In this yah Neighborhood--the sojourn to departed person's precincts

^^^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.