Sleeping Waking Trodding Encamping............

***PURITY's DECISOR...In death or in life, water ought to be our exigent incarnation. It IS merciful, has all the attributes of Eternality. Heaven is thought of as a fountain..."blue, blue windows behind the stars." N Young* And what is unique upon earth is ancestor revival mischief, but thru his/her source-=-messages showering us with rainy meaning. Its flowing mysterium makes the easily defined ubiquity as it posits the air the sun the buena vista, looks gravid when, say, a stream is met with a recent deluge--a pregnant translucent surface contrives this quality.

^^^^When anyone leaves off with a sigh, the glance is where to begin. Early one morning up at what Zadie called Kruegers, in Gardenside--all the neighborhood flak with walnut trees giving up to shopping cntr drone, I sat up on a bench, rolled some Bugler, watched as if, face obscurred, dudes presence demonstrating light of my brother. He's closest in age, somewhat violent in nature, and self-replicates in Egyptian tombs when certain coool air brightens the sublime porte, something in me somewhere in abandonment...


*****Bad Muthas Goose & the bros. Grimm, these bluesy texan rappers--pretty ugly bunch, I big up (rasta), do it in the context of a Red fly Nation practice back in the day. Hard. I sEE it az many--as pissed, man. Anyway, that to identify with coarse and "night erupting in a hot blast" (Linton Kwesi Johnson), is just lotus mind having as much repute, yeah as much repute. I don't have to step in the fire (negativity has no place--Sight!), the fire we see just baptizes, orients the bleak vista conspired with one road. --Abraham unscathed in Nimrod's cauldron--a human sacrifice aborted... should be because it is the lowest common denominator. The flames magnificate like lotus pedals. But Abraham leaves family home ascesis as his clan soughts gods in those paradisaical throes. Lekh-lekha: he got thee out. Renunciation or privation the world made disciplined a mind of this once inspired Abram (a Friend of G-d? Arabs attest, Jews picked up on...or maybeee an antecedent somewhere.) World(s) extinguished, new dawns will fade! The West wants to see G-d, the East wants suffering to cease, so his/her G*d would reflect on his/her nature. If only thru expression, his name is thwarted from the East--but the word for breath is its root in Hebrew.

##########I wondered why even ask if Kerouac--a Metatrone kind of angel--would make known to me just the right view to the transcendental media; Writing me into his proscribed Americana, its cult of self-reliance and all the rest of his universal biblacy, when I couldn't resist anymore the appreciating solitarian day--Kerouac looked as busy as gravid loam all ventrally placed...and earth mummer as distant as his captive solicit in making its foci recognizably dear. I watch private motives in vain distillation because I'd been deceived that it pulled back with equal force. That magnificate probity of certainty draws sentience nigh, but nothing of its cause. Just way over, far over this path not like that path is meeting me but only at the survey of immensity.

****A gate at the side of the house, next to the log pile, may simply be a no departure plaintive way, the gate I'd hold open toward the concourse of spectral timelessness. An image of similar slumbering Autumnal gate--meaning utility in its intent for what rabbi Cooper processes thru in his narrative-"Journey into Sufism, Buddhism, & Judaism," appears on this book's front cover exactly as I remember it on Williamsburg Rd--my crystal palace that'd been heralded for so long as the mess having to make me honest. I douse it w/exuding light and I'm guaranteed misfortune from it, tho' never does it take notice what I'm convulsed with with equal force. Kicking It Over, indeed...! The gate keeper may be holding it open toward this as terminally as a life expanse appropriates, holding it now and perhaps thEn thE End whEn I see who the cap fits.
Kafka has our victim upon his death bed, enduring nothing shadows of rescue could have provided, and sees not the mediator of his born anew awareness, as nigh, instead the stranger-anointed waves him ON from outside his window at the roof's peak of the adjacent facing neighboring house. Mara with a thousand eyes - or any of his minion - just as ill-contained, has what we know to be our destiny with self-knowledge, but only after we no longer imagine it possible. Then thru his visage, unto light and light only, the old existent garment shed, a new body is donned.

****Molasses sadness no matter my penance surrendered. Why is it a pilgrimage whenever I don't wear a wristwatch? I'm raw and cursed with nothing to blame for this attrition. "I want to bomb a church," Bob says, look for the tall trees--and I feel like a small axe. I saw this book mentioned--one written by one of Maimonides's elite, it's called The Work on the Voice of Humanity. I'm used to one word foundering in a stream of exigency, consequences enumerated from decorating the ego-list but I cut the valence from careening voluble inward projection... One word and the fire relevence cannot be anymore sublime, can't make lotus leaves in cool throne asana moment anything but a lament for Ibrahim collated in Islamic typos--a Friend of G^d, they say--steps in fire but does not get burned. What else do I lament but my proxy to material void, material nothing, unforgettable fire--not in my control? In one scrawl of my hand beckoning the night, I might discover an eternal glyph--but until then sorrow is rewarded with unknowing.

####My school portrays a strict teacher, so if silence ensues, the sand pallette-media school-paraphernalia just got handed out. And not only am I before the writ, I am yet seized upon it from behind the top of the page, in the grip of its author. Or scruple counselor, who deigns its purport more authentic. Teachers' Strange from populist thought coupled with hero's happenstance to care about much more than the conscious crowd's frozen sea of perfect lack of intent, distills psychologic passions...if studying the soul's rational health convalescence gets recommended in each instance of strife.

##########I'm upon a hill, just a talking head in dream-scape, & words like world is the companion to--a mediator of--the unfurled tongue in valleys of language strife, is that venacular of iconographic convention with no reach into another reservoir of nations' babel. Just provincial: we are doomed to convey animal appetites, because intra-mantra slavery can't be adduced.

####I'm a consequencialist. The last thing that seems opportune has the toppling effect of reason that only announces that the present IS been resumed, but is not necessarily resuming. Sight: Sam Harris here. A deification of someOne inviting his own impermanent salience, still leaves the best of what suffering has to offer with the living--speak of a living G*d Jews tout. Yet that acolyte's (a Jew's)god vitiates the regard for inward journeying in favor of social agency, if inward journeying is to court experiments into consciousness. Say doing what is best toward meditation-- well-being is convened at its behest since there are more likely possibilities that core-communities in the least of their demise have the exemplar macrobiotic intentions.

ZINDAPIR-- the mind sore ain't black, it's Green--Mr Green

^^Probably the most identifiable unreconciably known smell to man & beast is dust. Exquisite dust underfoot. Molds and viroids, half-worlds, between worlds... DusT to dusT if dusK to dusK proved an ashen Sun, giving up what I need--I run to it, shadows of rescue. The dust on the soul weighting down its ascending destiny, the world's excresence wafts and is born illimitable like This One & That One.
^^^^The requirement of meditation is ones beseeching an inward journey, and the inward journey reconciled when we merely entertain the frozen sea within--before and after the retreat. Maimonides says this to the effect, but "frozen sea" is Kafka. In Maimonides' --the foremost Jewish theologian, the Book of Adoration: purity is the goal of attention and the profane cleaved into what initially Mind resolves--a world of fragmentation. I read that we Jews face east too, yet the cold rear door of the synagogue I experienced, its classroom corridor leading to the arbor, brought me to conjure all the expanse withOut, turning toward the west. If western skies had truth to verify an awakening, it's coming around. It would have to, because what I suspired in knowing was that damnable sleeping thru life's dream, and losing its intervallic cessation. There's one long ascending slumber night, encumbered, fluid even nuanced, anticipating the requisite change that has the self-same character in volition in our Exile thru these dormancy wastes.
^^Theosophical writings, a sun's deluge--irradiant but remote, marks the antiquity of watery realms in saints' propitiation--Mr Green--tendered in roiling skies. The relicky stones tarry, jump into the sky in strange Hebraic accounts of Sambatyon at rivulet's edge, prohibitive at the penultimate margins till entrance can't any longer have denied you--Shangralah emblems get notice here. Paradise sundered in Awakening--Moses' left no Exile of Self, or Nation behind. Moses who didn't accede to Promised land, was a rational choice for hagiography since he enjoyed tacit blessing to seize water's ubiquity. This victory, near The Victorious, al-Kahir, Cairo, still him in the microcosm--deigning the Macrocosm, is to be enervating, because Higher Will wasn't contiguous, now it is prohibitive. =Judgment, and still ablutional pale water is merciful, as yet (restricting *adj.) Truth would be compelling adulterated, so fluid but viscous & gravid, because it is shed of messages from antediluvial spirits hidden in fountains, sky born or earth clothed.
^^Religion reckoned! Not spirituality like folks contenting themselves w/--eVerYone dEEp down has gOOd in them, are propitiating something clearly like no-view impeding their sorry lofty gaze... Public apostasy is Religion--it's spiritual now! It's not backward anymore than the width of a coin wholly marks the dynamism of the human condition, and once-flipped doesn't reconcile whither in illusionary mind or elucidated heart. In defense had I a need to demonstrate to a Believer that No I'm not doing the same thing, & as such missionizing, I'd say where is this Received Knowledge whose proselytes entertain my initiation? A x-tian witnesses, jews pity--they both are self-annihilating, because to witness is to martyr, to pity is to empty yourself. They both judge.
If you forget life is just to die, then the sooner will you go away. Incarnations abound to the extent that we aren't distracted over authorial incantations: luckily I had a rabbi who believed in evolution and the communications from the ancients that predicted Jewish lore. Had he known I never was acquisitive over traditional terms of identity, I may have made a better student: one can only talk to g*d being amongst, otherwise we maybe dealing with his attributable vessels, like the night's moon-soaked shade (the dialect is appreciable, but indifferent. The voidant anticipation of long days gotten through, is the requiem of change on behalf of your brothers and sisters who are here to intercede 'pon the theoria that comes with silence & apophases... I'm on my way with job-1 relieved of my attention...soon. Escape? "You smoke weed, it makes your eyes sharp." is Revolution propounded by Linton Kwesi Johnson.
^^^I'm a consequencialist. The last thing that seems opportune has the toppling effect of reason that only announces that the present IS been resumed, but is not necessarily resuming. Sight: Sam Harris here. A deification of someOne inviting his own impermanent salience, still leaves the best of what suffering has to offer with the living--speak of a living G*d Jews tout. Yet that acolyte's (a Jew's)god vitiates the regard for inward journeying in favor of social agency, if inward journeying is to court experiments into consciousness. Say doing what is best toward meditation-- well-being is convened at its behest since there are more likely possibilities that core-communities in the least of their demise have the exemplar macrobiotic intentions.
^^^I feel approached by even the most benevolent of peers with the assumption they need to know if I am dawdling along -- constancy reviewed. It must mean that I get to a valley corridor, veils proliferating & folks just want to peer underneath. The guy who did the artwork on the Apples in Stereo last album cover stopped by the shop today--he's a neighbor. He deals with a sense that if he had his way he'd catch up with me or just anyone: ageist and circumspect, evolving in his interests, but missing out in the other's more free air. The same sensitivity alights in MY thinking, and I call it thought and never warrant a grasp of egoism that a friend could divulge my interests anymore convened than the irresolute defines me. It's simple and we're all getting that somewhat. I leapt to the notion in intra-mantra slavery that really I'm not going anywhere--and persisting over what I'll ever be doing next week, year, or lifetime is only focus prayers on poignant emptiness. Numinous reactions to friends get eclipsed by ocular migraines occasionally anyway--it is succour to imagine there is no way out in those moments, not even to relate over this condition in the hotch-potch of daily trials appealling to the goof that I was expected and needed to be reassured.
Buddhist's might imagine salvation as non-negotiable. If we are liberated from birth, death, and proud land trod, then this reconcile we adduce to be liberated is contingent upon suffering's noble cause. The Buddhist would say cessation is goal--and to the extent that desires are untried makes a peak experience in the outward fact the sense that nothing need be done, particularly a foundering principle on salvation's retreat. I have read that even love would be jettisoned if it performs meditation's entreaty-- I love, but am ill-contained if hope is the game= One only hopes we he is Without.