if

Stunned to a stillness, a quiet, surprised my stylus consciousness made broader by quotes:

“In Heaven, all the interesting people are missing.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

Initially, at first reading, bewildering, but now given what preceding I wrote about: my sense of heaven within. Makes a new sense. There is a clamor for our attention, I being one of many voices equally guilty. While I choose to ignore the noise of babble.

There remains a minor/minority of fear within that I, at times, give credence to: That I will harm instead of love by my attentions anyone much less those I fell led towards specifically.

Fraudulent should I suggest that I pray: “May the words of my mouth and heart express Your will for us, not my intentions solely.” I am not ‘dial-a-prayer’ or sermonizing. But expressing a process which in itself suggests that all is process not an end in it self.

Tickled pink with another of my biological father’s observations: “Most men speak merely to acknowledge/know they exist.” It follows that I may be equally guilty. For at another time, in other contexts, he stated towards me: “You have diarrhea of the mouth!” Uncertain, at this great remove; was it what I said or the questions I asked?

Knowledge and wisdom, both wonderful within themselves, never fed a hungry mouth; the experience of safety in the presence of a friend does. And so answered is my question, long standing, ‘why is it possible to see God more clearly amongst the poor—the meek.’ We, living not alone by bread or fish, but every flower of love present and real we seek. Made more precious since unlike all other forms of life we know we will die.

Seek what you need, not want wishfully, and it will be given.

In my case it has taken near forever alone in the pressure cooker, alchemical retort, of fear to find love and peace. Only made more so in giving it forward; towards all others their peace discovered within. The end of war is that instead of two only one remains alone. All the wealth in the world, material or spiritual, is worthless without the other as friend or foe. What I might destroy destroys me . . . the keeper kept works only in that I am kept by the beloved and we together are whatever will be will be wonderful

06:09

I am liberal by embrace

and conservative by what impels me to embrace

all affectionately

Conscious at the moment, she may be awake, weaving back and fourth between quotes, writing, and now checking my email. Aware that I am not my furnishings or material concerns. Sensing that love has no script and there is no mythology or legend—in fact—nothing I can discern by close scrutiny, but love itself. My conclusion for now, barring fear of consequence, that I write, or do not write anything similar to what has preceded this moment is irrelevant. Satisfied that what I sought—lifelong—is found; what follows will be what it is, itself.

07:44

I sought return to rest for a time, displacing Annie who remained—me curled around her, restless given farther thoughts. I arose again and making more coffee dropped something nominally precious to me: a glass container and then thought is this an omen? Indicative of what I must leave behind or choose to move at added expense?

And now I conclude; mindful conscious living is no game but nothing more than saying yes or no to whatever proposed.

Whatever valuable, not subject to anything, Truth being more precious than “God”. I am reminded of lunch with M yesterday, equivalent to all other prized hours with her. In which I expressed the suddenness of love unexpected, she concurred. Then to my; ‘otherwise I would remain simply waiting for the zippered black plastic bag’; she replied; “so are we all.”

In the two posts, today, broaching topics worthy of lengthy exposition, I sense myself too little or too much; then remembering, best, that I once thought only of Gideon as in bedside drawers ignored in No-Tell-Motels.

I am of no special mint, being a penny lost, and found, and lost again. Ignore me: for my words are merely annotations on a life becoming more sincerely process not goal.

“Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust – we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper.” - Albert Einstein

Thank you for reading me, be well.

130518 MDT 05:08 if

© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved