Growing
is my list of heroes. Those upon whose shoulders I stand, reaching
a little bit further up the Tree of Life. Yet there is nothing heroic
in me, save my love, respect and admiration for all of life: the good
and the grotesque—the all of it.
For
those I have slandered in the past there is no content
upon which to stand.
Simple.
I
have discredited myself significantly learning the substance of
humility. Add: a better sense of why God is more visible amongst the
poor and meek.
Awakening
from a previous engagement with friends, a goodbye party of sorts, I
am too aware that the principal companion of these past five years,
Annie, lays subdued in a harness awaiting our departure. I shall not
tarry much further for she, my friend, tells me much about us. I have
a sense she will drive me mad for a time with her caterwauling
protest progressing across the twenty-five hundred miles between us
and Pam. Continuing this process of threshing and winnowing, the most
difficult process for which I can take personal responsibility.
Gleaning my unconscious fears left from childhood and moving forward
in faith that what will be, will be, by faith.
In
recognition that this time, these hours alone, in the dark arisen
from sleep, with or without dreams, is my selfish desire to grow
more. Perhaps that is my flaw. To have a greater desire to be or do
anything other that fully present in this infinity of now. No one, or
thing, is merely what I, you, or we define it to be . . . could be .
. . maybe maybe not; the wallpaper of eternity. My newly discovered
sense being that each and all my heroes did participate by choice in
their time. Forgiving their executioners. Dad was adamant about that;
the principal activity of man to man is to kill, not enable, freedom
and love. Our most disabling adversary is fear. In reaction to which
we become more collectively insane daily.
I
am learning to submit/surrender/accept the humility of my will
against the Interlocutor’s intentions: To move forward with
conviction and accept my destiny and fate. As we all must—being –
beyond the point of No Return to what was.
06:06
I
have a file full of quotes about friendship and love, exactly in that
order of priority. Remembering that Annie in all previous times would
accompany me to bed. She no longer does. Since the imposition of the
harness. Instead she awaits in silence what is to come. Where I was
concerned she’d drive me mad with her protest with noise, she does
now with silent resignation. Responsibility for her welfare began
upon first discovery. I had not decided upon a dog or cat and was
well aware that either would keep me alive, suicide being the
alternative. After walking through seven rooms of both I heard her
calling to me and searched her out loving her at first sight.
The
nature, kind and degree of my concern is based upon our friendship,
nearly equal of that between M and myself. Both have held me until I
could hold myself aloft from despondency. As have those I am saying
goodbye to; never to be forgotten nor ignored. Love being of a lesser
order of magnitude than friendship.
130628 MDT 02:02
About this time is a sweet
sadness for my dumbness to the love between myself and friends who,
pre-departure, are touching me with their values. Not just what they
say about me but my memory of them carried forward as they were and
have become since my arrival here seven years ago. Without friends,
or being friends in love, material or spiritual, who would we be or
become?
It is dangerous to sleep as
I do, when tired, then awakening from dreams that no longer beguile
me. Instead dovetail into the incidents of the day before or issues
vaguely noted and long neglected stemming back to the origins of me.
I mention this only for the surprising acceleration of “hits” as
noted on my Google & Opera venues; growing by ones and twos in
countries far flung. Then at Culture Book a special someone, who has
commented several times, affirmed what I essentially keep covert: my
sense of the divine.
Not theoretical but
experiential.
I may be offline for a time
consequent to travel.
I awoke this time with an
image of the hide of a mustang stretched and presented like a Robert
Motherwell painting. Within the dream I surmised it emblematic
resolving the Native American mythology, theology and symbols that
have more than five times over mystified me.
But it is not my myths and
metaphors, or runes and ruins of my heart, that concern me. It is to
encourage you to seek that within your own life. That is your
responsibility, stewardship of your Self/Soul. It is the real story
of your life. And the greatest wealth we can know while living.
The peace I know has been
midwifed by several, yet most notably M. Who, in, of and by herself,
is a force of nature staggering—huge. It is not she, or myself, I
would memorialize, but the process of kindness freely/unconditionally
given that we, the family of all life, learn to tolerate one another
to the end that love is possible instead of extinction.
If I know the ill that
destroys us. It is known by my own former ambitions, fear, greed and
lusts. Nothing extraordinary. Since it describes the process of
becoming authentic and unashamed of any part of myself as I sense
inherently possible for all of us. Can I say, and we agree, The
Science of Love?
As in the Science of love is
life, versus the Science of War is death?
PS One of the books I look
forward to reading: An Old Man and a cat/dog? aboard a Cat Boat, or
something like that. Remembering my voyages with Tinkler several
hundred miles off shore aboard the Paradox. Annie, my companion cat
and dear friend, is now wandering about the apartment restored to
curiosity about my activities. She will, of course, accompany me to
Vermont and Pam. For both I would do all required, including my life,
to protect.
130627
MDT 02:16 growing
©
2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved
