As
archeologist/self-biographer I am amused to tell you I am certifiably
insane. There is a history, like toilet paper spooling from the cuff
of my left pant leg, trailing me hither and yon. Detailing all the
past medical history for which I have spent thousands of wasted
dollars for medications I did not need. The misdiagnosis, bipolar,
seemed to fit. Invoking a sense of relief. Having long wondered what
was wrong with me; verbatim, my mother's response upon first hearing.
There
have been other cases of misinformation and consequences. Only
yesterday I heard a doctor explain why my son died; having been
x-rayed in his mother's womb four or five times over. A fact that the
AMA did not approve at the time. In general doctor's have a license
to practice medicine and are not miracle workers or gods.
My
abiding concern is for people. Why we do what we do. Healing that in
myself makes it less mysterious in others. Retrospectively it
explains my entire esthetic to me. More-or-less equally divided
between the art/craft of writing—something previously impossible to
me—then reporting the facts of my experience so that, perhaps, just
one other might be encouraged to fight for themselves in the face of
'authority.'
I
find it bemusing the number of medicos and politicians who treat us
with humiliation, indifference and as cyphers towards their bank
accounts. I do have a prejudice for the servant of servants, obvious
to and among the poor.
140419
03:53 Ashamed
I
am ashamed that I've lost my mother's bequest. Conscious of her
labors, oblivious to her former husband , my father, for who's
ambitions I prostituted mine, at the end he left me bereft of his
company as well as his fortune I helped to amplify and invest.
Equally,
possibly more so, I am ashamed of what American Free Market Economy,
has become as terrorist to the world.
Then
swiftly spiraling downward, awake, I discovered a new sense for
'insanity':
“We
painters use the same license as poets and madmen.” ~ Paolo
Veronese
.
. . then rediscovered my sense nothing is lost in eternity. All will
be well, in all things, all will be well. We are held in memory by
choice, chance, creation or evolution . . . lending my recall, that
to be kind is to define what I am convicted of: mercy not rage. Love
made possible for all, in reality.
Startled
to recognize that I am held in confidence; wherein the past I was
terrified that it was all an illusion. This that I write is nothing
but notes on a life becoming something else as we all are. And ask
merely for patience to see what we become. And become of us. A
blossoming new creation or merely rendering ourselves extinct.
Could
it be that the real insanity--doing the same things expecting
different results--is what those who pretend to be most sane, the
governors and rulers of sacred, secular empires do. Applying more
censure, closer examination of everything we do. Following us
everywhere knowing our every thought. House arrest for the entire
world?
The
promptings of my heart, sought and apprehended, lend me fear of
nothing and envy of no one. To live as I did, once, was a living
death: no life at all.
Sanity
for me is to be wary of those who claim to have absolute, definitive,
revealed answers for all.
Inherent
within each of us is that which was before the beginning and will
remain at the ending of everything. Attend that and be your once and
only wildly precious self celebrating life, this day, as if it were
your last.
"Insanity
in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations
and epochs, it is the rule."
"It
is precisely facts that do not exist, only interpretations." -
Nietzsche
130418
01:24 Okay 2 B U
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
