curiosity

Gareth-Phillips Bittersweet Rendezvous

Curiosity seems a twin to empathy in that it has no end; being limitless.

At lunch yesterday, with M, our conversation touched many violent points in time. Not time as measured in B.C./B.C.E. or A.D. but wonderfully before, during and after; somewhere in infinity. For, or so it now seems to me, we have an icepick awareness rowed in the viscera of consciousness as to the why and wherefore of aggression.

With scant humor I suggested that politicians love overt criminal behavior for the smoke screen it provides, concealing their sponsors crimes against humanity. And here I am thinking of the comparison between Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man”: search and destruction of a youth who mugged an elderly woman for her Social Security and the perpetual rape and theft of all in America of theirs by Corporate cupidity and avarice.

The steel of my dagger tempered by my own bigotry. When viewing gigantic Sports Utility Vehicles I reflexively think: “asshole.”

Perhaps I discredit myself, but I would rather be a jerk than insincere. To be myself rather than, what I perceive in general as, a faux marzipan copy of Jesus. A confection and fraud like the politicians whose words, in the abstract, seem genuine yet their action/inaction betray their prostitution.

My distemper extends to the Catholic Church for sins, past and present, obscured behind ‘Authority.’

“A wise man sees as much as he ought, not as much as he can.”
- Michel de Montaigne

“Either do not attempt at all, or go through with it.”
- Ovid

. . . I think myself not unique in any sense knowing well that no one seeks to be born but is; and faces a bewildering array of should’s and ought’s beating us into submission and conformity to standards superficially enabling us to subsist instead of live all that we are capable of.

At that, there are times I understand, without sympathy or remorse, my life accidental and unwanted. Having shelter food and medical care but of love, a home, a sure and stable, sane, family: not. What better school could I have to be myself?

When I speak of corporate rape, theft, humiliation and being factory farmed for the few, it is not for revenge but to raise the consciousness of all predator and prey institutionalized crime become condoned and praised.

Thinking of culture it is possible to see and experience it in several ways. There would not be any without women who insist upon defending what is a biological imperative to reproduce. A choice few women I know well who would do it, or do it again, given the institutional fabric of violence enslaving them or their progeny at any age. But then too America as petri dish culturing slaves for war, industry and the few rich who call the dance and define life in ways so humiliating it is difficult to live in actual freedom from slavery. Manifest in so many ways I find myself far from my initial intentions.

Abandonment, for which I am exceedingly grateful, now, is akin to rape and emotional abuse regarding impact upon the victim. Bankrupting the world economy is aggression beyond understanding without factoring in fear and envy. The latter being motivations for bigotry towards all else. Ignorance, indifference, denial and avoidance seem the ideal in public education which in and of itself seems vocational slavery and of little or no interest to those who seek to know a different truth.

"Nobody is bored when he is trying to make something that is beautiful, or to discover something that is true."
- William Ralph Inge

. . . I am not a learned person, nowhere near as bright as I would wish myself. Yet I know all institutions die standing initially upon firm ground. Noble become ignoble in time and the brand of whatever submerges in the quick sand of time. Love and kindness prevail wearing no particular face or culture; since both embrace the commonwealth of life itself.

To molder or soar, either way, I remain grateful for it all in these incandescent times alone. I have no talisman or fetish now, nothing to cling to but thanksgiving for these thoughts impelled by what I’ve seen and read . . . and those through who’s mouths the words stated by craft or inspiration.

. . . glimmering through our most recent conversation (with M) I suggested that the soul, obviously, is virgin and virginity possible, if not inherent, in meditation. But hypocritically I am apostate in my anger towards all who participate in the abuse of life using others for their sole gratification.

Be well doing no harm.

130120 07:03 curiosity
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved