I am tired of speaking my needs and desires to those who propose to help and having the words fall on deaf ears. I speak the thoughts of my spirit when I am asked how I might be helped and the words repeated back to me bear little or no resemblance to what was said. It is as if there is a solidly clogged sound filter between the subject and its object. I am asked incessantly to repeat myself as if nothing that has been said previously has ever been heard. When the echo comes back to me hopelessly garbled, I have rephrased the original until my lips are numb and all to no or ill effect.
This state of affairs is now come to an end. The frustration is no longer bearable and resentment looms heavily in front of me. The time has come to end the problem. I have considered how this might be accomplished in the recent past and even set out to do that which is necessary to stop the maddening dissipation of my spirit. The depression it has driven me to must be relieved.
This time I will not fail. This time my resolve is strong and I will not be swayed by emotion.
Me non dicam ultra in perpetuum
Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians was once faced with a completely intractable situation which he had tried to fight in every physical way and all to no avail. He was beaten and knew he could not win. He knew that to continue to fight would only bring the complete destruction of all he loved. His words in surrender were very poignant. He said,
I am tired of fighting. . . . I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.
If you wish to communicate with me about my decision to stop communicating, we can do so right here–in this article. Details about my “needs” or “desires” are completely off the table. Me non dicam ultra.
If it becomes repetitive or just plain tedious, even that will cease.
I took the cat to the car-wash yesterday. Not the car, just the cat. I left the car at home and we walked. Or rather I walked and Sylvia was dragged. Sylvia never was fond of leashes, but I insisted. We went through the automated car wash together. I held her snugly in my arms as we were sprayed by high-pressure nozzles with extremely hot water and pummeled with brushes and enormous rags.
I squeezed my eyes shut and held my hand over her head when the soap came.
When we came out we were squeaky clean. I was covered in bloody scratches. I must say that Sylvia didn’t seem to appreciate the experience very well, but I was oddly peaceful, happy, and even moderately elated.
Isn’t it wonderful the joy that our pets can bring?
Sylvia was Sally’s cat. Have I told you about Sally?
I sat upon a high mountain overlooking a beautiful river valley. It was spring and the trees were flowering, insects were buzzing, and a light warm breeze blew across my face as the sun continued its morning rise in a baby-blue sky filled with wonderfully fluffy clouds. I barely saw and completely ignored all of it. My mind was a roiling mass of self-pity. I seethed with resentment.
I started to flick a caterpillar from my sleeve when it lifted its head and spoke to me.
“Hey man. You’re bumming us all out, not to mention upsetting all the dirt and rocks. Cut it out, will ya?”
“You’re not doing yourself any favors either, you know.”
I flicked him from my sleeve and intentionally stepped on and squashed him when I stood up.
“Mouthy damn bug.”
I lay down under a tree facing the valley and took a nap. Things got marginally better after that. All in all, it was not much to put in a letter to Mom.
I am currently engaged in an article in Camberidge Talk about whether God deserves any of the credit he is given. Evidently, Jack thinks he doesn’t.
I am taking the Negative in the debate which is in an article called, “10 Charges Against Religion,” which vaguely alludes to religion in one or two spots but is primarily aimed at an attack on God in general.
It is probably not intentional, but Mr Black is in fact providing me with an opportunity to strengthen my own faith by this exercise. Thanks Jack!
When I get finished with the debate I’ll bring it over here for my peeps in the hood to see, or you can follow the link above to find it already in progress.
God, if I lose my sight I will always carry in my mind the vision of my newborn son, the look of passion from my wife, the sunset over the Shenandoah Valley from the Blue Ridge, the look of unqualified love from my mother, and the peaceful and unseeing expression from her dead eyes as she lay in that cursed hospital bed.
If I lose my ears, I will always carry in my mind, the sound of my children’s laughter, the music of Bach and Led Zeppelin, the songs of birds, and the stern and scolding voice of my father. If I lose my sense of smell, I’ll carry the memory of fresh baked bread, the intoxicating body scent of desire from my lover, wildflowers and honeysuckle.
Should I ever lose my taste; the sweetness of chocolate will still persist, as will the succulence of rare cooked steak. I will not forget the flavor of Armelinda’a kiss. If sensation ever deserts me, my mother’s embrace will keep me warm. My father’s hand, strong and calloused, will enfold mine as he leads me to where I need to go. The gentle caress of my bride will assure me that I am wanted.
If I should ever lose all these things by the cruel trick of a brain ailment, then I know that they will be reawakened in all their glory and poignancy when I am finally face to face with you, my Father and my Creator.
Lord, I am ready. Take me whenever it may please you.