It is not it what I say it is, itself--something else.
Suddenly upon awakening from a death like sleep. No dreams, just rest. It seems our saying yes to one another, was making real: two not one. Then I fell to wonder, is that the way of death or expansion?
Becoming, unfolding, blossoming . . . or aborting all that was, or had become, until the moment I asked that she take me with her.
"Everything in the universe relates to the number 5, one way or another, given enough ingenuity on the part of the interpreter.” - "The Law of Fives"
. . . annotated in the order presented from beginning to end: this date and time http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Main_Page
- Benito Juárez
"Between individuals, as between nations, respect for the rights of others is peace."
"Democracy is the destiny of humanity; freedom its indestructible arm."
Splayed naked I realized that Gideon's fleece had spoken to me and the implications were something utterly new: the ball is now in my court . . . to eat or volley.
“Once you label me you negate me.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard
“I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard, Either/Or
No guffaw, a deep chuckle at myself; thinking I need to read more, as in what happened after the message was received. Prescriptive? or What? (notes on a life attempting more than existence)
“If I have ventured wrongly, very well, life then helps me with its penalty. But if I haven't ventured at all, who helps me then?” ~ Søren Kierkegaard
The steel of my resolve become a marshmallow, back on the anvil, hammered into what? Could it be that I love the pursuit and catching better than seducing myself? I have, you know, discovering a life resolved in peace, cast upon the waters and the water is now pushing back. Presenting me with consequence pleasure or terror? Surrender the discernment: weal or woe, or stay in my dreamland alone. In all past commitments to loving another I have collapsed, surrendering to their agenda losing myself in the process.
I am nothing if there is no shadow cast by the light of day: reality.
“Is it an excellence in your love that it can love only the extraordinary, the rare? If it were love’s merit to love the extraordinary, then God would be — if I dare say so — perplexed, for to Him the extraordinary does not exist at all. The merit of being able to love only the extraordinary is therefore more like an accusation, not against the extraordinary nor against love, but against the love which can love only the extraordinary. Perfection in the object is not perfection in the love. Erotic love is determined by the object; friendship is determined by the object; only love of one’s neighbor is determined by love. Therefore genuine love is recognizable by this, that its object is without any of the more definite qualifications of difference, which means that this love is recognizable only by love.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard
Am I caught in a Kafka device/narrative of my own making; to have my sentence scribed upon my soul? Had She Said could, at the time before said 'yes' and I'd be facing the same issues lacking current knowledge, conviction, the firm sense of her response to me as a person. Not a man led by the small head; possibly soon irrelevant both? Then was then, Now is now. I have no personality if not in community with others. And this very, special to me 'other' responds like/as M. Rare, in a life of illusions sold as reality. Precious. As she is real and responsive—a pair either way. (laughter)
“Do not interrupt the flight of your soul; do not distress what is best in you; do not enfeeble your spirit with half wishes and half thoughts. Ask yourself and keep on asking until you find the answer, for one may have known something many times, acknowledged it; one may have willed something many times, attempted it — and yet, only the deep inner motion, only the heart's indescribable emotion, only that will convince you that what you have acknowledged belongs to you, that no power can take it from you — for only the truth that builds up is truth for you.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard in Either/Or
Regardless the modest difference in age, we both were parentless, potentially becoming 'parents' to one another. Led by obvious trust, inspired by the Parent of all life, the ground of a being, common to and tenant, this world wide experience we inhabit. What will we incarnate? There, seems always: choice. To move forward or step back. Standing still is to be subject/object of force. Surrendering yourself to slavery bound in chains devised by those who would, and do, exploit us for profit or pleasure: no joy.
All people, it seems, when there is a knock at night, know God as real, naked of all other considerations.
Either way, it is grasp you ass with both hands and kiss it goodbye, to live or die: choice. To say 'yes' or 'no'. If 'no'. Do we cower in the shadows until it is over?! The ground of our being is change. Chance. Nominally modified by choice.
I am, to myself, obviously now, attentive to those who chose to live. At their end defined their life by what they said at the end of it. Confident. Would I be that? Not following their example but finding what they sought.
“Men make their own history, but they do not make it just as they please; they do not make it under circumstances chosen by themselves, but under circumstances directly encountered, given and transmitted from the past.” ~ Karl Marx (born 5 May 1818)
I am reverent to the Source, myself, M and to P ('Had She Said Yes') There is within my choice a respect and wonder, does that stand for “fear the Lord”? A sailor, I know best, life sailed upon the sea, not anchored in snug harbor, slumbering a living death. Is not life, risk? Otherwise it is sufferance. Indifference.
“You cannot get the truth by capturing it, only by its capturing you.”
~ Søren Kierkegaard
I did not choose this day, nor the quotes discovered. This date and quotes are chance. Coupled with an abiding sense, not of astrology, but curiously there is within a thematic integrity. Through which I discover myself at peace, following a methodology proven over a long period of time impelling me to this date. Chance, coincidence, serendipity or synchronicity it works for me as other than prescriptive but offering choices expanding.
It is always coldest before dawn. Discovering myself, as I slept costumed, shivering and hungry. Wondering about the heat that sustains my indifference to anything but this, the words that question, finding no immutable answers. Indifferent to the unreeling of time: what will be will be.
Oddly confident, wherein all previous times equivocal feeling unworthy—incarnating unworthiness. Laughter at myself: hazardous either way. If I have learned anything it is not to rely upon what I say but live loving life. Not as I would have, or have it not, but what it is: reality.
“Sin is in itself separation from the good, but despair over sin is separation a second time.” ~ Søren Kierkegaard
130505 05:55 MDT it is not what I say
© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved
