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I do things on impulse that freaks me out at times. While I was in Durham yesterday I decided to go by the Apple store and see if they had a cable that had Firewire 800 on one end, and Firewire 400 on the other. I bought it and brought it home, but the 400 end was the mini version and I needed the standard size male plug. Do you think I can find the receipt to take this $30 POS back and get the right one? Of course not. Maybe the receipt will show up or I'll run into a Firewire peripheral that requires the mini plug. This iMac only has a Firewire 800 connecting socket, so I'll probably need it for something.
I know I'm taking my life in my own hands by refusing to use this medicine the VA rheumatologist prescribed me. I checked my prescriptions at the VA site just now, and no refills have been entered. I got some weird ideas about how this situation transpired.
Weird especially to me, because nobody else is involved either consciously or unconsciously with what's coming down. Besides, they couldn't even know my intentions in this regard if I wrote it down real good. They'd still only ken what they read into what I write.
That's the scary part of this endeavor. I'm really in it allone. I have to respond to the impulses I receive from my own experiential database as if it, my experiential database, was revealed to me to be used in exclusivity. It's depending on me to gnow whether or not the info I am is acting upon is truly from that source.
This is being asked of a person with a whole lot of tragedy present in his life because of making bad calls about sometime even trivial easy decisions. Nobody is perfect. It seems trite for me to write that I have to be true to my Self when I ain't always sure what I take that Self to be ain't some toad-licking other self without the capital "S".
Some of the entries logged in my experiential database are about critters my me made itself into in order to mimick something like a Siberian Tiger, because my me was impressed that being anything as ferocious as a bad-assed giant tiger would maximize it's ability to cope with it's own predators. Man, I don't wanna never be none of those things again. "How you gonna keep 'em down on the farm, after they've seen Paree?"
Possessing being as a homo sapiens is the cat's meow, man, even in the worst of ti-me-s. Being human means you get to exercise a unique species trait called be-co-me-ing. The Jesus stories has Christ extend a similar invitation. "Be with me." Come join with me. Leave yo' me, Bitch, and git over hyah. My me is the only me their is. You just been selfish and not willing to share yo' me-ness (meanness, me-and-thee-ness, where there are two or more of us-ness).
Apparently it's just the hardest damned thang in the world to do. To abandon yo' joke of a persona, charge it to the ground and let the rain settle it, leave it where its standing as if your didn't really have to be there for it to carry on, and be with me. Thou shalt have no other God before... me.
There is only One me, you gnow, and each of us has the audacity to behave as if IT wuz us. You know you're deal with blasphemy, right? That's never good. Even though, as it states in The Gospel of Thomas that one can be forgiven for blaspheming the father, and one can be forgiven for blaspheming the son, but the soul that blasphemes the spirit won't be forgiven in either this life or the next.
Damn, man, that's a huge dilemma. How in hell can I possibly know whether or not I've ALREADY blasphemed the spirit, and been condemned in some unspeakable way, ALREADY, and even though the father and the son has or may have already forgiven my me, I-am-is appears to hold no truck with infinite compassion for my purported insulting the One and only me. I mean, I know, but I don't gnow. Right?
Probably the one good thing about all this is that other people CAN'T gnow that I don't know nor care one whit in the right-damn-now of the deal. Like me, they can only see, what they'd be like if they were like they what they read into my purported behavior. I am is an island unto itself. It ain't me. It is what it is, and it definitely is what it is, but it's being this or that ain't up or down to me. I-am-is, in the act of denying it is me, is all there IS to It. IT is me.
"It's me, it's me, it's me, oh Lord,
standing in the need of prayer.
It's not mah momma nor my pappa,
but it's me, oh Lord,
standing in the need of prayer."
Old Spiritual Hymn ~ AU
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
