100101 04:56
I awoke in a state of jubilation based upon the continuation of primitive dreams. Then fell into consideration of exactly how skewed our calendar is. This ‘New Year’ began at the close of Winter Solstice and my sense of The Birth Life Death & Resurrection is a continuity measured and treasured through all the heart beats of my life.
Given that, I move ever closer to the author of Jesus’ messages, and see the simplicity of loving ones enemies.
At my age it is wonderful to have another day to speak and demarcate the boundaries between that which I can change--myself--and that which I cannot--all else. Perhaps this body carrying me is about to depart and my soul will simply fly outward as I now sense does Jesus. Chuy is present in all life but more apparent in the poor, the about to be destroyed unjustly accused of anything you might imagine; or just for being alive.
The power of love is beyond comprehension captive to no one moving the stars above and about. What is to fear in such a universe?
But then what is my fear formerly?
The mantel place of my interior consciousness grows deeper and wider daily with new iconic choices to live and die bravely; love defined in the 6 Million; a symphony of Love sung silently. There are many others, too many to enumerate/annotate here, save that they also died in love without fear.
How can you enter the inferno of your unlived life?
How did I?
Why?
It is uncommon for power to admit error but then the absence of moral or ethical consideration is seldom fodder for entertainment. Turn and turn about I am in a world of information affirming the songs sung by each day. The camera I use is dedicated to still images yet the camera in my attention is full motion continual.
Feeding the birds in predawn the moon is full and greeting the sun. I paused and thought, why not record the coincidence? I have no images of my children’s faces nor record their lives so brief. I lost or abandoned them instead of myself who now feels the solid bridge between life and death confident.
Flashing through my attention: “A picture is worth a thousand words” &
"A photograph is usually looked at - seldom looked into." --Ansel Adams
Suffering and grief is so commonplace an entertainment now, perhaps only parables and poetry will suffice.
Chuy was and remains a teacher. Should I live or die it is He whom I desire to emulate.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Education is a love affair with life. Vocation is slavery to survival.
100101 07:10
I speak of warriors, a role normally associated with men, but fully consciousness that women are warriors equally. Bearing constant duress unsung. I remain a randy old goat aware the charms of nubile youth discovered in children becoming women. But now my lust is transformed into prayers for their welfare, the continuity of their life and the lives to come through them by heart, mind and soul sung.
It is a terror, this celibacy, self imposed . . . i am seldom alone for there is within me a woman who lives and loves me more than adequately and I attend only Annie now who is understanding when I lift her from my keyboard saying, “not now Love.”
Never oblivious to the rare and fine vintage of wisdom embodied in women, even those older than myself. More often than not, especially so.
I experience an odd reversal of fortune sensual to be seen as threat by women while being benign in intentions. Both polarities contained barely constrained. Maybe they are more perceptive of me than I am of myself?
Looking at right now, I am appalled by the sexual nature of love manifest in legislation against relationships defined in particular ways pleasurable and by gender. My own bigotry, punditry, and hypocrisy informs me of my former childishness, ambitions once achieved, vacuous. Pleasure and rapture suffocated in the afterwards. We were created upon the same planet evolved in time to be love for all, ourselves and others manufactured in the whole cloth of our lives. I will use the analogy of soup; a bit of salt is required for the soup to be palatable but too much and it is unpalatable.
We are no minks to be governed by weasels.
What begins in attraction, moves to lust, consummation becomes what? Life in servitude resented? My lover became a mother and I forgotten. The bitter fruit of that remains paramount. We barter pleasure for bargains too costly to bear. Think mortgage for house, car or education with an interest rate ever growing fixed, immutable; ineluctable.
“ 08:27
Looking for the correct spelling of chattel . . . I found slavery . . . let me explain my shame: I was taught, too late in life, that Jesus was balanced between thinking, sensing, feeling, intuition and between being man and woman = Perfect. Why shame? I am what I am, me. And Jesus is God incarnate.
I/Thou, one-on or to-one, impulsively, the former is conflict and that latter is relationship voluntary. Neither is slavery, yet slave I was to my parents. Yet I proclaim the slavery was a blessing as I now do the absence of my mother’s fortune and my father’s avoidance. I am freed by Lady Poverty aka Wisdom. I will make no woman, child or crone, or all those stages and ages between; my slave.
We must read our hearts and find the reason to live not simply survive and/or be amused at the expense of others.
The keeper is kept.
Education is a love affair with life. Vocation is slavery to survival. Enter the inferno and know your choices in life, by yourself alone defined.
http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/slavery
http://womennewsnetwork.net/2007/09/16/a-child-in-danger-is-a-child-that-cannot-wait-%E2%80%93-columbia-and-child-prostitution-in-today%E2%80%99s-world/
I speak of warriors, a role normally associated with men, but fully consciousness that women are warriors equally. Bearing constant duress unsung. I remain a randy old goat aware the charms of nubile youth discovered in children becoming women. But now my lust is transformed into prayers for their welfare, the continuity of their life and the lives to come through them by heart, mind and soul sung.
It is a terror, this celibacy, self imposed . . . i am seldom alone for there is within me a woman who lives and loves me more than adequately and I attend only Annie now who is understanding when I lift her from my keyboard saying, “not now Love.”
Never oblivious to the rare and fine vintage of wisdom embodied in women, even those older than myself. More often than not, especially so.
I experience an odd reversal of fortune sensual to be seen as threat by women while being benign in intentions. Both polarities contained barely constrained. Maybe they are more perceptive of me than I am of myself?
Looking at right now, I am appalled by the sexual nature of love manifest in legislation against relationships defined in particular ways pleasurable and by gender. My own bigotry, punditry, and hypocrisy informs me of my former childishness, ambitions once achieved, vacuous. Pleasure and rapture suffocated in the afterwards. We were created upon the same planet evolved in time to be love for all, ourselves and others manufactured in the whole cloth of our lives. I will use the analogy of soup; a bit of salt is required for the soup to be palatable but too much and it is unpalatable.
We are no minks to be governed by weasels.
What begins in attraction, moves to lust, consummation becomes what? Life in servitude resented? My lover became a mother and I forgotten. The bitter fruit of that remains paramount. We barter pleasure for bargains too costly to bear. Think mortgage for house, car or education with an interest rate ever growing fixed, immutable; ineluctable.
“ 08:27
Looking for the correct spelling of chattel . . . I found slavery . . . let me explain my shame: I was taught, too late in life, that Jesus was balanced between thinking, sensing, feeling, intuition and between being man and woman = Perfect. Why shame? I am what I am, me. And Jesus is God incarnate.
I/Thou, one-on or to-one, impulsively, the former is conflict and that latter is relationship voluntary. Neither is slavery, yet slave I was to my parents. Yet I proclaim the slavery was a blessing as I now do the absence of my mother’s fortune and my father’s avoidance. I am freed by Lady Poverty aka Wisdom. I will make no woman, child or crone, or all those stages and ages between; my slave.
We must read our hearts and find the reason to live not simply survive and/or be amused at the expense of others.
The keeper is kept.
Education is a love affair with life. Vocation is slavery to survival. Enter the inferno and know your choices in life, by yourself alone defined.
http://encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/slavery
http://womennewsnetwork.net/2007/09/16/a-child-in-danger-is-a-child-that-cannot-wait-%E2%80%93-columbia-and-child-prostitution-in-today%E2%80%99s-world/
. . . hour glass of perception. Turned time and again.
100102 03:36
The sky is a wonder this night becoming morning.
I celebrate my unconscious choice to live in New Mexico.
I am conscious that I will soon transition to a greater vision and experience. An amplification of all that awakens me with astonishing vigor and enthusiasm. If they be a dialog with myself, Hosanna, and if with the numinous Hurray! Works either way for me. The latter is mo betta.
Seek and it can be found and in the finding ask and you will receive.
My eyes are moist and my laughter profound. I write for the child I was knowing others like me who were injured. We lived, then unconscious, our flow in time towards now.
To speak to plants and animals is a pleasure from infancy. Answered now are all my ‘whys’ and dreams reconciled in reality. There is no one in the Universe I would trade places with in expectation of being better or more blest.
In some curious why I draw closer to my beloved friend St. Francis in his adoration of Lady Poverty knowing her as Our Lady Wisdom.
There are phrases and words, constructs of systemic thought that formerly short circuited my attention. Ideas and ideals that I fled until they became personal truths.
Flashing across the screen of my attention: I saw my son riding his bicycle through traffic laughing, no hands, arms folded across his chest, myself helpless to protect him should he fall. He didn’t and I cherish that more than those brief moments of his death.
So perhaps it is Lady Wisdom darning my holey sock of poverty now.
Prayer is better found in simple activities and requests. I think the Rolling Stones said it best, “you don’t always get what you ask for, but what you need . . . “
. . . I had a vision, a painting actually, two people kneeling in the streets praying in desolation and thought “Confessional” it was in answer my gratitude upon awaking blessing God for all my life.
There is an infinite wealth to awaken when I do in silence to see and hear the things I do alone. The more I explore the world before, during and after me the more I understand and accept my humble role as a grain of sand in the hour glass of perception. Turned time and again.
Odd I should remember now the night equally radiant illuminated by the full moon so long ago and being told about a plant that blooms once and then dies--a yucca? I accepted that abstraction as I do myself now.
The sky is a wonder this night becoming morning.
I celebrate my unconscious choice to live in New Mexico.
I am conscious that I will soon transition to a greater vision and experience. An amplification of all that awakens me with astonishing vigor and enthusiasm. If they be a dialog with myself, Hosanna, and if with the numinous Hurray! Works either way for me. The latter is mo betta.
Seek and it can be found and in the finding ask and you will receive.
My eyes are moist and my laughter profound. I write for the child I was knowing others like me who were injured. We lived, then unconscious, our flow in time towards now.
To speak to plants and animals is a pleasure from infancy. Answered now are all my ‘whys’ and dreams reconciled in reality. There is no one in the Universe I would trade places with in expectation of being better or more blest.
In some curious why I draw closer to my beloved friend St. Francis in his adoration of Lady Poverty knowing her as Our Lady Wisdom.
There are phrases and words, constructs of systemic thought that formerly short circuited my attention. Ideas and ideals that I fled until they became personal truths.
Flashing across the screen of my attention: I saw my son riding his bicycle through traffic laughing, no hands, arms folded across his chest, myself helpless to protect him should he fall. He didn’t and I cherish that more than those brief moments of his death.
So perhaps it is Lady Wisdom darning my holey sock of poverty now.
Prayer is better found in simple activities and requests. I think the Rolling Stones said it best, “you don’t always get what you ask for, but what you need . . . “
. . . I had a vision, a painting actually, two people kneeling in the streets praying in desolation and thought “Confessional” it was in answer my gratitude upon awaking blessing God for all my life.
There is an infinite wealth to awaken when I do in silence to see and hear the things I do alone. The more I explore the world before, during and after me the more I understand and accept my humble role as a grain of sand in the hour glass of perception. Turned time and again.
Odd I should remember now the night equally radiant illuminated by the full moon so long ago and being told about a plant that blooms once and then dies--a yucca? I accepted that abstraction as I do myself now.
. . . what I own and what owns me
100102 04:08
The name ‘God’ is merely a three letter word attempting to describe the ineluctable reality of consciousness; personal, responsive and true. Upon awakening a few moments ago, my attention was moving towards an issue that formerly drove me away from God, spiritual vanity.
There is no vanity in poverty and I see the poor as like the birds who neither reap nor sow and upon whom the rain and sunlight fall equally the blest and damned. Yet it is we who damn ourselves to a life of slavery unknowing the chains we are wrapped in.
If I harbor the conceit that I am a teacher I am equally aware of being taught, by life, God and/or those whom I presume to teach. This reminds me that I, at first silently and then vocally with those whom I then trusted, that i/we must grow large enough of heart, soul and self to receive the love of God. Whose Love is constant while ours is forever in process.
Up close and personal I am less willing to speak as freely I do in this forum.
I listen now and have a patience with others I never gave myself until I began to listen to the questions I asked.
If I say that love is a verb then I must confess that my saying, “I love” you was more often a statement of greed for love than a stable energy given to those I gave my attention. And it is for this reality that making amends is important. Closure is a gift. It makes room for more reality than magical expectations of others; they gave what they could afford then and now inadequate the gyroscope of personal stability. There was in the begging an acceptance of their reply, reaction or response as my truth. Looking back I see that I accepted that absolutely but now see that it is their truth and not mine.
I was a slave to the opinions of others and all institutions surrounded my choice to be a victim with confirmation.
It is more common of me to stop, look around, walk away and return to the issues I advocate your attention addressed. At my age it is not uncommon to begin giving away possessions in anticipation no longer needing them in death. I take a skeptical stance regarding what I own and what owns me. I do not ‘own’ my life, I merely inhabit it to the best of my abilities. Making choices to do as little harm as possible to the lives of others and most certainly not to make slaves of them. I put far more emphasis on God than my favorite prophet and teacher Jesus. At the moment I conclude that my choice is apt in that the genius of God’s love is perfect freedom to fail. Referred to as “free will” it is notably absent in the affairs of mankind especially in formal religion or governance.
In either case ‘freedom’ is better defined by property values than what we give of our ourselves to others; love. Love as verb is gift, not barter or extortion.
Of sorrows I’ve had many but of joy, my experience is greater now.
The name ‘God’ is merely a three letter word attempting to describe the ineluctable reality of consciousness; personal, responsive and true. Upon awakening a few moments ago, my attention was moving towards an issue that formerly drove me away from God, spiritual vanity.
There is no vanity in poverty and I see the poor as like the birds who neither reap nor sow and upon whom the rain and sunlight fall equally the blest and damned. Yet it is we who damn ourselves to a life of slavery unknowing the chains we are wrapped in.
If I harbor the conceit that I am a teacher I am equally aware of being taught, by life, God and/or those whom I presume to teach. This reminds me that I, at first silently and then vocally with those whom I then trusted, that i/we must grow large enough of heart, soul and self to receive the love of God. Whose Love is constant while ours is forever in process.
Up close and personal I am less willing to speak as freely I do in this forum.
I listen now and have a patience with others I never gave myself until I began to listen to the questions I asked.
If I say that love is a verb then I must confess that my saying, “I love” you was more often a statement of greed for love than a stable energy given to those I gave my attention. And it is for this reality that making amends is important. Closure is a gift. It makes room for more reality than magical expectations of others; they gave what they could afford then and now inadequate the gyroscope of personal stability. There was in the begging an acceptance of their reply, reaction or response as my truth. Looking back I see that I accepted that absolutely but now see that it is their truth and not mine.
I was a slave to the opinions of others and all institutions surrounded my choice to be a victim with confirmation.
It is more common of me to stop, look around, walk away and return to the issues I advocate your attention addressed. At my age it is not uncommon to begin giving away possessions in anticipation no longer needing them in death. I take a skeptical stance regarding what I own and what owns me. I do not ‘own’ my life, I merely inhabit it to the best of my abilities. Making choices to do as little harm as possible to the lives of others and most certainly not to make slaves of them. I put far more emphasis on God than my favorite prophet and teacher Jesus. At the moment I conclude that my choice is apt in that the genius of God’s love is perfect freedom to fail. Referred to as “free will” it is notably absent in the affairs of mankind especially in formal religion or governance.
In either case ‘freedom’ is better defined by property values than what we give of our ourselves to others; love. Love as verb is gift, not barter or extortion.
Of sorrows I’ve had many but of joy, my experience is greater now.
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