**^^^Spare me on to Another YEAR^^^**

Yellow matter custard in the pup's last look. Down by the creek, I was 6--like NOW looking back, coulda been Dharma, Arjuna's dog. Yet IT had already met its peace, and mine still eludes me! I throttled the continiuity that meant momentum and I'd grow old. All we will ever know is One World, can't be defined by anything but what is. I'd wander Quail Creek in Austin Texas, go to its liminal point, next to the field and what we called the Ant Tree, because of those hordes of ants that inhabited it. Looking off to the savannah tall grasses and treed area out in the blue of the unknown--I was you know pre-teen--I thought about just that feeling of not seeing imminently as far as I wanted. I took this as entirely an image in the vocabulary of spirituality--feeding my spirit, this much I knew! ****
This remembrance is as vivid in my mind as sitting in front of my 800pg book called The Hindus, last night. I was certain that consciousness was barely me, and actually MORE of what I'd consort with in vast swathes of impressions, spectacle, and spectral shore-like. I thought G^d where is its furthest reaches. No doubt!
Saw where my friend from H.S. Rob's Mom put a pic up for his bro Sean. I'm telling you, I see that boy "remaining in light" so to speak. I hear his laugh. He wanted to beat me up the last time I saw him--I was wayward then, knowing, just knowing I'd never see those folks again--but Sean was the foci of those thoughts although Rob and family were in the tell-tale in spirit of MY leaving their hearth and home behind. This is as I saw things deeply with a lot of situations then in my life. A kind of You can never go Home again thing, that I was intuiting. And well had I not thought it, it would have been unusual that Sean's passing has soooo poignantly and sadly made us resigned, only to live up and for his memory, as for others of course.

Told my brother, Dreamt about Zadie recently. We were over to what WAS the Russian House on Aylesford one DREAM before, which I want to figure out. He dropped keys in the tall grass standing past the frontporch. I found 'em. His posture was just like a picture I drew of myself of the old man I would be. We have an outstretched hand, we are, but in my representative image I was letting a bird take flight. I feel I am ever looking for the right question to ask 'em. Usually in dreams I have no conversation imparted, this one was only me kind of in awe, and trying to be casual because well obviously his presence isn't on this normative physical plain. The death and dying of man, man--this is our impermanent record, these words this life and its rich pageant.

THE ADVANTAGE OF LIGHTNING THOUGHTS:
I've worked myself into a credible weird sadness as if I were at the depths of good-byes to my family. Seemed so believable, I thought I had a reason to cry except for the fact it was over myself... Then I was, well "I'd never know, selah." The project of my self-worth is sometimes only in light of immense generalizations these patterns saying communication is imminent. It is almost non-anthropos except for the fact that iconography of our minds is of course entirely self-mythologized. So, when I say I am in proximity to Us, self-understanding is captured.
I dated this really buxom generation-next or X woman, and she all but punched my cigarette, a really demanding woman. Getting out of her car not long before I lived in this what was to me like a bungalow, but actually was a treehouse, I was then living with three of my closest family members. In this dispensation I just was at a disadvantage from telling everyone why I was trying to cultivate something else. I looked to move around enough that a sense of responsibility would have been obvious to me, while mitigating these expectant employers--like staying at Pizza Hut very much longer or any job. My girl, then, is giving me a ride home after some late night thing after work. So, looking at some Kessil the Fool in the sky--the Jewish name for the stars Orion, not even close enough to precipitate some Hebraic like-like light at the end of this condiut room earth tabernacle, the astrology had no value but just my body as THAT--some starry night, and no mind but some anxiety that is a blanket draping the heaven, only just above me. Inclined toward Sisyphus, in that I can't quite find my feet any more than boughs proffer Sabbath--while tikkun, restoration is clarified from without, the limbs almost reach...yet did not. I suppose this was some kind of karmic death, and indeed I am merely a block away from this vision's loci, and the pleroma of something we call liminal and sky-bound is as encumbering and beckoning now as it will ever be... Then dusk will be dawn, and the new day will be the green of space fading in my dream-scape, turning thoughts to reality.