gingersnaps

To myself I am an uncomely man; nothing to look at—nothing to see. Yet M said I was handsome. And now Pamela and Ginger her companion, who is a forty something pound dog; seem to love me as I am.

For long I have considered myself unwanted and unlovable; a gargoyle atop Notre Dame, more like Quasimodo in appearance than an angel. Yet as I love God more than myself or anything or another I have learned in time that love is key in the following sense. Men love many superficially while women love singly and deeply and where men grow old and die remaining childish; women, it seems to me, are more wise being born that way. There are, of course, exceptions and then my wishful thinking. But by experience and survey I sense myself correct in my presumptions.

My sense, and experience, now, is that I love the three females above named nearly as I love God and merely like myself as I am. The Presence presents in manifold and delightful ways love, not merely for me, but all off us. Add. That my distress is ameliorated by the following: it is not men who are against me or women in general, but merely that men generally are only for themselves.

It is a term of endearment for me to call Pamela Joyce “Snickerdoodle” in the milk and cookies sense of reward. She greeted my long trip to her side with cookies and coffee to tide me over from the poor diet of inflight dinning. And has continued to nurture and succor me ever since.

In recent converse I mentioned being bewildered that so many confessed things otherwise uncommon about themselves and experiences profound. To which she replied something to the effect that I am, in person, something akin to a self-propelled Teddy Bear. Her remarks are, seems to me, that I have different modalities for interacting as a person or journalist.

As journalist we have little ability to help those who suffer but, instead, merely report it. For the moment I think I am nearing the nexus of all conflict in simple terms. Uncertain how to express it in ways comprehensible; especially those amongst us who do not read but look at things as what they want to see versus what is. Nones. If there were no ‘bad’, ‘good’ would have no meaning . . . and for me heaven is not stasis but farther learning . . . therefore death has no dominion.

I have an unusual reverence for the elderly having been schooled by my grandmother in love. The milk and cookies routine came from an elderly woman neighbor living alone for whom I on several occasions did chores and it was she who began my longing for: milk and cookies. Her kindness to me remains salvific and for which, in gratitude, I pay forward to even those whose behavior would assassinate me. Life being what it is, difficult but not impossible, yet when it becomes so death is preferable to fear and slavery.

This simpleton’s sense is that those most free to call the poor criminal are in fact criminal themselves having stolen all the resources for their own means and ends. Adding nothing to life, love, liberty but empty monuments to greed.

I am conservative of eternal verities; values that serve the populace. Considering, above all things, treatment of poverty the single greatest measurement of civilization and culture. Were I the John Jesus mentioned I would in any part, large or small, be disappointed with today considering His crucifixion then, now, continual, as criminal and a waste of talent.

To me He was not God but of, from, inspired, as any great teacher and prophet. Thus allowing for God to speak now in the voices of children, the poor, the elderly and those amongst us conscious of generosity, kindness, mercy, love, for all life in general, as best what is good absent decay. For me—now—is eternity, there being no yesterday or tomorrow. And grace only possible in what we agree upon. Sans our being manipulated by fear by those who profit from doing so.

My audition for the hand and attention of Pamela Joyce continues and in the process I sense, with humor, so it goes with God. Daily, hourly, moment to moment no distress or anger unresolved. Love never dies but is continually renewed.

I am ready to leave at any moment. Conscious that in saying goodbye is saying hello—love is a verb. And at that, merely another name for God.

130601 EDT 03:01 gingersnaps

© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved