120914 21:00 Lovers
Love causes me to row a blunt, rusty, icepick in my mind. The sadness and sorrows, pains and humiliations suffered by abandonment, beating, slander, the list is difficult to annotate since it is various, erratically so. I write for those who remain as I was in a state of insane anguish, depression and volatility. . . .And those in denial . . . not a River in Egypt.

Often I find myself correcting others misuse, the terms 'stupid' and 'ignorant;' applied to themselves or others. 

My father was both since he witnessed most of the things mother did to me without intercession. When in the closing times, the days and hours remembered too well; for he left me nothing of himself. I asked why? "I didn't know any better." It seems now as then a slogan he memorized; delivered by rote. Done is done and finished. My nature is to forgive yet he never sought it from me nor did he ever apologize. . . 

Flashing across the dark frozen winter nights like beer sign blinking seducing a long lonely life: "Amazing the crap I've taken." Robert Frank; in The New York Times Sunday Magazine. He remains my inseminator the person I most highly prize as the seducer of my attention to photography. Which, of all the arts, I once aspired to, drawn towards, played with well: music, painting, drawing, sculpture . . . even the Theatre Arts -- plays movies etc. Almost all abandoned for their implied need of begging the attention of committees who could voice a yea or nay to my continued practice or performance. Judged too often and capriciously as unworthy of life itself; I avoid them like holding a burning pot in my hands merely to prove my courage. Hell is a small price to pay for longer times in Heaven; what we create in life becomes part of eternity. 

Of and about myself I'd never have survived nor thrived without the random acts of strangers. Who in their way held me momentarily above drowning in the cesspool of life. . . Laughing I began to wonder at the copper heads and alligators imagined swimming towards me . . . remembering that they would have liked it no better than I. 

Photography became a passport into souls. I used to prize my hyper vigilance thinking it was my sole 'gift' in photographing others. Yet I limped along deluded by those artist with cameras so much larger and rendering details and tonalities in glorious terms. I've always loved light for itself. Seeing it pass from dawn into night and resting briefly in perfect conjunction with people, places and things. In recognition of today and my 'take' I realize that I don't want to be anticipated as a photographer with enormous penile lenses preceding my presence. Instead I use innocuous pocket cameras. And have always carried one since they were first available. 

The subjects I am attracted to are neither sexy, glamorous, or iconic . . . celebrities and politicians bore me since they have a persona to protect. Projecting upon the world a certain sense of divine right to never apologize or merely to admit one mistake institutionalized into a creed arrogantly enforced. 

Truth is vastly more interesting and various than the art I attempted to place it in . . . the frame explicit to viewing the world through a camera. 

The turning point came when assigned to do a "mug shot;" a two column portrait of a woman who loved and educated blind children. True. There were other moments before, especially with children, I've always adored children; our future. What could have, or should have, taken a few moments to capture became six hours of something glorious to me. Award winning innovative. So much so a friend borrowed the negatives -- pre digital -- and lost them while making prints for friends. 

From what I've written so intimately about, is what I did with photography. With age and wisdom I've become more accomplished. When I was requested to record a set of portraits of fellow volunteers I said yes. The result was possibly the best set of images ever to pour out of my eyes and heart. At least in so far as portraits are concerned. The end result, however, was Muzak for a social event; inconsequential. 

The request was given by a source I would not, and cannot, betray since to do so would be to betray her to herself. This I could easily do yet refuse to hurt her or her employment. I continue to pray for her future discarding my own within that particular construct, company or corporation. To walk away or be banished is irrelevant because I have had the proof I needed, derived from additional work there to know myself better and my talent not utterly wasted at, and thereafter, the time of my son's diagnosis with Leukemia closely following my daughters death. The genius of God coupled with wisdom says essentially that is enough. And old man soon to die is blessed by an achievement self set. I do environmentally portraits of people inhabiting their lives. In the process have not merely captured the light reflected from their faces but the lives within and their choices in real life. 

The most wonderful thing we create is ourselves; now and at our final moments. Thinking of Dietrich Bonhoeffer naked in solitude for months then thanking his captors and forgiving his hangman comes to mind; there was no audience other than the scenario I depict and yet he chose to say what he did as did St. Joan Of Ark . . . like actor -- hero stands for both genders, or so I believe hero should; since each are equal in my esteem: actor/heroic.

My thesis is the Self we create cannot be done alone, it can, but not in meaningful ways to others. We who serve are served in turn by greater awards than applause, fame or fortune. Creation is award sufficient unto itself.It is why photography is for me like making love sacramental. Though I've made love with many women few were my equal or responsive. My point is that one competes with one's self. Pushing the envelop of what was, to that will be greater. If merely different and a failure than that teaches as well. God, it seems, at times, speaks through us in both positive and negative ways. Defamed I get up off my face; look and move forward. 

I have achieved a love and fortune in that I envy no one, no prophet, no definition of God and no fear of anyone or thing. I love M. M loves me, that is enough. As I've learned self love is not onanistic: it is what we give to others free of request for reciprocity. . . . the more I love my neighbor as like family the more I grow in love with myself. It is not measure for measure, or quid pro quo, but each kindness makes the next one more meaningful to both. The person we become is radically different from the person we were. The process is all -- the goal itself -- life fully lived. 

120914  22:42

All the above was prelude to reading the email sent me by the woman I prayed she not lose her employment. I was informed that my services, of any kind, were no longer required. Not odd since from the beginning to end those I prized as friends also disappeared, staff, not patients; inexplicability. One door closes and another opens: the nature of crisis and trauma. I am at peace with death having died many times yet I live; why? 

Neither a borrower nor a lender be;

For loan oft loses both itself and friend,

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

This above all: to thine ownself be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!

Hamlet Act 1 scene 3 --Shakespeare

Often upon the threshold of death, mine and others, I've become aware of those in life remaining and death arrived; a future was and will be granted . . . life goes on. Yet remaining is one thing: the right to keep my intellectual property which I will destroy before surrender. Legal or otherwise.

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

"Some forms of reality are so horrible we refuse to face them, unless we are trapped into it by comedy. To label any subject unsuitable for comedy is to admit defeat." --Peter Sellers

I am a smurf and a shark. 

The one you see is the one I want you to see. 

Rouge conversations I remember arriving in Chicago by car the first time on a sales trip for dad's business and Martin Guitar among a few others. I parked on the street downtown in the Loop got out, it was late see, dead winter, my testes clicking like castanets. I sauntered up to the enormously tall black dude and said "HEY!" 

He looked down on me with disdain and said, "Where you from boy?" I told him and how long it took me to get there. He cut my time in half, his last transit, I put my hand on his back saying, "Hey Bro where's your wings?" . . . i mean I've never driven a car that I've not put the peddle to the metal and seen how far and fast speed is. However I don't make a practice of sustained 180 mph. on Public Byways. 

I may not know how to write but write anyway remembering Grandma Moses and her glee.

I've been abused by the Best: Dear Ol' Mom who while torturing me had dad standing silent beside with her pearl encrusted pool cue case she used to keep her whip in the closet in. So when people piddle on my toes or face I can take more than most. However when they do it repeatedly I begin to get angry. 

Well

Not angry so much as bored.

I've never cared much who I worked for or doing whatever so long as I was moving, alive, with camera in hand; my passport and grade card for the education i've received in forty-five years of making a living, sort of, from being a recording witness . . . to politicians flapping their yappers, audiences stoned, or being stoned the women of my adoration. Add to which i've carried people out of burning hospitals, planes, riots while recording them with my other hand or when required dropping the camera, never on the ground, but across my shoulder using my both hands to aid those in need. That's me. 

My favorite story: I had a New York Times assignment to make an illustration of the then decrease of murder in Chicago. I did, to the letter, jot and tilde what she required/suggested bored out of my gourd. That is until one of the Homicide Cops said, "Why don't you go down to the morgue?"

I did and was allowed to roam freely amongst the stacks of corpses with toe tags naked or partially clothed in whatever the came in wrapped in green plastic garbage bags who didn't say a word in objection. The rooms were cool not cold, there was no smell, and no one cared what I did unobserved. 

I left shipping the film from O'Hare went home and to bed at 03:something something the phone rang and a hysterical photo editor said, "WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME!" and then went on and on and on piddling in my ear through the telephone wires between where I then resided and she in Manhattan. Long, long, long too long I listened and when she paused i asked her if she had essentially said what she needed to say? 'yes' "My job as I understand, teach and write about is: to collect information and quit when I think I've got everything to collect . . . You're job is to select what you want the public to know about my witness. . . . and hung up not caring if she or They, The New York Times ever called me back.

You being my client may abuse me but beware if you kill me or piss on my product, or as my beloved son said before dying, "I'd rather be pissed off than pissed on." Well then I am like all of us, the PTSD and the abused raped and mutilated by authority or mildly nominally co-dependents. Either I, or someone like me, will come and make you very sorry. Individually or collectively and collaboratively you will wish never to have been born.

Bliss is not pleasure or joy it is responsibility and participation. There are certain things which can not be forgiven or healed. I've been insane with grief, insane with insanity, insane with pain and suffering, insane in living with indifferent people to me or themselves loyally.

Enough

Think about, please, the following: God does not revise history and neither does Nature. 

It was with all my strength I restrained myself from merely tearing apart the one who last urinated upon me and my product lovingly given free of charge and at that for the fifth time without ego, without expectation of recognition simply because it seemed to me to save the Company or Corporation the cost of hiring someone else do to the work. To accept your blasphemy of my work and myself is to blaspheme my soul. There are times I do not care for or about my 'immortal soul.' I just want to express myself as having one for now. Fortunately I am neither Jesus or God forgiving seven times seventy, I am nothing at all. . . .Add to which if there is nothing but moldering after life so be it.

Like the Samurai if I draw the sword of myself it wants, needs, will receive blood, your's not mine. To close. I claim no talent or genius nor ability to write or photograph; it's what I do; if inadequate don't use me. Find someone else.

120914 02:33 i'm not nice no way no how

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Integration between your self/soul and ordinary life is possible and desirable to some.

It has been an important question for the past 24 hours. I've challenged hospice to define me differently from a sacrificial slave to being a person willing to serve with integrity and rights. For them merely to recognize my gifts, freely given, as products of my love for them and not mere advertising that they can turn on or off at will. I never play anything but my A Game and always push the boundaries of what I did before; it is my nature and choice to prostitute myself for the needs of others. At that I still have limits to my acrobatic entertaining abilities and what, where, when, why or how I do it is my creation not theirs.

Before publishing the question itself I sought the council and advice of a peer. Though we have no formal declaration of his being my mentor I conclude he stepped forward and filled the roll instinctively. M was absent and hates speaking over the telephone anyway. I called Norm after the fact and he deconstructed my reasons and motivations giving his approval.

When I find myself sawing off the limb I'm resting upon high above the rocks and cliffs beneath me I seek the wisdom of friends who love and accept me as I am. Responding with insight and humor. I am blest in this way and all can be equally if you seek them. They are the people you can call at 03:33 hours in the morning before you cut your throat. 

When stuck with a question I play solitaire or wander through my vast flower garden of quotes finding, if not answers, suggestions. 

Many seeking sanity and balance have walked The Walk alone and either found peace or assertion. In what and why I write I find myself following the latter suggestion: assertion. Not for those who read me alone, but those I love, live with and for in the ordinary of my life. Actually there is no ordinary in my extraordinarily blest life now. As a teacher I am taught daily by the people I meet. 

Pause for rest 23:40 {note to myself never ever write before rest! . . . i can only be me, the best me possible or as the advertising agency said "BE ALL THAT YOU CAN BE" the lie selling the U. S. Army to youth unemployed and desperate for not just work but a life. i like all the men I've spoken with who were IN said it was worth a million dollars, the experience that is, yet added swiftly; "I wouldn't take a million to do it again" . . . implied or inferred: 'or start that part of my life over.' These are the living survivors; the dead tell no lies, say nothing but the end of war.

In my experience as influenced by/in my dreams I see things differently daily, or should I say nightly? Since I rest when tired and eat when hungry -- an admirable choice gleaned from The Buddhist . . . I steal liberally from the genius of others. Not all of whom are ever known as famous like Jesus or Buddha but many who throw away their genius sacrificially and I, greedy little pig, listen and learn at their feet. 

By experience I was taught to be forever a stranger in strange lands, an emigrant on a planet filled with emigrants. A person with out cause, religious without a religious identity. True to myself but to others, should they know me well; a chameleon & fraud Self Incoporated.

Not for myself but for another child who like me lingered in Hell too long, over done in the broiler life has become. The fact is that I awoke with an utterly transformed notion of what Jesus did 'in dying for my sins' or 'out sins.' 

Truth is; only God can know me as I know myself and at that we both are transfigurable . . . I don't know 'how' to define in the Native American Sense: Skin Walker or Shape Changer but they knew what I mean when they so named the experience of meeting one. e. g. Imagine seeing The Virgin Mary at thirteen smoking cigarettes, or crack cocaine, or from Darfur pregnant from rape, bruised inwardly and outwardly with AIDS yet as I have been taught by experience, being human, nothing now surprises me except that I now act with assertion, not aggression, in context with love. Since I love all life unreasonably and will probably die from old age in my sleep or standing up from a heart attack stroke Alzheimer's Parkinson or crushed beneath the vanity of a person indifferent to all life mine being taken away of mutilated and paraplegic to linger incapacitated hating/loving it.

Yet having equanimity I remain in peace.

I have love and have it not. Not even from M (whoops I nearly spelled it out.) She who has been so generous with me for and towards whom I have more than 'love' but gratitude endless as I do for God.

A teacher in The School of Hard Knocks I am still capable of being taught. And I will fully live vital until I can 'live' no more. Thence, like she be cremated, and if my wishes are followed -- no longer relevant to me -- I like she will be ash sprinkled upon this High Mountain Desert we both love. 

Not long ago I had a desire to address her with a question to which she replied, "let's discuss this at lunch." And I called her on it saying something to the effect that I felt rebuffed. I could have, should have, said as I thought (thinking in strings or streams of words which are for me like pearls; an invisible crown of them atop my head and/or wrapped around me like ermine) 'rejected, despised, abandoned, trashed, shat upon by "I'll let you go now" or the other "at lunch"

Where upon she explained the origin of being as she is at times a counselor with a built in timer ticking of slithering sand passing through an hour glass used to time the cooking of eggs. She is a force of nature and several orders of magnitude above and beyond the 'science' of psychiatry . . . and at times she terrifies me and I say so laughing because???? I was trained to be a fencing partner with my mother who wanted me to be the Best Man she could never be. 

I so love women that I could easily neuter myself for the privilege of entering their hearts and souls.

Sacrificial? Yes! But not THE BIG SHOW made of Jesus's murder. Yet like HIM i am not a suicide bomber of souls since I know the Author of Him and there is nothing in our job description indicative of that as anything we ever think about though we are beaten and slain. God forgive me but my sense is that You are the Judge and I am merely a witness to this time I so briefly inhabit. 

At that why would I want the love of a woman who refuses to love herself? Especially given that YOU love me shown by attention and synchronicities daily hourly minute by second?

Reader! 
Are you there? 
Read me well then. 
I play role play with God and all the attendant characters in everything I've ever read but especially the Bible which is both "Owner's Manual" and a picture puzzle myself fondling the pieces with my eyes saying this goes with that and that goes with nothing I can perceive yet with persistence and patience I eventually fit it together and the final view is of God not Jesus upon the Cross. GOD! . . . yes . . . the merry prankster him/herself. . . .

That's why I say 'never write before falling asleep' and 'don't ever read Lao Tzu' at or around the same event. But, 
but, 
but at that the list is actually endless since it also happens when I read Mary Shelly and a choir of others with different ethnicity genders gender proclivities etc. and so on and on. 

To say that God speaks through the hearts and minds of others is to publish my secret conviction. Knowing every new set of eyes, heart, mind and soul born is a new creation in time to die learning the value of life itself. Add to which, by my experience, what we kill slays us. And for me my private hell is Hitler, Inc. being held fully conscious hearing his snarky rhetoric endlessly replayed and instant replays of the consequences. Coupled with the sights, cries, grunts, and last gasps of those wholesale disappeared or merely beaten to death for the pleasure of Sadist. 

