. . . empathy for assassins and thieves. Meaning merely that I am equally capable and know that emphatically. Yet choose differently. It seems now, given my dreams, that I have sought to define the reality of God but I would spell “God” differently as Love or merely that which is good for my beloved higher than that which I desire for myself.
I have failed this ideal and will fall again, not so much in love, because I cannot love God or Love more, at least not at the moment is it possible to define such a thing as true.
What I have sought for a lifetime is found and in finding it see no limits and no fear. As formerly I knew myself well, as in good mental health, balanced between the potential of mayhem and grace. I came to know nothing is for naught or nothing is for nothing. My greatest wealth is suffering and from those who have much, much is required.
Ya But! . . . But nothing: give and in giving, the way (a way actually) personal/sincere, the journey being the goal not the arrival . . . what might seem loss is expansion not contraction. And if my intention is to lend you my peace I would ask that you examine your fears.
But at that, this is an old man speaking upon the cusp of the grave, having suffered and found in the pain answers bought at the cost of entering my fears.
Arisen from a dream in which I was asked by who or what? Myself or “God” to measure my will to give to another that which is only potential to truth. And like Jesus, if unwelcome move along. I now sense resolution to an issue plaguing me since conception, unconscious then, but now writ large and obvious. The odd conjunction or collision between those I have loved and left came forth full and center. Not as judgment of either they or myself as good or ill but merely that I could no longer be of benefit to them aside from being a prop in their theater.
The what happens after realization: “Is this all there is?”
The urge to merge, possibly to procreate or announce ourselves as worthy of attention and touch, slowly evolves as old age becomes the present; unimaginable in youth. The frantic lust born from attraction becomes reality in companionship; ideally as friends between whom love making is but one facet of all the keys on the organ of life. Pulling out all the stops. Here I’m thinking of J S Bach and or Jimmy Smith.
Being human nothing human surprises me; save that I am curious of my addictions and hypocrisy. Instead I attempt to live by conscious choice doing no harm. Yet even this is hypocrisy since I still smoke cigarettes and breakfast on coffee until my stomach rebells. Adhering to no one religious or political construct and I know of and about many well. I live by my sense of justice for all not merely for myself.
That said I will share with you that my dream was magnificent and myself unworthy of dreaming it except that in the course of my methodical pursuit of quotes I discovered: "My dreams were at once more fantastic and agreeable than my writings." - Mary Shelley
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Mary_Shelley
Where and when I should grovel laying prostrate in thanksgiving, given the synchronicity of such a discovery, I habitually, now, attempt to integrate both the dream, discovery and information into the whole or all of the above. My sole ambition is now to share the process of self creation not for fame, acclaim or fortune since I have all that I need in solitude . . . alone save for that which or who informs me to go further and leap beyond death . . . of myself or this planet soon to die; at least insofar as we knew it.
Most curious is my dyslexic perception of things drawn forward from first impressions and tried against current inquisition. A self auto-da-fé follows from which I resurrect with possibly a gleaning of what is implied by Jesus coming again. So my habit is more a Bond Fire of Vanities than seeking something to write about. (Laughter!) Humility being more an extrusion eliminating the impurities of desire for anything save the next breathe, or heart beat. What keeps me keeping on for what else is there to live for but love. Not for God, or self alone, but for all of it.
Be neither a lender or borrower, the images or wealth of others, or one another; but of self be true. Then you need not beg the love of another, as I did, to be real. Your love given will be true freely given without desire or expectation of reply. And the self who gives genuine. To give material things is needed but more so the gift of self, simple as sincere attention and more, is enough. Seek no applause; for in giving we create our self.
“ 10:38
Wandering around, contemplating borrowing Frankenstein from the Public Library, I fell to wondering why not after so long open and use my brand new i Pad instead? I purchased it months ago anticipating finishing out my days volunteering at hospice. Yet, it seems, fate had other intentions for me. I left over a dispute regarding ownership of my photography . . . well, actually there was more conflict than I care or will list. My time and talents I freely give but steal them from me and I will not retaliate but simply leave and seek other activities for these precious moments I sought to endow with my attention between being required or not during my voluntary hours.
Our fearless scatocephalic leaders have stolen all our social security and so I pay and pay for their folly. Chuckling as I read Montaigne’s remarks about their excreting the same as I, not daffodils but that which reeks; mere waste. Life would have no meaning without death and it is not morbid to think of them as I do of myself. Add. I never say of another, any other, what I’ve not said of myself. I can find no answers for us, but for myself I persist seeking a reasion to live another day. And wonder not that there is public mayhem occasionally remembering that law is remedial while love is preemptive. They who lead seem to know the price of bread while flesh and blood is spilled endlessly and at times I think of Al-Qaeda in Congress wrapped in the American Flag brandishing the Cross of Christ. No less fanatic/zealous in their terrorism than our purported foe.
It follows that at times I’ve seen myself as monstrous. Yet when facing my foes I have learned from them that what is grotesque can teach me humility. It is easy to sneer but difficult to find solutions; the effort is worth everything we hold of value in life. . . . or given our current condition nearing the end of everything: a habitable earth and consciousness as so known while living this life I take pleasure, no, actually joy in the fight.
There is no evil but choice to waste others for one’s self aggrandizement. Beware of old men wearing tuxedos preaching greed. No one and nothing is merely “this or that.” What we judge in lieu of our fear is the full measure of being judged ourselves.
The “history of the world” is written by self-congratulatory overweight old men filled with self-importance; and being legends in their own minds.
130118 06:14 Love is
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
