You ARE MAGNIFICATE!!!!!

LAW of ATTRACTION or Future INSIGHT...


So, consider the best thing we'd ever realize is a mutual arising. Like usually that "Other" does her thing, has a silent holy path, not unlike yours, maybe unillustrated, yet yes we know she did--it's there. So, if we were comfortable with ego's decisive consolation that we are not alone... If If, then we see her before she pierced you w/the offering of identity credibly identity that we sound out as our intuition they'd be met. I dream of folks before meeting them, for one thing, it may be my intention, but I didn't will it, but they did. Or something numinous over both of us did.
...because I'm certain ad absurdum reigns, I don't control the climate of the greater will! I like the Hindu prescription for Brahman. He can only manifest what is, and there is nothing outside the known. So, Nothing IS. I'm certain not much is going on around here. Most folks would agree. War War & rumors of war. Not much I can do about it. (a whole lotta of nothing, boohoo!) I'm certainly not going to dream my insight into a POlitical animal's mind. That may mean it would get in the way by imagining, like in the Song of Songs, this Orchard (think paradisiacal new day) where beauty is courted was instead abridged by Authorial fuckers. "This place comes to be a ghost town til the government comes along and pushes it down." *Marley. Ghost equals spirit, and my spirit is in the material, I can't control the material void. It controls me. If the white man is destined to wander the forest alone, and the "People" are the trees, I have to thank G^d I ain't that white man. Just an endless cycle of tree birth, a total product of sweet sun, the extinquishing hush of fires, air, and water's mercy.

In Israel met up with Ellister, this man from Sud Afrique who had fought in the South African army fighting Cubans in Angola. He told us a story that'd be bleak if not for his stout delivery, incorruptable--deliberative as Saharan wastes and our reprieve. I think about his mention of interogations, but the prescient moment is actually the "terrorist's" self-scrutiny and my window on it was irrespective of Ellister's intent, perhaps, yet to actively say honor someone's own personal struggle--I give him all due credit.
An African man is bathing in a stream--this "terrorist" in fact. He could've been certain the sky is the limit, so much more space his developing world would then on out graduate to. In the stream thoughts like tarrying stones are engrossed by a surface struggle, shimmering awhile like his lucidity, he is seeing flotsum as if the overstanding sky would still be obfuscated by distance.
This flotsum coalesces around his guffaw, a smile recorded as if, but the sky-line now so apparent on the plastic surface of cool stream, is close, very close--the imminent threat was almost known, the world squeezing in on him now. Violence will ensue, no time for familial goals to make his head the event of the season. My impulse is to lash out, and languishing motives to compare my compassion and its warrant to spread something convalescent around has never been as negotiable as this thing making Ellister's struggle more apart of the real world--awe was self-defeating...
Just above me, and I seem to only look before me, yet something so liminal--a conscious satellite, intermediary space, nobody On-High, I reckon I need a roof, as Rastas theosophize... I want to paint on it. I thought to draw from eternality, not from veils & maya/illusion. I thought dim recesses would make my occupied-room have sky-boundaried limits, yet only just above is the last thing I can reach!

Because it is just language til we're extinguishing the last thing drowning in dross matter--truth at its depths, language would be a ladder til expression means precisely the One, & the one thing right past symbolic living (our only key) is that which suffocates vivification in Truth. (meaning I & I live, but only thru the definition of impermanence, as opposed to defining to Live--'cause I can't...) And truth redeems, but denies us the valley of indecision, where happily we while away to endure all our values in the horde of truths meaning a devastating weapon against stimulation from the exhaustive answers, with no query concommitant. I taste my broken tiled basement floor, a sheen on it defying the ever sleep-inducing aloof attribute that somehow I can step lightly and not awaken anew a responsibility for this floor of consciousness. Window sometimes at my back, while I meditate & look at the projection of radiating season's day, what comes on top is going on down--just surmising the backyard like I was turned to it, and yet I drew thoughts into the radon enthused fore.