Jack Spratt

120808 06:56 the crib

Between jest and sincerity I often cannot find the boarder or purpose to what I write or remember of this life lived. Despite everything the pain, the deaths of my friends and children, I remain sincere when I say I am the most blessed of men, or women for that matter.

This I know since I seek such blessing in the lives of others: all of them encountered in the ordinary days become extraordinary now.

The room remains scribed visually. I was alone the shades drawn there where chintz curtains I’ve seen photographs similar and typical of that time the early days of World War II. Beside my crib upon the wall I decorated the little flowers with my excrement drawn from droopy drawers diapers at my knees sodden and filled. The door opened and with joy I greeted the prospect of being loved yet I was not. She the mother of me seized me by the waist and began scrubbing furiously with my face and body the wall.

She’d been gone for hours and hours how can a 2 year old know the count? Years later she asked why I’d touched her cheek gently and then wept withdrawing my finger tips? By her accounting we were in transit between St. Louis and Springfield, Ohio by train and I sat upon her lap. Mute I could not then or now or forever articulate the love I had/have/will always have for her forgiven or not. If I speak of love’s enslavement I know better than most the degrees of acceptance, fate and terminal ends. And oh god how I weep for Daniel Pearl, even now. And the 6 & 60 million slain to say nothing of the author;

“How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”
“I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.”
“Then, without realizing it, you try to improve yourself at the start of each new day; of course, you achieve quite a lot in the course of time. Anyone can do this, it costs nothing and is certainly very helpful. Whoever doesn't know it must learn and find by experience that a quiet conscience makes one strong.”
"Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy."
"We all live with the objective of being happy; our lives are all different, and yet the same."

--Anne Frank

Why?

For what did we live we disappeared in anonymous death?

I have many videos recorded in my head memories of her as I adored her when calm. Yet then and even know the touch of a woman sets me on edge. Yes and Yes and again Yes; I am unfit for human cohabitation. And still wonder why I did not become a sadist or masochist. She so often at Halloween time suggest that I dress as a girl while dad indifferent recited his misdeeds: the placing of brown paper bags filled with dog shit set afire and the door bell rang and he giggling in the shadows silently laughing as Mom, Dad, Jane or Dick stomped the fire out Spot barking hysterically.

Of life so far I have loved all of it attempting to get it, life, to love itself.

Best remembered I as an adult told mom I might be bipolar to which she replied, “We always wondered what was wrong with you.” I am still laughing.

I am at times overheated the rage incandescent fueling my rage to love and make love available to all life.

The art of writing is like music knowing when to stop and when to pause the silence between the words and notes. But now I am held in a love surpassing all description and a peace I wish for you dear reader. I know, I know it inappropriate to applaud prayer but please help me here should I be silent or put to sleep? I am actually quite gentle when held and petted by an appropriate owner. Not rabid but clean and just a puppy dog. . . . and I will love you forever just like God.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved