To myself I am an
uncomely man; nothing to look at—nothing to see. Yet M said I was
handsome. And now Pamela and Ginger her companion, who is a forty
something pound dog; seem to love me as I am.
For long I have
considered myself unwanted and unlovable; a gargoyle atop Notre Dame,
more like Quasimodo in appearance than an angel. Yet as I love God
more than myself or anything or another I have learned in time that
love is key in the following sense. Men love many superficially while
women love singly and deeply and where men grow old and die remaining
childish; women, it seems to me, are more wise being born that way.
There are, of course, exceptions and then my wishful thinking. But by
experience and survey I sense myself correct in my presumptions.
My sense, and
experience, now, is that I love the three females above named nearly
as I love God and merely like myself as I am. The Presence presents
in manifold and delightful ways love, not merely for me, but all off
us. Add. That my distress is ameliorated by the following: it is not
men who are against me or women in general, but merely that men
generally are only for themselves.
It is a term of
endearment for me to call Pamela Joyce “Snickerdoodle” in the
milk and cookies sense of reward. She greeted my long trip to her
side with cookies and coffee to tide me over from the poor diet of
inflight dinning. And has continued to nurture and succor me ever
since.
In recent converse I
mentioned being bewildered that so many confessed things otherwise
uncommon about themselves and experiences profound. To which she
replied something to the effect that I am, in person, something akin
to a self-propelled Teddy Bear. Her remarks are, seems to me, that I
have different modalities for interacting as a person or journalist.
As journalist we have
little ability to help those who suffer but, instead, merely report
it. For the moment I think I am nearing the nexus of all conflict in
simple terms. Uncertain how to express it in ways comprehensible;
especially those amongst us who do not read but look at things as
what they want to see versus what is. Nones. If there were no ‘bad’,
‘good’ would have no meaning . . . and for me heaven is not
stasis but farther learning . . . therefore death has no dominion.
I have an unusual
reverence for the elderly having been schooled by my grandmother in
love. The milk and cookies routine came from an elderly woman
neighbor living alone for whom I on several occasions did chores and
it was she who began my longing for: milk and cookies. Her kindness
to me remains salvific and for which, in gratitude, I pay forward to
even those whose behavior would assassinate me. Life being what it
is, difficult but not impossible, yet when it becomes so death is
preferable to fear and slavery.
This simpleton’s
sense is that those most free to call the poor criminal are in fact
criminal themselves having stolen all the resources for their own
means and ends. Adding nothing to life, love, liberty but empty
monuments to greed.
I am conservative of
eternal verities; values that serve the populace. Considering, above
all things, treatment of poverty the single greatest measurement of
civilization and culture. Were I the John Jesus mentioned I would in
any part, large or small, be disappointed with today considering His
crucifixion then, now, continual, as criminal and a waste of talent.
To me He was not God
but of, from, inspired, as any great teacher and prophet. Thus
allowing for God to speak now in the voices of children, the poor,
the elderly and those amongst us conscious of generosity, kindness,
mercy, love, for all life in general, as best what is good absent
decay. For me—now—is eternity, there being no yesterday or
tomorrow. And grace only possible in what we agree upon. Sans our
being manipulated by fear by those who profit from doing so.
My audition for the
hand and attention of Pamela Joyce continues and in the process I
sense, with humor, so it goes with God. Daily, hourly, moment to
moment no distress or anger unresolved. Love never dies but is
continually renewed.
I
am ready to leave at any moment. Conscious that in saying goodbye is
saying hello—love
is a verb. And at that,
merely another name for God.
130601 EDT 03:01
gingersnaps
©
2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved
