If you want to entertain your mind every once and a while with romance, I think you can! You should be free to entertain your mind so, I say. I think that I should too.  At least I think that way.  In all freedom I think I freely do. For it is the mind’s freedom that is truly the basic human right that no tyrant can in any wise trample into conformity.

We all should free our mind instead as the Beatle once in melody said. That seems quite healthy to me.

The challenge, though, I think, perhaps, is in being watchful over that mind/body connection.

For, of course, a goodly part of the entertainment value is that exquisite pleasure that rings wavelike through the body’s sensors and tickles them into such a fine frenzy fancy afore receding so sweetly into the quietude of serene aftermath, sweet sharing of the intimacy. At least that is to some integral part the romance of it.  What otherwise would be the point of romance?

Fine then.  We should entertain our minds, and we should enjoy the healthy pleasure of such entertainment from time to time.  We will get it anyways.  Just otherwise it’ll be confined to our dreams, sooner or later to manifest as psychic forms of imbalance and mental disturbance, damn the damming dam.

If it can flow through the mind as entertainment and be taken and appreciated as entertainment of the mind, there should be no harm in that.  Especially if we can just let it go.  Nothing to dam up, I think. Nothing to retain. Nothing to get damned about. It is significant and not merely mere illusion, though, to let physical ‘romance’ get stuck in the very physical body, even in the physical part of the mind.  All of this is worldly delusion. (The literal physical world, that is.  Maya, it is so-called).

I think, too, it is good advice that you not fall for the (Maya) delusion of possession.  In either form.  That is, don’t get attached to the bodily sensations (even of the bodily form of the mind) to go on to think of possessing that which makes you feel that way.  Romance gives way to delusion of ownership then. It gives way to some delusional game of kidnap and ransom, tradability, market value, property rights, & and anon, i.e., all other forms of Maya delusion of things of this world.  And don’t forget that second form of possession, the idea that you have sinned, that you are possessed by some second-physical phantom demon who controls your desires and your wants and who taints any relief or outlet you might get from this damnable damming of dams.  Don’t be a worldly-bound Maya delusional damsel of distress.  Don’t damn yourself into fear of Maya delusional world-bound cause and effect because you’ll fear yourself right into the tyrant’s con game:  you’ll be controlled by the tyrant and you’ll not be free.  There is no pleasure nor romance in that.

Or so I think and so I think I said.  So might I advise?  No!  Think for yourself.

I am in no hurry.


It will come.



In the meantime within these mean times, I gift freely & with an adept flair.

I was musing on the subject of people squandering love as I was walking about on the dew-slicked and fog-slicked pavements of the Spanish Creole architectured [sic] (architextured?) [sic] French Quarter end-using unexpected free time on my hands on an unexpected office holiday which felt and still feels unearned , , ,

 . . . Thinking I was, as I said, musing, timeless, masked and distant in the dregs of the third wave of a global pandemic that no one in the red-state surrounding this blue oasis seems to have taken seriously.  It has seemed dragged on timeless, lending more time to time that seems to hang out of time and tocks onward uninterrupted and unsteady, slick with condensation.  All because not taken seriously, in or out of time.  Help is coming all too late, one day late.

My walking was like my syntax above.  Free from constraint, not caught up in time.  Nothing to get hung about.

I recalled how I (and I assume we) have withheld love from one who hasn’t shown the proper or proportionate love or respect in return.  I (and I assume we) have grown only to resent that I (and I assume we) have been put in such a position of not loving what I so desired (and felt deserved) to love.

Funny how misunderstanding is so fundamental and integral to the human condition.  Not ha ha funny either.  Not ha ha funny at all.

But, then I thought, suddenly, Grinch-like, maybe love means a little bit more.  Maybe love is something that is improper to withhold.  Maybe love, like perception of the universe, is different to each individual that deals with it.

And it is true!  Because love is not something physical at all.  Love is a spiritual thing.  It doesn’t have human form and isn’t held to human conditionality.  It cannot be contained or exchanged or earned or won or lost or gained or lost.  It truly cannot have anything to do with exchange value.  It is not insurance.  It is not a bargain.  It is not a steal.  It is not a good deal.  It is not even a treasure.  It is not a possession.  It is not a prize.  Certainly it is not a trophy nor a mark of achievement of any kind.  It’s hard, I know, not to think of love as something physical.  For one thing it stimulates all of our physical and physically related impulse points and feelings – even the ones we deem the higher ones:  the comfort, the security, the general feeling of well-being, of belonging, of – dare I say it? – being real, in the sense of the Velveteen Rabbit, of course, is how I meant it this time. 

Unreal!  You and me are telling me.  This is absurd.  Of course love is physical and real.  Absolutely everything in this physical universe is all there is.  It is all real.  Don’t let some new-age spiritual (not religious) kook convince you otherwise. 

Except that it isn’t.  Real is spiritual.  Real is eternal.  Real is unseeable, unknowable.  You don’t even have to agree with me or believe me to make it so.  You are entirely free to exist for real in your real physical world in your free country which enjoys all its freedom — (courtesy of past, present, and future military service) — within the real world of the real physical universe.  Be a realist.  Go ahead.  And go ahead and be convinced that the physical delight of love is a manifestation of reality of love.  It’s somehow sacred too in its marital form, as opposed to the very dirty, very selfish, very anti-God version it might otherwise be “expressed” in out of marital (or out of heterosexual, God forbid!) state.

And it’s kind of tempting to agree when real experience is all we seem to know.  It’s very tempting to the point of manifest total inability to resist thinking, seeing, knowing and believing that the physical world is all there is, finite and limited and won or lost, comically  or tragically, depending upon one’s tendency to disposition or upon one’s circumstantial occasion of experience.  It is all limited by time, all one-shot, all death-ended and terminal.  All we can do is fear the consequences and/or position ourselves to be saved (not, technically, by our “works” or by our doing at all, to be sure).

But what if it’s not?  I say it’s not.  And it doesn’t matter what you or I say.  It is what it is and it’s not what it’s not.  All is eternal energy of creation in ever now motion.  We can all wait for you and your appointed and/or anointed descendants to prove it wrong. Knock yourself out.

So love, I am sure, is a spiritual phenomena belonging to the real eternity and it is as a purpose of creation.  It is manifest in the Kingdom of Heaven which is now and which no one can disprove nor prove and which is regardless of any organized or individualized belief system or thought control.

As pleasing as it is to rub off another’s physical body according to sexual preference and susceptibility to seduction and beauty and power-tripping and all manner of physiological psychological warp, wax, twist, and wane, love is not physical.  It is not necessarily physically expressed, no matter how convinced we are to justify the ways of God to man, woman, person, camera, tv.  It is not a thing that can really be withheld or squandered.  We have no business holding memories or grudges or frustrations, resentments, or even pleasing masturbatory recollections of any way, shape, or form of  À la recherche du temps perdu.

So forget all of that musing in the fog.  What I do is to love unconditionally and to be more and more of a loving being moment by moment and making the most of everything by sharing love in the non-physical form that it truly is.  It does help make it so much easier that I have also grown very old and have been sufficiently physically satisfied in my day to the point where I don’t feel any need or urge to rub myself off on another’s physical body for fleeting pleasure which I then attempt to treasure by means fair and foul.

Meditation and spiritual development have helped in this or have rendered me obsolete and unphysically loving, perhaps.  Convince me otherwise, then . . .

The Holy Nām, The Light of Creation, Eternity . . .

I don’t want to test it or prove it or tease it out

I just want to appreciate it and to live it out in continual moments of now

I never thought that I’d turn out to be as happy as I’m seeing that I am.

And it is not what you’d think: I’m not happy with being successful, or with having achieved such and such, having attained such and such, having won acclaim or love or anything else from any one else.

No, it is a deeper, quieter happiness, akin to my earliest memories.

In my earliest memories I was a spiritual being. I was as is. I glowed with being and I remember indigo light.

I am.

Very . . .

. . . happy to be so into being!

When you look within and see

A space as vast as that without

A beyond imagination expanse of universe

And galaxies uncountable points of light a’swirl

In endless timeless movement, mysterious as the night sky above

You sit in the sound current of peace and experience ever now

Within is without and all is shared and the harmonies of peace are one

If what you are devoted to is not of or in true spirit being your devotion is misplaced.  If your devotion is in any way split between the seen and the unseen, compromised in any way, contingent at all, or by any ways or means clinging to the physical, it’s errant.  If your devotion is of, about, and/or in the physical world, i.e. if it is an “object,” it is an idol.  False too.  Plain and simple.  It is no matter of any significance how much prestige your object of devotion affords you.  The value to you of your object of devotion is of no consequence or worth.  It matters not how esteemed your object of devotion might make you feel.  Nor how rich and powerful.  In the true eternal time-obliterate scale of the spiritual Realm of Wisdom it is temporal, fleeting.  Misplaced as well. 

Keep your devotion square in the center of serene eternity.  That is real treasure laid in worth.  Unseen as it might be for the literal moment, no matter how long such a literal moment seems to drag into approaching infinity, it is not eternal. Keep your devotion where it is kept forever! Keep the course! Keep in good spirits! Play for keeps! In worth, it is truly worth; truly eternal.

[This brief information came out of a BLM discussion elsewhere, under another identity, hence pertaining in a localized way strictly to the United States of America.  It has been upgraded and expanded to universally applicable axiom for this forum]

You may, “Christian”, earnestly make a diurnal expression of the religious affirmation that you are no better than anyone is.  You may believe it and/or practice it.  You may go the more radical dogmatic extra mile and believe that you are a depraved craven piece of shit but for the arbitrary ‘Grace of God’.

If, however, you – in your “Christian” heart of hearts – consider any other culture (with or without the skin-color marker) to be depraved, craven, and lacking God’s grace (for not believing this too or for believing in another religion — or some reasonable or unreasonable facsimile thereof) then you are nothing more than a severely errant depraved, craven piece of shit, abusing the grace even as you presume to appropriate it, in a most deliberate and selfish way.

P.S. That was written with a density that is deliberate. Especially pertaining to that impossibly lengthy last ¶/sentence. My apologies.

For real is there. Always listen for real. Then talk.

the secret to it is not needing it in the least