Jack Spratt

"Whoever does not regard what he has as most ample wealth is unhappy, though he is master of the world." --Epicurus

The truth of what Epicurus said so long ago should be by now a truth apparent. Yet we persist in believing things regarding ourselves that are lies taught to us by those who have no empathy. And by this, my understanding -- originating with my self, reaches across artificial boundaries of wealth or poverty.

Yet we remain the last great hope for what remains of time here on this lovely nest, this planet earth, despoiled by greed. Think: there is no future for we the most interesting creatures or evolved pollywogs amphibious to have walked and talked and existed by dream or fact in all knowable time; the history of beyond the beyond. What we, the meek, will inherit after those who presume to rule us have destroyed everything It could be this Nation, The United States of America, or merely we who were sold a bill of goods now bankrupt of any truth discernable.

Or collectively we who survived the misunderstandings of our parents what it was that we were taught to adapt to, improvise and prevail over becoming the enemy -- ourselves. And that inconvenient truth is the difference between want & need. And the difference between want & need. Assertion versus aggression. Life and death. What is of divine origin and not.

I have no authority to tell you what, why, when or who you are -- not even God does that. Speaking for myself: I am an ordinary common male human in love with both God and all mankind. Yet in my indiscrete confessions I've held one back; my terror of being confined for insanity. That is my origin yet not my future since in and of myself, especially in love with God, I was and remain the best story in town; or personal history by my own understanding wicked from thin air.

But then you are too, since in love, I love you, as does God.

If cornered this mouse will not roar but forgive my captor or executioner -- confinement or slaying of me. Leaving the full burden of proof upon their responsibility unforgettable: Was I right or wrong to do what I did? And it is neither God or i who will return but the collective consciousness of all mankind against the few who destroy us competitively.

The sport of Kings is not horse racing but setting one defined class or type against the other creating enmity. Divide and vanquish. I beseech you not to attempt retaliation for the end is held by hands so possessed with addiction to power that they would commit the suicide of the world just so you won't know their guilty shame.

What God knows; I intuit drawn upon the scale of thinking, sensing and feeling balanced nearly so to that of Jesus. Whereas most prophets -- of which party i am not a member -- died in their sleep peacefully. Having held themselves too precious to join the chaos of what our lives actually are. Are and becoming nothing, no witness, of what was once glory now become ashes.

Could it be that the ideal of democracy is in place yet flimflammed by those who have stolen enough money to steal our attention? And by slight of hand con us into continuing their gaming the system inevitably win/lose:

Me king -- you slave!

Bull Roar; my grandfathers favorite euphemism for Bull Shit.

Each of us is equally endowed with the potential of God who in humility gave the greatest of many gifts: Free Will. In life one must participate and vote. We each are sovereign selves otherwise too preoccupied with the mechanics of survival. More like God than not in the simple sense that God is a very busy Dude/Dudette. And God will remain busy with or without us . . . a dream dreaming you and me dreaming of God collectively this is our truth.

Jesus, in His time on earth, was by then an old man statistically; or merely by average life expectancy: actuarial tables of insurance, a generally very profitable business. His miracles did little good since the average man doesn't care about the how or why but seeks by nature and inclination relief from pain & suffering. The healer soon forgotten. So instead He began to speak and teach in parables; little thorns or land minds explosive sooner or latter amongst those who are curious about life not merely surviving it.

I am a poor author knowing not how but why to spill this modest tear drop in eternity, all i have to give, in love to you that you love yourselves in this soon to be ocean of sand.

PS  There is nothing benevolent in power sacred or secular except for itself.


120804 00:34 enough  ©2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved