God laughs & is a humorist

The last scenario before awakening was at a hospice where there was a new decorative wall upon which the patients and staff were to leave their signatures.

My question was should I sign the wall, and my unseen, unknowable and beloved friend said; "Sure, go ahead!"

"Were?"

"Anywhere you want."

"No. You first!"

Then appeared, instantly, a perfectly printed movie title; "Mr. Ed" as in The Talking Horse!

I awoke laughing. As I am, now, still laughing. If I accomplished nothing else in this life, longing for the next, and previous: I'd want you to remember nothing of me but sharing with you: God laughs!

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." --Maya Angelou http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Know_Why_the_Caged_Bird_Sings

We, unconsciously, are woven into the tapestry of our lives. My life, as metaphor, learned from listening to my maternal grandmother's Singer Sewing Machine before drifting into sleep and oblivion nightly when there in Ripley, Ohio. The place of my only peace ever known before this. The place where Liza and child crossed the ice floes to escape slavery.

Behind Mama Lu's home, not too distant, was a stairs ascending from the river to hill above the plain of Ohio and at times, whenever I was there, I'd climb those stairs with her. She was nineteen when giving birth to my mother. So very young, thirteen, when giving birth to my aunt Nina . . . ding, ding, ding, ding. . . .No wonder I think of them, all three when considering The Virgin Mother of God. . . .then myself the first male descending from a matriarchal line of woman and now advocate for their equality in all all things.

Does my mindfulness derive from them inseminated by my never known grandfather? For a lifetime, a wild child; who me a preacher's kid? Always fleeing from the now revealed truths that I breathe and live by expecting, in death, learn forever more?!

The voice of an author, read, has no face or gender. Just what needs saying; from their unknowable soul. The "why i write" is perfectly clear. I do so to make available to others, even if only one, myself, redemption and salvation.

I could, may and can analytically deconstruct all of my life and I have. Discovering in the process the greatest of everything but especially my joy in the act of writing . . . the characters mating one with another forming new life across the desert plain no longer crooked highway to all meaning and life.

At least for me it is.

Each day, including yesterdays patient waiting to be violated by the prison guard: Mr. Burt Crisp, Jr. who strode into my home oblivious that he had left the outer door open for Annie's potential escape and possible being road kill.

Have you heard from nearby the roar of a lion?

"close that door!"

You have no need to do as I have done but merely to celebrate the loves you have of spring or winter slush. All dancing life surrounding you through the seasons and reasons of life. Yet for those who daily think of death the only release from agony I write suggesting you listen to yourself. Sans judgment or blaming anyone or thing for your anxiety: twitching and writhing.

You have no need to be Muslim, Jew, Christian or Buddhist; maybe Janis? God is not specifically associated with any one religion or philosophy. If you feel fine embrace that but if you grieve or cry in the night then you might attend yourself exclusive of all others and their institutional alternatives. God changes no one. Instead merely makes the whole or Holy dedicated to their free will chosen identifications.

All institutions are imperfect, as I am, and will always remain. I care not what authority proclaims; since the only authority you need attend is within you.

Be well beloved of me.

121013 04:23 God laughs!!!!
©2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved