I
am irrelevant in the context of time; the before, during and after of
it. I could and would, were it not too painful for all others to
remind themselves, equality in this estimate, save for the Origin of
us all. What I play with is death to others, perchance death to
myself, a la to several I contemplate it was.
Context
is another matter. It is the center of what considers relevance. I
appreciate the few readers I have. Reminding myself these are merely
annotations of a life never having listened to itself before.
Otherwise it occurs to me, I am merely a burr and inconvenience; a
source of distemper and distress to most. Yet it amuses me to be so.
At least within the precincts of my conscious mindfulness.
“Good,
Better, Best” a phrase I heard my father discuss regarding coffee;
all the same merely labeled so. Like General Motors, the same vehicle
costumed differently, same/equivalent, if only in regard to
functionality. As with all things I can argue the case either way.
A
person first, man second, a soul who loves unreasonably; the former
being overruled by the latter usually . . . a dust mote considering
eternity. What would I be without woman, the singular or many of them
giving me birth from age to age. Saying nothing of civilization; not
man first, woman second but both equal and created together. Love
sold as a commodity like tooth paste an ignoble economy cheapening
life perpetual slavery. Random review startles me, the number of
women whose kindness kept me from drowning in despair; men being
hopelessly self concerned, vain really growing old not up.
The
woman, PD, is organic, a logical progression by experience/intuition,
and with M, I sense, finally, I am loved; otherwise not sure I could
affect the same alteration by myself alone. It is choice. God is
otherwise irrelevant if not operative within flesh and blood realty
what we call life. Being more real to me than myself.
I
have not been able to find a construct, either science, religion or
philosophy, to contain or express my concerns. Yet each woman within
their individual selves has brought me to this new found freedom from
my didactic (ridiculous?) self. The nitty-gritty is not all sky
pilot, so heavenly concerned, no earthly good. . . .However were they
sleeping beside me or near, I'd not be able to write this? Or would
I?
Face-to-face
they have demonstrated to others and myself, a singleness of purpose
and focus of kindness, astonishing in kind and degree. . . .of and
about which I seem, if nothing else, a witness. About more, one says
no the other says yes.
A
complete fool, I make simple things complex.
Life
flowing around me, a hoary lichen covered stone. Talking about,
walking the walk. Forgive me for inflicting upon your attention these
personal questions. It is a way, not The Way; merely a process of
clarification in chaos; pleasurable potentially joyous.
Reminding
me of my “Great Dream”. Recurring five times over: Leaving a
castle into the moon lighted, trackless desert. Demonstrative of
potential paths for others? Amongst all the traditions, they seem
equally divided between celibacy and the opposite. In either case,
they seem stronger than I am. Wiser too.
Wondering:
either/or – and/both?
Together
with either M or P there is a radiant warmth enveloping me.
Laughter
just discovering by chance:
“Have
no mean hours, but be grateful for every hour, and accept what it
brings. The reality will make any sincere record respectable. No day
will have been wholly misspent, if one sincere, thoughtful page has
been written. Let the daily tide leave some deposit on these pages,
as it leaves sand and shells on the shore. So much increase of terra
firma. this may be a calendar of the ebbs and flows of the soul; and
on these sheets as a beach, the waves may cast up pearls and
seaweed.” - Henry David Thoreau
.
. . who went home to mom for lunch.
Ask
and you will receive, perhaps not what requested but what is needed.
To which, of course, as with God, one is, in Free Will, always able
to say “yes” or “no”
Reverent
and uncommonly seductive (read Casanova) I am written upon life like
the wind. Here now gone momentarily. Yet I live, love, think and
write better by the attentions of all three personalities listed
above. Add: is it not one of historical function, women growing
little boys into men? History's folly, not giving equality to them.
"Who
knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for
ages under many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life
of society ... may unexpectedly come forth ... to enjoy its perfect
summer life at last! ... such is the character of that morrow which
mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. ... Only that day dawns to
which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a
morning star." - Thoreau
Submerging
to nap awhile I thought and upon awakening remembered: “No man is
greater in love that he who is willing to die for his neighbor . . .
or something like that, at least the essence of it remains . . . and
it seems not chance or fate but something greater has given me two
neighbors who love in return. You'd think I am about to die?
Laughter. Saved, who am I to savior another?
130506
02:46 relevance
©
2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
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