A sense of holiness remains preeminent throughout all my rages against and stages of adoration for and now submission no longer mere curiosity-by-the-by what Islam means is=submission.
Or, from me for you more simply put, “The Geography of God.”
A journalist I found conceit working in & for 'The Temple of Truth.' And now will anyone of you out there remember the once-upon-a-time institution of Newspapers? I fear not for it and reading seems doomed entertainment and instant gratification addictions supreme poverty. Though I, without apology, confess I read not newspapers but books I still see sense myself a laborer in the vineyards of truth; seeking investigating distilling sharing experienced in ways compelling/comprehensible to others at times apprehended by my witness convicted.
Flowing from the time recently reunited mother her absent a year or more. I supine and she kneeling beside my bed taught me to pray: “Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the Good Lord my soul to keep should I die before awakening.”
Weep?
Yes!
A parent regardless wonderful or abusive remains our first experience of the who, what, where and why of God. Did I leave out 'when'?
Possibly.
Perhaps.
Maybe not unconscious since in time all time became sacred and all places holy to me.
And to Whom I prayed internal external eternal and infinite unto beyond all measure of space and time meaningless otherwise. And I now so love God that without Her/Him I'd be nothing at all not even dirt.
And now Even now It, this self propelled biodegradable risen and returned to ashes conveyed self, remembers all these years later my sorrow for baby pigeons eyes death closed beaks raised a rictus of collective yearning to live-love-be fed. That was before they left me for a year or more with my maternal grandmother mother's mother who loved me like a son the first in a family of women a would-be-king raised as such by her.
Nexus to nexus events traumatic broke me over and again but it was not I alone for too soon I had an accomplice My sister who left once in park alone in a stroller at winter beside a pond some three or four blocks distant from our then home she the involuntary interloper into a family of insanity self abandoning yet as chaotic as it was I coped without her six years after me.
The mute, dumb, blind satellite male in the mix was dad who while saying and doing nothing but paid the bills witnessed it all without intercession it was he whom I adore equally maybe more since through him were more birds:
Charlie “Bird” Parker
“The Grab Ass Bird” swooping down in sudden striking terror sweeping children/adults away The “Garf” mysterious hybrid partially feathered otherwise wearing trousers and biting the buttons off horsehair couches while smiling sipping tea you see it had a beak in its posterior wearing crotchless panties no doubt but
Then I grew to call dad Hawk after a myth concocted by others regarding a mouse who once acquired called from the predator bird's posterior shouting at great height, “Don't Shit ME NOW HAWK!” the light at the end of the digestive tunnel peered through
Final epoch of family constellation came when innocent sister demonstrated at six to my twelve female anatomy
Devolution
Evolution
Revolution came
Terminal nexus given in stone . . . mother expected incest us and thus swept my six year old sister to the gynecologist to prove disprove whatever it began the year long of Coventry no dialog just being fed clean clothes and so on and on but I ran away first dad caught and brought me back more glowering silence explosive yet more-or-less protected but otherwise enslaved to him and his agendas as for her finally no touch benign
For me no--for him his posterity yes.
No wonder now why I love Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche whose thoughts and quotes burnish the sword I became forged between hammer and anvil in the wasteland of luminosity shining as we all can redeemed finally
All are broken suffering
Original sin?
Or merely made that way variously imperfect seeking to be impossibly perfect healing always possible maybe maybe not 'holy' but always now is everything nothing for naught be here now whole submitted
No comments:
Post a Comment