Current events regarding my relationship to hospice unfold. Or blossom so to say. Like a strange new growth in the still pond of my peace. Something like Moses in a bulrush boat as an infant set adrift and then becoming the hero. Or the concept of Jesus as the result of Virgin Birth waiting in the wings of today's BIG SHOW to return and save us & the world.
Read literally it's a nice bedtime story but mine keeps blossoming and I know my self evolving either way; useless slob, old at that, soon to die anyway or the hero of my own myth. I have control since it is my life and my choice to lie down dead, wait, step back seeking another direction or step forward and be a pain-in-the-sit-down.
In Ancient Greece the play was the thing; the way to teach a form of religion: Strophe, antistrophe, and the epode. . . . I snigger at the thought of participating in that, laughing and yelling like a really great black preacher, leaping up twirling in mid air doing splits then rolling roaring in laughter. Men you ain' ever been kissed until you kiss a big beautiful black woman . . . who then says; "oooh honey you got the mojo! Then shaking her booty giving you her juju. OH YEAH! I'm a white boy alright wishing I'd been born black as the night. Dats why I likes my coffee sweet and black. A horny old dog; I'm an equal opportunity spender.
To begin with M knew I was suicidal and she took me under her eagle's wing. The first agenda I now remember seems to have been breaking me of saying; "I'm sorry!"
Sorry: I was born, lived, cared, smoked cigarettes, passed gas, too fat, too small in many regards: fill in the blank _________. You name it had it; problems in River City. It was flooding I'd had no boat. Add to that I had a bottom line; my subtext so to speak: "I should be put to sleep like a mad dog!"
Obviously the guy with the butterfly net hasn't caught up with me yet. We play tag with each other sometimes I'm it and sometimes she's running away from me bare foot at eleven in a pear grove blossoming. Laughing!
Oh yes. That's my biggest pay off; an alternate bottom line. Did I mention: subtext! Of course I did. And I do have one, or many, now admitting loving to write; though I don't know how. The same applies to being a Photographer! Put on, down, inside out, imploded with sneers and slanders; "You couldn't shoot your way out of a wet paper bag!"
In a sincere sense, at hospice I gave my heart. And she wanted bricks. The interesting role I played in that 'exchange' or collective monolog is one of passivity. Not She nor M or God defines me to myself.
. . . and to think I once longed to lay face down before a cleric, bishop, cardinal or pope muttering into the grout 'here i am, sent me.' . . . but I have every time I refilled someone's water pitcher with ice or fresh water never thinking for one moment in eternity that I was in the presence of Jesus as an old person dying. Drown in snark I arise sharp a whole different cookie cutter.
Any institution is born for noble reasons initially, has life for a time. Like The Holy Roman Catholic Church for nearly 2,000 years, then decays and dies of being and institution about God but not God. Leaders are not born but made by the School of Life. And, after all, the institution need custodians who in turn need to eat, pay utility bills and make sure there's enough toilet paper. My thesis: which are you the custodian or the dude/dudette who it's all about Alfie?
Let's just take this another step: if you or i or someone else was in deed partially or in whole the resurrected divine about whom the BIG SHOW was built; ball park, bat, ball, uniforms, rules and for pay the performance would you die in your sleep or on The Cross? I really love role play in THE PASSION PLAY.
I think she found it distasteful that I laugh at, and about, my own death . . . did she know that sometimes I call God: Mikey? As in, you eat it and if you like it I'll try it? Administrators administrate and get the bigger bucks: medical insurance, golden parachutes, retirement funds to live on, etc. In order to justify the BIG BUCKS they of need make THE BIG DECISIONS . . . remember the dude who said, "I'm the DECIDER?"
Is the workman worthy of his/her hirer? And/or am I my brother's keeper? It, your Life, is your choice and i could still go eat a train just to see what happens afterward.
When it was time to go home I would tell the charge nurse or her/his second or third in command saluting and asking; "Permission to go ashore?" My point being that at my age i could pass/die for a multiplicity of reasons having nothing to do with God.
With fair regularity I'd disappear for a smoke, to walk the rounds seeing if I was needed -- useful or useless, spending various lengths of time with those who did and did not find me helpful.
The ship I asked permission to leave had to account for my life or lifeless body either way if there were a fire or they needed an extra hand in case of emergency. The ship sails on 24/7/365 without me for now. I wish them well and will do no harm. Yet I will remain available should they need me before they figure out they have no write to my intellectual property. If they do and can legally prove it, then I will be obligated to inform they have all they need and "Have a nice life."
Finally I have a moral and ethical obligation to inform my professional and amateur community that anything they volunteer, photography or writing, will be stolen from them by: for profit or not for profit institutions.
I am a journalist first, last and always; a priest in the church of truth.
Do I dare?!
My teleology is that God can, and is anything, God want's to be. The thirteen year old virgin who gave birth to the baby Jesus, the mule she rode to Egypt . . . do you get the picture? Moving across the desert a short distance eastward He could have been Mohammad. Astonishing isn't God. Depending on your Savior of The Day; the dates and places change but the truth doesn't.
120918 02:47 subtext
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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