I do have an agenda like a used car sales man's ABC = 'always be closing;' I want you to know and love yourself to the extent, kind and degree, that God loves you . . . not be like me or Jesus but the unique and exquisite and precious person you are capable of becoming.

Become well and then a geyser of love. . . . in THE END, drawing nigh rapidly, the only thing we can change it the entire cosmos is ourselves. The rest is merely preamble to THE JUDGE. . . . who is by my witness and being forgiven for my sins far more merciful than even Jesus was/is.

PS The kindness you give ripples throughout the universe creatively.
“He who knows others is learned; he who knows himself is wise.” --Lao Tzu

120913 19:22 freedom is integration

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Free intercourse is dialog

Women converse, men debate. Which gender would you rather engage in dialog? The first is attentive to both sides of any issue the latter is fraught with an agenda: I win/you lose? On equal footing with either gender I remain overtly male yet internally willing to play either role. 

By implication so is God, or what Lao Tzu called Tao. 

To me, if you, adhere rigidly to any one definition of God then you are blasphemous in that God can and is anything God wants to be while you are worshiping an Idol. Cults are defined rigidly and thus unworthy of my attention since I adhere to God who is personal, loving, kind, humble, gentle and forgiving. Amongst many other additional qualities I've yet to discover. At the moment however I am most impressed with God's willingness to allow, possibly accept, my spiritual dyslexia and attention to all the Prophets profiting thereby a wonderfully rich sense of Love. 

This is by need, or of course, for now until we meet face-to-face . . . again . . . or for the first time . . . or not at all. Since by nature, nurture and choice I choose making love instead of war. God does not kill men do. Yet I've seen the violence of women in many instances vastly more ferocious than anything a man could conceive of. The Lion King is dependent upon The Lion Queen to do the killing; Kings just make a lot of loud noise maybe, maybe not babysitting the kids. 

M&M are soon to die, perhaps today, tomorrow or in twenty years or so. We are equally conscious of death and the value of each moment precious yet tolerant of those who steal from us. 

As for me I love her to the degree and extent that I would go to Hell forever should she want or need me to. This equally applies to God. I do have unequivocally moral and ethic standards regarding doing harm to anyone. Over this sovereign self I must exorcize consciousness not conscience. Again, the first is fluid the latter is frozen. Merely, cold, indifferent and detached. Or. Idolatrous of slogan, a bigotry declared self-righteous, self-consecrating the right to destroy enemies. . . .real or imagined.

Be tolerant towards your self, or mindful as the Buddhist define it. Aware and self-correcting since man's laws are reactive -- be proactive towards you self and life lived in real time -- experiencing our time divine not hell. Any day is a good time to make love possible where it seems impossible; or at the moment of your death by any means or measures. Jesus paid the price of our freedom from fear of death indicating a seamless continuity of love.

120913 11:08 free intercourse is dialog

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Freedom/Free will/Choice

Choose your actions carefully confident and move forward. Not in aggression; but assertion you have the right God given to exercise Free Will. 

My choices are not for everyone yet few have my education by experience. Keeping my journal, now sharing it freely, I have become aware of what motivated my choices and can essentially, face-to-face help you as M helped me to heal indecision, ambivalence and confusion. When I asked why me she replied, "You are not a whiner." On another occasion when asked about, or suggested that, she counsel PTSD victims, she replied essentially similarly using if not the same words something akin. Add that she like I have encountered hundreds if not thousands of people on a personal basis: face-to-face. I am convicted by humor fluid and by ernestness rigid able to balance each appropriately.

In the democracy of death there is no debate passing as dialog. Neither God nor Nature do revisions of history. It is impossible to blame any one class of wealth or poverty for the current problem described as 'recession' or 'depression.' It makes more pragmatic sense to simply say of our current time; 'adjustment.' . . . to borrow John Kenneth Galbraith's conclusions regarding the last Depression. Yet the consequences were obscured by those who had money and the demands of a World at war. The problem of power is its use of force to maintain stability. We still have free speech and other liberties important to growth but are nearly a police state seeking control or safety.

The issue seems an imbalance between material objectivity and artistic licence to create new truths. The first codifies by law it's truth. While the latter implies other and newer truths possible. In times of economic crisis the arts are first cut from educational budgets. Truth defined is difficult to grasp without myth and metaphor or illusive ideas dancing like leaves in the wind. Connecting the dots is impossible if there are no dots! Thus we have those who are experts at control in charge in a collective monolog as to what & how needs doing. Nothing stands still for long without becoming subject to the winds of change.

Here I must of need use my life as example identifing with the poor yet coming from relative wealth absent from my savings account. Worse I'm White. Typical of my parents time were the words; "Children are to be silent not heard until a certain age." Implied or infired; that age never comes because parents give up their youthful priviledge reluctantly acknowledging their impending old age and death. It has become more difficult for 'children' to assume power since we now have a cult of youth controled by the collective power of those who rule and profit from exploiting youth. 

Women and men in the combat arms of military service face a potential of rapid and unrecoverable loss. Those I've known and followed respected everyone within their command conscious that as responsible leaders they must be replaced if fallen in combat. I did not advance above any responsibility above beind a Private yet I was respected as all above and around me. To shirk or milinger was impossible because no one else did and we were the best of the best by tests. 

"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation" yet there are some who rise to positions of power and influence never realizing their limitations thus enforcing upon others failure. While hiding behind rank, badge or postures of ingnornace. This makes sense if you listen to veterans who knew what fraging was for: leaders who knew theory but were unable to force the enemy to comply. Veterans knew how to adapt, improvise and prevail. Therefore learning constantly from The School of Hard Knocks. Fully conscious that a leader addicted to theory would get everyone killed sooner or later. 

Under such circumstance widson is contagous -- walking the walk -- talk is left behind . . . as it should be. While whiners repeat slogans. Conscious people become aware of solutions to specific problems disabling them from a fully lived conscious life. Disablity like death is fact not fantasy, if you wish to lessen the blow think of your inhibitions or the scretes of you life's shame and guilt. 

If M&M have any answers it is not to questions but the process of perception and origin of thoughts. The capacity of others to fully live or merely exist. As stated we came from similar childhoods and learned early on to observe threats to our lives. Where some become passive others become violently aggressive resulting from such an education. Pragmatic politics in democracy is difficult but not impossilbe since it implies compromise towards what is possible versus ideal. Imperial forces all to the rule of one at the expense of the all.

“A leader is best When people barely know he exists. Not so good When people obey and acclaim him. Worse when they despise him. But of a good leader Who talks little When his work is done, His aim fulfilled, They will say 'We did it ourselves.'”

“A mans excellence is like that of water It benefits all things without striving It takes to the low places shunned by men. Water is akin to Tao.... In all the earth nothing weaker than water, Yet in attacking the hard, nothing superior, Nothing so certain in wearing down strength There is no way to resist it. Note then The weak conquer the strong, The yielding outlast the aggressors.” --Lao Tzu

"If we did not bring to the examinations of our instincts a  knowledge of their comparative dignity we could never learn it  from them." 
-- C. S. Lewis

120913 07:40 freedom/free will/choice

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

Men are at times sweet extraordinarily so, like Aaron Siskind and Buddha, each thought of as i began my glide path towards sleep drifting on a pond filled with water lilies; Buddha on one, Aaron on another. Myself, just your average toad. 

Having held an 8x10 Kodachrome transparency, viewed closely, one can never be really happy with anything smaller. I last saw Aaron Siskind before leaving Rhode Island forever and we both laughed glad to confess our age and the disability to carry large cameras very far. I knew him from having been assigned to write an interview with he and Harry Callahan; both were teaching at The Rhode Island School of Design. 

Shortly after I began interviewing Aaron he chanced to mention, out of context with anything; not having made love with his wife since the birth of their 27 year-old daughter. Stunned. I said I had a conflict and had to leave abandoning the interview of either photographers I'd admired then and more now. 

It could have been that Aaron confessed this freely as I once did the death of my only two children; seeking answers to something troubling; a devastating loss grieved for. 

Possibly given my more than passing familiarity with mental illness, specifically bipolar issues, his statement could be attributable to that problem. In time since I've become aware of a pattern of receiving confessions unsolicited. Could it be some quality in me that prompts this from others? It is common for travelers to trust one another deeply since there is no accountability. We are all fellow travelers between birth and death. Otherwise it is common only between friends and mentors to be so candid and transparently honest.

In time we all age wearing out. Death becoming a welcome relief from physical and psychic pain. A wisdom earned by experience -- KISS -- Keep It Simple Stupid. Recognizing what we can change and what we cannot -- knowing the difference too intimately. Overwhelming at times.

Why Buddha? Because to me Buddha is more accessible than Jesus or Mohammad making complex issues simple. Add to which I now am shocked that what I wrote before sleep was partially answered in a prayerful dream and now consciously awake have recognized it an intensely personal question. Is it better, or easy, to die or keep on keeping on suffering? 

To know yourself deeply; the height, width, breadth, endlessness . . . at peace, fearless, stable or crossing life through days covered with marbles in mute dark confusion is to know chaos well. For me the idea of suicide has been a constant companion. An alternative to striking out destroying everything I otherwise could love finding solutions to my agony. 

Yesterday forgotten tomorrow impossible.

Momentarily I entered the truth of myself knowing immediately this equally true of others who did act out terminating all doubt. 

Communication in the information age has become, 'much ado about nothing.' Entertainment stirring the pot of confusion, consequential only in adding to the turmoil and craziness. 

Weapons were once simple now complex they are vastly more consequential killing many in a fit of rage. Words are important and can be lethal or seductive. I write seeking sanity in an age of anxiety. Seeking more now, not celebrity, acclaim or material reward; but seeing that I like many others can go either way to love or kill. 

Unlike all men, or history, known well; I accept the gifts of, whatever you call or think of as, God saying thank you moving on. Never educated in a formal way I am greedy to know all that I can learn about nearly everything counting best the days I learn something new. 

M, on occasion, when asked, says; "I believe God intended us to be friends." And what a friend she is to me and all of us. Since through me she has a voice available to anyone who can read. 

And as with God I approach M without fear and with immutable trust. She is not 'god' but like God inscrutable accept to my intuition and empathy which informs me that we are siblings; like children of God. Ignored, neglected, abused and abandoned by our biological parents. We pay close attention to the joy and sorrow of one another. For each of us death is near; knowing each parting as the last or possibly so.

In my lexicon success would be one person saved from self-destruction thus saving many hypothetically. My empathy is equal towards the slayer, slain, maimed, etc. It for this I live and write about.

Photography is now an avocation and writing a hobby. 

{note to myself} St. John The Baptist used water in recognition of Jesus, not oil. Christ, meaning anointed one, was applied long after: the murder of-the idea of-not the body of: Jesus. Water is our most precious and unique resource in the known universe.

120912 22:15 Aaron & buddha

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved

St. Francis loved poverty like a lover loves a wife. My sense, after long adoration of he and Jesus, I have been gifted with the ultimate lover: Poverty. 

Life is no longer mine yet simpler and each moment welcomed with joy as I will welcome my death by any means or measures. Even if it is an indifferent person talking/texting/sexting on a cellular telephone while driving, even my best friend Dave. My only caveat is a hope that they kill instead of maim me. I knew a Vietnam vet no arms no legs typing with a stick in his mouth? Perhaps I am being picky? 

Obviously I measure the treasure of life not by amount but quality. 

No one knows for certain why we die of Alzheimer's but I have heard that the Food Industry: Agriculture or Fast does not help anything accept their bottom line and making us addicted to things that will kill us.

The Food and Drug Administration, a governmental agency, Mitt Romney, Inc. doesn't want regulated; if anything he'd like it similar to a Free Market Economy. What I sense but us in the unrecoverable cesspool of debt called a recession but experientially like what my parents went through: a Depression. 

I have a quiet sense of disquiet about my life and M's. Our mutuality is ending at least I sense it so by death departed; Either, or, both. My random rouge remark about not going to hospice every again is taking root. The only exception being Lila for whom I gave my final blessing over the telephone in our last conversation. Love without expectation of results or praise or acknowledgement is astonishing yet even in The Presence of The Author of Love one does not take for granted but doesn't run about leaping, crying, singing at least not all the time. 

I think myself less than an ant upon the sidewalk of life; a living form self propelled that you'd not think or stop for a moment to step upon. Knowing from whence and to which or were I go I'm okay with that. 

Yet there is a remnant within me of the Warriors Creed, Today is a God Day to Die . . . meaning I might crawl up your leg and blind you then destroy you. Just business, my business, not your's. Many times in recent memory I've played "The Passion" no game over and over trading places with Judas, Jesus, John, The Centurion, Mary The Mother and so on. Too keep it simple stupid no matter what Jesus was he knew or so I have faith in what awaited him in Jerusalem. He knew what lay ahead: humiliation, scourging, the long walk, Veronica's Veil, the shit and piss at time of death; all of it. 

Arisen his resurrection in part or whole in us or for us. Makes no difference he being sent, inspired by or for God or possibly God him/her self playing a role; no matter how I slice and dice vivisect the scenario it comes out the same: okay. 

I'll miss the Land of Enchantment, New Mexico, United States of America & M too. Harry Hudini suggested to his wife/lover that in death he'd communicate, he never did. So for me it is a matter of having and not having control and being at peace with my helplessness having enough sanity to prevail. I know what the accusation of Mental Illness means corporate, commonwealth, community and too me. 

Imagine, if you will please, Jesus walking the streets of Moscow preaching redemption or Aurora doing essentially the same thing yet no one listened saying He was mentally ill.

CULT: "the word originally denoted a system of ritual practices. The word was first used in the early 17th century denoting homage paid to a divinity and derived from the French culte or Latin cultus, ‘worship’, from cult-, ‘inhabited, cultivated, worshipped,’ from the verb colere, 'care, cultivation'.[citation needed]
In the 1930s cults became the object of sociological study in the context of the study of religious behavior. They have been criticized by mainstream Christians for their unorthodox beliefs. In the 1970s the anticult movement arose, partly motivated by acts of violence and other crimes committed by members of some cults (notably the Manson Family and People's Temple). Some of the claims of the anti-cult movement have been disputed by other scholars, leading to further controversies.
Government reaction to cults has led to controversy. Cults have also been featured in popular culture."

Meanings/definitions change with time, application, events and misuse or abuse . . . have I made my point? What value do I have if I cannot question authority? I am not a priest, I don't want to be Jesus or Freud and know full well that in a profound sense we must become our own saviors in a time of lies, anxiety and systematic failure parading as answers. 

My sense of what I've done at hospice is unworthy of attention yet I get more attention than I care for, either praise or slander; my sense of value is common to all who volunteer since most if not all have been touched by grief. 

My world travel and exposure to many events, celebrities and common folk in birth living and dying means nothing to the people I volunteer to serve. That said unlike Virginia Theological Seminary who categorized me as another cipher, those who administer hospice could care less about me.

Accustomed to slander, defamation, suggestion and conviction that I am worthless -- unworthy of life it self -- an ant from beginning to end. It is not that 'they' my clients or those I volunteer for, client or administration, is unworthy of my love, talent, genius, devotion. It is merely that they and their agenda bores me. I am not a giant among ants, I am an ant among giants who would destroy my life simply because they can or feel they must. 

This, what I've just written, is torn from my heart, what journal keeping is for and all about; process. God nor Heaven is my goal since I believe both are process to ends as yet unknown and unknowable. I am enjoying the trip not the goal. 

Just attempted to call M for a 'reality check.' No M; just a machine; I hung up. Not knowing her alive or dead. I think for the nonce I'll keep crossing this dark room filled with marbles and attempt to keep my footing in truth: mine.

No one can buy me or pay my tuition. I think if you read me clearly you must find similar value within your self and life then live it. As a person I experience compassion for the slayer, the slain and the maimed plus all the grief left behind Aurora . . . and none for the politicians, judges and layers or the tits and ass or Chiclets wearing Armani suits judging the event in the court of public opinion. Fuck Fox especially but then too all the Televised 'infotainment news' media. 

Time is now precious to me. If you ask me for my shirt I'll give it to you but steal it and I will retaliate. Today is both the first day or last day of my life.

120912 12:22 wealth

© 2012 by Jack Spratt - All Rights Reserved