today is changing

I asked, no begged, her forgiveness: given. Yet until now, beginning yesterday, less ignorant than ever before, I apply the teaching whispered therein.

If I cannot forgive myself, as I am, or when I committed, my leaving her decades ago – tomorrow is her birthday – I will endlessly abort myself. Grotesque. But less than what I have, every day, gone through. Thinking of her instead of praying for her. Oblivious. I should equally pray that I learn what it is to forgive myself. No absolution or forgetting.

Maybe – Maybe not: less arrogant in my ideals of which she was and remains: immutable, silent, Sphinx like. Not her problem, but mine, always overtly beautiful. Could it be in leaving her I gave freedom for her to be what she needed to become.

That is what has happened to me.

Astonished!

Did I write that?

What does it mean?

I have always had difficulty tendering good wishes and glad tidings to those most important to me. Finding when sought, only boiler plate sentiments, or ecstatic conceits worthy only of God: romantic.

Searching quotes is not seeking marching orders. In a sense it keeps me alive and out of mischief; before I lose my memory and all memory of me become dust. So I lend you the following wisdom; “Don't spend time beating on a wall, hoping to transform it into a door.” - Dr. Laura Schlessinger, found just now @ http://www.famousquotesandauthors.com/random_quotes.html

There are others, quotes that is, potentially more significant in a broader sense. Do I play pinball with words?

Yes.

So long did I silently argue myself not what mother said, or implied: exclusively her problem. Later. It now seems, Psych 101, I married my mother in another guise. With both, convenient or inconvenient, I seemed an armchair to furnishing their doll house.

Sometimes a pinball ricocheting, awaiting the tilt. At other times: a flea – whither goes the dog go I.

Is not love, at base, acceptance. Not attempting to change the beloved into an ideal but loving the beloved as is.

Speaking of The Sphinx; she was more articulate in our parting embrace yesterday, somewhat akin to the anonymous author, touching me with words, I quoted and replied to. Both for now will remain so: anonymous to everyone except myself.

130409 12:12 today is changing

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved