091224 00:56
If I sleep as the dead, I sleep enough in one or more hours, to spend the rest of my day in whatever concerns me. Too little the chores, housekeeping and personal hygiene, shaving at the keyboard and eating as well.
I am at peace, my personal trials, regarding what I wrote yesterday, affirmed so many times over, it is ridiculous to mention the facts. I could, but refuse to deconstruct, the surprise and splendor . . . ask and you will receive.
There were other discoveries regarding my bodily abuse. And I wonder how long I will last, surprised, I don’t care.
Annie is keeping me alive. Who will take care of her when I am gone, gladly so, no longer engaged; the chaos of Congress, the agenda’s of avarice, and concern for the future of mankind.
At this moment, and others, I see myself a road-flare burning at both ends and middle soon extinguished; in the desert far from sight save the audience of truth.
Why?
Last Christmas I longed it to be my last. I wanted to simply die at the turning from longest night to the next longer day. It is not only Annie keeping me here, there is another, The Other, always with us. Silent, holding the stars in their courses, enveloping the entire Cosmos.
Could I be nurture, as found in communion, the Body and Blood, I would.
Yet there are events in life far worse than death. I am retrospectively considering the poverty of all women enslaved and without dignity, involuntarily. And I am satisfied with standing up for them in the face of those who, otherwise, would render them breeding stock for cannon fodder.
“If you want peace, work for justice.”
Cannot, at the moment remember the Pope, but am curious, did he intend that equality for woman be the first injustice remedied?
Laws are remedial, yet the Love potential in loving equally, both genders, combined, or exclusive of one another, will, I believe, heal the world before it is too late.
I was marooned as a child, yet saved by the abandonment. Desolation is my home in chaos. I weep not for myself, now, yet for all others, especially the AIDS orphans of Africa and those homeless this Christmas as well. Of children at war, well, I wish they would simply lay aside their weapons and embrace one another in the family of mankind and get on with life. So I do pray for both sides of every issue.
How can I serve them, except with these paltry words, burning in the night, as I immolate myself?
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
speak, with different voices and languages, essentially the same concerns for our common welfare
091223 07:24
Our lives are their own justification and reconciliation to reality. We either have, or have not, peace.
Implied/explicit, within my consciousness, is an inconvenient ‘devil’s advocate’ who puts my ‘feet to the fire.’ When alone, as I am in most of the ordinary days of my life, I enter an abstract place expressed in what I write.
At first I thought in terms of ‘keeping a personal journal.’ An idea that was suggested to me by a clergy person. Who, it now seems, was well aware of my distress, if not actual disease;
read dis-ease, no ease or peace possible.
That person implied I could find sanity through the activity and brought to my attention a person who had done so; moving from clinical insanity to balanced sanity.
Attention of any kind is welcomed by most of us. Yet attention of those in authority can be loosely defined/experienced in one of three ways: benign, indifferent, malevolent. The weal or woe of life, and in my life specifically, has been a study in what I perceived as no-treat, all treat or balanced between the two extremes.
My habitual perception, and experience, was formerly dominated by all-treat, and no peace, anywhere. Chaos.
I knew nothing else and became addicted to my posture and attempt to control that which implied worthlessness in my self: unlovable, not worthy of kindness and so on. The consequence of my choice was merely that at all opportunities to learn, see, taste experience myself as other than helpless were to be avoided at all costs. Denial became my theme song. Simply sung in the idle moments--a white/back--noise.
Why do I mention this given the nearness, of our celebration; The Prince of Peace?
Sixty-Eight and one half years in hell is long enough.
The peace I know now is beyond telling or measuring in terms of wealth and staggeringly beautiful in the following sense. Yet I do, did and will continue to work at understanding the nature, meaning and value of all life.
I am no longer the victim of, nor afraid, of anything: authority or death.
I understand fundamentalism very well since my foundation had been helplessness; no vote, no voice . . . it was as though I had no “Right” to live or be myself.
Yesterday I wrote a harsh dispute of the abuse of separation of powers between State and Church [and be read: Religion.}
Within our culture or “civilization” as experienced in The United States of America, there is a mood of fear and persecution; punishment for dissent and protest.
Most of us cling to the status quo regardless of how it works, or fails our needs to have life in peace assured by those in power. No one is without dysfunction. No one is perfect. We are what we are: imperfect persons attempting to cope with the realities of life; which has a beginning middle and end called death.
I want nothing, having everything I need, and am willing to follow the lead of people I trust. They have earned that trust through the fiery furnace of my attention to what they are about. More specifically what do they want of me and what does that imply in flesh-and-blood terms and consequences?
I need not confess farther my attention to God through Jesus. Yet I remain equally aware of the Prophet Mohammad and those many of Judaism. Add to that the Prophets of other times and cultures before, during and now who spoke, or speak, with different voices and languages, essentially the same concerns for our common welfare. I have a vision/version of God as the Chief Executive Officer and the Prophets, all of them, Board Members conjoined in an effort to make love, life, living possible for all people. No exceptions allowed.
In such time as I am allowed I will advocate, as I believe the prophets in their own time, one-by-one changed people from status quo to responsibility and choice for that which allows the children to follow--though there be now too many to sustain--live, liberty, peace and love.
Dominant amongst my concerns and intentions is the simple inequality of women as slaves to men’s agendas. I intuit, sense, think and feel this expropriates their obvious equality intellectually, spiritually and their right to equality. To force women to have no voice in reproductive issues is, I believe, unbridled aggression upon their souls. Our souls have no gender, think Angels.
. . . and when I ask the Lord’s blessing, I may say “Our Father” but my heart silently says “Our Parent.”
The influence of all the Prophets of God began with their own change and transformation. In retrospect we accept them emphatically as definitions of “God.” And too often worship the messenger instead of the author of the messages. In my dedication, conviction and intention is this simple kernel/core: God is both, perfectly combined, female/male. In anticipation of outrage and accusations of heresy or simply calling me the Anti-Christ or merely the Devil, I will add this final remark.
If you define love by gender sexuality it limits the potential of a brother willing to die for his brother regardless of race or creed. Jesus spoke to this issue but went only so far. It is a noble thing to sacrifice one’s life for another--on the battle field or in that final moment before mutual, or inevitable single, death. Yet, should they kiss one another goodbye we protest their sexual orientation and some would feel a desire to hasten their departure.
In my own life I have known the pleasure of many women, some sexually, but in greater measure through friendship. I do confess an exaggerated joy in sexual pleasure but nothing compares to the bliss of friendship with another regardless their gender identification.
The more I think about God the more I experience God in all life. And to the experience I am compelled to surrender my self. No matter how I parse the symbols of God the closer I come to explicit trust; and I know peace for the first time in my life.
May the peace and understanding of God’s joy be manifest in all your life . . . in the every moment be the self created to be you. . . . and the Christ Mass be your everyday. He was eventually sacrificed to end all fear, perhaps only my greatest sin and waste of all the years preceeding this moment, the eternal Now.
Our lives are their own justification and reconciliation to reality. We either have, or have not, peace.
Implied/explicit, within my consciousness, is an inconvenient ‘devil’s advocate’ who puts my ‘feet to the fire.’ When alone, as I am in most of the ordinary days of my life, I enter an abstract place expressed in what I write.
At first I thought in terms of ‘keeping a personal journal.’ An idea that was suggested to me by a clergy person. Who, it now seems, was well aware of my distress, if not actual disease;
read dis-ease, no ease or peace possible.
That person implied I could find sanity through the activity and brought to my attention a person who had done so; moving from clinical insanity to balanced sanity.
Attention of any kind is welcomed by most of us. Yet attention of those in authority can be loosely defined/experienced in one of three ways: benign, indifferent, malevolent. The weal or woe of life, and in my life specifically, has been a study in what I perceived as no-treat, all treat or balanced between the two extremes.
My habitual perception, and experience, was formerly dominated by all-treat, and no peace, anywhere. Chaos.
I knew nothing else and became addicted to my posture and attempt to control that which implied worthlessness in my self: unlovable, not worthy of kindness and so on. The consequence of my choice was merely that at all opportunities to learn, see, taste experience myself as other than helpless were to be avoided at all costs. Denial became my theme song. Simply sung in the idle moments--a white/back--noise.
Why do I mention this given the nearness, of our celebration; The Prince of Peace?
Sixty-Eight and one half years in hell is long enough.
The peace I know now is beyond telling or measuring in terms of wealth and staggeringly beautiful in the following sense. Yet I do, did and will continue to work at understanding the nature, meaning and value of all life.
I am no longer the victim of, nor afraid, of anything: authority or death.
I understand fundamentalism very well since my foundation had been helplessness; no vote, no voice . . . it was as though I had no “Right” to live or be myself.
Yesterday I wrote a harsh dispute of the abuse of separation of powers between State and Church [and be read: Religion.}
Within our culture or “civilization” as experienced in The United States of America, there is a mood of fear and persecution; punishment for dissent and protest.
Most of us cling to the status quo regardless of how it works, or fails our needs to have life in peace assured by those in power. No one is without dysfunction. No one is perfect. We are what we are: imperfect persons attempting to cope with the realities of life; which has a beginning middle and end called death.
I want nothing, having everything I need, and am willing to follow the lead of people I trust. They have earned that trust through the fiery furnace of my attention to what they are about. More specifically what do they want of me and what does that imply in flesh-and-blood terms and consequences?
I need not confess farther my attention to God through Jesus. Yet I remain equally aware of the Prophet Mohammad and those many of Judaism. Add to that the Prophets of other times and cultures before, during and now who spoke, or speak, with different voices and languages, essentially the same concerns for our common welfare. I have a vision/version of God as the Chief Executive Officer and the Prophets, all of them, Board Members conjoined in an effort to make love, life, living possible for all people. No exceptions allowed.
In such time as I am allowed I will advocate, as I believe the prophets in their own time, one-by-one changed people from status quo to responsibility and choice for that which allows the children to follow--though there be now too many to sustain--live, liberty, peace and love.
Dominant amongst my concerns and intentions is the simple inequality of women as slaves to men’s agendas. I intuit, sense, think and feel this expropriates their obvious equality intellectually, spiritually and their right to equality. To force women to have no voice in reproductive issues is, I believe, unbridled aggression upon their souls. Our souls have no gender, think Angels.
. . . and when I ask the Lord’s blessing, I may say “Our Father” but my heart silently says “Our Parent.”
The influence of all the Prophets of God began with their own change and transformation. In retrospect we accept them emphatically as definitions of “God.” And too often worship the messenger instead of the author of the messages. In my dedication, conviction and intention is this simple kernel/core: God is both, perfectly combined, female/male. In anticipation of outrage and accusations of heresy or simply calling me the Anti-Christ or merely the Devil, I will add this final remark.
If you define love by gender sexuality it limits the potential of a brother willing to die for his brother regardless of race or creed. Jesus spoke to this issue but went only so far. It is a noble thing to sacrifice one’s life for another--on the battle field or in that final moment before mutual, or inevitable single, death. Yet, should they kiss one another goodbye we protest their sexual orientation and some would feel a desire to hasten their departure.
In my own life I have known the pleasure of many women, some sexually, but in greater measure through friendship. I do confess an exaggerated joy in sexual pleasure but nothing compares to the bliss of friendship with another regardless their gender identification.
The more I think about God the more I experience God in all life. And to the experience I am compelled to surrender my self. No matter how I parse the symbols of God the closer I come to explicit trust; and I know peace for the first time in my life.
May the peace and understanding of God’s joy be manifest in all your life . . . in the every moment be the self created to be you. . . . and the Christ Mass be your everyday. He was eventually sacrificed to end all fear, perhaps only my greatest sin and waste of all the years preceeding this moment, the eternal Now.
to the Parent of all Creation and refer to “The Church” it is . . .
091223 14:34
Were I a poet, or novelist, I’d attempt a portrait of America this day in words alone; with one word: convulsion.
This state of apoplexy is long in coming and may long remain until the final days of our beloved Republic.
I have attempted, through the innocent agency of a personal journal, to speak my concerns and testify to the resource of God’s providence available to all Mankind. I can no longer speak of God, or Providence, in regard to the comments I made in conjecture, opinion and sincere concern for the body politic, and electoral yesterday, and here published.
The separation of Church and State is my most profound temporal concern--currently--in this time of peril manifest through conflicts engaged in distant, and upon native, lands. I am at times hesitant to speak, and sometimes speak in haste and anger, not fully informed.
If I have, what I experience as true, a converse with the numinous, I fully express the responsible consequence that. And it extends far beyond the boundaries of myself, future, or any claim to fame, fortune or celebrity.
I have an ordinary life part joy, and an equal, if not greater, sorrow. I attempted to join the ranks of those who fought and died that we remain free from tyranny--yet was never allowed the privilege. If I speak at all it is obvious that I, in private prayer, have audience, greater than history past, now and forward.
I now believe, have faith in, and welcome censure from above, the only authority I respond to. The God Head was recently added to by The Virgin Mary and there is now four, not three. And to them, and they only, will I lay face down in abject humility, or humiliation. And if required give my life joyously.
Should I otherwise disappear, simply die of old age or otherwise, I will do so consciously and accept that I have failed my concerns; that all live without fear, free and full of potential future in that condition.
I see myself as a piglet, a runt, attempting to feed from the trough of ideas and ideals; kept from nurture by many others before me. Yet in that simile I can all too easily see myself in others who, at, or near, my age did fight in Vietnam and returned despised. But this is only one of many comparisons made between my estate and that of all the electorate. I have an opinion, the consequence of which, my attention having no authority and sad the question arises. That if we persist our current course of civil war in Congress the future will be bleak. If in fact there is a future. In and of God, Do No Harm, is to me obvious so I am no treat to anyone save from my thoughts and mouth. Of the former I sometimes keep silent yet the latter is ablaze.
I am a writer and a recording witness of these times. Fully conscious that if we continue this course of affairs there will be no future. About which God remains mum.
The Holy Roman Catholic Church is not the only ‘voice of God.’ And in most public demonstrations of Official positions speaks only their version/vision about God. In and of myself I remain, not a chameleon or parrot, of anyone, or anything, including God. And I believe this to be the choice, and voice, imitated/emulated/by me, of He whom I adore; Jesus.
I will not bore you with my experience, expectations or theology/teleology which concerns no one save themselves.
So I make no apologies for my position, petition or protest against the lobby of The US Catholic Conference of Bishops their strangle hold on free, tax funded, medical care for all Americans regardless their choice to give or not give birth and I simply find their posture antique regarding the affairs of same sex couples. When I speak, in prayer, to the Parent of all Creation and refer to “The Church” it is my consciousness that I love The Catholic Church as the origin of Christianity. However I remain fully conscious that Jesus died as a Jew and is resurrected in me as a teacher--an not for me alone--since He being my Rabbi whispers regard for all prophets of God. None greater or lesser since God is the Origin of All Life.
I know not where I reside in the food chain of life but remain well fed and no longer thirsty for the providence of God manifest in the life and death of Jesus.
Who said, “Love your enemy . . . “ I’ve said enough. Add to which, I am willing to walk the walk, no longer talking about what anyone chooses to ‘lay up or lose’ here and now.
Were I a poet, or novelist, I’d attempt a portrait of America this day in words alone; with one word: convulsion.
This state of apoplexy is long in coming and may long remain until the final days of our beloved Republic.
I have attempted, through the innocent agency of a personal journal, to speak my concerns and testify to the resource of God’s providence available to all Mankind. I can no longer speak of God, or Providence, in regard to the comments I made in conjecture, opinion and sincere concern for the body politic, and electoral yesterday, and here published.
The separation of Church and State is my most profound temporal concern--currently--in this time of peril manifest through conflicts engaged in distant, and upon native, lands. I am at times hesitant to speak, and sometimes speak in haste and anger, not fully informed.
If I have, what I experience as true, a converse with the numinous, I fully express the responsible consequence that. And it extends far beyond the boundaries of myself, future, or any claim to fame, fortune or celebrity.
I have an ordinary life part joy, and an equal, if not greater, sorrow. I attempted to join the ranks of those who fought and died that we remain free from tyranny--yet was never allowed the privilege. If I speak at all it is obvious that I, in private prayer, have audience, greater than history past, now and forward.
I now believe, have faith in, and welcome censure from above, the only authority I respond to. The God Head was recently added to by The Virgin Mary and there is now four, not three. And to them, and they only, will I lay face down in abject humility, or humiliation. And if required give my life joyously.
Should I otherwise disappear, simply die of old age or otherwise, I will do so consciously and accept that I have failed my concerns; that all live without fear, free and full of potential future in that condition.
I see myself as a piglet, a runt, attempting to feed from the trough of ideas and ideals; kept from nurture by many others before me. Yet in that simile I can all too easily see myself in others who, at, or near, my age did fight in Vietnam and returned despised. But this is only one of many comparisons made between my estate and that of all the electorate. I have an opinion, the consequence of which, my attention having no authority and sad the question arises. That if we persist our current course of civil war in Congress the future will be bleak. If in fact there is a future. In and of God, Do No Harm, is to me obvious so I am no treat to anyone save from my thoughts and mouth. Of the former I sometimes keep silent yet the latter is ablaze.
I am a writer and a recording witness of these times. Fully conscious that if we continue this course of affairs there will be no future. About which God remains mum.
The Holy Roman Catholic Church is not the only ‘voice of God.’ And in most public demonstrations of Official positions speaks only their version/vision about God. In and of myself I remain, not a chameleon or parrot, of anyone, or anything, including God. And I believe this to be the choice, and voice, imitated/emulated/by me, of He whom I adore; Jesus.
I will not bore you with my experience, expectations or theology/teleology which concerns no one save themselves.
So I make no apologies for my position, petition or protest against the lobby of The US Catholic Conference of Bishops their strangle hold on free, tax funded, medical care for all Americans regardless their choice to give or not give birth and I simply find their posture antique regarding the affairs of same sex couples. When I speak, in prayer, to the Parent of all Creation and refer to “The Church” it is my consciousness that I love The Catholic Church as the origin of Christianity. However I remain fully conscious that Jesus died as a Jew and is resurrected in me as a teacher--an not for me alone--since He being my Rabbi whispers regard for all prophets of God. None greater or lesser since God is the Origin of All Life.
I know not where I reside in the food chain of life but remain well fed and no longer thirsty for the providence of God manifest in the life and death of Jesus.
Who said, “Love your enemy . . . “ I’ve said enough. Add to which, I am willing to walk the walk, no longer talking about what anyone chooses to ‘lay up or lose’ here and now.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
. . . making life and love unconditional, available, freely given is miserable
091222 00:39
To a much beloved friend I send birthday greetings and thanksgiving for saving my life.
She, first stunned me with the suggestion that I could heal {others?}. Then she left me to stew in bewilderment--nice metaphor--I fell, at times, to feel as though I were the pebble in David’s sling about to be hurled--where!?--certainly not towards GOLIATH’S eye?!
The enormity of mental illness, as annotated in my eulogy for Mary Kroeger (last entry) is a burden that I bear now lightly. For beyond, behind or beneath, she who healed me, is a resource available to everyone.
I am tempted to resort to my irreverent lack of solemnity in The Presence of The Author of Life. For which I now discern I was hurled off, or out, of Care2.com’s social site.
If i be steel, then I am smelted, reformed between the hammer and anvil of Truth. My bigotry and hypocrisy beaten out. Every humiliation, pain, sorrow and depression was transformed into tutelage; a gift.
There are several, now amusing, mythologies associated with the date, time and place of my birth: The Phoenix for example. She suggested that I could, “put in a change order.” The women and men of my attention are victims of no one, and no thing; not even God.
My first question, of myself, and anyone longing, or purporting, to feed the hungry, free the slaves and bring sanity to the insane, is simply this. Why would a person of such obvious gifts as Jesus, serve the humble in humility?
Love is the greatest power, and force, to ever gently caress us, from beginning to end/endless.
Least you go too far awry, with that too oft molested four letter word, let me define my sense of it. We own nothing in life. We are tenants and God the Landlord. Love between humans and God is more like that of a beloved child with a kind and loving Parent: friendship. Many benefits, but guess who has the power of veto.
Please think: consequence and responsibility. Add. We are here for a very brief time and our history of making life and love unconditional, available, freely given is miserable. Then add, the fertile vineyard we service and prune was here long before we came along.
I am not here to debate theology, politics or any systemic construct about God but merely dedicate, whatever is left of, my life to healing Mary Kroeger so like myself, that she need not sweep the crumbs off the table into her pocket book.
Thesis--not theology: we need to negotiate what makes life possible instead of impossible.
Death is an end, but love endless.
Without resurrection of He who died that we no longer live in fear: my ‘self’, my life, and everything I touch, do or say, is pointless drivel. Do no harm.
To a much beloved friend I send birthday greetings and thanksgiving for saving my life.
She, first stunned me with the suggestion that I could heal {others?}. Then she left me to stew in bewilderment--nice metaphor--I fell, at times, to feel as though I were the pebble in David’s sling about to be hurled--where!?--certainly not towards GOLIATH’S eye?!
The enormity of mental illness, as annotated in my eulogy for Mary Kroeger (last entry) is a burden that I bear now lightly. For beyond, behind or beneath, she who healed me, is a resource available to everyone.
I am tempted to resort to my irreverent lack of solemnity in The Presence of The Author of Life. For which I now discern I was hurled off, or out, of Care2.com’s social site.
If i be steel, then I am smelted, reformed between the hammer and anvil of Truth. My bigotry and hypocrisy beaten out. Every humiliation, pain, sorrow and depression was transformed into tutelage; a gift.
There are several, now amusing, mythologies associated with the date, time and place of my birth: The Phoenix for example. She suggested that I could, “put in a change order.” The women and men of my attention are victims of no one, and no thing; not even God.
My first question, of myself, and anyone longing, or purporting, to feed the hungry, free the slaves and bring sanity to the insane, is simply this. Why would a person of such obvious gifts as Jesus, serve the humble in humility?
Love is the greatest power, and force, to ever gently caress us, from beginning to end/endless.
Least you go too far awry, with that too oft molested four letter word, let me define my sense of it. We own nothing in life. We are tenants and God the Landlord. Love between humans and God is more like that of a beloved child with a kind and loving Parent: friendship. Many benefits, but guess who has the power of veto.
Please think: consequence and responsibility. Add. We are here for a very brief time and our history of making life and love unconditional, available, freely given is miserable. Then add, the fertile vineyard we service and prune was here long before we came along.
I am not here to debate theology, politics or any systemic construct about God but merely dedicate, whatever is left of, my life to healing Mary Kroeger so like myself, that she need not sweep the crumbs off the table into her pocket book.
Thesis--not theology: we need to negotiate what makes life possible instead of impossible.
Death is an end, but love endless.
Without resurrection of He who died that we no longer live in fear: my ‘self’, my life, and everything I touch, do or say, is pointless drivel. Do no harm.
“Silence is a true friend who never betrays.” --Confucius
091222 06:09
I am happily removed from the fray. The stressors and frenzy of too many folks in one place. Gladly gone from my daily attention. The hours in automobiles stalled in forty mile long parking lots. People waiting to get home and have a moments reprise the peace they, or was it only me? had with the morning’s first dragon mouth cleanser happily alone in peace and silence.
I think we pay too little attention to the realities of our loneliness and never listen to ourselves.
I have never thought my dreams oddly absent monsters and terrors.
Instead they have always been populated with people whose personalities are relatively benign compared to mine. And in my sleep I came to sense another’s presence--and now I weep for what?
The brother or sister whose life was aborted. Who, had they been allowed birth, would be more-or-less one year or so younger than I.
Odd. Could it be at this nodal point, the end of the longest night, the earth awaits that convulsion of birth the next seasons course returning to this once endless night of terror for me.
Small wonder I so adore she who healed me for this is the date of her birth. And we, though separate by years and miles, hold equivalent proclivities for greeting the dawn’s loom, the slow weaving of the new day’s tapestry.
We individually give a song of greeting for the gift of another day to Mother/Father and then debate over coffee which is what; the Father Earth or Mother Sky? More important is our penchant for mutual reverence our choices to be alone. Our pets become our keepers.
Feeding the doves and my extemporaneous shuffling dance plus ad-lib prayer of gratefulness. No act of charity for the greedy doves but my greed for their beauty seen closely. Of course Annie Fanny, my love, and cat, waits patiently their arrival--the brunch bunch. Of course I only call them the ‘brunch bunch’ since I adore playing with words; and they are late risers compared to me.
Seriously we need to listen to ourselves and measure the treasure of our lives individually. Perhaps then we can be part of the solution instead of the problem; life lived as packed rats gone insane. it could well be that I am actually lunatic since I see at times events that I accept as gifts just for me. . . . And what I write mere doodling while awaiting the next incredible thing; a gift of attention from the Origin of attention. “Silence is a true friend who never betrays.” --Confucius
I am happily removed from the fray. The stressors and frenzy of too many folks in one place. Gladly gone from my daily attention. The hours in automobiles stalled in forty mile long parking lots. People waiting to get home and have a moments reprise the peace they, or was it only me? had with the morning’s first dragon mouth cleanser happily alone in peace and silence.
I think we pay too little attention to the realities of our loneliness and never listen to ourselves.
I have never thought my dreams oddly absent monsters and terrors.
Instead they have always been populated with people whose personalities are relatively benign compared to mine. And in my sleep I came to sense another’s presence--and now I weep for what?
The brother or sister whose life was aborted. Who, had they been allowed birth, would be more-or-less one year or so younger than I.
Odd. Could it be at this nodal point, the end of the longest night, the earth awaits that convulsion of birth the next seasons course returning to this once endless night of terror for me.
Small wonder I so adore she who healed me for this is the date of her birth. And we, though separate by years and miles, hold equivalent proclivities for greeting the dawn’s loom, the slow weaving of the new day’s tapestry.
We individually give a song of greeting for the gift of another day to Mother/Father and then debate over coffee which is what; the Father Earth or Mother Sky? More important is our penchant for mutual reverence our choices to be alone. Our pets become our keepers.
Feeding the doves and my extemporaneous shuffling dance plus ad-lib prayer of gratefulness. No act of charity for the greedy doves but my greed for their beauty seen closely. Of course Annie Fanny, my love, and cat, waits patiently their arrival--the brunch bunch. Of course I only call them the ‘brunch bunch’ since I adore playing with words; and they are late risers compared to me.
Seriously we need to listen to ourselves and measure the treasure of our lives individually. Perhaps then we can be part of the solution instead of the problem; life lived as packed rats gone insane. it could well be that I am actually lunatic since I see at times events that I accept as gifts just for me. . . . And what I write mere doodling while awaiting the next incredible thing; a gift of attention from the Origin of attention. “Silence is a true friend who never betrays.” --Confucius
Jerusalem to become our Universe . . .
091222 12:23
By & Of more than one woman was I attacked for my love affair with computers.
While it was true that I sought, when available, the pleasures of pornography, it has become
more readily apparent that I doth rely too much on the facility proffered in computing for writing & photography. My own record--what was sold before, now so graphically, freely, lightly given.
Yet there is, a was, hidden Saint Nicholas in the stacks of dictionaries suggested by, a then writer, disguised as a reporter, and former lover of Tom Wolf’s, who espoused The American Heritage Dictionary.
Obvious now my arousal at the visual marginalia suggestive of alternate reality and/or associations . . . I oft times fell into reverie ecstatic with far flung potential nude. Or merely synchronicities that I then thought mere coincident. That was a long-ago opportunity my lover then invoked, and from that, we begat a child, and I taught at University.
Of the child aborted, now more sadly so, the loss of all my other children, save those of you willing to be adopted by me. I was, then and now, confident of the practice and product stud known. Yet remain bewildered by the prospect of creating written words or teaching anything.
As child and adult I have known rejection and abandonment thus learned to live by my interior dialogs caroming between rage, desolation and mirth.
In fact, degree and kind this season of winter became my nadir ricocheting into manic delight at Easter Tide. Little knowing then that the prospect of banishment to my material grandmothers home was heaven and haven or simple sanctuary.
The auguring turn of time screwed into my innocence that arrival of Labor Day reprised and returned the insanity of my parents house.
Apparent in this moment is the tutelage failed they beat indifferently into me something other than whatever it is that I am now.
Obviously I was a savagely silent wild child and were it not for grandmother’s easy recognition the mother of me otherwise I’d assume wrong parentage. Randomly stolen Christ Hospital nursery.
I never presumed derangement in my parents and attempted to be all that they instructed: dumb, deaf and blind incapable of finding my sit down while talking. Prayer, medication, contemplation and psalms sung for survival were heard and replied to but never known then the transport to this moment of delight no longer medicate bipolar.
Seek and ye shall find, ask and it will be answered; rebbe Jesus was there all along. His truth has set me free, the prisoner released and through His Mother I know God as both androgynous.
Though apparently touched by grace I remain the chastised child i was. . . . and long for Jerusalem to become our Universe. . . .to know yourself better than not.
By & Of more than one woman was I attacked for my love affair with computers.
While it was true that I sought, when available, the pleasures of pornography, it has become
more readily apparent that I doth rely too much on the facility proffered in computing for writing & photography. My own record--what was sold before, now so graphically, freely, lightly given.
Yet there is, a was, hidden Saint Nicholas in the stacks of dictionaries suggested by, a then writer, disguised as a reporter, and former lover of Tom Wolf’s, who espoused The American Heritage Dictionary.
Obvious now my arousal at the visual marginalia suggestive of alternate reality and/or associations . . . I oft times fell into reverie ecstatic with far flung potential nude. Or merely synchronicities that I then thought mere coincident. That was a long-ago opportunity my lover then invoked, and from that, we begat a child, and I taught at University.
Of the child aborted, now more sadly so, the loss of all my other children, save those of you willing to be adopted by me. I was, then and now, confident of the practice and product stud known. Yet remain bewildered by the prospect of creating written words or teaching anything.
As child and adult I have known rejection and abandonment thus learned to live by my interior dialogs caroming between rage, desolation and mirth.
In fact, degree and kind this season of winter became my nadir ricocheting into manic delight at Easter Tide. Little knowing then that the prospect of banishment to my material grandmothers home was heaven and haven or simple sanctuary.
The auguring turn of time screwed into my innocence that arrival of Labor Day reprised and returned the insanity of my parents house.
Apparent in this moment is the tutelage failed they beat indifferently into me something other than whatever it is that I am now.
Obviously I was a savagely silent wild child and were it not for grandmother’s easy recognition the mother of me otherwise I’d assume wrong parentage. Randomly stolen Christ Hospital nursery.
I never presumed derangement in my parents and attempted to be all that they instructed: dumb, deaf and blind incapable of finding my sit down while talking. Prayer, medication, contemplation and psalms sung for survival were heard and replied to but never known then the transport to this moment of delight no longer medicate bipolar.
Seek and ye shall find, ask and it will be answered; rebbe Jesus was there all along. His truth has set me free, the prisoner released and through His Mother I know God as both androgynous.
Though apparently touched by grace I remain the chastised child i was. . . . and long for Jerusalem to become our Universe. . . .to know yourself better than not.
Not all that I say or do record is worthy of anything more than a child’s play
091222 15:32
Divine inspiration is true since it endows the dead corpse of our ambitions, and conceits, resurrected in light. Loving light, and the reflections of it, photographically or writing with light, is a passion now; melded into surprise revelations of ordinary presence, the present, of love recorded; weal or woe.
Small wonder i once thought myself insane and that as messenger I should be destroyed. Not all that I say or do record is worthy of anything more than a child’s play. Though I am aware of my conceits, the teacher taught, there is no goal, or gold, save the journey or process towards a greater reality and truth than is found on common paths. Of my bigotry, endlessly ground into dust, useless bread for anyone save myself. Since I do reverence all life and creation. Amen.
Divine inspiration is true since it endows the dead corpse of our ambitions, and conceits, resurrected in light. Loving light, and the reflections of it, photographically or writing with light, is a passion now; melded into surprise revelations of ordinary presence, the present, of love recorded; weal or woe.
Small wonder i once thought myself insane and that as messenger I should be destroyed. Not all that I say or do record is worthy of anything more than a child’s play. Though I am aware of my conceits, the teacher taught, there is no goal, or gold, save the journey or process towards a greater reality and truth than is found on common paths. Of my bigotry, endlessly ground into dust, useless bread for anyone save myself. Since I do reverence all life and creation. Amen.
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