Karma-Dharma-Bhutadaya

Biodegradable Motor Oil Now!!!

2012-02-09T22:01:00.000-07:00

Been running Green Earth Technologies "ultimate biodegradability" outboard motor oil in my Yamaha 9.9 and it's running fine, and in fact better than with the conventional oil (which was only moderately dirty). This company's motor oil is available for most automobiles too, so you can be that much more kind to the earth we share. There is also transmission fluid and hydraulic fluid available that is vegetable-based and biodegradable/minimally impactive.

LETS GO GREEN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Glimpse of the Great Drama of these past few thousand years with a view to unraveling the relationships of the three most prominent "Western" religions and their relationship to what has become known as "hinduism" though is more properly known as sanAtana dharma . . .

2012-01-26T21:17:00.001-07:00

So as I have amply noted elsewhere (see "Hidden Origins of the West" and "Maybe Columbus Found India After All: Traces of India Amongst American 'Indians'"), the Hindu Trimurti is from whence cometh the three most prominent so called “Western” religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam (as well as most world religions in fact). Abraham is clearly somehow a derivative of Brahma or Brahmin or some such closely related Sanskrit appellation or group designation. It has recently occurred to me that the “A” at the beginning of the name of the patriarch of the three aforementioned might have significance ("A" as prefix in Sanskrit as often in English means "not-"), specifically that somehow the fellow was portraying an experiment in being “not-“ Brahma/Brahman/Brahmin . . .

As it is the contention of sanAtana dharma generally that with a view enlightened all is truly Atman/Brahman—i.e., that all that is not illusory is in truth Deva-Devi (God/Goddess), perhaps the three “Abrahamic” religions are an expression of pretending “as if . . .” said contention of Yoga is not valid, as Buddhism contends unabashedly by professing Abrahman (not unrelated to the Buddhist contentions regarding anatta or anatman). Thus Judaism, Christianity and Islam are attempts to construct “what would God be if God is not what we (practitioners of sanAtana dharma which is root religion to nigh all major religions in the world from ancient European/Asian/American Indian/African, in other words at some point what nigh all our ancestors believed ) thought . . . “ And as it turns out those three religions all end up mirroring/expressing as eminational expression the religion said movement/migration to the west thought was left behind. The contention of each of the three are thus rather like children endeavoring to define themselves as separate from parents, and discovering their likenesses or at the least using the terms and concepts of the parent religion and culture.

Lonesome Devotions . . .

2011-12-28T20:42:00.001-07:00

Makin' some headway in the return to stasis, tumult and torment of confusion and collusion waning, deeper devotional transformational bhakti in relation to Devi, Durga Kali Parvati Tridevi I see in the movement of things. A bit more hurt than before when my love for Devi was manifest mostly in subtleties of MahaMaya showing Herself in little lila and lovers lovely and sublime, women whose veils removed (and clothes dropped to the floor) granted me glimpses of the Great Goddess in Her Eternal Beauty and Graceful Eminations and Expressions of Love. Indeed She is Sexy, though by no means unclean in Her Lovemaking. Indeed the Scriptures do tell She ain't exactly always monogamous--OMG!!!--and indeed sometimes a Seductress Extraordinaire . . .

Of late's been a very long refractory period that's been, perhaps, time to reflect and transform from the Places of Mind and Love and Dark and Light She's shown me, this humble sadhu sorta seeking to settle somewhat down sorta into some semblance of the pursuit of Artha, too. Ain't no Sexy Sadie, mind you, I'm about consensuality and tantra true, if not perfection and utmost purity in the timing and place and righteous dance of hot steamy transcendental lovemaking, recognizing Siva-Shakti as Ideal to be met in such powerful things as joining of linga and yoni, yogi and yogini (if "American-styles" ya know?!) and relationship generally. And btw, Purity in Sexuality don't gotta mean lawfully wed; consensual and appropriately matched man and woman with right mind and means and mode and maturity is what doth truly matter, yo!! (Dunno about gay or lesbian tantra, as that ain't my field, though abiding by the same appropriateness and consensuality the main things need be met, I suppose . . . Vishnu and Siva got it on and made a Baby even this one time when Vishnu was a Woman named Mohini, and Ardhanarishwara is true hermaphrodite, and the Sulawesi Hindus acknowledge and honor five genders . . .).

Tantra doth indeed manifest as expression of and practice as Siva-Shakti, and that Divine Marriage maintains manifold lila, multiplicities of modes of playing out of Loveplay Eternal, lotsa love stories and positions to choose, many dances from subtle to hot and wild and animalistic passion performed. And sometimes that Love is lived as fighting for the Good that keeps the Flame of Divine Passion of said sort Pure and the field of Love Secure from taint or tarnish, though is by no means Puritanical (except maybe for fun . . . role-playing styles, hee hee).

Anyhow . . .

Namo Namah Devi Shakti!!!! Namo Namah Devi Durga!!!! Namo Namah Devi Mahamaya!!!!

DEFENSE OF THIS LAND? MORE LIKE A CALL FOR REVOLUTION!!!!!

2011-12-18T21:43:00.000-07:00

This disturbs me nigh as much as the destruction and desecration of our world by polluters like big oil companies and coalbed methane and mountaintop removal. Both the House and Senate passed the Defense Authorization bill which includes provisions for military detainment of Americans merely "suspected of terrorism." WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO THIS LAND'S CIVIL LIBERTIES!!!!! THE DEFENSE AUTHORIZATION BILL IS AN OBVIOUS VIOLENT AFFRONT TO THE FIRST AMENDMENT!!!!!!!

WHAT THE FFFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AMERICA LAND OF THE FREE WAKE THE FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Captain's Lauwg December 7, 2011

2011-12-08T15:36:00.000-07:00

Back and forth, these ebbs and flows of souls or their imprints or shadows, tides washing them in and o0ut of my body and mind, these poor souls lost at sea, jiva wanting freedom they scarce even understand. As captain of this vessel--speaking of my body, that is, and not the sailboat on which I abide--I did not willingly take on these passengers, a more than moderately motley crew, yet compassion and duty, bhUtadayA and dharma do demand I deal with them as kindly as I might, despite attempts at mutiny and insurrection. A virtual ghost ship I have become, when the solitude of the sea's what I sought.

Though the true ocean's rarely a glassy mirror, Adarza been confusing my reckonings, capsizings happ'nin' rather regularly in this irregular voyage of mind and soul(s), rather like in the film "Pirates of the Caribbean" III I think it was, wherein the crew of the Black Pearl flip their ship to find an inverted world to escape or find some purported treasure.

Indeed, seems left to me to find proper port and harbor to let these passengers, vagabond stowaways disembark, so I might proceed on my own more proper voyage; to be done with these castaways left in some other ship's wake, and on to find my own pirate's treasure and booty (and the one I dream a sailor's dream of had one hell of a fine booty, indeed!!!) . . .

namaste

(penned in Kingston, posted from New Paltz)

Shifting Dimensions/Confused Symmetries

2011-11-28T10:43:00.002-07:00

Ever seen the movie Altered States? i.e., flick about this dude goes to Mexico and uses psychedelic mushrooms to facilitates the transformation of the lead character into a primordial creature. At the end of the flick, dude is flashing back and forth between dimensions and starts running into the walls as he stumbles down the hallway towards his lady. Well, I feel rather like that of late, and I'm actually somewhat inclined to believe whoever's been manufacturing my experiences got their inspiration from said Hollywood production, odd as that may seem and absurd as that might be.

I have noted previously in blog postings that I have seemingly experienced my own murder on at least three occasions and perhaps as many as five. The first was a shotgun blast to the face upon returning to my apartment in Chicago. I awoke in bed in a cold sweat from what I concluded must have been merely a very real dream. As I stepped out of bed and to the window I realized, however, that I had no recollection of walking through the apartment and getting into bed. I later dreamt that a couple of friends from my graduate program were holding up my body as my jaw dangled off my face.

Second experience was two bullets introduced from a pistol in Golden Gate Park one evening in 1997 as I strolled blissfully from Hippy Hill and to the grove of trees on the way to the underpass which leads back to Haight Street. Everything went blank and I returned to consciousness on the other side of the trees in broad daylight, no holes in my head, and wondering if I had slept in the park rather than returning to the Green Tortoise Hostel and merely dreamed the shadowy figure poppin' caps into my cranium, only to lose said memory for seven years upon noting a beautiful woman sitting in the grass wearing a white dress and doing yoga asanas (full account of this and surrounding events is recorded in Memories and Musings of a Post-Postmodern Nomadic Mystic Madman, yet to be published).

Third instance was a dream death wherein I was shot in the same part of my skull as when in GGP, left temple, in a home I later visited and noted that the room wherein I had been murdered in the dream was nigh precisely the same in real life. Fourth possible death by blindside gunshot is the most questionable, as the gunshot was from behind and simultaneous to me bumping my head on a low ceiling as I was departing an apartment in Montreal. Fifth death by cheap-ass gunshot was when I was asleep on a hillside in Chattanooga, Tennessee, when I awoke to what felt like either a shotgun discharge or a high powered rifle bullet in the upper center region of my back, a blast which simultaneously thrust my body down and up from the power of the gunshot. From previous experiences of such things I realized the best thing to do was to go back to sleep so as to not get up with a gaping hole in my back.

Well, upon much contemplations of how to interpret said odd experiences one theme seems likely as others: parallel dimensions in time-space into which I was either thrust upon the occurrences of these gruesome murders, else into which I escaped after said events occurred, or the possibility of inversions of my self left to right, upside down, etc., to escape the consequences of firearms used thus against me. Of late it seems I have been experiencing rather random seeming shifts wherein I experience pains reloated to one or another of these experiences, sometimes feeling a dull ache in the upper portion of my back, sometimes a sharp pain in my skull where one or another of the three bullets introduced to my left temple would have ended up, and a pain moving around in my jaw in a manner uncharacteristic of normal neural function as well as the loss of the better part of three wisdom teeth/back molars in an inordinately short period of time. In a related phenomenon, along with these shifts my consciousness is often inundated with a number of foreign entities who actually seem to be/to represent familiar persons. In response to these assaults of interdimensional treachery I have found myself behaving rather like the fellow in "The Fly," as well as chanting mantras and doing asanas and other more measured responses. Another possible explanation is the possibility of recurrent inversions of my personal symmetry, left to right or upside-down or possibly even inside-out, now not to escape death but to deal with contingent issues of having not died--quite amazing I have been able to maintain myself and mind more or less intact through all these experiencings, no doubt!

I'm publishing this account of these experiences both to make these things public with hopes this might dispel a continuation of said ill experiencings and contingent maladjustments of maya, and also that perhaps a telling of these odd events might help others experiencing similar phenomena.

namaste

Channeled Info Been Buggin' Me . . .

2011-11-13T18:32:00.000-07:00

Angles of declination, refraction and crystaline facets of mind and minds revealed to my wearied and wary mind, endeavoring to be transformative and kind and just and fair (though at times seems something more fierce called for and granted duly) whilst privy made to this collective and that coalition and that conjunction of other, Other, mind and minds, "special interest groups" might be called, these strands of narratives channeled, complaints and sides of this or that story told, fictions mixed with fact alloyed with fancy (and sometimes fucked-upedness) pressed upon me as if I out "do something about. . ." this or that or the other.

"Polyphony" a term I used to taut and employ when studying the art of post-modern theorism, and is not inapt a term to describe and inscribe of what's been buggin' me, blueprints of however many paradigmatic schemes and wacked out dreams dictated to my inner ear (lacking a better descriptor for what receiver receives these transmissions) and both their plans and plottings and wants and wishes, wordplays and punk-ass rantings. Weird!! Individuals and persons matched with or matching faces I encounter and have known, sometimes accompanied by voiceover or monologue narratives presented by said figures to my consciousness, for whatever reason. Who they think I is, thay God or some shit?! WTF!?!? or they just like buggin' my sorry ass?!

namaste

Stormin' Inside and Weirdness Out . . .

2011-11-11T20:47:00.000-07:00

Whimsickle days and nights, like a storm at sea (or at least how I imagine one would be, and indeed hope never to see first hand) or experiencing a tornado (which I have indeed). Internally battling things I scarce understand and have only a semblance of a conscious grasp, real enough and true have been the tumult and terror I've come to know, trials and threats subtle and overt too. Interdimensional, or at least layered facets of maya manifest to my eyes with no doubts, indications I've been travelling to aboves and belows as well as earth-bound. Changes to the exterior reality my eyes see show me there's no doubt of my transit-state situation, work that's included spirits passing through me, leading me one way then another, responses certainly appear tourettes syndrome, blinking, gestures sometimes mudra and sometimes throwing punches into the air, neck-cracking, jaw-popping . . . even yoga whilst sitting on the shitter. More strenuous and taxing than any officially recognized employment or under-the-table work I ever done . . . and lemme tell ya, so far the pay sucks!!

People outside my body responding and playin' out this play or dance or battle, too, even to my thoughts display direct connection to this weirdness I've seeming had need to deal with, coughing gesturing and words spoken in time nd response to what passes through and what I do in response to this practiced cycle of bizarreness, this samsaric craziness, this work of transformation to protect and heal and deal with life and death and ills needin' dealt with, or least so it seems. Alterations of maya (i.e., "reality" my eyes receive and ears do hear) quite substantive, and no doubt done by some other mind than mine.

Bridging gaps or tuning reality, battling ills or demons or tough love healin' souls cryin' for help . . . yoga yes, if not one makes a body feel good like asanas and sun salutations generally do. And though I've no doubt I'm not alone in these tasks of transformation and gots plenty of allies, I've never felt so alone yet lacking solitude in all my life. Maybe soon enough I can get back to those sorts of sadhana and bhakti done out of devotion and not desperation. Hopin's done some good, and pretty sure, 'cuz sure ain't been fun travels and playful hippie-style trippin' I been up to or down and dirty doin' these days of late. Hope I can soon return to free-givin' light-hearted lovin' and let go need for hate and Hara-style duty, back to dharma done in play and peace and no more trishuls flung and fire let loose to clean the scene.

namaste

Me Sailboat . . . AAARRRGGGGHHH!!!!!

2011-11-10T11:49:00.003-07:00

Rondout waterfront Kingston, New York . . .

2011-10-25T16:12:00.002-06:00

Just For the Record

2011-10-17T15:25:00.000-06:00

For the record, I am currently in Kingston, New York at Hudson Valley Traders coffeehouse. The date is Monday October 17, 2011. Perhaps a bit paranoid, though likely not, I want to make certain I maintain some degree of a record as to where I am and when.

I also want it to be known I am more than sympathetic with those occupying Wall Street in NYC (though I believe this coffeehouse is on a street called Wall Street, too), and may or may not make my way down there soon to join the protest against social and economic injustice and against the United States wars of imperial aggression.

namaste

When Does All This Become a Good Ol' Fashioned Protest Against Unjust War, And for Better Living Conditions for the Poor

2011-10-03T19:09:00.000-06:00

I missed the so called "Battle For Seattle," though have comrades were present. Was at a May Day March in Portland, Oregon one year when we marched around town peacefully, no altercations with the cops, and gathered at a May Pole. Marched against war with a large contingent in Santa Fe several years back, though was a peaceful procession so far as I observed and for my part. Once watched a very mild altercation between forest cops and Rainbow Tribe hippies, shanti-sena styles. Dunno that I would handle well being peaceful when seeing injustices enacted upon peaceful protestors, and also I have yet to discern the precise point of the protests--though I should note I find a resonance with much I hear quoted. If there is proceeding a somewhat concise statement of what this protest is precisely protesting and meets with my wish to see this prolonged war to cease and green jobs and other help for the poor, justice brought regarding social inequities and corruption in government and big business, then I might have to catch the commuter train to Manhattan. Then again, don't want to see and likely feel obliged to respond to police abuses of the people they s'pose to protect. Good to recognize where one's presence is more beneficial to the cause. 700 arrests thus reported sure as hell indicates to me a breach of Constitutional rights, regardless of the protests purport. Plan to hold a sign against the wars goin' on on tenth anniversary of Afghanistan invasion if in a town and not on the riverways hereabouts. Blessings on those who still choose to stand up and make their voices heard, and blessings on democracy, liberty and justice. Hoping fully this populist uprising brings home a good point and this moves across the country in such unlikely places as OKC. Long live liberty and justice!!!

namaste

Navaratri Nights and Days Awaiting the Weather

2011-10-03T13:00:00.000-06:00

She is Nine and More, Beautiful and Terrible, Mama Destroyer, yo!!!! She knows how to rock da' house, chill the vibe, She is Perfect Yogini, Divine Dancer, Slayer of demons, Beloved of Nilakantaka, Golden and also Black as night, Pure and Great Mother, Daughter of the Great Mountains and Mother of the Universe . . .

I am Hers to do with as She wills, laying myself before Her unabashedly devoted to Devi Durga.

Namaste

2011-09-24T21:32:00.000-06:00

PARALLELS MIRRORS AND SUCHLIKES . . ..

2011-09-09T21:40:00.000-06:00

JEFFREY'S BISTRO IN LARAMIE, WY

MAIN STREET BISTRO IN NEW PALTZ, NY

Interpretationz

2011-09-09T12:15:00.004-06:00

Gotta wonder at that interpretations others receive and sometimes misperceive(?) of the meanings of signals they might see in my actions and comportment, specially-wise as I do not exactly present a concisely and indelibly translatable persona or easily discernible self-representation; likely no less seems some've woven their own rather bizarre webs of signification and designation, to complicate the situation . . .

namaste

Tensions of Kama, Dharma and Artha . . .

2011-08-24T18:21:00.000-06:00

In the midst of endeavors to acquire a floating shelter, tensions and possibilities, a lila of love play, manueverings and dance moves, posturings and foreplay playing out as I try this tenuous set of scenarios to meet best ends: beautiful fruition of love and tantra, transformation and compassion simultaneous manifest to make the best of a crazy milieu.

She shows Herself hither and thither, sometimes close and sometimes in glimpses at a distance. Durga the apropos name for this sort of play, though Mahamaya too is Her Person expressed in faces of lovely ladies daily pass by and catch my eye or elicit desire, tempt and test and tease. Yeah, She's somethin' alright, more real than the day-to-day yet not not extant in mundane things.

Taut betwixt wild desire and nonattachment, or perhaps playing those perimeters at their extremes, and between showing myself properly devoted to Her various forms and formations and performances of Her multifaceted Person and multiplicity of roles Divine. She is, after all, Navdurga and then some, Nine Avatars and many more, Sakti Primal Feminine Beloved, Beautiful and terrible sometimes too.

To try to meet some semblance of attention to Artha, the pursuit of so-called worldly matters whilst keeping my devotions to Her Pure and True is doubly tasking and intense. Hopes and intensions manifold balancing, Nataraja styles see?! To attend to matters of money and food for this body, holdin' the line for those properly protected and blessed, keepin' the vibe right (though not "as opposed to left"), and attending to Her in devotions true, no easy chore nor uncomplicated endeavor. Keeping me busy and on my toes, I suppose . . .

namaste

(Still pending post: "Krishna, Jesus's Hero and Role Model")

2011-08-20T14:22:00.000-06:00

I know I said my next post would be about Krishna and Christ, however decided to post this:

Next post: "Krishna, Jesus’s Idol and Role Model . . ."

Brahma's Boy Abe and Tube Steak Tips . . .

2011-08-14T17:28:00.002-06:00

History is important. To forget the past, though not ensuring its repetition as the adage contends, does mean lessons which should have been learned will be lost, that wisdoms of past generations or ages will not be available to help solve problems of today. To intentionally obscure or alter the historical record proves even more potentially disastrous, and lies, institutional and otherwise, foment dysfunction whether immediate of deferred.

So here’s the gist of the truth of one extremely current and pertinent issue which has been quite intentionally obscured and hidden and striken from the historical record and especially from the curriculum taught in schools from grade school through graduate school, a tale twistedly told in history books and Sunday school classes which has been edited to no small degree to hide certain very pertinent truths:

So there was this dude called Abram, later known as Abraham. He and his crew came out of a place called Ur of the Chaldese sometime around 1900 bce, according to his descendants record of it. This is about the time archaeologist contend was about the end of that very advanced early civilization known as Indus Valley Civilization and Harrapan Culture (3500bce-1900bce). The land he came from was largely Hindu (though that particular term didn’t come about till much later), and he was seemingly named after the Creator aspect of God in that land, who was and is called Brahma, or some derivation of said Deity’s name. Abraham married this chick named Sarai, who is clearly analogous to Saraswati, Consort to Brahma. Brahma and Saraswati, Abraham and Sarai, get it?! Sarai had a handmaiden named Haggar who Abraham fucked and made pregnant ‘cuz Sarai seemingly couldn’t get pregnant. The Arab people claim descent from Haggar’s son Ishmael. According to the scriptures of India, there was at one time a river named after Saraswati, and a tributary to this river was called the Ghaggar River. Ghaggar, Haggar, get it?! The records regarding Brahma and Saraswati and Ghaggar most definitely predate the time of Abraham and Sarai and Haggar. In other words, the founding family of Judaism and of the Arab people, Abraham and Sarai and Haggar, were Hindus, practitioners of sanAtana dharma as “Hinduism” is more properly known.

According to the Old Testament/Torah, Abraham finally knocked up Sarai when she was ninety years old. After his son was born, Abraham’s god told him to take his kid out into the desert and kill him, according to this tale told. Upon preparing to kill his son Isaac, as this tale’s told, Abraham’s god provided a ram to take the place of his son to be slain, and then Abraham was told by his god to cut of the end of his dick (i.e., circumcision) and to do the same to his kid and to all the men and boys of his tribe, and supposedly this constituted a covenant between Abraham’s crew and their god. Kinda a weird story.

The likely true mythological origin of the rite of circumcision: Brahma, Creator aspect of the Hindu Trimurti, Himself a created Being, got kinda bored one day after workin’ hard at the manifestation of creation and decided to create this really hot chick. Brahma then proceeded to lust after her, chasin’ her around and tryin’ to get it on with her. Brahma even grew a fifth head to continue to gaze upon her as she sought to evade his lustful gaze. Well, Siva then shows up, who is the Destroyer person of the Trimurti and is not a created Being, i.e., is the always has been and always shall be eternal Divine. He sees what ol’ Brahma’d done and he says to Brahma, “Yo!! Wassup Brahma?! Listen here boy: that pretty mama you so skillfully created, since you made her, she be your daughter, DUDE!!! That means you can neither fuck her nor lust after her, yo!!” and with a swift motion cut off Brahma’s “fifth head” with the fingernail of his pinky finger (think of the “Freudian” connotations). In other words, Siva cut off the foreskin of Brahma’s cock. In anthropological terms, the rite mimicking this mythic act would be called an incest taboo rite, a reminder, at least in the inception of the practice if not in the later mythic explanation, that you don’t fuck your own daughter. The aforementioned myth is given as one of a few myths tells why Brahma, the Creator of what us humans call “creation,” the earth, etc., is not much worshipped in India and has only few temples built to Him. My rendering of the Hebrew version, writ down hundreds of years after Abraham’s days: some Jewish mother got ahold of the myth and said, “Oh god!! We can’t tell our little boys that’s why they get the end of their pee pees cut off!! We have to think of something nicer!!”

next post: Krishna, Jesus’s Idol and Role Model . . .

Traced Lines and Sparse Returns . . .

2011-08-13T19:25:00.000-06:00

Cycles and returns, a madman yearns . . .
Approaching six years past I sulked about the streets of New Paltz, hopes of a love true seeming dashed, a journey's endeavor crashed and burned, my contenance downturned and once Self-realized and well practiced yogi's awareness scattered if not shattered.

Not so fresh from Montreal where precious months were spent with someone I scarce knew from years before, and am still not so sure was precisely or entirely the same one as her whose dance sublime entranced, humbled and inspired this fool to seek beyond the pale and shallow presentations of so-called concensus reality, to believe in the possibility of transcendence and beauty not merely a facade, pervasive perfection, Divine Feminine taking Form, and to believe in my own potential to meet such sublimnity with a commensurate perfection of myself. I wandered these streets and sipped coffee to stay warm as the winter approached, begging for my breakfast and endeavoring to gather my wits and sense of purpose after hopes seemed to fall flat.

Still are a few around town from those days, some even recognize me. Still battling a malaise and struggling with a milieu that seems to have roots in other stories than merely my own, ones seemingly had influence on my life at least in moments even when I felt quite whole and self-determined, but which seemed happy to latch on to my coat tails even when I was down and out. Bits and pieces channeled which tell of webs of relationships, treacheries, betrayals and love stories, ills of humanity and insanities, and hopes maintained if misguided to find something better.

My last journey out this way traced a line around two-thirds the contiguous country look alot like the outline of the lower 48, as you can see:

This was not of any semblance of my own conscious intention, as I was merely trying to survive and to maintain my sanity as ties to my friends and loved ones seemed a narrow thread, and to what I had known as reality (if one psychedelically informed and fantastic already) had been again inverted or twisted or otherwise made askew.

Now on a journey was intended only to be to Colorado and back to Wyoming but's taken me from coast to coast, and now back to this quint hippie town in lower upstate New York, I gotta wonder what's the purport and where's the point.

New Paltz roughly means "New Land," but has the homophonic connotation of "new pulse." Indeed a fitting place to have ended up after heartbreak, and to return to perhaps to check for a heartbeat after mine seemingly blown to pieces by a shotgun blast whilst sleeping facing down and covered by a tarp and blankets on a hillside in Chattanooga, Tennessee, and after a disheartening return to the town most has been my home in this lifetime lived, the Gem City called Laramie, Wyoming.

Seems things are coming to some semblance of denoument, if upwelling ill ease and tumults still played out. Don't imagine I'll find my own peace fully restored till a proper return home, or till I sail away from this bizarre and twisted tale and thus sever bonds to yet more twisted stories lived and perhaps untold.

Well, enough for now. For a full account of my last epic misadventure aluded to herein (rather more eloquently told, I might humbly contend), you'll have to wait till Meemories and Musings of a Post-Postmodern Nomadic Mystic Madman is accepted and put in print by a willing publisher's press.

namaste

Samsara and New Lands, Space and Time Not Undefined

2011-08-11T12:11:00.000-06:00

Seems a cycle of experiencing windin' down, comin' 'round to some semblance of satisfactory reasonable denoument, back to a balance better . . .

Don't mean to be ego-centric in my writings, I just feel what I'm best at telling are those things I experience as an individual experiencer (if sometimes not unalloyed an "individual," as my experiencings have shown in recent times, other somethings sometimes infitrating and interfering with myself and Self properly expressed). Not much good at writing fiction, thus. Though I have plenty of empathic sensibility and awareness to be aware of "others," my endeavors to write of supposed others, ficticious or "real," tend to fall flat, two dimensional at best unless telling of my first-hand experiencings with them, observations and intuitions regarding their persons and personalities. Introspective contemplations best suit my abilities to compose tellings and retellings. In a sense, I feel it might be presumption to write beyond such a subjective perspective, leastwise for me personally.

