100129 04:57
{Today is a demarcation between yesterday and today’s dedication towards a new direction/definition.}
“Jack Spratt’s 69 cent Guide to Salvation”
©2010 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved
. . . well guys I never asked to be born and obviously had nothing to with the name on my birth certificate so here goes . . .
I was “sawing wood.” What we, in my soon to disappear generation, called sleeping. And I had a vision in my dreams. It was a miniature scenario, sort of like a geode, something you could hold in one hand. Fascinating but too small and intricate to really see. So small it was sorta, kind of, like the City of Chicago in miniature. So I looked closer, then closer yet, and suddenly in the very center I saw two people on a handcar crossing a bridge on an elevated railroad track; what we Windy City dudes call the ‘El’.
Well folks I started laughing in my sleep and my smile lit up the darkness like the end brought to you by nuclear fusion and all my questions were answered.
My dad always seemed to need to be remembered as special. He was. Between us we had this madly rude, salacious and ribald humor about everything. God included. So at first I thought the other person, opposite me, pumping wildly away was dad, Jesus, or, maybe God Him/Herself. And then, low and behold I imagined Osama bin Laden and Mohammad . . . you get the picture. Don’t you!?
Railroad tracks always go someplace and they are always parallel; we are born, we live and then we die.
Right?!
What we do in life is, sorta, kinda, the energy we apply to moving towards the inevitable. And knowing myself--well--I know I’ve just been along for the ride for most of it.
. . . which reminds me of bridges I’ve crossed at 100mph + on my way to high school in daddies green Ford Station Wagon with the Thunderbird engine. It wasn’t that I was anxious to get there. I didn’t want to go there. No Sir! Didn’t want to live either. Oddly his best friend, and a guy I liked a lot, was killed there in a rear-end traffic accident: Route 95, bridge over the Mianus River Bridge, Cos Cob, Connecticut. The bridge later fell apart and killed three people in the river below. And now, come to think of it, I remember several other kids speeding away from the police, State or Local, who went in the drink as well before the defective bridge was installed.
I don’t know who is the greatest comedian, God or Life.
Long time ago I fell in love with a young woman who treated me with kindness. Nice looking girl, but not a ravisher like those you see in Playboy or the movies. We met in Haiti on a religious retreat. I was growing a beard at the time and it came in white; like I had stuck my face into a bag of powdered sugar donuts, I shaved it off. After all I was old enough to be her father but did not want to look like her grandfather.. Women, to me, are like a Greyhound Bus moving through the night and I’m a moth attracted to light winding up a greasy smear on their headlights. Whatever you want to call what you love, the other is more-or-less like that; Bang! Smash! Everything changes.. . . Disintegration.
I began a journal after my encounter. The primary motive was given to me by a cleric whose attention I sought to figure out why my life didn’t work. He said that there was a person who’d made himself sane by keeping one and so I began to write. . . .Some days as many as eighteen pages single space. I was taught, at any early age, that I was “too stupid to get in out of the rain” and other wonderful epitaphs like “you have diarrhea of the mouth” so most of what I wrote--along with everything else I ever created--is resting in a sanitary landfill in Naperville Illinois. Maybe dad was correct; I’m still writing.
--Josh Billings
"Be like a postage stamp. Stick to one thing until you get there."
Friday, January 29, 2010
. . . soars amongst the stars . . .
100128 05:41
Soar like an eagle
live like a dove
be love four squared
when you love give yourself
To know this in my dreams, what awakens and writes, still soars amongst the stars
. . . if I weep for joy it is no shame, for a person who knows death, knows life better. Your time will come sooner than you know it now, for you are held in the highest regard by the Author of Love;
We all are.
I do not write for you, or for me, but the source of light seeking us in the darkest, coldest frozen night. And I am but a paper match struck in the infinite mirror night sea covered with stars soon extinguished.
Regarding love, I was and remain, will always be, a Wild Child. Whose reverence for the Other/others is profoundly silent. Night en-kindled and burned luminescent. My love rejected, or welcomed, remains constant, since it is mine to give. We are love. Suffused in Love. Yet long for it from others until we love ourselves enough to know it now and definitively our own--given/received.
Attempting to understand the warp and woof, the spinning clay of this day, or iron of those in harms way disintegrated, I listened to the State of The Nation and following commentaries. What remains were a few comments, rude and salacious, regarding the mockery of us. We who voted and thought we were moving forward now slipped back into the mire of loss.
Everything is either political, theological or philosophical. Our value is ours to give and can never be measured by those who send us, or take our gifts, to their own power or profit.
Spiritually I stand in line for the showers/ovens of Auschwitz, in the night’s snow upon the mountain passes of Afghanistan; skull cap, helmet, or Swastika I become all persons enslaved to the agenda’s of those who purport to administer life and it’s meaning.
In my self I become love for others and through them The Other who created us equally.
Soar like an eagle
live like a dove
be love four squared
when you love give yourself
To know this in my dreams, what awakens and writes, still soars amongst the stars
. . . if I weep for joy it is no shame, for a person who knows death, knows life better. Your time will come sooner than you know it now, for you are held in the highest regard by the Author of Love;
We all are.
I do not write for you, or for me, but the source of light seeking us in the darkest, coldest frozen night. And I am but a paper match struck in the infinite mirror night sea covered with stars soon extinguished.
Regarding love, I was and remain, will always be, a Wild Child. Whose reverence for the Other/others is profoundly silent. Night en-kindled and burned luminescent. My love rejected, or welcomed, remains constant, since it is mine to give. We are love. Suffused in Love. Yet long for it from others until we love ourselves enough to know it now and definitively our own--given/received.
Attempting to understand the warp and woof, the spinning clay of this day, or iron of those in harms way disintegrated, I listened to the State of The Nation and following commentaries. What remains were a few comments, rude and salacious, regarding the mockery of us. We who voted and thought we were moving forward now slipped back into the mire of loss.
Everything is either political, theological or philosophical. Our value is ours to give and can never be measured by those who send us, or take our gifts, to their own power or profit.
Spiritually I stand in line for the showers/ovens of Auschwitz, in the night’s snow upon the mountain passes of Afghanistan; skull cap, helmet, or Swastika I become all persons enslaved to the agenda’s of those who purport to administer life and it’s meaning.
In my self I become love for others and through them The Other who created us equally.
Pollyanna I am not.
100127 06:09
“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” --Carl Jung
In conversation with random strangers I discover we live in a world community having a love affair with all life. Rippling outward our concerns lave all others equally. If there is a difference it is not measured, or weighed, by age, race, creed or gender. Merely expressed differently--exclusive, or inclusively--by degree, not kind.
Every experience, thought and dream, reconciles us through the prism of our attention. Perhaps it is a luxury of maturity; I ‘think therefore I am’ . . . what I am--from childhood until now is fully realized and growing. We are all related to one another and none should be sunned.
There are some I meet, &/or am aware of, that I would place personal limits on, those who take instead of give. Not to banish so much as know better than to follow them into their conceits or agendas blindly.
We all have an awareness of life, and love ours, yet remain unsure of all others who share this planet. My curiosity is reconciled to a model person of empathy for those who killed Him. And through my thoughts/conclusions now I know you and myself better.
To reconcile all the diversity of experience I encounter is pointless since I would not tamper with one character in the book of you--think letter, symbol or personality.
I play with my curiosity regarding the issue of “Original Sin” and conclude, with growing conviction, that it was, and remains, a perversion of consciousness to respond in fear and flight. The alternative--fight, is of no interest since I prefer the word engage. I feel as though I am simply a shuttle cock wending my way through the tapestry of life weaving a new image of potential for consciousness and conscience. Where once I would name the weaver I can no longer do so since the Name is various, even multitudinous; expressed, experienced and seen differently by others.
None choose to be born and the choice to die, by few, is seized upon, by choice or chance. All else, the in between is, in truth, our choice. Though we costume our lives with identities, badge, rank, symbols of power yet we will join in death equally.
“ 11:09
Pollyanna I am not. I am too conscious of our conflicts on every front. Yet I persist in seeing the good instead of the waste made of life, liberty and peace. My experience and vision/version of the future is informed by various, historical and contemporary resources that all affirm our choice to become what we want the world to be. Again I return to “The Serenity Prayer” and am compelled to acknowledge that while it WORKS! it took a long time to take root in me. My thoughts and prayers have become a bridge from our true self to truth, love and peace. I offer this to you who are willing to take the first simple step towards that self inherent in your life. Every soul is precious, period.
“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.” --Carl Jung
In conversation with random strangers I discover we live in a world community having a love affair with all life. Rippling outward our concerns lave all others equally. If there is a difference it is not measured, or weighed, by age, race, creed or gender. Merely expressed differently--exclusive, or inclusively--by degree, not kind.
Every experience, thought and dream, reconciles us through the prism of our attention. Perhaps it is a luxury of maturity; I ‘think therefore I am’ . . . what I am--from childhood until now is fully realized and growing. We are all related to one another and none should be sunned.
There are some I meet, &/or am aware of, that I would place personal limits on, those who take instead of give. Not to banish so much as know better than to follow them into their conceits or agendas blindly.
We all have an awareness of life, and love ours, yet remain unsure of all others who share this planet. My curiosity is reconciled to a model person of empathy for those who killed Him. And through my thoughts/conclusions now I know you and myself better.
To reconcile all the diversity of experience I encounter is pointless since I would not tamper with one character in the book of you--think letter, symbol or personality.
I play with my curiosity regarding the issue of “Original Sin” and conclude, with growing conviction, that it was, and remains, a perversion of consciousness to respond in fear and flight. The alternative--fight, is of no interest since I prefer the word engage. I feel as though I am simply a shuttle cock wending my way through the tapestry of life weaving a new image of potential for consciousness and conscience. Where once I would name the weaver I can no longer do so since the Name is various, even multitudinous; expressed, experienced and seen differently by others.
None choose to be born and the choice to die, by few, is seized upon, by choice or chance. All else, the in between is, in truth, our choice. Though we costume our lives with identities, badge, rank, symbols of power yet we will join in death equally.
“ 11:09
Pollyanna I am not. I am too conscious of our conflicts on every front. Yet I persist in seeing the good instead of the waste made of life, liberty and peace. My experience and vision/version of the future is informed by various, historical and contemporary resources that all affirm our choice to become what we want the world to be. Again I return to “The Serenity Prayer” and am compelled to acknowledge that while it WORKS! it took a long time to take root in me. My thoughts and prayers have become a bridge from our true self to truth, love and peace. I offer this to you who are willing to take the first simple step towards that self inherent in your life. Every soul is precious, period.
Time will erase . . .
100126 07:20
Time will erase the vanity of our era. To be conscious of this one must know our own conceits and delusions. We stand both in the moment and eternity. Let no one, and nothing, define you or the value of your life as poor; too impoverished for their attention or yours.
As a child I sought, and did not receive, the attention of those from whom one would normally presume kindness and I learned to live alone by my own lights. Yet it is true of me that I sought validation from those unable to give it to themselves. And in consequence prostituted my life in service to their poverty. If I love them more now it is merely that I love myself adequately and celebrate their many gifts as sufficient. Enough love was received and that I remember and pray for their healing assured the result.
Time will erase the vanity of our era. To be conscious of this one must know our own conceits and delusions. We stand both in the moment and eternity. Let no one, and nothing, define you or the value of your life as poor; too impoverished for their attention or yours.
As a child I sought, and did not receive, the attention of those from whom one would normally presume kindness and I learned to live alone by my own lights. Yet it is true of me that I sought validation from those unable to give it to themselves. And in consequence prostituted my life in service to their poverty. If I love them more now it is merely that I love myself adequately and celebrate their many gifts as sufficient. Enough love was received and that I remember and pray for their healing assured the result.
“Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.” -- Albert Einstein
100125 08:43
--Albert Einstein
“All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree.”
“Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.”
“Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts.”
The most starling aspect of my joy--collecting quotes--is that many affirm my intentions and previously annotated thoughts/conclusions. I am reminded of what Albert Schweitzer called the “Brotherhood of Pain.” I reject the sexist aspect now and do translate “Brotherhood” into the “Family of Humankind.” His point was that once we pass beyond the sense and experience that everything is okay we tend to stay in consciousness that to return is impossible and undesirable. Judging by my life, we all go by different paths towards our truth, and those of us who do not, become addicted to one form or another of avoidance and denial. We are all people but few, it seems, are willing to become discrete and unique personalities. By experience, personal and collective, I sense this the origin of most, if not all, dysfunctions. Our unwillingness to take responsibility for, and participate in, our own lives. But then I am well aware of those twists and turns you and I are forced to take and the paths taken by choice.
It is often tempting to say “The Devil Made Me Do It!” The obverse is equally true in that some, perhaps too many, say the same thing about God. To be self-righteous is equally false since it leads to control, dominance and manipulation of others to the extreme of killing them for disagreement. The world does not belong to any one race, creed, gender or age. The power to destroy moves from one sane become lunatic civilization or epoch to another and the folly of the former revealed and reviled.
Moving into society, at large, I seek not affirmation of my conclusions but a sincere sense of what people want and need.
I am better informed by my failures in life than by my successes. Such success I have experienced were once jealously proclaimed yet experientially hollow. Upon close examination I came to question my motives and understand that I was seeking my truth from others who could only respond with theirs and none seemed adequate when taken to a logical conclusion imply exclusion of all life, others less worthy or adequate.
The wonderful part of being self-educated, and derived, is to recognize that all life seeks the same freedom from tyranny and fear. My sense and conviction of the numinous is inclusive of all life and not exclusive to a few forms or individuals. My normal inquiry swiftly reveals motives of taking rather than giving; to take is self-impoverishment and to give is to know a greater wealth. After a lifetime of shame I have begun to choose my truths as passed through the prism of what had former been a mirror; ala 1 Corinthians 13. If our minds are prisms then we come to wonder what is the source of the light?
Everyone has a talent for love and life, but few recognize that the greed for either, or both, disables our inherent genius to have abundance defined by our true self as created. Life will teach us everything we need to know . . . in a sense we are in The Presence all the time . . . and the numinous is far more kind and forgiving than all the previous constructs of belief and knowing allow, and so we judge ourselves unworthy of life or love, and the future hopeless. What we are and have are adequate to the intention that life is worthy of continuance.
Thinking of Haiti now, it seems an appropriate simile for my experience of being buried under the rubble of other’s conceits and conclusions. How I survived is all that I wish to share.
--Albert Einstein
“All religions, arts and sciences are branches of the same tree.”
“Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous.”
“Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts.”
The most starling aspect of my joy--collecting quotes--is that many affirm my intentions and previously annotated thoughts/conclusions. I am reminded of what Albert Schweitzer called the “Brotherhood of Pain.” I reject the sexist aspect now and do translate “Brotherhood” into the “Family of Humankind.” His point was that once we pass beyond the sense and experience that everything is okay we tend to stay in consciousness that to return is impossible and undesirable. Judging by my life, we all go by different paths towards our truth, and those of us who do not, become addicted to one form or another of avoidance and denial. We are all people but few, it seems, are willing to become discrete and unique personalities. By experience, personal and collective, I sense this the origin of most, if not all, dysfunctions. Our unwillingness to take responsibility for, and participate in, our own lives. But then I am well aware of those twists and turns you and I are forced to take and the paths taken by choice.
It is often tempting to say “The Devil Made Me Do It!” The obverse is equally true in that some, perhaps too many, say the same thing about God. To be self-righteous is equally false since it leads to control, dominance and manipulation of others to the extreme of killing them for disagreement. The world does not belong to any one race, creed, gender or age. The power to destroy moves from one sane become lunatic civilization or epoch to another and the folly of the former revealed and reviled.
Moving into society, at large, I seek not affirmation of my conclusions but a sincere sense of what people want and need.
I am better informed by my failures in life than by my successes. Such success I have experienced were once jealously proclaimed yet experientially hollow. Upon close examination I came to question my motives and understand that I was seeking my truth from others who could only respond with theirs and none seemed adequate when taken to a logical conclusion imply exclusion of all life, others less worthy or adequate.
The wonderful part of being self-educated, and derived, is to recognize that all life seeks the same freedom from tyranny and fear. My sense and conviction of the numinous is inclusive of all life and not exclusive to a few forms or individuals. My normal inquiry swiftly reveals motives of taking rather than giving; to take is self-impoverishment and to give is to know a greater wealth. After a lifetime of shame I have begun to choose my truths as passed through the prism of what had former been a mirror; ala 1 Corinthians 13. If our minds are prisms then we come to wonder what is the source of the light?
Everyone has a talent for love and life, but few recognize that the greed for either, or both, disables our inherent genius to have abundance defined by our true self as created. Life will teach us everything we need to know . . . in a sense we are in The Presence all the time . . . and the numinous is far more kind and forgiving than all the previous constructs of belief and knowing allow, and so we judge ourselves unworthy of life or love, and the future hopeless. What we are and have are adequate to the intention that life is worthy of continuance.
Thinking of Haiti now, it seems an appropriate simile for my experience of being buried under the rubble of other’s conceits and conclusions. How I survived is all that I wish to share.
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