100114 09:50
I have been unfaithful to myself, wallowing in the pain of arthritis, ignoring the ongoing process/progress of ordinary life.
In all things we can celebrate sorrow and joy, each a part of ourselves becoming whole revealed as we are becoming complete.
In silence I approach the ideal-idea of what I want to write, the page a blank page describing eternity, vastly different from the frame of a photographic lens through which I first discovered the nearness of God in Haiti; so long ago and never forgotten.
I ask your prayers for them--and yourselves--since their poverty, long standing, is so like mine when last there and even now embraced; and ours without work, our world in flux. How else could Jesus enter in and be for me a friend walking the streets of Haiti then and now that so many are lifeless and hopeless--helpless?
The interval between the ideal and real is actually very small, more nearly a membrane, a sort of blindness--an illusion.
Live, love, dance and sing as though life is eternal while holding the truth of death in each day potential.
Well do I remember my helpless rage against the deaths of both children. Now reprised in the silence of the child of my heart adopted, now become an adult and a parent herself.
I feared, eventually, that my rage against God would be like that against all else, everything that I would destroy in revenge until I became fully aware that the reason could have been exclusively attributed to myself; the source of their disease and death. Humiliated with my rage, I could then no longer exorcise it against anyone or anything and in that helplessness were the seeds of what I am now sown.
In crisis, as inevitable change, I am at peace. But also filled with empathy for those who suffer so obviously in their experience of pain, death, disability and hopelessness. I give such as I can--and more so--but most of all I listen for clues given me, what they want and need.
We can be for them a small part the heart, eyes, sense and will of God for them and with grace for ourselves in this day--now where eternity begins anew. The gift of our prayers is this; we learn the wisdom of knowing what we can change, that which we cannot. And the serenity of knowing what is physics indwelling from the beginning of creation. What we can generously be, do and give towards healing the world and ourselves.
We learn to respond to reality and no longer be victims of fate or life; reactionary. Faith, hope and charity as love given defines our sense of being real.
Note--Please continue . . .
. . . I have been derelict during the past few days. Add to which I tend to post “from top down.” There is more below in chronological sequence, if you are interested, starting at the 8th of January this year.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Self-Knowledge for everyone incuding the dummy writing this
100112 05:14
Journal keeping has been a primary healing commitment for many. A few have become famous for the effort but the purpose is to become whole and in process towards the full potential of your self--whatever that self wants to be.
It is now obvious that I personally need to go-as-far-as-it(I)-goes. Furthermore that my motives, once thought insanely excessive, was considered personally important for C. G. Jung as well.
Recent activities have lead me to realize that I not only edit whatever I read but additionally analyze everything in process; experiencing difficulty staying “on message” and usually writing my own novel in process, if in fact I am reading one at the time. My analogy is witnessing the process of making movies thus I am generally unable to enter the flow without deconstructing the process technically. That said I now realize a new dimension; being hyper-vigilant, I tend to give all weight to the author of any experience; intent, message, body language et cetera. In a sense I am deconstructing my psyche both in this journal-ling process and in the ordinary of my life experience.
It is now much easier for me to see a feasible transition/departure point between fact and fiction or poetry.
My ‘problem’ is common to all people, yet what is uncommon in me is my growing self-respect and that to whatever end is implied or suggested--in addition to a longing to help/heal others like myself who are/were taught they had no brains and no life worthy of love or attention.
“17:28
Gravid with light the days grow distended with organic promise, the longest tumid night of depression fled. My spirit soars towards the next longest day another annual to live. My soul doth magnify life lifting all with me towards the future confident the sun burning away the tears of mankind; the indwelling spirit magnificent.
Journal keeping has been a primary healing commitment for many. A few have become famous for the effort but the purpose is to become whole and in process towards the full potential of your self--whatever that self wants to be.
It is now obvious that I personally need to go-as-far-as-it(I)-goes. Furthermore that my motives, once thought insanely excessive, was considered personally important for C. G. Jung as well.
Recent activities have lead me to realize that I not only edit whatever I read but additionally analyze everything in process; experiencing difficulty staying “on message” and usually writing my own novel in process, if in fact I am reading one at the time. My analogy is witnessing the process of making movies thus I am generally unable to enter the flow without deconstructing the process technically. That said I now realize a new dimension; being hyper-vigilant, I tend to give all weight to the author of any experience; intent, message, body language et cetera. In a sense I am deconstructing my psyche both in this journal-ling process and in the ordinary of my life experience.
It is now much easier for me to see a feasible transition/departure point between fact and fiction or poetry.
My ‘problem’ is common to all people, yet what is uncommon in me is my growing self-respect and that to whatever end is implied or suggested--in addition to a longing to help/heal others like myself who are/were taught they had no brains and no life worthy of love or attention.
“17:28
Gravid with light the days grow distended with organic promise, the longest tumid night of depression fled. My spirit soars towards the next longest day another annual to live. My soul doth magnify life lifting all with me towards the future confident the sun burning away the tears of mankind; the indwelling spirit magnificent.
recommended for your consumption
100110 05:08
When a friend recommends a book or film unequivocally, which in turn had been recommended to them with equal, if not greater vigorous praise, I feel compelled to attend. So my friend Dave, a fellow run-a-way form the middle-class environs of Connecticut, found ourselves with last available seats, front row, in a 3D version viewing of “AVATAR.”
I have no regrets, forced to lay upon my back, sans 3D glasses, too narrow to view the wide screen so close to our noses.
I found myself in tears of praise and joy. Indifferent the choices of others viewing in silence, while I laughed, solo, at the plot progress of another run-a-way becoming a real person.
Hope is difficult to find, then cling to in times of crisis. There will be a future after all. And it will exist despite the depredations of greed manifest in this iconic and mythological film.
Least I fall further in love with the film and my ‘deathless-prose’ regarding it, I hasten to add that it appeals to all generations reaching from our time forward and backward to the voiceless, will to adapt, improvise and prevail in the human spirit. Rather I should emphasize the spirit of Life it self to see truth and light in spite of those who would otherwise enslave and or kill it.
Of particular interest is the joining of male and female principal’s courage to move into and engage the right to exist on one’s own terms. Though heroic and epic in nature I sense that every individual witnessing the process will long remember it as applicable to their individual lives in the here and eternal now.
For a few moments I wandered the splendor of Wikipedia seeking reference points to develop my celebration of this singular film further. The issue of ‘sin’ became my departure point since I believe it better referenced in the film than I can forge in this limited space. There are many references critical to current choices to deal with issues dangerous to our collective future within the film that are more than adequate to the task laying in our laps.
“Only the dead know the end of war” --Plato
1001114 --afterthoughts
Dave also recommended to my attention: “NOTHING BUT A SMILE” by Steve Amick. It is a novel of impressive iconic dimensions worthy of reading again and again. I was moved to realize within its pages a penchant for analysis that had previously fractured my attention in reading anything including the Bible. I make reference this since unlike most mediums, which I have professionally viewed the making of, I was drawn ineluctably into the novels flow. This novel drew me into a conspiracy with all former concerns, and or conceits/conclusions, regarding my parent’s generation and ours. I often found myself in tears of joy over the love affair described within and will for ever more rejoice the sincerity of lovers become friends more profound than most “Chick Flicks”, a genre that this obviously is not. I have no defense for my ignorance all the wonderful new communications of hope. It seems I am impelled to make up works and constructs of my own to describe what I hope the future will be. I will confess that I was, from beginning to end, tempted to simply abandon all attempts at communication from then forward. Feeling totally eclipsed by the mastery of both recommendations.
When a friend recommends a book or film unequivocally, which in turn had been recommended to them with equal, if not greater vigorous praise, I feel compelled to attend. So my friend Dave, a fellow run-a-way form the middle-class environs of Connecticut, found ourselves with last available seats, front row, in a 3D version viewing of “AVATAR.”
I have no regrets, forced to lay upon my back, sans 3D glasses, too narrow to view the wide screen so close to our noses.
I found myself in tears of praise and joy. Indifferent the choices of others viewing in silence, while I laughed, solo, at the plot progress of another run-a-way becoming a real person.
Hope is difficult to find, then cling to in times of crisis. There will be a future after all. And it will exist despite the depredations of greed manifest in this iconic and mythological film.
Least I fall further in love with the film and my ‘deathless-prose’ regarding it, I hasten to add that it appeals to all generations reaching from our time forward and backward to the voiceless, will to adapt, improvise and prevail in the human spirit. Rather I should emphasize the spirit of Life it self to see truth and light in spite of those who would otherwise enslave and or kill it.
Of particular interest is the joining of male and female principal’s courage to move into and engage the right to exist on one’s own terms. Though heroic and epic in nature I sense that every individual witnessing the process will long remember it as applicable to their individual lives in the here and eternal now.
For a few moments I wandered the splendor of Wikipedia seeking reference points to develop my celebration of this singular film further. The issue of ‘sin’ became my departure point since I believe it better referenced in the film than I can forge in this limited space. There are many references critical to current choices to deal with issues dangerous to our collective future within the film that are more than adequate to the task laying in our laps.
“Only the dead know the end of war” --Plato
1001114 --afterthoughts
Dave also recommended to my attention: “NOTHING BUT A SMILE” by Steve Amick. It is a novel of impressive iconic dimensions worthy of reading again and again. I was moved to realize within its pages a penchant for analysis that had previously fractured my attention in reading anything including the Bible. I make reference this since unlike most mediums, which I have professionally viewed the making of, I was drawn ineluctably into the novels flow. This novel drew me into a conspiracy with all former concerns, and or conceits/conclusions, regarding my parent’s generation and ours. I often found myself in tears of joy over the love affair described within and will for ever more rejoice the sincerity of lovers become friends more profound than most “Chick Flicks”, a genre that this obviously is not. I have no defense for my ignorance all the wonderful new communications of hope. It seems I am impelled to make up works and constructs of my own to describe what I hope the future will be. I will confess that I was, from beginning to end, tempted to simply abandon all attempts at communication from then forward. Feeling totally eclipsed by the mastery of both recommendations.
A lifetime lost outgrowing being white, middle-class and from Greenwich Connecticut.
100108 01:34
Life is defined by elementary factors: race, creed, gender, education, age, and so on. These identifying elements are accepted, taken for granted, seem fixed, immutable and life a seamless continuity. Yet as life is consumed these roles become blurred, worn, with experience, and birthdays no longer celebrated. We move past our vocational definition either accepting or rejecting retirement. Our enhanced or diminished capacities integrated into the ordinary of daily life.
I think myself increasingly odd growing younger, and more vital, daily. Eccentric perhaps but I find joy merging into the flow of other generations to follow and those that preceded mine. It helps to ignore the bruises and contusions normal to we fortunate enough to live long aspiring to become wise, sages, to ourselves and others?
Questions from youth are answered, dreams realized and lost, expectations become more modest; simple. Food, shelter and clothing no longer sought as remarkable status symbols--whatever/whichever--is adequate the long cold night to come at winter's advent.
Decades it has taken me to outlive the curse cast in adolescence. A lifetime lost outgrowing being white, middle-class and from Greenwich Connecticut.
Depending upon which side of the railroad tracks you are from, it is one of the three wealthiest communities in the world. Rich, wealth sought for its own sake, means many things.
And to my family it was, I believe, never fully acquired. Remembered best was the quest, the longing hunger and thirst for wealth as safety. The pretense and delusions of grandeur, choices made at savage cost, loss of moral and ethical norms, now lost as the democracy of death closes/closed upon the past generation, a culture ruptured and civilization in collapse.
Now poor I merge into my neighbors, a community of the elderly, without hope of reprise. Yet I celebrate my estate reflected through their infrequently visiting children, grandchildren, younger siblings, a reason to praise the advent of each new day with thanksgiving the gift of life now. Each day become a season and generation of wealth precious, unique and explicit the value sought and prized.
It has been unusually cold here, where I live fled to escape the dreary winter of my youth, lately past. Passing into a new dawn surprised in the peasant dead celebrated by succeeding generations of their kith and kin in New & Old Mexico. I am now one of, and with, them gladly so. Since now I know the meaning of three steps forward and two backward in my skipping journey into whatever lays ahead knowing life and love will go on if only in prayer.
Life is defined by elementary factors: race, creed, gender, education, age, and so on. These identifying elements are accepted, taken for granted, seem fixed, immutable and life a seamless continuity. Yet as life is consumed these roles become blurred, worn, with experience, and birthdays no longer celebrated. We move past our vocational definition either accepting or rejecting retirement. Our enhanced or diminished capacities integrated into the ordinary of daily life.
I think myself increasingly odd growing younger, and more vital, daily. Eccentric perhaps but I find joy merging into the flow of other generations to follow and those that preceded mine. It helps to ignore the bruises and contusions normal to we fortunate enough to live long aspiring to become wise, sages, to ourselves and others?
Questions from youth are answered, dreams realized and lost, expectations become more modest; simple. Food, shelter and clothing no longer sought as remarkable status symbols--whatever/whichever--is adequate the long cold night to come at winter's advent.
Decades it has taken me to outlive the curse cast in adolescence. A lifetime lost outgrowing being white, middle-class and from Greenwich Connecticut.
Depending upon which side of the railroad tracks you are from, it is one of the three wealthiest communities in the world. Rich, wealth sought for its own sake, means many things.
And to my family it was, I believe, never fully acquired. Remembered best was the quest, the longing hunger and thirst for wealth as safety. The pretense and delusions of grandeur, choices made at savage cost, loss of moral and ethical norms, now lost as the democracy of death closes/closed upon the past generation, a culture ruptured and civilization in collapse.
Now poor I merge into my neighbors, a community of the elderly, without hope of reprise. Yet I celebrate my estate reflected through their infrequently visiting children, grandchildren, younger siblings, a reason to praise the advent of each new day with thanksgiving the gift of life now. Each day become a season and generation of wealth precious, unique and explicit the value sought and prized.
It has been unusually cold here, where I live fled to escape the dreary winter of my youth, lately past. Passing into a new dawn surprised in the peasant dead celebrated by succeeding generations of their kith and kin in New & Old Mexico. I am now one of, and with, them gladly so. Since now I know the meaning of three steps forward and two backward in my skipping journey into whatever lays ahead knowing life and love will go on if only in prayer.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)