Heaven I know, within,
is manifest outwardly by animals who seek my comfort in their
distress. Ginger of “Gingersnap” sought me sleeping in a
chair—climbing into my lap. Then hearing distant thunder I knew she
needed me a bulwark against her fear.
Animals, small and
great, know their instinct for love better than we who use them as
companions against that which goes bump in the night, friend or foe.
I remember each avidly from cradle to my nearness now to the grave
for their adornment greater than any jewel can bestow.
I had fallen asleep
early last evening aware I wanted to share the sense I have,
especially here in St. Johnsbury, VT of being caressed by gentle
cooling breezes while wondering in prayer what and where those
animals and humans passed are. And I know God more real than myself
and all is well; exceedingly so.
130603 EDT 01:02
Tintinnabulate suffused
with joyous love we are bonded with infinity.
What will soon have
been my opening days to both love and St. Johnsbury, VT I will
remember best several things: the riot of spring best ever yet, the
slow steady dance towards one another of lovers who have finally
surrendered to life, and this night I saw a modest flashing across
the dark as I spoke of a man I once loved and worked with.
He was younger than I
having a magnificent tenor voice frequently singing forth the solos
of Handel's “Messiah” four floors above the ground where we were
roofing new construction together. And I miss and weep for his loss,
his passing from my life slain by love; well actually suicide since he
loved a woman who used and abused him for what he might accomplish as
a building contractor.
For me love seems
impossible when I attempt to hold it to a standard or value instead
of for itself as expressed; given freely without expectation of
gratitude. And I knew this too well having fallen in love with his
wife’s best friend who also left me for points and reasons
unknown/unknowable.
Each woman in their
turn was at that impossible apogee of beauty fecund yet mature having
several children yet promising more. But it is not they or women in
general I might slander but he whom I would extol.
Age is relevant only on
death certificates since in reality we generally achieve something
like nineteen and stop while our bodies march onward. And some of us
look like death while dancing at that certain age within. A Sea bee
veteran of Vietnam he taught me the ultimate futility of a monkey
attempting carnal knowledge of a greased football kicked before his
feet chasing it.
Among other things
discussed were issues of: a broken down bus carrying several people
to a prayer meeting. Did in fact God make the bus break or did it
simply fall apart? Add, I loved
playing his straight man, when Jim Harrington would do the Andy
Williams skit with a bear—milk and cookies. I would shuffle about
nodding and begging for the cookies while he would quiz me. Rare were
the milk and cookies bestowed and I fawning fainting in gratitude.
Yet he was the first to share with me the experience of having
friend’s bodily effluents and parts smeared across his face; or
merely the simple terrors of war first hand. And then add the
experience of returning from the defense of democracy to be spat upon
or, worse ignored. For what did friend and foe die? And what meaning
the savage indifference the veterans received?
This
time and place is not special in any way, save, perhaps, my heart
grows nominally large to acknowledge and receive the love coincident
with it. Manifest in flashing lights illumining the night of my
sadness for the loss of Jim. If
nothing else prayer has changed me who remains astonished awestruck
and reverent the response.
16:27
Time
to time, I think out of my mind, the silence swallowing all that I
saw and what was done to me finding a home and a reason to live
another — day or more. Finally. The words alone weren’t enough, I
needed an echo and now I’ve got one 5 by 5. Who would think that
I’d be here at home and in love as I am finally. The threads of
consciousness drawn together into a new cord/chord.
130602 EDT 05:21 past
midnight love is
© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All
Rights Reserved
