Measured by times apart / together / the dance of reverence / irreverent the loves not lived / but then what is love / tell me please / mystify me again in the sea of your emerald eyes
M wrote she'd not be there at aerobics for near a week, if not more, and I awoke thinking of she who'd I not see until she chose to see me . . . then the others swimming in my attention equally beyond the pale plumbing the depths of despair; embossed upon me: a spinning prayer wheel, a flag of homage flapping forlorn, for what else to know nothing lost in time irrelevant in the ALL . . . And then, and then, and now slumped in peace within the placental sea of promise becoming another life.
Neither of us do funerals or postmortems and will in time become dust upon the desert; no memorial save in filling the ALL with love for now / forever.
When it rains our garden blushing / in wild array of color / briefly / again for a time is enough. To have been painted light against dark temporarily.
When synchronicity, lightning strikes, say thank you! and keep moving if not split in half like an ancient oak.
Wholly unrelated possibly totally so: when I think of making love it is Bach who sings; the Brandenburg, Magnificat, or best better more yet the Double Violin Concerto. And then I realize the impossibility of this with another, other than THE ALL; to and for whom which it was sung in the first. At play amongst the stars silent void, consciousness caroming rampant.
It is not possible to make another love themselves and so my longing for love with, or in, a woman became the principal motive for all I've done unrequited until this moment recognizing the who can requite. . . . no not the longing to withdraw the sword, as Arthur, but endlessly plunge it into the stone abrading its edge sharper until my desire fulfilled, the sword no more, humiliation become humility.
Mother never loathed being a woman to the degree of self-mutilation, but instead resented fearfully being one, to which, it now seems, I was then her foil. Incredulous, I once, late in life between us, asked my father; was their marriage a success? “Yes!”
Curious!
Since by my observation and experience the truth, would otherwise, be contrary. What does it mean to “honor” one's parentage or “fear” God? Odd, not to die wondering yet to remain spiraling coalescent vaporous enraptured overarching the boundaries of confusion and chaos at last. The obverse of my joy is not sorrow but solemn sincere gratitude for it all . . . on a different order of magnitude, making sweet what was sour; lemonade from lemons; bitter gall an anodyne.
. . . how can I question the wind that plays me; an aeolian harp or judge, otherwise, the unsung silent poetry inside for which in gratitude many have made entire cathedrals of sounds, myths, symphonies then constructs of thoughts administered by those political become stewards of conceit and confection.
How sweet the silence and to be anonymous unremarked.
If so, why do I continue? For those like me who wonder wandering in the desert pathless. Seeking what? Not my, or your, but our way. Wholeness.
. . . add, though not required, no gratuity, but homage for what The All & M have done to and for me. Gibbeted tied and nailed upon my own words; slain. Asking in the howling in my heart that God be real and if possible to grow receiving the love large enough a vessel for others. . . . Communion is not milk and cookies, the body and blood implies the feast is yet to come. Say yes!
. . . and of course; be well
. . . 07:25
Afterword(s): In closing it occurs to me that I use Christian metaphors and similes to confabulate what is tactile/experiential to me. Yet cringe to name - The All/Om - by words exclusive to one religion or another, or any at all. Since I hear truths spoken by many who by education, choice or nature would eschew what they seeming sense is slavery and/or idolatry. We are not born slaves but make ourselves so by fear.
As in awe of the inarticulate as those who speak and demonstrate the simplest sense of “Do unto others as . . .” The primary foundation of moral and ethical behavior - choice – what is universal.
Memo to myself: I create nothing definitive but a record of process; not revolution, but evolution into something, a sense, of what makes life and love possible. Incapable of healing or changing anything but myself . . . redeeming from waste - vitality – absolution. I conclude these things inherent in all life. . . each element a facet of a gem far larger than the sum total of us all.
Perhaps if only once you did enjoy
The thousandth part of all the happiness
A heart beloved enjoys, returning love,
Repentant, you would surely sighing say,
"All time is truly lost and gone
Which is not spent in serving love." - Torquato Tasso born this date long ago.
Aminta Act I, sc. i, lines 30-31 (1573)
130311 04:29 irreverence
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
