Nomenclature
changes with use and abuse. The face of love becomes available when
we love ourselves unconditionally as we are--passion transmuted to
compassion. Want transfigured by need; satisfied by sufficiency.
Eternally
young by nature, and choice, I remain growing older day-by-day,
wondering, if while they who love me now as I am, will accept the
actual eccentricities I incarnate. Or will I, as I’ve done in the
past hide behind ‘normalcy’ reflecting that which seems expected
of me: going-along-to-get-along?
Love
is not a prison unless you are addicted to the idea or idol of it.
Discernment or divination offers answers that we can say yes or no
to. Neither Gospel or Fate. My
sense (looking back with inconvenient memory) is that I was
suffocated by a sense I had no right to live. Yet now am at peace,
confident of what is to come regardless the odds against tomorrow,
for you, for me, for us. We all and the nest, this planet we, for
now, call home.
Barring
a rogue asteroid, Escalade or rhinoceros . . . maybe losing my short
term memory, evaporating, demented, will I know, or care? I am
willing to gamble the greatest investment I have, myself, not
confident as those who stack the cards in their favor. Who know of
Whom and to Whom I speak, but by all portents, omens and clues seems
the direction of integration to what formerly was inconceivable to
me.
Joy!
More
complete.
Whole.
More
so than ever before or I’d any prospect of ever entertaining.
Beguiled
by Gideon and his choice making process/prospects, I am wandering
between another game and tilt; the pinball I play daily, collecting
quotes, discovering:
-
Fay Weldon
"If
you put a woman in a man's position, she will be more efficient, but
no more kind."
"There
was no such thing as defeat if you didn't accept it."
.
. . what
in the name of all good, not subject to rust or moth, no
decay,
am I to do with THAT?
Opening
the scar tissue healing of last evenings conversation and confidence
with P.
Panic!
Oh
yes!
I
did say; “we must be real.” Wherein all previous experience,
unreality ruled, and I ran-away. Suicide being the only alternative.
Never occurred to me to kill the adversary. Though in other regards
I’d deadened myself to endure—long—long—time before.
I
am confident there are other issues yet to announce themselves but
this choice and behavior is/was the nexus of my immobility prior.
Mother trained me well, with the impossible tuition, of and how to
face God. The School of Hard Knocks magna cum laudemagnacumlaudi. Of
Presidents, Popes, Bishops, Cardinals Managing Editors, or my father
for that matter; all pussy cats by compare.
But!
Oh Dear God! Of wives, lovers, transient desired women have
I otherwise despaired!
Not
a dark room floor covered in marbles—but
one large glass ball covered in grease
barefoot do I traverse these next days . . . do I have the courage of
which I so easily speak?
Like
Bojangles with optional cymbals strapped to my knees hurdy-gurdy
invited to dance I stand breathless with
anticipation the switch; It’s
SHOWTIME— YOU'RE ON!
Coiled
pot, or thrown clay, upon the potter’s wheel, I am gyrating upward
a new vessel. Cracked again or What?
The
dragon within wants/needs another to dance with.
Laughter!
I’m an eejit hopelessly in love with life.
"Love
is rarer than genius itself. And friendship is rarer than love."
- Charles Peguy
PS
In lucid transparency, it now seems true, I've known not how to ask
for, or express love before; what is already in my heart . . . "Not
to ask is not be denied." - John
Dryden
.
. . Reality TV? What is love, truth, meaning, value . . . more in the
latter future bro/brodettes
"This
above all: to thine own self be true. " -
William Shakespeare
130516
MDT 10:28 nomenclature of lust
©
2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved
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