Jack Spratt

120719 21:20 conjecture

Could it be that women in giving birth, becoming new to them, that wonderful person powerful beyond imagining their influence upon the child and the inseminator obliged to raise up both to maturity?

In some way curious the mother of both?

Historically The Holy Virgin Mother Mary was worshiped more than He the little wippet of a boy and in life always a Jew. Then & Now Always in my heart. Seen the two of us chained to a naked tree and he battered and bruised by me terrified as the stone was scaped from above us and in the gloom I saw his brown eyes and broken nose in fear starring at me – where my dream stopped – but one of other times the last when He said, “You're on your own!”

. . . could I be the blest thief?

I confess. Often do I wonder what it was to be Her or Her Lover who inseminated her and then gave birth or the birthed?

Note: for those of us raped emotionally penetrated by hate and terror we remain virgin of soul impenetrable. And of these two events singular or serial always attend the Soul of you not the theft of your body and mind – giving the power to the ignorant and indifferent.

Get up move forward into the light of God who hurts nor causes hurt to anyone not even His only Begotten. The Son & The Mother become interchangeable think the Word held aloft upon entry the church his mother . . . ok . . . the processional—Thank You Sister Kieran Flynn your tender mercies & Sisters of Mercy

These elements were woven into the tapestry of my soul early on. At night loudly. Along with the plash of passing river boats, moan of trains passing across the Ohio River in Kentucky and the hiss of truck tires in rain speeding by or climbing up the gears outside the bed window of my heart

The root of my being a hard scrabble farmer my grandfather who killed himself with a shot gun & he never known except as a circuit riding Methodist Minister riding a Mule from one church to another. One by One through the month; all four of them ministered to. . . .Was he somewhat like my Great Father? And she my Great Mother who took me in when wrenched from her daughter my mother's arms regularly starting at five years of age. Again and again in body and dreams asking what is love? and why am i

What does it mean to love and be loved in return?

My family is now the staff and patients of The Mesilla Valley Hospice clinic called La Posada. Where my experience of being abandoned comes in too handy since it, the clinic, is my school at the knee of those I love mostly women but a few good men as well no boundaries between patient or staff or their families and friends.

Wisdom & Love are found in the mouths of babes laughing or crying or the dying brave or fearful and for the vital and thriving it is a smile and touch bathing in the ocean universe of empathy.

I am unschooled aside from what I told of my origins above, no degree above high school and thus unqualified as medico or chaplain but both in times of crisis when needed I am there my love conquering fear theirs and mine.

I know by legend my beloved “Brother” Jesus was like Osiris of long before Jesus' time and Isis. No one really knows sister, mother, goddess of course but what exactly was their relationship?

The Moon to the Sun. Like St. Francis & St. Claire or Saint Teresa of Avila & St. John of the Cross. My list of imaging grows longer minute by every breath and heart beat.

What is love between two? Reverence free of recompense. Freedom to come or go to be a self a soul beloved

Intrinsic two too souls genderless the exterior of identities are merely handles like prejudice.

And by her touch my beloved Sphinx of emerald eyes perfect nose toes and feet has healed me like Hecate . . . I know not whether to be thankful or terrified caught as I am in roleplay and the ordinary of my life. Day by Day I grow larger in heart and soul. Stronger at being my self never acknowledged as anything other than air or a bother now loved swimming in her eyes is joy beyond telling . . . bliss is too tame and she grew me into a man no longer a child seeking mirrors to tell me anything.

Of grief I know my own too well a broken and wounded heart never in the life healed but succor and nurture there found. A balm still. Even just hours before this and the attendance to those who need comfort was I yet again hysterical with grief like the internment of my beloved son for whom, like dad the lesser not The Big Gal/Guy above, I'd given up everything to tell them my love and help them love themselves.

Roles are for movies and plays love is friendship as was my son & dad & M&M love is personal between God and . . . who am I?

Or we?

I know love is what moves the stars in their courses, the wind beneath our wings and why hearts beat and when stopped we will know love better – period.

There are no swine like people to eat my pearls they are merely ignorant of being loved as I once was.

Oink

Be Well

. . . oh by the way the thief could have been God beside Jesus silent until pleading to join him, Jesus, in Heaven at Her/His right side . . . “why have you forsaken me? Let this cup pass from me weeping and sweating blood” . . .

PTSD or Rape or Murdered or Disappeared is:

Stand Up Move Forward Don't Look Back . . . science and thinking go only so far never farther, Wisdom is Good More Better than the former but best is experience. Rejoice, I say again, Rejoice and forgive – the greatest love

the end of fear and hate

maybe even war no more

amen

PS

Then too upon arrival at hospice the halyard clanging aloud tapping the aluminum mast struck rhythmically a reminder I'd forgotten to bless those POW & MIA “never forgotten” those who are lost to us to defend our right to vote

for tyranny?

There I've done it for you but you must define the value for yourself. No more blanks.

Then upon entry striding touched in passing they welcomed me the nurses as a brother they too far caressed me with their eyes unlike mothers flames Her touch never trusted

Grief is, for me at least, the destruction of all definitions mine included who remaining behind wonder why . . .

In closing I'd like to remember – was it Blood Sweat & Tears who sang the song: The child is the parent of the father.

Inspired by The Free Dictionary Page were I noticed that Aristotle tutored Alexander The Great; The once and future King. Who was I then and now and who was Randy then and Now?

The tuition for The University Of Hard Knocks is pain suffering optional . . . healing is a process not a magic bullet

. . . should I leave you now I'll be back sooner or later but be your own redeemer I know God within you I see it writ in the fabric of your being

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved