Monday, April 25, 2016

FRAGMENTS – "GOT DEM OL' COSMIC BLUES"

FOLLOWING THE SURVIVORS:
THE LANGUAGE OF GRIEF AND VIOLENCE

WHO AM I?
     I knew that their country existed but I did not know that I would go there but here I am. Here we are. The land where Grief and Violence is the language. I knew it existed. I saw the survivors on television. I saw them fleeing.
     I have heard them speaking, the survivors. They speak a language that is incomprehensible to me now. The sounds are so odd coming out of mouths that look a lot like mine. I am not sure what I have to do to learn to speak this language. But, I have crossed that border and I must somehow learn to speak this language.
But, they should not come here. It is not safe here.

THE ETHERIC FORM

WHO AM I?
     My son has been critically ill and in an ICU. I say this only to present the gravity of the situation. When we tell friends about the situation they say “we will hold you” (in our thoughts or prayers.) 0 Usually when I say this to someone, I will visualize them as they are – I will “hold” their form, their being.
     Plants and animals grow into a specific “form” or shape. A broccoli is different from the form of a carrot. This form something of the future – a plant grows into its specific form over time. It is “becoming”.
     When my son’s friends say they will “hold him” they are making a commitment which draws him into the future – they create an imagination which can only be filled when he arrives.
     Health is all about moving from the state of illness to the state of health – which is in the future.

WHY AM I HERE?
     We pull ourselves and our family and friends into the future by our visualizing.

LOW SELF ESTEEM
22
Who am I.?
I am -- -- you know who I am -- -- I am your low self-esteem. Two months you know me.

Cousin of your big mistake. Uncle of your bad luck.

Here mother said you got your poor eyesight, your large lymph nodes, your ears, and your propensity to drool from me!

Your dad says your poor teeth, bad breath, and passion to touch yourself at inappropriate times, and in appropriate places, come from me.

I think you're cute! But you know what a loser I am. You are hot! And what does that make you?

23
WHY AM I HERE?
Why I'm always here. Right here when you need me. Right here you shut your eyes. I'm here to get you to shape up! Sit up straight! Balance your checkbook! Don't touch yourself there! Don't pick your nose. Just your broth. Did you forget that little thing again! I'll bet you did. I'm sure you did. Go check out wait right here.

24
WHAT DO I WANT?

I want the best for you! I just want you to be perfect. Is that too much to ask question I knew you're better than all those shallots out there. You could look better. A smarter. Go faster. Do you recognize! Pres. King pope whatever you want a baby! Start!

25
the monster under the Cutter


IS MY HOLDING ON HOLDING YOU BACK?

WHO AM I?
     Even though you’re not here, I am holding on. I don’t want to let you go. You mean so much to me. I look at the things we shared, I go to the places we went, I think about you and ask you to come visit me and help me out. I sometimes feel you are holding on to me, too. I hear our favorite song at times when I am sure you are signaling me. That makes me feel so good knowing that we are still connected when we are apart. And we are SO far apart.
     Your smell is still on your clothes. I sleep with them sometimes.

WHY AM I HERE?
     Lately, I’ve been wondering if my holding on, is holding you back. If you’ve got work to do, then maybe I’m taking time away from what you need to be doing. Am I being selfish in spending so much time with you and that makes you spend more time with me? My life would be so different if I didn’t focus so much on what is now gone and will never be again.

WHAT DO I WANT?
    Should I be the one who is holding myself back from holding you so much so I don’t hold your back?


WHEN YOU DRINK THE CUP OF EGOISM,
YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE IT

WHO AM I?
    I always thought I could hold my drink. 'Cause when I drink, I like what I think. I never thought that I was losin', thought that when my ego was cruisin', I could just do anything my way. Now I find out I was lyin', that my pride was making me hide the fact that what was important to me was not important to you.
    After so many years of being together, I never paid any attention as to whether it made any difference if you agreed or you didn't - I was the man and in my cups. I could win our disagreements and because I got what I wanted it would make no difference to you. All I'd do once or twice a day was take a drink of my egoism cup and walk away - the man.
    Now I find that I was wrong. The little things from all along, actually felt that I said you were wrong that I was getting ahead of her by stepping over anything she wanted. I broke her heart, I crushed her will, I ground her down like a big machine wheel.

WHY AM I HERE?
    I used to make jokes that put her down. I made fun of her to make myself grander. She did without while I bought me the best. She bought thrift-shop and had left-over stew while I was on the expense account and didn't include you.  I was so self-centered I never thought of you just me 'n my pals having a few ego-brewskies - more than a few!
    I'm past my prime, I'm at the back of the line. I was unaware of the way that I was. It was only when she ripped me a good one and told me straight what I had been doin'. I was shocked and said I was VERY sorry, I didn't mean it, I didn't want you to go - and then you said that the honest truth  is that apologizing for being a mean person didn't MEAN anything.

WHAT DO I WANT?
    After years and years of abuse, there are no words to say to make up. "Don't even say 'You're gonna be different.' I can hear that song,  all day long, from a heroin addict or an alcoholic, and you my friend are hooked even worse, you're hooked on YOU, your egoism - and nothing can be worse. It's your inbuilt feeling that at any time your are SUPERIOR and at the head of the line. That you can handle everything you do. I won't believe you'll stop putting me down, until after we talk and talk and there are no put downs. Come back when you have stopped you're drinkin' of your egoism cup, that heady stuff."
    Now I know I can't hold my drink, cause when I drink I like what I think. I'm lyin' to me when I think I'm the great, that I'm the boss, and my gain is your loss. I am the guy in control. I am the guy who repaired my soul - she broke my heart, she crushed my will with a thing called Love and that made me feel that I could stop lyin' to make me first me and that putting myself at the back of the line makes me feel just fine.


DAME ADVENTURE

WHO AM I?
    I am Dame Adventure. I am the active agent in your soul hoping for action in the world. One of your many personality fragments. If you yourself can't be active and engaged in the world in some adventurous way, say you’re too shy, have an upset tummy, or are just grumpy (as you are many days) or are busy doing things you find important, or some other excuse; then. I am the being who walks up to you, drapes my arm around your shoulder or whispers in your ear and suddenly you become adventurous! Dame Adventure is all about life and exploration of the new. I am visible to everyone except you. Everyone knows that something happened, you are ordinary, hum-drum, you don’t want to be adventurous. They know it was me who bestowed the session with the new hair-cutter you had never been to before who seemingly knew exactly what you needed and gave you a great trim and also the name of that decorator who helped you throw out all that tacky old furniture and get something with style; and got you to join that book club where you met Jim.


SPIT ON IT

WHO AM I?
I am a high school Junior Varsity sports coach, 1960’s style – and that means LOUD. If you don’t hear me yelling at you, then you ought to worry because that mean’s I’m not lookin’ at you. And if I’m not lookin’ at you, the maybe I’ve written you off and you’re gonna spend the game in splinter city at the end of the bench.
     I make the rules here.

WHY AM I HERE?
I build character. My job is to take those unsure, 8th grade boys and make them into a sports team. I have a reputation for being tough - which I try to enhance with each kid. I want every kid to respect me and do as I say.
    I get these whining, angry, pouty, about-to-cry-cause-they-don’t-get-their-way boys who have lost control and are abso-friggin-lootly BABIES! Their way? MY way or the hi-way!


DEAR WEB MINISTERS OF THE INTERNET

WHO AM I?
     I lissen to internet radio preachers at night on my broadcast headphones. That's how I found yor show.
     I am writing to thank yu for the annointed prayer cloth which yu sent me upon receipt of my $1.00 donation via PayPal. As I sed in my 350 character message, I am an old man who has been an awful sinner (especoially avarice and greed! Love thet greed!).  I am hoping yur annointed prayer cloth - even though it is a little bitty ol', 1-inch square thang - has the power to heal the wicked hemmodiddly on my seater-rumpus 'cause I drive a fork-lift at night and settin' shore iz painful.
     I once was married. My wife was a devout gal who loved to fish for Bluegill at a local city pond. She wanted me to go fishin' with her all the time. I would take my lunch sandwiches with me. I don't like eatin' the crusts but she never would cut 'em off! But one day she wanted to test her faith. She had a 5-gallon plastic bucket full o' little bitty ol' Bluegills which she wanted me to gut. She saw my breadcrusts and decided to re-create the miracle of the LOAVES AND THE FISHES. It didn't work. She said it was MY fault. Some women is like that - always the man to blame.

WHY AM I HERE?
     I saw yor web site offerin' instant healin' so I sent for the annointed prayer cloth. I said it's little bitty and may not work for the hemmodioddly on my seater-rumpus 'cause I can't get it back there 'cause my belly is in the way and if yor hunkered down to look inta mirror 'n yor waggin' yor tail feathers 'round and tryin to get that annointin' cloth ta land in th' landin' zone, well, I might miss.
     I have amassed a lot of money in cash workin' deep nights and driving fork-lift on double'n triple'n overtime.
     I'm tryin' to figure out who I should send all this here cash, to.  I hear-tell the internet is got lots of people lookin' for money. That true?

WHAT DO I WANT?
     I want all you internet radio preachers to read this post and then leave me a comment about why I should pick you to send all my money to.
     Just answer the three simple questions: Tell me who you are - why are you answerin' this blog post - and what do you want?
     P'haps yu can cure my LOVE OF MONEY. It's big, too! Youll hevta write me 'n tell me what ta do wid the annointed prayer cloth and ma' sinful GREED? What should I annoint?


DREAMLIKE LOVE

WHO AM I
Who was it that wandered between us and asked us to compare? Who was it that seems to whisper in your ear told you that this guy was the one who was mad for you? Had real affection for you. That he was the one for whom you should spend a moment or two, just a moment, waiting for him outside the bar?  Not to go away so quickly. Who was that?  The one who hinted at love before any of love’s complexities or realities entered in. This was when did love had a dreamlike quality.
Love had a dreamlike quality when it was presented in the ideal. When love was about the ideal of womanhood, and manhood. The ideal of perfection, beauty, grace, tenderness, affection, joy, smiles, trusting, warmth, companionship, caring one for another, sharing in the simple things of life such as sunshine and rain snow. The love of the outdoors.


LIVING ON LONGING
WHO AM I?
We live on longing for one another even though we have never met. I want to consume you, consume your attention and interest.  I want you to want what I create. I want your attention, your time. I want you to read my blog, buy my book, smile at me in the café. Not blow me off. I long for you to need me. Narcissism? Vanity? Greed?
Perhaps you want me to consume you, to imagine you, to create you well enough to write a blog post which shows you an image of something that everyone sees in your soul. Something which you have kept hidden. You live in the longing that we all will truly experience you, say that you matter, say that your life matters, say that we truly see you. Recognize you to my readers. Make you a star.
     Ours has been, for many years, a disposable culture. Nothing is repairable because it is made cheaply. It is cheaper to get another. Maylasia, Japan and China, even Vietnam, hecho en Mexico - all want us to consume them. We throw them away. Life throws us away. Use us up, throw us away. Fagettanboutit.
Landfill our hearts. We are not sacred.  Once we were part of a family, or a group, or an enterprise even. Not now. Now we long to belong. Now they try to fill us with longing for what they have and so they long for us. We are immediately consumable. We are impulse purchases. Tweets not conversations. We are snacks, not full meals. Disposable cups of instant beverages. We live in boxes on the streets. We are replaceable.
    My heart is a landfill filled with bits personality fragments.  We have used one another. Broken off little bits. “I like her. She makes me laugh.”


PIROUETTE OF WASTE OF BREATH

WHO AM I?
    “The years to come seem waste of breath” said the poet Yeats in the poem, “An Irish Airman Faces His Death”. As an airman plunging through the flight of life lived in the forward, by the time you traverse the clouds of experience you have already arrived.
“A waste of breath the years behind” he continues.
And, so it seems we stand and sometimes pirouette or spin on this point of balance between this life and this death.
What makes it wasteful to bring this all to mind?


TENDERNESS AND VULNERABILITY

WHO AM I?
    I have always been afraid of tenderness and vulnerability.
    When I was a kid, I thought that if I was tender - then I wouldn't be tough. If I wasn't tough, bigger boys might pick on me. I was an only child and guess I felt vulnerable because I didn't have a big brother or sister to defend me.
    So, my attitude was closed, ready to be protective, guarded. What am I saying, "was"? IS. I try to be engaged with life - not an observer. My attitude toward life IS cautiously open. Friendly, but inwardly if you get tough, pushy or overly egotistical, I am ready to take "appropriate action".
    Some of us, depending on temperament, actually like to run into other people. I have some friends who are choleric by temperament, who don't feel they truly "know" somebody until they intensely disagrees with them, maybe even physically. They are bossy, pushy, aggressive and loving. I don't mind bumping into them if that is what it takes to get thum to feel heard so the rest of us can get a word in edgewised. When I do this am I actually making myself "vulnerable" and taking the hit?
    Vulnerable may not be cowardly.
    I played catcher in jr. high baseball and blocked the plate when needed. One boy came in with his cleats (metal) high and ripped my pants to shreds but missed my thigh (thankfully). We tussled a moment after and I threw a punch in pay-back. He got benched and had to play in street shoes. I got safety pins to close up my drooping drawers and keep my underwear from showing and a word from the ump about "pay back" punches.
    When I was 14 years old I worked very hard to be tough, brave and invincible - not only on the inside, but outwardly as well.  This meant that I had to fight kids in schoolyard battles, afternoon scraps and back yard boxing matches (with gloves). School yard fights taught self-defense, how to block punches, how to see 'em coming, how to throw that upper-cut, how to detect the other's weaknesses so you can win. The aim was violent but not destruction. So, a thimble-full of tenderness was there. My pacifist parents were mortified, but how do you ever know about violence without being violent? I had to cross the line in order to know where the line was.
    I will admit to being vocal at sporting events in which I am passionately engaged. My oldest son took a hard-thrown elbow during a basketball play-off game which knocked his tooth through his upper lip and required a stitch to stop the bleeding during the game.  I said a few dozen, or more, probably more choice words to the athletic director. The next year she solved the "Mr. Yeager" vocal problem by asking me to run the electronic scoreboard during the play-off game which transformed my passion into a quiet, observant, socially useful and SILENT task. Smart lady.
    Like I said, I am afraid to be tender and vulnerable, until I get to know you and feel "safe".
   
WHY AM I HERE?
    If you can't be vulnerable, if you go around with your "shields up", lots of amazing things bounce off of you. What am I saying? If I can't be vulnerable and I go around with MY "shields up", lots of amazing things bounce off ME.
    When I played high school basketball I had a coach that wanted us to be physically "tough" and he wanted us to be aware of one another. So, the lesson was, don't mind the physical pain, and be sensitive to your teammates. Great esoteric lessons, huh? Pain pulls us inward to our selves, his instruction was to ignore it. Play through the pain. And, don't think of yourself as a hot-shot, look down the court for your teammates.


TWITTER FEED

WHO AM I?
Am I a robo-call? Must I always be repeatable? Are you under some kind of thrall? Are you seeking value lessons? Are you seeking wedding vows? Are you automating desires to gather “follows”? And, is my follow meaningful? Am I just a number’s game? Will you really care, if I’m really here? Could a meeting ever really be possible? Is it Cyber- Paradise is Lost when a factually falsehood found. An eternal status-quo found? Is transformation ever possible in a sexting, texting round?
    Am I accused, confused of singing the blues.

© Copyright 2016, Jean W. Yeager
All Rights Reserved

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