My favorite dreams aren’t making love with Ava Gardner but going back to work; an ox in yoke pulling a load. At battle with known objectives, single combat.
Thanks to M and the V Mary plus a host of other women I’ve known I can see my ideal in all women and now men; children too. And yet, now, M’s the one and only; I’d be her puppy dog if only she’d let me. But she won’t and that too is okay since she knows me better than I do.
That’s the point of everything; looking backwards and forwards and at now, I am where I need to be but those dreams of going back to work at The Providence Journal still haunt me. Just yesterday ‘bouncing in the water’ as M would have it (water aerobics) I turned to her laughing, saying; I’ve never been happier . . . these being the best years ever of my life to date.
Then, back then, at The Journal, it was See Spot Run. Throw the stick (an assignment) and I’d run bringing back my sense of it, photographically, and get petted. Over the rainbow, and moon. My objectives and gratifications have changed, but the desire to work overwhelmed everything, not once since starting to work at thirteen and now. And yet in my dream I was back at my current age talking to a peer who was explaining the way things are, and yet, again, I realized the vapor of ink and roaring presses humming the building, lent me a sense of purpose until he said something that I took as; the same, old same old daily bread and butter; ‘another day the same old shit.’
Of course, at times, it was something else, something grand and edifying; and yet, and yet, its all gone now. Tripping over the events, personal, corporate, collective, world and universe wide, I awaken to where I need to be now and don’t care a fig if its the last breath; I’m ready.
Can anyone tell me what love is?
. . . I know or think I know love better by Jesus. . . .Then there are all the others similar, none better or worse, just different, describing the whole gem of love by their individual facets refracting the light into all the colors there are, the songs, the dances about the longest unending story, the novel called LOVE. One-on-one. It is never different, the experience of love, but then it’s not the having but the giving that matters now, and forever for me.
Oh dear God how I feel it now; the going head-to-head with anyone and anything, willing to die in the traces for the truth. If I laugh and cry the joy of it is worth it all; this now, the being here now.
. . . oh the delicious fetid lubricity, this rose growing from filth, the unfolding of a lotus, life giving life, yet again.
. . . odd. I’ve never given birth but seen it accomplished in manifold ways and now even now know better like M did with me and maybe for her, not in loyalty so much as emulation, to hold a hand a heart for a time to aid the giving birth of one’s self -- so to speak -- a midwife to life.
. . . 06:34
. . . as I shall leave her, or she me, eventually, it would be well to remind myself that we both for now and all time listen closely to what is spoken before and after language invented. in some small majestic way knowing the ends of this little dot of blue in the black void absent or as seen from afar. in some ineffable way this makes our moments together oddly celestial and precious; she the sun and i the moon dark eclipsed in new phase and the sound of her voice a lullaby still green eyes fathomless gems into which I die at each parting . . . odd. we are as different as peaches - she to me - as i a cumquat's evolution renewed
dust to dust indeed!
“Endurance is nobler than strength, and patience than beauty.” - John Ruskin
. . . beautiful to me in all the above; all woman, but more so much more
. . . 18:24
. . . darkness encroaches, the day ending here where blossoms are rampant, arisen from a nap in a savage dystopian mood: man’s inhumanity to man. Nothing for it but to survive for now to see another day painting its way towards night. And yes, I’d like to die here where and as I am, in peace . . . once in a while broken by the cruelties we all suffer . . . ah yes the indignities and greeding of those who administer our governance; the takers.
130309 0427 back in harness
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
