This Time of Year, Someone Judeo-Arabic, I Found the Music of my Youth, First Dance with Language, Invocation

A friend says to my lady, Susie, about me that she's feeling positive, with and of her day, because of something or things that I will have said, waxed ponderously. I imagine folks impacted every bit as physiologically as a sensory educated wise ape may be introducing ways of esteeming a conceptual world in the paucity of models, till confidence applies, where we're able to see an intellectual freedom plain to our common sense. For me, I pursued studies while in my nerves had I gotten bouyant and imaginably skillful by climbing down out of lush complexity, maybe great heights, then seemingly a feeling of approach manifested as if a spark or inner-fire is fanned. If metaphor could appreciate in mind sore theoria, the sparks that I'd chase are the knowing reins on insight tied to blind horses occupying a field of these thought-event's impermanent record overstanding my experience. But I chased evitable feeling to my sketch of letters in their thought values - they could've been avoided - and ultimately no feeling of threshold victories could compare anymore in that same way. I'm wont to vitalize ineffable impulse climates yet knowing I'm only langorously able to respect any change in this bucket full of trance egoity, this climate of some power, is just rare auspices of subjectivity but with like prayers as anyone in goals of peak observation.***************Watching that space of my youthful lasting intensity - you can see it in the athlete of lives' long-distance - just memories contentful and resolved as a phantom walking through then-realizations recollecting within, formative now. I feel like the Piper's son, maybe stealthily inwitted to running with an allegory of keys deliberative on purpose, whatever averring revelry is answered in my nerves that are lit, certainly truth is all in the language awash and exposed over inceptive shores. I would be content to filter everything as purpose. As opposed to its refute? Nature lapsing and models for chaos in terrible forces striven amid always the new realm of presence, the grail of dear identity given-up, a fecund surface of big floats taking notice. And isn't it all toward meaning, the corporeal hulking auditive mass, selves we point to giving and playing with its broken looking glass? Or exercised on immediate socially if realistic roles, whose progressions assume the uniformity of life stages wandering of disintegration, illuminable from a breach in the fog, where our teachers have stopped conceiving of the shit-gimme Who Am I so to imprecate standards till we are altogether in our daimon's dreamscape enduring the night of reason.******

****** Thus in my gambling hand I see the shape of my episteme's chariot to dispute my distraction, wandering in increments, convening inmost as an anschluss geist to my Festival of Thoughts, instead victuals of an open crowd convivencia are served like a world made to appear of what I could ever realize from the self-mythological climate of ephemeral nature. I spied in-between places portending clerics or ambassadors of lives come before mine, would be imaginable through evaporating portals summoned over the contest of sands first upright hourglass posture, the homogeny of standards meant to keep us safe; my teachers may have proscribed an imperative grappling in timeliness. Mr Cobb was our maintenance man at Garden Springs Elementary--could've been 1978. He warned me, Mr Schmidt didn't want any carrying-on, and then a whole word virus invigilated through my tissues, the pale white innocence of easy-speak is made sublime: dark and gray, gnashed and hidden among mythless coves, the ghostly Mr Cobb reflected like flurries of burnt newspaper what couldn't have been said about deep loss. Nothing to say, a thoughtful child bequeathed of fearful conflations to peal as messages into our chil'run minds - the bell playing to my empirical incumbency of an alien award to time and place, yet like a seed to sun rays' dessicating finality, even among shadows of rescue, never sure of going home again. A chega de saudade. I thought my foot fell to his path Forever then; the old man was eminently ancient. He's beat. Then like always I impelled my normative station. Students were stipulated not to mess with the help, but I felt rather socialist, maybe as later when the razor of revolution would cut my eyes open to see.***********Susie and I went to the Beaumont Library today. I felt ensconced and timeless in a usual vibe among these stacks of placating and more evidently glad letters. I'm caught up as moody as the leisurely blurt of revealed worlds in sacrifice to mere perusal and saunterings. As the empirical wonderment of books makes lush feelings where I'm lucky for the boundaries of my imagination, sitting with my reading convention's fluid art of forgetting, I think back to August, 1987, when I hoofed around Oxfordshire, finding one of the University libraries in-between days of class, once only to forward thoughtful ironies that there is a silent core to an unavoidable wisdom guaranteed to me. Therein aloft upon her heavy floors I felt I had visited with my student of life axiom ready to start what I had come in the room to do. The Yiddish language I studied then, Hebrew letters overstanding, all turned underneath, mired and uncollectable to the translating mask of youth developing with me then (I did get full credit, meanwhile...). Impossible to scale toward edutainments I'd become more adept in pronouncing later, the thing I would create in self-knowing, capsulating motives to learn inspite of the fact that it became excruciating to turn pages, all improve the hardwon powerspot I accede to now a few decades on nary any privilege under doctrinaire motives.******

*******In meditation, wholeness is my iconoclasm's Absolute. I only mean to brave assonance, see to it that I would adapt to this renunciate, grail of release, teloi of ideas, even the most feeling, seeking my wonder as hope for wholeness, well-being, reflective of identities suspicious of creating. There is no equality in mind, I tend to imagine, we only place that subtlety upon our thought's vagaries, as if a negotiable value to that of a prime mover and anything to suppose on Fate is in the tote of our sentient basket. Knowing that value statements are the first mistake of plain inquiry ...we all are adducing, as to place the relationship one has in second nature ways as our willing agents. I am properly mnemosyne live of the complexity I make loose in complementing the G*d of prayer and invigilate concern from times in the first few years to my youthful spiritual education. I sought the Orchard and unripened berries piqued with salt and sweet bread. In the hallways of Ohavay Zion (The Love of Zion) synagogue, Hebrew school had maybe usual for some rather one agonism I'd level at most my conceptual feelings toward my peers. How with a kind of ease, and why, did all things follow in these philosophical fields immuring fate with G*d, while no decision seemed apropos in my view? Inquiry, uh yeah, not acquisitive; something else would consume me. A contract with Good, yes, but whence the quantum encounter intends upon my intimated dawn to this one world fading, I wonder at the pathos in asking what this life has become if I had to ask it again. An answer from the other day stays within this current of mindfulness, all that is needed devoted to Loving-kindness: All thinkers driven to consider that Things Are, that we aren't quite alone, would be as commonly taken by imaginations imposing a reflection of our vitality as close to denying the surprise of our existence as though our hope for meaning had a concomitant superior being that deigns the very inquiry of mere wind and the thrush of change prised by our alienation painting all the world in its myriad stimulation of being as purpose.****************I tend to juggle Absolutes, but while I see into my wonder as hope for wholeness, still equations of our well-being, reflective of identities suspicious of creating, there is no equality in mind to that of a prime mover and anything to suppose on Fate, knowing that value statements are the first mistake of plain inquiry ...we all are adducing, as to place the relationship one has in second nature ways as our willing agents. I am properly mnemosyne live of the complexity I dispatch complementing the G*d of prayer and invigilate concern from times in the first few years to my youthful spiritual education. In the hallways of Ohavay Zion (The Love of Zion) synagogue, Hebrew school had maybe usual for some rather one agonism I'd level at most my conceptual feelings toward my peers. How with a kind of ease, and why, did all things follow in these philosophical fields immuring fate with G*d, while no decision seemed apropos in my view? An answer from the other day and today stays within the current of mindfulness, all that is needed devoted to Loving-kindness: The continual elements that spare us on in this one world announcing existence by having evolved into perceptual beings partly considering perhaps a faith in meaning, mostly is how we fluctuate in acts of will ecstatic beyond knowing the origins that would ultimately deny observation. All thinkers driven to consider that Things Are, that we aren't quite alone, would be as commonly taken by imaginations imposing a reflection of our vitality as close to denying the surprise of our existence as though our hope for meaning had a concomitant superior being that deigns the very inquiry of mere wind and the thrush of change prised by our alienation painting all the world in its myriad stimulation of being as purpose.*******

******Drumpf is a Big Man. A lugal, so-called in cultic Sumer's militarism. As enforceable as patterns through civilization's origin, Babylon's civilization, stirred embers out of the fire of Political antecedents in a couple thousand years as Stone Age (and beyond), yet technology, language of economies and jack-booted rigueur that foments symbols and advantage through those symbols of this kind are alive and representative through Drumpf purely a malefactory of the usual blind leading the blind convention and attitude. Eden was once invented in Mesopotamia, their marshes were idyllic and are becoming all but effaced out of the modern Industrial Age thanks to ignorant land reappropriation and socio-political denial toward the Shia who have been there for thousands of years. Just look at Drumpf's insensitivities toward his Political Opponents, add the anti-scientific brain-washing, unwillingness to accept Global Climate Change as reality and take some lines of Dylan's lyrics from Gates of Eden for what they are. We're in this together - oligarchies be damned: ******* "Relationships of ownership They whisper in the wings To those condemned to act accordingly And wait for succeeding kings And I will try to harmonize with songs The lonesome sparrow sings There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden." And: "The kingdoms of Experience In the precious winds they rot While paupers change possessions Each one wishing for what the other has got And the princess and the prince Discuss what's real and what is not It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden."*******The world we care about shouldn't have to play surrogate to imagine a lush excuse to ornament our irony of cathartic observations over the laments making uncertain our arising eudaimonic gainsayers, because only facts will do.*******One Christmas season I ran into a dude over at a friend's condo complex who had been in Ohavay Zion Hebrew school with me. Probably thirty years since we had rooted down certain meditations, and maybe understood something progressive, iconoclast of course, so the thing about an ineffably reasonable character to the prime mover of our being could allude to an acceptance of a rational and moral landscape, prone to nature as it is ephemeral and fleeting, unknowable till its model is the record. And seeing him makes me wonder at what degree has core-culture become acceptable or unpacked in thralls of immediate revelers whose cadence sometimes is expectation where and when ironies begin. As I'm not community translating through our calendar peculiarities, even while our evident Holiest Days are emergent, while bringing me to humble concerns, still I feel I reasonably asked him, even kinda, not moreso if to erase intimations of our Jewishness (Yiddishkeit), Had he thrown-in with Christian whatever? ...diet apathies are obvious, biases might be thoughtful, who cares while admitting to the drift of commonalities...! Saying to him, Jesus is just alright, man? It's not dismissive, it's who our family is, actually, what it is to reach back, seeing ways of emergent spiritualism where antecedents, as for everyone, are made of the history of myth. I didn't let him answer. Had the world been so curious that what is possible around the corner in a rather human mission gives and plays epistemologically buffered already, so apparent in that conviction to walk an American middle-path, studying the Other as their hopes are granted by their seers purveying Tradition and continuity, mine would trust in knowing our shared prophets even better through those dreamt lives evolving in the hearts of yours as Maimonides, the Rambam, would have it. From The Guide to the Perplexed, the Word makes us students of any Nation, maybe one gaining from a plural zeitgeist.**************Another blue Monday thus-gone, but Right-on with positive vibrations. I always notice my second look while any color orange, orange-red, yellow-orange, like that, arises, feeling something has happened with luck toward an operative future and no loss of flecting mind for the greed of change cuts me like Light in its chance surfeit within. I'm a long-distance runner, just can't take the race, a life alive to follow the yield of a fecund river. Seems though the anticipation of the climate to my apprehensions are conditions fully-involving, always the give and play of a deep-aside, intensifying for those reasons, but only more tacit than the usual escape from drawback shores. It's like we're about something, huh? So, what is there actually relaying out of our leisure to fend for the ground beneath our feet while meditation is made of our caprice to see it as true oblative Earth as it is Thus-gone? Me? I feel young, that I just got here. Surprised enough to consider nirvanas and what was wonderful and aweful at once in this microcosm, tremendous and releasing me, but bound (I am), like the saturate volition of a middle uncomforming current. Hendrix lyricking, Will I live tomorrow? Well I just can't say Will I live tomorrow? Well I just can't say But I know for sure I don't live today Well, that's Hope. I mean, everybody knows what is before us is ever-meaningful and ever-recessed within and without techne at an antiquation's premium, even these last few minutes.**************If I ran around imagining any encounter with women is my opportunity for sexual satisfaction there I would be prone as fly-paper, with anybody in common circumstance seeing an apparent and profound discursive expression stuck in a replete self-consciousness that almost no excuse could unpack, embarrassing me, and denying a contract with Good where I am, admittedly, vulnerable to give a damn Because I've Been Educated to seek women as a key to Cultural continuity I am utterly prone to expect. Meanwhile, as Drumpf swears among the cavalcade of Deplorables that his blinders are on in dealing with the Other, conveniently denying knowing David Duke, for instance, or lauding the ghoulish conspiracist Alex Jones, who flies from his (anti-rational Noatic) Arc in raven deceit to pick through the entrails at the illusion of malefactory only he has seen, somehow, a Truth of presumption that the like-minded domino nod of homogeny supports without any compromise to the lowest common denominator of suffering, usually, any thoughtful person might recognize. And again, why didn't it matter before to the Conservative establishment, whose violent rhetoric, gun sodomian attitude, blame game damning to overstand ANYBODY dependent upon governance, that the use of virulent racist symbols needed to be jettisoned from the democratic exceptionalism to be cultivated and shared amid this experiment in our conduct as the rhythm and beat to the American Dream? Can anybody explain that overt prejudice in the more capable hands in Conservative ranks? How does anything that this past-grappling Party conceives as opportunity become imaginable for the working class when pure animus against intellectualism and factory over Global Climate Change is ignored? --The accompanying image is of the single-most monarchical principal to the Republican Party here visiting the Bitberg Cemetery giving memorial to our fallen enemies, German SS, while having ignored an imploring American Jewish community not to Forget.***********