pour vous confidence

I am an archaeologist of the Self; using my life as a lab rat . . . Me, the rat, pink nose, red eyes above white whiskers twitching, and I, the self who writes . . . are good friends and tend to play/debate all the time. However it was in childhood that I asked, in prayer, “that “God” be real to me and ‘god’ IS!

My vast and unremitting ignorance surrenders nibble by nibble. And I, curious, am not limited to, or by, any definition of, or about, Who/What lends me attention; both in my sleep and conscious ordinary life. By, or for, which I do not arrogate anything save within the precincts of my self. We are all capable of so much more than we are lead to believe or have faith in. Thinking in animal metaphors is fun; reminding me that we should never/ever anthropomorphize since to do so is false idolatry -- at least ‘false’ to my experience and thinking. . . .

I’ve done it again! Run right off the plane of everything I’ve sought to gain freedom from. Falling naked, no feathers, flapping my yap, yet caught. Not crushed like a fruit fly but embraced.

I am incapable of doing “party tricks” walking on water, resurrecting the dead or healing anything or one other than myself . . . and nominally at that. . . . You should know that Jesus did the miracles and no one noticed, their pain healed, they went about the ordinary of their life.

Yet when He began to speak in parables folks listened. But being my root, in this life, for now, Jesus is not the only one I adore and listen to . . . for out of the mouths of babes (not Eva Gardner but real infants) comes astonishing truths: laughter and tears. I follow where lead by this process and cannot imagine an end or goal . . . having been both subject and object of extreme prejudice I cannot do so to another and question if what I say of myself and experience is not to be welcomed, shunned or annihilated. I do so for the joy of it which cannot be taken away by torment, torture or death. Or at least I pray so since those who do so would be challenged to do more simply to hear me cry out of boredom. And/or their shattered idolatry.

. . . nothing definitive, just taking myself apart like a cheap, made from soup cans, alarm clock, attempting to see what makes it and me tick.

Looming, present and obvious, before me in real time - REALITY - are two mentors who, when queried, claim no allegiance to anything save life itself.

And Love.

. . . and by them, and through the experience of life, otherwise, common to all of us, I know joy.

And/both not either/or.

Ask and you will receive . . .
eventually.

And not what you imagined; but what is, and or can be truth, dependable and intimate.

http://chasingtailfeathers.tumblr.com/post/46216079873
http://chasingtailfeathers.tumblr.com/post/46181255612

130325 02:10 Confidence (pour vous confidence)
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved