The peace I know upon
awakening within the cyclonic change, surfing rogue waves, somewhat
akin to awakening before execution at dawn is: Attributable to my
merciless engagement with vanity, my own.
Stripping my sense of self
naked to enter a new land, indicated by intuition born four years
ago. The actual sight of which, myself naked, is to me merely a road
map of experience; but otherwise the body of a boy become an old man
laughing at him self.
Less
able, or willing, to conceptualize The Author of All Things as either
male or female, but something, utterly, else. By whom all are called
to be lovers of life. . . .For
all living. Of
the few who answer, some remain more notable than others; annotated
by their martyrdom
for
inconvenience to the prevailing ideals; thereafter become idols for a
few who remain the
general average mass.
My sense here is that both love and greed are treated as cults;
blindly followed without thought or regard to the consequences. With
the greater force and power demonstrated for the choice of greed. For
which an enormous number of people are martyred to
‘prove’ the ‘truth’.
My
version/vision of Jesus is a balanced person of equal energy within
both the feminine and masculine, incorporating a balanced use of all
sensing functions: thought, feeling, intuition and sense
. . . being
inherently both lion and lamb. My
inconvenient, even to myself, concept is resulting broadcast over a
wider population defined differently as by their professions, yet
moved by the same inspiration of kindness and generosity.
I
seek no consistency save for God as experienced daily. My
sole ambition is that you become aware of your relationship in equal
measure defined by you.
Returning
to my original intention: ‘the peace I know.’ I am beset with
poverty; yet book poor. Then humiliated to realize that as a child I
asked God to be real to me. And within all the books I have or have
read, there is most nothing but talk about, but not the experience I
have surrendered/submitted to . . . happily so. Obviously grace
implies no exclusivity nor guarantee of oblivion. I will move forward
horn of my bulwarks against all former denial that grace can touch me
in my child like innocence. With faith that hitherto has brought me
to fearless
peace.
In
these closing hours in Las Cruces there is a immutable sadness. While
I thought of the books given away and those retained, my sadness was
for my misconception of what poetry is. Yet ever more so for the
friends I leave behind. There being nothing better than being
face-to-face . . . I have life for now knowing it will end sooner or
later; as with all loves there is a beginning middle and end. Who
loves us is unending and in that conviction I rest as person or dust.
"In
hatred as in love, we grow like the thing we brood upon.
What we
loathe, we graft into our very soul."-
Mary
Renault
130618 01:58 yes Virginia
Yes Virginia—or John—or
whatever your name is, absolute good exists by whatever name applied.
Personal, specific, knowable and wonderful . . . and knowable if only
your know yourself . . . exactly and more than 1 Corinthians 13.
In converse with Pam last
evening I confessed this process of moving towards her is killing me.
Not certain I implied or stated that death seemed too often a quick
release. But then Annie would drawn near and rub her head against my
leg and I knew if nothing else I must move on. I love her nearly as
much as Pam, M, and the Interlocutor; she is as much me as she.
I am candid to the point of
being obnoxious and will let stand what preceded this entry. The
point I would make is not convenient to what I understand as literary
convention: to edit oneself into the simplest and most elegant form
for clarity.
My convention is operable
for me and continues to prove a better methodology than anything I
have yet discovered to supplant it. In my alteration between this
writing and collecting quotes, especially on Wikiquote, I am clubbed
senseless to discover that the real issue behind my current distress
is: Not that I will loose those mementoes I collected in manic
enthusiasm, but that I have not only, not read them, but more
tellingly would never read them in this or any lifetime were I to
have ten thousand lives. This is humiliating to me for I advocate
that you read instead of seeking truth though all other metaphors for
it; truth that is.
I am eclectic in the extreme
drawing information from a vast array of sources. And, to myself,
able to be moved towards greater truths via the virus of an idea —
bored with apology or exposition — in myself or the author to
reconcile the idea within the context of current culture.
Truth is where you find it
and must be tested as something you are willing to die for; proving
nothing but your sincerity.
08:52
Bobbing mid-way upon the
face / or back / or atop it / rouge wave / we two cling to one
another for survival colliding mid-sea stunned.
The shelter I have inhabited
for the past seven years is a maze of open cardboard boxes. The only
one sealed and ready to go is Annie’s more-or-less permanent
sleeping place unless otherwise in bed with me until I go; a reminder
that regardless of consequence she will accompany me. Pam loves all
animals, especially cats, and this old Tom.
Be well
130617 MDT 01:44 tolerance
© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All
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