23 December 2013

Advent, 3rd Sunday

Rose is the 3rd Sunday liturgical color during Advent, not the purple signifying inner preparation. We get a break this feast day; passion tints my pallor; purple is flushed with a wee bit of red; my cheeks glow; babe kicks Mother’s womb in anticipation.
I take my 5 senses for granted. I’m unsighted in one eye. I’ve lost some of the all I used to see. I’m deafened in one ear. I’ve lost some of the all I used to hear. I’ve surgical screws in one knee. I lost some motion from the stride I used to run. I’m stuttered with my mind’s words rushing to get out. I stutter some of the all I used to speak. Yet sight, hearing, stride, and voice bust out and send sense-streams from my being into creation. I feel free and relieved and I sing, Gaudéte in Dómino semper: íterum díco gaudete. Isaiah’s message instantly recognizable echoes out in this day’s other readings.
“Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped. Then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall sing: for in the wilderness shall waters break out, and streams in the desert.”
Oh taste the water and see. I was received in the Episcopal Church on this liturgical day, literally, Rejoice Sunday, a happy day. You unsighted will see. You deafened will hear. You impaired will leap as a stag. You voiceless will sing. I pray for what I do not see. I listen for what I do not hear. I move so I may still leap. I put finger to key to discover what I don’t yet know. Water gushes and flows through a sand choked desert. The Babe kicks and I rejoice. I’m flushed. Passion tints my pallor and my cheeks glow. I feel rosy.

17 December 2013


I’m tired of Jesus. Bored is apt; please sir, may I have another savior? I’ve been practicing Jesus a long time. I know the years; I number them, only two offspring in my heaven. I feel like a sap. Abram must’ve been a sap, just sayin’.
I don’t believe in heaven. I want cremation; too much dust and grit and little bitty bone, even if my ashes are facing east, to me it’s anachronistically ridiculous, rising from dust while buried with my ashes facing east. I don’t believe I’ll rise from dead. Pour half my dust into a Cherokee mountain stream headwater and put other half in St. James Memorial Garden.

A Memorial Garden. That’s ridiculous too. It’s locked because homeless peeps sleep and poop there. What a bunch of idiots; they don’t care. Just lock it. I mean, I get it, but, really? Poopin’ on the dead? Yep, lock the dead dust-peeps in and lock the living homeless peeps out. Homeless can sleep and poop somewhere else. Nobody cares anyway. I mean people the church pays to care, care, but, anyone else, hmmm, I don’t think so. An other might easily offer opinion, say like me, but opinions are cheap.

Really and in our collective everydayness nobody cares. There isn’t even an “our”. Well, so, I guess there’s some “our” hanging on the cross waiting to exhale. Whatever…I want part of my dust in the garden. In 200 years no one will know what “our” meant or was. I don’t care. Well, unless dust is really reconstituted and I rise up. Reconstitution must be some kinda hell.
I don’t believe in hell either. But sometimes living is goddamn difficult. It feels like despair. So sometimes in the bosom of the buckle of the bible belt, Knoxville, TN., America’s  #1 Bible Minded City, God Bless the U.S.A., living despair feels hellish. I’m trying to understand my being looking back and I’m trying to live my being going forward. Why am I a Christian? Oy veh, I’m bored. I’m tired of Jesus; please Jesus, may I have another savior? I’m whining. Never talk about religion. Why are you reading this. Nobody cares.

13 December 2013

To a Beloved

Thank you for your letter; its a constructive step, and sounds like you’re attempting apology. I feel more of an asking forgiveness. Of course, I forgive you. If I didn't I’d be disappointed in myself deep in my soul.

Of course, I forgive you. I hope it nudges you to your forgiveness of yourself. But... your letter assigns me a power I do not have. Only you can forgive your self. Only you can find a teacher to guide you on your path to forgive your self. You must seek your Higher Power. Only you can choose this constructive step. Its your power, even now, as you read. Only you can seek that forgiveness with your Higher Power. Its a practice only you can constructively act upon.
I know it feels lonesome. And, at times, I know it really is lonesome, but
“Well, you got to walk that lonesome valley You got to walk it by yourself Nobody else can walk it for you You got to walk it by yourself…”
You must find a way to trust your Higher Power; and you must surrender to your Higher Power; no one else can do that but you. You have the power and when you practice embracing it and practice it again and again you will feel your power.
As for your apology… an “apology” expresses regret and sorrow, which you attempt by using the words. But an apology asks pardon for specific faults or offenses. You do not name and say your specific faults and offenses. You must give your faults and offenses a name and place each in a complete subject, object, verb, “I” statement sentence. You must own and say each one; you must apologize each. Name and claim: only you have this power to name and say.
Name and claim. Only you have the power to conquer your sense of shame you may feel. I know you can do this. I know you can name and claim what you did. You must claim, name, and say your acts. You’re an adult and you can find a way. This will be your constructive selfishness.
As for your practical problems of day-to-day money for constructive selfishness where you and your Higher Power find yourself I offer no solution. As for your practical problems of day-to-day living in the geo-place where you and your Higher Power find yourself I offer no advice. Youre doing what adults do: making your choices, paying your money, and living with the consequences of your choices. Only you can name, claim, and act upon, and live with the consequences of your choices. They will build your scaffold of constructive selfishness. They will build your real constructive life. Only YOU and your Higher Power can do this.
I know your Mother has made many suggestions many times over our time together. Do you recall them? None will bear your constructive fruitful selfishness until you act, practice, and live with your choices and their consequences. You are an adult. We, all of us, in this life, take our chances, make our choices, earn our money, pay our money, and live with our consequences.
This takes practice; there is no other way. You will not practice until you claim your Higher Power. You will not grow until you surrender to your Higher Power and you practice with your Higher Power. You will not practice until YOU name your choices and you claim your responsibilities and you live with their consequences everyday.
“Yeah, you got to walk that lonesome valley You got to walk it by yourself Ain’t nobody else gonna go there for you You got to go there by yourself…”
As for our kinfolk, well, I’m not chatty about your choices and consequences. This particular stasis will not last much longer. I will not be false to direct questions. I speak my experience and truth, as I perceive it. My truth is that writing and trying lead you to cultivate your constructive selfishness; thats my hope and encouragement for you. It’s all I can constructively offer.

Your letter is a constructive act. I feel like you’re asking forgiveness. I forgive you. If I didnt I’d be disappointed deep in my soul. I hope for blessings for the journey you and your Higher Power chart.

