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

My friend said: "The word supernatural I notice doesn't seem to be a stumbling block for you as it is for many many others. To me and others who realize (I think you do) supernatural does not mean un-natural or fantasy..."hypernatural to show that it is something that is natural as natural as God or Nature but is an aspect and facet of nature we as humans find beyond our realm of explanation and that science or natural reasoning cannot explain." Ahh, I like that he deliberates unto the threshold, which is what I call a spectral shore--he is calling the point at which we go on faith, rather than the rational. However, in reality we may ponder the imponderable, but the unknown doesn't fluctuate --yet we do. A new definition for the "high" came to me last night, finally making sense. In Arabic the word for herb & hashish--ashishin, something to this affect, similarly is Hebrew, is defined as "fluctuate." Last night--and those two words are pregnant to me-- I'm watching this Stanley Kubrick film, I'm high & with it, and then I saw that I was imagining the static events of this sublime film--"Barry Lyndon" w/Ryan O'Neil, in a way that at the furthest reaches that I term time & place went on the chopping block--call it the spectral shore--somewhere when I went on faith. I could see my mind was refusing to consider transition thru the movement of dialogue & warm vistas. In fact, what was really the fullness of the moment was breath & pulse and then a comfort in my heart seeing a peasant trod a path into a town--was deliberate as my physical soul being attended to. He was crotchety & driven, intense & the project of the worth I imagined in the lives surrounding the Jewish shtetl. The heart is a ditch of blood, we throw ourselves upon its banks to consumate relationship--according to Kazantzakis. In that moment, my imaginative narrative begged for objectivity because I was only seeing a Jewish template with the Greek author as an enabler. And the reason why I was comforted was because knowledge gave me a leg up from the heart's woe unto emotional release... It was beautiful. This was not TV, these folks as characterizations in the anthropos, didn't have the fullness of the resourceful answer-ridden world of today--it was rather the surfeit of shorter lived lives, work a day, survival of the fittest which in our resource replicating society -knowledge as commodity is impelling longevity without the survival & psychological instincts to match it. So, I met those instincts truly in the safety & promise of edu-tainment repose, from which ironically I wouldn't easily be prized. The Jewish motif only I was seeing was partly something I imagine in the structure of my old synagogue, and also a literary reference from Elie Weisel's, All the Rivers Run to the Sea, but the Sea is Never Full--something to this effect. ...an image of his Grandfather looking down from the roof's eves, & the thought occurs to Weisel that his Zadie predicted rivers of blood being spilled, as the past immerses into its calamity & ubiquitous flow as relationship gets swallowed in pathos. And my prosaic thoughts on this laid me prone to a Fiddler on the Roof scenario, if not dispensation I coordinate and attune thoughtlessness toward through sheer willfullness...feeling blessed, thanks to exquisite imagery from Stanley Kubrick's film.
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2001 Space Odyssey was hypnotic enough for me in a long interim w/o psychedelia per the use of psycho-tropics. It is amazing from a certain disconnect many of us have gone through, the engaging requiem of cinema as much as relationship has us sustained, can come to the rescue, proving there is nothing which has left us behind. A friend once said, nothing is worth doing unless you are catching up. Like the dragon surfeits our condition once we believe continuity is found, & off we go toward accompli a priori. A Clockwork Orange, had that sublime Singin' in the Rain refrain at the end of the movie. Just that frightened me in the perfection of its cinematic message, like now it was incumbent upon me to be the synthetic well of happiness through all the machinations of urban mischief. I thought, it was a high bar to meet--but the clarity was the rule...so why wasn't I (clarified with resolve)? I studied Russian at U of Ky, and the patois was engaging--and my literary edifice from the stuffed shirts of Russian culture went right on the chopping block!! If you reckon Evgenii Zamyatin--his black humor, and his small book WE which is easy to find, was a piece that influenced the writing of 1984. A utopian thang & to quote: Doest thou love the fog, D-53? No, I fear it, O-90!! O-90 says: If you Fear it, you Hate it--If you Hate it--You LOve IT!!
***Guess which one was the male protagonist--& which one is the female temptress//which happens to be unto his chained Mind being liberated...
~~~~In front of the media-driven world into what is behind it, my perspective not to quite enjoin this fray of glitter ^^ at the house I lived in for 27 yrs...

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