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I was walking across town with Gerald yesterday
we had to avoid 23
there was a Sniper
I had just missed the copper rings I wanted: all 120 bought 30 minutes before I got there
out of time
I was recounting a story about a conversation with another reflector who didn’t like the eastern mantra of "deny the ego"
G said "yeah, I’m too human for that"
and I may have missed his sarcasm
– I sometimes fail to have any resemblance of a sense of humour –
and though I usually glibly say ‘we all need an ego, aint nothing wrong with dat’
i, instead, said ‘for instance: I am an infinite, eternal, immortal, enlightened being. Dominic Sowinski is the ego I use to interact with this realm through this portal. it’s a tool. but my identity rests with the eternal’
today I was tired and anxious
a continuation of yesterday’s dropping out of sync
turning into a hater
but I had planned to go to see a guru for Darshan
I was full of angst
but we went there
I sat for a while
and the fuzz burned off me
I stood in line and occupied my mind with introspections on the macrocosm
until I got my blessing
which was all full of gratitude
indeed
as the oil fully kicked in
and all dissolved into love and bliss
or at least the back door opened and I was able to let my mind out
my body be healed and balanced
my identity return to the one
remembering nothing need be known of this vessel
yet work must be done
and the greatest I can ever achieve is to be a part of the work
the expression
the witness
even the medium
then I was able to step back into another old room
and be conscious with my actions
applying the Darshan with the Meisner practice
hear the music
work off the group
as whole and individuals
how quickly I can blink out to dumb darkness
easy: don’t write for a few days
don’t take your medicine!
I still don’t know if it’s good or bad for me
but I feel I should continue working with it for a while in a mundane way
delve, develop
but tonight
I will sleep in my own bed
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all is done
each to his own ability
all is entertainment
to some
it’s war and struggle
this is their lot and task
if not their joy
to many
life is but a dream
bu-doom-ba-do-be-doom
and that is Their task
to live
and give our struggles meaning
for they may struggle
through their joys
even if only not to know our sorrows
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find a city
or
imagine a city to live in:
I love where I live
my favorite things about it:
the hills
the trees
places I think of I would like to live:
Athens
Istanbul
Cusquo
Cape Town? hmmm
Rio de Janeiro…?
Buenos Aries?
Zürich
Lyon?
Granada?
Tokyo: coz it’s Huge, but only when I have a free ride or a specific job there
that could take care of Location til I’m 50… with returns to the USA and surprises
Ah!
the Buren… though that’s decidedly not a city…
what about Jakarta?
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I was just thinking how silly it is
to still imagine other people’s lives
that their way of living
is some how better than mine
as if I could do it
do it like that
or
I should do what they say
Their suggestions
even when they don’t know me
or aren’t even speaking directly to me
but that I should do what they say
simply because I hear
advice being offered
useless advice
useless advice
why do I keep eating
useless advice?
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oh, I need to write
my thoughts right now!
:la lala la la
I want to watch tv
not drop into the torrent of my consciousness
Yeah!
two memories
what?
1942?3?
bombing The Hague
the nazis came
his dad was hiding in the basement
his elder sister played piano for the soldiers
while one balanced him on his knee
he was 2 or 3
later
when they were bombing the city
his mother and sisters and he were running through the burning streets to reach
a place of safety
two memories:
first
a parot flew by
he’d never seen one before
it was a trendy middle class acquisition at the time
so exotic
somehow free’d from a destroyed building
second:
a leg
in a boot
no body in sight
just standing there
blood
his father had a horse drawn carriage
and went back and forth to the house collecting all the things they’d want to keep
through the burning streets
everything else got destroyed around there…
but their house was fine
over the remaining years of the war
they sheltered many Jews
(his them in the basement, the walls)
because Jesus wanted them to
but they didn’t learn their names
or answer their thank you cards years later
Life
another:
one of his best friend’s as a kid (in queens, in the eighties… early nineties)
lost a finger in a…
you can’t see it in this photo
he was my best friend…
but he was kind of abusive
he’s probably really hot now.
we used to suck eachother off a lot
but at some point he just acted like an asshole for no reason and they stopped being friends
all sorts of functional blind spots.
today in Greenpoint
The Poles!
they are So Tacky!
all the letters: how does that sound?
I can’t pronounce it…
how brazen… good for you!
income tax!
and a bunch of garbled words
and stuffed animals in the windows
-I think of the puff-paint sweatshirts in brataslava; rhinestones…
sparkle motion
and that depressing neighborhood yesterday in the bronx
where I thought…
one thing
and another thing
and
I didn’t want to
it all hurts
these memories
and these judgements
I want integrity and love
memories are intrinsic
oh, but the tragedies…
are they really necessary?
because they happened, they are!
and these judgements?
what about the abuse I imagine happens inside the vinyl sided house with Two iron fences; American Flag
the "depression" I imagine
"poverty"
"tackiness"
the chocolate and candies were horrible
I want to love everything!
but is that loving?
someone, he said, has to do the sorting
("and who gave you authority?!")
"he’s sweet"
everyone says
‘yeah, cloying. yeah, to give you cavities. oy! diabetes!’
being pleasant and nice is not useful
being liked
is not an important goal
action through integrity
has itself to answer for
no doubts or fear
accept what you are
when I was helping him today
holding her hair
I have to grow out my hair again
of course!
yes!
just a year of short hair
again
just this time
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images in my mind, recently
my Mother’s head
covered in blood
as was the broken window next to her
in the brown van
1988
waking up from
counting backwards
under anesthetic
feeling like I was hit by a truck
looking around
wondering how I got from there
to wherever I was
1985
"waking up" from those times I’ve blacked out from having my blood drawn
that other-worldly feeling
so close at hand
finger-tips grazing
typing on a manual
a letter weakly pressed leaving a space:
fi ger
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this has been going on for months
I have no idea who I am
perhaps for years
but this current face…
some alternate self
i feel theatrical and sinister
some silly warlock taken too seriously
dangerous and dark
steady my hand
i know not what I am capable of
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the sun’s at home
the moon’s at work
when we wake
we will take
more time to relax in the heat
our hands only busy in the cooler evenings and late mornings
building what dreams we can muster
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these days of
pushing through the overload
minor things
little things
that’s life
but each to his own ability
til death do we part
I want
a counterpoint
so it would all make sense
but my chest hurts
I may even try to smoke a cigarette before I sleep
though I know it won’t complete me
maybe it will calm this disturbance
or at least burn it up
yes, all you fire-bearers I have loved
I will light up in memory of yous
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