What sights,
indeed,
are these,
that cause the racing clocks
to pant their minutes
in counterpoint
to a life still learning
the difference
between wretchedness and love?
{The swing goes up,
and the swing goes down,
and then goes up,
again. }
If you are on that race,
with childish yells and
up-down/mess-it-around
feelings
in the pit of your stomach …
They haven’t lowered
that coffin lid yet.
No – not yet.
[Image] https://themerrythought.com/wp-content/uploads/TreeSwing7(pp_w730_h887).jpg
Since I was once asked to re-write part of The Bible (see following blog) and – you know – I wrote the book – The Elephant Talks To God – I have decided to write a Book of the Bible. It will be the Second Book of Micah. I have always favoured myself as a minor prophet.
My credentials:
Some time ago I had an odd request – a very odd request, come to think of it – to re-write a portion of the New Testament. It is Luke 7 36-50, where Jesus is Anointed by a Sinful Woman. I was asked to write it from the woman’s point of view.
I met the man who made the commission at a Starbucks (his suggestion). He is a successful business man and owns and runs a professional corporation. He gave me the verses he wanted done and asked if I thought I would be able to do so. I said yes. I have the ability and the project intrigued me. It would hold my interest.
He was not garrulous or forthcoming, and I refrained from asking him why he wanted this done. However, I did query the direction he might want the story to take. he was vague about that, also. A woman’s point of view. A woman of the times. I felt I pressed that issue strongly enough, even if I did not get an answer.
We discussed price. I told him what I thought such a project was worth. I explained it as an issue of time expended (even I wasn’t sure how much effort it would be). He agreed to an hourly price.
The end result was that he did not pay me. he disliked the finished story. I include the work and our email exchange at the end of the adventure. I wish he would have been as detailed in telling me what he wanted before the fact, instead of after.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Luke 7: 36-50
Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman
36 Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, so he went to the Pharisee’s house and reclined at the table.
37 When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume,
38 and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.
39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is—that she is a sinner.”
40 Jesus answered him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”
“Tell me, teacher,” he said.
41 “Two men owed money to a certain moneylender. One owed him five hundred denarii,[d] and the other fifty. 42Neither of them had the money to pay him back, so he canceled the debts of both. Now which of them will love him more?”
43 Simon replied, “I suppose the one who had the bigger debt canceled.”
“You have judged correctly,” Jesus said.
44 Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.
45 You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet.
46 You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet.
47 Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.”
48 Then Jesus said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
49 The other guests began to say among themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”
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Dale Estey |
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I have a *new* message
From a “ghostwriter”
Who
Whom(?)
Will make my BOOK
look
BRILLIANT
Will this give me
A ghost of a chance?
{Image} https:/cdn.writermag.com/2017/10/shutterstock_715257643.jpg
In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.
Excerpt from : Kafka In The Castle
31 December 1916
The festivities down in the city are certainly subdued, which makes me one with the coming of the year.
There were a few shots fired into the air – which is a mockery, considering what is happening in the world. And some dismal fireworks.
Max wanted me at his party, but even he saw little point in celebration, and his entreaties were totally for form.
I understand form quite well – most of my life consists of doing the expected. Mouthing the proper words.
My letters to Felice have turned to such vehicles of propriety.
In such a way do all our days, and then our lives, acquire the necessary postmarks.
One Christmas season over a decade ago, I looked after a dog whilst her owners went out of town.
Tibbit is a big, friendly dawg who likes inspecting piles of leaves. She has a long lead which her benevolent human allows to go as far as possible. She knows (better than her accompanying human) that there are treats at the end of each walk.
One Saturday I didn’t get Tibbit out until after dark. We skirted the university (where her masters work) and went up a street bordering the campus. We both liked the Christmas lights. Near the top of the street we met an inebriated gentleman, warning us of a bear in the surrounding woods.
“Flush him out,” said he, pointing at the dog, “And I’ll get my 3 aught 3.”
“Get the rifle first,” I replied.
We then went our respective ways.
Tibbit and I doubted the veracity of the gentleman, so when we came to a trail through the woods, we took it. I will admit I did peer more intently into the gloom than usual. One trail led to a larger trail, which led back to the university. We advanced without incident.
