Confessional--like to Zadie, to the One and Many. Then Etc.

Got a lot of reading done yesterday after work. Felt great. Strange thing FinaLLy getting acquainted with silence and solitude. Finally not because I haven't noticed it before, but quite the opposite. It is a strange surprise, as in some threshold saying, "see you didn't realize this moment was waiting!" I think I feel your numinous mind and your language skills as I'd remember...like later wishing I had appreciated more then in that occasion, some occasion! Funny how a sense a presence is so phenomenal. I lived at my house on Williamsburg for about 27 yrs. There were some solitarian days there, due to my schizophrenia...which is utterly IN hand now--I so much love feeling convinced over a question of balance, but "then" I wasn't on meds or not the right kind. Anyway, I certainly began to characterize those ground-zero days among those environs as some kind of ulterior normative self, maybe. Going down to the sinkhole and sitting in the fenced-in area to read, or down at the Church on ParkersMill--like I've mentioned to you before, was what I felt I should edu-tain and have continuity with what i started at U of Ky. You are just like other old neighbors giving that certainty of the those skys encumbering me, I tend to feel. It was a great place to linger-on IN, and to grow and have endured--no doubt. But--I drew so many incursions of what I wanted to be in dialogue with, and you personify that event, as does your homey house...and it's a dusky ride into attention over emptiness anyway.
~~The understanding of our essential nature as a goal, in monotheist terms, should make us wonder at the fact the we know things must-go-away, we die. So it becomes very easy after that to say, that this world must end likewise--and expect, and f%$#ing pray for that. In some Theism, the signs can't be read, if they were it is said to be too late. So these bible and or Koranic thumpers need to quit looking.
You can walk to the Ocean's edge, but not get in. The Other Shore is the best symbolic illustration of the Ultimate Reality. The spectral shore is my narrative making ME the convergence of what-IS. Thoughts Feelings and Actions are allegory to Higher Ground.
ALL symbols of eternity ARE in this life. Are you saying you know of another--because you're speaking from this precinct in life, not another (kind) of life. Language is symbolic, RIGHT? Right! So in that we've used ideas about something netherly or paradisaical, still only bespeaks of what-is: that which is before you...
Once I thought "knowledge" would solve all my ills. So I was determined to believe that motive temporarily--because there is something about Unknowing, the Musterion--a sacrament in fact that is important as well. Musterion=mysterion. Ram Das, really doesn't speak to me much, maybe a couple of things...he's like Eastern Thought schtick, said one thing I remember just flipping thru his book at Waldens at Fayette mall about 7yrs ago. That once we realize we can say with confidence that I DON"T KNOW--it's because the certainty of our skies of youth, were really observed for what they were. I'm thinking THEIR intensity and spectacle--or the faces our instincts make us presume and emote.

From Ashvin--equus, to Islam thru Yehudi lens

Watched a dvd on Bhutan lately. The mindset imparted is that these mountain dwellers are in immense complex relationship with the natural environment--no more complex than ours, just BETTER. Their prayer flags are called Wind Horses. And there's no better sentient emblem of compassion than horses suffused with mt's breath... Maybe elation is being the convergence of Time Place and YES community. Now, community could be I and I, Or I and THou, or we; Or I and nature--but it may not be at the exclusion of any other when one seems epiphenomenal. In other words, when it's You and Nature, or You and Self--everyBody else follows... Just a thought. "Maybe elation is being the convergence of Time Place and YES community."--I say this because in Buddhist thought, during meditation this is our condition. At the peak moment, the rational beeeeing identifying self in an existential way is a pattern of what seems cosmic and us as it's subject. We can see that dynamic. Objective reality, and insignificant self mirroring it. It is rational--because it is enumerated, yet spiritual. But it IS all encompassing, in that we magnify relationship then and all those we've ever endured. Perhaps!
"Similar goals" I would have
> thought this guy would have agreed to. Meaning, you know, life,
> liberty, the pursuit of happiness--however that
> translates in the umma and ulema--the varied stations of Islamic community. I haven't
> the inclination to drum up all the that I've
> read, my apologies. But, I am currently reading about ibn
> Maymun as Muslims knew him--Jews call him Rambam, and this history-bio
> deals Kadi al-Fadil at one point--one who received Maimonides after exile from Spain.
> Also this book is about when Saladin came from Syria to
> subjugate Egypt--taking it from the Ismailis and
> making it a Sunni state. Maimon wrote al-Risala
> al-Fadiliyya, a book about Poisons and Anecdotes,
> for Fadil--The Treatise for his Excellency. This
> is the etre-pot for my interests.
Like in the
> Epicurean garden, their are patrons and their
> subjects, teachers and their students. It is
> qualified in many traditions--pilpul debate in
> Jewish institutions--not to mention what goes on
> in the Zohar (tahir means zohar in Arabic),
> Buddha's deerpark with 6 ascetics all imparting
> austere vision to Sakyamuni as he'd be called
> after deciding the Middle path was best. And in
> Hinduism Brahmodya--an apophatic goal that
> takes myth and shows it for the answer it
> provides without demanding rigid logic to
> illustrate a cosmogony. So, silence is the medium of exchange between Adherents.
The sense of it IS and only IS without the trappings of taking on Belief system as if toting it around somehow makes me engage some Other all the better. Why? Because, cleaving to beliefs, beliefs in general, take you out of relationship, if the ritual mitigated by the Belief makes Belief as a goal preceding the moment of this or that Festival and its requirements. So ritual should make us land on something Unknown, not the habits that drag Tradition into the ditch where it belongs, as in OUT of my way.**I don't want to make a habit of Belief or Ritual--in certain respects. Not Western, not Middle-easterner. Belief is just self-preservation, and thought is fear, and cycles attitudes to make us Believe in our security. Now RITUALS as a nuance to show the human condition as having a Moral relief to chthonian (dark) forces, gives substance where otherwise our ignorance said fear IT. Like many people's fear to call the Muslims as Mutually Arising toward similar goals as we may have. You know its possible they have as many Literalists as we we do. So THEY are no answer to me--but with their compassionate edifice--Morals IDEALS--ARE.

G^D is NOTHING. The ABSOLUTE

So I started A Case for G^d yesterday. Not quite sure the X-tian focus as Karen establishes to be her vehicle for the Literalist's squandering episteme, is what I was looking for, you know as specifically showing the Xtian's fault in this, because we know it's global. And yet there are more Christians than any other religion--by only a few million, albeit more than Muslims. But I am in it for the immense scrutiny toward theism and its under-currents, we all would be better for in a braver understanding.
I'd call the problem in a loss of spirituality in today's social environment, a sense of entitlement. My renunciation of this kind of selfishness is realizing not much is within my control--and further I'M NOT going anywhere, no matter how pretty and a spectacle that object portending self-worth suggests. SO, Nothing is going on, and then and only then do I realize I must stand up in this material void and believe in people and their deficits... It is the comparison K. Armstrong makes with this vast technological age and the intense knowledge therewith, that makes what was done in the Axial age, when religion was the education, and synthesis of what came before was the idealic compassion necessary appease our G^d.
It sounds too much like a rhetorical device, but it is worthy mental practice to say G^D is NOthing, because if He were something then necessarily something else would be EXCLUDED. Pure LOgic dude. And further to say G^D is NOTHING, means anything that would place him in our compassionate edifice would necessarily be Transcendence. Definitely to get over the "little trouble" --the little trouble is being able to talk about IT. For me IT is the utter absence of hope as if my heart clutches at what my mind had assessed as numina. I can hold things in High Esteem, yes that is hopeful, but I'd rather imagine my path, because it's about Process, not the flare of thoughts that Belief in a relative notion of Goodness, is anymore than the nice effect of THAT moment in the day. It is only for a little while. Yes, that's fine--but the bigger picture is getting into a place of mindfulness over a direction in multiplicity. A proliferation of attitude is merging with the Objective fact, the Cosmic Now from the Subjective emoting notion. But, if we merge--things are hopeful--I'm not saying don't allow for that. But the spiritual nature of the world is our equalling an immense emptiness...while the still small voice screams we are at the threshold and need not be consumed by it. So hope is Imaginative Motive, ethereal Narrative=Inner-voice like our lightning path. But the mind is so 5 minutes ago 5 yrs ago 5 decades ago we have only to manifest what-IS and that being the path that led to the ocean's edge. We can go up the cosmic ocean, but can't get in. If we could get in "HOPE" would be the intuition the human condition provides about the lay of land where our sustenance would be found: Physical & Spiritual. But we have dreams, and ways and means get in the way to assume suffering gets jettisoned. IT is the path to forgive the Ocean that we might suffer, that we must willingly suffer...and so we learn. So, I have landed on your contention. WE are better off hoping, because forgiving the ocean means the ocean forgave us.
The Axial Age's Ideal in Compassion, is not only in G^D's justice:
SKILLFUL is a Buddhist term!! It IS "skillful" to chop wood. Like one story Karen Armstrong relates about a Chinese peasant out in a tall field with a sticky tipped stick catching grasshoppers--to roast. It becomes automatic, and he is "part" of that field with the tall foliage, and steady legged grasshoppers. Skillful means benevolent and moral, not just physically adept or an artisan's or tech's finesse. Because, someone could kill in an exacting way, but that wouldn't be skillful, because it goes against the compassionate edifice that a world in dormant repose purports. The world lies before us 3/4ths of "what-is" is buried beneath appearances. It sleeps. So, perhaps we should dream or have an imaginative narrative that respects its convalescence. Just back up to the sentence that says the world is dormant, it sleeps--it is skillful to take what people say as HOW they are without judging them. Perhaps our adversary is confused? That's possible. That she/he says something that doesn't "make-sense" to you, why IS all I am asking, does that mean she/he was lying? I could have heard out my nephew yesterday--about his customer. Yes, but I couldn't concentrate, and I zoned out when I got home because my eyes were seeing stars at the edges of any little lighter shade of a wall or floor, or sign, or corner of a TV, or monitor screen. It makes my cognition terrible, so I tune out in a big way. And strangely it happens about 90% of the time on Mondays. The tact that we can cut people off doesn't seem like an option, which I know folks agree to wily neally. But like I was saying IT is best to assume people are confused or ignorant and not sinister or lying, because though they may try to spin it in their own behalf, doesn't necessarily mean they are bad people. I define the middle ground--it's what I do. I will try to listen to folks better next time.

THe Flourishing Bloom my mind coalesces around=YOU!

That G*D said, separates, calls, and sees and seems to be what Abraham Joshua Heschel **in my estimation**ciphers as what is memorialized in Time rather than in Place is just knowing I am understood, with a brief glimpse of that, supports my ethos and behavior like I AM making IT happen. (by persisting in seeing ourselves in the social fray) "IT" meaning some formative conceptual authorial moment. See, I WANT to feel I am You and YOU are ME...so if the kind nod in my direction says clarity was in the proof of my reaction **Sorry so tedious** then I get those beautiful unconscious stones to tarry. Here's what Consciousness is RIGHT NOW. The fusion of color and form, as in the predilection to see the mind in bloom. IT is in the corner of my eye--many times any time I want to look. The lotus Abraham sat on after the fire was quelled and his magnanimity meant he wasn't to be burned. That image is so ancient that I can be prepossessed with this imagery in a leap and flourish of reconciling what I've scrutinized for so long that I'd never be able to shake the bonds of emblematic thought--as this desert of time portends.
The Ascendant can make a Place Holy, but G*d transcends the physical
I see the Mutually Arising personas of those transpiring around us. The thing that inspires something beyond coincidence of running into each other, would be a jumping off point--say a principle held between the two individuals/parties in question. The principle may be their magnetic draw toward each other, not rather that I hold my dearly striven belief as something that makes an Ideal in Jewish light better than those whose belief system never draws me near the flame of self-actualization. Except thereby thru discernment. The Beginning is perhaps their auspicious FIRST meeting making new antecedents for their supposed reunion.
IN that you dream, thereby you exist. In that you exist, there is a principle behind what it is that makes you subscribe to the momentum thru this path you trod. For every action there is an equal an opportune reaction. Any unit of existence is called a monad, anything that exists is consciousness. I want to awaken within this dream.
I wondered at the fact that I feel I am received in great moments of self-adulation. It seems somehow I am imagining an indefinite group of peers somehow giving me some due that otherwise escapes me what it is I do right. That I promote my just-due has me ride out some current where all these good feelings tarry...and I love "watching what I see."* (*Rimbaud) So, my motive may not necessarily be more of self-congratulation, but just the pithy blue dream that thoughts are alive, the mind is vital, in my mind a fine mind--I hope. Total Eclipse is a good flick about Rimbaud. I read in some book about his poetry that he decided some existential view of the world in a moment of true observation of a world of sorrow. He sat next to a deceased Prussian soldier out in some field next to his home town some backwoods French town. He said, right then," I have decided that now I want to know everything." Like Karen Armstrong relates, the immanent free-lance monotheist, letting the impact of suffering have us dilute the delusions of propriety, and rather have us appeal to compassion, is something starting with self-scrutiny, and not "lambasting" our supposed enemies.

Try Calling me a Pagan--the glove fits

I'm playing king of the mountain in my mind, today. It is not that of a kind of heirarchy, me amongst those who've chosen to endure great heights in ways to while away, but rather I am finding solitarian self-denial up here, and everyone I know pushed me to these limits for a reason. In the clouds of philosophy, in the repose of thunder, hearing lightning vox, arguing out what-ever could be said to my now X, but she who is still forever mine.
The synaptic choice is that observation of who all has clamored with me unto vast yawns and distant looks. Maybe, looking into a psyche of my fellows is easier here--the confirmed Peak-Moment when I'd look, but it is no recompence to intuit his/her next move til I am understood in light of their statement and presence bearing utility, saying I'm here too, man--we did this long ago, Remember?

Subject: when I'd worship and G^D

Christian Compassion doesn't include me til you admit that it doesn't have to. That goes for the rest of you religious imbibers. Now go light your Holiday Tree and be happy. (just being honest and flip, ha ha!)

The earth will receive us, one day this is where within and in the impermanent record had its last say. So it makes sense that Muslims bow and are prostrated upon the earth. On it, upon it the earth has given us to repose as objective as it is stalwart. We contrive to have the wagging powers stop their predominance because the earth gives us a pillar to lean on--the ground is foundation and cornerstone serving. I'd easily worship earth, as memorialized space isn't as easily found having nothing abound in a vacuous yonder as is where we say a G^D emanated (=found in Nothingness, the G^D On-High). Tolstoy--a great X-tian, perhaps an example to me, a Believer whose Messiah is defined as man Who dies for our sins, so let us contemplate the frailty and fearsome woe as something with which we put our emulation & substance IN, and make better, said: Your Compassion Causes Me Violence. So I am guessing from something making me wonder at violence in just one beginning stage, some terrible stressful condition when society says speak of things in just this one way and no other alternative. Some agree to that, some are plainly only going to speak to a middle ground ignoring the symbolism that had society give them validation. My question is when did the Institution become the place where people felt they were given the right to salvation?

My good friend in the scholarly vein when we convene, he notes that we have different ways of identifying said prophet or ascetic character. That just shows variants in and within the context of biblical personages: when we have read the name in different etymological senses. Obaydiah, or Obediah is Abdullah, meaning slave of G*D from this convergence of authorial air, I understand of late reading, is in our biblical contexts in one way I didn't really think about. Kyrios, was mentioned, I tried to look back at the reference but lost the page/ now confirmed means LORD in Greek--I was all in the moment looking at Jesus as Servant...sons of G*d are what The Israelites are, and how He is denoted with his healing devotional path to the children of G*D. Servant was stressed by Karen Armstrong, and I shouldn't have said that her book on the Axial Age, The Age of Transformation, was anything...anything...but excellent. My caprice simply isn't followed in it, yet when she finally gets to the Hebrew, then Christian ideal, the spirit that comes asunder just as in Chaim Potok's book WANDERINGs--is a fulminate numinous experience. A history of Judaism--a novel, dealing with a beautiful definition of your (X-tian's) Theosophical narrative, authorial Entity, dare I say=Jesus was coolly coolly approached in his writing about HIM. I love that book--and needed to hear Jesus discussed so honestly. This book more than any has impressed me and somehow deliberating on it now, I am looking for some garment of ideation as if the technicolor bhakti (Hindu's devotion or Love) I WANT TO MAINTAIN, is going to be captured in any one moment per POTOK and his rabbinic mysterion.
^^Subject: maitreya

I just thought that this was a Buddhist School, the way it is discussed in Gere's Pilgrims. The idea was that whenever a negative thought arises, the Aspirant would mark a black mark on the ceiling of his cave. Then likewise when positive thoughts arise. First 10 yrs of negativitity, then the over-coming of the lethargy of time by the next 10yrs of White marks reconciling the monk's new day, which was to go back to society and find his master. I am thinking the sense of it was that he was following Maitreya studies before his nirvanic (nibbana) ascension when he kneals before a wounded dog and places his tongue in its puss ridden body to extricate the maggots. As he commences, just as perhaps my tongue was flattered by the spirit, he tastes an Immense sun burst, whereas I felt availed of some kind of path. It is all about tasting our bliss, I believe. Curious!! Presuming we can taste inner-liberty thru the sampling of antecedents, whether some issuant spirit body, human love, or as I did when I placed my tongue on the antiquated light switch in my room as if reacquaintance was what I ambulated toward--that we do things that have no rational motive and yet has the absurdem reigning supreme is how the spirit world avails the experential like a trajectory thru the unknown path? Yeah, there was another strange phenomenon occurring to me when I had gotten back from Eastern State Hosp, back in 1993 that either was some side effect from my meds or was me adapting to a solitarian resignation and consigned to differing shadows of mental nomenclature therein. I saw rotating guffaws in my vision as I looked to the mural on the wall of my bedroom. The advancing perhaps nightmarish psychedelia I always imagined from this Escheresque black and yellow wall mural my brother produced was something enjoining me to consume again what the 4 cornered room had on offer: solace, communion, convalescence... My yeahs as being my yeahs, just means that I have to allow that what these weird visions portend are just a manifestation of What-Is! If thoughts feelings and actions are allegory to Higher Ground, then anything emboldening me would indeed be things like these mind sore moments as unsolicited as they are, and truly benign--as nothing advancing disquiet or threatening social imbalances, were resulting. This aphorism in my theme from this narrative is saying, The Spiritual Man is Mad...but madness is relative, and thank G^d for making me mad!

Paul K at Cosmic Charlies: an acquisitive narrative!

After a long distance scrawl of some voice in lightning like imagery, having whiling away moments listening to Patriots, some iconographic image of him occurred to me as the emanator like a mundi vox. It was theophanic perhaps, because I was raining personas in a monk-like interval in my life then, then lasting about 10 yrs, no doubt. The image was remote but I toted it around as the album's antecedent, at any one point needing to be emptied... Once at the Dame, Paul was playing and I intended on going to see the show. The image had me on a limb, and I could see how it was pinned--til I walked into the dimness of of the old Dame sauntering thru the few groups of people murmurring... Then that chimera was before me, and without my impetus, Paul turned on a dime quickening some statement of presence--and the image was enjoined, and gone.
P.K. USED TO PLAY OVER AT LMNOP. Back in the day there was a dark orbiting feeling I thrived on knowing all that these people cared about was release & no pretension of who I was. I liked being the junction toward that effect. And if we observe "the-letting-go," we surface with the experienced-forms of self, rather than ultimately sacrifice ourselves in the fray of less serious moments. OVER at Montmullin (right across from Campus, next to the old Theological Seminary) w/the Weathermen & then also sometime later the impressions were thus: Surmising the plain hearth, looks like a spectralShore--I loaded it up w/ideas, toyed w/it. The smoke is the philosophy & the sky so vast, waiting, but not much can be seen! The sky is the mind, smoke gives it dimension. We go & lay our head, something tells us to do that. The fire burps & spews & we're not surprised. We think. And I felt I was a "Driver back in Khartoum." Guns were drawn, the TV stupidly plays--its antennae reflecting, alarmed. I set the bottle of whiskey on the table. I had bought it earlier that day intending upon a slow drunk--I give it away instead. Back toward the door I'm borne out to the streets. The Autumnal sky created by the architecture of birds over-coming, evading the smoke, clinging to tall trees--mayhem in some, like the breathing constituent mind, pulsing. Taking shelter in the warmest regions, I sit down & watch awhile. My ride will be there soon. I remember walking over to this cemetery--in a similar season's gray, the main one here in Lexington in this haze back when REd Fly Nation was making music--the band I was in. Getting out of our downtown abode, book in hand about alchemy, the sun seemed to say I had enough time to find a conscious pocket & commiserate on a Then unknown-- It was evening time, but no social rapproach in that I am my own worst critic, would sucker me into being something I couldn't or wouldn't live up to anyway. Like Bob Marley says--my then constant companion--"Music a godly thing." And the good company I kept in the place where humans were interred, was made of an indefinite chorus. There was something in the river of sight to which I belonged...the eternal world was the temporal one. And all the deceased pointed to it.
Excess all around, but I'm some gypsy--a hurried presence, maybe there in Newburgh, on my way, on my own, ready to see the planned vacation spot 4 me & my lady. A steely glance from this guy carrying a strapless suitcase & guitar seemed to indict the picture of me--now even less of a mendicant. It is foggy out this am., a quizzical look on my face records Valerie asking me, as if she is there, "Doest thou love the fog?" Dirt on pavement, puddles on the unproffered way across the parkingLot, I'm muddling forward to the busStation. She says, "If you fear it, you hate it, & if you hate it you love it." (Evgenii Zamyatin) I'm drudged up from the bottom now, she's Rt, but there is no afterward. But a bird lunges at the run over pack of crackers at my periphery, like it was belched out of the mist. Aunt Eleanor's house is only a couple of blocks away--a neighborhood adjacent to the shopping cntr. I've seen phosphorescent fungus growing out of a tree there 2 houses up from hers. The next day someone smashes it in with their foot: nature as art has chaos with which to contend. I'll need a key for the bungalow up in the Catskills, Valerie will be waiting for me there. "Dip in, dip in--to the sea of possibilities." (Patti Smith) --language is the valley of tongues, the spirit decends to correspond with the obvious=the quantifying of surfaces--but our babel wants more. Paul's music, like Aaron--brother of Moses speaks as if digging a ditch in the sky, where "pirates of the airwaves" (Lee Perry) can be interred in their graves burying the encumbrances of the details so it will rain down as the communicating ancients making known the world-to-come, if there is one.