^^^Out behind my cousin's old house, rt. there on Nich'ville rd are interred bodies--grave sites exciting the possibilities that I can recommend other semi-permanent conscious crowds, something possible taking place that Observers had observed..., will detail a path in & out of these environs... Stale consecration libations were only cheap beer parties--in backyard treehouse, poured out to poor lives relieved of this Station in life--I'm presenting just then; their consideration was palpable. The sequestered field of possibilities--the little rock, fenced-in graveyard at the entrance of old people's domicile-apts, by the Burger King, by the Weiner King, by Racket Time, by my last paned threshold window, looking off to empty day's promisory: vague ablutions THESE deceased propose to meet me in Due time-my due! I believe it vehemently then--and want a similar introduction as if a sensual personae is made known.
^^The tin peal of all the sing-song rhetoric, here at its media borne moment has to make sublimation now, my sublimation--corrupting language as dogged as appearances. Once and for all there's a dialect, because I can't any longer sequester talk bound to emotion. Their emotions. It seems more oratory is stony percussion, & telegraphed. I want vox ambulating like white sands' paths meeting me, orienting me toward an opportunity of its greatest dissipation. A view to its roil. Brahmins proscribing in the aeries of air-wave graves, tableaus of What is Said and at the bridge of the day's long ends, alert like a muezzin--hundreds of thousands of Bilals, Muhammed's first crier--are only chanting Presence--& in grammars of bird song, and human dance, still only saying I'm Here, Yea! Over Here.
^^To assess perhaps a deep aside--it can't be at your center--I used to throw against the mindwall a few things: Something conceptual to develop using mantras including words like Kavvanot--Focus Meditation, Kabbalah--Received, & Enoch--the strange temporal transitions one may go thru.
A friend mentioned Enoch--this prophet for critical meditation, the kind where letter permutation is theoria in mediate happenstance. If life (eventuality) is to process, then articulating it is the dross pen lying fallow until chthonian forces brandish new tableaux. So toward Metatrone's Book of zzz Life - his agency is to enscribe the acolyte into the "transcendental bridge of awareness" - this is also Enoch, as is told, sublimating the profane, meaning the astral aeries or our cosmic interest of it, into the Microcosm. It's called Restoration. =tikkun. Words to exalt have this root. Language is the profession of prophets' ordeal, and is what strangers dream at its best when mysterium is vindicated as the totem nears...like their animicule symbols, energy vessels, bodies sentience awakening.
^^Hallucinations in Jerusalem: I was 20--but now just Watched a documentary on the first production of A, and its Mood & Mind Science, say for cluster migraines--which are, I am told, the worst...
It is Nat. Geo. doc on LSD. That it delivers the norm apostate to refuse desire... In Jerusalem Rob & I split a hit--and wandered in cooler Fall rain--light shower. I think I wanted to see emotions' procession finally laid out, but still bound to machine probity makes observable release an *immediate* pay-off--I couldn't finesse a way forward that my abysmal jump would have been a perfect compulsion: long times to contemplate. Long times to contemplate aren't in fact timely... I'm just realizing in that ambiance I still have infinitum more empty bottles to fill, with an answer the bottle-sought provides but not in its acquisition. Just my reach for it. Tea that night helped to make the mentoring of moments suspiring, suspire mercurially.
^^When I was 6yrs old at the neighboring st. in Laurel Grove Austin, Texas--I sought to be conveyed in a few moments the thoughts that constituted what was to me My lifetime. So to be articulated into something not so easily defined, I thought I should start At-the-End of the path/those thoughts/that day/This life. My query involves as follows: we tend to sort out the last 5mins in any kind of constancy, our life's totality i.e. generalities supposing some inertia that there is some Grand design to our efforts. This usually means something epiphenomenal like the image of the rabbi, in my mind, that has the dust of archetypes upon it (life's exquisite dust--the halotosis of institutions & Rabbi Schwab's weathered dross stimulation.) --rather a motivating emotion I suppose in meditation. Is this K'fitsas haderekh? Translation: "Skipping," what one does w/visions & thus the experience of presence made known. I'm here yet also and within grasp at some point in temporal elsewheres at once?
^^^There's only +he dream of existence & +hen +he exegete from +he awakening from +he dream of existence. All we have to go on. So when a sage says self-knowledge is sooo eclipsed, lapsed because now one considers that it is the valley-limned ...really long time coming--shadowy depths denied as merely a surfeit of memoria, now no different than our dearly departed days of youth, maybe intensity--as much as embraced blue slumber comfort that every bit of me is become sacrificed--I ! But it's not that now years into the lairs of conscious satelites (receiving...) we endure helplessness anew, but rather it - these empirical throes of annihilation - were remarkable right out youth's convening. Then -- blue to black, green to earth's slumbering colours--change . From just knowing who's registering our angst and then allowing real suggestions in what direction we go, to irreconciled languish in our minds lit! BUT LIT it is. Now to validate cornering even the solace expectations were met. In that corner the heathen back Yea, on the wall. Late for festival, but enjoining the same release as festivals contend--at what point does 432,000 yrs my piligrimage thru some woodlands of this passing, make 10,ooo things of what is manifest---earth nomenclature, exquisite dust 'pon clay man's hoof, at fractured trees... birds over-taking, architecture in the skyline--make Unity Unique--a garden of no path. Truth is at the dukka (conflict) da'ath (knowledge) deled (door), at the ocean margins *fountain sky above*, & no further. (?) ttttthere is No Path.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
To the Extent I've become the Other Brother
A black american might say in a striking excelsior bout of self-consciousness, "My G-d My G-d people just like these around us, had my nation in links and chains--"they're dressed in the same pollution" says Marley in horse trot riddim indicating the judgment before halelujah time. Even blood knowing the attendant norm as Core-Culture wouldn't naturally be as prohibitive... So, he's self conscious, not in fear, but in that which brings wisdom. And whose numina is the wealth of Identity, I-dren, Sistren...his conscious crowd? Not yours perhaps, but consider his embrace outside our loosening world-savy contentment, and consider our embrace outside that too.
***I was looking for something to do, so I came over to your house. I think then over in the vicinity where the WT Young library was put up. I know Kakie was over that way too, but you too somewhere living with Leslie, and only Leslie was at home where I ended up in that dusk of consistantly symbolic night in Lexington: one could be certain of the escape of time's efforts--the season brought me into the terminus of Autumnal tumult, while my studies in a fluid draft (like a draft horse) anchored me to music's release with the certainty that anything could be as true. You'd gone to a gig, and I see your hat on your bed's backboard. Leslie is sitting on the bed, but I'm reticent to sit around and bullshit with her, like I am invited to something beyond the given rappore. It's winter and at any rate I sit on a cold stoop at the entrance to the bedroom, wanting to light a cig. In the tale of conscious crowd in my mind I had it that folks were on healthy awareness experiments, I assumed ya'll's reserve for that then--but I had no way to verify. I consider the apposite of an event of convalescence, eating right, to have the expectation of drugged conduct beckoned, but when I'm patiently trialing consciousness--so reading awhile, taking in music otherly, whatever it may be--it's through smoking in convened moments that has a day spirited in giant leaps--so to the victory of physical liberation, a volley of power over time's reins!!
**Attention appreciating, unthwarted, wanting Dostoevskii's K bro to entreat my need to Turn-Around!!!
I'm not subdued by the fact that many of my trials were deliberative. It may mean everything is self-duty with the key to self available in loss of motive in as much as one might have been certain. Again, when the course of my life seems liminal, then at least orienting myself toward the ineffable is evidence of probabilities endless indicated right out of our reach. I know mostly *what-is* is out of my control--even the decisor mental event. But what stands out is the distance between my convulsed self and the semblance - the idea - the motive NOT to act. Things are; I'm becoming; G^d is complex, intricate, so my sense is not to justify acting in IT's behalf, but to be the convergence of time place & community. That way the narrative that says I've alone manufactured the dialect with What-Is (Immense) is not so dear that I would be damned for capturing Otherness--w/the intent to deny it's responsibility upon me adjured. Solemnity expected in my mind, not authorially placating my ignorance.
**That there would be a statute that suggests a culture can't advance because it is a vehicle for a mission, has little to do with an acolyte toward his her appreciation of what resourcefulness they have been reduced down to consider. A worthy World View, propitious self-knowledge, is not one that elaborates one's conflict w/an ambiguous claimant's surmise. No prophets typically avail an adherent were they'd most likely have had their most sober efforts staged for a fractal event. Theoria is finding In ('side the fluid thoughtlessness), the liberation of ourselves in this temporal actionable cause, is finding Out. Love Kerouac's use of The Great Awakening to the Dream of Existence--his letter, to my Mutazila's faylasuf *philosophy*: To dream thereby we exist, to deign meaning for the dream's observer is gaining access to his her teacher. The Teacher or Prophet's lives are chimera activities...
^^Theoria is finding In ('side the fluid thoughtlessness), & the liberation of ourselves in this temporal actionable cause, is finding Out. The Dao monk rations out the practical appeal toward Effortlessness. When it occurred to me that I find myself sitting, asana unpuzzled legs indian style, memorialized space is glossy unscattered, inviting me to run into it. Fluidity--thus, repentant--and no frontiers for knowledge, temporate non-self in momentum of torpor-esque persona hushing floutist nuances is the only thing held in the mirror.
**Idols are silent, but the gods are noisy***
This babel falling with it's gravity pulling us with it's reins is more like a voidant possibility. Drawing us into distances strewn with lousy promises, like food as "resolved" sustenance--Babel as what's been deficated, yet nothing in evidence that gives life strong sensory data. Bowels empty, and these lives in transformation yet out of our control--this very message from Without, fortifies nothing. Stillness achieved is just the fable of man's mind that silence is by measure & force his due. It is all so obvious to me that some little limb--divined mind shore--the silence, is in fact tacit and not auditory or sound-appreciating the hue and lack therein, because I looked at it. It is the tethered fealty to propriety of release--in our heads, yet we are indeed a collective unto experience until thru observation the fray is the won-overed motive that delivers the Commiserate to the truth that NOTHING IS IN FACT happening. Not silence, not sound in its fluid appeal to corporeal auditive phonic furniture.
***I was looking for something to do, so I came over to your house. I think then over in the vicinity where the WT Young library was put up. I know Kakie was over that way too, but you too somewhere living with Leslie, and only Leslie was at home where I ended up in that dusk of consistantly symbolic night in Lexington: one could be certain of the escape of time's efforts--the season brought me into the terminus of Autumnal tumult, while my studies in a fluid draft (like a draft horse) anchored me to music's release with the certainty that anything could be as true. You'd gone to a gig, and I see your hat on your bed's backboard. Leslie is sitting on the bed, but I'm reticent to sit around and bullshit with her, like I am invited to something beyond the given rappore. It's winter and at any rate I sit on a cold stoop at the entrance to the bedroom, wanting to light a cig. In the tale of conscious crowd in my mind I had it that folks were on healthy awareness experiments, I assumed ya'll's reserve for that then--but I had no way to verify. I consider the apposite of an event of convalescence, eating right, to have the expectation of drugged conduct beckoned, but when I'm patiently trialing consciousness--so reading awhile, taking in music otherly, whatever it may be--it's through smoking in convened moments that has a day spirited in giant leaps--so to the victory of physical liberation, a volley of power over time's reins!!
