121231 05:29 confessions
I awoke with a sense of celebration; being the village idiot and a scaborous stray. Whose life, essentially, can be defined as the runt of a litter in my generation attempting to force my way to the trough of what I now consider, know and am convicted is, the swill fed to the pigs.
I am too familiar with suffering and death to be much afraid of it and less so now. This awareness is a gift beyond any treasure I can imagine since it endows my curiosity to fearlessly consider my own conceits, sentiments and conclusions.
It amuses me to awake with these thoughts upon a blank blackboard and discover that time has no meaning. At least to me it dosen’t; my “New Year” having begun at the nadir of my life: the 21st of December. Which for me is the depth of winter; the longest night. Only now, at that date, realized as the longest day in Sydney Austrailia.
At my age, I am, after all, an animal. A biodegradable vessel whose body, while currently viable, while soon not be.
Laughter.
In recognition that I was once informed my fear seemed, that I’d never die but continue. And this was not conscious or detailed but latter applied. That I did give all my power to women for who’s love I’d do anything for, sacrificing myself, to gain the illusion of completion. With this bald pragmatic, sans all sentiments formerly held as ideal, I do love a woman who loves me. Our love affair being intimate not sexual. Nor is it dependent upon the absence of conflict since there is little we agree upon politically in the ordinary of life yet spiritually merge on the important issue of perception and value; the what and why one is willing to die for or live by.
My sense, immutable, is that our love is transcendent in the case of that which is not dependent upon condition or response. Hard learned and remarked upon in a recent chide to which at any previous time would have destroyed me; now, I eventually replied, in context, I love you as you are. I remaining whole not shattered.
Such love I wish for one and all since it is our gift to love without recompense. To give without desire or expectation of reply.
It follows that I loved my mother, not as potential sexual teacher/partner, but in that she might come to love herself. But at that, as with my father, love was impossible for them since they were, as I was, taught they had no value in family, tribe or nation. Save by what they could acquire.
God, or that which I hear and sense by hearing in the stillness of my heart, loves me as I am, as I do He/She . . . and of need this, or such, love ripples out to those assassins who govern us.
“All infractions of love and equity in our social relations are ... punished by fear.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
The beginning and end of love is what we give. What we receive from God is overwhelming and conducive towards humility; not humiliation. But this requires that we love ourselves instead of beg for love. And at base, at least mine, I remain convicted that I must accept myself, imperfect and flawed, as does God. Self acceptance and honest awareness of my failings is the nexus, or basis, of change.
Truth is never for sale, it must be experienced and lived.
© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
