ribbit the company of men

In the company of men, as a soldier, I learned by example and experience, what leadership is: to train those lead to replace you instantly. That was a fact, or ideal, as impossible then as C. G. Jung's advocacy that the last phase of integration is to address mortality; abstract fact then, but imminent now. Not for me alone, but all of us.

Death is a conviction inherent in birth. I have a sense of having little time to wander or wonder about what happens afterwards. Yet have, in time become aware, that kindness, love, joy, compassion, empathy are values I am willing to die for. Not ever having served in combat I intuit that troops live and die, not for a flag or ideal, but themselves as family; for each other. That is the brotherhood of men/women who commit and participate in what is real.

There are light years of separation between aggression and assertion. The peril I am aware of has nothing overt that should concern you with. My intention is not alarm but to suggest that you, as you are, are precious and should sell, donate, or sacrifice your life dearly. Commensurate with the value I see in our family of mankind; uniformly and equally. (Later added: collaboratively?)

My truth is not a brand, governance or religion since I sense nor discern none adequate. Save in the universal rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

KISS = Keep It Simple Stupid

Laughter. Amongst photographers there is a saying: “Unlike doctors we cannot bury our mistakes.”

07:19

At an illogical stopping point, between wise guys and wisdom gals, prophets, poets and authors, even a few statesmen--too few at that--I came to sense something ominous; putting it on the pillow with my head.

Where I live there is a season of wind; upon us now. In my headlong plunge seeking to balance my perceptions, informed by thinking, feeling, intuition, sense and instinct: what I decide my personal reality is or is about as actionable truth. I fell to disquiet blindsided by, from desperate resources, an aeolian harps distress. Humming my synapses, the only thing equal to light, perhaps faster in travel.

Here, in this season, the wind will suddenly raise dust to the extent one would be ill advised to travel about, since vision is constricted as severely as a blind fog or enveloping blizzard. Dust, like water, filling every void; extinguishing all conceits, presumptions or ambitions until it is over, scourging all life. Drowning in air?

There are too many of us, and I will gladly leave, but tarry a while for the children, who innocent of death, teach us to be at ease dying.

Never sure of being a curse or blessing in these times, I slump into silence (rarely) yet nattering on. Humiliated and humbled.

I still wonder what I will be when I grow up?

I lie. Words, mere words, build and destroy me. Thinking I was finished my eyes fell upon:

“To keep oneself safe does not mean to bury oneself.” - Marcus Annaeus Seneca

. . . it is a way, not The Way, but works for me, this that I daily do when alone . . . just a rogue thought crossing my attention now: escape and evasion is constant motion, if captured forgive your executioner. Did not Cicero say to his assassin; “Strike!”

If you would hear God, listen to God's Children: All of us.

And should you think yourself God you are not.

PS

What I left out of the previous post, or posts, can't remember now:

“I realized that the deepest spiritual lessons are not learned by His letting us have our way in the end, but by His making us wait, bearing with us in love and patience until we are able to honestly to pray what He taught His disciples to pray: Thy will be done.” - Elisabeth Elliot

14:08

And then another nap, in which I dreamed most salaciously, myself as venal. Immoral! Okay! I say let me see myself as I am, not as I would be. Unethical! To know one's self and accept that as . . . what . . . the light year gap between ideal and real.

Be careful of what you consume. As for myself. I am just as capable as anyone (thinking of politicians) phony baloney. Just for laughs.

What I dislike about writing, versus image making or capture, dance or stage event, is that when you review it, I, at least, discover vast vistas ignored. Pregnant with potential. And wonder should I go on or delete it; or myself? It is an odd task this that I put myself to: solitary, arcane, obtuse (laughter thinking of my bitchy muse amused with me squirming. Twitching and writhing upon this vivisection board) what I knew moments ago utterly changed. A foundation become quick sand.

And Yes! I love it more.

ribbit

130425 02:12 MDT the company of men

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved

welfare drag queen

Prized above all is the gift of awe!

Unlike the portrait, cellular phone in hand, of the young man who videoed his room mate making love (having sex?) with another man. Leering in awe, a voyeur, mindless with glee. I, for one, identify with the roommate plunging into the Hudson River; not quit wet but soon to be.

Frankly, for my part, Republicans don't have a prayer, for I see in their specious flatulent posturing; not glee but death. I'd be a drag queen for my below poverty social security, in their view of things. Democrats being nominally 'better' after the Rhodes Scholars definition of sexual congress as in not having it via oral sex. Then aiding, abetting and praising Credit Default Swaps. Followed by The Boy Bankrupter, Howdy Bush with Uncle Bob Chaney whose arm up Bush's posterior flapped G. W.'s yap.

The Great “Decider” indeed!

Forgive, please, my venomous infliction or infection. In the course of things, as I practice it, I discovered a quote that simply tore my heart out; cutting my spinal cord in half. With regret I did not annotate the discovery in my last post. It, being too Christian.

My version of Jesus is: He was a pain in the sit down and an anarchist in His time; still is--at least to me.

Speaking of Jesus: Jesus! I wish Barbara, G.W.'s mother, had done the job, instead of he or her husband. Forgidaboutit: sneering Uncle Bob Cheney.

Too many rubber chicken and canned pea dinners listening to the obscene burlesque of politicians to take either they, or myself, too seriously. What me worry! It will all be over sooner or later. I no longer wonder why it is possible to see God more clearly amongst the poor.

Oh! I did fail to mention Jesus too!

Humble, meek, in tattered fatigues, wrapped in newspapers sleeping under a bridge.

So. No. I'll stay as I am remembering: "Do not wish to be anything but what you are." - Saint Francis de Sales. The devil I am, and in the details, may be necessary to what, I don't know. But I'd love to see what Jesus would do with The Congress of Baboons throwing over their secret bank accounts and smug self-congratulatory rewards for failure. Convicted. Nothing is lost to eternity. Stupefying, their posturing.

130425 00:03 dubious

. . . but reverent about all things actually. I awoke thinking about being helpless, loving the process of inquiry and debate. Then thinking: To speak about, or of God, is like being a glow worm flitting in the dark compared to the Sun.

Obvious, to me at least, I love God. Above and most of all--more than life itself. So too M, at least nearly so. Who long ago expressed her prayers for my highest good. Weeping then and again, and again, even now the memory of such a gift conditioned by the closing thought I decided not to quote; “Not my but thy will be done.” (Actually it was the last: Thy will be done.)

It is not so much what I say, or what I do, but what I am. Wearing a Jerusalem Cross. Conscious of a dream wherein one was pressed to my lips; a white hot brand. It is a symbol derived from experience. Homage paid. And become emblematic, but not an exclusive idol or fanaticism, of an expression best voiced by others universal; at least insofar as we can see and understand it. For I am as much Buddhist, Janis, Dow, Islamist as Christian since I see within my time “God” spoken of in many languages; as universal and the origin of what I consider the Collective Consciousness to be by origin.

Can I say simply: The will/choice to love and create versus destroy; or slump indifferently before adversity? I see no seams in the whole cloth of this, spoken of, here, then there, across all time.

Did I mention considering myself a Jew? Standing beneath the shower heads expecting water and receiving lethal gas. I see divinity everywhere; either overt or hidden. Yet I was, am, and remain a poor spokesperson for my love.

I reserve the right to be an eejit, a dunce sat upon a stool in the corner with pointed hat and bells attached to the pointy shoes I wear; a jester. Creative and eclectic to a fault, I see my function to collect and refract information as light with levity or not. Wearing motley panties or not.

130424 05:35 welfare drag queen

© 2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved