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Monday July 2nd

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  • andrew macnab
    ... I do not claim to stand over, nor be under someone s standing, as reality is only no other, under which to stand or sit. Over easy, Dan ... Sun, 01 Jul
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 3, 2001
      >Yes, I take no stand under what you don't understand.
      >Ed :)

      I do not claim to stand over,
      nor be under someone's standing,
      as reality is only no other, under
      which to stand or sit.

      Over easy,

      The following is from Wayne Austin's The End of the Search list:


      Sun, 01 Jul 2001
      From: hrtbeat7@...
      Subject: San Francisco

      "There's that cool Street Fair & Jazz Fest today on Filmore
      in San Francisco!" Barbara reminded me, and so off we went to
      the City by the Bay. After 2 hours of traffic and parking, we
      were eventually within 8 blocks of the actually festivities,
      which is pretty typical for a weekend in San Francisco. Once
      there, we encountered about 40,000 fellow souls grazing the
      tented booths, bandstands, and concessions spread out over
      about a dozen closed-off blocks, and I flashed on Thierry's
      recent visit to the Forum des Halles. After the requisite
      stop at Starbucks for Chai, we meandered along with the
      throngs on a lovely sunny Saturday in the city of my birth,
      which I had only returned to a year ago after 25 years in
      exile on the darker eastern coast of this continent. A
      pleasant hour of browsing and hand-holding had passed when I
      felt all the loud clamor and boisterousness of the festival
      suddenly die away, and as I looked up, a very tall and
      striking black man was bearing down on me, and what I heard
      now can only be described as a low but growing mesmerizing
      chant-like sound, and it seemed to be emanating from this
      Rasta-Sufi dude who had walked right up to me by now, from
      out of the crowd, and stood facing me. Our eyes were locked.
      The sound was blowing my mind! His lips were not moving, but
      the chant grew louder still, and then Barbara was tugging at
      my shirt, but I was frozen on the spot, and so she muttered
      "Oy Gevalt – there he goes!" and wandered over to a sweater
      booth. My cells were now popping like corn kernels in a
      cooker, and that ecstatic thrill of going up in flames was
      rushing through my nerves. Eventually, I found my voice and
      asked the guy: "What IS that?" He was quiet a bit longer, and
      then looking away, started on with something about The Violet
      Flame Mantra, and bring it into ourselves, and something or
      other, but I interrupted: "No – What Is This?" He paused, and
      returned my gaze again, and then his voice became like
      velvet, and he said: "I am Jahmaal Usamah Tafari Israel, and
      I Am That I Am". And then with his huge eyes growing
      impossibly huger he asked: "And you?" Without pausing to
      think I replied: "Yes, That!" And yet, behind my words, there
      was only silence, now, and then that Silence reached up with
      my arm and placed my hand on his heart, and simultaneously,
      That reached up with his arm and placed his hand on my heart.
      Do even angels enter heaven through this doorway of Love? If
      so, it must be in the City of Love!

      Ah, San Francisco –

      You haven't changed that much!

      John, are you familiar with What Book!?:


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