FELT SHOT once.

Sitting out in front of the house on my lawn chair by the garage, trailing away from me is a world arupa, an existentially licit garment. ...trying to capture this one time out in front of the house on Williamsburg, when some inner-voice had come to a halt & I feel impelled of radiating hot reach of sunlight as through wind like a loud gun shot into my mind, then the requisite moment of dis-ease and I am floating away--damned frightening!! Guns were drawn, the iconography of the mind have the 10,000 TVs stupidly play--its antennae reflecting, alarmed. I am looking for a solid statement to presence, a peak moment that I was a part of a spiritual reckoning--and had kind of an auditory hallucination? I could hear a flangey radio--the conversation in my head threatening that the vocal fountain now scrawling across some projected field around me would soon trail off, thereso with no clue that an inner-voice is my recorded self, presence. Take the old man or woman on the block--how do they stand in self-conceptualization, how has it given them the mind over matter? There is something monarchical about being in that much control as one subject to what is yours closed behind eyelids is just as the sleeping physical world saying contentedly, "go ahead, lay your head--evanescent of irreality, licit of truth to believe in dreams!" This being a viable notion I feel ultimately determined to eclipse if impermanence were my due, as vast as a shadow behind the sun, rather than maybe my profile as casting a shadow yet by the sun--it has its own as in the field of reason. Some bird is flying across the immediate skyline, she's a stark reminder of my sentience bound by ignorance that slowly, terribly, intangibly I'd evolve from it. I look into space like it was as tactile as belched hot icebergs, 85 % of its life submerged, but evidenciary just so: I perk up, it threatens denial. I adjust on my haunches, it bobs forward. Then as if hands moulded from my consternation I imagined grabbing some mental nomenclature, a thought body reposed upon Grandma's couch and I am there till asked to go out, outside for awhile, quit lingering--is the roseate truth of spectral shore where a covenant is become warm & fuzzy & my languid posturing held high, then I peeked into brighter light and out of my material constraints. I watched what I saw...is the LIGHT plateau - dark CORRIDOR; white black white black: The last TIME we gave ourselves to the moment may have been our last reFLECTion before the veil of tears reMINDed us that IT had been a Karmic death.