Awoke
thinking of her. Her bequest. The gift of her 'travel Concordance
Bible'. Small, worn, pages wet (I thought by tears and/or sweat oddly) the New
Testament spine broken mended taped.
Void,
coffee, playing with Annie waiting at the lavatory sink wanting me to
leave the water running for her to play with. Then. Wikiquote: First
Up this day: “Man is not an end but a beginning. We are at the
beginning of the second week. We are children of the eighth day.” ~
Thornton Wilder
Ode
to Joy; my cheeks wet with it!
Words
from beyond the beyond; after the grave she speaks still and I am
renewed beginning again. My once and only? life is fabulous, wealthy
in ways and measures immeasurable. Irrelevant but to me precious and
from which I write. Om. Humming.
Me,
the flea, howling at the moon, and laughing.
“We
ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will
have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that
made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of
the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only
survival, the only meaning.” ~ Thornton Wilder (born
17 April 1897)
.
. . she, of course, like M, read me like a book, naked, obvious, what
am I to do with that, what it was for?
Coatings:
as child, then vital adult, a carpenter, and now older, not
necessarily, wiser I am thinking of what I know as; “Boxing Paint”:
To take many, or several, or merely two gallons of one color and mix
them together in one vessel making hue and value uniform . . . then
thinking additionally; I once paced the confines of a coffin I'd put
myself into early after birth. A living death that I then called
“life.”
Now,
as then, I think myself a Legionnaire in the Legion of the Lost. The
many of us. Even those who overtly seem successful also lost for the
want of such love: The All of Us.
And
for that I will march through the pathless stars forever more.
In
gratitude.
Yes!
(Note:
As overwhelming as the cause and effect seems in my dreams and
conscious life. I seldom consider the process as implying
institution, fixed and immutable, but a symphony, the end of which,
like love, is endless. . . .A having and having not. Add. Always
follow the threads however gossamer.)
Rogue
realization from experience: Illicit resources drug/alcohol etc.
enable the departure but disable the trip . . . maybe, maybe not,
becoming a form of dreams invoked but terrifying. Do I think of
dreams as divination? Obviously, yes!
My
thesis: nothing is lost in the universe, seems more true than ever
now. The dialog between us, the giver of her missionary bibles
traveled to China and Equator, continues to redefine what she implied
in “Keep the Faith” her last words to me.
My
grief healed, after thirty-fives years, of presumed guilt for the
death my children by some personal fatal and evil flaw. I will
flounder and lurch onward being extruded of similar inverse conceits.
To what end? When in doubt make it up.
To
close: I am not oblivious of the events in Boston: violence and
carnage. At the same time I recognize the same events, small scale,
in my life and wonder if we, the family of all mankind, remain
oblivious our mass suicide? Amongst the great anarchist, Jesus comes
to mind first, and then following by my personal discovery, all the
others, stemming back, historically, and forward until now: upon the
cusp of what I sense the end of all freedoms, aborted politically,
expedient in the name of reelection or “safety.”
I
have no answers for us, only for myself, born in chaos accustomed to
change, minute to minute. Thus at peace with the sight of blood &
death—birth as well; external or internal. Real or imagined.
Inferred or implied.
My
peace is not the absence of hazard or plain. I know no guarantees,
save in this: Love is preemptive and law remedial. For love, I am
conservative of the origins of it, freely given. Orthodoxy now seems
retroactive abortion of our freedoms into slavery for the profit of
the few so selfish to remain in power and wealth.
Expect
more, not less, violence.
It
is the way of Power and Force. Rampage seems only one form of
possible protest.
For
myself, and for you, I advocate: Fear no one and envy nothing.
"The
greater part of the world's troubles are due to questions of
grammar."- Michel de Montaigne
I
am tempted to quote what initiated this dream, and what I have
initially written, but feel impelled to use my own words and the
sense I have of their meaning: What you value for eternity is within
you, both intrinsic and extrinsic, there is no way around it but
through it.
For
now, for ever?
Success
seems the way of death, while freedom is a joy forever born of
adversity. Not freedom for the few to exploit the many, but freedom
for all equally. Bliss is responsive, generous, participatory and
responsible doing no harm. Convicted by love, the greatest power and
force I know.
16:39
I
am going to let this end as above. Further thinking hasn't revealed
anything new, merely a reprise of ancient wisdom. There is no good
news, it, otherwise wouldn't be “news.” I am not too shabby when
it comes to consoling having done so for myself, for a lifetime.
130417
04:04 MDT Grand Slam
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
