SHADOW-PLAY=Jah like that!!!

I once characterized a watchmen over my domicile as a shadowy persona, while dreaming of my repose in dream-state. So, there over against the wall adjacent to my bed was an officer-like guy, like he'd been this hold-out for my feeling that these conscious barriers--manifestly the sense of a kind of power-spot in which I lived, were dissipating
"under the shadows of rescue" is lyricked by Bob Marley in Hallelujah Time off of Burning..."as we go singing, by & by." There is a book about a this Polish reporter's travels in Africa, it is called something interesting implying that the sun has its own shadow, as in something even brighter casts its rays upon a subject sun. I thought about this with a measure of asceticism, and that we can be converged upon by greater things than ourselves...ultimate realities are giving us context & awareness all the time, then "reason" shines a brighter light than the material objectivity we see in the suns immanence. Or rather if we have cosmic consciousness, it emanates from even more immense distances than our claim of even our own sun.
The minor hikes I took thru my neighborhood of my growing-up, took me through Beaumont park, a place of a lot of my changes--where I'd go and read and find reprieve under the boughs of maples, next to an old cistern. On thru the park, sometimes in a few hesitant moments, my only accompaniment was my shadow--and it felt less than auspicious because I had already filtered out self-INflection from the earthy loam of my empty cast in waves of bluegrass. So, what my mind did gather was lighted boundaries around my physical cast upon the ground, around the eyes too!!--yet the rest of the black pith of self was gray grass tethered to what I so vaguely wanted to transcend...
The word kaleidoscope as a descriptive term is never used, seriously I never see it, but it announces a lot of obvious ideation into a compounding hammer=the thud of a construction piece, like language is verbose..., like verging on too much all at once. Rushdie may have used it, but his mural-istic play on words takes me to it, regardless. In Midnight’s Children, the children born on the eve of India’s inception of modern independence, all have strange powers. This one youth can go to the intimate histories of those neighbors & family members whilst their minds have stored these scenarios & they are ambulatory w/ everyday-ness thru his anonymity of his perception . So to imagine someone whose mental imagery is not an equinox of the minds they are projecting consciously, but rather as trails left in innocent pug-marks they’ve not been able to expunge, & therefore as clues & gestures to an ulterior reality. When I was likely exactly 15, my friend & I would climb up on this church roof, across from Lexington School, into its steeple’s roof. So one afternoon public school being out that day & private schools still in attendance, I alone got up in the steeple, but sat in a kind of screened in area below the pinnacle, obfuscated enough from the height & angle that the mothers & their kids couldn’t see me. It all seemed so purposeful. Jolly walking rich brats, some morose ones et cetera, were all lending to my intuitive faculty but not as construal of actually what "they" may do next (there was a big question to muse over), but only in that I was jettisoned out of unknown imaginary day’s quality to a perceptive map-like cognizance—a compelling animal hunt, though they themselves manifested what quarry was to be divulged. So cars & sheens from windshields , or his/her friend on the way would be this, or the rest of the day instantly surmised, perhaps a solvent impermanence & a threshold never to be reckoned again…
I'm beginning to appeal to all the sincere metrics--good folks are telling me--of their artistic acquiring of self-knowledge - its effort--like dhammapada is what you know, and knowing what I defer as the best reggae album I have ever heard, gets me sprung from under the hand OF all that Marley I know--that context I see--many days as a student of his moral strain. Marley's dad was a Sefardic Jew, a Syrian, yet a British subject. Bob is more likely to have that secular crowd in Israel listen to his influence than radio provides in our middling America. Significant to me in thinking of Israelis as Progressives, and those who are finding themselves as part of a sea of humanity (even viewing the reality as neighbors to Syrians & Lebanese) despite its roiling plash against the rocks of fundamentalism. Reggae was what rooted me more than anything else, and the Jewish thing as the root in ascetic self-knowledge, meanwhile, added to the conscious music--the train to get on, like life portending a long road, is Rasta ideals having me pace the long ends of the day's river of sight. There is a lot of jamming on Third World's first album, a singularity if at its terminal auditive universe, we look up from what Marley calls intra-mantra slavery, and see it speaks right to us. A statement of presence, the presence of Mind sublimating us in relationship, reliably similar with the Jewish tip if we appeal to "Jah" like the Greater Reality compels us from Without...the Ineffable, as we become His experienced-form is but accessible when gods are looked upon as Layered-Reality=wherever it is we find ourselves the convergence of I & Nature!! Integrating what is actually disparate notions in Buddhist thought, looks to me like immense powers mutually arising as I forage in Eastern Thought langour supposed piece-meal by the likes of Kerouac, or indicated by Alan Watts, yet thru my jaded lense. If Avalokiteshvara laid his diamond hand upon the numinous impulse looking at black fire abstraction lying on white fire pallets (this medium), then the semblance my mind allows for is vipassana--a visual of deep-aside that carries me thru patterns of remorseless days...just freedom transpiring.

THE REMOTE visualization of the jips of pillow-armies

I found out what it is to die. I am not being morbid, and this is no warning about a weird decision as if I was planning to jump off into a ditch somewhere... It is entirely, and exactly what it is to die.OK OK I suggest the sense that we should live unto departure, is DIVIDING what is more easily thought of, and in actuality IS, as ONE world. No thresholds, only eternality. So, all symbols of eternity are in this life, where do you contend you'd know them elsewhere? Lets say we become objective about time. Time is entirely the single most monarchical principal which is merely a bump in the road, and the only sense of material world we'd know. What if upon our apostasy from the "norm" the impermanent record is dismissed? Isn't "time" the only thing imprisoning us, and as such is as much under our control as is the sky demonstrating the limits to which we would go--and we do GO, Right!!?? We elevate our Being with the cadence of the enveloping light of day. We can seek Higher Ground ad infinitum...as the one thing we know is true, is that EVERYTHING is!! Behind any field of spectral thought, the edenic day we mitigate with DREAMS about our very slumber, meaning the dreams of complacent repose, has such profound truth in the life our mind, that all along we have become consumed by louder, brighter, more epiphenomena, than taking our lead from the subtlety of the slow fidelity that these fantastic filmy dreams are the first rung in a ladder into a tree of knowledge


Subject: tell me if you reflect this particular condition?
I SAID: There is a spiritual concept called agonistic ritualization. The idea is that we set-up certain competitive goals, even conflicting with our need for reprieve, in order for the atman self (the atomic-self) to become what otherwise we mistakenly thought were just appearances. Or another way to call these "appearances" is the Outward Fact, the actionable world! We are better off toppling the effect that somehow only one avenue in a dialect is answer enough, despite the fact that some things would be better avoided: "only one answer is answer enough" means we hadn't started with fragmentation, which is the natural state of the mind. In other words there is something there to be believed, even in its confliction of our peace of mind as we would want to mitigate. You described the frayed edges of your condition, starting with that rather than allowing it as something static, would be hard to do...I'd hope it isn't as helpless as that. So, argue with me, it may make you feel better, Right?
AND THEN a particularly cool chic from tribe SAID: "I once knew, very well and for quite a while, a guy who without any doubt was a sorcerer/wizard/whatever -- not that he advertised it in any way, it was the kind of thing that once you knew him enough, you began to notice. It was kind of alarming, actually. His powers were used for his own benefit and protection, period. Anyway, in my observations I learned a lot about spiritual power, which he definitely had. Discipline greatly involved, and deliberately taking yourself to difficult places. He summed it up well one day: "I like to do things I don't like to do." Makes you powerful, for sure..."
(me again)***Now, I'd like to think there was this vibe I'd impart to others--something different, hopefully adept--she's not indicating me obviously... and seeing the Other as a guru, being able to reflect that as in the fine details they themselves in their convention don't remark on, is consistent just enough to make me WANT to be indicated. That someone may intercede on your behalf has alot to do with the messianic complex I feel I'd martyr (*in the verb tense) when liquid language awashed in silence is the scrawl of some limit of its force I'd become a proponent over. People going though the blue blue window of this physical garment life contains us hitherto, makes me believe they are moving from a recognizable power spot, somewhere in my absence, to the affable me before them as now!! This one mind is being able to find centers from without--our little complicated selves aren't going to be as gratuitous an event as this consciousness we move into. Higher Ground is Outside of Us, if we believe relationship is identity as we would have its allegory in thoughts feelings and actions.
I feel I am expanding--albeit in my own complicated way--where I think we are going with this. THE PRINCE, or sultan, or the Emperor wearing no clothes: where does he/she live in your mind? Have you looked (generally, anyone), or do we look to pontificate as if somewhere over the rainbow they'd be met. Mind Body Spirit, or in place of spirit say Expression... at the end of pontifcation does the concept fulfill the need, or do you look at the peak and dodgey valleys of your scrawl of voice reaching and striving for the king or atman self to respond? Had we looked, he/she would be as static as the gloss in your eyes. The limit of my observations is the teleology that this physical restraint allows--the phone always works, something emanates, is emanating, seems to demand I move toward the recepient of my ideal, yet I am a prodigy of my self-possession. The bulbul, nightingale of the Arabias, closes its eyes--its eyes alighted to the singular dweet of his repose in the Tiamah--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. SElf-consciousness to me is the leaden consciousness that had consumed me, its gravity, 'til I find the place where I can imagine pillow armies again set free. Observable release. And the door leading away from the acquisitive mind, makes the continuity I seek as in graver cycles. That I don't have control, is where I'd reference the substance of ephemeral fleeting identity...

The FOUNTAIN BLUE as OPPOSED to the empty SPRING

During the RED FLY NATION dispensation:
While doing the band-thing now so many yrs ago, makes stand-out just those plateaued moments when I thought I'd gotten away from something I was in fact participating IN. The places of all my changes, is better remarked upon as the places I first saw light. Light in its absence is entirely the "strength" of its properties as we'd want to see. The strange occurrences of having peed blood were always in conditions when I was only seeing black & white anyways. Milky grays around me, really, and black wine urine as I'm screaming, "my soul" inside my head, where home was. That mortality seemed to be on the line, power-spots became believable to me, as convalescence would in the end make me better--with no other treatment for my dissipation. That I'd been in one place a 100yrs was easily defined, but reckless, because I thought I was stealing what otherwise were convergent places where relationship would be found. So, there are two things here: People & their relenting of my woes, & places as in the constant of objectivity in just what I could find centeredness in my solitarian existence. Like the guilt in sitting in a chair where you had died a thousand deaths--asking yourself, if you ought to have. I took solace in reggae anthems saying, "one day we will walk these streets forever." Knowing nothing stole my revelry for life-well-lived, I'd begun to answer what it is to live. Just know that before treatment for my schizophrenia, lucid ideation of really essential moments about Ultimate Reality was the stop-gap before I found it, as now, acceptable to ask of such relevance as I deliberate on below: OK OK I suggest the sense that we should live unto departure, is dividing what is more easily thought of, and in actuality IS, as ONE world. No thresholds, only eternality. So, all symbols of eternity are in this life, where do you contend you'd know them elsewhere? Lets say we become objective about time. Time is entirely the single most monarchical principal which is merely a bump in the road, and the only sense of material world we'd know. What if upon our apostasy from the "norm" the impermanent record is dismissed? Isn't time the only thing imprisoning us, and as such is as much under our control as is the sky demonstrating the limits to which we would go--and we do GO, Right!!?? We elevate our Being with the cadence of the enveloping light of day. We can seek Higher Ground ad infinitum...as the one thing we know is true, is that EVERYTHING is!! Behind any field of spectral thought, the edenic day we mitigate with DREAMS about our very slumber, has such profound truth in the life our mind, that all along we have become consumed by louder, brighter, more epiphenomena, than taking our lead from the subtlety of the slow fidelity that these fantastic filmy dreams are the first rung in a ladder into a tree of knowledge.
Excess all around, but I'm some gypsy--a hurried presence, maybe there in Newburgh, on my way, on my own, ready to see the planned vacation spot for me & my lady. A steely glance from this guy carrying a strapless suitcase & guitar seemed to indict the picture of me--now even less of a mendicant. It is foggy out this am., a quizzical look on my face records Valerie asking me, as if she is there, "Doest thou love the fog?" Dirt on pavement, puddles on the unproffered way across the parking lot, I'm muddling forward to the bus station. She says, "If you fear it, you hate it, & if you hate it you love it." (Evgenii Zamyatin) I'm drudged up from the bottom now, she's Rt, but there is no afterward. But a bird lunges at the run over pack of crackers at my periphery, like it was belched out of the mist. Aunt Eleanor's house is only a couple of blocks away--a neighborhood adjacent to the shopping cntr. I've seen phosphorescent fungus growing out of a tree there two houses up from hers. The next day someone smashes it in with their foot: nature as art has chaos with which to contend. I'll need a key for the bungalow up in the Catskills, Valerie will be waiting for me there. "Dip in, dip in--to the sea of possibilities." (Patti Smith) --language is the valley of tongues, the spirit decends to correspond with the obvious=the quantifying of surfaces--but our babel wants more. Paul's music, like Aaron--brother of Moses, is he who speaks as if digging a ditch in the sky, where "pirates of the airwaves" (Lee Perry) can be interred in their graves burying the encumbrances of the fine "liquid language awash" (Wallace Stevens?) thru music & its details, so it will rain down as the communicating ancients making known the world-to-come, if there is one.
Ok, Language in as holy a vein as music gets, is the thing that carries me over like this Coltrane thing I guess just called Coltrane, not a compilation. --from Prestige. He recorded this rt after he gave up H & got into Buddhist thought. Now one might think this makes him a mental apostate like the rest of us in our reconstructive efforts whatever they may be, & that means an IN on his creative motive. But, Coltrane has the language of Jazz, and thus his version of truth which obviously can reach us--clearly. Truth is static, & we're implicated by our listening & nods of approval= we're the ones destined to be changed by it. He is always the observer of what complicates our assertive egos, & makes it simple & easily solvent. IT's like Oh G-d he kept doing that. That's what I mean by static. I'd say like Kerouac, the observer is never sacrificed, even thru his dissipation. We're right there w/him, nowhere to go, our baby steps to his Giant Ones.
The meditative moments last night had one of the things I put on-the-BACK-burner as being the thing that would typically impel me to construe a night ardor. (So to speak, my motive was floundering.) This being torpidity, thence made realization a struggle but no less a pay-off toward now, of course--though I paid for this feeling then. It seemed all I could do was strike a vertiginous pose and all I wanted was a babe-on-the-lawn seeking the brighter atmosphere, looking into the light. I looked at my hands for what really is a conciliatory image, not unlike a geometric-ploy of a Mohammedan in their tantric response to a world of over-bearing images: scripture as pictorial design conveying the adherent out of the cosmic to the conveyance of that & Other-things. Images symbolic of sound e.g. the language of G-d's mind, are just as UNIQUE as my hands as IF they made pug marks on a path in the Wilderness and explanate of an instinct to be consoled in the distances we achieve to resume an objective cause. This would be a spiritual exercise, if not for linear thought bringing me out of the angst of LOSS of inner-attention. Inner-attention is always a godsend, but as that Higher Ground is what it is--some OTHER place/ the existential, I am typically deliberating on the exudation of some Lower Order of things. --a trifling ordeal, and the simplest to contemplate."I cut off my hair, and I rode straight away--to a wild & unknown country, where I could not go wrong." Dylan is an ascetic uncarved block, I chip away at an idea I think is me to the T, and yet I remain stalwart & unbounded toward the similar goal, still on my own.We are so blind, what there is to SEE gets divorced from what lens we USE & begin to adapt to. If you tend to want to learn from your sorrow, in the end we cease experiencing a refrain, thus a convenant is born. Sitting down by the still waters, looses us in the fray of normalcy, where it is best to be lost. Dylan claimed something in affiliation with Jewish identity, that Now you could call him a Zionist for life--this last pubicized trip he took to Jerusalem. This artist yet iconoclast, who has create a profound compassionate edifice for the underdog, takes a lable for a political movement, albeit cultural & now appertaining in a new voice that the conscience of those who may have only heard their own hopefully would have learned that still he couldn't leave anything behind. So, as pregnant a term as Islamo-fascism in the minds of the Israelis mutually arising neighbors--the Muslims, I imagine, wouldn't be part of his agonistic ritual before what is the convergence of the Big 3, The Holy of Holies.

Finding Otherness while stolid Faith is jettisoned

Rule # !, there is no meaning of marriage that I can understand. The remarkable thing was all that leaden country of consciousness that was a dreamscape, as if I couldn't be denied that I really do have something to offer someone. **I have to refine the evangeline of my coffee-table, as compared to the one I sat before just up the street when an exact oppositely conflicted life I lived, all pointed to the transparent table before "I, me, mine"-- as the pallet of a day's currency now almost entirely evident. How evidenciary (then) was the wooden basketball backboard, to contain what I'd become: my only view to its leveling was some belief something behind a pale shelter, its veil--seized and pried upon, & a look emanating from a sadhu's pantheon would be written in my presence...somewhere in gray shades of verseless thresholds. Yet, leaving family, is what I did first--finding them--or really being indicated as something creative amongst, is still my balancing identity as grave an effort as I anticipated. The very brick of my consciousness is a certain comfort I have felt with myself. There were and are times, let's say, looking at some object as innocuous as a shoe-untraveled -- easily is maintained as only a rudiment thought--and transpires like it fluctuates, as if my hand willfully turns it prone unceasingly...! But, as before it--not like a fluid dream at all when sentience is the nature of all the intermediary space--but rather something inherently stolid is at least patternic, if not a soft machine. So, we are a a nation of 1 - to borrow a line from Vonnegut's movie MOTHERNIGHT. Yet, self-knowledge is found in the ledger of events as unresolved as they become--still I'll lose & find my religion at her behest, because, "Like a tree that giveth forth fruit, by the rivers of water. Every life finds its purpose, has its reason--in every season." Something biblical from B. Marley on UPRISING. I take it to mean, each stone shall tarry. So, what isn't right & proper for someone now, like the stone we refuse, later our minds get less complicated and we presume for the other it MAY have worked=say the institution of marriage. That there is no substance to those fantastically ritualized traditions imposed upon a couple, doesn't mean it isn't a simple notion for them... again LESS complicated, we are reductive, because life is merely a celebration & relationship is yet another pause for the cause. We have certain ritual belief so that some social requirement seems meaningful. FOr SOME, this is as creative as it gets... for others a union of these mutual arisen personalities is highly symbolic.
REligion creates an imaginative narrative, the imaginative narrative construes Higher Ground (whatever that is!): Higher Ground hopefully doesn't dismiss any Other. If it does, then their god sees no glory right? Hence our argument against Organized Belief system. Upon the approach to purity as some goal with no ill consequence to deflate us when its met, take collectively some proto-Semitic word, maybe the ONe of a # of deities--a LOrd, that filters into a recognizable term where it is meant as a sense of the sacrifice of the adherent's atomic self. "Kaddish" is the "furthest," the sense of Other--the "separate," and the existential - as in how we define being On, an On spirit. The temple High Priest preserves the emoting of seasons' change--how social living is the best here. And him as the Originator of the Festival's inauguration, imagine him as every bit answered for, the peak of social rapport--but his only agony is he can't be lost to this example he sets down. In the temple chamber, the silence that ensues allows thought imagery to give him insight into experienced-forms as some conscious prop, more vital than, than maybe the Way he had set out toward renunciation of anything intermediate with his objects in ritual. The "object" may be the self, and it is sacrificed at once becoming the ritual, becoming the symbols of Eternity. So knowledge of self is effectively turning out self, sacrificing it, so that we are utterly compelled submit to the KNown. It is certainly known that we hold in high regard these things we can't control. So an object at hand that represents these awesome Forces whose subject we are, is the compelling rhythm of ritual, prayer & so forth. Religion has created a narrative--these are Thoughts Feelings & Actions, the allegory to Higher Ground--being ourselves is unique when we are converged upon by Time Place & Community & thus becoming the imaginative narrative. I develop the babel of deep asides from the context of an endeavor toward biblacy: Kabbalah & various studies of Jewish mysticism. When we seek what is a sense of our gravest attributes the subject must be an idea in the verb tense=a progression. Maybe the ability to imagine ideas washed up upon the shore of solitude, in their refined pieces, has certainty in its pallet of the very intermediary space, like white fire subject to the black fire of literacy. G-d is a Verb, the Infinite is contained in the receptivity of the House=the house has fulminate stacks of books where I'd gather the concept of antiquity whereas today, in contrast, has merely 15 minutes of a sense of penultimate week's passing.... These artists, writers, & musicians must have a jumping off point whence you’d admit a truth from an ancient time. This may not be your focus to deliberate and enthuse to permiss this direction, but I have to guess there is something there, a note of transcendence for anyone looking to ask the right question...what has this life Become? The context of two thousand years past is a referendum of the norm, sustaining looks & whispers about the anthropos of Our condition, for me. I am heading to the sad-eyed low-lands, minus the lady though Mercy is her domain in the Infinite. It is Mysticism and its flame where I will kill stale moments & reflect on the advantages of patterns of the mundane.

The Egyptian Sinai, & the completely exposed desert of the Zunis

Egypt, Eli! Eli! I have thought about the very boughs in my KY home's neighborhood as being yet another key to win back the fat soul of plenty that IS this N. African sand-dune. TRibalism rather said in Arabic is badivat, badu is the root=desert dweller, and Dahab was a bedouin village circa 1987...soon to be scrubbed with commercialism, but getting out of urban settings is a good motive to something spiritually full. Having gone to what my guide said was the old Cairo, makes the feeling that there was presence you could taste in what my ugly american viewpoint tells me is the in-between places. Al-Fustat, now swallowed by Cairo, is the beginning of what has become Islam's center-piece of Arabic cultural, tho' in Iffriqqa. But, by & by I felt centered in these places...and it is yet only a corner in the desert map as I look into antiquity...believing the loam. 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, as 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 dissipation, otherwise we'd diffuse into the middle of stream. If there was an Arabic word I could say in revelry that now a received-tradition punctuates the enormity of lives capturing mine--it would be "jahili," the dispensational ignorance pre-dating the "surrender" (Islam), yet kicked over like the crystal palace. Oh, but for my sake, as if I ride the tide of what asceticism would indicate in me. If I can look at surface form, in my ignorance, I know only to look past into melding visual limits to pervasively find an auditory out. Now the walls come down, like a voice reaching an idea that is food in-nature--I say it, I eat my babel, & find myself a new home designed by my senses. Ijtihad (independent thought) 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!! Sometimes what we seek has reality all too inclined to its loss.
The deserts in New Mexico actually were threatening recently (not just the sand storms), as remote as the poverty Indians lived-by subsumed, as contrasted to the rich archeology of of believable harvest worshiping, sorta one strident picaresque view that I thought in its ritual is all I'd answer for. Petraglyphs all point to blood's vital carriage, health and life reaching into artful ancient minds--fascinating subject, this one with arms & legs all at rt. angles. I said, he's facing the prospects of the abundant new days to come, like America's aborigines have some eternal look forward in time and our symbolic embrace has skylines of an urban myth: he stands prone, in other words--my sense of it as a psychological nuance. And Mark said, he might be dancing...!!!
> Just imagining how it is incumbent upon the denizen of our deserts, to feel that its grandeur of space holds you up, as opposed to the ill prospect that survival is at once your agonistic numinous trial. The myriad view behind me as I sit yogin-expectant at chapparal desert expanding, is perceptible like the feeling of an open door behind me as now. For just a moment I imagine the sounds past the threshold are channeling in merely less auditive echos as before me...a strange echolalia phenomena.

So, if I were asked, how would I describe an awakening? IT is meaning to say, for instance last night, my eyes**in conceptual meditation**saw only illumined thought-images—nothing at all what was before me; it was beautiful! I saw some psychically composed room, which I responded w/ ideation that I have “arrived,” but then there was a dense black shadow & I called it down to veil me, which once encumbered, utter peace filled me w/ an awakened spirit. I converged upon identity, for what seemed sustained venturing into long moments of time & place= I was alone, & yet received, evolving & prone to the chambers of wisdom the Kabbalists speak of—ever reaching, but toward intangibles—still a kind of stage for communion w/ effort as the well-defined payoff. I am saying Yes to the Outward fact that would be OTHER than anthropomorphic: meaning appearances!! If someone speaks, you feel--to quote B. Marley--but what if they use the words streaming from that center of awareness that says, in effect, the world collaborates in the project of your worth. (someone using your language as before you!!) That worth is your consciousness...projected!! So, now we know this occurs in self-expression, but now ask yourself, when does the light of day become concommitant with the self-conscious act that the road before you exists only as each step upon its peak surface is reaching its immediate proximation? Or another way to look at it, when does white noise vibratory properties in a wall facade become as alive as your mind in expectation that you see through these physical barriers? You know the walls collapse in certain epiphenomenal consciousness. This is the world acquiescing with our very solitarian trajectory thru it... So you speak I feel. But also, you leave, and the world takes a stand as we do knowing it is incumbent upon us recognize our perseverance!! Is something here--maybe a little?

Gauge as part of my learning tree/ new book, new leaf

Lists are hard for me, but my Zadie always said, to create goals is to make lists--so outlines, in my view, are just taking experience & wanting to transcend its pattern, yet always w/a similar jumping off point. Here below shouldn't be considered mischief--as I am THAT motivated. Before I left, I was floundering in a lot of mental hype. All very functional (I was), but clarity outweighs the seemingly "good-times" & like I say below, others can Stand for this "release" where as I have devekut, or in my connotation "cleaving" to something I see as Supernal...not necessarily G-d, but maybe Self-duty--is better!! Remember "relationship" of all kinds CAN be esoteric, if we find process in its availing as a kind of immersion. Rather than rising to the surface as some may seek. While traveling, before we were caught in the snow storm, coming out of Grand Canyon, we came out of Flagstaff, and on our way as the earth elevated & I ate salmon jerky from Trader Joe's health grocery, we saw snow on the ground, & swathes of Aspens and coniferous trees ubiquitously. It is strange right now to feel INTO my game, as if the fragmented-usual should be now as it was then before I left. Now #1 on my list is to accept my deviation from DeSirED goals!! So, like peeping Tom I look up from my cold meditation like I am suppose to be dragged from this seat of consciousness into mischief --a bit uncomfortably. (good allegory?) AND then so easily & in effect my strain of intra-mantra slavery gets less dubious, as I realize not much is actually going ON. Still, though it is an emotional break-thru: the dis-connect is life's roads with lots of signs--no need to complicate my mind!! 'Cause folks like you impart that sense of mind grandeur in a way that gives me the open door (of perception) anyway... Seriously, I bet it is as good as it gets as for anyone, but worse for me when its drives us to the duldrums because of my schizophrenia. (GETTING BACK TO THE GRIND) I hope that doesn't seem to be a cop-out--but I know you dig it!! Some (somehow old yet new) strange uber-realistic thing occurred to me last week on Wednesday, when in New Mex. somewhere, while talking to this Asian Indian dude (as usual motel after motel owned by these good folks). My bro standing there, and this Californian Indian guy rapping with him, while his guru's image beams at us. (this guy is an adherent of Ganesh, my brother relates) I once had a freaky deak hallucination as if a giant Gandhi was in judgment of me, yet only in a way that he'd "will" my life trajectory and nothing my conventional mind could assess or compose as his relevant mean--yet the awe was beautiful/ugly... So, when I need to climb down from great thoughtless heights, or frenetic concretized thoughtFULness whose end is nowhere known, then I sit before HIS history and study what TiME it is. The dispensation is always cosmic, as defined by the Greeks: Time & place in immediacy, yet temporal as a willow tree, say Grandmother Willow in Pocahauntus gently and respectfully giving me office in life. Maybe this was the pivot in mind as I stood slightly beside myself before these esoteric relationships=my bro *& this Indian. #2 would thus be, endeavor to study more of this India history, as that Mother India is the headwaters of self-knowledge as I see IT.
So what led up to my remonstration of this manufactured motive at the peak of high mindedness and measureable effort?Read all day and drummed in intervals: solitude!! --the Saturday before last; Sunday I was on my way. But with only one social foray before I left--visiting my fellow beat enthusiast, tho' the spectacle of 21 century life has left us with less alternative (conformity is a plastic energy whose idol is self-promotion=so just because we CAN communicate doesn't mean there's something here that indicates us) ...recusing the existential! Felt really self-conscious like I had to answer for the bigger part of what the reading delivered conceptually. Wasn't self-conscious strangely, or uncomfortably... Felt delivered from concretized day when the Dao's 10,000 things made sense again. 10,000 things may be their sense of experienced-forms found in our "path," yet I sought to capture perhaps 10,000 thoughts as if the nomenclature of the mind had thought at the seat of awareness.

I & I Syndrome/ Where's Buber when you need him?

When is it too much deferring to one's self as the subject at hand? Here's my thought--it isn't as cut & dry as some may think. If Thoughts Feelings & Actions are allegory to Higher Ground--looking within may be the key, and subject per our striving, that we ought not!!

In support of one's proclivity, I say, it is a good and an unopposed sense of self-referencial reality, to continually allow for some essence of the natural world to load up the vacuum of selfhood. (so appositely, what is natural to you may be even more natural to someone else=think: Urban life!!) Just as Neil Young sings, “my eyes have turned to blanks,”--it is your eyes devouring this world indicating you in each and every moment--if we want it too!! The biblacy (sic) of evolving and elemental flora creates shadows to lose the burdens of “taxicabs running over our feet” Neil again. The plastic corpulence of over-wrought symbolism in the stakes claiming our rationalism in the material-world, where it SHOULD have no abiding because in IT is where ad absurdum reigns—is where shadows can buffer ourselves from that. The ego is in point of fact where we find others pleased to hear your sense of things or the unfortunate "been there done that--no time left for YOUUU." But, I have noticed some of the really low brow folks I know, tended to be unforgiving if I would use "I" as a generalization for what I think most people experience. After all, again in defense of the I & I relationship, it is YOU and higher ground as you see it that involves everyone else in this grand parade.

I would be convinced to study not what I imagined wasn’t there otherwise, but something the imagination put there=if you can think it reality acquiesces. The notebook, journal of lists, identity thru words, were contained in dreamt stanzas because the things that in reality which WERE on PAPER, construed the black fire of abstraction, since ignorance left me in terminal self-evidenciary mode – a sort of self-actualization that could be taken more seriously than a style of “separate” reality-based—the-thing-on-paper/ meaning I'd rather take abstraction seriously. Valerie’s sister the other night--she walked a little funnily to the car because she considered something greater than herself administering each step forward, like being on film & she didn’t want to miss a frame. Obviously, her resolve was to hold herself up to the bigger picture, she couldn’t find solace inside, she had to adopt what things seemed like on the outside, so at length the grandeur of space held her attention. I think there was no question in her mind reflecting that we created the ripple in the pond—the fundamental point is however, how far outside of us do we go before the “mule” & ulterior self has no other choice or how much of her ego does she actually scrutinize="IS it me or everything else?" I imagine her asking. How far outside your immediacy is your center? One mind, but many gods…!

KRISHNAMURTI, in focus : If you have ever seen how Socrates' thought has trickled down to us in our history books--the delineation of question & answer, & teachings that evolve into visualization with very basic thought patterns suddenly objectified as we take his reins on offer--this is Krishnamurti's way as well. I tend to walk away almost despondent that such essential & temporal thoughts without all the spectacle of some nod East, or the trifle of motive, is what I am left with--yet the thoughts are weighty & it seems that there is some power in being on a rhetorical "floor-of-consciousness." A real No where, to be respected! If you read him before, you'd get what I mean by that, I think.
The way I started down this path, with this particular language--like for instance Thoughts Feelings & Actions as being allegory for Higher Ground, is thru a lot of auto-suggestion. Ok, like thoughts--yeah I see a Thought, I'd say= I watch what I see, to quote Rimbaud. Then Feelings--uhm I feel things deeply (tho' deepness can't be toted around in a wheelbarrow) but deepness can be Numinous you know Higher Intellect=the Higher Soul. And then Actions--how about ritual. All these things portend we do it for a greater Good, if we get a glimpse of integrated reality. And a friend said something about what I said about the vacuum of self-hood. I have read over & over with Buddhist thought and common sensical reads, that the Ultimate symbol of the self doesn't exist--so as we start to fill up with our gratuitous efforts for G-d, we see that it is TOO easy to believe in all that self-revelry, that in fact that "effort" (think karma's definition) doesn't help us construe a self. Yet, it (these lovely liturgical values, & rituals) is all we have...

So, this quite interesting chic on Tribe doesn't like the I AM of Moses. I said, wait, your just offended by subjective logic--so, like your saying you don't want to be subject to it... Fine, but that doesn't deny the value of say for instance the Brahma of Hinduism. Brahma manifests all that is (an I AM kinda thing too!)--so if we inquire--look inside ourselves at this statement, we'd wonder what IS it that IS. That is called self-consciousness, RIGHT? And more than that, it is imagination finding a thread to what IS--the IS of ancient scribing, or a sense of being encumbered by the Vastness of some kind of ineffable solitarian being. I just want to be compelled to look at the OUTWARD fact as having MORE value than the OBVIOUSNESS of its denial of ME. THat's not a bad attitude, is IT?

It is quite simple really, but as all truth-eluding us, is because we demand complexity because our minds are immediately fragmented, & simplicity doesn't require that effort we thought we must exhort to gain a sense of our condition--then that'd be our folly. Anyway, to the point, if you are looking into the long ends of the day, or the quiet door at the end of the presumptive impermanent record that IS this life we share, when and if YOu achieve a moment in saying "I AM" all else I repeat ALL else follows. IT is entirely a moment of self-knowledge if you can say that? NOW think, when was the last time in that secreted inner-voice that you have said I AM? "OH, I am." YOU damn right!! So, in my opinion, it is just Moshe having a moment. He'd become a convergence of TIME PLACE & Community... not a bad moment to encumber us. By the way, it is right around 7:30am, work is the day availing, and I am good confidence with you...

Bluegrass Airport--feeling so good in my neighborhood

Having your cake and eating it too!! Drawing on the naked walls, and empty ceilings at the house of all my changes, I found out that the newness of interests demanding a refrain of spent energy unto that ideal was not going to be reason enough to make identity as that uber-goal. Christianity was ultimately new--because my Jewish G-d was considerably antiquated before Christianity would interfere with histories' jumping off point, but nothing was there to refuse, so that I might alight to its simplicity, as the case may be (thinking about Dylan here!).The thing you refuse becoming the thing you use, so often comes from how averse you were to change. I knew change--flipping inside out like the On switch of Tic Tocs upon the walls containing me, so my mind was one big Yes! And nothing convinced me that I'd alienated anything--thus identity was impossible: the ultimate symbol of the self can't be any artifice real or imagined--plainly it doesn't exist...so start with nothing!!
A Win-Win situation, RT? But, utopian goals are merely a deer's lair in my mind as if I wake up in a dream & suddenly I am speaking the language understood only thru instincts that in the waking moments leave me with complicated feelings. So, putting complications into a convenient box has me equal the perfect moment I describe which was a night vision (dreaming dreams) in reprieve of staying up thru the nights when I worked the graveyard shift at UK, as maintenance crew. My mind would be subsumed by these dreamt nurturing emblems of being the deer's submissive, while the deer is the surrogate "me" performing a needed escape. What was imperfect was having my mind consult this dream-oracle in self-counseling, because in my wakened moments of those over-night hrs, I was utterly improvising a fragmented existence no one in relationship near or far could reach me or conceive of. Having my cake may mean knowing how I'd be received--eating IT too, would be projecting that "box" in my understanding of cognitive complexity. As deeply as we accord what we understand about the "other" to that fixation that somehow our control is immanent, sometimes I would much rather see less distance complicate my all-pervading lucid moments that of the One_Mind and the prevailing loss that is our most basic condition, that control isn't what it is about. It is not a matter of just letting things naturally occur: because I am reading the lay of the land, and sacrificing one observation only to anticipate another. We deal with transparency--our own--when in consideration of the OUtward fact, those who are more adept consider US subject to something they've already transcended. So, how do we appeal to that transparency, when otherwise we wouldn't want to think very hard about those parts of a Greater Reality--a reality we've yet to answer for? Maybe appearances can detain us from painting the world in colors so anthropomorphic that the human condition NOW wouldn't make our insignificance so depreciable?--so stepping out & away from our own human effulgence would be a goal! I like to imagine faces in the clouds, but as birds over-taking create an architecture past the folly of this urban-scape, I'd rather imagine the sky as their limit, and I am only subject to that which is On-high.
*~*In the Spring, I always liked the personality of the burb neighborhood coming out, and not just what is obvious, but what seems sleepy & hidden. When it fogs over and, I am generally up rather early, looking across the burb-scape, the trees look like an abstract scaffolding, the limbs stunted behind puffs of fog. And the trees are mind-architecture emblems look as removed as that distance strung when we suss answers from equally as unapproachable recesses in our thoughts... KY is a wet state, and spring out in Daniel Boone Nat. Forest has all that loamy smell I know I could carry around past this samsara incremental cycle I am chained to, in this yah dispensation... My dreams many times have a mythic path availing before me as each step I take reaches for the ground of being, from the farmland with creeks & springs & solitude down around my house where I grew up & then into my 30s. Magnolia trees are way abundant in KY, and their blooms are bold, white & strange thinking about old growth forest where you might imagine oaks, big trees etc. I had gone to lie under pine trees at the edge of the church parking lot next to a local small horse farm, absorbing the pine smells and wanting the allure of the inner-sensei moments to create new bounds where I'd compose myself in netherly "I AMs." Even in light rain I'd read under this pine tree's boughs, reading the Red Calvary stories of broken churches, deposed Jewish communities, vacant gleams of roseate sun-lit hues channeling the author's true to life trajectory in a socialist state unto his death at their hands (Stalin's hands)!!
***Ear-dimensional conscious displays had illustrations of a particular coffee table book on the history of civilization, as the finnese of my solitude, hearing sounds arriving like the world had gotten louder, colors brighter, immediacy more expansive... "THE TRUMPETS THAT BLOW IN MY FACE W/ SCORN!” --Dylan lyricked, remind me of the visual I had of these filtering displays that looked like horns coming from a hulking base of skin-toned something. I know at this point in my student of life repose, I was dreaming of what seemed like a skin-scape because of a Flavius Josephus book--its very cover of brown worn leather, “Antiquities of the Jews,” that I got from Zadie's collection; this book was translated from the Greek in the 19th century. I kept imaging as I read along that I was seeing delta symbols, taus, just various letters other than the English. This seemed to imply a truth from an ancient time but did not concord with Helenism or Judaism but had an anthropomorphic essence- If language is a god unto itself, think Thoth, the gods as states of mind were what I saw as primates (I mean after all, gods are created in our image, Right?!)--animated selves, in a line leading up to H. Sapien Sapien, in dreams just like it was a legend for a map, but in this case it was for thoughts.
~~~The appetite I have for things Jewish is found in a stretch in the same environs. Right off this same road where the church lie is Bluegrass Airport.
In focus is Yom HaShoa= THe (Remembered) Day of the Holocaust. So damned remote we are that this goes on, has gone on--and yet I go on. Elie Wiesel, Auschwitz survivor, has worked for human rights in attempts to rid these same demented inhumanities provocated thru political extremists toward ethnic cleansing, which defies any true definition of Ethnicity anyway... I saw him on TV one time, now many yrs ago, and I was, in those few moments preceding his media communique', very mindful of the world & alterior conscious map. Then with his way of imparting such seriousness to be imbibed, I saw the opening unto a bigger picture. I was thinking about a trip abroad, and doing so, so vainly or not, I rode up to Bluegrass airport which is only 2 1/2 mls from my old house, parked in an illegal parking lot (a thoroughbred carrier's seasonal lot), went in & inquired about tickets to - I guess, Israel. But, only to develop a sense of constituency with this place--as no $$ would avail this plan, & yet $$ is beyond the pale of my seeking this sorta self-actualization. The map in mind was now replete with digressions of Wiesel having become a khalutzim (pioneer) back after the war, and just having left the philosophical plateau of French culture, is just as my departure from the loamy thoughts that I had it all figured out... then and only then does a One World Village make sense.

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.