On Sunday, I again walked Tibbit toward the university, though from a different direction. It was a crisp, clear day, and she gamboled (as much as the leash allowed ) through the new fallen snow. Sunshine gleamed. This time we were on the other side of the campus, but our walk eventually led to a position about half a mile away from where we were the previous evening.
We followed another trail into the woods, and admired the sun through the fir trees. The path was wide and sloped. It came to a turn some distance away, that led us even closer to where we were the day before. At the top of the slope, Tibbit stopped dead in her tracks.
She stared and stared.
She glanced briefly into the woods, but mainly kept staring along the trail.
I saw nothing nor heard anything (and I was intent upon both).
Tibbit did not move and made not a sound. She just kept staring. After a solid two minutes of this, I started to backtrack.
She made no complaint.
You betcha she got her dog treats.
The Elephant was not oblivious to the
Christmas season, and wanted to pay his
respects. He travelled to the special clearing
where a cloud waited for him.
“It’s your Son’s birthday and I want to congratulate him.”
“Thank you.” The cloud descended further.
“It is a grand time.”
“I’d like to …” the elephant hesitated.
“Yes.”
“You sent your son for us to see, so we
would believe.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to …”
“Spit it out,” said God. “You’re fired up.”
“I want to see you.” The elephant spoke
quickly. “I don’t have to see you, you know
that. I believed even before you talked to
me. But I want to see you; it would mean so
much. I wasn’t around for the Baby, but
cows and sheep and things got to see Him. I
can’t explain, but …”
“Go home,” said the cloud.
“You’re not angry with me?” said the
elephant.
“No.” The cloud started moving away. “It’s
an honest request.”
“Thank you for coming to see me,” said the
elephant.
“Sing some carols.” The voice was distant. “I
like them.”
The elephant turned and started through
the woods. He ignored the tasty leaves
within easy reach, and the rich grass near
the brook. He wanted to get home as quickly
as possible, so he could join the singing at
the Mission he knew was happening later in
the evening.
As a child, I had two ‘encounters’ with Santa. I can’t place the years, but I remember them from the houses I lived in.
The first time I would have been no older than five. I was going to the outhouse on a dark Christmas Eve. The outhouse was a couple of minutes walk from the house. On my way, I heard the bells on Santa’s sleigh. Don’t try to dissuade me, I know what I heard. I even remember the direction I had to turn to see if I could see anything. I was right quick about doing my business.
The second time would have been a couple of years later. On Christmas Day I saw the marks from Santa’s sleigh runners on the snow beside the house. Never mind your smiles, I know what I saw.
And, a few years after that, I was with some younger friends who questioned me about the reality of Santa Claus. Now, by then I did not believe that Santa existed. But, I didn’t want to tell the “children” that. Neither did I want to lie. I don’t know how long it took me to think of a way out, but long enough (obviously) for it to remain strong in my memory. My answer was: “Well, there must be a Santa Claus. How could your parents afford all those gifts?”
In the years when I did a fair amount of house-sitting, I did so for one couple where the husband had a perfect resemblance to Santa Claus. Thus, for many a Christmas, he was the hit of local gatherings. And he had a beautiful suit and hat and – of course – a real beard.
I also know a poet whose first book was about Mrs. Claus. She is also known to dress up the part (even with a Christmas bonnet) and read at Christmas gatherings.
As for myself, one day I entered my financial institution around Christmas and got into line. As we snaked forward, I came opposite a mother and father with a young child. He looked at me and screamed (literally) “Santa Claus!” Then he burst into tears. I don’t know what troubled him (maybe I was out of uniform).
A few years ago, (and this was not around Christmas, though it was Fall) I was walking in a park. A family approached, two parents and three children. One of the boys (and he looked five or six) dashed ahead and stood in front of me. “Santa Claus,” he said. I thought it was some sort of joke, but he turned excitedly to his siblings. “It’s Santa Clause.” He was quite happy. The father said “Maybe not.” but did not really try to dissuade him. And neither did I.
Finally, a few weeks ago, as I was seated beside a very early “Visit Santa” display, an old codger, with whiskers of his own, approached, pushing a walker in front of him. He stopped and looked down at me.
“When do you take the chair?”
“What?’
“And get the red suit on?”
“What?”
“At least ya got the padding for it.”
I think it is fair to say that the twinkle was in his eye, and not mine.
(Image) https://slm-assets2.secondlife.com/assets/8867706/view_large/Santa_Chairs_003B.jpg?1386456018
