***PURITY's DECISOR...In death or in life, water ought to be our exigent incarnation. It IS merciful, has all the attributes of Eternality. Heaven is thought of as a fountain..."blue, blue windows behind the stars." N Young* And what is unique upon earth is ancestor revival mischief, but thru his/her source-=-messages showering us with rainy meaning. Its flowing mysterium makes the easily defined ubiquity as it posits the air the sun the buena vista, looks gravid when, say, a stream is met with a recent deluge--a pregnant translucent surface contrives this quality.
^^^^When anyone leaves off with a sigh, the glance is where to begin. Early one morning up at what Zadie called Kruegers, in Gardenside--all the neighborhood flak with walnut trees giving up to shopping cntr drone, I sat up on a bench, rolled some Bugler, watched as if, face obscurred, dudes presence demonstrating light of my brother. He's closest in age, somewhat violent in nature, and self-replicates in Egyptian tombs when certain coool air brightens the sublime porte, something in me somewhere in abandonment...
*****Bad Muthas Goose & the bros. Grimm, these bluesy texan rappers--pretty ugly bunch, I big up (rasta), do it in the context of a Red fly Nation practice back in the day. Hard. I sEE it az many--as pissed, man. Anyway, that to identify with coarse and "night erupting in a hot blast" (Linton Kwesi Johnson), is just lotus mind having as much repute, yeah as much repute. I don't have to step in the fire (negativity has no place--Sight!), the fire we see just baptizes, orients the bleak vista conspired with one road. --Abraham unscathed in Nimrod's cauldron--a human sacrifice aborted... should be because it is the lowest common denominator. The flames magnificate like lotus pedals. But Abraham leaves family home ascesis as his clan soughts gods in those paradisaical throes. Lekh-lekha: he got thee out. Renunciation or privation the world made disciplined a mind of this once inspired Abram (a Friend of G-d? Arabs attest, Jews picked up on...or maybeee an antecedent somewhere.) World(s) extinguished, new dawns will fade! The West wants to see G-d, the East wants suffering to cease, so his/her G*d would reflect on his/her nature. If only thru expression, his name is thwarted from the East--but the word for breath is its root in Hebrew.
##########I wondered why even ask if Kerouac--a Metatrone kind of angel--would make known to me just the right view to the transcendental media; Writing me into his proscribed Americana, its cult of self-reliance and all the rest of his universal biblacy, when I couldn't resist anymore the appreciating solitarian day--Kerouac looked as busy as gravid loam all ventrally placed...and earth mummer as distant as his captive solicit in making its foci recognizably dear. I watch private motives in vain distillation because I'd been deceived that it pulled back with equal force. That magnificate probity of certainty draws sentience nigh, but nothing of its cause. Just way over, far over this path not like that path is meeting me but only at the survey of immensity.
****A gate at the side of the house, next to the log pile, may simply be a no departure plaintive way, the gate I'd hold open toward the concourse of spectral timelessness. An image of similar slumbering Autumnal gate--meaning utility in its intent for what rabbi Cooper processes thru in his narrative-"Journey into Sufism, Buddhism, & Judaism," appears on this book's front cover exactly as I remember it on Williamsburg Rd--my crystal palace that'd been heralded for so long as the mess having to make me honest. I douse it w/exuding light and I'm guaranteed misfortune from it, tho' never does it take notice what I'm convulsed with with equal force. Kicking It Over, indeed...! The gate keeper may be holding it open toward this as terminally as a life expanse appropriates, holding it now and perhaps thEn thE End whEn I see who the cap fits.
Kafka has our victim upon his death bed, enduring nothing shadows of rescue could have provided, and sees not the mediator of his born anew awareness, as nigh, instead the stranger-anointed waves him ON from outside his window at the roof's peak of the adjacent facing neighboring house. Mara with a thousand eyes - or any of his minion - just as ill-contained, has what we know to be our destiny with self-knowledge, but only after we no longer imagine it possible. Then thru his visage, unto light and light only, the old existent garment shed, a new body is donned.
****Molasses sadness no matter my penance surrendered. Why is it a pilgrimage whenever I don't wear a wristwatch? I'm raw and cursed with nothing to blame for this attrition. "I want to bomb a church," Bob says, look for the tall trees--and I feel like a small axe. I saw this book mentioned--one written by one of Maimonides's elite, it's called The Work on the Voice of Humanity. I'm used to one word foundering in a stream of exigency, consequences enumerated from decorating the ego-list but I cut the valence from careening voluble inward projection... One word and the fire relevence cannot be anymore sublime, can't make lotus leaves in cool throne asana moment anything but a lament for Ibrahim collated in Islamic typos--a Friend of G^d, they say--steps in fire but does not get burned. What else do I lament but my proxy to material void, material nothing, unforgettable fire--not in my control? In one scrawl of my hand beckoning the night, I might discover an eternal glyph--but until then sorrow is rewarded with unknowing.
####My school portrays a strict teacher, so if silence ensues, the sand pallette-media school-paraphernalia just got handed out. And not only am I before the writ, I am yet seized upon it from behind the top of the page, in the grip of its author. Or scruple counselor, who deigns its purport more authentic. Teachers' Strange from populist thought coupled with hero's happenstance to care about much more than the conscious crowd's frozen sea of perfect lack of intent, distills psychologic passions...if studying the soul's rational health convalescence gets recommended in each instance of strife.
##########I'm upon a hill, just a talking head in dream-scape, & words like world is the companion to--a mediator of--the unfurled tongue in valleys of language strife, is that venacular of iconographic convention with no reach into another reservoir of nations' babel. Just provincial: we are doomed to convey animal appetites, because intra-mantra slavery can't be adduced.
####I'm a consequencialist. The last thing that seems opportune has the toppling effect of reason that only announces that the present IS been resumed, but is not necessarily resuming. Sight: Sam Harris here. A deification of someOne inviting his own impermanent salience, still leaves the best of what suffering has to offer with the living--speak of a living G*d Jews tout. Yet that acolyte's (a Jew's)god vitiates the regard for inward journeying in favor of social agency, if inward journeying is to court experiments into consciousness. Say doing what is best toward meditation-- well-being is convened at its behest since there are more likely possibilities that core-communities in the least of their demise have the exemplar macrobiotic intentions.
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