They Bear No Shame

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All my former, so-called "friends" have abandoned me now. No blame. They claim that I was unkind to them and they never want to be in my presence again for the rest of my life. Not the rest of their life, but the rest of my life, because they think my life won't last as long as their life.

They have good reason for abandoning me because I'm not a polite person, and they have good reason for thinking they will live much longer than me. I've had a number of friends who thought that way when they were alive. All I know is that death is always unexpected, and sometime I treat people like they have never really lived, and that pisses them off.

It's not what I say to them that pisses them off. They say it is, but I've lived too long to believe that is the truth. They want me to die first so their secrets will die with me.

Granted, I do know many of their "secrets", which, as far as secrets go, are surely not worth dying for. But, does it do any good for me to attempt to convince them they bear no shame? No. They adopt and promulgate other people's idea that somebody oughta die for their sins, and thus sanctimoniously claim, for the sake of appearances, that Jesus has already done that "for them".

It's that specific point that causes me problems with the people I grew up around in the small towns and villages that produced the ogre my "friends" see me as now.

In my brief dotage I've come to believe that Jesus, as docetic spirit, never lived as a human in order to die, period. I do believe the docetic kristos is a part of my life, but it doesn't know me as an individual. Apparently, I have to become what it can know and surprise it one day. That might take a few more lifetimes or never.

If I became what my acquaintances want me to become (for their sake, and not for Jesus) in order to measure up to what is expected of them, instead of me, from their copycat point of view, I would be the Everyman (world savior) they can't see in themselves, and then they would be so jealous of my accomplishment they'd kill me out of pure spite, so why bother considering them as my friend? The Comforter is my friend, but It doesn't no my me or recognize it as itself.

The big down coat I just got up to put on to keep from turning on the space heater is one that I've had for a long time, and it still does the job I bought it for just as good as day one. It's not all that cold here in my room, or outside either. It is gray, dank, and gloomy, but the temperature is in the mid-forties (+/- 7.2222 C).

It's not warm enough for a light jacket to stave off my discomfort, but cool enough to either turn on the stove or don this warm, warm coat. The space heater is noisy. I spent so much time in the boonies hiding out from the public eye and finding an out-of-the-way place to lay down and sleep, I depend on my hearing more than most who normally sleep inside a building of some sort in order to hear death sneaking up on me in the dark. Fat chance... eh?

There are times when I get real happy clumsily playing the Major and minor scales on my digital piano. There are no witnesses to my mistakes, and I have a tendency to forgive myself a lot. I seem sure I make mistakes I don't recognize besides the easy ones. The thing that makes me happy is that I have always heard music in my mind, but recently I have begun to imagine myself playing that music on my digital piano as I hear it in my mind as I usually do.

When I write that I hear the music in my head I mean that I'm making that music up extemporaneously. I guess I "borrowed" the scatting style from the jazz musicians I've heard in the past, and I literally hear the tune and sometimes I can sing what I "hear" only in my imagination. Now, I am is beginning to "see" me playing that same music I "hear" in living color. I can't actually do it live in front of witnesses nor even for myself, but the possibilities have gotta be there for that to happen if I keep on keeping on with the daily scales thing.

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