"SUDDEN DEATH". . . not really; the title of this post is simply an attempt to assess the impact of "headlines." I remain curious regarding 'The Eric Hoffer' post, receiving more than fifty hits. Eric is a person of importance to me personally but I have yet to meet anyone conversant with him or his ideas and writing. "The True Believers" in terms of personal impact was, at first reading, one of the most significant of hundreds if not thousands read. Content remembered but author/title forgotten. My curiosity is not for 'brand' names but the creative process itself and the process/spirit of writing.
At lunch with M our conversation was candid, sincerely honest, and far ranging. Covering among others things her choices in response to a medical crisis/difficulty. Angelic to me she is difficult to target with a barrage of love hurled to any degree I dare. Walking away all too aware that it might be our final face time shedding not one tear but riddled with love nonetheless . . . knowing and confident we'll meet on the 'other' side somehow/sometime if by God's will. . . .as we met in the first place.
Contrary to all past times writing or involved in any other creative process; I now get up wander away the process continues through menial things; washing dishes etc.
I came to realize my revulsion over tattoos was esthetic since for me human flesh, all of it, in all aspects, is the canvas of God. Yet while in the kitchen, a ruin for now, I came to recognize a penchant, proclivity, habit of marking things as having been used by me alone. No longer practiced my cutting boards, mostly bamboo, have nary a mark though heavily used. However one I purchased near six years ago when I first arrived in what is sincerely the only home I've ever had; that plastic cutting board is scarified. Thus the dawn over "MARBLE HEAD" i then knew tattoos a marking and making of ownership by too many people who unlike me no longer wish to be anonymous to themselves. A sort of self BRANDING sans the patent 'R' as in registered.
My rebellion entirely within my head and heart, light years travel also. My soul doth magnify Creation privately. And my travels seek the far ends of God. I know this impossible but sought nonetheless.
I love ferociously and only one as magnificent and vast as M could stand me as full of defects and imperfections as I am. And at that the nature and kind of her love is more nearly that of God's. Were it otherwise i'd be a puddle of tearful anticipatory grief.
For all her beauty she remains a stiletto in the forehead -- one tough momma. I had intended to ask her who was the most difficult first offender interviewed -- laughing now -- I'm thinking it/is was me.
I am internally shy when it comes to self entitlement; actually the reverse of being a narcissist. As a creative person who seeks the joy/bliss of being in, actively/consciously, creation. Despite years of accomplishments recognized by awards and personal affirmations received I remain a duffer, marginally accomplished feeling inadequate the tasks I set for myself. The fact is, with rare exception, I shun praise being suspicious; a learned trait from attempting to affirm my love of my parents collectively or solo. Yet for eternity will I remember our duets: M&M.
That confession published, moving along, I am discursive and episodic, seeking to twang the spinal chords of those people or ideas I encounter . . . now rendering myself a cinder thinking of Mary and God. And at that I could never preach since I cry too easily and choke reciting 1 Corinthians 13 . . . in some sense terrified I'll become as hysterical as I was at my son's internment.
Odd, dad, only cried when speaking of Randy though I often sensed him near tears describing his perceived abandonment of his parents, leaving Springfield, Ohio seeking fame, acclaim and wealth. He did own, or was owned by, a Rolls Royce in the prime of his life. Albeit briefly then I came along, perceived, ruining everything.
As previously mentioned; damaged people, like me, learn to pretend being okay or cool. Regardless how we feel, think, sense or intuit the value and meaning of what is going on outside.
An armor of indifference?
I was taught I was too sensitive to live and that I made simple things complex. Perhaps as I've read, Einstein and Twain, education is really an abandonment of all we're taught.
Oh!
Yes!
Eric Hoffer too!
To love and be loved by small animals is grand but to be so loved by a sentient -- brilliant person such as M is Wizardry: celestial. . . .Add to which she's been hustled men by much shaper than i. And as well of vast celebrity. To paraphrase myself: "Women love selectively and profoundly while men, small boys never growing up, indiscriminately and superficially . . . always looking for a mommy?
12831 17:06 sudden death
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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