There
seems no reason for life other than love
conscious
of itself. Complete with free will
pointless
otherwise
.
. . or do I mean free choice?
Save
in life or death how can I know otherwise?
What
dream awakened me this time?
Hurled
from sleep awake and enthusiastic to write!
Yesterday
at lunch, with M, our cherished times alone together.
I
announced that after a lifetime of loving her I knew her not: the
bride-of-my-youth.
Now
awake realize it was my love projected upon the loveliness of her; a
fantasy or incarnation of myself as woman, impossible and she remains
a stranger as from beginning to end; loved nonetheless.
If
I use the term friend, then what of M & me? We are friends
uppercase and of she and I never in any other definition than legal.
Remembering when burying either child of our marriage, individually
and separately, I was alone and she elsewhere distant. Known where,
yet unknown now as then, a stranger to my grief. She tearless while I
wept, weeping then and now. And of now, even now, I weep for I remain
alone and of she? Who knows? For unlike with M I never gained the
confidence of her trust or self.
What
remains unchanged, myself?! Utterly! I feel free of the nets thrown
and restrained by my desires. Holding me loveless. Seeking empathy
compassion from one incapable of it within her self. Or do I speak
for most, if not all, of us? Conservative, holding what is within as
truth versus experience.
What
greater love can I express except to share with you the gift M has
given me.
“Whether
it is happy or unhappy, a man's life is the only treasure he can ever
possess.” - Giacomo Casanova
Convicted,
splayed, playing with my viscera, entailed to detail my lifelong
search for love. Finding the Author of It, I am no longer at frenzy
but peace. It is obvious, at least to me, The Author IS actual:
extrinsic/intrinsic! But, at best, this is merely my faith and proofs
as I wend my way wandering through life; all of it. Anathema? Perhaps
to some, maybe more, if not most: folly and a fool am I.
The
details of my life are wonderful, in fact, fabulous. Yet I remain a
miner in the pits of fortune, begrimed, happily so. Remember,
Mythology, is best when attempting description of what is too real to
bear all at once. One thinks of Jesus and his miracles but remembers
best his pithy parables so like the koans. Lending us wonder as we
wander, pickax swinging at our fears within. Which I could detail but
bored at the prospect since as with myself, so with you; one must
find the dragon as friend or foe and saddle her/him. Burnt to a crisp
then resurrected whole; either, neither or both: Dragon & Self.
Think not and/or but and/both! But irrevocably changed for the
better.
No
one can, or will do it for you; not even “God.” That said you
must do for yourself what your heart sees as best alone.
My
conceit/conclusion: Religion is about, but not, God. Who by any other
name remains: I AM. No single prophet, religion or governance is a revealed truth absolute . . . an answer to what we can know now and/or
at the time of our death: face-to-face
Among
my many enemies, most manufactured by myself, within, by
misapprehension, the worst: thinking myself unlovable, abandoned, I
became self-abandoning . . . a martyr to nothing, reverential to
appearance superficial. Enslaved by beauty . . . but . . . is not
truth beautiful?! “God is patient, kind, slow to anger . . . .”
but never does for us what we must do for ourselves.
All
else seems addiction, a dance of avoidance, ignorance . . .
be
well.
PS
I
remain astonished at my ignorance. Reverent towards The Author of all
love and life. Confident who/what has lead me so far will continue
beyond what now seems beyond all things.
.
. . discovery never ends. Again, be well, be beloved of yourself as
no one but “God” can.
“Forgiveness
is the offspring of a feeling of heroism, of a noble heart, of a
generous mind, whilst forgetfulness is only the result of a weak
memory, or of an easy carelessness, and still oftener of a natural
desire for calm and quietness. Hatred, in the course of time, kills
the unhappy wretch who delights in nursing it in his bosom.”
“My
success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone
through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either
physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes
out of good. My errors will point to thinking men the various roads,
and will teach them the great art of treading on the brink of the
precipice without falling into it. It is only necessary to have
courage, for strength without self-confidence is useless.” -
Giacomo Casanova (born 2 April 1725)
130402
03:01 basis
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
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