07 December 2013


MKL I sometimes say that when you feel like using a semicolon, lay lie down till the urge goes away. But if you just can’t resist, remember that there are really only two proper uses for this piece of punctuation. One is to separate two complete clauses (a construction with a subject and verb that could stand on its own as a sentence). I knocked on the door; no one answered. The second is to separate list items, which in & of themselves, contain punctuation. Thus, The band played Boise, Idaho; Schenectady, New York; and Columbus, Ohio.
Do not use a semicolon in place of a colon, for example, There is only one piece of punctuation that gives Yagoda nightmares; the semicolon.
“Semicolons should be used rarely, if at all. And beware dangling modifiers!”
MLK:  That’s a quote.
BL:      He addresses many of my pet peeves, though I have to admit I still struggle with “lie” and “lay.”
MKL:  My chair read an application and changed “composed of” to “comprised of”, and I accepted the change without thinking. Maybe I'll get those grants anyway???
BL:      I think the grant committee will miss that one.
RC:      OMG, “comprise” is one of my own pet peeves. I’ve been known to correct people misusing it mid-sentence.
FP:      It’s a bit obvious though.
MKL:  Maybe in British English. I’m not sure Americans ever use it outside of the phrase “is comprised of”.
SWN:  I don’t care what the rules are, though I’m glad to hear them; I love semi-colons!
MKL:  Lie down until the urge passes!
APL:    Used no more than once a page or so, a semi-colon is an elegant way to separate two clauses.
RC:      This inspired me to take a look at the paper I turned in today. In 22 pages, I used two semi-colons. One usage was clearly correct, but the second seems a bit suspect. I guess that's not too bad.
MKL:  APL, Only if they’re - very - closely related. And I would say every five pages or so. My students have been known to use several in a single sentence.
DS:      I like to use semicolons.
ERB:   ^Me too. A great teacher in high school taught us how; however, they must be used correctly.
PS:      Semi-colons cause inexperienced writers so many problems. I tend toward Vonnegut’s view: they are the hermaphrodites of punctuation and are best avoided. However, they can be used sparingly if you are certain that you know what to do with them.
CF:      LOL I so want to share this with someone in particular, but I won’t. Yeah, I used “so” as an adverb. *snort*
BJC:    Amen, brother. I share his soapbox.
SWN:  Thar’s no substute fer elegance.
DS:      And SWN, semicolons are the epitome of elegance.
MKL:  I see in the narrative of my 3pp single-spaced grant proposal I have two semicolons, properly used; I also have a handful of semicolons used (properly) to separate items in a list.
ERB:   I don’t recall: did William Faulkner use semi-colons?
ERB:   Then there is this: “7 grammar rules you really should pay attention to” --- um?
MKL: Jane Austen and Dickens certainly did. But they used them not only correctly, but brilliantly. That kind of semicolon usage makes my heart leap for joy.
CdS:    ^ERB: lol. Seven Grammar Rules to Which You Should Really Pay Attention? :^) .
SWN: Grace Kelley was a semicolon, the epitome of elegance. My Mother liked High Society; It seemed to embody her farm girl's aspiration to get away from the farm. My Dad wore that vinyl out on the Hi-Fi. I was a smitten 6. My Mother aspired for me to learn elegance so she sent me to ballroom dancing for three consecutive winter seasons; I had a fourth 1st year in boarding school. I learned to waltz, foxtrot, rumba, attend my date, and to be the musical chairs champion loser; I was so polite and the round and round felt so competitive in the midst of the training. 
Lets have a semicolon party! We could invite Marcel Proust, did he use semicolons?, and pretend we’re elegant.
CdS:    How refreshing to read a string of comments on punctuation! I am a fan of the properly used semicolon.
ERB:   ^MKL: Maura my dear, you’ve nearly gone viral.
SWN:  Yeh, I’m gonna cut & paste the string into SWN.
MLK:  Who have thought (sic) that semicolons could stir such passions?
ES:      Bad parallelism drives me crazy. I see it *everywhere*. And I have an adult, college-educated friend who will say, e.g., “Me and Sue went to the store.” ???! “Lay” vs. “lie” was a lost battle 20 years ago, but I’m still holding the line...
People are so passionate about the semicolon. SweetWillianNow feels the semi-colon creates more pause than a comma, but less than a period; it’s perfectly suited for blog entries.

01 December 2013


My vertigo’s 3rd redux, this time w/ chaos.
I awake, 2AM, my mind body symbiotically spinning in immobility.  I’m Dorothy, not in Kansas, whirling w/ cold sweat ending in projectile spewing. Body’s in control & collapse, it ain’t mine anymore; mind is nowhere found. I was my bed, in home, Keystone, Panicsville, R.F.D., Milky Way, Universe, Expanding Cosmos into the Nothingness. Whirlies are no where near comparable. I panic draped over my bedside screaming, Get some help. My beloved figures it out, tb2g.
Ground Controls’ EMT rescue can’t get gurney into 2627, they practically carry me out me pretending to shuffle my legs and feet, w/ a swerving swaying bumpy hot, hey turn the heat off, the cold trip to Sisters of Mercy, tb2G, for 3hr evaluation. After C-scan empty room trying to stand hoping to find peanut to pee lost consciousness collapse yank out feed w/ me & my blood everywhere on the floor. OMG, what an idiot, I kicked the hornet’s nest! Typical. Another c-scan again and another empty again; TB2G!
Hilarious if weren’t existentially terrorizing for us who didn’t know what we didn’t know.
Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart not even close and I’m sorry Kim Novak’s not the cause.
Vertigo. I don’t recommend it.