My dream, were I to attempt expatiation, was like a chess game times five, vertical and twirling in complexity beyond three or four dimensions, possibly five!?
In these brief moments of consideration, while brewing coffee and voiding, I came to sense it the work of a mind, mine, being willing to accept that our consciousness is vastly more complex than I’d previously considered. Yet mine in particular, more willing to accept, without apology, in child like innocence, the divinely salacious, height, width, depth, and breadth of it as common among we the species called mammalian.
Visualization in two dimensions reminds me of black & white representations of Dante’s Divine Comedy, of which I am too little familiar otherwise ... something looked forward to. Perhaps should I live long enough and God allows.
Perhaps I should introduce the various elements, conscious, preceding this event stellar. Today I met for the first time a woman within whom a cancer had grown blocking her esophagus rendering her unable to speak, drink, or eat, or fully breathe, dying slowly--clearly. To witness this in however brief moments I was in her presence was like watching a person drown and starve to death too slowly; completely helpless. And at that the witness of my son, by implication my father and in consequence my persistence in smoking cigarettes extenuated beyond endurance regardless my empathy.
Earlier I’d requested a doctor to sing my DNR (Do Not Resuscitate). What evolved was a debate regarding the futility of it in current context litigious, political, moral or ethical conducted in 5/8th time. Of equal futility is my willingness to donate any or all parts of my body that another could/should live since mine are essentially worn out by age.
God! How I adore Jesuits and others of comparable compassion in debate. Being a fool for words adored as well, I, among friends say of myself report: “Jousting with Jesuits.”
Then too I’d been in the presence of she whom I adore unreasonably and sensed our love making fully clothed in public more fantastic than anything I’d previously longed for physically or within my two dream encounters with The Virgin Mary.
In childhood I’d been presented with, as fixed, immutable, gospel, The Bible and Shakespeare. Yet in this context, the day and dream, reminded me of my first self-derived/discerned Truth spoken and attributed to Voltaire: “I disagree with what you say but will defend to the death your right to say it.” Perhaps not verbatim yet adequate in this context.
Suffice it to say that more important then context is the apprehension of the potential Mankind’s reply to God’s love and the passion/compassion within both.
Process not fixed in stone ... the journey more important than the goal.
Terminus?
Could it have been being in the Presence? A conversation unspoken yet illustrated? Possibly annotated by a yin and yang of yes/no in black & white? If so or if not why do I now cry open eyed in joy?
With humor my potentially only saving grace; I’d rather Truth from the Source than anything said of Him, Her or It. And if I pretend any value to so teach that anyone else can achieve the same end before we collectively stand in the court of consequence inconvenient and incontinent the truths we ignore.
For me, finally, death has no dominion.
A final and parting shot across the bow of my own bigotries. This dream seems to indicate that I must, in truth accept the failings of myself, unforgiven until, now the maundering's of those for whom my words, thoughts and conclusions, remain essentially inconsequential, superfluous and the squeaking a gnat. I would contend with God but to Mankind I remain convicted that we are the body politic and the only ground of Truth potential in context: here and now. More simply said, “We must become the change we want to see in the world.” --Gandhi
http://forum.quoteland.com/1/OpenTopic?a=tpc&s=586192041&f=099191541&m=1...
No comments:
Post a Comment