**Attention appreciating, unthwarted, wanting Dostoevskii's K bro to entreat my need to Turn-Around!!!
I'm not subdued by the fact that many of my trials were deliberative. It may mean everything is self-duty with the key to self available in loss of motive in as much as one might have been certain. Again, when the course of my life seems liminal, then at least orienting myself toward the ineffable is evidence of probabilities endless indicated right out of our reach. I know mostly *what-is* is out of my control--even the decisor mental event. But what stands out is the distance between my convulsed self and the semblance - the idea - the motive NOT to act. Things are; I'm becoming; G^d is complex, intricate, so my sense is not to justify acting in IT's behalf, but to be the convergence of time place & community. That way the narrative that says I've alone manufactured the dialect with What-Is (Immense) is not so dear that I would be damned for capturing Otherness--w/the intent to deny it's responsibility upon me adjured. Solemnity expected in my mind, not authorially placating my ignorance.
**That there would be a statute that suggests a culture can't advance because it is a vehicle for a mission, has little to do with an acolyte toward his her appreciation of what resourcefulness they have been reduced down to consider. A worthy World View, propitious self-knowledge, is not one that elaborates one's conflict w/an ambiguous claimant's surmise. No prophets typically avail an adherent were they'd most likely have had their most sober efforts staged for a fractal event. Theoria is finding In ('side the fluid thoughtlessness), the liberation of ourselves in this temporal actionable cause, is finding Out. Love Kerouac's use of The Great Awakening to the Dream of Existence--his letter, to my Mutazila's faylasuf *philosophy*: To dream thereby we exist, to deign meaning for the dream's observer is gaining access to his her teacher. The Teacher or Prophet's lives are chimera activities...
^^Theoria is finding In ('side the fluid thoughtlessness), & the liberation of ourselves in this temporal actionable cause, is finding Out. The Dao monk rations out the practical appeal toward Effortlessness. When it occurred to me that I find myself sitting, asana unpuzzled legs indian style, memorialized space is glossy unscattered, inviting me to run into it. Fluidity--thus, repentant--and no frontiers for knowledge, temporate non-self in momentum of torpor-esque persona hushing floutist nuances is the only thing held in the mirror.
**Idols are silent, but the gods are noisy***
This babel falling with it's gravity pulling us with it's reins is more like a voidant possibility. Drawing us into distances strewn with lousy promises, like food as "resolved" sustenance--Babel as what's been deficated, yet nothing in evidence that gives life strong sensory data. Bowels empty, and these lives in transformation yet out of our control--this very message from Without, fortifies nothing. Stillness achieved is just the fable of man's mind that silence is by measure & force his due. It is all so obvious to me that some little limb--divined mind shore--the silence, is in fact tacit and not auditory or sound-appreciating the hue and lack therein, because I looked at it. It is the tethered fealty to propriety of release--in our heads, yet we are indeed a collective unto experience until thru observation the fray is the won-overed motive that delivers the Commiserate to the truth that NOTHING IS IN FACT happening. Not silence, not sound in its fluid appeal to corporeal auditive phonic furniture.
Monday, April 04, 2011
Throes of mind semblance in & of descriptors
throes in & of descriptors
**Ever morning canvas
Solarity--physically pure all my summers, but clement environs makes me seek the incumbent volley--the tragic space, the denouement of iconoclasm. Threw away all art--adjudged something professional. I had to throw away all art, because I lost my lightning vox. Nothing dear enough to make mind wallow deafening sorrow the wind in mantra & breath: expression. It's explanate to say letter permutations I sought quietly in a 19th century translation of Flavius Josephus histories, sounded out songs in anthropos language dopemined in bird song so I dreamt of horns. Flesh-colored like ears - like urban-suburban arising and slumbering are the ZZZs of sounds colluding in what resonates in nervous auditory vessel self. The city-scape has thrust if its presence means multiply, yet city is too hot when arbor and only sky tumults in its falling (*Babel)--language populates the fallen regime: what we hear. But the auditive suspiring even if bad (ass) music would tear up your flesh, make the abstract pug marks the animal self first grasped as alliterative oN a path. Sometimes ole brown speaks with his dance, sometime later w/his hands--and always in vision where sounds are seen on an ever morning canvas.
Pagans see G^d, Jews hear G^d, Buddhist's feel relented from meta-physics--so do Rastas... Tosh sings, "Stop that Train, I'm leaving." Hindus want their God to see them o so devotional.
**Weird phased dandelion-gone-to seed light adrift grafted my attention to some impulse that spells healing wonder, in weak teeth--still there mostly--but ridiculously guarded. Then I pulled some thready eyelash out of my face--cathartic appeal, eyes had become grabbing hands and I tooled the burnishing lamp in the half-light dream-time so that vision might be received anywhere but in the illustrated bird-book mind: pulling light out of my eyes. This ocular episteme must have graduated in stony apparitional narratives, as when I first started smoking herb, and once my sub-conscious devised symbolism for it, the white sclera became a finely twisted spliff...that could be handed out. And in a few dreams per my trod down ole farm roads, which were near my house, the hand to mouth sense in appetites mitigated, were eye(s) to respiratory mechanics, and exhalation of weird anticipation of vaporous salience.
^^^^^Since when is a community going to succeed if they atrophy from the core-communities, meaning MOST of the rest of the world? So there are new crises, resources all gone but now we have to fight over G-dly resources. See I am a Jew in exile, this dispensation IS an exile. A doctrine can help us wonder at What or Who SEEs us AND even after these lives' thresholds, incarnations into something hopefully not reductive & petty, but rather as observers of our a creative facility: maybe G-D? or scant Evidence we are to hold in High Esteem. Maybe Not G-d? Then devotion!! And just as there are no clerics in Judaism, I WILL not recognize "institutional" de'ot, but rather "knowledge" *de'ot--(the word Maimon used takes turns w/another use of the Arabic - akhlaq meaning "nature.") in places where negativity isn't established. A righteous war this is not, and people --"striving" to G-d as you & me *so to speak --want to get out of the backyard of the Violent precincts in the world. Not outa Israel dude--but bro' IT is already a 2 state solution, and must be sured up w/honor of Our G-d the exact same G-d both these communities can speak TO in and amongst our pallors and s(h)ouks.
****People want to touch a nerve. Solicit our interest. U-s-sri a word-- sounding a lot like usury-- used in north Iffriqiyyah by Jews and Muslims, likely as Europeans (as into Italy) began to acquire an appetite for (Indian) Arabic science finds this word having truck. Thru the mercantile of meritable ethos of THE traveler, numbers started adding up to permeable core cultures. So the "give and take" of the work-A-day *u-s-sri, begat the deleterious and the potent vehicle, Work makes Freedom. Still, my purpose is that the long ends of the day doesn't supply the odds against my sense of the cult of self-reliance. And folks appertain fealty every time while I loose my sense that they require recompence for the blast purchase of the taste of what they got.
^*^Amazing that some kind of hallucination whelms me in a conscious pocket, taking sticky mind funk and contorting the bracketing narrative & imagination. But I wish I could be resigned to not literally require alchemical chaos to work on me--...and instead perseverance and my sober academician life--found here by teachers not certified to imagine I've indulged in assignation. W/books called The Set Table and and its objective performed in The Tablecloth, menus are useless, just eat the sabbath's meal-- a sabbath in history, one's Retreat. Albeit the sweet ordeal of a day's entirety in a glance known in its pregnant surfac-ing is a short retreat; to cultivate it makes appetite sated not by the courage for want of victory, but victory over appetite, to be skillful (they say devoted, disciplined.). Numerologist Mendlebrot saw the need to develop formulas for irregularity -- his symbolic excelsior was the amoebic image called G^d's thumb print. Just as when reading Kerouac--particularly a dream with his repose in a chair having died there a 1000 deaths, what he has collude in the hero's path is the observer in ambulations: something like, big floats take notice. Down by a river, self-simulation keeps the alliterative fundamental, because in echolalia - life's fount mutual arises with reckoned lives led till reduced unto simplicity...it is just our world giving a niche for dream within a dream within a dream.
^^My grandma (Bubby) was from the same town as Madame Blavatskii--Ekatrinaslav, Ukraine. The town is been called something else since WW11. Blavatskii set up Jidda K. to be head of the Theosophical Society, of which he would not remain the head: Truth is a Pathless Land. My man--here, that I work with--used to sit before Krishnamurti and take in the discussions... In an attempt to tie myself within 6 degrees (looking back w/ 20-20 vision), I had written down a region name that caught my interest, now yrs ago, in Blavatskii's Esoteric/Exoteric Writings, is a place called Andrapradesh. Carved it in stone while laughing inside at the motive-that-sifted thru my grasp and was denied except for the conscious/physical map appropriated. Turns out Jidda was from there--and my friend here makes the labor of letter permutations in analytical meditation (whose suggestion I heed from Dalai Lama's discussions) seem kaleidoscopic and up to the moment--real imminence!!! A certain kind of theoria began to appreciate with my reading of her Self-Actualization writ--and I plan on those moments to convulse in thresholds in the world-to-come, in my pharonic chamber when all language is threaded into the garment of phenomenal existence. Old bodies are shed like weary veils, new bodies are donned like new garments.
**The primitives believed in Incarnations--reincarnations, but it was not a project into their future worth. Incarnations just as the media of conventional representations--animals and people, skies and rivers bisecting the earth: these things were immediate and demonstrated thru nurture of a kind that makes us call Fractal Patterns now the flame-substance of life, in all its strangeness an agency of Life's Creative sense of an Absolute. So when karma's principles has supplicants note death as handily as regret over moral compass some god demurred as his cause a priori (our fate)--we know then that instead of locked in this material world, it became the desire and folly of man to also live thru restraint in spiritual endeavor--as in the problem w/your compassion causing violence, Tolstoy essays. Hinduism developed, or rather devolved, to allow the devoted to complicate his/her life w/competition to assumed time elements... "IT soon come!!" can't be decried, it is the manifest and revolution of spirit to see the Material Void represented by conscious satellites, soft machines, & sensual bodies .
** I see Dylan in some unfurnished apartment, or taken in by someone, but solitarian occasions where the cognitive yields to the towering obsolete & it's just him & a book on the table (almost a typical scenario). He is calling himself something in the vast immediacy just to turn to his potential to see thru what he can never ally himself with, power. I'm reminded of the image of an old mendicant (wandering ascetic), in this case a Jew (*certainly Dylan's life with grandmother made him the beggardly student-of-life--I take Chagall's Smoking Jew representing), and he comes to a small room in this ghetto, or tucked away village restricted from the rest of the region. To be free from the Powers-that-Be means at first to seek out the thousand deaths he maintained only to find, in his world the even more grave conceptuality of the Bible, or Book of Ethics--Talmud--more grave than anything the authority could do to him (in his mind). So he sits in a shtibel (study room) the open book swells his head with forced thoughts, "he" is across the room and the distance is a maze of gravid time resisted now forever 'til then. And all he can know is a Seperateness called Kodesh/holy. Dylan seems to claim loyalties, calling himself "a Zionist for life," but again the world is out of balance & we are still younger than yesterday--think history & antecedents we jump from in that liminal box!! The history of G-d is replete with a context of only one conversation with the Infinite that mattered. G-d said, "Hey?" & man said, "I AM (present)."