Returns to New Paltz, New "Land" from the German "Phaltz" (Great Grandmother on my father's side bore the middle name "Newland" which I believe may have been her maiden name), a theme's been subtly played in my mind's meeting with other minds this journey. Supposedly or seemingly a fiction(?) presented me is that in possible interdimensional travels is that those places I've been where things seem a bit out of the ordinary is a result of these as "new" places, constructed within the manifold matrix of maya as if not there before, and perhaps not the same as the same states (i.e., geographically defined regions; of the fifty United States) to other living beings. At least this New Paltz seems to maintain some of the same figures I met here when here before, five plus years ago. At least approaching a dozen or more faces familiar, and some acknowledge remembering me from that journeys soujourne here at the foot of the Shawangunks. In other words, at least I am in the same/connected/contiguous dimension from that previous journey, despite seemingly having been murdered at least once since and having possibly done some interdimensional transit otherwise. Reassuring, when other things indicate a lack of continuity from the past, friends who don't seem to be the same people quite as the one or ones I knew in years past, some who don't recall things they ought and bear altered visages and energies in relation to my knowings of them from before.

Indeed, space-time and samsara are not always the cut-and-dried linear things we might like them to be, and indeed "reality" certainly not the easily definable and quantifiable set of conditions comforts most in their day-to-day. Though I have remained mostly undisturbed at some certain signs and indicators that things ain't what they says sometimes, like realizations I've seemingly been killed with shotgun blasts and bullets, yet continue to abide despite some symptoms have arisen, pains and odd poppings, some of the seeming discontinuities have thrown me for a loop, no doubt (else perhaps these are continuities with other storylines less prefered and less pleasant and thought left behind). Hints and clues, regardless, which indeed manifest in such things as place names, words o'erheard, seeming random eventimentalities and signs sometimes writ on the wall or a billboard even. Takes keen observation to denote, and makes me wonder what Sallinger's character really meant by the phraze "goddamned phonies" (though I never read the book), maybe indicating those were not really who they were presenting themselves to be, "walk-ins" as some call such, etc.

Mostly what bugs me about the discontinuities is that there's certainly some who I wish to maintain ties with, friends endeared to me for whom are no acceptible substitute, beloveds I've a desire to keep connections to abidingly. Don't mind a bit of whimsy or a sometimes whimsickle reality, as psychedelics and states of practiced meditation have trained me to accept. Outright undue breakages of reality and continuities and those things counter to the abiding Nature of Reality and Self, denying brahman and Atman, are those things I cannot palate and refuse to digest.

This return to New Paltz perhaps moreso than my last return to Laramie even is a return to that place and head-space ancient and abiding, maintaining continuity to the Self I found by years of mantra meditations and devotions, connections to others real and tribal styles, earthy and believing in the good is and shall overcome the illusions of evil and suffering, in favor of true bliss, Rta Ananda and suchlikes.

namaste

Ramblin' And Readin' The Road, Ridin' the Tides and Flows As I Go, Survivin' Storms . . . And Stayin' Fed to Boot!!

2011-08-09T15:42:00.000-06:00

New Paltz is one of those havens from environs less kind to kind travellers, long hairs, freaks tattooed and/or wearing jata in their hair, sistas wearin' paisley and tie died, india print skirts--and some brothers wearin' the same, grungy crews rollin' through with sometimes spontaneous gypsy concerts hap'nin' on the corner, and you can get a breakfast special for $2 that'll fill your belly full.

The Main Street Bistro's breakfast special's been a staple for many a would-be starving student/artist/musician/mendicant wandering hippie or gutterpunk, young or old transient soul finding themselves lingering in this lovely hamlet gazes up at the heights of Shawgunk Ridge. Two eggs or tofu ($1 extra for the vegan/no ovo-veggie version), home fries fried just right: a tricolor of white, brown and just the proper proportion of blackened potato peels subtly seasoned a 'la diner-style perfection, and two slices of toast slathered with butter and jam, $1.95+ tax. Plenty of $2 NY style pizza-by-the-slice for dinner (didn't they used to be bigger, though? or was I smaller then?), but the real treasure for the impoverished soujourner or passers through is the Bistro Breakfast special.

Coffeehouses, generally more vital to the vitality of a community--leastwise of the sort I'm talkin', are more plentiful here than before, or seems to me at least. The Bakery was host to me many mornings and afternoons when last I was through this town. Cheap but tasty bagels as well as other baked pastry delights, and a pleasant courtyard with ample seating make for a good start to the day. What was the Coop (kinda a Green Party Coop) which served only drip coffee, became ___something else___ and is now "/root," a computer repair biz'/coffeehouse with pay-what-you-may styles. CafeTeria ("T" capitalized for disambiguation, and not as reads on the sign) coffeehouse is a big open space with high-ceilings and a loft, burnt sienna embossed metal ceilings reminding of the antiquity of this building, black trim and a rather dreary mauve prevail where bare brick's absent, and eclectic 70's vintage furnishings from couches to easy chairs and artwork that bespeaks of corroded metal, whether literally crafted in a metalic medium or paint on canvas or cardboard. The nigh gloom and nigh gothic ambiance of the place is quite comfy for burying one's face in a good book or crouched over an illuminated screen and keyboard in the corner, typing a term paper or existentially anxious novel.

The street here is lined with iconic shops and restaurants reminiscent of the still hippie ways prevail here years after the days when Janis or the Grateful Dead would play impromptu shows for the throngs of mostly education students hangin' out at SUNY New Paltz hoping to change the world through rock and roll, peace, and the right teachin', plus some share or other of the weed and wildness and sometimes psychedelic education techniques of sixties counter culture. The Groovy Blueberry and various more or less head shops, hippie boutiques, tattoo parlors and bars, restaurants of varied fare and stoops aplenty to accommodate New York stoop sitting culture complete the picture of life on Main in New Paltz. Not some retrospective, mind you, nor wistful reveries, the hopes and ideals became prominent in the days of the first big concert at Woodstock still animate activity, art, music, organisations and activisms here next to the far northern reaches of the Appalachians Mountains where meets the edge of the Hudson Valley region.

Despite my appreciation for my location here and now, am intent still upon sailboat dreams and shelter from the weather found on the seas, else a return to where I've most known as home this lifetime around, Rocky Mountains high and Wyoming bound. Good to know, though, and be reassured there's yet enclaves and bastions maintain the groovy chillin' vibes of hippie, punk and other alternate flows to the officially sanctified culture of capitalist consumerisms gone amuck, and said consciousness most often even holding official reigns, as the Green Party showings at the polls here display.

namaste

New Paltz Respite

2011-08-02T17:36:00.000-06:00

New coffeehouse in New Paltz since last I was here, nigh six years ago. Other than that, much the same as when last I was here, even some faces I recognize, also seemingly unchanged. Definitely one of if not my favorite town in New York. Ithaca's got its charm and its gorges, Rhinebeck's quint, Poughkeepsie's got a cool name and a nice riverfront; ain't been to Woodstock or those other upstate hippie towns, and of course NYC is in a category nigh all by itself. New Paltz is still holdin' on to its hippie past and keeps things fresh, punks and other freaks, too, mind you.

I am indeed a counter-culture-phile, largely 'cuz they are generally composed of individuals, despite the stereotyping. Not that a businessman or woman can't be a deep, self-expressive and interesting person, is just that those are fewer and farther between and not so easy to pick out in a crowd. Freaks can hang out without the sense they are missing the boat, generally love music and dancing, whether whirling about in a hazy daze or moshing in a pit of roughhousing mohawks and pierced noses, cheeks, and every other conceivable part. Don't have anything particular against other subcultural genres, whatever the current ones might be, hipster, emo, or whatever, just endeared to the clear responses to the system's ills expressed so eloquently by flowers stuck in the barrel of a gun, grafiti on the wall proclaiming no rulers o'er the people, both well thought out peaceful and raucous replies to the ills of capitalism, neocolonialism and the war machine. New Paltz gots plenty o'that, and a steady supply of college kids comin' in to maintain.

New Paltz also had a Green Party mayor and city council last time I was in town. Haven't checked the current local political scene, but I am inclined to believe the people's still representin'. Healthy food and lifestyles (even if sometimes including indulgent drinkin' on some fronts), good live music and fair trade wares abound in the downtown, nearly all locally owned and operated. Happy to be in a pace like this, if but for a week or two. Reminds me there are indeed plenty plan for a progressive future and a world where people and environment find harmony, self-expressive and beautiful.

namaste

NYC Today . . . Contemplating Towers Fallen and Other Unnecessary Sufferings

2011-07-30T12:00:00.000-06:00

Hangin' out in NYC today, after Charleston's mosquito plague was too much, and the lila continues. Rolled in last night, a brief layover in DC. Ridin' the rails all gentile styles, tickets instead of hoppers or container cars still. Wandered from Penn Station through West Village, though missed the right part and ended up all the way down by the WTC. Sat and contemplated those events, weighing in words spoken to no one in particular the particulars of events transpired nigh ten years ago, balances of deaths and lives impacted. Must state, I ain't no terrorist, though sometimes a subversive and not averse to destruction due, and have compassion for those who hurt for losses of loved ones and who suffer pains physical and psychic. That much said, gotta note, two towers fell were emblematic to no small number, and not just those of Islamic disposition, of economic and cultural exploitation of much of the world for the sake of few. Though I more than tend to believe t'was an inside job, regardless, and designed for further gains of those already benefiting from the economic arrangements fomented by those institutions emblemized by the WTC, if were not such an act of seeming intentioned self-sabotage, intrigues and espionage, smoke and mirrors and such treacheries, is a statement of the ill nature of the way world trade's been done, either way.

Whether scheming neo-cons or foreign nations felt their culture, economy and lifeways been unjustly overtaken, is telling emblem that the balance's has been off-kilter, wealthy nations using their power and wealth to gain more without regard to indigenous peoples' lifeways and functional traditional economies, cultural integrity and wellbeing generally, gone to a degree of injustice somethin' had to break on this side of the U.S. borders. What of course makes it the more unfortunate is that this fall of tons of steel and concrete and glass, structures overtly upholding the status quo of neo-colonialist exploitaiton and policies of greed bringing undue and unnecessary suffering to literally billions of poor people, workers, and peasants in the so-called Third World, was then used to excuse further exploitations and violences, not to mention the erosion of those liberties and that justice made this nation great and worth defending in the first place.

Ain't sayin' nothin' ain't been said already, just noting contemplations I was pressed to make by being misguided past the coffeehouse search and to the site of a terrible occurance, an occasion nigh ten years ago that regardless of purport and intentions of its planners points to more terrible things indeed: mothers told Coca Cola's good to feed their babies instead of milk or formula, farmers land usurped to raise Burger King beef, healthy families and cultures torn if not shreded by consumer desires and capitalist culture's means and modes, ghettos where once were villages, pavement or polluted wastelands where once grew fruit and locally raised food and forests, millions and millions living in disfunction and poverty who once lived well enough in community and in concert with the environment, "poor" but well nourished and integrous.

In light of such things, and insofar as not interconnected therewith, my personal malaise and twisted scenarios surrounding my own path seem slight--though hard to remember that when extreme pains being inflicted, mind assaulted and faculties of memory, motor function and volition been similarly colonized and exploited. Anyhow, may it be that said injustices, both macro and micro, be mended, and without the need for further destructions, pollutions, and violently delivered "wake-up calls."

namaste

Pirate Ships and Wacked Out Tautologies

2011-07-28T14:30:00.000-06:00

Hard to live one's life when volition and motor function, states of waking and sleep, exterior realities and others responses are influenced as if by a spell or prewrit script or program; other wills, other minds, desperate and grasping, selfish and inappropriately enabled pressing predisposed and preposterous posturings, plans, plots and schemes, conflations of their dreams and someone else's days and nights.

Is this what I get for pressing the cardboard facades of the purported consensus reality? for questioning the shoddy and shitty answers offered by church and state? for letting others know what I have discovered to be the real scene and story? for demanding integrity not only of myself but of life and reality?

Almost enough for me to contend it ain't worth it to endeavor to seek truth. Almost enough for me to say it ain't worth it to be legit, to stand against injustice and lies. Almost enough for me to conform. No, not even close!! (Not that I'm askin' for more of said shit, mind you . . .)

Used to be the lila of life, the ironies and twists of fate played out were mostly cool, playful, entertaining and cause to laugh, directed towards wisdom, dharma, and clearly for greater good. Guided to Rainbow Gatherings in the forest, meditations on ocean shores, desert sunsets and all night revelings, festivals and fateful meetings with magical people in likely and unlikely places, and nigh all with some coherent theme, contiguous and maintaining continuity, befitting some semblance of sanity and good guidance even in the midst of psychedelic states, mushroom trips and travels down roads unknown--or perhaps most in those states and conditions.

Decided to stay in a hotee (hippie/gutterpunk speak for motel/hotel) last night, get cleaned up for the train trip I thought I was gonna take today, north and to New York and hopefully ditching (appropriately and safely disposing of/recycling) some unwanted baggage appended to my life story and being by some as yet undisclosed other(s), hoping to find my way back to freedom and appropriate manifestations of maya. Dropped my packs and purse and turned on the tube, flipped through the channels and stopped on a documentary about a shipwreck salvage. Queen Anne's Revenge, Blackbeard's famous vessel, run aground off the shores of North Carolina after a daring blockade of Charleston Harbor, where I happen to be. Yeah, missed my train 'cuz despite setting my phone's alarm for three times to sound, I only woke to turn it off once. I'm supposing some of my unwanted "baggage" turned it off for me the other two times . . .

A bit "ironic" I came here looking for a sailboat, and first television show I watch (other than downloading/streaming a few episodes of Weeds and The Simpsons) is a program about a pirate, in fact the most famous of pirates, blockading the very harbour where I sought a boat. This show was not on a local channel, either. Btw, my high school mascot: a pirate. Blackbeard is likely the figure after whom Brutus of Popeye cartoons was patterned. Olive Oil a figure I've connected (whether rightly or no) to a friend from my hippie heydays. Analogies go further, but I'll spare the details else my subtle plane Vedic scientific reasoning, or rather interpretation of someone elses reasoning, will start to sound like the rants of Professor John Frink, the wacky scientist on The Simpsons. Indeed, the absurd connections, wordplay and excuse for rhyme and reason employed in the tautology has become obfuscatively apparent to my weary eyes and faculties of reason and analytical perspective is just that twisted and bizarre.

Though more than mildly an inconvenience, a torment, and torturous misuse of my time, mind and energies, I suppose I might learn some things about the nature of reality through these absurdities and fucked up excuses for lila. For one, various modes and channels of maya's manifold subtleties, mind's varied expressions, and deviations (though I do not mean devi-ations, necessarily) become to whatever degree revealed, largely despite whatever intentions of those presenting these plays of mind and maya.

Attachments pressed upon me have made these things the unpleasantries they have become, and all the more unbearable as I have experienced that state wherein such attachments are not any part of me. From what I can ascertain, what has been done is something like a force union, a twisted conflation of my self with who knows how many others and their shit and attachments. Alloyed from childhood, attainment of moksha, then alloyed again. Worse than waterboarding, though not an inapt analogy. I suppose if is for true betterment of humanity, protection of the innocent, and appropriately timed transformations according to sanAtana dharma and Rta dharma, I can accept, though will find my way back to that state of unattachment, purity (though not puritanicalism, mind you), and some semblance of peace or more properly shanti.

Sorry to complain, but painful is an understatement, annoying more than slightly litote to hyperbole. Oh well, I do still believe in justice and that there is purpose to even the most seeming ridiculous of life's plays, especially for those whose intentions are good and true, and so seems a certainty these unpleasantries and absurdities have some good fruit to bear, if not already manifest unseen and subtlely.

Goddamnit, I just wanna get on my pirate ship, score some booty and sail away!!!

namaste