^^PlEAse--*something anything motivate me; my motivation is observable in a surfeit of self-duty IN MIND, not actionably! So, I really really give a damn, and I know just that modicum of the vocabulary of self-adulation, but the very real truth that mostly nothing IS in fact that dear to me, and is not in my control stammers my project of self-worth... In the morning, at dawn I am on the street out in front of my house, hoofing it a few dozen paces over here to the shop, and donut days. All around reflections from head-lights, or light posts engaged and clarifying, makes the greetings of friends in time & in place--across distances, and thru the maya of dream-scapes in their wakening eclipse, strangely a stand tall and be counted few moments, pulling me up and making my trunk seem rooted again, make things seem like the ends-of-man in primary conditions stain the only pocket of the day's tally when all things truly are possible.
^^Before huge windows--about the 3rd floor at the Lex Downtown Library, looking out toward Main St. I'm sitting scanning embowering from the prism of ideation w/meditation portents viewable in the sly look of some Buddhist practitioner. He looks way out--in the serene context captured in this Indian Artbook--seized as upon the distance & simultaneity, his Forward-I Revolution is definitely behind the sincere homunculus mask, translator-face ...translating unknown primordial first thoughts!! In gradations I'm here at the pivot: his ebb like the ground at his feet is gathering throngs of gem shaped leaves, but (this place) wholly possessed by him since my floe denies his distance-covered in sharp-eyed veils LIFTED to demonstrate what is equally assumed--that his eyes are eased into looks closer to something cosmic and within me within him--just a glance toward the journey Inside! World-view is not actual, it is instead political and manipulation of them asses, can't be cultivated, bares not fruit, a consciousness leaden but emergent from the Material Void, stagnates the promise of inner-journeys strung... Light like a feather as if he has wings-- and concommitantly, if you have legs, you know you are on the Ground--are good aphorisms for taking my leave from unredemptive world's demise expectorated from Media -- all but fiction, all truth but none of it prone to my interests!!
-----IT is my attempt only to have someone imagine themselves as BEfore the big windows at the library--wide open pleroma, the spirit of the blue dome giving me up to urban supra-mundane...
Now, please, I am not trying get past people's usual vernacular--but there are a couple of points of entry. Just imagine a Buddha whose face is either strongly at attention--really taking in a sense of vastness; Or a Buddha who appears to be looking way deep behind his/her serene austere mask of Compassion... Are we inner journeying, or are we Moving into Relationship i.e. consciousness that is without!??
^^It seems really obvious that since the mind demands order--and is frontier bound due to it, that even the confusions and complexities we deal with will get adroitly placed into stocked shelves, libraries of thought furniture, and this is all a presumption of the Supra-Mundane Laws of the Proofs of Being: LAWS. My friend--the archeologist, gave me a definition sounding much like a Greek version, and etymological bearing of my last name, Lakes. Legas (and lagos is lakes in Spanish). But the name is quite like the word for Law. I had a conversation/seance few moments w/our mutual friend the night before, I said, If only I could begin again to dream all that litigical self-assertion, and threshold mythos that of expectations as hotly sincere...!! Certainly martyred language, what we call ourselves, what it feels like to have the mummer of self-referencial thrum of silent intervals in mantra's comforts is Illegal, but Permitted....and is the best way to sanction doing whatever we want with the book of rules in our season's thought event!!
^^The purchase of that jingle jangle morning paid for thru a life surfaced of all my changes, is Resources namely like money ina pocket...and still money me a bloodclot. Glad I could spend all the existential worth: I'm here withal, a new dawn. But why ask the angels if you are starting to bleed, if bleeding me was done to save my life? JUST wake up--Ok I submit. Feeling like mind is a cumbersome 3 oranges, 1rst pacing in someplace abbreviated, then throttling their splendor across my pillow, past my head pulling the "ancient rosy colors behind my eyelids" *Kerouac, to their fate and onto dolomite-florid tile floors. I spent valuable salutory days and I can't go back. Meanwhile to quote Elias Khoury *Palestinian author I register, " I can't get the sad man to stand up in my eyes."
^^My good man at work--he used to sit in intimate park crowds and listen to Krishnamurti. In time, maybe unsettled throes corrupting sublime notions makes sowing active orthopraxy get him to the fray Unchecked now. Iconclast nicely iced anarchism leaves supreme doors just vacuous. Still, at least anyone can say therein lies the intermediary: this or that observer--in the vacous. I know its dross of mind to court certain audition impulses, but to be true to anything we can say - & every word viable stabled irreducible - the worst sense can only be the smote day of language concommitant w/ vain 2 dimensional proxy deserted road... Not just why do I have to divulge the decisor, but who am I to swallow Folly-Wholly of the unparturitioned horizon.
^^The Anointed, take your pick (Avalokiteshvara--an incarnation of Compassion, object of Attention--lyrical ever+astute, promiser Enough of Becoming outside of self), was a fisher of men=the ole soul distinguished in giving back the prodigy of self-possession. The purity of the soul is oft-physical & actionable, more usually when noted in Biblacy. It's called *salah al-nafs*--the physical soul. In Aramaic, our language bridge from Semitic language to Indo-European, has this letter in nafs, the nun an N which does mean "fish." The telling of Hasidic lore thru antecedents - folk mysterion (propitiation), way more liberating in time's yawn, hopes down from up above TO the fish whose soul likely cannot incarnate. Jesus is a Fisher of Man. Salah recognize as Selah, rt ! eternity ! FORever ! but ask a Saudi what Liberation of the Soul, salah al-nafs means in context of the Liberation of the Body (that done in Being Amongst--part of the herd; "social living is the best" says Winston Rodney--Burning Spear) called salah al-badan, he said this like clarity of the sensual body...just purity. The Saudi's word was Purity. (so I think) Perfection. As at once time place community--I & I & I. Reconciled that we are the first out the door, and at the peak of empirical Shores.
^^SPOKE WITH A FELLOW from Eritrea. Sometimes the auspices of that quality of "otherness" is rather encumbering, acquistive in my composure because of how my thought language adduces the hole I'm down in. Rather than the freed up existential ...throes I am impelled through, I am prone and almost impacted by the "strange"... AND enduring less of the common aeries of free association. Notice the passport functionaries of folks and one would see when he or she must resign themselves to our loss of face: the translator face of human awakenings, is quite looking back in the mind's breeding consoling healing, but without the attributable conscious prop. Stealthy I gather of him, he imagines not much is going on--whereas the fruits of hearing is the purchase of a silent nod East and a heart dub of Africa's utility of the bridge toward awareness... No doubt his biological demeanor is a radical survival and victory as opposed to more or less convalescence I & I was steered through in my incarnations and channels from my ancestry. Humility is the only answer to most of an irreconcilable potential!!!
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