Administrators
talk more than do anything, in the process disabling the doers. Those
who walk the walk.
It
is generally suggest that America is a Meritocracy wherein one can
rise from obscurity and/or humble origin achieving something ideally
noble like service to others. The problem, as I see and experience
it, is that the obverse is reality; they merely, by and large, serve
themselves. Advocate celebration of their evil abuse of power.
Aggrandizing and richly award themselves at the expense of the
servers and served.
I
spent the previous three years volunteering at hospice. Where like,
visiting Jesus in prison or in other extreme circumstance, lending a
cup of water or comfort was enough. I wasn't too shabby about doing
that. Much less becoming a legend in my own mind. The service was
humbling and one I learned to pray that I had the dignity to serve
and be received.
Since
the initial days of being a photojournalist coupled with the illness
and death of my children, I have grown a willingness to work for
charity; another word for love. Becoming intimate, by intuition and
curiosity, acquainted with the administrators. In the process
learning much about myself and, life and death, in general.
One
remarkable aspect about service, secular or religious as practiced;
there are hundreds of ordinary people doing extraordinary things for
zip income, acclaim or acknowledgment. In the trenches while
administrators, our (fearless) leaders, strut and preen their
specious pride acting noble/notable fraudulently.
Being
a “people person” intuitive and experienced, now adding
energy/force to my other perceptions: thinking, feeling and sensing;
daily, methodically and deliberately. I am, was and will always be
both, innocent as a dove and as nice as a coral snake in your breast
pocket; lethal.
At
hospice at some point it was requested of me that I take “portraits”
of fellow volunteers. Many of whom I'd come to know via random
encounters. We would share why we were there and had become more than
acquaintances. When people ask me who I am, what I've done, I used to
mention working freelance for The New York Times, soon after that: I
am the parent of two dead children and one missing in action; ancient
history on both counts. . . . All my griefs, sorrows and regrets
resolved thanks be to god and M and hospice.
In
retrospect I would rather have not had what happened. The resulting
slide show was like elevator music; something in the background of a
volunteer Christmas party. However the process of collecting the
images was to me final vindication of all my ambitions slain when my
son was diagnosed with cancer.
I
was, and remain, grateful for the experience. As I was for the
opportunity to serve others in more significant ways. Due to grief
tendered by the administration I left; over copyright, who owned the
“property”? Ownership of copyright is something of a joke when
dealing with digital images.
I
suggest the presence of an interlocutor in my life; awake and asleep.
I am not alone in this, by historical reference. A lifetime
impression of being unworthy of love, much less life itself, it has
been difficult for me to credit or validate being the recipient of
what I will call/claim as grace. I could as easily die this moment
fulfilled. All that I begged, or prayed for, is given, received and I
what attempt to pass forward. Do not be offended but know I now sense
my address to those in living death unaware of dying. Who like
myself, once, lived lives of quiet desperation.
The
dream from which I have recently awakened was one of conflict,
suggested in my too long preamble. My ambition is that you forget me
and always remember your true, and best by God's will, self. No art,
craft or other enterprise has ever given me such joy as this I do
now: write.
Scarcely
do I remember from day-to-day the day before, dying each night,
reborn the next now. Happily alone, never lonely. I am by nature,
nurture and choice, now, solitary and recognize I must fight to keep
that liberty. The freedom to apprehend the vast fields of wisdom I
receive daily and struggle to incarnate.
To
close, it seems the most frantic, fanatic, zealous administration
hides behind a mask of pretense. Its fear; no fame, providence or
dying anonymous. Power and force are signs of addiction not health.
“Freedom
and justice cannot be parceled out in pieces to suit political
convenience.” - Coretta Scott King
130427
00:40 MDT administrators
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
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