precedent precedence

Jack Frost was precedent to me Jack Spratt, while a classmate was named Peter Rabbit . . . possibly Peter Abbott but so called Rabbit; in my time at Old Greenwich (Connecticut) Elementary School. Where, initially I was called by teachers, “Jack Frost.” Magical to me since I have largely taken my nursery rhyme name indifferently. . . .Jack being a nickname for either John or Jacob.

Formerly mired in suffering I seldom remember the wonder of delight back then.

There is a remarkable penchant/proclivity for both M and P to follow me down into my rabbit hole. Where I would otherwise hide from the vicissitudes, vagaries, slings and arrows of random chance to curl fetus like sucking my thumb . . . Like Jack Horner and his Christmas pie . . .

Little Jack Horner

Sat in the corner,

Eating a Christmas pie;

He put in his thumb,

And pulled out a plum,

And said 'What a good boy am I!'

Wondering now what kind of fool I'd be were I to avoid the opportunities inherent?

On the personal front I seem to be undergoing a fantastic expansion of opportunities. Begun long ago when at middle age I began to wonder; “Is this all there is within or about me?” Then discovering I love to mess about with words, concepts, constructions of thoughts, religious, philosophic, governmental . . . long long long ago . . . yet in love discovering something greater. No me, of course, simply that for others I do just about anything to so touch as I've been touched and healed.

A sentiment derived from the words and works of others, not exclusively literary. Yet literature is explicit, at least to me it is. While dance, movies, symphonies and images seem suggestive. All prayer.

Easily cyclonic, fearing the destruction of myself, or the beloved, I still wonder at what I'm playing with; considering a consequential relationship full time.

“God sent his Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Regardless the vanity by association or aggregation, they, both M & P. are more giving than I may ever be in real time kindness . . . I'm such an eejit fruit cake, sensing it possible to grow one's soul in solitude, but a personality only in community. . . .The bride groom jitterbug tap dance?

One obviously having said yes. And at best, I've known from beginning to end, myself easily slain by kindness. Obviously, always, a fool for love.

The one saying yes, so far, emblematic of expansion and the line of integration. A greater wholeness unimaginable at my age previously. . . .and what of Annie? Who, obviously, loves me too. No one and nothing being merely anything to me. So defined as dismissible.

. . . could be I am merely a prayer frog hurling my ribbits heavenward, or just an old toad. Kiss me, kiss me not, remaining unchanged not Beauty and the Beast.

130506 06:50 MDT precedent precedence

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

relevance

I am irrelevant in the context of time; the before, during and after of it. I could and would, were it not too painful for all others to remind themselves, equality in this estimate, save for the Origin of us all. What I play with is death to others, perchance death to myself, a la to several I contemplate it was.

Context is another matter. It is the center of what considers relevance. I appreciate the few readers I have. Reminding myself these are merely annotations of a life never having listened to itself before. Otherwise it occurs to me, I am merely a burr and inconvenience; a source of distemper and distress to most. Yet it amuses me to be so. At least within the precincts of my conscious mindfulness.

“Good, Better, Best” a phrase I heard my father discuss regarding coffee; all the same merely labeled so. Like General Motors, the same vehicle costumed differently, same/equivalent, if only in regard to functionality. As with all things I can argue the case either way.

A person first, man second, a soul who loves unreasonably; the former being overruled by the latter usually . . . a dust mote considering eternity. What would I be without woman, the singular or many of them giving me birth from age to age. Saying nothing of civilization; not man first, woman second but both equal and created together. Love sold as a commodity like tooth paste an ignoble economy cheapening life perpetual slavery. Random review startles me, the number of women whose kindness kept me from drowning in despair; men being hopelessly self concerned, vain really growing old not up.

The woman, PD, is organic, a logical progression by experience/intuition, and with M, I sense, finally, I am loved; otherwise not sure I could affect the same alteration by myself alone. It is choice. God is otherwise irrelevant if not operative within flesh and blood realty what we call life. Being more real to me than myself.

I have not been able to find a construct, either science, religion or philosophy, to contain or express my concerns. Yet each woman within their individual selves has brought me to this new found freedom from my didactic (ridiculous?) self. The nitty-gritty is not all sky pilot, so heavenly concerned, no earthly good. . . .However were they sleeping beside me or near, I'd not be able to write this? Or would I?

Face-to-face they have demonstrated to others and myself, a singleness of purpose and focus of kindness, astonishing in kind and degree. . . .of and about which I seem, if nothing else, a witness. About more, one says no the other says yes.

A complete fool, I make simple things complex.

Life flowing around me, a hoary lichen covered stone. Talking about, walking the walk. Forgive me for inflicting upon your attention these personal questions. It is a way, not The Way; merely a process of clarification in chaos; pleasurable potentially joyous.

Reminding me of my “Great Dream”. Recurring five times over: Leaving a castle into the moon lighted, trackless desert. Demonstrative of potential paths for others? Amongst all the traditions, they seem equally divided between celibacy and the opposite. In either case, they seem stronger than I am. Wiser too.

Wondering: either/or – and/both?

Together with either M or P there is a radiant warmth enveloping me.

Laughter just discovering by chance:

“Have no mean hours, but be grateful for every hour, and accept what it brings. The reality will make any sincere record respectable. No day will have been wholly misspent, if one sincere, thoughtful page has been written. Let the daily tide leave some deposit on these pages, as it leaves sand and shells on the shore. So much increase of terra firma. this may be a calendar of the ebbs and flows of the soul; and on these sheets as a beach, the waves may cast up pearls and seaweed.” - Henry David Thoreau

. . . who went home to mom for lunch.

Ask and you will receive, perhaps not what requested but what is needed. To which, of course, as with God, one is, in Free Will, always able to say “yes” or “no”

Reverent and uncommonly seductive (read Casanova) I am written upon life like the wind. Here now gone momentarily. Yet I live, love, think and write better by the attentions of all three personalities listed above. Add: is it not one of historical function, women growing little boys into men? History's folly, not giving equality to them.

"Who knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society ... may unexpectedly come forth ... to enjoy its perfect summer life at last! ... such is the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. ... Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star." - Thoreau

Submerging to nap awhile I thought and upon awakening remembered: “No man is greater in love that he who is willing to die for his neighbor . . . or something like that, at least the essence of it remains . . . and it seems not chance or fate but something greater has given me two neighbors who love in return. You'd think I am about to die? Laughter. Saved, who am I to savior another?

http://ed.ted.com/lessons/tales-of-passion-isabel-allende

130506 02:46 relevance

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

never take yourself too seriously . . .

I tried it. 

Discovering myself fraudulent, ridiculous, humiliated, then more humble than before.

Masturbatory when didactic. Where I would make love possible to your mind, only happening in poetry, inspirational not penetrative.

Weaving back and forth between this and quotes, randomly not drunkenly . . . 

- George Carlin 

“Honesty may be the best policy, but it's important to remember that apparently, by elimination, dishonesty is the second-best policy.”

"I'm completely in favor of the separation of Church and State. My idea is that these two institutions screw us up enough on their own, so both of them together is certain death."

“Some people see the cup as half empty. Some people see the cup as half full. I see the cup as too large.”

"When you step on the brakes your life is in your foot’s hands."

. . . 'bold' being today's discovery, dawn over Rockport/Mable Head, recently. These could inspire poetry instead of fixed and immutable truths, suggested outside all the Wisdom Books. An ongoing dialog. . . .Today's script in the play of life? No. Merely suggested reading material for contemplation. . . .Oddly, for me, realized in flesh and blood reality. Which, obviously, I no longer take too seriously, laughing at myself, since what I do and am is now joy.

"We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives." 

Toni Morrison  http://www.dailyliteraryquote.com/daily-literary-quote-share.htm . . . dip stick reality check, motive fuel gauge . . . 

Now “I see you” has become, sometimes an empty cup, at others a cup inverted, into or upon which, I pour my love—finally indifferent your choice unconditionally. That is my sense of truth and love, and by what I measure the treasure of M and P. More P, since she responds not with wishful thinking but welcome more than sexual, which of it self is as fleeting as life. Familiarity in this context is not stasis but promise of a lifelong, long or short, quality conversation. Agreed to meet unladen with expectations.

130506 00:58 

About my celibate estate, is a quiet, within which are born personal insights, impossible otherwise. I sense that love is sacrificial, the pleasure/joy of sex being within me a compelling force articulated both satisfied and tragic. In passing, speaking with P, I mentioned being a “Road Warrior with very High Mileage, something like a Checker Cab at 600,000 miles on my ninth engine.” She laughed knowing the same feeling . . . not exactly a metaphor incomprehensible to the 'average intergenerational relationship'. Culturally immobile absent research easily available. Pregnant with ideas, concepts, aware my faith in succeeding generations, I wonder will I fall silent and more in love with the realization in our relationship. Born by all prior suffering, or grow to something more.

I have no regrets as yet. Acknowledging the rare and precious catalyst of M and now P. Or any and all relationships previous, inclusive of my current poverty, or soon to die age. Quality versus quantity defines my fearlessness of either: death, dying or vanity, competition and envy. Of itself a vain statement. 

My problem--learned from imperfections, failures and living with dysfunctional people--is merely that I attend too closely both enemy and lover. Concerned that I injure by distraction this process of annotation my discovery. Thus making myself inhuman. Another vanity.

Aware that I have an 'invisible partner' this dance of life yet aware that she seems the additional, making of us a company and future.

“That best portion of a good man's life, — His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love. ~ William Wordsworth . . . quote of the day, Jack at bat, will he hit it out of the park, walk or strike out? I do not consider myself 'a good man' but both M and P seem to think so. God Help Me Please!

At least I realize myself pregnant with a story about M waiting birth. Thinking now all I write, a life unfolding, and joy in itself. To dance alone is no pleasure but occasional unreasonable joy.

And; I ain't nothing to look at, nothing to admire so pardon me while I disappear. Refrain from Duke Ellington's “Take the A Train. . . .At least insofar as I can remember it played a thousand times over in my childhood and adored.

Tho a failure with all former lovers, this one seems the next invitation to succeed.

“If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.” ~ Rabindranath Tagore

Laughter at myself.

130505 0909 never take yourself too seriously 

© 2013 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved