Thoughts Feelings & Actions are allegory to Higher Ground

"At this point, you are still making the choices, but you are needlessly burdening yourself with the idea that there is a right choice out there to make, and if you don’t take it, then you have made the wrong choice and will suffer the consequences." THis is crucial and very well developed point in Krishnamurti's discussions. In the river of sight we see our peers move from point A to point B. Thus we think and assert ourselves in the fray where the action is. Now we are goal oriented as if to obtain that figment of intent we associate with normative circumstances. If we thought for a moment we'd see there is no norm. That it is observable that the other is answering for you, takes discipline to say it is good enough they do things for themselves, yet you have no place to be. Here is where I wonder at certain avenues of thought folks encourage toward nostalgia: if someplace is a comfort and sense of security otherly, we may be leaving a piece of ourselves somewhere in the bidden past. The now emerges, the past must be projected forward in the pattern of what this life has become, rather than maintaining a belief we should encourage the illustrative thought into the corner we look out from... In the corner is necessarily NOT in the middle of the room where the potential is greater.
What we have become is asking What is this Life Become, Not what is happening to me so that somehow collusion of our strange straits must be answered for... Start with I AM, & all else follows:
If I carry around with me an answer to my human archetypal sense of relationship, then the mother of the womb that ensured a departure of her consciousness into mine, is this answer NOW in the form of relationship= mother, father whatever!!

But the mother image has to be antediluvian, because I knew her before I knew myself. & father is purely experiential, had I ever bothered to look.
Honestly, it sounds like a cop-out but when I used to smoke a little herb sit in all kinds of uncomfortable positions for long intervals, it is emotionally cathartic...spending the currency of all the frenetic day in that conscious albeit physical/body conscious moments. I liked that, yet even now tho' those conscious pockets say late at night seem as enduring hypnotic, as I think about it now--and a certain Buddhist read will avail my day going forward here momentarily, & makes me feel very comfortable in my own skin. This is the precise affect I am talking about--and no smoking is necessary. According to Dalai Lama's writing in this book AN OPEN HEART, meditation can be had without the requisite (seemingly) mantra & tuning out motive. (mantra is prosaic formulae per ritual) Meaning, he says, what we do as alliterative beings, before his book, is a thing called Analytical Meditation. Just as worthy as any other. I read in his or K. Armstrong's book as well, that Meditation does not lead to compassion, rather a more acute memory... We are not these illustrated thoughts in a thread from point A a particular epiphenomenal fact to point B now projecting that wave now crashing upon the nomenclature of the mind. "THought" is dissolute & all thought is fear, because we seek self-preservation in the current of our "expectation" in the river of sight.
I mitigate loneliness: I stick my nose in a book & I call it a currency of a kind of expression of who I am. I sit here at work & do this as if I am forlorn in the woods where the (real) People are the trees & I am destined to wander. I look down to the earth (the book), it seems to block out the rays of the majesty & penetrating Solarity, I am turning toward something however, I am convinced. Everything I do, wanting to achieve, begs the question,” who will pick up the tab”—I’ll be left wanting that much more, so the answer is always forth-coming: I will pick up the tab!!. Staying up late, a reckless life-style means looking forward to release, so digging deeper into the earth means I’ll bring up more terra-cotta to scatter into the winds, that dissect the earth, blow in my face with scorn-- because a regimen is interrupted—the one suggestive of time well spent. It can be a worthy distraction too, to awaken to the fragmented mind as is our usual condition & the condition we ought not assume its lessening control over our actions. Dostoevskii’s monk sips the vodka, eats the pork--a change is at hand, he saw it, this is against his Orthodoxy ways: his elder rots as he lay dead, so something in life rots (interpreted thusly). There is a world around us, take it in & blow hard. We just need to keep turning-- I don't really get very lonely...I have a lot of solitarian time, as compared to social release & expectation.
No CREATOR, NO meaning, heart OPen Diamond Mind LIGHT STEP~~~

YOGA = to yoke, harness... Mantra is an interesting subject; if you take certain words having antecedents with a unique sense of community as it will become reductive, and we thus are indicated in the baring out of the moments in alert repose--you can get that fly-wheel spinning so that time & place fulminate, and consciousness seeks light. But, mantra is not always necessary, according to two very different practitioners of meditation. I think mitigating your mantra was Crowley's point in BOOK 4, his only relevant read I have come across: from nursery rhymes and obviously the typical AUM. The idea being if you meditate upon Nothing Nothing is its provenance thence. And like what is said in Dalai Lama's book, thinking on "these" things doesn't make you subject to emptiness, as dissociation manifestly will be less of a complaint--that analytical meditation gives you a subject to develop.
Trying to draw in adherents is precisely against the Buddhist's intent. We in the West somehow want to spread equality thru clinging unto belief, & if they can't admit that, then our problems are incindiary visions of the mental apostate's less than compassionate moral polity, breaking the back of those who struggle from those deceptions.
^^**I read about the pre-Aryan reality of Harappa & Mohenjo-Dara (North-western India)=they had some talisman looking like a Shiva god, and this community may have been developing ideas that Hinduism had become. The Aryans coming into the Sind may have recognized certain value in some of their gods, the perennial philosophy placing the gods subject to the same stresses and appeasement as the community of believers incur here in temporal reality...: What happens above happens below!!

Eli Eli Lamach Sabachtani!!

OK, to run with the Ignorance is Bliss thang: A Rasta biblacy adage I heard lyricked is, A Man shall not know his Covenant. Taking back the obvious entrenched traditional standard, and just looking at what it is we shan't be mindful of,... I have a thought that this is only a saying in the attempt to measure the far flung reality that we must respond nee' (in their view) must respect some kind of mystery or musterion (sacrament) that a life well lived without the sentient greed of reward and after-life expectation, we'd just do our karmic best... That it is construed that the bible thumpers live for a heavenly reward, is not the responsible assertion of those professing a kind of razor's edge, yet in theism. It certainly isn't acceptable in Jewish thought to do anything meritable for a gain of some blessing in expectation of a World-To- COme. So, if we peer thru the mess of concretized belief & ritual, it still makes sense, to act rather than Think upon your world apart. Gandhi says something to that affect.
***Let me get to an essential point in the discipline, so important to anyone wanting self-actualization thru release. Take this man who was enlightened, a mensch, even superstitious yet open to personal transformation at the expense of merely accepting hard & fast tradition... while accepting that too, Gandhi!! He in fact believed the Jews were too bound up in legalism at the expense of a sense of spirituality or rather at the expense of lingering on ancient iconic beliefs with little relevance today... Of course, Gandhi could have been wrong in a general sense, under that sway, but as to living with the Other, what obviously would he do endlessly to bridge the radical departure of one community from having compassion for another? He'd work everyday to find just one other way to accept them. Pretty humble, huh? The lesson is plain, a thing many haven't learned--and not glittered as in reception and long awaited communion with what one can reach for from a certain POWER Spot. Our sacred room is one, Al-Aqsa is another, under the right eve of facing the Wailing Wall is where the Shekhina is suppose to emanate--certainly very powerful to find oneself reflecting skyward here. It is the places in-between, the temporal kingdom, that Judaism emphasizes. That means, dealing with the now+One World, many people upon its face, yet soulfully inter-dependent had we looked. WE are only talking about identity=usually, so next we need to make a hard decision about the "Other." Judaism doesn't have to wait because their neighbor's instinct is as grave as our own to finesse Higher GRound from mutual resources. From same Source, from the same G-d under the guise of different names... Especially at this strange dispensation. In the end,as Elie Wiesel subscribes, our suffering is only between You & G-d alone...anybody's else doesn't lessen your responsibility to grasp your duty to learn from it. And anyone suffering in our proximity is that duty to self.
******Acid? next...the knowledge born of mental strain!! The last dose I took now 20 yrs ago, had night-dreams in daylight, & blue filmy thought bubbles palpably painting of its own volition my sideways glances. How possible do you think it is, if your won one avenue of visualization, so nonchalant, starts to be found in places outside your normative weight of corporeal hulking thoughts... & rather in the intermediary space, which used to prevail with your freedom of consciousness? In other words they are found in other astral entities? Now thought gets stolen in the valley of decision, this is why pointing our emotional responses to things previously controlling us is the only transcendence we may know. Saying we Know, isn't enough--saying I feel I know that I know...is the heart in humanity redemption. We pivot at pitches from frenetic days, and somehow we allow desire to shout down intensity... intensity is a stream like a voice scrawled lightning babel from conversation that is our ancient dialogue, "Our Yoke is Light--yoga like some Shakya yogan's early sense of seeking release..." That some yoga practitioners were of the mind that there is no after-life, show the wisdom (generally "knowledge") of what we may observe conditionally, that life is just for a little while--why strive (dukka) over a mystery? THe Zen thing about gods (so, in the Buddhist sense=states of mind equals the gods' relevance) I thought of as a youth was, can a Higher Power put a thing-bigger into the context of something proportionately smaller? Well, a black hole answers that, and if we are "light" bodies, then consciousness is contained from emanations of a greater conscious entity... But, I digress. In terms of being a challenge to your easily prone habits, when do you become imbued with overstanding a force with the least resistance, from yourself? (have you the knowledge of that pattern of behavior?) Value statements are run of the mill, the grist of the mill is rather making the path of least resistance the most fulminate awakening any one moment can offer. Dulling your senses with --"whatever"--is an easy thing to assess. If I asked, can you give me peace of mind? the guru might challenge, What controls you? My answer would be, Nothing!! The guru says, then what do you seek? Not, rather, you've been liberated in all your knowing--Because of course awareness (or knowledge of self) is a process...
**Guru or some archetype teacher I gleaned from a new dawn fading...**
Mural on the wall to my left--an ancient Semite 'pon his magic carpet, and his view thru its flipped draping convened by a window painted in it. I'd listen to the poet Dylan Lay Lady Lay, or I Want You, and my present circumstance was consonant then. Mark (my oldest brother) had a GI Joe net laid down from the top of the dresser mirror, obfuscating my image with rather star-fish & coral. I'd implore Dylan to move me more..."you're almost there, man," I'd think. I'd start a dialogue, "you know a lot folks feel reached by you, & because I know so little of myself--having been lopped off a world of conscious satellites, way away from a field at play in my own mind, if you gave me Word now, it would never be diluted with the masses...because I just can't know them!!" To open up to relationship is usually to find disappointment that nothing was on offer to receive, so the tent-poles of consciousness collapsing in upon me, at least made the vacuum intruded upon as if... Something banging those interior facade-like mind shores, and I was just going throw whatever seemingly like an "everywhen" in limitless long distances between me & he who'd know. On the blue Greatest Hits album, his head wizened and in profile, the expression expected as all faces are translators & masks--is the Buddhist perspective--had a glimmer of self-emulation yet nothing but white light as the prism though which I'd look. "Muttering small talk at the wall, while I am in the hall"--is to the affect Dylan comes with in Visions of Johanna. This stuttered position one peer right out of the midst of the other, speaking otherness apropos for a mind possessed of this woman, perhaps in whose house we are remaining in corridors... Heated-conditions of forced thought scenarios, is the refrain of what loneliness heralded for me, above Two Keys pub , as I waited for my then girl-friend to walk out her apt. door, me in prone state above in an empty loft...nervous, forsaken, the certain end ready to be my bitter pill toward a new convalescence. I could hear her fish tank gurgle as the wee hrs waned, salt on my lips, and empty pockets--no sweet livations, as if I could reprove my peerless wandering. I enter her place when she goes to her common bathroom, undress and get in her bed as Geraldo's am. talk show sheds boisterous uneven daily continuum feelings that I had so badly wanted to jettison... The first step to take unto raw spent extremely fragmented existence was this baby step away from her comforts I'd never appeal to again. These visions of her have conquered my mind.

NEXT STOP: MANIFESTATION, Wide-Open in No-MIND

Think of all your enemies, then the patience bore of the apathy maintained when within the theatre of the mind --like "the little box at the top of the stairs" (Neil Young's lyrics) at home, the imagining of his eyes is less concealed now that the philo-air is the white smoke of deep exhalation. Breath in the black smoke exhale the white, as is the Buddhist way of release from uncertain distraction. Just as inevitably all thought will reconcile with an amiable world, he'd be the guru trying to compete with your last breath, but it was just so. So, you'll see the higher you climb the more you are exposed. And to be exposed to knowledge as a vehicle for transition in just long ends of our days, is the only real choice we have. But the surprise is, I may have a right to say self-actualization banter is captured in a way that after having read so much of Karen Armstrong to Edward Said's profound indulgence in recording his people's identity--and I am so alighted with the great pains folks go thru FOR identity, that others like Rushdie in the fantasy Hindu Islamism of Bombay for one locus of the immensity in Indian consciousness, as good as Nabakov under his parents instruction, make me go-down or waft to the commission of incredulity at the simplicity of life.

It seems for those who seek transcendent values so separate from their fellows, had better have that ascetic tool they use to pry the episteme of relevance, as they repose at the "bottom of the sea" in the human market place, rather than make haste with self-actualized moments to leave the "other" behind--say away from its shores, or just from its surface splurb & plash. Tolstoy, in narrowing this necessary social condition, imminently decided that to write was better under the prevailing public square to make the best of all possible worlds to the exclusion of inner-mutiny--or unsatisfied self-reverence.
Native American ritual as pagan is not to the exclusion of what is worthy of my ascetic wandering. But Native Americans in my perspective, as if, let's say the example of the Anasazi were developing - this thing as a people in that history barely giving backward glimpses in their worlds so unknown, is such that they were fearing change and the unknown & reverting to cannibalism, and would have been better had they instead decided not to expend resources to justify the ascetic purchase of more of the same. No festival to imagine an Unknown Shall Provide, would have been the more advanced survivalist polity. Rather utility in language to discourse over just those cloudy ethereal ways to get to the existential. This "separation" from superstition --as it traduces the very communal ideal that survival is now at hand, can be looked at thru iconoclasm. This is what helped Jews when they said, G-d is Nothing, yet life is a material-Void/ Ein-Sof, an Absolute. Too often the Adherent wants to say a "There is There," that Creation is contained in any one self-conscious moment. I heard recently an interesting way to perceive the Ultimate Reality: If G-d is Ineffable, then maybe his Creation is as unseen. Independent thought allows religion to proliferate, in opposition with tradition which lends its dissapation, otherwise we'd diffuse into the middle of stream. Ijtihad is the Islamic jurisprudence that allows the Mu'min to adapt to the availing conditions, unrealized & un-noticed before. The gathering of resources is sometimes not the acquisition of those material supports, but the alliterative path where ideas are proliferated from just the fond existence of those resources--our seeking is instructive enough.
THinking about the conscious party man. Jesus, Muhammed, the Jewish Messiah, or the prophet Adam Kadmon are looked at like the Perfect Man. But, Buddha was a type: many Buddhas before and after Sidhartha.(Siddhatta in Pali--the oldest of Buddhist liturgies) Here's where I am going with the archetypes--Jesus/fine; Socrates, so much like Krshnamurti that I find thoughtful resolve that touching the earth in some ancient day is mine for the caress; and then obviously Buddha, because he stokes individualism yet not at the expense of ubiquitous pain in our world(s) of sorrow...because to find wisdom is sometimes mitigating life, and rather death is embraced. Karen Armstrong, in her "Bio" of Buddha, called Buddha--has mentioned Jesus & the gospels a few times already in her intro. This is a small delicate book. I read something Dalai Lama put out--so understated, I find it dubious, so accessible and wonder if it is meant for me. But it is, I am--and Unity thru Mind & Body is spirit & expression objectified. I deal handily with self expression in that latest blog piece... good vibe for you man, I have fulminate consciousness with your company, somehow, at the moment... In Judaism, the messiah is an agent for g-d, a good-doer, not something divine. Our prophets typically have flaws--this is really very exemplar to what our human condition is like for most of us. Those who are positive thinkers, sometimes see amenities as a survey in propriety. Yet, thru a life without conflict in finding resources, can also make us more prone to what others must answer for: when I see my stress drift away, rather than lie in dormancy, I'd rather animate my comfort thru meditation. Meditation is not said to make one more compassionate, but memory becomes more acute--so the surprise of responsibility (and that can be for the other) doesn't catch us with that remanded pattern.Nirvana (nibbana in Pali) is suppose to be what it is like after a heavy workout ordeal, with that skim of perspiration now cooling your body--coming down from the mt, so to speak, when after the report of the mountain's path disappearing we automatically become fixated in destiny again. I am guessing, we are now Looking-forward, rather than "what has this tramatic self-involvement done to me?" i.e. looking back! Convalescence is in point of fact what Buddha considered as our greatest sense of actualization. Battle already over, healing is become our predilection... Reading to the effect in Karen Armstrong's "Buddha" a bio!!! Just beautiful!!
***I am really motivated in this direction. All things being equal, this Buddhist trajectory I am on instructs me toward (people'd pantheon) relationship finally in a way I was not so sure of til now. I Liked when I read that even gods were susceptible to samsara, the endless cycle of birth & death. And that gods were states of mind in fact--as we ought to look at Higher Ground as THAT proximal... In Dalai Lama's book AN OPEN HEART, so accessible, makes the point that analytical meditation, that it is not just a ritual act as in mantra repetition, but is everything to do with putting before you some subject that you'd consider as deeply and fully as you can maintain... If you meditate on nothing, nothing is its proffer i.e. "gom" (Tibetan) or "hitbodedut" (Hebrew) = "meditation" have a construed motive either personal or some conscious map allowing merely a communal body un-approximated as that thing in which I am piece-meal received.

IF I am in exile_,then how else would Coltrane stand alone^?

I just watched Deepak Chopra's utube vid, MY yoke is Easy, MY burden is Light. So, I ask how is it that we access these ideas about self-realization without having to set a standard? He will be using certain language, sometimes seemingly entertaining notions that may in fact be second nature, because the language is all too familiar. But, letting go of the sense that what he says is anything Other than immediacy, must be the intent as the event of such dialogue compels us to self-scrutiny. If anything, we are laughable appearances, and since we can only manifest what Is, the surface demonstration of mundane dialogue, even if we don't seek, but remain alert, becomes a conscious prop. That someone as adept as he can turn shadow to light, just through inertia & creative sincerity, makes me look at what would otherwise be the bubble of experience around him as my jumping off point... That ground is become the floor of consciousness, and once we see that no standard need avail expectation, the imaginative narrative takes over. When he speaks, my grandfather speaks...when he looks for the right word, I imagine what Gandhi & Elie Wiesel had in common, a thing called talk-embarrassment, which is when we know the observer feels over-wrought...and the awakened sense, if we were to ask, may be otherwise of "fullness," rather than his/her fragmentation... "Torpidity" (to create a spin on fragmentation) is rather an opportunity, opting for compartmentalization of non-linear details, rather than objecting to potent confusion... Looking inward leaves us with half-thoughts, mere expectation...this is a fragmentation of what is also observed in the Outward fact, that nothing much portends continuity. For a moment we feel the dialogue with the likes of Chopra is something we can reciprocate...that we equal the Outward fact tells that continuity is fleeting: I'd suggest equality is Not a state of mind. Rather, making value statements is the first mistake on our way to the Compassionate Void (EIN-sof). Look at that, perhaps, and say, what we are in relationship with in any one moment IS good enough. ***Natalie Goldberg's The LONG LONESOME HIGHWAY is fantastic & motivating. I wrote my thoughts about her creating that moment for me. Something to the affect, that her lavender mood takes over like the bee-catching bird, creating a new animate architecture in the sky-line over-taking... Just as a blue mood all androgyne portends that I could be reached, even from that which I remit no control, nor desire to control, this ascetic woman in auspicious dialogue with those requiring so little material resource... In resourceless moments, one is more exposed--and that would be when thoughts are elevated in the great heights we climb, to gain objectivity. After all, it is meditation she speaks to, & so eloquently about--and conscious space thru our sensory solvency, has that distance between point A =me in free fall, & point B =her, in the guise of the Known where I want to be received. So, androgyne may be strange way to depict this sense. But the inter-play of two mutually arising & contrasting experiences, in Kabbalah, is of an erotic nature... The word used is ZIVUG, an intercourse of attributes, energies. Knowledge, da'ath, is the result of being the convergence of the inter-play of the sefiroth/energies. Being able to look at convenient language used by those we feel who herald the sense we imbibe from our religious values, is what is called a standard. To withdraw from what we strive to have answer for us--authority & their power of ideas, is how we observe its power to make identity dissolute. G-d withdrew from his self in order to make room for creation. Withdrawing would be a negative state, looking at it!! The ideal to find ourselves in relationship with Higher GRound, is thru apophasis. Thru silence a dialogue ensues. Two seemingly opposing ways to find one's self in self-realization. Unrealized Self or consciousness is identity, but not as an objective truth where identity can be maintained. When the spirit which makes us imbue our condition with tangible language, proves we cannot any longer sequester time, we see then the obverse of self-expression as symbolic all the same. Language or its teleological proof "voice," exists only because it is one aspect of soul--that being part of the body & mind. But, as it may occur to us the theophany exists as an entity apart, Higher Ground by any other name is off this planet...: our voices are led astray, I mean. And while in these moments as linear flow of consciousness these strewn words demands the receiving ground, our interlocuttor, on this limb where we now get pinned, is penned "change" that has nothing to compel us other than the feeling of freely falling like a turbillion of victuals in its preparation (stirring the proverbial pot), yet unserved. That what we typically consume is having managed gluttony & self-servitude, ...so when words stand alone in corridors of thought, we can be restrained by knowing merely expectation & potency. This iS better, lest you be believed & your easy-speak changed someone's mind. LIKE a Nun in her habit, whatever she can say about G-d, is acquiesced to liturgy where no god can be found. Appearances are penetrated only when one is objective over the formula, that somehow we cease spending our dialect with-what-is *on its spectacle.* ***
. We want a sense of our potential--a way to self-adulate: mind, body, and rather than spirit as we have seen, expression instead--which in terms of sublimating our experience, is the most profound. It is particularly interesting to me thinking about my ole, now passed, Grandfather. The images he'd draw up to yield toward the outward fact, somehow where less imagined, thusly I began to think there was a there there. If our spirit is the chi or essence of the godhead's representative on earth, that of the primordial man, then at a certain point that sense, or example of some extremity form of Him, is measurable i.e. the image is no longer hidden beneath the veil of materiality, but becomes the most realistic of what is gathered, perhaps in a dialogue. So Zadie as its maintainer, a maintainer of the Absolute. Just his name Abraham, the thing submitted to in light of a name's import--a duty to one's humility because the herald of his name brings on a certain responsibility. This was a way of filling in the spaces where identity wouldn't otherwise cross water... In Judeo-Arabic to "submit" to the title by which we should be known is called koniyah. The root of this word is "yes, or to yield."
Remember that song by Coltrane called Soul Eyes. Something begins to do the thinking/ perceiving for you in its current. It seemed to be lyrical, & there was no word-accompaniment. Coltraning in like a long yawn of vox-cognita streaming toward the head of divulged self-actualization, the prince at the end of trodding that corridor of self-hood, remains lost in a labyrinth which he will never leave--expression and its laconic ordeal. He thinks he witnesses his loss--that he'd be able to bridge his feeling with the then numinous, if only because some thing has made it through, and keeps his dilemma tangible. Yet a truth hard fought for, is sometimes excused if only to immerse into the theater of the mind.

ENERGY, a dog bowl, in a garage, gas heater & cigarettes

......bowing out of my own *ahl al-kittab (literally People of the Book) moment while a determination in being *someone somewhat *literate is unfortunately unsated by stretched-thin-spans of authorial anthropology like my book's pages were read by some barely passable surrogate=as if passively the semblance of me experiences historicity--thus my point about not being an ahl al-kittab adherent, rather I became a man of no books (lower case "bs"in contrast with the Book, which is a somewhat different focus than this ideal iconoclasm)... This is when I was literally on the street, making our garage there on Williamsburg (now the current owners made it into a room) into my temporary personal space, very temporary--stark nevertheless, so I laid out on the autumnal cool exuding cement floor, betting the next day that security & domesticity would come tumbling down, "it is just going to happen," yet not trying to define "it" exactly--so I'd be prone & facing whatever. I lit cigs from a heater in there, while looking out the back door's window at a moon spiritually true. The maples taking over as allies, easily, & if Mind were G-d, trees are the moment in self-scrutiny, the reflection of vertical mutually arising, arriving like a yard recalcitrant in its promise that after its grooming we just keep saying, "I want it to go like that!" And yet it is LIKE that, still after matriculation we think to affirm the convention--"I want it to look like that,"...& no voice says, "but it is like that." "There is NO becoming."
The gloss of night's air made me think of X-mas, and sensing night at all made me imagine blue hues, so that something of a more familial force could be reckoned, maybe Hanukkah...& a countered thought, just meant the season, like a tree that giveth forth fruit & the harvest festival of life: So, Life!! But I was in shallows, sooo shallow that the report of a fealty to my mystic notions were rather leaving me as a shapeless mass, no energy to experience body consciousness and experienced-forms, no energy meant solitude losing its pay-off.
The sun is turning out of blue, & I know the sun is calling & the spirit is the moon: I derive my own vision of these few words accorded to elevated thought. A deflated ball is the sun & winter-time soon would have the pleroma in this event; the world is a desert/a void (& abundant). The Hebrew word can be one & the same. Possibly dreamt in my denuded repose, a boat on a windless lake, dimming dusky evening & a guy is laying in the boat upon the deep: a dream within a dream, this all being dreamt by a youth who feels personified by the image of an Uncle, the youth is possibly the one in the boat whose common name with the uncle is being called out. While he lays there in a half-dream state, slightly aroused as he will be up ready for the day soon, he smells the fresh squeezed orange juice being made in the kitchen in the other room. Now he dozes off again & three oranges are presented to him, rolling off a plate, across his pillow & onto the floor. This is the day of my youth he thinks = embodied. At the edge of the lake are rolling hills & a forest of life. From the hilltop, he'll begin to over-take a trail through the forest, at once under-foot, but the first step recalcitrant in his thoughts. Where I'm headed I have no idea, but the direction means multiply, "All I have is a path!" he says. Now he catches himself looking down at each footstep taken, he could be walking in place & yet. This is the self-hyponoses sung about, I have heard: the ground is magnificate & I am at the top of the world. He thinks, the thing about dreams is your having perceived that the world is moving around you, you are a quiet-static moment, & you'll sense THAT when looking at the observer in that moment as things move in flux! The content of my goal are only the elements I gather from this trail, and I'll know my destiny as long as my first step remains the singular advantage it purports itself to be. "Forest of life underfoot"**.Patti Smith's words from R. Gere's book Pilgrims

**^^Feeling "deserted," in haunts from lying on a garage floor in exquisite dust to a view into a city I once visited, having dust strewn across its gray antiquated presence:

For me--as to the day ahead of me, now a couple of days, I had hit a void in concentration. --I read really phantasmal Egyptian Coptic relationship with the first Muslim suzerainty then in the 600s, in al-Kahira =the "Victorious", Cairo, & particularly a small beginning part of that metropolis called Fustat... Someone told me recently, the Copts were heavily congregated of former Jews. This Judeophile friend thus may feel this sort of affinity with we Jews, knowing the correlation in our convergent histories. (history IN focus) Fustat whose name, according to this author may have come from the Greek=fussaton, meaning "ditch"--and this could have been a region's characteristic. No one knows, but the conversation I appealed to was a meandering transect of images of loam having human occupancy. It is precisely the tabla rasa caused by inertia when I've given up to the elation of over-standing just what it is before me: that being a conscious map, damned fascinating, but little long term intellectual yield--at least unforgiving sense that something still needs to be articulated. Really imagistic active reading, but I "give-up" to it too easily, rather than parsing what fulminate potential my mind has... Still, it is worth it--my motive is plain.
Cyrus and then Benjamin, the first then second patriarchs of the Copts when the Arab Muslim took control exacting taxation just as Rome & Constantinople, gave in rather quickly to Muslim Arab control. Dhimmi status for Jews and Christians, tho' we could have been in better stead--conditionally. Greek only going out of use slowly over that century, then the gov. using Arabic as well as absorbing Greek episteme (think: da'ath) as they saw what the Christians typically did not--that being "the wisdom of the wise"--to quote their apostle Paul, ought not be killed (the Christian ran from Jewish midrash i.e. the gospel saying KILL the wisdom of the Wise). This proclivity to advance rationalism is a trait we'd been in parallel paths with the Muslims, then & for many centuries.

EXISTENTIAL, with BLUEGRASS Airport a Stone's Throw Away

Have you ever felt someone insinuates themselves in a way that eclipses that mundane venue a moment proffers? That is, you're quite sure this idealic domestic moment had been more cathartic til principals, like the 10s of relationships we have, make the time passage eclipsed. Like when it is become good enough to be reduced to a domestic task, yet when we consider having a reductive ambient transition--this duty to say "all is colluded with a chore otherwise just a merely lonesome broom," has your pantheonic acquaintance sit upon the spectral-look in comfortable self-scrutiny, recruiting you with recalcitrance--"you've gone ahead, yet left me behind...!" If anyone is left behind, none other than you is the vacancy. True we can find immediacy--but what proof do you walk away with that says, "but a dreamt day before you, is the current in a river of sight that has an infinite signature signed under a world in duress...," & meanwhile we've but risen into supernal langour, the room's fan is alight upon the same axis we call our center. But what is now is answerable as anything that takes antecedental facts, people places things...the exquisite dust as under the feet of strangers holding court--but the observable now is what in the end gets denied. Terribly at home in our head, in my mind--a fine mind, on some occasion after having read Isaac Babel's Red Calvary=about the Cossacks, I walk from the furthest point in our 1/2 acre back yard toward the porch, to proceed to unwind the collective thoughts needing the path of the long ends of the day, disabusing boredom. The sense of trees blowing in the trend the day makes replete in absurd patterns, the sentience from birds over-coming making a sky-line a new animate architecture, this "Now" is without any lag-- dreamed as was personas of self saying you belong - and are belonging thru self-preservation. Yet the now must relinquish that it is insoluably going to go away: meaning maybe it doesn't!! In the backyard, under this pretense I had then seen descended before me a footstep or two ahead me, Mom--like she was heralding this alliterative repose--is what I adduced in cosmogony, if sociologically we saw the connection to linear thought & how thru literacy "holistic-anthropos" had gotten mismanaged, marginalizing the feminine spirit. Thus, maybe I'd champion the fragmented academe that "now" was the life I lived & become--at the bottom dregs in a floor of consciousness. Is it hallucination if at the furthest reaches of ocular phenomenon, one affects a sense of symbolism in his immediacy...?--a thing, chosisme in French, projected!! The dull abiding of my spirit usurped, then with motive as prone as I'd already become to the nation of One(self), is laughable that such marginal awareness in affectation can have the pivot of student-of-life submitted to a common back-yard, under simple maples, by a garden run-down, and future in the advent of repair.
**the old-world having become recognizable**
She supposed I should at least make a gesture to acknowledge her: she was wearing her midnight blue polyester blouse with little bougainvilla flowers--so I jumped up, more of a skip actually, at her giant self & plucked one from her back. Her gift, or the sun's surmise of my sentient greed to be subsumed by the first bookcase my mind characterized...gathering the concept of a lexicon in sleepy consciousness where I reside in her house.
What is not in this, is a lax measure of male to female
> circumstance, as if to imagine someone like their
> gender succeeds his/her humanity--it doesn't, humanity is
> primary. Then I thought, precisely, my Mom was, as
> such, in her element to be friend & woman
> archetype, noticing her out on the limb of
> recollection, she'd be wallpaper to my
> daydreams...always there in my curfew to imbibe
> restraint & kindness, and mostly there in the
> seance of fleeting details behind the
> transcendental bridge of awareness. I shove
> irreconcilable notions that I see past lives of
> my significant other--Valerie--as Mother all-the-
> same/maybe the one--yet not really, into a philosophical box
> every bit just what I'd accord as something
> inevitable--& submitting that we switch off as teacher &
> student anyway... & in anyway familial.

The Spiritual Imagination

Looking to the East is something a lot of people from our generation has assumed, and identifying with Mother India is one endless avenue of study I keep asserting--probably more seriously because of its cultural presence than anything ascetically promulgating otherwise. I wonder about Deepak Chopra's discussion of Krishnamurti--we can be certain there is a surmise of his influence in Chopra's vast literary endeavors. I am currently reading "The Jews of Kerala" by Fernandes--that is in Cochin...a really ancient Jewish community, whose success and end is due to the open-ness on one hand in the Hindu presence, & unfortunately caste-dispersions otherwise. In a timely way, when I was coming back from Ontario a couple of yrs ago now, there at our hotel in Toledo we watched an interview on L. King w/ Chopra. I felt less homeward bound than actually a nurturing domicile in the bigger conscious map when listening to auspicious words always the good result when seeing some one mind crossing water, or in this case, the silent walls of a ubiquitous urban hotel. I like the fact I feel I owe leaden consciousness to imminent thinkers exacting ever new power spots, I otherwise may have missed in the frenetic rush of a life incomplete...
Does "meditation" elude you in the impact that only in brief glimpses (of that elusiveness) you would be sustained by--otherwise? Because, now I am back in a better place--yet the looming feeling that I can't maintain centeredness makes me sometimes opt for LESS of a reprieve. Say, the reprieve I imagine as in an auspicious read regarding, yes even, meditation...which is the mundane day begging at the scholarly self to lift up the veil dulling my spirit. So, just talking about as in intra-mantra slavery--a conversation with one's self, doesn't translate in moments when attentiveness would otherwise be attractive, and motivating. The plateau I am received upon is sometimes something my intellect propounds, yet meditation through my processing all the torpidity of a day, has this same illustrative wave crashing at the doors of wakefulness... And if I am already half-FULL of exacting just what interests demand of me, I can't see meditation as a goal unfortunately.
**Woe death, spare me on to another year!! And Death is used as a the reason why spirits should be conjured (ignorantly I might add). We have spirit as the motivator behind the equinox of the Minds, and then we have spirits as some ancestry event we think we get indicated by--which I don't agree with, other than Knowledge of self being the goal=no miracles. The definition for "spirit" is so broad, I tried to hone down just what we affect that makes continuity with community imminent.
Rumi says, "These spiritual window-shoppers,
who idly ask, 'How much is that?' Oh, I'm just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them down,
shadows that hold no capital." ***This is what I love--it goes to the head of those who persist that the promise in this life, is in fulfillment that something extra-sensory holds something fateful. "Shadows that hold NO Capital." That is an important statement: we are the currency of a temporal norm, & tho' we may have elevated thoughts, & presume all that glitter is gold - spirits?, in our folly, tho' we know, in reality, there is a material-void. Emptiness is an ascetic goal, because that is the condition in which we live--actually. Once we briefly match that, it is incumbent upon us to relinquish the control the gold had on us. That being "SHADOWS that hold no capital." IS not a provisional statement. IT means just that.
> The part about emptiness pertains to the Chopra
> Tribe. But in asking a relevant question as to this spirit imbiber's line of discussion, Does Memory Leave you
> in the past? via existant spirits--definitely
> pertains to his thread in Raw Wisdom Tribe. The
> memory part as to a communities' memory seems, in
> his mind, to validate belief in spirits: I'd say
> in terms of what Stevie Wonder
> sings, If You Believe In Things You Don't
> Understand, You Suffer. I got that RUMI quote
> from his poem (ghazzal) called Noone.
I think it is in everyone's capable hands to move around leaden consciousness to give substance to an otherwise Empty world. Knowledge is in the negation of what is--once we do that, we define things by that which it is not. This is epistemology: knowing WHY we know something. In asceticism, and what I get from Deepak, is that we need to address our striving/ our source of suffering. So, ego telling us that we deserve security because we can control the outward fact, is NOT looking at the inherent emptiness that the world defies us to understand & corral in our presumptive minds. Corral if we must, but it is an endless cycle around the mulberry bush unto weariness--then our Wakeful Attention begins to dull... which is harder to observe, and the vulnerable human condition with all our distractions will inevitably deter us from seeing our folly. Emptiness means we would have to answer for less, thereby seeing our insignificance in relationship with Higher Ground... THE goal!

Let me draw a comparison with Chaim Potok, his value as an ascetic in Americana, & Deepak--another Man of Reality enthused transient Identity annihilator. Deepak depicts depth that is reasonably an Aside, we'd abide, had we observed we're only here for a little while. Potok, whose name means Gate--a name he assumed probably for iconographic reasons, expresses continuity of Ultimate Reality, say G-d as the Center of Awareness/ maybe Mind, then our conventions that represent G-d: In judaism, The High G-d is an early anthropomorphic understanding, In Christianity, the convention maybe Holy Ghost & Son...and all these over-lap, and only some make accessible the Ideal we may find self-realization therein. The point of Reference is relationship with mutually arising community, and his/her intercession on our behalf toward compassion. Deepak is a nod east, and uses Western language as worthy allegory for iconoclast sensibility... I imagine, reading elsewhere--yet he may have said himself, that had the intermediary space intra-atomically been eliminated, our mass in 5 or 6 foot frames would be smaller than a grain of sand...this may suggest, I'd think, that that is where the soul resides, in our cosmic now--enveloped as we are with the space of self.

THE VOIDANCE DENIZEN

Gandhi had a beautiful definition for RELIGION--and believer is not it, & SCience either--maybe?, you decide! HE said RELIGION is SELF REalization. What is wrong with that? Many folks are tending to lump literalist conventions with religion proponets. The propitiation one does, as long as it is not advancing miracles, allows then an imaginative narrative indicating ones' self making an ideal of self-actualization. THAT would be good, NOt BAD. In my opinion, there are a lot of folks running from traditionalist habit because they are afraid that THAT language is ALL used up... I have a shirt saying something case & point: IN Hebrew it says, The People Of Israel Are One. Now that sounds stupid in MY acts toward ascetic fulfillment. BUT, the definition of "Israel"--is He Who Struggles With G-d. And Not Just G-d, but THE HIGH G-d. So, now we see that a High G-d is in a distant pleroma. THat distance equals relationship is a concession we all have in the Human condition. G-d as Higher Ground?--Higher Ground is all of our intent where we would want to be received in a sense that thru our humility we might be identified with that THING that has Consciousness as a Goal. This is all very Rational, you see. So science may equal Religion.
There is a Talmudic anecdote that says, "entering the ocean from one of its corners, you take in the essense of its whole." This is from Pirkey Avoth, The Works of Our Fathers. **I brought that book up into the Catskills Mts, while on vacation, at about age 15--probably 1981. It is a Jewish environment. --It is a Moralist Tome. And the corner I want to look out from, back against the wall of hindsight, was the mood of the philo-air I would & could seek then all around me, consumated with a motive to look at this doctrine. I thought about identity (the INNER-SELF), like nothing could possibly affect the biologic reality that we are in a sea of cultures, in a paradoxy--(seemingly two very at-odd realities). Any one of those Ideals as important as the next. The apparent sense that I'd grow up in proximity to "this" version of the Human Condition--I thought, alright I'd concede (it is before me after all, Rt?), I'll look into it--with no guide in fact but drinking in One Drop of the Ocean at a time. Try to drink it all at once, and you get poisoned, as the Buddhists say. So, the fire of resolve to ME, speaking of my intent, has everything to do with not conceding to the Impute of Fidelity one assumes from "loyalties--I knew rather there were flaws, & thru those doctrinal realities would I be "subject" to the Deep, as the Ocean/Void is called in Bereshit (Genesis). Sometimes you can only take the path to the ocean's edge, but not get in--a commentary on the Compassionate Void, in Buddhist thought as Alan Watts related. And how ineffective it is to think we meet Ultimate Reality, think The Ineffable (do we get IN the Ocean?)--as in Job where G-d doesn't come to court EVER--is where we attempt to define relationship as if immediacy is detained. (immediacy = inner self)

I think it is somewhat illuminating.
This idea my cousin conveyed about the randomness of our enduring mind, is in fact exactly how I'd describe, well w/o being dismissive of his resolute ideation, almost exactly, that is. But as we say, a young mind, green, creates these avenues which through our growing older, we no longer diverge into new paths. And the immediacy of knowledge, its alliterative potential, is in the eye of the beholder, wouldn't you agree? Our moral choices can be to a lesser extent poorly adhered toward, because to the effect that we think this is a choice, we wouldn't be able to see the forest for the trees. IT is these value statements that would make accessible OR not the open-ness to new wisdom or the subject under a new teacher. Does that make sense? Now make the leap: We are entering a dialogue about "thought." And thought is fear. If we fear it, we hate it--& if we hate, don't we in effect LOVE it? Because as Bob Marley says the thing we refuse, is the thing we can use. (the promise of the head cornerstone) So what of thought: if we refuse thought, then we use its catalyst i.e. the outward fact. But this means creating centers from without, not within. And within, if at all possible, is only a potential, a half-light, a question in our nerve that is lit, and lastly as a half thought while the answer is always outside the box. Which we had better get really used to, because there is nothing on top but a bucket & a mop & an illustrated book about birds. Lastly, again we are random, fragmented, so we fulfill this desire for constancy by projecting in the moment=process=impermanence.
"Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
This much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream." Edgar Allen POe ***sounds like Kerouac residing near Mt Hozomeen as a park ranger, fire-watcher. He says to the effect, Avalokiteshvara lay your diamond hand upon my brow--then something which now I only can claim as my reasoning in perspective over the illustration I conjure like I lay under the same midnight sky, which is, Avalokiteshvara when asked to get this dross materiality jettisoned so we can evade the prison of senses. "Is but a dream within a dream." as Poe relates, has us deliberate... The walk we walked on ice, the hell where a clarified bell was rung--reminding us it was not made for us, the foot in another's shoe, all not for nothing... WE dream, thereby we exist. It is the principal.

If there is thought, then there is the principal to thought, the simple beginnings. If there is intelligence in the world then there is its beginning, the intellect. For every condition there is its potential. This simplicity is known as G-d, according to the rationalists. If we dream, thereby we must exist. To exist then whence that energy promoted reflection upon the necessary condition, there is a principle to existence. Though it may be beyond a dualistic approach as our minds accord, still one may necessarily expect a principal behind that value.

This dharma stuff is, in my view, only to make us practical thinkers. This idea about he/she who goes away to find the light within, only to be received by the community to which they identify in an integral willingness to take on self-responsibility, is what we all can do when we sacrifice origination thinking. (meaning, thinking your beginnings IS answer, modifies all subsequent beginnings thus we languish in intra-mantra slavery!!) Had we the experiences that were lessons applied to every relationship, then no willingness to provide substance to our myriad path --the unfolding & dissolving our lives take, would be given. So, when do we jettison self-preservation, to otherwise don a new garment of self-expression in the language of our adversaries? To become objective about our fellows, leaving them so that renewing your experience with them makes the grasping ego no longer what we consent to, is Buddha's way, Jesus', Moses', Muhammed's, and any of us that sacrificed socially conventional blather for the alliterative bump in the road, we all must necessarily cross, are trying to chant down Babylon. **I just read last night in Karen Armstrong's The Bible, The Bible we inherited has more violence than the Quran--should be known considering the bad rap the West gives the 3rd of the 3 monotheisms.
"We're simply over-connected now and expect everything tomorrow." is this woman's feeling, somewhat adept I'd think, that I expand on. Do you mean we EXpect TOMoRRow's everything? Because it is an essential point. That we can look at cyber-communication as the same dynamic or attempt at bridging distances like letters used to, is also very interesting to me. The vast dispersion of the hangers-on in relationship with the 70 million killed from 1939 to 1945, when whole communities left neighbors behind thru immigration, it was letter writing that contained the thread to these relations had they cared for--to connect to pre-war reality. For most of us here, grandparents' scenarios is merely a stone's throw--my grandpa=Pap, was born in 1896. I knew I was seeing a 19th century connection my nieces & nephews would not know fully. Mom & Dad lived lives on the cusp of immense industrialization--the urban thing very real in their life time, yet urban sprawl hadn't come upon them as we saw quickly envelope us in our having received the reigns of the new day.
My sense of it, is really a developing thing (my friend and his last mention about his Mom is case & point.). I walked around the grocery store with Mom & Dad the other night & seeing the older generation around us, made me double take who I had assumed were the people giving context to my youthful remonstrations. Yet, now I am characterizing them as the Other--folks like I see aRoUnD us/ vulnerable, in fact... Nabakov deals with this: the shadow before we children came along as portending Mom's & Dad's vibrating-on in this temporal kingdom imprisoning us--then the voidance which is this world carrying-on after we receive the astral plane. So, today as any day, I trod with an image of loss & expectation on either side of me, like my parents (mind appearance) are coalescing with each step forward I take. I jump from this point like imagining the antediluvian images of Mom banging the grocery-basket down the aisles as if some image is still viewable of her eclipsing where I will yet be received... all very sad to imagine that I used to NOT be--and will NOT be again!!

Meditation or hitbodedut as is read in Abraham Abulafia's Jewish Yoga (?)

This is something I keep trying to narrow down. Other images of Dahab, I am not yet done with, like sitting in those tents eating banana pancakes. My question is, Do you actually see memories' lapse? It seems to me nothing is rhetorical in mind, so we have a key to a more immense sense of continuity than our mnemotechical complacency imprisoning us. If we have all that color in mind, it certainly is a lot intermediary space striking me as a pallet for better integrated moments if we'd only just say what it is. The uncertainty means its marginal utility--we could have believed consciousness is there to be won, necessarily when we sit by the still water...Here below is a pivotal memory:
Our poverty was nothing like a poverty, which we saw in the then Bedouin village (Dahab) just getting its only second establishment (!?) wiTh electric. No amenities to us were the things used for the basics of ablutions performed in some kind of order these Bedouin saw fit; as in who would go to the well first, who eats first etc. Rob seemed to neglect an affinity maybe with anyone who dared to make themselves presentable, i.e. natives there, or people back home. The stylee I feel I catch too, looking at the pre-occupied countenance of just anyone=she or he so comfortable, yet unknowing they look to inner-attention--is that knowing we are fully what we want in such short spans. Spans luckily in enough of a pitch, the mask we wear betrays nothing about the tent-poles of consciousness collapsing in upon itself--upon the statement of presence having become two-dimensional, tells us the mind is the real G-d behind the praise of universal suns as its beginning as reason. Around the time the twelve year old girl showed up selling cheap scarves and us realizing she was really selling something else, Rob was squinting in a side door mirror of a car trying to shave. The reflection I imagine as my eyes' blind spot, are the paces I stepped past looking like power-spots gone awry--I want my eyes' sight to fall like a turbillion, til thru sheer momentum the world will seem to collude in our lost selves in the under-housed hot icebergs that is all this life of experienced-forms. Take don Juan's Yaqui profession, its beginning has the reader follow an ill-disposed protagonist considering a room as the microcosm. In the desert, next to an infinite Red Sea (read REd as actually its rightful name the Reed Sea.), has something less gratifying yet wholly necessary making us feel it is incumbent upon us the voidance-denizen to stand unitarian & solitarian (say, collusion supposed).
Hang on to your hat--this is allegorical. "for the world has to see G-d as an active participant in humanity not some remote philosophical theory," some theist suggests. Then, what is the definition, of El? He is the High G-d. You say philosophical remoteness is a deliberate act to refrain from our heavenly duties: THat G-d is On-High leaves every other place vacant, is what I say. OR another way to attenuate this distance--in the positive, rather than G-d remaining remote, IS IS IS thru Distance we are to find Relationship. Here is the philosophical notion: The light at the end of the tunnel is where we meet that which is our project of our faith that releases us from suffering if possible. Meanwhile, the tunnel's end, if you will--this Cosmic house (olam), has an immediacy which eludes us. Yet the Clarity that is Relationship say in the light of day, the direction we aLL are headed, is still attenuated thru whatever means the Believer of ANY faith chooses. You say These others will come to this light by the means with which YOU fulfill YOUR responsibility. Do you not see the folly in that sense of YOUR condition? In judaism, according to Wiesel, our suffering is not alleviated just knowing others suffer too. That our condition is between You & The Creator. So lay off that others who you feel can't make the grade. That is not for you to judge--yetser hara (egotistical), in your thinking that the mutual arising of Communities outside of Orthodoxy are doomed. The great Jewish rationalist from 800 yrs ago, Maimon said to know what these other communities say of our prophets is legitimate, and a tool for our own learning... there is no BUt But there. He is saying it is valid. He also acknowledges Belief flourishing before Judaism--the Hoodo (Hindus). That's right Dude--before US. I read this in Guide to the Perplexed. That is called anthropology. I don't run from science any more than I do from ignorance--I don't fear it. To expand on the premise that Distance equals Relationship: The bulbul, nightingale of the Arabias, closes its eyes--its eyes alighted to the singular dweet of his repose in the Tiamah (the Judaic tohu from Genesis, or tehom)--desert, void. "Nothing" of the social organism is engendered- other than the rays of the High G-d who receives his meditation or "recitation" on Distance (this may be deism--an I and Nature relationship). The Reply is none other than the last look he'll take before the seduction of the prodigy of his self-possession.
I have to say U2's artistic & timely way of giving over what MLK contributes to the humanitarian dialogue--in the late 80s?, characterized something I wasn't able to do...never threading the needle til then. And my bestFriend who I traveled Israel & Egypt with dropped Malcolm X into an awareness I need more of--because he seems to bring regard for the American polity toward Islamic things more evidently relative than maybe once was=thank you the ascension of Black Consciousness here & now. But, finding my mystics in another Arabia, in regard to Gandhi, had been an interest of mine before then (sensitivity to civil rights reality)--I knew the connection, but our national heritage due to MLK's efforts had eluded me, something caged in black & white filmage, yet no one speaking to me as a recipient of eternity on trial thru art as the conduit of history personified. U2 said to me Christ worship has a better condition than the dogma made apparent til then, which was the expectorate of Blue laws here in the bible belt--we felt marginalized or just bored by therein...! Consciousness was the weigh station in gray matter I felt more attune to, an abject loss (taking into consideration thought's elusive attributes) in fact from being readied to deal with people as I saw in normalcy--the place I'd run to, in mind, but was where MLK will remain with these others who transcend common language, ideas & complacency. Like I say to the Blacks I am relating to daily at my work: I rise & fall with those in common with the Jewish thing in Culture's importuning efforts, I can't let loose of, thus respect the strong bond of his/her elation that their heritage is become held in High Esteem now in more & more avenues to trod. FRom Jewish student of life motives comes NOT having to go around the corner to see Islam as a point of reference to a braver community... our languages of ecclesia has crossed paths in so many ways, I'll be chasing this dragon as the project of my worth forwards...!!!
So from memory and how semblance of thought is the project of only barely the immensity of experienced-forms, Arabia & the dismissing of those who assert invective about the diversity we have before us here in the US, to now meditation=how does contemplation demonstrated in the intensity of the watery thoughts as merciful identity, instruct us even as hesitantly thoughtlessness gets misplaced?
But what does it do for you?--not what do other's waver instructions over meditation...telling us how. Here's my point that I thought was the intent of this thread I read. There was this William S Burroughs thing I read I think in Cities of the Red Night, he talks about being a transient rather than a receptacle. So, in that we have ideas per meditation, the levels of visualization--if we had attained vipassana=a sense of deep resolve throughout the long ends of our day--Then as per instruction, we may topple the effect of what any deliberative thought has us expect to obtain. So we jettison even the vessel of that cognitive limit/ throw out the window that we'd receive an ideal circumstance... No end resolve, just release...& thereby ironically we get set prone, the incumbent feeling of trodding the middle path, because of the solitarian sense of expectancy of nothing having our back, so we stand before insignificance, like in a bird's eye view, makes relationship in its greatest potential. This is MY intent. I want to be synthetic as to any doctrinal studies purporting to be advantageous. Krishnamurti is even more iconoclast...one's whose "discussions" are an exercise in learning to think. Believe me it is only a primitive attempt generally undertaken 'til self-preservation is eliminated.
As the iconoclastic cultic expression evolves i.e. we'll do better than our predeceased selves, I would like to link to the last remorseful confusion--this is what I know I projected. **I mention confusion, because I courted it, till confusion became torpor & white noise, and torpidity yields to fragmentation/ of the Mind/ & thus humility binds me to reckon my motive only to be the observer--and be very good at it. It is good to be IN the Know. If we can answer for ourselves at all, and not through the pretension of social ego in any kind of weird striving--saying I am, in any one moment, like I am this span of time as a fine awareness--is the I AM of futility. So maybe now some Jazz to listen to freeing up intra-mantra slavery, playing on my jam-box, & this is my reprieve. Jazz, with its distinguishing instruments--one can find what each of these artists means in a kind of voice, & I'd imagine the map of digressing emanations: drums up front, bass pondering expanse, sax like birds calling me outside (where consciousness IS).

Jazz & Truth: Seeking the Inflated Tear

When the band (Red Fly Nation) was together, Joel the guitarist/vocals construed direction typically at least from my convoluted perspective, which is this--as I see what mattered to me then. We would many times listen to various musicians' product as the session went on, which as I couldn't perform myself, there was no leaning on any erudition that of the way things could or should sound like. So when things would dwindle down to discussion, at least then I courted sensibilities, "I am now amongst!" This was expectation. As the iconoclastic cultic expression evolved i.e. we'll do better than our predecessors, I would link to the last remorseful confusion--this is what I knew I projected. So maybe now some Jazz was playing on our jam-box, & this is my reprieve. Jazz, with its distinguishing instruments--one can find what each of these artists means in a kind of voice, & I'd imagine the map of digressing emanations: drums up front, bass pondering expanse, sax like birds calling me outside. ** Surmising the plain hearth, I gathered the concept of having sought release w/ the musicians I ran with, now years ago. The mayhem-tree (I dubbed) down on campus seemed to be the transition in place, of place, allowing me to yield to the currency of norm, which I now objectify for its strangeness--its a good thing, I feel--nothing to prove. Now there is nothing outside of me, drug or otherwise, which would leave me gainful of expression--I am movement, life's grand reward, a positivist's momentum. Why I sense my concealment, at all, as it has never changed, is almost beyond realization: I could be scaling the exterior of life's edifice, a house, wanting to get in--or already confined to the "bamot" (immemorial, worshipped space-literally " in the desert"/ hebrew) with expectation on par with the cosmic--either way I am buffered by exaltation. When Kabbalists are acceding to higher chambers of belief and knowledge, it is due to their concealment that they can bury the heart of the "other-side" into mother earth & define their opposition to it. I am the convergence of wanting in and getting out. ~~~**The author, Wieseltier, feels less is revealed w/thanks & praises of "heaven" than the hard reality that things go away. Death is imminent. Death is the harder truth, he thinks. So why, I ask, is death the substance making the soul feel more refined in the continuum of our condition...hopefully a substantial life? The black & white of this dialect implies Matrieya, a Buddhist practice--a transformative action to find the taste of the sun in this open wound life. What if it were possible to hold reality in this hand--the shadows in my mind compelling me self-reverently, whereas relief of our pain--say standing in the lighter reference of now, somehow generates ALMOST nothing as gratuitous to remark upon this world as pained as we find it? I contend "light as a feather as if he has wings" B. Marley's words--probably something biblical but from where I don't know--IS our usual condition. (don't think biblical here--it is not the point, the pt. would be just as I say: we can't yet contain death.) What to do in THESE moments? Things seem brighter. Sounds seem louder. WE seem insignificant--promoted by less of a "deep-aside." In this instant, in that moment, why do we contend a lapse? Did we require to renounce death so adamantly that the new day wouldn't be born w/out it? Less is there to hold on to, had we only the bright light of day? If we were so freed up, why does complacency haunt you so? You think truth is only suffering? Truth is, only when we are entirely unencumbered to ask why. AND Why Now? of anything that contains you. If it is the sky: the sky is the limit. Scrutinize even the obvious moment, not just the shadow lurking in consciousness. Self-possession seems the goal of so many... I say WATCH the day you let go of THAT. Watch what you see, as Rimbaud said.

A few weeks in a transection of Pharaonic days

To the extent that we were excessively using hashish &/or tobacco together or separately, one might assume there were periods when we lived in a thick dullness abiding the intensity from our brand of liberty, to its other extreme-a void, whence the harsh Arabesque sun of Iffriqqa shone past the clarity and into the mishap of confused reflections e.g. at the Tea house, presuming as I was, some dot of angst would color an otherwise unhealthy unknowing.

There is a boulevard stretching toward the train-station, our admittance to this village, and to the other side our pension, which we'd hoof down away from every day wondering at what non-paying wonders we would have divulged to us in our hikes around the village. It had a Banque there on it, at which one Sunday we had our travelers' cheques cashed. Everything seemed off from the current of modern access, as if 80% of all you could see was submerged, but seethed. Toward my freedom of youth I'd admonish myself self that big fish authorial entities would in fact show me how little they cared what sensitivities I contained in contra-distinction like the others bearing in my path. Like the Governmentally controlled bank we passed each day. The mosque on the other side of the side of the village where we stayed was another such place. A Midnight Express scenario played out in my mind, as much as I could think about it, while considering entering the mosque, which we did-and formidably w/ SHOES. We actually looked around for some object to pilfer from it, however there was nothing within and still I wouldn't have gone through w/ it. By the coffee/tea house before the boulevard & closer to our youth hostel, the place was called Television-Cofe (sic), Magdi the owner told us Jimmy Carter had been right by his place one day only a few years back from then, and then commenced to scatter a few glasses full of water out into the sandy-ridden road? to keep? the dust down. (Hosnei Mubarack had only been in power maybe over a yr at this point--Sadat's power expunged & bureaucracy work-a-day as usual) Far from re-allaying a sense that this was memorialized space, it seemed as if this little African man looked to the promise of an immense cosmic polity that would help people and lift them up-and this is part & parcel the power spot we sought & could sanction (merely his humanity, that is, not the content of his beneficent admiration:- "J. Carter?") No, rather: Power spot is supposed.

The roseate-colored neoned mosques; the US Air-force emblem on the pack of gumless rolling papers; the call of the muezzin, but mostly from radio programs-all a theophany from Higher Ground, is predominant in my drawn experience, there in Cairo, knowing that the smells of the reeking first Egyptian, we met, if sensed in a moments hesitation-brings on the corporeal-reality of the struggles in a desert life--the plain heat. Adel was just then embracing Islam and the quiet message of my Jewishness seemed broadcasted across the dark experience of this translation to a view of their ministry.
Backing away from excesses-whether it be pop-imagery or a volatile self, pushed visualization into mean moments, thinking back to '86 in the Sinai desert on the Red (Reed) Sea. Illustrating my cause was a continual inversion of attention otherwise un-authorial 'til I reckoned green-tiled mosques as an arbiter toward self-actualization. I glanced upon the pedestrian giants at whose feet I sat-the ones in the sky friendly and cognates of those relations whom I already knew.(having nothing to do w/ giants, but everything to do w/ illusion) I don't conceive of hashish use as criminal, but when a scarf selling early-teen Bedouin girl came to our hut, probably offering something other than garments, I felt un-averred from weird thoughts that my American-advantages could have any relevance here. Rob over by someone's car-door mirror trying to shave, accumulated my dissonance, as if nothing could be put-together to make whole a sense of activity recognizably as adventurous. There was no balance between his lackadaisical contentment & my sole motive=motive. Typically at this point it was just denial of release from release, meaning the travelogue becoming my narrative was liberating to the extent I could contain this vision in the New ancient world, & in this case again this young girl as any Egyptian would do gave me the keys to the reckless kingdom of herb-smoking. She took us where we could get a couple of handfuls of bud processed down to shake, into the heart of the Bedouin compound and facing our torments of strangers in strange lands, where we could only somewhat enthuse for our sanction.

My good buddy dates an African American chic & from some evening talking to her it seems, she doesn't ascertain identity consciousness anymore than someone who only has an immediate family thru adoption--meaning her projection into where she's come from is stunted outwardly, & inwardly she identifies with a community at-large--a reprieve in contemporary zeitgeist as if it applies. Anyone may or may not care about distinct relationship ties--yet I glean a good vibe off of Black America thru his/her adversity...following the conscious party into music and literature. This satisfies yet leaves me wondering where the terminus of her conscious map begins & ends. This is not a slam on the adopted obviously, this is rather how we plug in, & to whom would represent blood ties, as that, in the end we are all related.

I just know I have to let the knife cut me. Walking across the street this am. groggy from staying up last night, that measure of peeking morning light, & peaking coolness in the air layered in inclement stratum--I often wonder how at some point all the movement in the fray is actively construal in my convalescence: meaning I walk amongst the tall trees of a day's energies, and I presume it at the center of my graph=at once, & then other times it's merely a goal, & not even an objective one. It makes our minds blink Right? makes our gait in our stride more certain or more haunting. So mind is made up of thought tools which are cars abound, making my stride ambient in its current. And just as I see these recurring experiences, same person or bldg before me--things, yet I have the presumption of its conveyance...so I push, rub up, just as things do me. It hurts a little, but we are "of" the world possibly lessening reasons to be IN it--therein lies the dubious identity thing. That we believe we are in EXILE, sometimes makes us ill-define ourselves as "objects" with no choice but to move from here Point A to there, Point B. Yet we just proved everything else is in flux...we have only the right to observe. What can be more than that?
Black bubble bouncing ryddim (Linton Kwesi Johnson, a Brit Black Panther) still in a white hiss in my head from Fazed Cookies last night (a Rolling Stones cover band), now here at work, I push up in the folds of thought, where I had ducked yesterday talking to a Sudanese fellow--his Mom, Egyptian, and the distance he thinks others should go to see his sense of One-world, has me wondering why he thinks anyone is missing out anyway. You have to care, & I do--I'm there. Dude was a little weary of the consumerism relegating haggle to what we don't participate in. He thinks about the auspicious query he has which we supply with a track toward cyber ubiquity. He knows of Hamza al-Din (oud player), probably well--IS Nubian like him... has the shade of desert acacias seared like tattoos an Urban world like ours manifestly lost in its ploy toward independent identity, we lost in our theodicy to find deist nature the One G-d people of N. Africa, themselves attenuate because of lonely-actionable resourceless struggles into possible privation makes this man & that woman measurably worship Him.

Kubrick's Barry Lyndon as a step into a Jewish motive on my part

My friend said: "The word supernatural I notice doesn't seem to be a stumbling block for you as it is for many many others. To me and others who realize (I think you do) supernatural does not mean un-natural or fantasy..."hypernatural to show that it is something that is natural as natural as God or Nature but is an aspect and facet of nature we as humans find beyond our realm of explanation and that science or natural reasoning cannot explain." Ahh, I like that he deliberates unto the threshold, which is what I call a spectral shore--he is calling the point at which we go on faith, rather than the rational. However, in reality we may ponder the imponderable, but the unknown doesn't fluctuate --yet we do. A new definition for the "high" came to me last night, finally making sense. In Arabic the word for herb & hashish--ashishin, something to this affect, similarly is Hebrew, is defined as "fluctuate." Last night--and those two words are pregnant to me-- I'm watching this Stanley Kubrick film, I'm high & with it, and then I saw that I was imagining the static events of this sublime film--"Barry Lyndon" w/Ryan O'Neil, in a way that at the furthest reaches that I term time & place went on the chopping block--call it the spectral shore--somewhere when I went on faith. I could see my mind was refusing to consider transition thru the movement of dialogue & warm vistas. In fact, what was really the fullness of the moment was breath & pulse and then a comfort in my heart seeing a peasant trod a path into a town--was deliberate as my physical soul being attended to. He was crotchety & driven, intense & the project of the worth I imagined in the lives surrounding the Jewish shtetl. The heart is a ditch of blood, we throw ourselves upon its banks to consumate relationship--according to Kazantzakis. In that moment, my imaginative narrative begged for objectivity because I was only seeing a Jewish template with the Greek author as an enabler. And the reason why I was comforted was because knowledge gave me a leg up from the heart's woe unto emotional release... It was beautiful. This was not TV, these folks as characterizations in the anthropos, didn't have the fullness of the resourceful answer-ridden world of today--it was rather the surfeit of shorter lived lives, work a day, survival of the fittest which in our resource replicating society -knowledge as commodity is impelling longevity without the survival & psychological instincts to match it. So, I met those instincts truly in the safety & promise of edu-tainment repose, from which ironically I wouldn't easily be prized. The Jewish motif only I was seeing was partly something I imagine in the structure of my old synagogue, and also a literary reference from Elie Weisel's, All the Rivers Run to the Sea, but the Sea is Never Full--something to this effect. ...an image of his Grandfather looking down from the roof's eves, & the thought occurs to Weisel that his Zadie predicted rivers of blood being spilled, as the past immerses into its calamity & ubiquitous flow as relationship gets swallowed in pathos. And my prosaic thoughts on this laid me prone to a Fiddler on the Roof scenario, if not dispensation I coordinate and attune thoughtlessness toward through sheer willfullness...feeling blessed, thanks to exquisite imagery from Stanley Kubrick's film.
***

