YAM SUF; but rowing on the Nile came later!

Our poverty was nothing like a poverty, which we saw in the then Bedouin village (Dahab) just getting its only second establishment (!?) wiTh electric. No amenities to us were the things used for the basics of ablutions performed in some kind of order these Bedouin saw fit; as in who would go to the well first, who eats first etc. Rob seemed to neglect an affinity maybe with anyone who dared to make themselves presentable, i.e. natives there, or people back home. The stylee I feel I catch too, looking at the pre-occupied countenance of just anyone=she or he so comfortable, yet unknowing they look to inner-attention--is that knowing we are fully what we want in such short spans. Spans luckily in enough of a pitch, the mask we wear betrays nothing about the tent-poles of consciousness collapsing in upon itself--upon the statement of presence having become two-dimensional, tells us the mind is the real G-d behind the praise of universal suns as its beginning as reason. Around the time the twelve year old girl showed up selling cheap scarves and us realizing she was really selling something else, Rob was squinting in a side door mirror of a car trying to shave. The reflection I imagine as my eyes' blind spot, are the paces I stepped past looking like power-spots gone awry--I want my eyes' sight to fall like a turbillion, til thru sheer momentum the world will seem to collude in our lost selves in the under-housed hot icebergs that is all this life of experienced-forms. Take don Juan's Yaqui profession, its beginning has the reader follow an ill-disposed protagonist considering a room as the microcosm. In the desert, next to an infinite Red Sea (read REd as actually its rightful name the Reed Sea.), has something less gratifying yet wholly necessary making us feel it is incumbent upon us the voidance-denizen to stand unitarian & solitarian (say, collusion supposed).

Churchill said, "giants are bowed in anxious thought." On the filth ridden Egyptian shore of the Yam Suf, Reed Sea, without comparing my fractious life to tethered-huge-political-events as government industries have made all the world's govs complicit in the advancement in war-winning, sitting at the feet of giants makes it laughable that it could be anything other the celestial events. Not being a positivist means precisely that, that my refrain from some social vehicle is mission enough to ruin any authorities' measure of me. Had it been convenient to do that, truth wouldn't have been found in a pathless arising--my arising, never comfortable saying it was Meant, thru the triune of memoria, intellectus, and voluntas. The ultimate symbol seems inwardly available if having allowed for some folly, that I have eternity fooled. The ultimate symbol for the self is NOT.
In Dahab, on its shore we stayed in a cement hut, I believed clearly in a pleroma to meet was that evening's midnight sky as we were doddling twigs in embers on the perimeter of the bedouin village there. The peopled pantheon of these crossroads were comfortable steps to rejoin. And if anything I wanted to think myself into this world as meditations dissolved the unfair line between dream and reality. There is a seam between me and the outward fact, but I'll never meet it and only just all this sTuFf that may be the climate of this room, in its silent corners. Waiting for any call, nothings seems so dear, I can't say I'm anything other than what I can't control anyway. The showroom quality of stiff agents in the pharoah's chamber, is more my castle of eternity.
**The seance like sense that we are being followed by an orb which witnesses us, is the feeling I would have had like when I was 14-15 and some connection was being made with my peers. TV may be the vain pretense to voiding more meaningful dialogue, but that language albeit over inane things, may still have a mysterion I would have felt...since it had been natural for me to imagine conscious satellites=so many people prone, laid prone, to this medium spectacle. Nothing to plead in defense of having been captured in emptiness, sweet nothing, on these streets a ghost-town lastly "til the government comes along and pushes it down." --to use Marley's language.