Genius
resides in all life, no exceptions allowed (a bumper sticker on a
friends car). But then all the usual rules apply. Beginning with: you
have to work it to make it real. Not what you do, or say, but are.
Love, of course.
Laughter!
I suddenly realized that I love and attempt to decorate others,
always women, men being hopeless . . . never ever growing up but old
and remaining infantile. Oink. Little piggy me has trouble not with
booze but broads. Least I offend my Empress M who recently claimed;
“you don't need me” I will, in reply proclaim: I love you because
you are you and I am me, finally . . . or something like that. Or
Milton's
"So
dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him
live no life." . . .
implied/infered 'him' being god
as Jesus . . . the ineffable always I/Thou.
This
impossible love I have is anwered in unexpected ways, tapping on my
forhead in dreams, visions and adorations indescriminate; but too
often cathecting to those women whose kindness, like Julian of
Norwich, is obvious. Imagine a Christmas tree overlaiden with
ornimentation cascading and smothering me. Both smothered by
adoration.
But
then I remember the few couples I've known, of many, who
symbiotically grew one another despite the mechanics of, “did you
clean the litter box?” Or. I won't do THAT! . . . I have a headache
. . . mother said.
Milton
also said:
The
mind is its own place, and in itself
Can
make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.
Paradise
Lost (1667; 1674), Book I, line 254
My
love affair with Milton, infrequently visited, was suggested by a
mystical statement by mom saying: “We are less significant than a
grain of sand upon a beach.” Later to find Thomas Merton's
reference to being bereft of god/good/love upon a desert drown by a
tsunami of it suddenly.
arroyo
at flood
an
undertoad
ribbit
There
is no death for we who inhabit the future without us.
Do
I imply the events monumental should not be made memorabilia.
Trinkets or tombs? The winds of grace touch us all. Never to be held
by anyone. Implying conspiracy inspired respired by grace. The
elasticity of my mother's mind never made a difference in her
behavior. Preponderantly given to violence. She was, as all women
are, slaves to culture save wherein they are a cosmology unto
themselves internally.
Until
now this little piggy wiggling towards the trough seeking the slops
of my mind's desires, actually lust, would give up the farm, the
entire estate, immortality, for what?
Been
there done that wearing the bumper sticker tattooed upon my forehead
in reverse to easily read while shaving. It didn't do the trick
regardless how well we fox trotted. Mamboed, jitter bugged, that
double backed dance, recreational or for procreation sometimes; what
girls and boys do. . . .then too boys and boys and girls with girls.
. . .something like the love between myself and Annie when we talk.
She being a cat and I being her lover.
Regardless
of gender, creed, pleasure or joy, it all seems the same relationship
issues arise. Escape velocity is only possible when we honor the
being of another for themselves unconditionally. For me it was
reading Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury, becoming apparent I wasn't
alone. Later. It became clear, at least to me, acceptance was the
base of love and all the rest was embellishment or aggression.
In
another way of describing the same affairs of lovers would be to say
that we gather together to create something. Usually finding I
brought concrete and sand, you brought the butter and sugar. The
resulting mess unpalatable. To stay together without working on
personal truths and expectations: suicide. A living lie a death while
walking/subsistence towards the ending.
As
I am wont to do, wandering between collecting and writing, I saw her,
a brown kraft paper grocery bag discarded face. Discovering "Growth
is not concerned with itself."
- Meridel Le Sueur
Love
is sacrificial despite
all the promises and wishful thinking. Regardless my longing to merge
with another, love cannot be suicidal. Yet I think it heroic for most
of us to love another in marriage. For me, for now, I must submit: my
love is ferocious and more than I presume anyone alone can bear.
Except to spill it freely in words concrete not cake.
Neither
Nether a bonbon or prize I must be what I am
alone?!
I
overheard the nuns who set me on fire, regarding me, as being
'seductive'. . . .I think I finally understand what they were
concerned about.
08:16
after nap
“I
never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.”
-
Henry David Thoreau
.
. . bit of a piker, I'd say going home to mom for lunch. But then I'm
a fair good I'd say.
Life's
an interactive trip, and for myself I'm no longer astonished: the
collisions and coincidence of falling over serendipity; actual
synchronicity.
Knock
and the interlocutor/author will open the beyond the beyond.
no
accidents I mean.
oh
. . . simply lovely: “co-occurrence”
ah
always
capable of awe
slain
by kindness
130428
04:45 escape velocity
©
2013 by Jack Spratt – All Rights Reserved