2001 Space Odyssey was hypnotic enough for me in a long interim w/o psychedelia per the use of psycho-tropics. It is amazing from a certain disconnect many of us have gone through, the engaging requiem of cinema as much as relationship has us sustained, can come to the rescue, proving there is nothing which has left us behind. A friend once said, nothing is worth doing unless you are catching up. Like the dragon surfeits our condition once we believe continuity is found, & off we go toward accompli a priori. A Clockwork Orange, had that sublime Singin' in the Rain refrain at the end of the movie. Just that frightened me in the perfection of its cinematic message, like now it was incumbent upon me to be the synthetic well of happiness through all the machinations of urban mischief. I thought, it was a high bar to meet--but the clarity was the rule...so why wasn't I (clarified with resolve)? I studied Russian at U of Ky, and the patois was engaging--and my literary edifice from the stuffed shirts of Russian culture went right on the chopping block!! If you reckon Evgenii Zamyatin--his black humor, and his small book WE which is easy to find, was a piece that influenced the writing of 1984. A utopian thang & to quote: Doest thou love the fog, D-53? No, I fear it, O-90!! O-90 says: If you Fear it, you Hate it--If you Hate it--You LOve IT!!
***Guess which one was the male protagonist--& which one is the female temptress//which happens to be unto his chained Mind being liberated...
~~~~In front of the media-driven world into what is behind it, my perspective not to quite enjoin this fray of glitter ^^ at the house I lived in for 27 yrs...

Bob Marley always sanctioned my worries. That at any one moment, just stepping into the visual context of the cold-lampin' room--mine or being outdoors thinking things in the vista are making appearances as thru windows, was a lot of mental mischief that seemed damned necessary in my patient wait for a better day...and yeah, now IS all good.
Vipassana is mentioned in a book about Kabbalah as similarly recognizing the deep aside in our condition in spans of meditational projects for extended periods of time, and thus a state of mind when self-knowledge is vital & in continuity=no longer merely an aside... Well, I had looked into the light, usually peripherally, & saw streams rather than just its glower casting broadly throughout. I tried to see how long I could look distantly so the image would grant the dimension where I knew nothing else was present--just how a camera under a desert sun takes one or a couple strands of rays' radiance, you know is only caused from the lens playing tricks on the sun which wouldn't yield even without this mischief. Even now I'm back alone a lot, tho' encumbered by relationship this time. Before I was blanketed by the remoteness of the (social)conventions of the known--the foot was on the other shoe. Then at Eastern State Hospital--also where William S. Burroughs did his rehab time--just to live by example of powerful minds, (the 6 weeks in 1993 they locked me up--during which time Zadie passed away), I remember becoming terribly objective about self-hypnosis...thusly "arresting" or capturing alive an awakened moment I knew I alone would bare witness to--threatening that, all the while making desperation desire's brain--desire for peace of mind! I wasn't escaping any addictions, but rather in transition in finding the right (mild) psychiatric drug/ a psycho-tropic, to attend to impending confusion. This is a problem: the rationalizing away of life rich pageant, yet mine is a success story. The mind tends to take us as quickly from the seat of imagination into non-grasping - mounting lack of control I mean, just as this cosmic house IS for a little while--in our perception--we're encouraged to transpire...

THe Gauge narrative

Without already being on psychotropics, I wouldn't be able to partake. The month or so I spent in Egypt--so long ago, was when I was at peak use--smoking hashish/ shisha & herb. My distraction, not surprisingly, was equaling that extreme environment in a lot of ways. A French-Egyptian dude was dubious in this regard. He ended up running off w/40 bucks of ours which we thought would have obtained opium for us. ($40.oo could have kept us in hostel-comfort for probably 3-4 more days, had we not lost it.) In his ploy to get more $s before the deal went south, he tried to get us in better digs--but she the proprietor saw thru him, warning us, but we didn't listen. A weird feeling of dementia as like multi-directional staircases in M.C. Escher's art, made the very sense of cause a priori for a conscious map fall weakly into an abyss of Kairowan imponderable lapse. I wouldn't trade those times for anything safer, tho', I literally felt locked out of the passport to the vulture of culture, swearing always that any ritual as distinguished as thanks & praises allows (social conventions eluding me), I'd be as relevant to Ascetic Standards from a **limb where I saw everyone else pinned**--paraphrasing Leonard Cohen. The surprise is self-scrutiny deserves desperation & that desperation is desire's brain... was leaving me in the mean not valuing society much. Had I been confident, I would do just fine--but there was a lot of common self-instruction nowhere in my grasp. Herb provided an existential survey of the fat soul of plenty that living a real travelogue was considerably all within one house; what I did beyond the duty of hearth & home, was exactly the same whiling away as I would anywhere...just being present!!
***There is a book by an English author, Rory Stewart, about his meander transect across Afganistan 2002-3. It is excellent. I was reading this the while I was up in Ontario,Canada--Iron Bridge, far from the 3rd world, but with the then alliterative path, somehow the effect of privations met under the haze of drugged linear thought, opiates in the case of Pashtunis and the other mutually arising communities, as I read along. For some reason--I guess because it was such a fresh experience, up in the outlands of Canada, that book hit me in a much more esoteric spot. Again, because the choice to level out vast distances, securing a prone moment, though I wasn't getting high, was an idea easily asserted as in how a contact-high would. The author's little images he drew of the folks out across the expanses he trod, were rough shod just how my thinking is, as if I alone piece together the land imbued w/First Nations, I am seeing for the first time. If you haven't read it--you'll see when you do, it stands alone. There are other writings of his about walking across other Asian countries...: his communing amongst villagers of all types is an archetype in humanity. He had an ole fucked up dog--was given to him--& if not for him he would have died. It is amazing how even in the demise of existence, the mind portends the light to be met as IF...(we behold our safety without it being eclipsed). In a great wintry expanse part way thru his trek, he was all weary, hungry & thus vulnerable to the bitterCold. He gave up laid back in the ice/snow upon the margins of a frozen lake--describes the apparent forgiveness for his ineptness leaving him vacillating - emotionally like saying, "How could I just give up?" To, a welcome home, illusion of bodily warmth, which was illusory enough that it became evident to him he'd better just get to shuffling on. Down from the MT in all respects, he noticed the world glossed over, colors imbibed--totally existential, like until then, he was upon the surface of the moon, & now in a varied-formed personified forest-of-life his adventure takes on rational motives again=the telling of it.

HERE's a THOUGHT, wrote that thing the other am. subject Being, Crystal Worship __per Lumiere's blog piece, from TribedotNET::: Thinking about you--my friends, as others, as if some one thing I do, I try to anticipate that there is only an audience of one as a recipient of the valley of time strung in a few moments, when thoughtlessness gives me space... I bet you can imagine, there is somehow someone way more complex than your usual sense of relationship, if you are to come off creatively.
The characters in Refer Madness, tho' I'm not furthering something illicit here--have kinda old filmy auras, made by the old technology, but it emphasizes certain inward looks on the actors faces...(yet, I must otherwise project this reflection on others, as self-reflection, in as much as they are doing it--so M J would be conducive to this kind of experiential sense.) At the translation from the self-conscious masks we wear, the mirror always so willing, & our hearts only covet brief glimpses... sometimes like white sheen of expressions determine confidence the human condition has named you. I couldn't see anyone seeing Me--before my spiritual apostasy, & at one point the field of what I clearly saw as containing my aura reduced & begun to look less of a product of who I once was.. Into the blue, and even leveled off out there, but not remotely feeling understood at all. Sometimes I was so enrapt and yet couldn't tell anyone. I was like, if they could see what this is doing to me...if only!! It was like we all have the burnishing sun availing us of its wisdom, but I sat in its corporeal shadow--its proffer, yet not the center of its project: my person & yours.

Where the green ants dream, like pillow armies in my mind

Last night I felt so high on contentent, a singularity was approaching like an awakening seemed in the offing--but nothing in my mind seemed plaintive for holding court with the spirits I imbibe--like I'd be psalmful. I like Russian imagery sometimes in the wee hrs, because the looming encumbrance of the midnight sky portends the containment Russians - Russian Jews, even the ChukChi Natives in the eternal night of Siberia--anyone in the xenophobic lands of this mystic Eastern corruptable disconsolation. Last night I held no key. Had I, then marbled red, bloodclotted jellied emotions would have my familial good conscience warm & fuzzy, as I enumerated so many other times, even lying in twilight dreams when my eyes are dreaming while imagining they're opened... The impulse to grasp the arm of my father's mother, yet not the Russian side of my family, still is the guardian angel of my imagined spirit narrative, made my hand feel like razors were slitting the tactiled pressure points in the severance of the meet & greet I had with her. The cold Winter's heart of the season seems to be the scrutinized self-preserved ideal, too. That I am out of it means quite a little bit to me--the nature & nurture of my instinct is that smoke in neighbors' hearths, had been sensed so many times wandering in the suburban streets since I was a kid, that being out of it, alights a question in my nerve that's lit. Something about survival--how its procured, especially in a world culturally imbued around rituals of seasons in & seasons out...that the impermanent record we transcend & defy would have been actionable nights like mine should have been. Tolstoy per Gandhi's acts toward purity is the utility of the studies' nod east I feel in a direction of the plurality of my conscience, so instructed from my known heritage into Gandhi's lent vision...in a purdah of distance strung, relying upon an ever new message from what only gets marketed to me by my own standards.
~~Nothing dreamt, a solid state orderly green vista, just sky & earth had captivated me, holding out the last rescue of the peace my old neighborhood had to offer—its extension out over by the farm on Parkers Mill not 3 mls from the airport. I read there Isaac Babel’s Cossack stories of deprivation, mystic churches, impoverished Jews, war. The emblems probably a 100 yrs ago of the stumble into the Soviet early days, a percussive revolution in cognizant immediacy, were perhaps a tachanka, a kind of military wagon, not unlike the zeitgeist we associate w/ the military industry as in the US—how it performs in our environment (fashion, culture, social demise), & horses—the sentience-of-promise in front of me there under a pine tree looking off into their field on this ubiquitous Ky horse farm. The loom of an unknown destiny untethered then in my life, had me look closer at what was intermediate space in everyone’s life in & around me & made it important to me. I called it my own, lived up to MY expectations, & gathered no more than wall flowers, but enough of a kind of inner-attention to bring it all to the table when the new day arose. **~~When it is twilight & we're tired sometimes harkens back to childhood, in the pleasure of dream-scapes we anticipate even Now.
Sleep, ethereal dream-time coming over me would be reductive, right.? For instance, we aren't calculating what next must be done, but lingering rather in a place of security--in peripheral dream-scapes of self-security... still, your promise of a thread from youth til now, may not demand that one should replace imagery w/ some concept Now at hand--"naturally" tuning out and emotive comfort. But in fact, daily we've done everything possible to maintain the adventure of self-revelry--and its proof when the kaleidoscopic resultant piece of art is proffered--the thing we scribe in the looming retiring room. But, the memory isn't topical right then for some reason. It IS you and your product--then. But the sleepiness for me only sometimes IS a waxy envelope I--myself, my spindral curiosity, push up into its folds. I read, late (...for me, before I succumb). And the images go on trial, because the impetus to close the circle and live only for that perfect image, is a motive that doesn't go away. But I want that space First--then I would see what it is IN my waking life that would give me dreams & night visions. And entirely IT is one little clue of spatial quality. I notice how my eyes seem to adjust to maybe a glossier focus--instead of maybe this plateauing affect Not occurring at all (this effect would foreshadow what one supposes right before sleep comes on--something during evening activity). And it won't always. So, back to the imagery--leaving your emotions be--and making room for an Awakened state. How does the yesteryear have anything to do with what you'd do to It, NOw--not Once was...? =there, no piece of mind need be left behind.
I had this dream of my pseudo-illness, could have been how Valerie's ill-health now gets intimated in my self-mythologized narrative... More than that it may be what my sentient well-being yields to as a method to promote the health of my soul. She's reminding me perhaps of the doors I have yet to close so that babylon's rules can get bastardized enough to let me get my hands upon its meaning. The deficits in language comes to mind because we all mutually arise, while observations thus are lost because we aren't reading the writing on the wall... It is hard to know what it is that is coming in from the cold, upon the threshold of the life experience we must react harmoniously to, if we are to get over the little trouble. Dreaming I was still sick--after a few weeks back of a recurring sinus & respiratory problem, my mind fired on it about the inconvenience of it all--which that is where the matriculate empathy for others is fully the shared moment... We somewhat turn away from that pivoting crowd who had lifted us up day after day, because maybe like an injured dog, we go to our little forest digs and heal and wonder over our diminished ability to have that physical synchronicity with others. We so badly need others to complete us, fitting the puzzle of the daily grind with those immediate goals we love to obtain. I laid in bed when I actually was sick, longing out the window into the sunny day. The running dialogue in my head a little impaired with dull pain, and then with just enough awareness, it was as if the gloss of all that part of the day I can't for the moment attend to, came to me like I was still being watched over. It was a promise--it is there when we watch what we see, to quote Rimbaud. Maybe I have sought the near & dear enough, but left unattended the more disparate relationships' portents. So, my family may be baring the fruit of knowledge that is of a spiritual nature in the human condition, while others are all mind, some are soul adventurers, still others have the animal corralled = physically adept, and this happens to be their fulfillment of the archetypes of humankind's condition. This is a kabbalistic notion, how we make up the nomenclature of anthropologic creation. The nomenclature of this physical world is sometimes conscious props, messages that certain folks pass to we the receiver of an Ideal set of circumstances. The human condition is about THIS big=I'm holding my fingers a half inch apart, so obviously consciousness will intersect, is my thinking. Hopefully there will be a fantastic universe to apply ourselves to, from this extra-sensory cognition.