molting

By all signs, portents, personal myths and proclivities, it seems my choice best to stay with her; whom I have for so long loved. Yet, at that, it remains a molting, shedding the skin of what was to become, something else, at least new. Rarely did I mention the drama trauma to M since it seemed, initially, so futile . . . she then seemed up to her eyebrows in quick sand and a relationship with a man consuming her.

With her now I understand my intuition was correct yet the longing and love remained across the years. It was and remains innocent of all sense of possession; the crime we do in love calling it whatever, it becomes commercial. Subject to the vagaries and darts of legal vicissitudes. The doings of Kings & Queens, false leaders of everything.

But then. What of the children?

I was a child—once long ago—too well remembering the: ‘do not speak unless spoken to directly, go away and I’ll find time for you somewhere or time in the future.’ It never came—that promise. Yet I made it happen here and now. No. Not I alone; but of several influences beginning with “TAKE ME WITH YOU!”

Pervading all that has passed between us beginning (or was it renewed?) not long ago, there has been this slow dance towards one another, ineluctable as inevitable as an earthquake

23:15

Familiarity brings depth, a closer knowing; she too thought of molting; removing the outer skin to grow larger. Perhaps better described: neither of us is what we were before but different and becoming more intimate . . . larger woven into a continuum of a seamless cloth. This world is actually very small both by comparison with other places in our galaxy and the entire universe but also my current sense of service. A nurse from ‘our’ hospice visited today and I knew of, but not, her until I saw her.

Long ago I stood on a neighboring vacant lot awaiting the dawn arrival of a traveling tent circus. When I arrived there was a man, bag in hand, who explained he waited to rejoin them moving along having tarried there in my town and state for a time. I have held a sense now realized that we who serve in whatever manor are travelers not settlers of any given place but always following the need; theirs and ours to be what we are.

Then too, there are those of us, stationary, who travel vast distances, within and without, crossing all time. And for whom time and death have no meaning and nothing can hold captive.

130531 03:44

For The Interlocutor. I sense myself able to say yes or no. Knowing that were it otherwise I would remain addicted to the idea/ideal/idol of what is good, etc., not subject to decay. There is within any belief system those who would teach by rote what must be experienced if to have any value at all above control of the masses.

Reflecting, retroactively, similar circumstance/opportunities—remembering the frenzy and being riddled with doubt, I wonder now where the fear went?

. . . the thrall that held me captive for most all of my life . . . while fabulous also filled with suffering and grief. The latter certain to revisit me and mine since we are spiritual being in biodegradable packages for now but not forever.

"War is the science of destruction." - John S. C. Abbott

. . . discovered in this morning’s search for quotes. Of comparable value to Kurt Vonnegut and his reference to ‘death by mechanical puncture’ . . . rape of another kind?

Standing alone in the dark Mary’s robe of stars made dim by dawn smoking another cigarette, I am fraudulent to suggest that you do no harm, first to yourself, then another, but that’s me. I am a whore for words and images that demand my attention, remembering whores perform a service and politicians, in general seem only to serve themselves. The most obscene are those who so richly reward themselves at our expense and then worse, cataclysmic, are those who suggest that heaven is available only to the children, women and men who destroy themselves with bombs carried in to the midst of public concourse . . . but then there is always the terrorism of commercials suggesting the want of things versus the need of peace and sufficiency.

I will continue to protest the rape of us, we all, the family of mankind . . . it is a good time to be crazy

130530 EDT 05:05 molting

© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved