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. 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.
******* "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 acclaim as the best reggae album I have ever heard, gets me sprung from under the hand OF all that Marley having informed me--that context I see--many days as a student of his moral strain. So, "Third World" has enough Swahili, or Ibo like the guys name takes on--all that rhythm of resistance... Ayi hlabi nyo ngo kunsima, is probably Swahili, not THIRD Worlds song title, but one that impels me to wonder at the cant of Semitic language having trickled out of these language streams of northern Africa, into the Valley of Tongues. (I didn't say they relate, I say, IT makes me wonder!!) Seeing this example of babel's gate I know has my mind remark on what is "There-Above"...the Higher Will chosen from a Jew, who didn't know he was a Jew=AbRaham--sometimes good enough to begin with him! Marley's dad was a Semitic Jew, a Syrian--Bob is more likely to have that secular crowd in Israel listen to his influence than radio provides in our middling America. 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, soooo unlike 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--speaking of gods, 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 here in cyber-space), then the semblance my mind allows for is vipassana--a visual of deep-aside that carries me thru patterns of remorseless days...IS just freedom transpiring. ON THAT BANG ALBUM, REGGAE music & the requisite sense of the Third World that sublimates the trappings of identity:
***Oh, I can hear that Madness-esque thing in my head now--but I imagine this band may be better musicians in the end... slightly more dynamic. That album is heavy to me--came at a time when my monkhood life was granting no reprieve. I had begun to read Potok's (pronounced POE-Tawk) In The Beginning around then, probably some Salman Rushdie as well. Potok did The Chosen, if that rings a bell, but In the Beginning is definitely more complicated and left me in a well of some heady contest of wit with mysticism & cold law... critical study of biblacy where the Orthodox would have rather not seen it go... Love that guy/ he past a few yrs ago. Had a connection in loci to Krishnamurti's powerspot, in Ojai, Ca. I visited that town--very auspicious in my mind. Potok took his pen name as such I guess because it means GATE.
The Inner Meaning and the Outer Meaning, however that is applied, came from Philo--a Greek-Jew, but seen as a Church Father, appropriated as such. Jews weren't used to this "method" til Muslims & Christians reintroduced them to it. In Spain, Jewish Kabbalists began to reflect on the Song of Solomon this way. Zohar is the prime example in our mystic literature--was written in Spain in the 1200s if I remember correctly. POTOK, as he'd deliberate so fluidly, had all the stones tarry of my sense of heritage & faith in its esoteric divide from the norm, so that as the plurb of thought clashed with the cold immediacy I sought the very places the ideas were buried within. I have much thanks & praises for what his characterization and authorship does to my mind. ~~``So, I've just been peddling some music to some friends, walking abundantly like at the Arboretum. I read out on a couple of the path's benches over last weekend, and found it extremely cathartic. This is in light of a Tolstoyan ideal. He said he loved to go to the town's square to read & write, well I'm guessing to read, but definitely the writing would occur there. And well I am trying to scribe skyward under the pretense of anonymity, as if social disaffection had not contained me (as it does a bit). But, all that this means is, I get involved in my reading & imagine an audience that is more elusive than the norm from how I feel about the conceptuality I pull to my center. Potok, who made my alliterative realization what it is, made religion damned accessible without a refrain of weird manufactured holiness, like I'd have to put MY salvation in the hands of something like an institution. He made words for G-d a really juicy academic adventure, anthropologic, critical too... This following idea is case and point:
El, Elohim, Eloha is invoked 100s of times in the bible--is suppose to impart a sense of Justice most often. As opposed to Eternality which would be Ayn-sof for instance. I always wondered what those concretized thoughts had buried underneath the institutional pages of prayer books. Like subconscious imagery had episteme dialogues, irresolute langour. When I sat there in Hebrew school while Rabbi Schwab instructed us, I saw an incredibly slippery path when the power of this language of G-d's ?? mind would have my comfort zone demand a new meaning (& thus implode)...
*^^The Arboretum there across from the Colesium. Stopped and read awhile. The impulse I get from the consciousCrowd, as I flip pgs, is immanent transition, because the historical characters seemed easily reflected in those moments, as having made a difference. "Life/People in Transformation." **Powaqatsi, as the movie's title is defined by!! If you feel your "constant" is always having reached the surface, then "concealment" in terms of the trappings of identity is your spirit reckoned, if only briefly. Those who intercede on your behalf maybe thru antecedents you aren't aware of yet... So from abstraction to action, I just love looking at all these strangers, beyond all judgmental caprice as is my nature when the human condition gets depressing. Case & point (getting past that!), when it was dark a few weeks back & I was over there, these Hindus were sitting off the path and liquid language abided my gait as I stepped past them. Like in a current, I couldn't break loose from their sing-song voices, and I sorta watched what I heard as they trailed off behind me & the thick cool air of night blanketed my senses. Then this last Saturday night my buddy Howie & I walked for a good hour, but starting at his apt. rather than just at the parks perimeter. Over hillocks & through traffic, crossed on past a duck pond & construction site--our convo was unstressed & at the constant rate of our looks yon & hither. An acquaintance of ours, from now years ago had said (cyberly) "if you're not catching up, it's not worth it!" This seems to be concise reproof that things are going away--it is the kind of thing that lodges in my feelings of inconsistency, as if I am supposed to anticipate reception from some social recourse to the high air upon which I am lying fallow!!
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