. . . silence of my moment consume me?

091215 06:24
Why can I not simply let the silence of my moment consume me?
Why now, before the first and best Christmas of my life, do I belabor the meanings of it, and the inevitable Easter to follow?
The cycles of time are now meaningless to me, and my oblivion precious, a wealth beyond any treasury in life.  Astonished that I yet live when I presumed my life should have ended long ago. When you befriend, accept and love yourself, oddly wonderful things begin to enter into the ordinary of you day. The measure of one’s life is the value of being fully conscious of others and yourself in context--dancing. To flog dead dogs is pointless. When I meet death walking and talking I allow the Author to take over and know that all is well. The meeting and greeting merely Emily Post civility.
Maybe, perhaps, maybe not, that is why original sin is so beguiling . . . no longer amusing or bemusing . . . it seems my simpletons conviction “fear” is our greatest waste in life.
“Evil”
“Sin”
. . . equate as follows; Evil is waste and fear wastes life.
Speaking, of and for myself, I know better both qualities as choices denied. Of rage, mayhem and destruction these violence's have I inflected upon myself . . . yet I live? . . . Why?
I oft times glibly project/imagine metaphors of fantastic destruction making “God’s Wrath” a joke. Save in retrospect, I am shown that it is I who did that to the other, and I am guilty, convicted and executed in abject humiliation.
My extremes never allowed the experience of the antipode. Grace, love, mercy, forgiveness is oft times the most impossible gift to receive, inconceivable to accept. . . .Why me? What for? At what cost does one receive such gifts?
Overwhelmed and rendered inconsequential dust easily blown/flown away.
I paused from my breakfast of sweet black coffee and the umpteenth, whatever, cigarette, stomach shrieking and fed the birds. I adore greeting the dawn’s loom with gratitude now remembering Christmas’s past abhorred. I know it is a silly thing to mention but upon the horizon I saw a flock of White Wing Doves wheeling in unison--a smile upon my lips.
Rage is the antipode of love and describes the height, width breadth of one’s being both.
Thank God, God is far more patient than eye.