The place of all my changes: In my sabbatical from the world, in the throes of schizophrenia social disaffection, I hoofed it around that neighborhood a lot. I'd go down to the church rightt there to the right of the end of Lane Allen Rd. and on Parkers Mill Rd., sit or lie under a one of the pine trees in the parking lot and read. Did so in spittles of rain--it was vehemently the best thing I could've been doing for myself at the time. My heart is at the very center of my being imagining my education in those moments of reprieve. Pines all around, woodchucks scrabbling into the hillock, upon whose peak I was lying in repose.
I'd also go to Beaumont park, to the pit--a sinkhole, and sit within the confines of the fencing, to read and meditate. I was seeking a backdoor to get find a way into a social requiem that had normalcy's vantage point--and clearly ascetic, historical studies were my venue!! ...for me, it worked!
Like Kerouac's rendevous in a stand of trees on the way to the shore's edge,
Ancient rosy colors in my eyes (using Kerouac's imagery), as I sit in theoria repose, has me realize all my power-spots have been well-worn, and now I am trying to find the eye of the needle, so that I may compound what necessarily is my advantage --the need for results.
Lee Scratch Perry is very instrumental in redefining where like the sands blowing over me from Salvador Dali's The Broken Bridge and the Dream, tent-poles of consciousness are the prodigy of self-possession, in pillaresque and unbroken shadows throughout morning's arrival on a desert plain. The desert was the blanketing atmosphere, and reduced characterizations I could ever imagine in a glance at the somehow dynamic "me!"
Papillion's hell, makes heat (in this desert's life) the demon, and the coolness of dreams is still the lure of his agni-mind, whilst skewering insects to dine on: this stark circumstance, pained and monk-like abbreviates an on-going memory reflection I have when I felt this dynamic selflessness was my loosing personae...slowly reduced to more subtle soft-machine "bodies," and less able to be borne unto anything that could show me an exercise in self-worth. There is no woe worth my lament now, I think.
But here's what Anselm of Cantebury said a thousand yrs ago. One can conceive of a being that which nothing greater can be conceived. Eternity maybe, yet I am emanating that quality of Our awareness...OK? So, that which nothing greater can be conceived is the end-game: Impermanence is the rule, for every quality of these 10,000 things we enjoin, if not now, maybe not ever--evidently we can know as much!
My good friend says in a raga ryddim (sic) that of 10 or more dimensions of which we can't SPEAK, but that we KNOW of, makes me respond as follows: The caged monkey is my interpretation of that; the mind which keeps us in the throes unknowns, doesn't necessarily indicate realities, just semblances.
**Meditation upon nothingness, is merely DOING something about Nothing--giving substance to what otherwise was the result of our SENSE of emptiness, beautiful vast emptiness. My interlocuttor seemed to support an awareness on Nothingness, yet then turn around and say it's tedious, uncomfortable. I am not saying meditating on nothing is anything but a result--space the "final" frontier where things go away or not. But once we develop what at once is the absolute, the all or nothing PrinciPAL, we then can reduce our presumptious, strenuously fulminate/foolish selves, that ecstatic mind and soul of ours, in a way for answering for LESS OF it. Less of our life's fulmination, the mischievious mind... THe best way to be. Remember the Use of the Word, Absolute--it is the most supreme value in our vain symbolic language that we'd use to call G^D, Ayn-sof...the Endless, Eternal. But pivoting upon awareness, always a KNown, never an Unknown.
**I know when I have/am conscious of half-thoughts, or have a whole idea. I'm fully aware of deficits in my "education" over the Transcendent...so I'm merely defining what it is to Question, rather than assume there's an Answer in relishing an Unknown.
~~I can tell you the other day sitting in the public square reading intently I looked up and felt subscribed to a real silence. Then I realized from whence it came...inside of me, the very object and nomenclature of impulse in my mind. It was a bit of a warning, like don't chime away with it until I've overcome its effect--you'll need this. Yet sweeter than that, you know.
~~Churchill said, "giants are bowed in anxious thought." On the filth ridden Egyptian shore of the Yam Suf, Reed Sea--we know as the Red one, without comparing my fractious life to tethered-huge-political-events as government industries have made all the world's govs complicit in the advancement in war-winning, sitting at the feet of giants makes it laughable that it could be anything other the celestial events. Not being a positivist means precisely that, that my refrain from some social vehicle is mission enough to ruin any authorities' measure of me. Had it been convenient to do that, truth wouldn't have been found in a pathless arising--my arising, never comfortable saying it was Meant, thru the triune of memoria, intellectus, and voluntas. The ultimate symbol seems inwardly available if having allowed for some folly, that I have eternity fooled. The ultimate symbol for the self is NOT.
In Dahab, on its shore we stayed in a cement hut, I believed clearly in a pleroma to meet was that evening's midnight sky as we were doddling twigs in embers on the perimeter of the bedouin village there. The peopled pantheon of these crossroads were comfortable steps to rejoin. And if anything I wanted to think myself into this world as meditations dissolved the unfair line between dream and reality. There is a seam between me and the outward fact, but I'll never meet it and only just all this sTuFf that may be the climate of this room, in its silent corners. Waiting for any call, nothings seems so dear, I can't say I'm anything other than what I can't control anyway. The showroom quality of stiff agents in the pharoah's chamber, is more my castle of eternity. Nothing to plead in defense of having been captured in emptiness, sweet nothing, on these streets a ghost-town lastly "til the government comes along and pushes it down." Marley's language.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
**^^^Spare me on to Another YEAR^^^**
Yellow matter custard in the pup's last look. Down by the creek, I was 6--like NOW looking back, coulda been Dharma, Arjuna's dog. Yet IT had already met its peace, and mine still eludes me! I throttled the continiuity that meant momentum and I'd grow old. All we will ever know is One World, can't be defined by anything but what is. I'd wander Quail Creek in Austin Texas, go to its liminal point, next to the field and what we called the Ant Tree, because of those hordes of ants that inhabited it. Looking off to the savannah tall grasses and treed area out in the blue of the unknown--I was you know pre-teen--I thought about just that feeling of not seeing imminently as far as I wanted. I took this as entirely an image in the vocabulary of spirituality--feeding my spirit, this much I knew! ****
This remembrance is as vivid in my mind as sitting in front of my 800pg book called The Hindus, last night. I was certain that consciousness was barely me, and actually MORE of what I'd consort with in vast swathes of impressions, spectacle, and spectral shore-like. I thought G^d where is its furthest reaches. No doubt!
Saw where my friend from H.S. Rob's Mom put a pic up for his bro Sean. I'm telling you, I see that boy "remaining in light" so to speak. I hear his laugh. He wanted to beat me up the last time I saw him--I was wayward then, knowing, just knowing I'd never see those folks again--but Sean was the foci of those thoughts although Rob and family were in the tell-tale in spirit of MY leaving their hearth and home behind. This is as I saw things deeply with a lot of situations then in my life. A kind of You can never go Home again thing, that I was intuiting. And well had I not thought it, it would have been unusual that Sean's passing has soooo poignantly and sadly made us resigned, only to live up and for his memory, as for others of course.
Told my brother, Dreamt about Zadie recently. We were over to what WAS the Russian House on Aylesford one DREAM before, which I want to figure out. He dropped keys in the tall grass standing past the frontporch. I found 'em. His posture was just like a picture I drew of myself of the old man I would be. We have an outstretched hand, we are, but in my representative image I was letting a bird take flight. I feel I am ever looking for the right question to ask 'em. Usually in dreams I have no conversation imparted, this one was only me kind of in awe, and trying to be casual because well obviously his presence isn't on this normative physical plain. The death and dying of man, man--this is our impermanent record, these words this life and its rich pageant.
