latter future

Beyond the Beyond, sometime in the latter future, maybe billions of trillions of years, but who’s counting, by what measure, from now: the language and those who speak/hear it may be gone but the experience of joining Creation will remain. Or mainly what tommorrow will be, of equal measure for me—the many years implied—I’ll be for another what I imply Heaven; that is. Or Whatever will be—will be—of us: two people becoming one and then and then and then.

Pleasure flickers, joy remains ever-after, complete whole holy. Remember nothing of me but of yourself remain beloved & love is preemptive while law remedial; what is given grows.

Sooth teller only of myself. Able to change nothing: myself—the collective—the Universe—except my perceptions of its experience / the verities hammered within and upon ‘me’ / veraciously / voraciously / ferociously—Ruth beloved.

"It is astonishing what force, purity, and wisdom it requires for a human being to keep clear of falsehoods." - Notes from Cambridge, Massachusetts (July 1842) published in Memoirs of Margaret Fuller Ossoli (1852), Vol. II, p. 64

Beauty, to me, is not in the eye of the behold but the “I” of experience. And my mission: the equality of the feminine of God or any woman as child, adolescent, nubile fecund or not, or crone. Experience the wisdom inherent absent the form in which it comes to you or as sought.

In an ineffable sense what we rape, murder, steal, destroy does the same to us becoming the victim. What goes around comes around and in truth nothing is hidden forever. I ain’t da JUDGE but curiously sense I know the one of whom it was said ‘vengeance is mine’.

Humiliation become humility in me.

It has always or nearly so been near impossible to express either my love or ask for it in return. Looking at the tree I am wondering at how the branch’s grew why that direction that extent. Bemused that at my age antiquity I still grow fractures in the sky silhouetted mirror wisdom leads into infinity . . . forgive me please my analogies comparable to His resurrection in each and all of life potent potential but it started this recent growth with sitting across of my beloved M the Sphinx of green emerald eyed infinity who rolled back the rock covering my intransigence . . . so she is nearer god to me . . . watching to see what will happen . . . if so and then . . . Pamela is Jesus calling forth this Lazarus now singing, “Let’s Dance”

I ani't nothing at all and don’t care a fig what you think of me, what I write, my sense of grace. However I care deeply and sincerely what you think of your (precious to me) self. Love that is, real. Confident that should you love yourself all bets are off about the future: mobetta.

I love these two women equally M&P yet one, in essence says; “no way Jose.” “Had She Said Yes” P for Pamela Joyce in saying yes is now dancing we together—for both I can only say thank you for sharing the Universe with me as your audience. Laughing, clapping, sighing, twitching, crying for sorrow and joy, dying, reborn again.

What more could a man want? GOD! Well of course.

130523 MDT 05:20 latter future

© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved