What do we define as normal
grandmother once shot my father’s eye out from 500 feet. Naturally, my father
would tell you it was a fragment that ricocheted off something or other while
he was doing something valiant; that’s what caused the loss of his eye. He
would never admit to being shot, from that distance, from a woman; from a tiny
black-clad veiled woman with a shotgun from her porch to the property line. She
didn’t like Catholics apparently, which was rich given that she was a two-third
Blackfoot Indian who survived her white husband by 30 years at the time. Her
husband may once have been Protestant,
but the sole time she darkened a church door was to kick his sheet-wrapped body
off her wagon-bed onto their steps after a very brave preacher dared to send a
message with the sheriff appealing to her to hand him over (she’d kept him cold
in the basement where he had actually died of natural old age) for a ‘proper’
funeral. That would turn out to be her one act of loving kindness to a man that
had stole her anyhoo.
Gotta say, that's both true and untrue - that actual details are really irrelevant. Like most of life as we see it, it's a perspective. So what's the difference between truth and perspective? Not one helluva lot, so far as I can see. Even if 90% of the above is true, how pivotal is the other 10%? Most us thirty-plus don't worry about this too much...it's forgivable. Or, it's a story.
Don't matter. What I'm really trying to say is (1) I'm new here. and (2) I am leery of what I read. Sure I write, sure I have some brain-pops of my own. But I am concerned. Maybe overly cautious of other's motives. I need to say IMMEDIATELY that I am equally cautious of my own. Why? Because I 'suspect' I'm not like most of you - either driven to (oh so beautifully) share because you are behove to open up, or because you're actually sane and feel in control of your faculties, life, loves and work. I'm none, but I'm a survivor. One doesn't necessitate the other.
I suppose what I'm getting at (how would I know?) is that love - something I read on a popular post - Ani Anali - is not a 'choice', it's a verification. Love is courage, un-applauded, unseen, unrequited. It's rather unconscious. I would so....like to have love in a way that 'un-gimped' others have, but I don't. Doesn't stop me from loving.
I wouldn't mind being Ali - to know what he knows, to see through such clear eyes, to have his intelligence. But that ain't me. Don't get me wrong: we need people like him - like you. I guess we need less like me...where's the fun in that?