THE ADVANTAGE OF LIGHTNING THOUGHTS:
I've worked myself into a credible weird sadness as if I were at the depths of good-byes to my family. Seemed so believable, I thought I had a reason to cry except for the fact it was over myself... Then I was, well "I'd never know, selah." The project of my self-worth is sometimes only in light of immense generalizations these patterns saying communication is imminent. It is almost non-anthropos except for the fact that iconography of our minds is of course entirely self-mythologized. So, when I say I am in proximity to Us, self-understanding is captured.
I dated this really buxom generation-next or X woman, and she all but punched my cigarette, a really demanding woman. Getting out of her car not long before I lived in this what was to me like a bungalow, but actually was a treehouse, I was then living with three of my closest family members. In this dispensation I just was at a disadvantage from telling everyone why I was trying to cultivate something else. I looked to move around enough that a sense of responsibility would have been obvious to me, while mitigating these expectant employers--like staying at Pizza Hut very much longer or any job. My girl, then, is giving me a ride home after some late night thing after work. So, looking at some Kessil the Fool in the sky--the Jewish name for the stars Orion, not even close enough to precipitate some Hebraic like-like light at the end of this condiut room earth tabernacle, the astrology had no value but just my body as THAT--some starry night, and no mind but some anxiety that is a blanket draping the heaven, only just above me. Inclined toward Sisyphus, in that I can't quite find my feet any more than boughs proffer Sabbath--while tikkun, restoration is clarified from without, the limbs almost reach...yet did not. I suppose this was some kind of karmic death, and indeed I am merely a block away from this vision's loci, and the pleroma of something we call liminal and sky-bound is as encumbering and beckoning now as it will ever be... Then dusk will be dawn, and the new day will be the green of space fading in my dream-scape, turning thoughts to reality.
This remembrance is as vivid in my mind as sitting in front of my 800pg book called The Hindus, last night. I was certain that consciousness was barely me, and actually MORE of what I'd consort with in vast swathes of impressions, spectacle, and spectral shore-like. I thought G^d where is its furthest reaches. No doubt!
Saw where my friend from H.S. Rob's Mom put a pic up for his bro Sean. I'm telling you, I see that boy "remaining in light" so to speak. I hear his laugh. He wanted to beat me up the last time I saw him--I was wayward then, knowing, just knowing I'd never see those folks again--but Sean was the foci of those thoughts although Rob and family were in the tell-tale in spirit of MY leaving their hearth and home behind. This is as I saw things deeply with a lot of situations then in my life. A kind of You can never go Home again thing, that I was intuiting. And well had I not thought it, it would have been unusual that Sean's passing has soooo poignantly and sadly made us resigned, only to live up and for his memory, as for others of course.
Told my brother, Dreamt about Zadie recently. We were over to what WAS the Russian House on Aylesford one DREAM before, which I want to figure out. He dropped keys in the tall grass standing past the frontporch. I found 'em. His posture was just like a picture I drew of myself of the old man I would be. We have an outstretched hand, we are, but in my representative image I was letting a bird take flight. I feel I am ever looking for the right question to ask 'em. Usually in dreams I have no conversation imparted, this one was only me kind of in awe, and trying to be casual because well obviously his presence isn't on this normative physical plain. The death and dying of man, man--this is our impermanent record, these words this life and its rich pageant.
THE ADVANTAGE OF LIGHTNING THOUGHTS:
I've worked myself into a credible weird sadness as if I were at the depths of good-byes to my family. Seemed so believable, I thought I had a reason to cry except for the fact it was over myself... Then I was, well "I'd never know, selah." The project of my self-worth is sometimes only in light of immense generalizations these patterns saying communication is imminent. It is almost non-anthropos except for the fact that iconography of our minds is of course entirely self-mythologized. So, when I say I am in proximity to Us, self-understanding is captured.
I dated this really buxom generation-next or X woman, and she all but punched my cigarette, a really demanding woman. Getting out of her car not long before I lived in this what was to me like a bungalow, but actually was a treehouse, I was then living with three of my closest family members. In this dispensation I just was at a disadvantage from telling everyone why I was trying to cultivate something else. I looked to move around enough that a sense of responsibility would have been obvious to me, while mitigating these expectant employers--like staying at Pizza Hut very much longer or any job. My girl, then, is giving me a ride home after some late night thing after work. So, looking at some Kessil the Fool in the sky--the Jewish name for the stars Orion, not even close enough to precipitate some Hebraic like-like light at the end of this condiut room earth tabernacle, the astrology had no value but just my body as THAT--some starry night, and no mind but some anxiety that is a blanket draping the heaven, only just above me. Inclined toward Sisyphus, in that I can't quite find my feet any more than boughs proffer Sabbath--while tikkun, restoration is clarified from without, the limbs almost reach...yet did not. I suppose this was some kind of karmic death, and indeed I am merely a block away from this vision's loci, and the pleroma of something we call liminal and sky-bound is as encumbering and beckoning now as it will ever be... Then dusk will be dawn, and the new day will be the green of space fading in my dream-scape, turning thoughts to reality.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
My debate with a Biblical-Thumping Myopic INDIVIDUAL
Now what if I said I CAN'T GIVE my X-tian friend GOOD KARMA, because he can't receive it, as he says. Just doesn't seem right THAT I CAN'T. ANYBODY see irony in that? LIke "SORRY, don't give me your view of the compassionate edifice this LIFE portends, because I DON"T SEE IT THAT WAY. YOUR WAY. ANY OTHER WAY THAN THE CONCRETIZED MONOLITH of MY own VIEW." NOW NOW WAIT A MINUTE. IN THAT my friend BELIEVES TRULY IN ONE LOVE OF HIS SAVIOR AND OUR promise therein--on the face of it, is fine. HE SAYS HE CARES. I JUST CAN'T FIND where that has become liminal in anybody else's tradition. Sorry, I find that sad, if not misinformed to imagine that it ought to be.
WEll, I am just going with the fact that my X-tian friend would not accept alternatives to Higher Ground. Meaning, he may interpret my goal for something Transcendent as lacking the Truth/ Jesus. I mean, that is the case isn't it? He feels I for one and Dalai Lama and an extenuating list of folks all are MISSING the boat. That may be hard for him to defend and meanwhile it may seem I would be mad at you for that sense of cultural resolve, but I am just trying to be as critically aware of how it is people generally dismiss the quality of the Other's view toward Compassion. It seems he has said as much. The Dalai Lama has mISSED the boat--so to speak, I have heard him say. I just think it's misinformed about the beauty of what one could get out of his / her own trad if it is at the expense of marginalizing the mutual arising of another community. You see, I am being rational. I am using an idea you yourself have noted about the LIMITS of everyone else, til they have found Jesus. There shouldn't be any thing angry/volatile here coming across. I would never say Jesus was anything but a beautiful Path. It may not be mine, but that must be my perogative, not now the job of X-tians to start a conflagration of missionizing, because they can't accept I haven't reckoned apostasy.
So, I am asked about Sin. I think by sin he may mean behavior that is misguided: actively pursuing concupiscence--self-indulgence.
Yeah, I call that escapism. For instance assuming we have the ultimate tool for catharsis, and discovery of our failings, sin makes for suffering of self and others. But considering people want to define things impermanently by imagining there is a World Here-after, because they feel better that the instinct of one's own demise shall BE answered for, IS what I call escapism. Because Jesus didn't REALLY say (as evinced in Karen Armstrong's wisdom seeking research) to believe in him, but to have faith--the root of which is termed Initiated. And as that initiation isn't our perfection, but only gratifying, albeit strongly having become better acquainted with our World in all its myriad forms, still, the tool only portrays an approximation about Creation. SO IT'S FLAWED, as we are even in the writing of said Scripture, tho' inspired in its relevance. SO AGREE--and quit running from the POTENTIAL beauty and relevance with the Dalai Lama that his Path must be as certain,--relevance being the actionable word. Because he has as flawed a tool as the bible, and equally inspired.
Next I was asked about resurrection: Sorry I find it strange that you'd think THE QUESTION for me is whether or not Jesus was raised from the dead. Because my friend that doesn't phase me. I am not answering THRU the biblacy lens--as you do. So, you'd get no verity from my sense of the super-natural assertion of scripture. Anyway, as far as discovery of TRUTH--the way, I'd say TRUTH is a PATHLESS land.**Krishnamurti reference. Truth is an obstacle to our sense of relevance. For instance, we are certain that we are bound by time, even timelessness, yet we transition, making the case for a strong TRUTH about the impermanence of things.
***I know that people come and go, this truth suggests I may as well reckon my solitarian life and imagine that ONLY my condition has significance. But tho' this sense of eternality and its corruption thru space, ignorance and desire, is a true observation (the fragmented lives we lead!)--it takes getting over EGO to realize that other person feels just as I do.--feeling solitarian I mean. THAT's KARMA. WE both are mutually arising. Seemingly having nothing to do with each other, yet we would learn from each other--not make him or her believe as I do, but accept that their world has conditions seriously different than mine and must be given its due respect. There is nothing but disipline that would make me "give a care" about other communities' IDEAL in their struggle with Transcendence. And disipline is not merely a path--actually it is sincerely OBSERVING WE ARE ALL DIFFERENT--just observing, NOT ACTING necessarily over abstract points like pie in the sky, and a world to come. There is one world--agreed--heaven and or hell before us, why deny the fine details of our various interpretations in how to live AMONGST?
Dude, youre welcome to go with odds, why would I accept the same proposition, since X-tianity is your religious antecedent, and not mine. So by way of answering your question--I could always climb over the wall rather than run into it, or I could sit before it in contemplation of the thing liminal. The uber-mensch, as discussed in Dostoevskii's Underground Man, so to speak topples the effect of even his own reprieve if only to maintain OBJECTIVITY. Whose alternative is delusion when we become complacent and imagine we have all that material control, as well as control over spiritual resources. Which isn't ABOUT DOCTRINE singularly, or if I accept then I'll-be-saved equations. I don't give away anything I'd ever need in the end. The thing you'd ask me to give away is the sense of identity I derive, as fleeting as it is, to a political institution: pick your religion--they all are! I'll be clear about the "IDENTITY" thing. The only thing, and the most noble thing TO ggive away IS identity. But, if I do, as I wear the cloak of aphorisms in light of the X-tian Ideal, then X-tians must also seek wisdom in what otherwise is not conventional to them. Because in the end convention means NOTHING, there is no normative to which I will create a life of unvarying habit. Constant revolution--if only in thought. Laying my salvation at the foot of an institution, as the gospel of John asks one to do, is foolish--the Gospel of Thomas says the Light of the Lord is within. Why accept a church conflict about what was accepted as canon, and what ought not be, while denying access to any other wisdom religion?
WEll, I am just going with the fact that my X-tian friend would not accept alternatives to Higher Ground. Meaning, he may interpret my goal for something Transcendent as lacking the Truth/ Jesus. I mean, that is the case isn't it? He feels I for one and Dalai Lama and an extenuating list of folks all are MISSING the boat. That may be hard for him to defend and meanwhile it may seem I would be mad at you for that sense of cultural resolve, but I am just trying to be as critically aware of how it is people generally dismiss the quality of the Other's view toward Compassion. It seems he has said as much. The Dalai Lama has mISSED the boat--so to speak, I have heard him say. I just think it's misinformed about the beauty of what one could get out of his / her own trad if it is at the expense of marginalizing the mutual arising of another community. You see, I am being rational. I am using an idea you yourself have noted about the LIMITS of everyone else, til they have found Jesus. There shouldn't be any thing angry/volatile here coming across. I would never say Jesus was anything but a beautiful Path. It may not be mine, but that must be my perogative, not now the job of X-tians to start a conflagration of missionizing, because they can't accept I haven't reckoned apostasy.
So, I am asked about Sin. I think by sin he may mean behavior that is misguided: actively pursuing concupiscence--self-indulgence.
Yeah, I call that escapism. For instance assuming we have the ultimate tool for catharsis, and discovery of our failings, sin makes for suffering of self and others. But considering people want to define things impermanently by imagining there is a World Here-after, because they feel better that the instinct of one's own demise shall BE answered for, IS what I call escapism. Because Jesus didn't REALLY say (as evinced in Karen Armstrong's wisdom seeking research) to believe in him, but to have faith--the root of which is termed Initiated. And as that initiation isn't our perfection, but only gratifying, albeit strongly having become better acquainted with our World in all its myriad forms, still, the tool only portrays an approximation about Creation. SO IT'S FLAWED, as we are even in the writing of said Scripture, tho' inspired in its relevance. SO AGREE--and quit running from the POTENTIAL beauty and relevance with the Dalai Lama that his Path must be as certain,--relevance being the actionable word. Because he has as flawed a tool as the bible, and equally inspired.
Next I was asked about resurrection: Sorry I find it strange that you'd think THE QUESTION for me is whether or not Jesus was raised from the dead. Because my friend that doesn't phase me. I am not answering THRU the biblacy lens--as you do. So, you'd get no verity from my sense of the super-natural assertion of scripture. Anyway, as far as discovery of TRUTH--the way, I'd say TRUTH is a PATHLESS land.**Krishnamurti reference. Truth is an obstacle to our sense of relevance. For instance, we are certain that we are bound by time, even timelessness, yet we transition, making the case for a strong TRUTH about the impermanence of things.
***I know that people come and go, this truth suggests I may as well reckon my solitarian life and imagine that ONLY my condition has significance. But tho' this sense of eternality and its corruption thru space, ignorance and desire, is a true observation (the fragmented lives we lead!)--it takes getting over EGO to realize that other person feels just as I do.--feeling solitarian I mean. THAT's KARMA. WE both are mutually arising. Seemingly having nothing to do with each other, yet we would learn from each other--not make him or her believe as I do, but accept that their world has conditions seriously different than mine and must be given its due respect. There is nothing but disipline that would make me "give a care" about other communities' IDEAL in their struggle with Transcendence. And disipline is not merely a path--actually it is sincerely OBSERVING WE ARE ALL DIFFERENT--just observing, NOT ACTING necessarily over abstract points like pie in the sky, and a world to come. There is one world--agreed--heaven and or hell before us, why deny the fine details of our various interpretations in how to live AMONGST?
Dude, youre welcome to go with odds, why would I accept the same proposition, since X-tianity is your religious antecedent, and not mine. So by way of answering your question--I could always climb over the wall rather than run into it, or I could sit before it in contemplation of the thing liminal. The uber-mensch, as discussed in Dostoevskii's Underground Man, so to speak topples the effect of even his own reprieve if only to maintain OBJECTIVITY. Whose alternative is delusion when we become complacent and imagine we have all that material control, as well as control over spiritual resources. Which isn't ABOUT DOCTRINE singularly, or if I accept then I'll-be-saved equations. I don't give away anything I'd ever need in the end. The thing you'd ask me to give away is the sense of identity I derive, as fleeting as it is, to a political institution: pick your religion--they all are! I'll be clear about the "IDENTITY" thing. The only thing, and the most noble thing TO ggive away IS identity. But, if I do, as I wear the cloak of aphorisms in light of the X-tian Ideal, then X-tians must also seek wisdom in what otherwise is not conventional to them. Because in the end convention means NOTHING, there is no normative to which I will create a life of unvarying habit. Constant revolution--if only in thought. Laying my salvation at the foot of an institution, as the gospel of John asks one to do, is foolish--the Gospel of Thomas says the Light of the Lord is within. Why accept a church conflict about what was accepted as canon, and what ought not be, while denying access to any other wisdom religion?
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