I got your tree

***funk in my blue--firmament, where I throw myself prone, comforts in what's true!!Why does giving Thanks & Praises all seem like at the trialling occasion's strongest mean --its surprise--as its "intended," its edifier? I respired two three hits from a rolly--if heady event be a season of confidence, knowing I don't have to get up, gives-Up respite's graduate his gradin objective--meaning I'm at the cntr of ambient theater. Fluid meditations or "laziness" I see in this connection with biblical treatment--just at the Common Era's intro--the sanhedrin - its certain appointees had not done the scholarship - couldn't justify independent thought, whereas Hillel had... The word used was "atziluth"--this term has impute toward mysticism not mentioned here (Talmud). In kabbalah it suggests "emanation." Rather like a sense of self-possession, I imagine as just that energy performing, its lesson something less explanate withOut yet wielding in miasma formlessness... Formlessness is the efficient cause in any paradisiacal dream--as opportune as the threshold toward liberation is become identity initiation --the what if & what-IS beyond from this space, this timely adjuring. Having wandered at the gates where life's fruit is yielding in The Orchard, one is sometimes in and amongst its notice in unknown seasons....
Earth crisis makes ascendancy over it taste of reckless immediacy.**
****The dirt is my calculator. Think: madrassah students writing in sandy media, & alef-bet chart on the wall--chumash studies ensuing over self-realizations parchment... My bones are buried in time's refuse, season's chimeras of nature's omnipotence. My bones enigma in its dross veil is replete in dionysian tendencies. Wanting to burn in a manner of mineral suttee to my animal's vitae consumption--oxidations of earth body dirt in cauldron soul...
Dirt is the receiving media and first bearer of literacy--the pugmarks bi-secting proudland live in slo-fidelity toward integer distances where the quarry is to be had--reading on we orient to the Other - 3/4ths of its essense suspires in fascinans!!
Mantram: notarikon: at-bash: word Virus:
While I sat quietly my tambeur whistling winded mind w/out much warning seemed to give me an interior view to its pre-eminent product--Me. Me as the reflexive Excuse-maker. Comes off like, That is just yourself in an artistic brush...sh...sh current "whap," what it is you'd ever think before self---is as so. I would write "whap" infinitely minaturized if only to show its cheap consistancy to make me awares. But, as compared to the teeth on time-piece's inner-workings redressing what we see as the emergent sun. Now the sun is quick light and in the subjective--I'm just seeing the mind prone, confident no new answers would impinge on arcing liberation spirits--no flight from One Knowing. I even saw a squirrel under my quickly shedded visage--there's no denying it, but there is no ascertaining whose beast identity these vestige consciousness-ings meant to adjure. Thusly being like a ferral squirrel's tail, her robotic flicker recommending the creaturely nomenclature to shift to accomodate life sensed.
***I fell off the rd into a garden. Sleeping there for a month eating only tomatoes and corn, pot to cook, some black bread. Thinking xleb, but this takes place in some vision w/interview of Chagall, I read of a writer's pilgrimage to Provence, and my brother's terminus at a French farm. Feasted in pure diet renunciations, then hit the rd naked again. Nothing to carry far-over way-over, revelling at my good luck, I tote maybe the peppery filmy dust off of the tomatoes--fruit sticky on my elaborated grip.

** A shadow reified is no shadow, but its illusory semblance, just to imagine--presenting it in our minds eye--would be definitions of what ever distortions of sullen empty stoic outline, this recalcitrant chalkboard shade of self-personified. The first thing met in rung rds toward city-mind, or village-raft nucleus..., I lumber into pivots of corridor en-trances to plateau speaking of solitarian trod.