**Ever morning canvas
Solarity--physically pure all my summers, but clement environs makes me seek the incumbent volley--the tragic space, the denouement of iconoclasm. Threw away all art--adjudged something professional. I had to throw away all art, because I lost my lightning vox. Nothing dear enough to make mind wallow deafening sorrow the wind in mantra & breath: expression. It's explanate to say letter permutations I sought quietly in a 19th century translation of Flavius Josephus histories, sounded out songs in anthropos language dopemined in bird song so I dreamt of horns. Flesh-colored like ears - like urban-suburban arising and slumbering are the ZZZs of sounds colluding in what resonates in nervous auditory vessel self. The city-scape has thrust if its presence means multiply, yet city is too hot when arbor and only sky tumults in its falling (*Babel)--language populates the fallen regime: what we hear. But the auditive suspiring even if bad (ass) music would tear up your flesh, make the abstract pug marks the animal self first grasped as alliterative oN a path. Sometimes ole brown speaks with his dance, sometime later w/his hands--and always in vision where sounds are seen on an ever morning canvas.
Pagans see G^d, Jews hear G^d, Buddhist's feel relented from meta-physics--so do Rastas... Tosh sings, "Stop that Train, I'm leaving." Hindus want their God to see them o so devotional.
**Weird phased dandelion-gone-to seed light adrift grafted my attention to some impulse that spells healing wonder, in weak teeth--still there mostly--but ridiculously guarded. Then I pulled some thready eyelash out of my face--cathartic appeal, eyes had become grabbing hands and I tooled the burnishing lamp in the half-light dream-time so that vision might be received anywhere but in the illustrated bird-book mind: pulling light out of my eyes. This ocular episteme must have graduated in stony apparitional narratives, as when I first started smoking herb, and once my sub-conscious devised symbolism for it, the white sclera became a finely twisted spliff...that could be handed out. And in a few dreams per my trod down ole farm roads, which were near my house, the hand to mouth sense in appetites mitigated, were eye(s) to respiratory mechanics, and exhalation of weird anticipation of vaporous salience.
^^^^^Since when is a community going to succeed if they atrophy from the core-communities, meaning MOST of the rest of the world? So there are new crises, resources all gone but now we have to fight over G-dly resources. See I am a Jew in exile, this dispensation IS an exile. A doctrine can help us wonder at What or Who SEEs us AND even after these lives' thresholds, incarnations into something hopefully not reductive & petty, but rather as observers of our a creative facility: maybe G-D? or scant Evidence we are to hold in High Esteem. Maybe Not G-d? Then devotion!! And just as there are no clerics in Judaism, I WILL not recognize "institutional" de'ot, but rather "knowledge" *de'ot--(the word Maimon used takes turns w/another use of the Arabic - akhlaq meaning "nature.") in places where negativity isn't established. A righteous war this is not, and people --"striving" to G-d as you & me *so to speak --want to get out of the backyard of the Violent precincts in the world. Not outa Israel dude--but bro' IT is already a 2 state solution, and must be sured up w/honor of Our G-d the exact same G-d both these communities can speak TO in and amongst our pallors and s(h)ouks.
****People want to touch a nerve. Solicit our interest. U-s-sri a word-- sounding a lot like usury-- used in north Iffriqiyyah by Jews and Muslims, likely as Europeans (as into Italy) began to acquire an appetite for (Indian) Arabic science finds this word having truck. Thru the mercantile of meritable ethos of THE traveler, numbers started adding up to permeable core cultures. So the "give and take" of the work-A-day *u-s-sri, begat the deleterious and the potent vehicle, Work makes Freedom. Still, my purpose is that the long ends of the day doesn't supply the odds against my sense of the cult of self-reliance. And folks appertain fealty every time while I loose my sense that they require recompence for the blast purchase of the taste of what they got.
^*^Amazing that some kind of hallucination whelms me in a conscious pocket, taking sticky mind funk and contorting the bracketing narrative & imagination. But I wish I could be resigned to not literally require alchemical chaos to work on me--...and instead perseverance and my sober academician life--found here by teachers not certified to imagine I've indulged in assignation. W/books called The Set Table and and its objective performed in The Tablecloth, menus are useless, just eat the sabbath's meal-- a sabbath in history, one's Retreat. Albeit the sweet ordeal of a day's entirety in a glance known in its pregnant surfac-ing is a short retreat; to cultivate it makes appetite sated not by the courage for want of victory, but victory over appetite, to be skillful (they say devoted, disciplined.). Numerologist Mendlebrot saw the need to develop formulas for irregularity -- his symbolic excelsior was the amoebic image called G^d's thumb print. Just as when reading Kerouac--particularly a dream with his repose in a chair having died there a 1000 deaths, what he has collude in the hero's path is the observer in ambulations: something like, big floats take notice. Down by a river, self-simulation keeps the alliterative fundamental, because in echolalia - life's fount mutual arises with reckoned lives led till reduced unto simplicity...it is just our world giving a niche for dream within a dream within a dream.
^^My grandma (Bubby) was from the same town as Madame Blavatskii--Ekatrinaslav, Ukraine. The town is been called something else since WW11. Blavatskii set up Jidda K. to be head of the Theosophical Society, of which he would not remain the head: Truth is a Pathless Land. My man--here, that I work with--used to sit before Krishnamurti and take in the discussions... In an attempt to tie myself within 6 degrees (looking back w/ 20-20 vision), I had written down a region name that caught my interest, now yrs ago, in Blavatskii's Esoteric/Exoteric Writings, is a place called Andrapradesh. Carved it in stone while laughing inside at the motive-that-sifted thru my grasp and was denied except for the conscious/physical map appropriated. Turns out Jidda was from there--and my friend here makes the labor of letter permutations in analytical meditation (whose suggestion I heed from Dalai Lama's discussions) seem kaleidoscopic and up to the moment--real imminence!!! A certain kind of theoria began to appreciate with my reading of her Self-Actualization writ--and I plan on those moments to convulse in thresholds in the world-to-come, in my pharonic chamber when all language is threaded into the garment of phenomenal existence. Old bodies are shed like weary veils, new bodies are donned like new garments.
**The primitives believed in Incarnations--reincarnations, but it was not a project into their future worth. Incarnations just as the media of conventional representations--animals and people, skies and rivers bisecting the earth: these things were immediate and demonstrated thru nurture of a kind that makes us call Fractal Patterns now the flame-substance of life, in all its strangeness an agency of Life's Creative sense of an Absolute. So when karma's principles has supplicants note death as handily as regret over moral compass some god demurred as his cause a priori (our fate)--we know then that instead of locked in this material world, it became the desire and folly of man to also live thru restraint in spiritual endeavor--as in the problem w/your compassion causing violence, Tolstoy essays. Hinduism developed, or rather devolved, to allow the devoted to complicate his/her life w/competition to assumed time elements... "IT soon come!!" can't be decried, it is the manifest and revolution of spirit to see the Material Void represented by conscious satellites, soft machines, & sensual bodies .
** I see Dylan in some unfurnished apartment, or taken in by someone, but solitarian occasions where the cognitive yields to the towering obsolete & it's just him & a book on the table (almost a typical scenario). He is calling himself something in the vast immediacy just to turn to his potential to see thru what he can never ally himself with, power. I'm reminded of the image of an old mendicant (wandering ascetic), in this case a Jew (*certainly Dylan's life with grandmother made him the beggardly student-of-life--I take Chagall's Smoking Jew representing), and he comes to a small room in this ghetto, or tucked away village restricted from the rest of the region. To be free from the Powers-that-Be means at first to seek out the thousand deaths he maintained only to find, in his world the even more grave conceptuality of the Bible, or Book of Ethics--Talmud--more grave than anything the authority could do to him (in his mind). So he sits in a shtibel (study room) the open book swells his head with forced thoughts, "he" is across the room and the distance is a maze of gravid time resisted now forever 'til then. And all he can know is a Seperateness called Kodesh/holy. Dylan seems to claim loyalties, calling himself "a Zionist for life," but again the world is out of balance & we are still younger than yesterday--think history & antecedents we jump from in that liminal box!! The history of G-d is replete with a context of only one conversation with the Infinite that mattered. G-d said, "Hey?" & man said, "I AM (present)."
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