120528 05:57

    We remember in this season of Memorial those who fought and died giving their all for us living in freedoms previously unknown. Yet our planet home remains in war and rumors of war to be embroiled issues thought resolved in The War Between The States -- Civil. In whose remembrance ideals of free will struggled to define and proclaim continued here as everywhere unresolved. Spoken of but still unrealized.
    I served in waiting the call to lay down my life--too--defending these freedoms and by grace avoided the death eulogized both sides the ideals regarding slavery. Innocent of both suffering and death in old age now wonder the intent the horrors of war and those words spoken afterward:

“ . . . that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
            --The Gettysburg Address, Gettysburg, Pennsylvania  November 19, 1863

    Neither part of The Constitution nor The Bill of Rights, specifically invoked or so named or defined, it remains to my youth and old age best blest the ideals for which I would still die.
    Predeceased by my children who in citizenship and by birthright would have also sacrificed as drummer boy or nurse -- cook, doctor or General -- their lives. I prayerfully now ask how we collectively “Of -- By -- For -- the People” have become the engine of profit not prophecy.
    Measure for measure, tamped down, stuffed full I too am tempted to criticize as is the popular coin of those who otherwise have little vested interest than to annotate their ignoble passage across this stage of life. My roll call of nobility grows larger daily and inconsequential by compare i chew the words: cynic and skeptical, seeking their flavor and definition in real flesh and blood terms regarding the value and meaning of life.
    With each heart beat I grow closer to The Maker of Us All in creation life lived and left behind to what end do we live? What truths self evident incarnate in a corpse taught? Or will the students left those who follow will their lives be informed instead or mutilated in the maw of war without end?    
    Enough.
    I see no valor in the victor or vanquished merely destruction. The Family Of Mankind dismembering itself in folly for ideals profited versus the right to live self derived and freely without laws save the hearts eyes vision manifest in harmony now.
    Redemption or Reparations nether will slake the fury within me In patient confidence do I await the giver of all names Nameless to inform me my purpose to have lived or to live again or lay eternal dust

Of all the graces of God in man, charity, or love, is the greatest, 1 Corinthians 13:13

    . . . of what part The Creators epitaph Do No Murder is ignored or not understood?

enough
maybe perhaps maybe not it is enough
we share the dawn over saw tooth rock Organs
measuring  from solstice summer to winter’s solstice the next shortest
day afterwards then the next longest a rebirth for ones whose lovers are absent
separated by distantness immutable illimitable

v1 120525 07:42
f2  120527 11:58

120526 13:56

Messages within bottles drown in the mire of what’s left in my leaving
or sent payback the child who loved unconditionally those who smote him
growing crippled for a time until now whole complete finished forgiven resurrected
forgiving all who would or could do it all over again as death no longer has dominion amen


“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion to clarity...Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow." --Melody Beattie

120525 03:53
"God willing, and the creek don't rise . . . "

    I will endeavor to no longer share the threads and leading's which form my current education; the where, wherefore and why of yours is my concern. And it is my sincere conviction that the function of Jesus, Mohammad, Buddha and the legions of others whose divinity will forever remain unknown to me are/were in essence teachers.
    The primary function of teaching is leadership in the following sense: it seeks to replace itself, fully conscious the inevitability of death--not merely the death of our body but institutions, cultures and civilizations. . . . Even this planet, our home. In the process of teaching it is astonishing that the teacher is taught and the student becomes uniquely more than what was taught. A gift that keeps on giving and bearing the only interest worthy of life's attention.
    Instead of rail against the obvious failure of oligarchy--or any other form of tyranny. Or as I sense it, institutionalized folly lead by ambition and greed become oppressive. Obviously not salvific in or by any means, measure or kind. Were we to be fully educated we might better serve our selves and others that they too live fully and free. Otherwise we become like those who send children laden with bombs to destroy themselves and one or more others in THE NAME OF THE CAUSE. Or as they would have it: "In the Name of God!"
    Win/Win.
    Not I win you lose.
    Since in the process--apparent--is the destruction of our home; communal: not communist or socialist but collaborative and/or co-creation; a world inhabitable for all life not just a few who hoard everything. Ambition and competition become addiction, nothing is ever enough; no more noble than crack cocaine; or a lunatic excuse for more.
    Selfishness.
    What is power?
    How do we define absolute good?
    Follow the money honey it will show who wins and loses.
    I know my death is near and dear since it will provide the next experience. Though I will, like all others, have no idea what lays beyond. The "God willing" is simply my prayer that I serve as servant to others that they too my have my wealth and more; all that they can carry or use.
    The "Rising Creek" part is my experience--first hand--of those whose lives end in dementia then Alzheimer's disease or any of a number of other forms of death by slow disintegration . . . "Death is not the worst that can happen to men.” --Plato
    When we fear anything it owns us. It is oxymoronic that those who rule use fear to control us collectively and individually. Of course I 'fear' God but only in the sense of absolute respect and would be neither God's or any man's pet. . . . But then as with any adversary it should be an agreement to disagree, not I'll kill you to prove my superiority: to you, your family, your anything or everything. Or the what, who, why, where and when of Good.
    I understand that "God" is not exclusively Christian, nor is Jesus "Christian." That said I will close with John 8:32 "Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." Or as Gandhi said "There is no God higher than Truth."

120524 04:23
    Ideal & real are separated by light years of difference. To think otherwise is wishful, or magical, thinking. I know this best since it was formerly my position to be fixed and immutable, but then not even God, or what we consider the absolute highest power, is such.
    To have and to hold, to lay up or lose, are issues inevitably decided by the value and meaning of life it self. And for me the issue is decided towards the truth of free will and choice, won at the cost of many lives sacrificed to keep this possible in real time.
    As we close on Memorial Day, in America, the day is experienced differently by those who seek a holiday from the normal grind of keeping alive by labor. For me today is extraordinary, the birthday of two very special people no longer with us. My son and a man who was a surrogate father to me. Their lives and deaths have altered mine by intersection or coincidence? I don’t think so.
    Nor do I think it an inconvenient truth that we live, essentially free, because of the efforts of those who remain or are departed in efforts to nurture our right and privilege to vote or not. My thinking and feelings have been fundamentally and irrevocably altered by recent events. Cause and effect, birth implies death, both should be celebrated equally yet death in and of itself is avoided at all costs in the ordinary of our time.
    I received notification that I was in jeopardy of being evicted from my HUD augmented rental apartment for issues of cleanliness. Despite my maturity, wisdom and experience I went through the “why me--why not me--this is a pain in the sit down” and then dealt with the issue; procrastination is the theft of time. The result is a forced integration between my ideal and real life manifest in spades.
    I have an articulated sense of the ideal person, Jesus, as being perfectly balanced between male and female, equal in definition: thinking, feeling, sensing and intuition. Thus He is not some vague object or subject of idle speculation to me. Though I fall flat on my face attempting to emulate His ideal I always get back up and continue the struggle and will continue to do so until I can no longer get up in death.
    My point is that within the chaos of current reality we must work towards tolerance, understanding and the possibility of Love not Vengeance. Since we are all equal in the eyes of What Jesus spoke about, but not exclusively of His definition or time 2,000 years ago--as citizens of the world we must seek what give life equally to all of us.

"Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding."
--Ralph Waldo Emerson

. . . an afterthought or two: Political debate has devolved into argument thus become a lunatic asylum for idealistic rhetoric while our children are now sacrificed for the profit of both the politicians and those who fund their campaigning that they remain in profitable power together. Seek Truth Always be sure of your resources:

http://www.brainpickings.org/    today: . . . excerpt from BBC’s 1959 Face to Face interview
"I should like to say two things, one intellectual and one moral.

The intellectual thing I should want to say is this: When you are studying any matter, or considering any philosophy, ask yourself only what are the facts and what is the truth that the facts bear out. Never let yourself be diverted either by what you wish to believe, or by what you think would have beneficent social effects if it were believed. But look only, and solely, at what are the facts. That is the intellectual thing that I should wish to say.

The moral thing I should wish to say to them is very simple: I should say, love is wise, hatred is foolish. In this world which is getting more and more closely interconnected, we have to learn to tolerate each other, we have to learn to put up with the fact that some people say things that we don’t like. We can only live together in that way — and if we are to live together and not die together, we must learn a kind of charity and a kind of tolerance, which is absolutely vital to the continuation of human life on this planet."
--Bertrand Russell (1872-1970)

120516 07:46
a brief soft shoe shuffle for Emily Dickinson in 12/10 time . . .
nothing I say may I consider worthy lasting beyond the utterance
within the context of this life of little consequence as living an
eternity daily mindful the time before time became remembered
seeking the time after time forgotten from which words are minted
spoken through me not mine alone but the property of The Author

120517 05:52
International Chartreuse Distress wearing Life Vest a polar bear in The Salton Sea should I become rather than leave impossibly the company of God

And in the wandering and wondering leaving behind beloved's one after another through their death or mine to them through attrition triage or parse the final definition is key to who judges whom as worthy or not intimacy

In childhood as an inconvenient convenience to all and sundry loving them as a child or pet I came to sense myself in a Fun House Horror Mirror Maze Carnival of becoming what was said and expected of me faithfully Rubber Child disposable

Defining meaning of life changes moment by moment escaped the pressure cooker of dependence once begun the journey is its own goal since death’s democracy has no fear within it and the hammer blows of suffering forge the sword and plow shear of self become

What?

Whole participant in the collective consciousness that the old ways are too old the definitions worn thread bare institutional lies enslaving me no more becoming a we an us responsible

Suffering experiencing deeds become loves salvation through love in love with All Of Us

120518 01:44 family departures
A skip and drag routine intervenes between my times at La Posada and otherwise not there; referred to generally as just hospice.

"Death is not the worst that can happen to men.” --Plato

Of death there are degrees. Some live a life uninhabited and unknown, oblivious to beginnings and endings. Others fret and sweat the small stuff attempting to control what is beyond the ken of man. And of those in the glide path going Home I watch since it is my job to make sure they are not in other forms of jeopardy imperiled.

And in them I see, sometimes peace, other times distress, and then sometimes decline then the end.

In no particular order: on one hand birth the other death each in a natural order. Life long or short, really is a question of quality versus quantity. The nurse whose father was there last time was not there this time. And in the telling I was told by the one telling  her father lost suddenly that day or the day before at forty. If you know the how and why of death life becomes precious beyond price.

By commission I was taught to inhabit and incarnate whatever I could know of Jesus who, to me at least, first vanquished death. Then I discovered Buddha who at the end said he longed never to return . . . and do it all over again. But that was five hundred years before AC/DC. . . . will any or all of us ever learn to walk away from our fear?

So in these closing days of my life I admire the people I’ve come to know as family those present and those absent. There is one volunteer aged eighty nine I am especially fond of. After a long absence he returned from convalescence--bladder cancer/a long dance. He was speaking to a friend who like me is close as we three are well aware. An aside, least I lead you astray: there are those very young adolescent who are part of our family who in losing their friends, pets, parents, et al, have realized a need to give comfort and succor too. Ideals impossible in an ‘ordinary’ hospital given all the political manipulations.

I called across the foyer to them both. “Curb your mouth she’s a friend.” He laughed, she giggled all three knowing his penchant and proclivity of being a curmudgeon. The “Catch 22” he was a bomber crew member flying Liberators in World War II. He, not alone, it is a privilege to be intimate with.

120518 02:41
Road Side Crosses & other markings passage
Odd this practice of remarking the place and time
Something like the crumpled wrapping paper and
ribbons littering the end of Christmas kids playing with
the boxes not the gifts

The baby pigeons beaks raised in expectation
eyes closed in sudden death first seen at four

The others friends, school mates, mothers
fathers young and old in repose open casket

Tree divided a man electrocuted by lightning
The friend crushed beneath a car on lookers gawked
blocking first responders a curiosity his eyes flashed to me
who he had introduced to the first sex worker who when I wanted
to talk said “Let’s Mount UP!” Oh well such is life glorious no shame or blame

120518 03:38
Intrigued by concepts pondered endlessly is the sense in which a child lives out the unlived life of their parent. Or. In my case the unlived lives of those of mine who lived and passed before me,  the aborted brother/sister or other child or children also.

I am at times furious with my father or Father of All of us and would contend with either or both together that i finally know myself loved or wanted at all.

Recall a moment in bliss floating upon an inter tube oblivious that I was at vast distance upon Long Island Sound from safety. And he my Dad swam to me in peril of his own life drawing me back to safety in his black knit penis revealing swim suit. . . . Oh god, he was hung like a horse. And other times alone together when he sacrificed his time to mine. In the minority yet never complete recompense the times he stood silent by while mom beat me nearly to death. Wounds, contusions, broken bones, naked standing in winter locked out can and do heal but those slanders defamations and denigrations never really go away though forgiven for/from either of them.

Why me? I’ll never know fully save that in intimacy I’ve been told too many similar stories to remain silent forever oblivious the pain of others made Banzai Trees contorted.

Runes, ruins, myths, omens, portents signs upon walls and dreams crushed pennies saved from city pavements spied speckled like the stars above in night adored. I seek clues about their legacy to me as a bequest from their parents reaching back into prehistory. A place wherein the unknowing name given was passed on and on to me to finally lay at rest this heritage of suffering.

She said we are no more important than a grain of sand--thus found Blake.
He said read Kafka and I better know both he, myself and all others who purport to serve . . . and now weep for their gifts to me both the parents and The Parent(s) of us all. Rapture or rupture I’m ready to end this ecstasy of playing with words.

. . . there is no end to/of love everything is a portal to something else and death no end rites of passage journey on infinity

. . . perhaps not so odd the though he wanted me sans clothes when together in the end our travels together mom however loathed being a woman and would flame me when I ogled her--less the last time before the white gild handled refrigerator coffin buried

“Bashfulness is an ornament to youth, but a reproach to old age.”--Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC)

“This life of separateness may be compared to a dream, a phantasm, a bubble, a shadow, a drop of dew, a flash of lightning.”
--Buddha

120518 07:21
in the best of times i say ‘nothing is for naught’
in the worst of times I ask “WHY ME?”
& maybe at the 10,000th incident i receive answers worthy of record maybe not

120519 00:46
Let us now praise famous men/women, and our parents who begot us . . .
    In a sincere, appreciation and fulsome gratitude do I acknowledge the many who I would praise yet remain slave nor slavish to none not even God.
    But some I would praise more highly than others simply for their spirit of inquiry and curiosity pushing the boundaries of the human psyche beyond the limitless reaches of both God and all Creation.
    At the inception/inspiration of this post I had in mind Maria Popova for her manifold gifts apparent in Brainpickings. And other women who, of needs, will remain nameless for now. In this, my childlike, construct and perception: men seem most fixated upon goals achievable  while women see potential undefined and nurturing prize that. Upon the endless dust of creation neither leave traces save upon the sentient. Creation is not a product but a process self-rewarding; an act of love beyond price or praise.
    At full flood there is within these moments a choir of thoughts possible. Yet sticking to my compendium of encounters, clues and stumblings in the past 24 hours I will say this.
    A Blog is by its nature not definitive but born from journal keeping; the most intimate act possible in humans, solitary, recorded. For me without aggrandizement, pretence or illusion I write to heal others who like me suffer obscenely--in my case, make that past tense--and so it is apparent prayer.
    I am willing to be one pebble piled like The Tower of Babble to reach truths I know extant. And if I seem fractious or fatuous it seems a small price to pay so long as those few who read these words are engaged in the eyes of their heart and the hearing of their feet as they journey as well all do in life or death.
    As for myself, this aging white boy from Greenwich Connecticut and the halcyon Ohio River Valley born and breed, I don’t care to live another moment. The motive to publish has nothing to do with either immortality or any quantitative measure or treasure.
    Think of yourself growing and gestating into a new life undefinable yet worth every tear God might bestow the labor in delivery which for me is mere play. And for God’s Love I would be anything, mendicant fool or otherwise.
    I undergo constant redefinition both of intention and by experience. It is not a singular event like Jesus upon the Cross. Nor is it the sacrifice, of protest a Buddhist self immolating, that I would have you memorialize but these things in your own life and consciousness.
    What follows, from this day forward, will be an annotation of a life and work lived. Apparently fractious but a seamless continuity to me; a reprise of childhood sans the hammer blows forging a self/soul. Love is acceptance of everything including our selves unlovable. From this basis do I ask you to love yourselves and ask, for in asking you will receive from the Author of Creation.
    In closing, for now, one or two caveats: Be Here Now & Do No Harm . . . it is not you or me but we who must find the answers least we be no more.