugh at this question having no antecedents, except for this chic's thought & "answer-supposing" that church was always so "boring." Yaw, that boredom was to me a concretized memory of a short life lived, & the bullet's speed in which I saw this life thread into what seems to be Balak's ploy to have Balaam reckon a talking ass... as biblical & into prophesy as the peripheral magicians or priests who at once are condemned by Israel & again looked upon as learned from some verily temporal example
It may be an objective fact--I'm making allegory here--that your Mother was there for you or not in ways that made your reactions a little more considerate (HOPEFULLY)--but even if you've had relationships that fall short, you'd know in your heart what would be Right about it. And it still can be the face of this or that person, because the preponderance of that shared jumping off point--a bigger conscious map--should make us more humble. If G-d was on High, He/She/It would leave every other place vacant. And isn't that where we live? So, look around & see where you should put substance into all that distance between you and your INEVITABLE goal.
Subject: "Music a godly thing." Bob Marley
Felt my breath evaporate on the palm of a beggar in Jerusalem. Meaning, his meager arm extended out of rough djelabiya attire, grasped at my words--I was received into an unawakened state where my ruffian ways seemed superfluous. Rob Olson--my friend who I was travelling with, & I sauntering by, a few days previous to an impervious Jerusalem stroll on a hit of A. I probably should say "contentious" Jersualem stroll--we stridently were not imbued w/anything of a religious sense or syndrome, but rather took to ole brown, w/nothing better to do but seek a depth of antiquity in the rainy december air. Angry young men on LSD in the streets of Jerusalem at the brink of Palestinian's first intifada. We watched as a young man was stopped & searched-- his jam box-suspect on the ground, rubber-necking frowned upon by the Police... wasn't complicated weirdly, just thoroughly & freely an ugly American moment out of place, in a considerate mind!!
What if there is more that tells you to jump into the abysmal new dawn, yet something tethers you to what has faded... like the liminal & persistant "nous" as the Greek's deliberated on: your Mind. No place to go is answer enough--but I'd ask, are you in the conscious pocket? If not, any decision is the wrong one. Apophasis is the spiritual man's/woman's tool. The self-consciousness I felt on Winter's days there in the hills of Jerusalem, made me idealize the heat of thoughts & pained sentience as I felt the yawn of the parallel path widen - me on one side, plainly remote, auspiciously in wanderlust, and Judaic ascetic currency on the other, like a road too distantly conversant than the sign-post saying how to manoeuver upon it.
One gratuitous awe I thought would lead me to enjoin self-actualization (via Judaism) was sitting before Coltrane in dark blue yonders, and conversation ensues, I'm listening I'm listening, then as if I'm calling & responding...I am somehow heard!! The event of passive listening at home, makes those moments the convergence of illumination & art, and since it is there in front of me, I think the sounds are telegraphed in immense looks past those walls.
Think of what it would be to be compelled to devolve in one station in life--and if this be the case, what it is that keeps you looking at the light at the end of the tunnel. Hand to mouth, beans & coffee--as Paul K tells it. I liken the resolve to the Islamic professed name Abd-ullah=slave to G-d. If G-d willed things thus, we just live work-a-day in & out. Only HERE to live UP--one dimensional!!
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