Blogdoc 10 Canes and Reconciliation November 22, 2007
For a while after the cane became necessary in a good “common sense” sense, I still clung to the old American ambitions of constant improvement and that sacred hope of rejoining a contemporary moment of “those good old days.” I would walk around with it, absolutely obsessed with my image of maturity and dignity. As was the case with most of my “images,” this was, I finally concluded, not amounting to much more that “singing to the choir.”
My bliss-filled ambitions were finally quelled when I fully, deeply down inside, could no longer escape the verdict that “I am the choir!”
Oh yes, I can effortlessly remember that impetuous and infectious stride, years past, of the young Marine, usurping the independent eyes of all the pretty girls for furtive, longing attention before they glanced away. It occurs to me that they were somehow easier then. They have grown ominously more suspicious here and now in my seventh decade.
Reflecting on the world, I can hardly blame them.
Have the famous three fold aspects of Beelzebub’s Triamazikamno manifested themselves, finally revealing the parts, qualities and periods of my wonderful planetary life? Is this a knowing vision only available now, that is, just now, after the lightening and thunder of my adolescent humanity have calmed a little?
Perhaps I have successfully completed my Affirming and Denying work, leaving me now with this pleasant and reassuring sabbatical for my final Reconciliation. Most of us never get the lucky chance for the cane before this esoteric Phase Three.
Now this incredible old wooden cane, purchased for me at a thrift store by one of my students, is an unthinking affront to the young, a coarse invasion into the temporary luxury of a new world filled with beauty, sexual excitement, troubling Narcissism and what seems to be a perpetual “toothache” inflicted by the sorrow of continuous codependence. If this cane had a voice, it would speak to the young, disquietingly, of geriatric challenges, mortality and inevitable, yet reconstructed, humility. I had supposed that I had lived too long already to, once more, be transformed by unexpected external influences.
Just think. For a while when it was new to me, I toyed with the possibility that this cane might reconstitute itself as a “latter day chick magnet!”
As for the morning of this particular day, I’ll just sit here and enjoy my morning coffee now, thank you.
For a while after the cane became necessary in a good “common sense” sense, I still clung to the old American ambitions of constant improvement and that sacred hope of rejoining a contemporary moment of “those good old days.” I would walk around with it, absolutely obsessed with my image of maturity and dignity. As was the case with most of my “images,” this was, I finally concluded, not amounting to much more that “singing to the choir.”
My bliss-filled ambitions were finally quelled when I fully, deeply down inside, could no longer escape the verdict that “I am the choir!”
Oh yes, I can effortlessly remember that impetuous and infectious stride, years past, of the young Marine, usurping the independent eyes of all the pretty girls for furtive, longing attention before they glanced away. It occurs to me that they were somehow easier then. They have grown ominously more suspicious here and now in my seventh decade.
Reflecting on the world, I can hardly blame them.
Have the famous three fold aspects of Beelzebub’s Triamazikamno manifested themselves, finally revealing the parts, qualities and periods of my wonderful planetary life? Is this a knowing vision only available now, that is, just now, after the lightening and thunder of my adolescent humanity have calmed a little?
Perhaps I have successfully completed my Affirming and Denying work, leaving me now with this pleasant and reassuring sabbatical for my final Reconciliation. Most of us never get the lucky chance for the cane before this esoteric Phase Three.
Now this incredible old wooden cane, purchased for me at a thrift store by one of my students, is an unthinking affront to the young, a coarse invasion into the temporary luxury of a new world filled with beauty, sexual excitement, troubling Narcissism and what seems to be a perpetual “toothache” inflicted by the sorrow of continuous codependence. If this cane had a voice, it would speak to the young, disquietingly, of geriatric challenges, mortality and inevitable, yet reconstructed, humility. I had supposed that I had lived too long already to, once more, be transformed by unexpected external influences.
Just think. For a while when it was new to me, I toyed with the possibility that this cane might reconstitute itself as a “latter day chick magnet!”
As for the morning of this particular day, I’ll just sit here and enjoy my morning coffee now, thank you.
So.. Chad.
ReplyDeleteI'd googled up "heiropass" because I'd run into the term in other reading.. judging from the Beelzebub reference, probably the same place you did.
I was actually looking to see if merciless heiropass was synonymous with the passage of time; is that the way you construe the phrase?