I am not unalike the genius of advertising saying; "Let Mikey eat it!"
My intention and ideation is for you to eat yourself. Metaphysically not materially.
Or.
Metaphorically in the following sense; you are not what any one tells you are. In my case Mother was God and she told me more through her behavior than the questions she asked or the wonderful, at times, things she said. The most mystical was something like what follows; "In life we must learn that we are no more significant than a single grain of sand." . . . eventually I added 'upon the beaches of time.'
. . . after thought later on: in time nothing is lost neither the grain of sand nor the soul who writes delight living dying nightly for your virgin rebirth in life or death all Heaven or hell the hangover for you avoidance. Denial not a River in Egypt.
Just now? i'm not certain-sure-confident since Creation/evolution/adaptation/creation is process not goal. . . . a process of discovery?! A new President, pill or car, is not a new savior/messiah. No one is The Savior save the One who died on The Cross . . . I parse, triage, prize the time, the act, the words and still come up with Jesus leaping from galaxies to Milky Way always ahead of me panting in his wake.
Lovely isn't it? What mom said!
I hunted for years any attribution finding William Blake instead:
“Those who control their passions do so because their passions are weak enough to be controlled.”
“To see a world in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.” --The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (c. 1790-1793)
"The Old and New Testaments are the Great Code of Art."
"When I tell any truth it is not for the sake of convincing those who do not know it, but for the sake of defending those who do."
“When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius; lift up thy head!”
"You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough."
. . . copy and pasted from my Quote Book. Upon discovery I felt a hood dropped over my head and slumped upon a bed without sheets, just a mattress cover covered by royal blue towel; the bed and pillow naked for days, the sheets awaiting laundering -- my head upon the same color hand towel over my pillow; my feet naked upon the shorts I wore to keep the mattress from becoming dirtier.
Thomas Merton said it differently, not better, in that when bereft of love (he used the word God) in a desert no sea in sight of need and suddenly a tsunami would envelop him. . . .
At times, sometimes, in the under toad of the tsunami I am ecstatic since within the tumult drowning in love *God* . . . i don't write poetry not knowing how or why but it writes itself across the helplessness of my blighted heart. laughing at and with the author of all times and things God of course . . . in writing that, what I call a 'string' . . . I saw Aesop's frog and scorpion crossing the river of time drowning.
Remember when I sleep I die no sound can awake yet resurrected from sleep I do see things anew newly born different in context time and import.
It was then I recalled at attention in the rain bored out of my brain until I saw a raindrop hanging on my full metal helmet . . . the world in view upside down and backwards . . . i've been to Heaven many times over . . . yet never stayed because I thought myself unwelcome by my own standard self-loathing.
Aware that my inheritances have been stolen by those who in childhood I attended school with. Their gain, mine as well, since in poverty I see God better. And they having nothing but money mere material. In prayer as Jagger said; "you get not what you want but what you need."
Despise New Music, Rap, Hip Hop? Why? God speaks through many voices. Yet most worship, if at all, the word not the spirit. The Book not who wrote it . . . the why . . . not the how. To me verified by the few I trust, only women, my sense the Bible an owners manual for individual interpretation of how and why to live at all: less Kings, Judges, Prophets, Saints, Angels, Priests real and faux. If I have reverence for The Church it is merely because it was my portal. Wherein I tarried not overly long.
. . . here thinking about all the Gideon Bibles idle in no-tell-hot-sheet motels across America now idolized like the car was a "Saggon Wagon." Dad drove my tuition declined, a Ferrari, it never got me laid. My Porsche did her ass beeping the horn in Cos Cob Railroad station commuters drunk with alcohol or money obliviously indifferent and I laughing uproariously . . . been there, done that, if bumper stickers were tattoos when looking at me naked you'd only see camouflage OFU endorsements. Don't think WTF instead think why not?
Irreverent? No. Since I speak to those who like me were raped by parents, relatives, strangers and politicians . . . friends who were otherwise adorable. Rape and abuse are equivalent. Sexual penetration by a male into a female vagina at age three, six or nine the maiden head cannot grow back but the wounds in her mind never.
Or so I once thought. After being castrated by mom's unreasonable bigotry it grew back my masculinity independent of her wanting to dress me in girls clothes. My penis is not my scepter just what it is, not a Sword of Truth imposed, inserted, inflicted in Her or any woman it was beaten into a plow shear for a purpose: to till the fertility of your boy or girl virgin soul. If I offend your idolatry hard cheese -- tough spore.
I'm not a doctor making profit from healing you. Why? Because you heal yourself; if you seek a reason for yesterday/tomorrow which obviously by the laws of perception begins within what you see within the tofu of your brain. The process is by Buddhist called 'mindfulness;' why did I fear fell/fall think runaway? So on & on. Simple, really.
. . . what was or will be is nothing compared to the fountain of love within you for now. Now is sometimes agony a pain beyond standing yet I see people of all colors, creeds and genders who in age are bent walking and if you see someone, including me, as savior or god ignore them for god is best found within you. Rumi is significantly more than a poet for he saw god present, invisible and silent within Rumi's self, what he called his heart . . . sometimes his eyes . . . his nose . . . or toes. More better sighing in his ears.
I am dense as marble, like Marble Head, a place I know since my best friend drown there in my absence . . . could i have saved him? I don't know or think so since my friend is with me in the sense that I live his life for him and maybe, possibly, impossibly, maybe not he lives for me still.
So in some sense the dawn over Marble Head is for both this ending night.
Be careful out there it's chaos -- violence -- remembering what you loathe or love owns you. Indifference is living life dead; deadly to all others.
120905 04:45 labor
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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