Author: writtencasey

All is right and all together now.

Dear readers who know the 2 things—please do not spoiler it for the dear Readers who do not wish to know. The same way you might come to understand some folks be harder to wake up than others.

I effing hate waking up and I effing hate people who do not hate waking up (at least while I’m waking up).

I’m from the dirty South, bible belt, farthest state from the Mason Dixon line in which you can find yourself.

It’s like this.

Jim from the starred place above.

My clan comes from LA. My family transplanted to AL and are like the neuvo rich, but more accurately, my Tribe would refer to it as “neuvo [upper]middle class.”

Labels are paradoxical: just as likely to make the clumsy end his own life as it is likely to save the life of a different, yet also clumsy man.

My Tribe called my Quetzal-style of writing pretentious.

My bad (if you feel the same way, that is).

“Pretentious” is not something members of White Suburbia or the PanPublic like to be described as.

Apologies, here i offered you something (the 2nd thing for Readers who know the 2 things) and Ive rambled far too long without making good on it.

Readers who dont know the 2 things, you will inevitably infer (deduce) the 2nd thing if you continue reading. I feel that I, your Scribe, confess this sooner than later. Please understand that this is the inexorable way of Story–the Tao of Word. I’m leading you through circular ruins and shrub mazes, to a point that you fear Reader, and I your Scribe will inexorably find ourselves.

This is the nature of Prose.

We will perform the famed Algerian Boot Strap trick together. My tribe calls such phenomenon, generally, “magic trick” or “illusion” and they are performed or inacted by Magicians and Illusionists.

What you and I will do, dear Reader is Magic but it is no trick.

There is nothing to fear and nothing to doubt and I anticipate you being in suspense as you wait for reality to bear this out.

I demand nothing and this will make the Dummy want to give me everything. Butill gladly refuse everything and accept nothing until you ask

Dostoyevsky said: at first art imitates life, then life imitates art, then finally life takes it’s very existence from art

d/crib/e

D/e/s/cribs

1. This is a circular and open confession to the public in general (the PanPublic).

2. This is my attempt to tell you, dear reader, a story. To scribe.

Some dont look kindly on the GBG, calling it a substitute for the arts, and that the players are mere popularizers; that they can no longer be regarded as truly devoted to the things of the mind but are merely artistic dilettantes given to improvisation and feckless fancy.

The master does admit that undoubtedly the game has its dangers.

OUR MISSION IS TO RECOGNIZE CONTRARIES FOR WHAT THEY ARE: 1st of all as contraries, but then as opposite poles of a unity.

Master says the artistically inclined delight in the Game because it gives opportunities for improv and fantasy.

Each of us is merely one human being, merely an experiment, a weigh station. But we should be on the way to reach THE CENTER NOT THE PERIPHERY.

REMEMBER: ONE CAN BE A STRICT LOGICIAN OR GRAMMARIAN and at the same time full of imagination and music. One can be a musician or GBG player and at the same time wholly devoted to rule and order.

The kind of person we want to develop, the kind of person we aim to become, would at any time be able to exchange his discipline or art for any other.

He infuse GBG with crystalline logic, and grammar with creative imagination. That is how we ought to be. We should be so constituted that we can at any time be placed in a different position without offering up resistance or losing our head.

The call happened at 16, I think. He experienced the call to his vocation. The master and Joseph made a fugue.

Then Knecht went to Escholz and upon graduating received an INVITATION to visit the master, the purpose being to commend meditation to Joseph,BUT THIS INVITATION WAS NO LESS IMPORTANT ITSELF.

A distinction, that he was well thought of, that his superiors expected something of him.

HE HAD BEEN GRANTED SOME INSIGHT INTO THE INNER SPHERES.

If one of the 12 Masters summoned a pupil at his level to come so close, that it was NOT just an act of personal benevolence.

WHAT A MASTER DID WAS ALWAYS MORE THAN PERSONAL.

I was reading the preamble aloud and made it to p6–discusses the soul knowing there is something in the higher spheres.

Immediately reminded me of the dream I must have had two nights ago. I awoke at about 4a.m. in a state of disempassioned bliss. I knew I had hoped to return to whatever I had been while I slept. I had no recollection and none has crept back since which is uncharacteristic of me–I’ve gotten good at recalling dreams up to 48 hrs after having them. The memory of dream will look in my attention like a song and I’ll think, “oh yeah” that is what I dreamed about. Not so with this experience. There is no saddness at not remembering. Just stoic bliss, gratitude, and an authentic hope I could return to the place I went in the dream.

Do more breath work in nature. No sidewalks. Find a trail nearby. Feel the gravity’s work on your body with each step.

Meditation memory: bioluminece? went red, shots of white light flying from the grounds up.

I was in prayer posture and had image of great pendulum with me in the resting point. Some great black machinery whirred and whirled and whipt the birds whir in a circle around me.

Watch the episode Alchemists Secret of a show called Father Brown. Note how Ambrose is the alchemist in the prison.

Everything—– ‘the’

Every/r/hing——–/y/he

Dear Don Jose Ruiz,

THANK YOU! I feel best with music in my head too. You said you were a big fan of the Beatles—ME TOO.

I was singing “I am the walrus.” You know the line, “i am the egg man. You are the egg men, they are the egg men, i am the walrus–co co ca chu.

So strange. Then another song sprung to my mind, specifically a line:

The time has come the walrus said and little oysters hide their heads. My Twain of thought is loosely bound. I guess it’s time to Mark this down.

Dispassion is Inaction.

The repose of respite.

I’ve walked for 1.5 hrs each day practicing my breath.

Last night in my almost asleep state, I saw the outline of a window with a person sillohetted. I believe it was orangish, but cant be certain.

New Breath Practice

Inhale– transfer your attn from one chakra to the next. Concentrate on each like a glowing ball, in turn, on one

Inbreath—-do luminous beings hold breath, turn eyes upward.

And, as exhaling transfer your attn down your spinal chord and repeat

Notes on 28 day Sobriety

6/17/18

12 Dyson no soda only h2o and coffee

12 no 5 hr energy

10 consecutive no Jane or ale

About 8 days no meat

Day 11 1 beer ; about 3 bowls ; 1 whiskey ; lots o’vape

Day 12 2 bowls ; Cape in a.m.

Notes from Sat 6/16

Felt good but wanted to feel Great

@lunch had Boiler Maker and Badger Burger

Started vaping at 4pm

Smoked 3 bowls

Walked 5 miles to music

Began sensing how to in-/exhale through one nostril.

Felt wings (of fire at times)

Breathing out, pushing energy through my feet into earth

And inhaling to pull telluric energy into me from earth.

Breathing to music while high was a beautiful and much more effortless affair than it is without music.

Read Tears and Laughter by Khalil Gibran. Cried heartily and notated each section as a prayer in remembrance of others.

We should be mindful of everything, for we can interpret everything.” The master said.

“Imagine the progress of the music as a dance, a continuous series of balancing exercises, a succession of smaller or larger steps from the middle of an axis of symmetry, and to focus your mind entirely upon the figure which these steps formed.

Try again to track down the music; pay attention to the figure.

But dont force yourself; it’s only a game.

If you should fall asleep over it, there’s no harm.”

Silicon’s went out and looked for flesh and blood

But they were younger and dumber.

What they wanted was to be seen

And see.

Make the scene empirically.

Like all young idiots at bars and halls, how can you know your place and worth if nobody can see you?!

How can you be you without other people informing you how to act?!

The kids have read little and compared even less. Stringency is not their forte.

God save the queen

Found on 1st page of dictionary