Farmland & Death: Potok and Renunciate Egoism

Walked in the park, yesterday -- Thinking about Chaim Potok's protagonist who says to his little bro over the bird's corpse, "Daddy says they just make dirt." THe kids, both pre-teens in sophisticated remonstrations of WW2 yrs, are trailing parents into a clearing/ picnic. Dad's war yrs as apposite for the family reunion--WW1, when he was a Polish partisan and names like Khemeilnitskii still burn from his misdeeds against Jews who had fought for his Nationalist cause/ Polish zenophobia, if I remember correctly in the 1600s. The protag. David sees things captured in geometrics: architectural skyline projected above canopy. Making sense of absurdum transcendental bridge to awareness, things go away. A book. A newspaper vending machine. A window, out of which his pet canary took leave. My cause in the wooded path is the loam that I easily imagine cools my ocular preoccupation. I want to look away from the confusion of gnarled tree trunks and swathes of ivy, but it also is as inviting as a blue pool...all in my spectral peak moment till I tend to alliterative inner-feuds that a book is been concluded and I was supposed to move on...and on.
A "tribe" chic was talking about sitting with her deceased mother for 6 hrs, while they waited for their brother to show. The mother passed away sitting in her easy-chair, very peaceful... I don't know why other than I am just a human cog in this wheel of transmigration, and somehow reckon this pain as my own, but I swear that image of the daughter sitting there is as real as anything I can imagine happening to me, *like* it has, and like a thousand similar impermament rich pageants this life has thown me into so prone. G^d my singularity will indeed avail, I'm smelling it--fearing it--mourning my loss as I am the youngest of 4 brothers. The Buddhist perspective is we don't suffer alone, the Jewish perpective is that our pathos is between You and Your Creator. My feeling is that, if we are in exile due to our pain, there is "light-radiant" meditation that is the emergent fact at any one moment and will subsume the vital norm with a symbol of transcendence making us better prepared for TRUTH--things going away.
There is something Public Enemy rapped called cold-lampin'. I don't have any idea what they suggest it means, but it fits perfectly if one has ever found his self looking at resonant light, as a 4 cornered room is ill-contained, and there's no place that beckons...yet something hypnotic occurs--draws him in. Sitting down by the hearth, stale moments, empty cauldron, and I have but one friend whose offer of companionship was my jumping off into solitarian days-more, than losing my way with bantor making me languish with no real direction. Smelling the ink in Nat. Geographics, appreciating the Indian tinkers & taylors occupying a shared cubby, I saw the project of my worth was coalescence around the sovereign home/ & world village--an extension of shared skies, and brightened fields from local farmland... but all reduced to back-o-wall repose next to white noise vibratory properties emanating from yellow lamp.