Grand Slam

Awoke thinking of her. Her bequest. The gift of her 'travel Concordance Bible'. Small, worn, pages wet (I thought by tears and/or sweat oddly) the New Testament spine broken mended taped.

Void, coffee, playing with Annie waiting at the lavatory sink wanting me to leave the water running for her to play with. Then. Wikiquote: First Up this day: “Man is not an end but a beginning. We are at the beginning of the second week. We are children of the eighth day.” ~ Thornton Wilder

Ode to Joy; my cheeks wet with it!

Words from beyond the beyond; after the grave she speaks still and I am renewed beginning again. My once and only? life is fabulous, wealthy in ways and measures immeasurable. Irrelevant but to me precious and from which I write. Om. Humming.

Me, the flea, howling at the moon, and laughing.

“We ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.” ~ Thornton Wilder (born 17 April 1897)

. . . she, of course, like M, read me like a book, naked, obvious, what am I to do with that, what it was for?

Coatings: as child, then vital adult, a carpenter, and now older, not necessarily, wiser I am thinking of what I know as; “Boxing Paint”: To take many, or several, or merely two gallons of one color and mix them together in one vessel making hue and value uniform . . . then thinking additionally; I once paced the confines of a coffin I'd put myself into early after birth. A living death that I then called “life.”

Now, as then, I think myself a Legionnaire in the Legion of the Lost. The many of us. Even those who overtly seem successful also lost for the want of such love: The All of Us.

And for that I will march through the pathless stars forever more.

In gratitude.

Yes!

(Note: As overwhelming as the cause and effect seems in my dreams and conscious life. I seldom consider the process as implying institution, fixed and immutable, but a symphony, the end of which, like love, is endless. . . .A having and having not. Add. Always follow the threads however gossamer.)

Rogue realization from experience: Illicit resources drug/alcohol etc. enable the departure but disable the trip . . . maybe, maybe not, becoming a form of dreams invoked but terrifying. Do I think of dreams as divination? Obviously, yes!

My thesis: nothing is lost in the universe, seems more true than ever now. The dialog between us, the giver of her missionary bibles traveled to China and Equator, continues to redefine what she implied in “Keep the Faith” her last words to me.

My grief healed, after thirty-fives years, of presumed guilt for the death my children by some personal fatal and evil flaw. I will flounder and lurch onward being extruded of similar inverse conceits. To what end? When in doubt make it up.

To close: I am not oblivious of the events in Boston: violence and carnage. At the same time I recognize the same events, small scale, in my life and wonder if we, the family of all mankind, remain oblivious our mass suicide? Amongst the great anarchist, Jesus comes to mind first, and then following by my personal discovery, all the others, stemming back, historically, and forward until now: upon the cusp of what I sense the end of all freedoms, aborted politically, expedient in the name of reelection or “safety.”

I have no answers for us, only for myself, born in chaos accustomed to change, minute to minute. Thus at peace with the sight of blood & death—birth as well; external or internal. Real or imagined. Inferred or implied.

My peace is not the absence of hazard or plain. I know no guarantees, save in this: Love is preemptive and law remedial. For love, I am conservative of the origins of it, freely given. Orthodoxy now seems retroactive abortion of our freedoms into slavery for the profit of the few so selfish to remain in power and wealth.

Expect more, not less, violence.

It is the way of Power and Force. Rampage seems only one form of possible protest.

For myself, and for you, I advocate: Fear no one and envy nothing.

"The greater part of the world's troubles are due to questions of grammar."- Michel de Montaigne

I am tempted to quote what initiated this dream, and what I have initially written, but feel impelled to use my own words and the sense I have of their meaning: What you value for eternity is within you, both intrinsic and extrinsic, there is no way around it but through it.

For now, for ever?

Success seems the way of death, while freedom is a joy forever born of adversity. Not freedom for the few to exploit the many, but freedom for all equally. Bliss is responsive, generous, participatory and responsible doing no harm. Convicted by love, the greatest power and force I know.

16:39

I am going to let this end as above. Further thinking hasn't revealed anything new, merely a reprise of ancient wisdom. There is no good news, it, otherwise wouldn't be “news.” I am not too shabby when it comes to consoling having done so for myself, for a lifetime.

130417 04:04 MDT Grand Slam

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved