Gifts & Road Kill

Suicidal, enraged with insane grief, I was a clotted knot which she, M, opened; become a generous open hand, no longer a fist. 

Odd to realize that I can kill, as well as praise, with words. I learned to argue in childhood, internally and silently, against the locus of power. To be honest it only now occurs to me that I was, and remain, capable to both destroy or love in the extreme. At least inside. To me, my sense is, that Jesus was both Lion and Lamb. No excuse, of course, since in time my ideology of the numinous has changed, as He suggest, Love not Revenge, is best. 

M & i are odd in our differences, widely divergent on secular issues, yet as friends, two peas in a pod; in this envelope we call life. I would call her to ask what day it is just to hear her voice. Knowing this she will say; “I’m going to let you go . . . “ At times I think she is an egg timer (laughter, much laughter, raucous.) I love her of course. And the oddest thing happened in recent time, I viewed a cosmic version rendering of my conjoined ‘glass funnels’ in space; a galaxy of sorts. I wonder what the venturi is. Who, what, why, wherefore it is? So make, it & her, a divine egg timer! My myth made physically manifest.

I awoke - from my previous rest period - with a certainty that I’d at long last found the knot of my despondency. Recognizing that where I am rude, crude - salacious, internally, I would, if allowed, dissect issues in sophistic manor but in terms that might heal not destroy surgically.

Metaphorically I have for long described myself as Road Kill. A child, or pet, in infancy, left in a plain brown paper bag over which many had driven thinking it merely litter. Looking at today, at now, I laugh, realizing that I’m still ‘in the bag.’ Oblivious of yesterday and/or tomorrow - more laughter. Waiting the crush.

Simile: My self as a greasy spot on the front of a Greyhound Bus cosmically traveled. Returned from light years promising farther adventures beyond my ken.

Funny. Whenever I’ve stopped, attempting to inhabit life in a more-or-less fixed relationship, or place, it has backed up and run me over. Road Kill Stew. Really, the metaphor doesn't describe what power and force have made of the world; a toilet, backed up, violently explosive, waste everywhere . . . oh God! how I despise authority.

130324 05:33 Gift
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