100117 05:53
Obvious to me is that I do not prize my life, I was taught not to. Yet for you, dear reader, I would go to any length that you love yourself. You, to me, are holy, and never intended to fail life as created unique, precious, specific and explicit in you.
The subtext in this is the question-postulation poised by Jesus: “Love your enemy . . . “ At first hearing I was overwhelmed by their number and I reacted with fear and rage wanting to destroy not only them but myself in violence. I gave to them the privilege of choice, the time, place and ground, the issues and intentions theirs not mine. it appears I’ve backed into a foundation of knowing myself as worthy of love and existence no longer self-loathing or confused by “YOU” messages. I now sense that few would attempt the folly now since I no longer cringe and blink but evaluate their need, greed and intention in telling me what they are fearful of in themselves.
In my estimate fear is the primary dysfunction, and waste the greatest evil of all mankind. Power at its greatest example--God--empowers and destroys nothing.
In a certain sense I see us in the Garden of Eden making a dung heap of it. We are killing ourselves wholesale with numbers increasing daily and soon to be defeated by our own vanity.
Despite the many sorrows and agonies, my life has been good and getting better, yet I recognize that what I leave behind has little to offer the generations to follow and they will bear the sin/waste of my choice in this time.
The “powers” in this world have a poverty of moral and ethical values that would destroy everything in greed to assure continuance of the status quo: we win, you lose.
"There is no way to peace peace is the way" --Thich Nhat Hanh
Between the ideal and real is the difference between making peace with yourself. To love yourself begins with acceptance, the forgiveness of all who for whatever reason mislead you, and then to forgive yourself for accepting it as justice.
. . . after thought 100121: Of the greatest and most wealthy in any field of endeavor I have know extreme poverty in them and myself.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Omnivorous consciousness . . .
100116 07:39
Our consciousness is omnivorous, and once unfettered from the clutter of noise, it is able to parse and triage importance from irrelevance. Dreams, and other resources, suggest elements of our lives significant requesting attention.
This morning the events in Haiti crossed the screen of my attention. Immediately I recalled my sense that my son’s behavior demanded attention. He had previously simply sat down on the floor and then arose at the age of four years-of-age. This event happened at least once in my experience and the second time he looked at me and said, “Daddy I can’t get up.”
The sequence of events from that moment on remain sharply etched in my memory, and my intuition that he would die became apparent and tragically correct. Having had a lifetime of rationalizations attempting to process the events of peril preemptively incorrectly presuming myself the cause I now know the difference between what I can heal and what I cannot. My thinking at the moment leads me to the “Serenity Prayer”, my theme song.
Among the many furnishings of my mind lost, abandoned, or destroyed is St. Francis’s “Make me an instrument of thy peace . . . “ I used to have it framed and now remember it left behind during my flight from Illinois and presumed lost. Yet I remember the spirit and gist of it, in some sense, now using my own words inspired to ‘modernize’ it for this time, culture and failing civilization.
Isolation from others is impossible and ignorance of one’s self is inexcusable.
I am a solitary who failed at all my attempts to be “normal”; married, with family and a future. Each loss defined what I now sense as being self-derived and centered. Retroactively I consider the meaning, value and implications of many different constructs generally defined as political or theological and none seem adequate to the task of living these days in sanity. To me they now seems a rehearsal of “should’s and ought's” costumed as ‘wisdom’ derived from another time, addressed to other persons in tribes isolated from one another.
Intrinsically we have the power to heal ourselves of many tragedies, diseases and difficulties so long as we no longer presume that someone, or God, will do it for us. For me it is definition of what is mine and what belongs to creation and make choices based upon responsibility instead of reaction. I think of tithes in reverse; ten percent is physics and ninety percent is choice. Regarding economics and ecology there is an apparent imbalance, an injustice justified by lies promulgated by the power to take lives and use them to selfish ends. I do not believe, or experience, God as being anything like that. Absolute power is given to no one else yet our power, if directed to giving instead of taking, is an ability to heal turning others from fear and waste to peace and productivity.
Our consciousness is omnivorous, and once unfettered from the clutter of noise, it is able to parse and triage importance from irrelevance. Dreams, and other resources, suggest elements of our lives significant requesting attention.
This morning the events in Haiti crossed the screen of my attention. Immediately I recalled my sense that my son’s behavior demanded attention. He had previously simply sat down on the floor and then arose at the age of four years-of-age. This event happened at least once in my experience and the second time he looked at me and said, “Daddy I can’t get up.”
The sequence of events from that moment on remain sharply etched in my memory, and my intuition that he would die became apparent and tragically correct. Having had a lifetime of rationalizations attempting to process the events of peril preemptively incorrectly presuming myself the cause I now know the difference between what I can heal and what I cannot. My thinking at the moment leads me to the “Serenity Prayer”, my theme song.
Among the many furnishings of my mind lost, abandoned, or destroyed is St. Francis’s “Make me an instrument of thy peace . . . “ I used to have it framed and now remember it left behind during my flight from Illinois and presumed lost. Yet I remember the spirit and gist of it, in some sense, now using my own words inspired to ‘modernize’ it for this time, culture and failing civilization.
Isolation from others is impossible and ignorance of one’s self is inexcusable.
I am a solitary who failed at all my attempts to be “normal”; married, with family and a future. Each loss defined what I now sense as being self-derived and centered. Retroactively I consider the meaning, value and implications of many different constructs generally defined as political or theological and none seem adequate to the task of living these days in sanity. To me they now seems a rehearsal of “should’s and ought's” costumed as ‘wisdom’ derived from another time, addressed to other persons in tribes isolated from one another.
Intrinsically we have the power to heal ourselves of many tragedies, diseases and difficulties so long as we no longer presume that someone, or God, will do it for us. For me it is definition of what is mine and what belongs to creation and make choices based upon responsibility instead of reaction. I think of tithes in reverse; ten percent is physics and ninety percent is choice. Regarding economics and ecology there is an apparent imbalance, an injustice justified by lies promulgated by the power to take lives and use them to selfish ends. I do not believe, or experience, God as being anything like that. Absolute power is given to no one else yet our power, if directed to giving instead of taking, is an ability to heal turning others from fear and waste to peace and productivity.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Source, origin, destination . . .
100115 03:33
Source, origin, destination . . .
it is something like falling in love or ?seeing God? for the first time, abashed to be so fortunate and ecstatic. Better yet, knowing in the marrow of your soul you are not insane.
City of the Sun, Port-au-Prince, Haiti 1984
I had broken away from the agenda of others and was standing in the in-between walls of shacks in an open sewer photographing a child in full flight towards . . . what? Home, food, school, God? I?ll never really know but know only the ecstasy of recording his head-long-flight with a camera. Later, I was told, that the images, from that oft recalled child?s enthusiasm, had been used to glean food sufficient to feed 35,000 of them for three months. And should I die at this moment I will know that I lived for something and someone other than myself.
I am a ravening beast with a camera in my hands, knowing no fear of anything, and for that I am filled with gratitude even now in retirement. And it keeps happening when I wander the desert of city streets behind buildings. And continue to be surprised and fearless the slings and arrows of those without who become my friends continuing into the ordinary of my life luminescent with grace. And now such grace as I?ve seen and been touched by is all I have left to give to you that you awaken to yourself headlong in pursuit of Love.
?To be born again? is an ongoing process, as in ?My Father?s House has many mansions . . . ? The vision, version and experience is that of residing in one of them for a time and then moving on to ever expanding horizons. It is being what I feel I was created to be. If that seems egotistical and foolish then perhaps I am to you. But to myself and God it is part of the journey towards all Truth & Love.
I destroyed and or abandoned all my life, the evidence of my wonder, wandering and evidence save for this what I now write. In each and every incidence just a hairs breath away from doing it to myself for the shame of never being that which I so admired, revered and longed to be in the lives and works of others.
There is no shame in being a great audience for the works and lives of others. Nor is it a shame to have audience with God and see the Works of Creation in process manifest in so many things; the flight of birds, the rise and set of sun, the state of another?s being in transition ignored. In this I know the Resurrection true and seek it for myself everyday. All days are holy to me. Precious without measure the treasure of them.
I am 69 miles of hard road traversed and still walking towards the ?Good night? I?ve seen in others dying in my witness, helpless was I to do otherwise. Yet their lives were never in vain since they are with the Parents of Us blest and at rest in eternity. I left parts of myself I never knew I had in Haiti and good friends too. It seems silly to make love with a camera and words now while holding that final fateful cup to the lips of Jesus dying there. Again and again we crucify our beloved God in all God?s manifestations. Incarnated in the poor. ?The poor will always be with you . . . ? I thought He meant those whose lives I witnessed until I inhabited my own poverty and embraced the leper found within.
God is a gentle lover and friend who remains patiently within all of us to be welcomed as our twin ignored. I know this now and death has no fear. No waste has been my many trashing's of self, or works, but of those I?ve left behind standing, I apologize for my leave taking, no offense was intended. Nor response required.
God?s blessing upon all of us in this our time of trials. Amen.
Source, origin, destination . . .
it is something like falling in love or ?seeing God? for the first time, abashed to be so fortunate and ecstatic. Better yet, knowing in the marrow of your soul you are not insane.
City of the Sun, Port-au-Prince, Haiti 1984
I had broken away from the agenda of others and was standing in the in-between walls of shacks in an open sewer photographing a child in full flight towards . . . what? Home, food, school, God? I?ll never really know but know only the ecstasy of recording his head-long-flight with a camera. Later, I was told, that the images, from that oft recalled child?s enthusiasm, had been used to glean food sufficient to feed 35,000 of them for three months. And should I die at this moment I will know that I lived for something and someone other than myself.
I am a ravening beast with a camera in my hands, knowing no fear of anything, and for that I am filled with gratitude even now in retirement. And it keeps happening when I wander the desert of city streets behind buildings. And continue to be surprised and fearless the slings and arrows of those without who become my friends continuing into the ordinary of my life luminescent with grace. And now such grace as I?ve seen and been touched by is all I have left to give to you that you awaken to yourself headlong in pursuit of Love.
?To be born again? is an ongoing process, as in ?My Father?s House has many mansions . . . ? The vision, version and experience is that of residing in one of them for a time and then moving on to ever expanding horizons. It is being what I feel I was created to be. If that seems egotistical and foolish then perhaps I am to you. But to myself and God it is part of the journey towards all Truth & Love.
I destroyed and or abandoned all my life, the evidence of my wonder, wandering and evidence save for this what I now write. In each and every incidence just a hairs breath away from doing it to myself for the shame of never being that which I so admired, revered and longed to be in the lives and works of others.
There is no shame in being a great audience for the works and lives of others. Nor is it a shame to have audience with God and see the Works of Creation in process manifest in so many things; the flight of birds, the rise and set of sun, the state of another?s being in transition ignored. In this I know the Resurrection true and seek it for myself everyday. All days are holy to me. Precious without measure the treasure of them.
I am 69 miles of hard road traversed and still walking towards the ?Good night? I?ve seen in others dying in my witness, helpless was I to do otherwise. Yet their lives were never in vain since they are with the Parents of Us blest and at rest in eternity. I left parts of myself I never knew I had in Haiti and good friends too. It seems silly to make love with a camera and words now while holding that final fateful cup to the lips of Jesus dying there. Again and again we crucify our beloved God in all God?s manifestations. Incarnated in the poor. ?The poor will always be with you . . . ? I thought He meant those whose lives I witnessed until I inhabited my own poverty and embraced the leper found within.
God is a gentle lover and friend who remains patiently within all of us to be welcomed as our twin ignored. I know this now and death has no fear. No waste has been my many trashing's of self, or works, but of those I?ve left behind standing, I apologize for my leave taking, no offense was intended. Nor response required.
God?s blessing upon all of us in this our time of trials. Amen.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Memorial for Haiti
100114 09:50
I have been unfaithful to myself, wallowing in the pain of arthritis, ignoring the ongoing process/progress of ordinary life.
In all things we can celebrate sorrow and joy, each a part of ourselves becoming whole revealed as we are becoming complete.
In silence I approach the ideal-idea of what I want to write, the page a blank page describing eternity, vastly different from the frame of a photographic lens through which I first discovered the nearness of God in Haiti; so long ago and never forgotten.
I ask your prayers for them--and yourselves--since their poverty, long standing, is so like mine when last there and even now embraced; and ours without work, our world in flux. How else could Jesus enter in and be for me a friend walking the streets of Haiti then and now that so many are lifeless and hopeless--helpless?
The interval between the ideal and real is actually very small, more nearly a membrane, a sort of blindness--an illusion.
Live, love, dance and sing as though life is eternal while holding the truth of death in each day potential.
Well do I remember my helpless rage against the deaths of both children. Now reprised in the silence of the child of my heart adopted, now become an adult and a parent herself.
I feared, eventually, that my rage against God would be like that against all else, everything that I would destroy in revenge until I became fully aware that the reason could have been exclusively attributed to myself; the source of their disease and death. Humiliated with my rage, I could then no longer exorcise it against anyone or anything and in that helplessness were the seeds of what I am now sown.
In crisis, as inevitable change, I am at peace. But also filled with empathy for those who suffer so obviously in their experience of pain, death, disability and hopelessness. I give such as I can--and more so--but most of all I listen for clues given me, what they want and need.
We can be for them a small part the heart, eyes, sense and will of God for them and with grace for ourselves in this day--now where eternity begins anew. The gift of our prayers is this; we learn the wisdom of knowing what we can change, that which we cannot. And the serenity of knowing what is physics indwelling from the beginning of creation. What we can generously be, do and give towards healing the world and ourselves.
We learn to respond to reality and no longer be victims of fate or life; reactionary. Faith, hope and charity as love given defines our sense of being real.
Note--Please continue . . .
. . . I have been derelict during the past few days. Add to which I tend to post “from top down.” There is more below in chronological sequence, if you are interested, starting at the 8th of January this year.
I have been unfaithful to myself, wallowing in the pain of arthritis, ignoring the ongoing process/progress of ordinary life.
In all things we can celebrate sorrow and joy, each a part of ourselves becoming whole revealed as we are becoming complete.
In silence I approach the ideal-idea of what I want to write, the page a blank page describing eternity, vastly different from the frame of a photographic lens through which I first discovered the nearness of God in Haiti; so long ago and never forgotten.
I ask your prayers for them--and yourselves--since their poverty, long standing, is so like mine when last there and even now embraced; and ours without work, our world in flux. How else could Jesus enter in and be for me a friend walking the streets of Haiti then and now that so many are lifeless and hopeless--helpless?
The interval between the ideal and real is actually very small, more nearly a membrane, a sort of blindness--an illusion.
Live, love, dance and sing as though life is eternal while holding the truth of death in each day potential.
Well do I remember my helpless rage against the deaths of both children. Now reprised in the silence of the child of my heart adopted, now become an adult and a parent herself.
I feared, eventually, that my rage against God would be like that against all else, everything that I would destroy in revenge until I became fully aware that the reason could have been exclusively attributed to myself; the source of their disease and death. Humiliated with my rage, I could then no longer exorcise it against anyone or anything and in that helplessness were the seeds of what I am now sown.
In crisis, as inevitable change, I am at peace. But also filled with empathy for those who suffer so obviously in their experience of pain, death, disability and hopelessness. I give such as I can--and more so--but most of all I listen for clues given me, what they want and need.
We can be for them a small part the heart, eyes, sense and will of God for them and with grace for ourselves in this day--now where eternity begins anew. The gift of our prayers is this; we learn the wisdom of knowing what we can change, that which we cannot. And the serenity of knowing what is physics indwelling from the beginning of creation. What we can generously be, do and give towards healing the world and ourselves.
We learn to respond to reality and no longer be victims of fate or life; reactionary. Faith, hope and charity as love given defines our sense of being real.
Note--Please continue . . .
. . . I have been derelict during the past few days. Add to which I tend to post “from top down.” There is more below in chronological sequence, if you are interested, starting at the 8th of January this year.
Self-Knowledge for everyone incuding the dummy writing this
100112 05:14
Journal keeping has been a primary healing commitment for many. A few have become famous for the effort but the purpose is to become whole and in process towards the full potential of your self--whatever that self wants to be.
It is now obvious that I personally need to go-as-far-as-it(I)-goes. Furthermore that my motives, once thought insanely excessive, was considered personally important for C. G. Jung as well.
Recent activities have lead me to realize that I not only edit whatever I read but additionally analyze everything in process; experiencing difficulty staying “on message” and usually writing my own novel in process, if in fact I am reading one at the time. My analogy is witnessing the process of making movies thus I am generally unable to enter the flow without deconstructing the process technically. That said I now realize a new dimension; being hyper-vigilant, I tend to give all weight to the author of any experience; intent, message, body language et cetera. In a sense I am deconstructing my psyche both in this journal-ling process and in the ordinary of my life experience.
It is now much easier for me to see a feasible transition/departure point between fact and fiction or poetry.
My ‘problem’ is common to all people, yet what is uncommon in me is my growing self-respect and that to whatever end is implied or suggested--in addition to a longing to help/heal others like myself who are/were taught they had no brains and no life worthy of love or attention.
“17:28
Gravid with light the days grow distended with organic promise, the longest tumid night of depression fled. My spirit soars towards the next longest day another annual to live. My soul doth magnify life lifting all with me towards the future confident the sun burning away the tears of mankind; the indwelling spirit magnificent.
Journal keeping has been a primary healing commitment for many. A few have become famous for the effort but the purpose is to become whole and in process towards the full potential of your self--whatever that self wants to be.
It is now obvious that I personally need to go-as-far-as-it(I)-goes. Furthermore that my motives, once thought insanely excessive, was considered personally important for C. G. Jung as well.
Recent activities have lead me to realize that I not only edit whatever I read but additionally analyze everything in process; experiencing difficulty staying “on message” and usually writing my own novel in process, if in fact I am reading one at the time. My analogy is witnessing the process of making movies thus I am generally unable to enter the flow without deconstructing the process technically. That said I now realize a new dimension; being hyper-vigilant, I tend to give all weight to the author of any experience; intent, message, body language et cetera. In a sense I am deconstructing my psyche both in this journal-ling process and in the ordinary of my life experience.
It is now much easier for me to see a feasible transition/departure point between fact and fiction or poetry.
My ‘problem’ is common to all people, yet what is uncommon in me is my growing self-respect and that to whatever end is implied or suggested--in addition to a longing to help/heal others like myself who are/were taught they had no brains and no life worthy of love or attention.
“17:28
Gravid with light the days grow distended with organic promise, the longest tumid night of depression fled. My spirit soars towards the next longest day another annual to live. My soul doth magnify life lifting all with me towards the future confident the sun burning away the tears of mankind; the indwelling spirit magnificent.
recommended for your consumption
100110 05:08
When a friend recommends a book or film unequivocally, which in turn had been recommended to them with equal, if not greater vigorous praise, I feel compelled to attend. So my friend Dave, a fellow run-a-way form the middle-class environs of Connecticut, found ourselves with last available seats, front row, in a 3D version viewing of “AVATAR.”
I have no regrets, forced to lay upon my back, sans 3D glasses, too narrow to view the wide screen so close to our noses.
I found myself in tears of praise and joy. Indifferent the choices of others viewing in silence, while I laughed, solo, at the plot progress of another run-a-way becoming a real person.
Hope is difficult to find, then cling to in times of crisis. There will be a future after all. And it will exist despite the depredations of greed manifest in this iconic and mythological film.
Least I fall further in love with the film and my ‘deathless-prose’ regarding it, I hasten to add that it appeals to all generations reaching from our time forward and backward to the voiceless, will to adapt, improvise and prevail in the human spirit. Rather I should emphasize the spirit of Life it self to see truth and light in spite of those who would otherwise enslave and or kill it.
Of particular interest is the joining of male and female principal’s courage to move into and engage the right to exist on one’s own terms. Though heroic and epic in nature I sense that every individual witnessing the process will long remember it as applicable to their individual lives in the here and eternal now.
For a few moments I wandered the splendor of Wikipedia seeking reference points to develop my celebration of this singular film further. The issue of ‘sin’ became my departure point since I believe it better referenced in the film than I can forge in this limited space. There are many references critical to current choices to deal with issues dangerous to our collective future within the film that are more than adequate to the task laying in our laps.
“Only the dead know the end of war” --Plato
1001114 --afterthoughts
Dave also recommended to my attention: “NOTHING BUT A SMILE” by Steve Amick. It is a novel of impressive iconic dimensions worthy of reading again and again. I was moved to realize within its pages a penchant for analysis that had previously fractured my attention in reading anything including the Bible. I make reference this since unlike most mediums, which I have professionally viewed the making of, I was drawn ineluctably into the novels flow. This novel drew me into a conspiracy with all former concerns, and or conceits/conclusions, regarding my parent’s generation and ours. I often found myself in tears of joy over the love affair described within and will for ever more rejoice the sincerity of lovers become friends more profound than most “Chick Flicks”, a genre that this obviously is not. I have no defense for my ignorance all the wonderful new communications of hope. It seems I am impelled to make up works and constructs of my own to describe what I hope the future will be. I will confess that I was, from beginning to end, tempted to simply abandon all attempts at communication from then forward. Feeling totally eclipsed by the mastery of both recommendations.
When a friend recommends a book or film unequivocally, which in turn had been recommended to them with equal, if not greater vigorous praise, I feel compelled to attend. So my friend Dave, a fellow run-a-way form the middle-class environs of Connecticut, found ourselves with last available seats, front row, in a 3D version viewing of “AVATAR.”
I have no regrets, forced to lay upon my back, sans 3D glasses, too narrow to view the wide screen so close to our noses.
I found myself in tears of praise and joy. Indifferent the choices of others viewing in silence, while I laughed, solo, at the plot progress of another run-a-way becoming a real person.
Hope is difficult to find, then cling to in times of crisis. There will be a future after all. And it will exist despite the depredations of greed manifest in this iconic and mythological film.
Least I fall further in love with the film and my ‘deathless-prose’ regarding it, I hasten to add that it appeals to all generations reaching from our time forward and backward to the voiceless, will to adapt, improvise and prevail in the human spirit. Rather I should emphasize the spirit of Life it self to see truth and light in spite of those who would otherwise enslave and or kill it.
Of particular interest is the joining of male and female principal’s courage to move into and engage the right to exist on one’s own terms. Though heroic and epic in nature I sense that every individual witnessing the process will long remember it as applicable to their individual lives in the here and eternal now.
For a few moments I wandered the splendor of Wikipedia seeking reference points to develop my celebration of this singular film further. The issue of ‘sin’ became my departure point since I believe it better referenced in the film than I can forge in this limited space. There are many references critical to current choices to deal with issues dangerous to our collective future within the film that are more than adequate to the task laying in our laps.
“Only the dead know the end of war” --Plato
1001114 --afterthoughts
Dave also recommended to my attention: “NOTHING BUT A SMILE” by Steve Amick. It is a novel of impressive iconic dimensions worthy of reading again and again. I was moved to realize within its pages a penchant for analysis that had previously fractured my attention in reading anything including the Bible. I make reference this since unlike most mediums, which I have professionally viewed the making of, I was drawn ineluctably into the novels flow. This novel drew me into a conspiracy with all former concerns, and or conceits/conclusions, regarding my parent’s generation and ours. I often found myself in tears of joy over the love affair described within and will for ever more rejoice the sincerity of lovers become friends more profound than most “Chick Flicks”, a genre that this obviously is not. I have no defense for my ignorance all the wonderful new communications of hope. It seems I am impelled to make up works and constructs of my own to describe what I hope the future will be. I will confess that I was, from beginning to end, tempted to simply abandon all attempts at communication from then forward. Feeling totally eclipsed by the mastery of both recommendations.
A lifetime lost outgrowing being white, middle-class and from Greenwich Connecticut.
100108 01:34
Life is defined by elementary factors: race, creed, gender, education, age, and so on. These identifying elements are accepted, taken for granted, seem fixed, immutable and life a seamless continuity. Yet as life is consumed these roles become blurred, worn, with experience, and birthdays no longer celebrated. We move past our vocational definition either accepting or rejecting retirement. Our enhanced or diminished capacities integrated into the ordinary of daily life.
I think myself increasingly odd growing younger, and more vital, daily. Eccentric perhaps but I find joy merging into the flow of other generations to follow and those that preceded mine. It helps to ignore the bruises and contusions normal to we fortunate enough to live long aspiring to become wise, sages, to ourselves and others?
Questions from youth are answered, dreams realized and lost, expectations become more modest; simple. Food, shelter and clothing no longer sought as remarkable status symbols--whatever/whichever--is adequate the long cold night to come at winter's advent.
Decades it has taken me to outlive the curse cast in adolescence. A lifetime lost outgrowing being white, middle-class and from Greenwich Connecticut.
Depending upon which side of the railroad tracks you are from, it is one of the three wealthiest communities in the world. Rich, wealth sought for its own sake, means many things.
And to my family it was, I believe, never fully acquired. Remembered best was the quest, the longing hunger and thirst for wealth as safety. The pretense and delusions of grandeur, choices made at savage cost, loss of moral and ethical norms, now lost as the democracy of death closes/closed upon the past generation, a culture ruptured and civilization in collapse.
Now poor I merge into my neighbors, a community of the elderly, without hope of reprise. Yet I celebrate my estate reflected through their infrequently visiting children, grandchildren, younger siblings, a reason to praise the advent of each new day with thanksgiving the gift of life now. Each day become a season and generation of wealth precious, unique and explicit the value sought and prized.
It has been unusually cold here, where I live fled to escape the dreary winter of my youth, lately past. Passing into a new dawn surprised in the peasant dead celebrated by succeeding generations of their kith and kin in New & Old Mexico. I am now one of, and with, them gladly so. Since now I know the meaning of three steps forward and two backward in my skipping journey into whatever lays ahead knowing life and love will go on if only in prayer.
Life is defined by elementary factors: race, creed, gender, education, age, and so on. These identifying elements are accepted, taken for granted, seem fixed, immutable and life a seamless continuity. Yet as life is consumed these roles become blurred, worn, with experience, and birthdays no longer celebrated. We move past our vocational definition either accepting or rejecting retirement. Our enhanced or diminished capacities integrated into the ordinary of daily life.
I think myself increasingly odd growing younger, and more vital, daily. Eccentric perhaps but I find joy merging into the flow of other generations to follow and those that preceded mine. It helps to ignore the bruises and contusions normal to we fortunate enough to live long aspiring to become wise, sages, to ourselves and others?
Questions from youth are answered, dreams realized and lost, expectations become more modest; simple. Food, shelter and clothing no longer sought as remarkable status symbols--whatever/whichever--is adequate the long cold night to come at winter's advent.
Decades it has taken me to outlive the curse cast in adolescence. A lifetime lost outgrowing being white, middle-class and from Greenwich Connecticut.
Depending upon which side of the railroad tracks you are from, it is one of the three wealthiest communities in the world. Rich, wealth sought for its own sake, means many things.
And to my family it was, I believe, never fully acquired. Remembered best was the quest, the longing hunger and thirst for wealth as safety. The pretense and delusions of grandeur, choices made at savage cost, loss of moral and ethical norms, now lost as the democracy of death closes/closed upon the past generation, a culture ruptured and civilization in collapse.
Now poor I merge into my neighbors, a community of the elderly, without hope of reprise. Yet I celebrate my estate reflected through their infrequently visiting children, grandchildren, younger siblings, a reason to praise the advent of each new day with thanksgiving the gift of life now. Each day become a season and generation of wealth precious, unique and explicit the value sought and prized.
It has been unusually cold here, where I live fled to escape the dreary winter of my youth, lately past. Passing into a new dawn surprised in the peasant dead celebrated by succeeding generations of their kith and kin in New & Old Mexico. I am now one of, and with, them gladly so. Since now I know the meaning of three steps forward and two backward in my skipping journey into whatever lays ahead knowing life and love will go on if only in prayer.
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