Under the Autumnal tree w/ the D'jimbe drum on Rebel Road

I believe in ultimate compassion. The Narrow-minded might say, sure--I feel ensconced in sweet whiling away moments, too! I'd tell you the sky is the limit, and maybe moving from the Personal You to the Objective furthest reaches of what is numinous before You, IS Immanence & not an Indefinite Chorus of Mind's path & meter, but actually is a brave narrative, the best. And I'd yield to the Moment finally & with no reservations. I'd Go. I'D GO! And the sky would be met--not just the whisp from a log beneath the hearth. And for those who persist on the passport of epicurean designs as upon Responsibility & Mitigated schedules, I would tell you, It's True--my time has no reward and no punishment!! ~~I dreamt someone had asked me what it is I got out of meditation: I heard my motive in my head as I walked to the front door of the house I grew up in then out under the night sky. Something vaguely out of control and something like a pronouncement of lethargy, but given context. Those long yawns past a midnight seance would be a Point A, which is some "time" I jump from til I reference freedom of consciousness--Point B. In that rational thought is a subject of dream time even as much as fantastic imagery has antecedents in a cognitive adjustment I have eluded to as a kind of exudation of ground Zero. When I get ocular migraines I used to think cognition had lapsed somehow--and that relevance was less persistant. But as it occurred to me yesterday while listening to an Ojibwe article on NPR, to describe it - it would be intense light like caustic blaring fields of vision closing in on me. If I close my eyes, which sometimes is only done by placing a hand on my eyelids, the light intensity is weirdly pleasing, but plainly I don't imagine it ought to be trusted. Usually if I am among family or friends in this condition I can't quite find the liminal moment: everything is illuminated, yet uncomfortably so--and I can't find anything to add to the stream of conversation. Yesterday I was alone--which is the usual case! In the middle of this time-unyielding, the News article had the ritual drum playing and chanting as just one example of "meaning" conveyed in language unique from community to community...but there was something complex and readily contained in the patternic beats carrying the vocals into great heights. Like tearing myself from half of a quiet stasis, I grabbed my d'jimbe drum and went out on to my front porch and seemingly played well in continuity from the abstraction of faceless auditive universes coming from the regions around the Great Lakes!! ~~Staying within this look West: If I were to say it had been in my political nature to have crossed the USA & get to visit Ohai, it would be because I thought Potok would have turned a token eye in my direction (now I'd like it to be Krishnamurti, yet Chaim Potok is the more provident gate). That this would be community is strange in this age of independent thought. I don't know what community is, but somewhere I gather identity when action is my mysterion--I merge, or continually emerge ad infinitum. If all those who would not be left behind were action--but characterized as what I sought to sacrifice, quickly transcendence is its becoming symbolized. Give away "identity" and we cease living to give away other things: You, Contentment, our Life together, Yours as a Mutual Arising. You said compassion frees one's soul! To do that we should esteem ourselves, and let no god come asunder--as its says in the Rig Veda.