Let the shadowless light bathe and immolate us in love for one another incandescent.

100105 21:55
When Randy died I experienced relief, not for me, or him, but us both.
I continue in my awareness and gratitude the gifts of The Cranston Funeral Home. Dave carrying Randy down, cruciform--arms outstretched--down a narrow, corkscrew stair--the last time I saw Randy’s face. He was finally in peace.
We requested no embalming his body since he’d been, in life, a human pincushion.
Patty Cranston called, later on, to say that he was dressed and she’d set candles around him. We didn’t go. They, the Cranston family, donated a burial plot, and head stone, in their family grave site. Gave a Styrofoam coffin, and buried him for free; we were that poor then. I have always found peace in cemeteries, I still do. Yet the next day when he was buried I fell to the ground in uncontrollable grief. I remained in grief for 33 years until, at or around, his 43rd birthday, had he lived.
I will spare you the farther details of my life and instead dwell upon ours about to expire.
It may merely be my death song, this concern the world’s end, mine alone.
An event un-remarked since there will be none left to sing the eulogy.
As for my last request I will be cremated and my ashes spread upon the desert--no words requested or required--no marker unless my beloved friend is otherwise occupied and places the plain brown box with my ashes in a plastic bag in the nearest dumpster.
We are born alone and die alone in the final equality of death, and no marker significant will withstand the sands of time grinding it back into dust along with us.
Death slow, swift, meaningful or meaningless, does not diminishes the nobility I experience in all of you and all our life here and now.
The Gifts of God are magnificent as you are, or allow yourself to be; generous or penurious. I curse no one now yet know the wrath of myself too well to forget it. Forgiveness is a wealth that few give and fewer receive and acknowledging the author.
Let the shadowless light bathe and immolate us in love for one another incandescent.
In closing I can only record, this date, this hour, that I was lead to read John Donne’s “Meditation XVII”
‘for whom the bell tolls’ it tolls for us. Now. Tomorrow. This year or next, inevitably, life has no meaning without death.
Continued . . .

. . . as I immolate myself?

091224 00:56
If I sleep as the dead, I sleep enough in one or more hours, to spend the rest of my day in whatever concerns me. Too little the chores, housekeeping and personal hygiene, shaving at the keyboard and eating as well.
I am at peace, my personal trials, regarding what I wrote yesterday, affirmed so many times over, it is ridiculous to mention the facts. I could, but refuse to deconstruct, the surprise and splendor . . . ask and you will receive.
There were other discoveries regarding my bodily abuse. And I wonder how long I will last, surprised, I don’t care.
Annie is keeping me alive. Who will take care of her when I am gone, gladly so, no longer engaged; the chaos of Congress, the agenda’s of avarice, and concern for the future of mankind.
At this moment, and others, I see myself a road-flare burning at both ends and middle soon extinguished; in the desert far from sight save the audience of truth.
Why?
Last Christmas I longed it to be my last. I wanted to simply die at the turning from longest night to the next longer day. It is not only Annie keeping me here, there is another, The Other, always with us. Silent, holding the stars in their courses, enveloping the entire Cosmos.
Could I be nurture, as found in communion, the Body and Blood, I would.
Yet there are events in life far worse than death. I am retrospectively considering the poverty of all women enslaved and without dignity, involuntarily. And I am satisfied with standing up for them in the face of those who, otherwise, would render them breeding stock for cannon fodder.
“If you want peace, work for justice.”
Cannot, at the moment remember the Pope, but am curious, did he intend that equality for woman be the first injustice remedied?
Laws are remedial, yet the Love potential in loving equally, both genders, combined, or exclusive of one another, will, I believe, heal the world before it is too late.
I was marooned as a child, yet saved by the abandonment. Desolation is my home in chaos. I weep not for myself, now, yet for all others, especially the AIDS orphans of Africa and those homeless this Christmas as well. Of children at war, well, I wish they would simply lay aside their weapons and embrace one another in the family of mankind and get on with life. So I do pray for both sides of every issue.
How can I serve them, except with these paltry words, burning in the night, as I immolate myself?