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.