***People leapt from my skein of form. From my mouth was more easily read. Like weeping and wailing figures, black cloaked, in tendony bites--gnashing my teeth like these cloaked hordes in expiation felt it unreasonable their last digs in my incorporation. Of course, throes of populist valor from set-freed tribute for their habituation in my mind administration was glyphed indian ink graffitti in my head. The worst of selfs' possession is in the past of churchy amens making nigh aums my relighted literate thoughts. Cannibals, eat eat eat.
***
The ego comprising the macro-mundi stowed in the micro-harmonia mind, has the soul adventuring in great intention to centers that are from without. I dreamt of stifling a door-handle from audible rotations in unassuming intervals. I realized it wasn't from the last time the door was shut. There was a steally mummer like an industrial AC unit atop a bldg--I saw a retired figure underneath it. Rusted convex gridded metal was his bed--tho' the subtlety of dormant, deer-like lair's dream caricature, thrum thrum thrum mollified the proneness toward something demur... What ole brown had fated in his path, was just yet another social-mediation in my muddy ego, letting this distance demonstrate straits of denizenship as my head 'pon a rock, there on family dusty bedsheets. Funny, curious, bookended artworks arising in good fields alighted--and strangely unvisited... bohemian ones by my brother were sanctioned in what it provoked, but I didn't want him to get away with it. As if to say, see the history, get to the mnemosyne of this shapeless mass life hands us--prodigious conscious props and little availing to establish why so conspicuous without it being ours in graphic stimulation: that we are light, and blood is what powers energetic consciousness--I'll stab the pitch fiber of intricate dreighed designs in my head.
***I'm the manifold of the machine ethic. A toothpick can be a machine. I'm just a vacuous-ascesis delivery device. Certainly this physical sense is the least of us--easiest expectation of soul forms. Speak to the dust & language is voguely esteemed as some subservient florish ....in what it states as it becomes leaf-blown detritus, more likely: the tree's expression of season's time-taking of man's pulse. Forests entreat exile. There's no thoroughfare. One foot in, the goal of its margins is yet a redeeming imposter. One can't be as among the people who are the trees, and wander alone. We've already answered the question: the tree fallen is the arbiter of sounds-arriving. Screwing the sun just for fun with earth's wine reworked biotic collected into its going--the sky skying's face; the trunk is a fount, just more muscular--its limbs, the lit side inverted from leafy parks providence ...roots' acquiry!
***Sitting sesshun, as if I'd get anywhere where real light makes me see beneath sullied season's constant footwork on my soul's advantage over body's success, would prevail under a stupendous theatre when Valerie sees me in real-time--it can't be pretty. Not formally meditation (I-ditation, if my yeahs were yeahs). Like I need it, tho'--it's just that it is closer to her expectation that my self-reliance demanded. How that is possible still can't strain the indifferent chorus I'm stricken to convulse into my babel-mind, measured in the arrayed slippery road down to its reduction: truth is our simple station--Babylon falling somewhere, verity of its incessant perfect execution of my braver essense... If ayurvedic (sense of macrobiotic appetites) paths unfurl, it won't be at the pace of my approximated success as I would have it. An Indian rug is where I'm going-- with a 1000 raw laments imagining exactly roseate wee hrs in family homes, exuberant in Dad's heady ablutions, and Mom's tea or lentils, something staved remarkable about an exposed nerve, some-fire, all-gathered, waiting but deciding... Thinking past the night, and dreams gestating from stars in usual sky births...
***Subject: fountains/veruna
I thought it prudent to steal stillness at my misapprehensions. It was hard to take such & such dream secluded in cold & fog where experience with appreciable content railed over denuded train's proud land. I'm the train, boxcar locked from without; Mind theatre, candles alighted--some whimpering, and I don't know why they illuminate cornerlessness; who else is lodged as cargo w/ticket to ride, leaving lights On?--at beginnings, nothing's decided: duality and a giant step--just how proud in its essense hidden? But could give amazingly prone soul's thwart of the body--this engine, no where nomadic to stone skip (me in a tumult toward...) into blue mozaics of i-ching-ing fortunes, fountains, one pinnacle look.
***As a student - higher education - after starting my final semester, never completed, was my last attempt to feel like I've indulged in that process with potentials like my fellows. Outside Russian class I sit at the heels of the calvacade of stupids with more solid sensitivity about there educational goals. At the feet of giants was easily demonstrated - but more auspicious without their presence in fact, as it was in Dahab where I would conjure their proximal advice, evidence of their stolid academician fates. The stranger in remote objectivity was all that distance from home colluding in time-whiling away as that ascertained space of the vision of me in a physical map to rank the conscious one. Red sea looked vague in imminent boundaries--mine were in the social mind-sore...but wrested from phantasmal winds coming out of the Sinai: agencies could have been afoot, but enlisted unconsciously because of the precarious nature of my readiness to project conscious-crowd causes--if only in corporeal clemency. Getting at the crest of personas enthroned by what my thinking then made into a perfect gloss by their directions-multiplied would be this invention of residing-self at their feet--not in their procession, necessarily. I thought them statuesque, permanent sensual pillars of corralled and focused procelytes to thought-fields of never-ending mindlessness.
***
Ezekiel's vision. Chariot, throne, fire, angels, archetypal beasts of burden so that the chariot has spacial success--seems to invent an answer of ex nihilo conventions. A river of gravid providence - so immense as to as imagine Pollution victuals..., losses to matriculate from skillful discriminations making eternality a toxic invocation of plentifold answers to its all too evident nourishment in stows behind purusha (humanity's)pantry-shadows. Ezekiel must incorporate the design of self-actualization's mean. He eats--is asked to eat--he told himself, likely, physical success is cultural instinct to have life perform in his agency, at his heart's minimum-maximum rhythm he can't faulter whilst prone to concessions outside the blood-lair . Within the deference to an awesome event that wakefulness conducts thru historical well-being, Jah proves his sovereignty of myth's constant at work in a mutual arising. As the imagination arises confessing memory, the inner-narrative admits to the dialect as an Absolute, an oracle awakened but resuming...