The intercourse continues, flowing from
moment-to-moment, illustrative.
“Truths.” Inconvenient; having been
taught tolerance, respect, love and mercy, by very good nuns during
my middle-age; I do not cringe to say that women have and remain my
saviors. It was they, the good nuns, who taught that Jesus was in the
very least the perfect human; being equally balanced between
male/female and all four functions: sensing, thinking, feeling and
intuition.
In all my quest I’ve never seen the
like amongst the prophets or sages. Either implied or inferred. Add
they, the good nuns of various orders at Our Lady Of Peace,
Narraganset, Rhode Island (now closed?) did advocate flexibility
(thank you S. I. Hayakawa) between religions. And in some regards I
now understand “Love thy enemy” for all he/she/they or it can
teach you.
The dark box of my life and mind,
littered with marbles become grape shot ricocheting through my
traverse, lending me a better survival modality than anything else. I
can tell only the lesser parts since otherwise I would bore you, or
perhaps lead you not to do for yourselves what you must since only
experience lasts. Understanding your perceptions is the basis of an
ability to understand everything. Leading/lending peace in lieu of
violence.
To me there seems no end to learning.
In death we merely move to the next classroom. I am so vivified with
ideas it is difficult to contain or frame, within any single
construct or essay, what is really going on: up or down or around
inside the ordinary of my life.
Inherited with the first house my
parents owned (it was no home to me but then being a stranger in a
strange land is customary) lived a boarder; a veteran of The
Spanish/American War. Who’s furnishing were ransacked by a
mortician after his death. Unlike my mother who would utter
“undertaker” at anyone she disapproved of, especially those so
venial as politicians are, I would and do include . . . priests,
bishops, cardinals and popes . . . well, really, anyone in authority,
self-appointed or ostensibly “chosen by God” to molest the humble
and poor; especially women and children.
I claim no special relationship to God,
save in my thesis: Religion is about, but not God.
Add. I claim no allegiance to being
“Spiritual” since that would abort my freedom to write anything I
want and take responsibility for. Otherwise I am utterly besotted
with The Big G, Ala, I AM, whatever/whoever it is that whispers day
and night.
To myself, I am merely grist between
mill stones grinding me, either to dust or wheat. Not epiphany but
extrusion. Burnt to a cinder and arising again like the Phoenix; part
of my personal mythology. No longer a stranger to but knowing myself.
Confessionally I will share with you
something only shared with M; ‘if I be touched by grace it grows’
and to grow one, of needs, must accept death as part of life; the
good and the dark, finding a balance. Near impossible in this
mercantile world of ownership, usury, good-better-best. Wonderfully,
M does concur, my conclusion, by experience within her own life.
06:37
I am a fairly proficient analyst of my
dreams, and given recent interest, as published on NPR, have
endeavored to apprise even the most nettlesome ones: regarding my
incompetence. I snatched a few hours of rest between the above and
this in which I dreamt of meeting my mother at her last age and my
current. Her birthday was on the 4th of April, an event I
still celebrate.
The scenario was at an outdoor
restaurant suddenly flooded, knee deep with rain water. Just as she
arrived, late and alone, as usual. Populated with my fathers second
family and several other familiars. Notably there was a woman who
suggested she was a journalist, no erotic potential, but I did
briefly think of suggesting that, being a photojournalist, I might
enhance her free lance article for a weekly. The most interesting
aspects being that I formerly, towards the end of my prior to New
Mexico epoch would often volunteer having free lanced for The New
York Times, Playboy, News Week, etc. for forty-five years. Worse, I
would introduce myself at first meeting somewhere, generally, in the
latter part, as the parent of two dead children and never mention
being abandoned by my AWOL daughter and granddaughter; so common
these days.
Between M, a fabulous psychologist with
mystical talents, who suggested I volunteer at hospice service and
eventually working eight hours a week in their clinic I swiftly
learned to remain silent about my experiences since it seems
irrelevant to the needs of those about to die, if not actually dying.
Learning from M to remain silent and touch the broken places when
announced or appropriate to their needs. Since mine, at long last,
the grief and greed for all of the above, had been slaked and
resolved.
“A wise man associating with the
vicious becomes an idiot; a dog traveling with good men becomes a
rational being.” - Arab proverb Included,
and just discovered,
since I experience being woven into bridal satin, methodically
collecting and reading quotes eclectically. Lending one more facet to
my refractions on an unusual reverence for women. And regarding my
tolerance, if not admiration and love for all religions as I
understand them in origin.
Returning
to my most recent discursive reference to Jesus and C. G. Jung
coupled with the Sufi Ennegram (personality typology vastly more
comprehensive than Meyers Briggs and suggested/implied/inferred in
Jung’s writings) let me go
a bit further with Jungian analysis: dreams form an important
factor/facet in understanding one’s self.
To be
true to one’s self is the ultimate freedom from fear and envy.
Advocated by the greatest humans I have discovered. Adding “Do no
Harm.” My abiding curiosity is addiction to anything including
“God” who I experience in live and expect in death to be the
ultimate of all consciousness.
130408 03:57 ideals
©
2013 by Jack Spratt
– All
Rights Reserved
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