“The
greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in
return.” - eden ahbez
Noised
about, commonly where we live, is the sense it the poorest place for
those with allergies airborne. It follows that few notice my red eyed
lab rat condition with curiosity. M, of course knows my lack of
schedule; engaged in my covert love affair with words. Mere symbols,
until you understand your perception and their meanings to you. The
most impossible of all is: 'love'.
Friends,
family, lovers and others observant, would soon be jealous had they
seen either of us with our constant live-in companions: small and
furry. Upon whom we lavish the most obscene affections: languorous
strokings and love talk adoringly sung, or silently communicated.
Since
our first meeting, when she began the long process of saving and
giving me a life, annually I am allowed the privilege of visiting her
home. At first, fed, I'd flee early on but in time came to sense the
best was yet to come and stay later of late. Of the few images I am
allowed to capture of her, amongst my most favorite, shows only her
hands upon Koko, a companion of nine years.
Point
being, I am simply gaga for her and P. Wondering now what will become
of me, Annie, and the maverick mistress/muse, writing, should I
surrender my solitude? Either one could ask for one or all of my
vital organs and I'd freely give but . . . but . . . but? What me
worry? I could easily be swept away by a passing Cadillac Escalade
Sports Utility Vehicle, operator texting, sexting, talking
inattentively. I pray they kill me instead of rendering me useless to
myself.
Could
be a city bus or a runaway rhinoceros; I'll save eating a passing
train for last resort. Crawling in between the wheels not leaving to
chance leaping in front.
Aside
from random kindness and drive by affirmations, all women of course,
these two have lent me reason to keep breathing . . . it seems
possible to grow a soul but personality requires accomplices,
communion, community and goals.
Both
spirit and body in fine fettle I seem to be on the middle way as yet.
Feeling the warmth of two hands one and the other with me in between.
Thus the lofting gliding sense of being aloft flying. From either, at
times, I receive clues that they have read something this intimate of
me. Both knowing the terror of my childhood mother, forgiven and
recognized as the source of my, sometimes rude, vocabulary. Well
shaken, stirred, tamped down, compacted within it the alchemical
retort my mind.
Such
intimacy is perilous when published; but it is from my personal
journals that I've learned to listen to myself. And potentially save
another life; one would be just Jim Dandy. It wasn't so much singing
for my supper as humming to keep alive. She was a terror in general,
at times, especially when intoxicated, otherwise silent: never
benign. I am so fortunate, even at such a late date, to be healed by
both M & P differently. Given a history of love in spite of it
all, I tend to give undivided attention to these two, for whom I
would give my life.
Historically
I began to distrust all prior women fatally. Not boredom but simply
concluding myself either unnecessary, or fatal, to them by their
antics. Lessons learned by mom's tutelage have been near impossible to
unlearn. For the majority of what I formerly called 'life' really
subsistence I concluded that I inflicted or infected others by my
existence. By choice or chance near death I was saved. Why?
Thy
will be done?!
I
sense life is, in itself, a self-portrait. Not what we look like, but
are, and do.
The
nature of my love is to give, independent of response, refusing to be
defined good or ill by anyone, regardless the consequential meeting
face-to-face with what I love most above all: The All.
To
be the dark angel fallen hearing the last word of love, "Be Gone!" Or
otherwise. So too with these two women.
"Fare
thee well! and if for ever, Still for ever, fare thee well." -
Lord Byron
keys by Diana Zlatanovski
130504
02:47 cultural artifacts
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
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