Wednesday, October 25, 2017

update, allays 824-828

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:


I've decided to keep this up as a sort of weekly thing. The allays have slowed way down now that I am approaching 1000 of them. I dunno if the project will end or simply proceed at a modest pace. I am waiting the next project to announce itself. I can't will such things; they will me.

At the homefront, things are better: Natalie is a little less difficult lately. Emilie and Theron are celebrating their 8th and 5th birthdays, respectively. As I mentioned before, we will be financially secure in five years, when I hope to go back to college; but before that I hope to publish (as opposed to self-publish) some of the many books I've put out there.

The therapy I deliver at Pine Rest is a slow-moving education for myself. As a Student, I do hope to learn life-lessons for myself and my family, even while I help others.

Life is beautiful.

Take Care Caretakers!

PS feel free to write me an update about how you are doing.


* 824 *

I've for so long enjoyed my memories of our tomorrow that I wonder -- need some day ever come? Will your lips kiss as soft as I remember, will you wake so gracefully as now I dream? You return to me again and again, a foretaste of our fate. Our rite is in our coupling, our proof is in our conversation.

You scratch your name in the oak of my heart. Let us never own much more than each other. Who can command whilst juggling? I am at least an expert of myself, and of you as well – hardly more. That much I will script faithfully: O my Golden Sun, O my Silvery Moon. You are as true as the wide blue sky, as cloistered and hidden as the cloud-cloaked stars.

* 825 *

Were I sick or dying, I would notice all these lovely little things usually invisible around us: the flashing splash of milk drops upon the surface of my coffee; the pour of the white into the depths of the darkness only to return in nebulous fractic clouds; the curious manner of the tree beyond the window, blown in the wind so the leaves shimmer in the sun, from dark and bended to green and straight, like glitter. Yet my secret is known, that I am bereft, for your diagnosis has been laid with a gavel: we must operate. I know it's a mere roadbump, but it intimates a certain truth: you will one day betray me for death, return to the earth, consign your ash in the Ganges, and your name to the ledger. Will you await me in the heaven I've shouldered over this my daily drudge? I've spun us an eternity, and we are knit at the pith, but you are such an impetuous beast, so eager to map edges, and surpass them in laughter. Stay put, oh spontaneous child! You quirky quark, stay put! Since Zeus split us, I've been aching return. Let Aristophanes laugh, but we fit, you and I, like Cinderella's slipper, like skin to flesh. Daily life is such a luxury, a richness of detail thicker than shag. Like the sick and the dying, like the vulnerable poet, I see in your face a fatal new sun. When we look upon each other you say, "Nothing is as real as this."

* 827 *

The range was a stage where everybody played the part assigned, and assigned each other parts, and addressed each other by their stage names alone, and this for so long, that one by one they forgot they had any other name at all. Then I crossed the field, and at times would drop an original name. A player would pause, look distracted, ask what I had said, and, when I repeated myself, would mutter quietly "Who are you?" not knowing, quite so well, which was the game and where the stage. I drifted, by and by, and by casual linkages, into a room of the Few, and sat promptly on the floor – just a bedroom for such a high office -- and smiled as they circled around me, asking me further instruction.

* 828 *

Men are more monstrous in their virtues than their vices. More horrors were committed in the name of Goodness and God than any crime committed under a banner (could there even be such a banner) of vice and corruption. Lincoln admired the religious fervor of the South, which exceeded that of the North. Most wars are fought for righteous reasons on both sides (or at least, these are the reasons the soldiers and the people are told to believe). Nobody fights for what they believe to be a lie, and yet the most persecuted religious movement in American history has been the Mormons, which outsiders sometimes mock as incredible. Certainly, their commitment to their faith is incredible, and the courage and ubiquity of their missions exceeds that of any other sect.

The Nazis really believed the Jews to be evil. So did the Just and Good Christians of the witches they burned. Believing this to be the case, should we not, in fact, commend them? They took their mission much more seriously than you or I and backed it with their lives. How easy for you to condemn them to hell when you have no skin in the game. What do you live and die for? The intensity of a terrorist is to lay his life down for the cause. In comparison, are you even alive? Yet we at last have this advantage – we regard no man as wicked and no group of men as evil.

The greatest crimes in history were done for the "right" reasons, under the banner of "righteousness." Yet those selfish capitalists building railroads across America did more good for us than all the charity workers of the time combined. Christianity with its masochistic cult of suicide has supplied the world with martyrs, but who actually lives the life? Is not religion a Way, and not a belief? What good does dying accomplish compared to living?

The Minority will lead, so long as they have the Majority of the will power. The critics, intellectuals, mockers, complainers, self-righteous, slogan-shouters come to nothing. Passion pure and furious wins the day.

As flame devours all it touches, and converts all to its own substance, so passion is irresistible. My lips lick your lobes in fiery thirst. I whisper your name.



-- R 88s Я --

Perfection Is Easy



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