120924 06:09 infidelity
Estrangement is the greater infidelity: like death; leaving one lover bereft. The greatest and the ultimate adultery being; left behind.
Of late, I dream not of Idols or thru video; but in dialog.
Conversation with myself?
I don't think so. Since who I converse with is wiser and more forgiving than i;
ignorant fool am i.
Beautifully intelligent. A scintillating conversationalist -- all things healthy, wealthy and wise! As annotated previously, in many posts, by any other name, LOVE. What we more often call "God."
Hindi's have many "gods" while Islam has nearly a thousand or more names for him/her. But only one for Mohammad; their primary interface with God and therefore Prophet: untouchable. No image save the personhood carried within the Islamist.
Again & Again:
Islam means submission.
Not idolatry.
God being in my perception androgyne
regardless of what called, by any name -- is true if answered by/to as called.
Blasphemy, in my lexicon, being a definition applied thru longing for God & Prophets to be fixed immutable from/by an educational system essentially religious not secular.
note: added latter on:
If you wear a cross as decoration it is 'blasphemous.' If you were true to Jesus
you'd be willing to not wear, but die upon, it.
I wear symbols of many of our world's religions. God does not seem to mind my 'infidelity.' i'd wear the symbol of Mohammad if I could find one better than Rumi singing in my heart.
The clue?
My word of the day.
From which, if I remember nothing else; I love the word left over from my dream(s) and carried from bed to the microwave of this i write: a Journal kept since 1976 in various ways: on restaurant napkins; never linen but cheap recycled paper, etc. I betray my culinary taste and budget. If you are very quick, clever at times, and so inclined, you can catch God in the act.
{. . . why would Jesus want a wife with God as a partner; what man or woman or child or pet could compete for attention?}
Pornography: derived from the Classic Age of Greece translates: Pornification = sexualization object/subject:
& Graph = writing with light (photography) pen and ink (in this case black on white phosporous or, of whatever it is that I see dancing across my computer monitor now: ephemeral-chimeric? Not poetic but sufficent for my needs . . . Jesus used his big toe while defending the woman about to be stoned to death accused of adultery.
The muse, oracle, scribe, secretary or merely the recording witness of our lives 'speaks' to me?
If I thought doing my income tax return with paper and pencil -- an All American pastime certain season of our annual lives -- was difficult. Oh Boy, oh Girl. Try remaining calm in the Presence of The Living God! . . . God does not laugh at us: just with US. Collaboratively we coupled can do anything required to clean house, wash dishes, find justice for our commonwealth: Earth
120924 12:00 fidelity
There is much I could say.
Many things I refuse to reveal.
In this or, any confessional sense;
or place.
I did return to hospice at noon after lunch with M . . . to another beloved who remains there tentatively. L had given me her traveling amplified Zondervan New & Old Testiments; thrice holy to me but mostly for all her gifts to me. They are hard traveled across many distant lands. As the three of us are by various means and measures; experiences treasured. Merton implied the farthest trip is within and. Lao Tzu: It begins at the ground beneath your feet and has no end in mind. No goal. Just process.
From henceforth the objective pronoun "He" is both male/female. As I am spiritually--equally balanced. I've had glimpses of God about which I refuse to speak. I am nothing special but like you capable of similar witness. Understand me well or not at all; it is your choice.
No threat.
No Promise.
My respect of/for you is equal, or nearly so, more better, nearly, than you can apprehend: to God.
Like Jesus and Nicodemus.
{Sequence insignificant; I adore role-play.}
My intentions change as inspired by L & M & JC . . . it is now clearer that I want you to write your life and read it as I do upon meeting you . . . yet with greater clarity and understanding going forward and doing no harm to anyone including yourself.
No computer, no tablet, no cheap paper napkins? Use a tape recorder of find another potential trustworthy listener . . . angels cannot have one another so get over it up front. . . .and you will understand why I know it laughable that Jesus had a wife and why we die.
Rather think me a modest teacher who does compel you to read books, dictionaries and the wisdom of others without boundary, or boarder, across this word, our nest for now. I do not know Mohammad well but respect Him as I respect Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, etc. the list of my heroes is endless as is my small experience and vision limited to scanning--not comprehending--the whole of holiness. Or the search for living waters. Everywhere except within the desert inside your heart and mind.
Become tolerant, or pretend to be so, since you never know when the wrongs done to you are for the right reasons . . .
Or the rights you do to others are/maybe done for the wrong reasons . . .
The Seasons of Love include silence and abandonment of life; merely sleeping. Winters of body & soul. Grief, pain and suffering have an end and always a purpose. . . .Not what you want but what you need . . .
It is not my or M or L or JC's death that concerns me but the end of our home; become a barren pock marked moon. A headstone, memorial to the satellite circling us nightly?
In any case I returned to see L boldly signing in as a guest no longer a volunteer in hospice, the school of endings, wherein I came to know death a mercy instead of a curse or punishment. Bemused. Then amused. To note dear friends treating me as a ghost: unholy ignored/invisible to them but by me still loved.
I am able yet decline returning to Rhode Island. It holds not only the grave of my son. (Note: I never use "our" son since I in his life was seldom able to love him as I expected/anticipated, was denied, then became hysterical at his graveside while his mother stood silent across from me.) But equally: the corpse of my once-upon-a-time ambition to contribute myself to the art of photography.
The one and only "Light of the World" is Jesus to me. Yet I comprehend the protest of fundamentalist Muslims who feel their love besmirched. In time or death I will know Mohammad better, perhaps.
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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