Shapeless mass, I am--and a book of desert self

The child in a superman suit looks destined as an ubermensch--I'm relating like the wall of social ethos in my youthful self-discovery--it's inadequate or I just need to kick rocks. And a shrouded traveller to be. Maybe a child of light, who hears all, defies youthful certainty or get lucky & will in steelly attention, but knows love with relentless creativity, seizing me namelessly, in my begin to begin. ********Let me clarify: not hating as an end, of course, is jettisoning desire (tanha) and ignorance (avidya)--yet, the thing we fear, we hate, then if we hate it, we will love it--then perhaps love would make a commitment to getting past the adversarial you, into the standard of mutual arising. I exhaled the white smoke without having already breathed in the black. The thing corrupt within me is now just accompaniment to that of any other conscious furniture. Mental nomenclature--the organs of comnsciousness working with one and against itself, as Neitzsche puts it. It may have imminent cause of somethings without, but now I imagine that fog at my peripheral leisure, the ethereal I love, having come from fear then hate, into an affirmation: "How could I run around making room for what I imagined in pretense as a place of emotional atrophy?" Negativity, thinking philosophically, deliberating on how I am to comport overstanding, comport in self-knowing, has no places in the extent of unknowing, so Negativity has no legs. ********I don't know why I do it. Happy on a lark, skylarking that this emptiness doesn't actually mean that I'd relent being seen. The seen & unseen: I'm the crystal palace, pained in will bent from form to transparency--anything would think a sun's reflecting pool is a place of the seen. And arms akimbo I'm iconoclast bombast, unseen because I'm shattered, like a mulch of plastique photos--I'm framed in windows of this trans mission of light, but thrown from mirror-hold, fast promised, homeward reception. My movement thru weeklike yrs yield less what apropos assignation making leaves of grass sway in liquidly extent waves, an unknower's "long-distance" runner improsario knowing the river of life in slow fidelity ventrally reductively not from a catapult of tarrying style lived moments. Tarrying is different than happening upon this river while otherwise tarmac spited us with pathlessness or consoled us with no places to go. I bow psychologically to gates in the forest. I & I of Eastern bhakti, that the creative seeks us to arduous-foundering on-&-on from an event of solicitous vision, peak resolve shoulders an infinite task of expression, vapors to vapors: we're etched into horizons met, but only eeked mouselike writ of coves alighted over dreigh glimpses into the proscription. ******** ********In the mts, upstate Ny, I took a hike into the woods and reclined next to a clear stream. Then rejecting nicotine succour to peal back the serenity in such a remote & lucid stream, I wondered about the emptiness and facile resolve to be stimulated. I saw the scale of alternations from emotional tolls or intellection of my mind swarthy from compelling chemical romance. Just in my mental speak, I wouldn't level the escape I'd apprehended to not smoke. I remember how glad I was to find myself there, for fuck sake, so glad, but only had my immediate family to resolve my lament on then, my solitarian trajectory. The woods were haunted, but the threat wasn't descriptive other than some banal yankee thug conspiracy I heard in whining, unspirited urban world participating in my collapse, waiting for me, yawning in the prone luck of vacation displacement--I was tottering with little to blame wherein the tie that binds ranks me in this contagion. A fallen well up past my wooded ambulate, by the Vistula bungalow colony (Polish, named from a river in Poland), making the roughly formerly habitations around it look peavish, even annoyed that I wanted to populate the rocky, summer-browned grassy space with my nature-incarnational concerns. I told Igor it looked like a nice place to bury a child such as himself--he seemed unintimated at my gest - it wasn't a very mollifying comment. Consequently I felt even more haunted and silly.********* ********Looked into Book 4--an excellent survey of meditation if you want visual recommendations on meditation. Crowley never disabused me of-notions of my finesse to find the torn empath weeping of mystical stain to rivel the tarrying floe thru life in rallying stream: his razorlike conjurations once cursed, but blessed twice me--if the footfall of his certain confidences imparted, were the catalyst to ...imagine on my own behalf. I felt the hot slavish lashes, but I caught the wafting ashes in their emblematic fall of the votive fire as upon the ground of ubiquity--reeling time wouldn't have its way lest I record the event in the last relicks of flames consummation. Crowley's illicit repute never could traduce the light and shadow play in my forlorn solicitude--still his lens rapt of danger had night deliberative and judgmental, and yet I parsed qualia from his memoir (til much later when I threw it away into the recycling in a fit of reconciliation of required reading, I'd say.)--things like Buddhist contemplation never bedeviling me with raven's on gallows for shoulders, as other fiery meditations represented in the different genres or his would have fed into this staved or gunned responsibility. A gravid forest, life underfoot--to this I owe the skein averred upon my eyes just because Crowley seemed to punish forward embrace of lucky matriculations that some one word is this or that field of light, a place of my reception, and that the real relish in spiritual thought was in the beyond of light & promised-goals.******** *********In Lithuania, the last European country to take on X-tianity, Jews having been there since before the 900s when there was no X-tianity, made Vilna the Jerusalem of the East. Eishyshok's history, denied since the Holocaust along w/much of Eastern Europe, is the place proffering histories' following synthesis. Cool water served to heder yingls, biblacy students, symbolizes sweet mercurial response one would have toward this life of study, condusive to better scholarship. Star's fluid radiance, the sky in hungry apt mouthfuls of fire, the tree of life might reckon a fount to make philosophy aerobatic bound in sky birth.******** I'm less a tree fount to reach philosophy, studied from merciful water sweet aerobatics born out of temporal release, sky lauded, than the mirror mica under moss, pedestrian in self-reflection. Rimbaud heather-crowned, made taunting memory 'flect in locations arranged superable to threading path toward ocean crushing hush.************ *************** Now Then In the myths Carlos Castaneda alliterates with Don Juan, he has a culturally sanctioned effort to unpack weirdness in alchemical self-scrutiny. Brujos, dogs, lizards, people, and most importantly plants whose excelsior animation by imagining negative space, its very shadow, blanketing blanket that awaits in steady breaths in cupped hands cultivating & captivating space of vitality where the plant in corporeal naked valence nods at more essense within. And on a blanket, as if requisitioned out of an ornamented antiquity, nature shows up with a pipe to share, so brahmodya, which is a kind of thing Kerouac calls patimokkha, a "comprehensive discussion" memorializes space. Psychological states, statements of presense, existential burden in auspices like the availing animal musterion (sacrament) (our being its worthy project)--is a way to defy conventional initial criterion to gratify relationship by inspiring meaning... The book sat in my brother's bookcase, ready at 1rst glance to avail the Beats lying just beyond, a praxis in rational crowd, having taught one not good ways to think, because maybe mind content isn't easy for authorial nom de guerre, but to get out of the game of adjurational Belief, "magical thinking" as if I deserve a coralled sentient greed--there's a better footfall!! If the lil' smoke is suppose to bring you toward supreme identity iconoclasm, then the little personality authenticator, my boy Cornel, my cat, is suppose to make an organic crowd awareness, a similar investment to imagine busy & not so busy minds.********* ***********I don't want to showcase myself damned, despoiled from a battle between us--all of us, but you & I mostly--our beatings in a habitat for whoever we guessed and imagined gave over in papillae space, close to the skin, someOne You & I knew, to ledger them ever to speak in, say, my behalf--yours in your behalf. I thought you heard me mention Jazz like a thousand relics of many lived calendar unburdened tapestries. Maybe you didn't--which kills me almost in biblical consequence as much as it was stolen from me. I listened to Coltrane once, while my get, which is a divorce writ, as in the symbolic agate stone w/anti-magnetic properties, in Jewish Thought left me in self-hypnosis. Meaning the mind is at once on in relationship, and then at once off. I was alternately having day-drream voices dropping expressions of skin-toned auditive images, I'm hearing language spoken superable to horns communicating. I can only guess calling & responding what denotes answering to you, what you asked me in my sleep. To muster the eliciting of your victory girding my illusory, divining I was suppose to hear you--& only felt you. Any symbol held in mind has every predilection to swell and implode before it surfaces. But, I was confiding in you underneath, understanding, while you sway prone overstanding.********** ********** A RAINBOW TEACHES Me With it Of it:::::The last time I went out west, visiting my brother, a good example over how I am taught an austere or pragmatic interlocution way to stay oriented and poignant with others availed when we stopped at the Univ of Az, a forum going-on, questioning a student about getting some regional maps advice. New Try-n-Save poncho in hand, we head to the motel at the outskirts of town orienting us toward the black lava obsidian fields. My brother called my attention to the most sky-deft, heavily architected in thick blue-dome tapestry of a rainbow--both its feet clearly landing. A therapeutic event if I were to rear wooden-lungs rasply suspiring into sun-extremis day's color of pitch nite engagements--gagged by pure opaque sky ebullience--as to paint nite & day rounding the same insight!! The stunted approach meeting and having dialect with a foreign student, or say, any non-American, has resonance with a lapse of unique continuities making what is said reverently polite--a strange phenomenon to Unassume the modalities brandished like conscious props. Speaking for myself, in the intellectual confliction of what-all I would know--this composure of reassurance that assumed cultural hints are nigh, capsulated americana passporte functionaries: the sense that any stranger has to be approached as tentatively becomes my new guide.