Should I now genuflect, kowtow, bow, curtsy, kneel or merely grovel at your feet kissing them?
Authority, by experience, superficially benign while seeking to eat my lunch; then something far worse biting my heart and extinguishing my life. Authority, in general, seems intent upon survival at any cost regardless Darwin’s suppositions mangled to individual survival; not the body politic; the species or the Earth for that matter.
Yo-yoing between bed and throne, having forgotten to take my medication causing the trips, many, and loathe to return the dreams that continue to haunt my sleep. Regarding not the obvious concern for those about to die but their stewards--the Business of Death. The aftermath of leaving hospice continues to query my consciousness; in that I had presumed to die there standing up. And happily so since I love people. In specific, not the herd.
It then seemed best to sacrifice myself than to continue in what had become apparent: my inconvenience to the administrators. A moment of anxiety until I thought perhaps it was time to move on. Having had a recent near death experience I know the value of such time as remains to be alive. And having accommodated the random aspects of life in our time I was less inclined to abide the sure snark of their presence, never benign.
At that, I should have paid them for the experience; both the coming and going. It is possible to grow your soul in isolation but not a personality capable of swimming the sea of chaos . . . much less . . . thinking of Jesus: striding the waves becalming them. How many of my heroes died before their time being assassinated and forgiving their assassins! I too forgive they who dismissed me arising to another life. One once thought impossible in this individual much less while traversing the closing days of it, near or far.
. . . 07:34 If I spend the treasure chest of my love unto the last dregs, it is renewed with dividends. Yet I do protest and suggest for others that what is spent upon infertile ground is a waste.
But then what do I do with my dreams? How to respond? Serendipitously I hope! From birth until now I have labored to turn the slings and arrows of vicissitude into cupid’s messages not intended to annihilate me. A pincushion with pins scattered like grapeshot I do not twitch and writhe upon the stake planting me in place. In most previous cases I’ve waited patiently until the moment, not mood, seemed opportune to scamper silently away to the residence of my solitude and solace of my soul.
However in some instances my leave taking has been grotesque and lingers as does the leaving of hospice. Add, the awareness of my love for people manifest there is no longer possible beyond random kindness to those whose lives and deaths intersect with mine in the ordinary of my life.
Would it have been, in other circumstances, best to buss her posterior in obeisance? I think not; since there are many things worse than death.
“Everything keeps its best nature only by being put to its best use.” - Phillips Brooks
She who was unable to feed herself who’s birthday was to be on (Saint) Valentine’s Day had passed and there I stood dying myself the waste hurled upon me by a mercenary mind. Actually I’d been fed the gall several times before and come to shutter the sight of her--not the one past but the one present who--sought to void upon me all her anger.
To close: I am reminded, this long afterwards, I am subject to wondrous sychronicities in words and events at other times and places. So my protest falls mute in awe that something better may be the offing. And therefore regard the event as another excursion. Then too I must remind myself that even the best I’ve ever heard of, or known, have bad days. Yet after several there by the same author I quit.
. . . 23:12 perhaps I misspeak framing what is essential: is any institution about the truth or only true to itself. i.e. religion is about God but not God. . . .add: my daughter died in a similar institution alone in an iron crib packed one hundred to a warehouse room. I doubt that I will ever expunge my guilt for that choice. My experience is the motivation for my anger with authority. Any why will find a how . . . if I cannot tend to the dying I can tend to the living who have no sense of life’s value.
130210 03:06 authority
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
