Hyper Vigilance is to remain awake through exhaustion in anticipation of not missing a threat. Now, after years of remembering Mom's remark; "There will be a time when you will beg for sleep . . . "
Of course it never happened. What did happen however was that I became aware of loving my solitude; the silence, not having, or being obliged, to be 'on guard' all the time.
With bitter/sweet fondness I kissed myself, as I was for the past so many years I no longer count them; goodbye forever. Co-Dependent to the very end. I used women to define me in ways unacceptable inevitably leaving them overtly/covertly but running away without excuse. Eventually recognizing myself dedicated not to being a wild child but to God. Nauseated by the cloying saccharine images of Jesus seen in Baptist Sunday School Classrooms: reference where this me began, somewhere around the changing of time; irrevocably altered by a men's study group centered in Keith Miller. In time, such as is left to me, being too well acquainted with instant death from birth until now that I find the prospect as welcome and living trillions of years in the mind of Creation. I will detail my experience of all the help available to those who quest for truth: personal; freely given.
Instant recognition: I thought I needed an audience to see my suffering and tell me what it meant. Not to vacate it but find meaning in pain, humiliation and my shameful addiction to it; being molested endlessly for the distraction of people just like me. So it seems now that in redeeming my parents and our endless, or so it was until now, cycles of abuse: cause and effect. That which I either walk away from or reply with savage violence ala Christ amongst the money lenders tables. Whether factual or fanciful, metaphorical or just a typo, the scenario is more instructive for me now being nothing like the Jesus I know as a brother in God.
Metaphysically we are all Children of God. Regardless of race, creed, gender, geography or any of numerous definitions to assign what is benevolent or malignant. I find no threat in God of whom and for I would extinguish my consciousness gladly sure that it and all will be well here and now. My trust and faith explicit. . . . as Jesus calling from the cross; "why have you forsaken me?"
"I ain't nothing special, nothing to see, pardon me while I disappear . . " From "Take the 'A' Train" by Duke Ellington. I got soul too but you have to give me a break; being a pink elephant rolling about the stage of eternity, for now, upon a large red, white and blue beach ball.
After the Keith Miller experience I began attending the Episcopal Church, leaving behind The American Convention Baptist Church, a co-pastorate no longer affordable, meaning both pastors had to leave.
Well remembered those times, Randy still lived, there was hope abounding. Yet for me it was merely waiting for the inevitable. Recalling now my sense that I was gifted by those widows who attended for a lifetime (Saint Paul's, Wickford, Rhode Island) keeping the heat and lights on, the place clean . . . my roots are elastic, loyal and never broken, at least not in my conscious heart. The corpse I kissed in my sleep was rigid in wanting someone, a woman best, to tell him it was okay to be beaten raped and robbed endlessly. I don't need a mommy anymore, haven't the time and sure as God made the Stars, will never again contemplate 24/7/365 with or without gratuitous sex and all the trappings of a marriage the once ideal.
I still keep the Mass knowing that God is in no way religious, we are. And betimes I kneel five times a day praying to Allah as well. Sitting under the The Bodhi-Tree (or wisdom-tree) covered with blossoms. That said: when I read Rumi i disappear altogether in love for it and you all.
Significantly M&i learned in early childhood to think on our feet. In this regard consider it meditative versus contemplative. Or finding God under fire. Neither of us consider wealth as jewels but smooth river stones. . . . there is joy in menial work and being anonymous. . . . one's ideal mate is God.
All is well, you know, it will be whatever happens.
121104 18:40 soul processing
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
Of course it never happened. What did happen however was that I became aware of loving my solitude; the silence, not having, or being obliged, to be 'on guard' all the time.
With bitter/sweet fondness I kissed myself, as I was for the past so many years I no longer count them; goodbye forever. Co-Dependent to the very end. I used women to define me in ways unacceptable inevitably leaving them overtly/covertly but running away without excuse. Eventually recognizing myself dedicated not to being a wild child but to God. Nauseated by the cloying saccharine images of Jesus seen in Baptist Sunday School Classrooms: reference where this me began, somewhere around the changing of time; irrevocably altered by a men's study group centered in Keith Miller. In time, such as is left to me, being too well acquainted with instant death from birth until now that I find the prospect as welcome and living trillions of years in the mind of Creation. I will detail my experience of all the help available to those who quest for truth: personal; freely given.
Instant recognition: I thought I needed an audience to see my suffering and tell me what it meant. Not to vacate it but find meaning in pain, humiliation and my shameful addiction to it; being molested endlessly for the distraction of people just like me. So it seems now that in redeeming my parents and our endless, or so it was until now, cycles of abuse: cause and effect. That which I either walk away from or reply with savage violence ala Christ amongst the money lenders tables. Whether factual or fanciful, metaphorical or just a typo, the scenario is more instructive for me now being nothing like the Jesus I know as a brother in God.
Metaphysically we are all Children of God. Regardless of race, creed, gender, geography or any of numerous definitions to assign what is benevolent or malignant. I find no threat in God of whom and for I would extinguish my consciousness gladly sure that it and all will be well here and now. My trust and faith explicit. . . . as Jesus calling from the cross; "why have you forsaken me?"
"I ain't nothing special, nothing to see, pardon me while I disappear . . " From "Take the 'A' Train" by Duke Ellington. I got soul too but you have to give me a break; being a pink elephant rolling about the stage of eternity, for now, upon a large red, white and blue beach ball.
After the Keith Miller experience I began attending the Episcopal Church, leaving behind The American Convention Baptist Church, a co-pastorate no longer affordable, meaning both pastors had to leave.
Well remembered those times, Randy still lived, there was hope abounding. Yet for me it was merely waiting for the inevitable. Recalling now my sense that I was gifted by those widows who attended for a lifetime (Saint Paul's, Wickford, Rhode Island) keeping the heat and lights on, the place clean . . . my roots are elastic, loyal and never broken, at least not in my conscious heart. The corpse I kissed in my sleep was rigid in wanting someone, a woman best, to tell him it was okay to be beaten raped and robbed endlessly. I don't need a mommy anymore, haven't the time and sure as God made the Stars, will never again contemplate 24/7/365 with or without gratuitous sex and all the trappings of a marriage the once ideal.
I still keep the Mass knowing that God is in no way religious, we are. And betimes I kneel five times a day praying to Allah as well. Sitting under the The Bodhi-Tree (or wisdom-tree) covered with blossoms. That said: when I read Rumi i disappear altogether in love for it and you all.
Significantly M&i learned in early childhood to think on our feet. In this regard consider it meditative versus contemplative. Or finding God under fire. Neither of us consider wealth as jewels but smooth river stones. . . . there is joy in menial work and being anonymous. . . . one's ideal mate is God.
All is well, you know, it will be whatever happens.
121104 18:40 soul processing
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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