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.