A WHOOPER SWAN'S DIARY: 09/14/16

THE STORY OF JOHNNY WHOOPER SWAN We go to school trusting our parents. We meet a teacher there who stands up front with a big desk, and a pointer. She or he trains us in an authoritative manner. We attach mentally to a life long need for authority in order to live lives successfully. Right so far? In my case, at the age of 25 I was ready to enter the practice of law where I hoped for success and a happy life finally. Very shortly, very shortly, I became anxious. There was a foreboding. I was made more uncomfortable with each experience. Law work is nothing like what I was told it would be. The system is corrupt. But I still cling to my expectation that career success is necessary to my happiness as a man. Each day my grasp of what the fuck success amounts to after all becomes more clouded, murkier. I hear songs on the airwaves and at concerts which describe my life as the life of a fool. What am I becoming? I want to rip off my business suit to run naked in the street with my hair on fire! But I am too afraid. In strange, weird (weird comes from a word meaning wise), fragmented steps I go about a journey of my own believing myself to be the first man to have failed in such a total way which journey works so as to break up my career, end a marriage, and start an entirely new way of relating with my two children whom I love deeply. Almost magically I meet a woman who is a career counselor who asserts a beautiful message that I am made to be joyful in my work everyday and at all levels. This understanding sets me on a completely new course. It is no longer a world of systems to me but an undivided one of unlimited beauty. It reminds me of a painting. A true masterpiece. I am drawn from within to learn the truth about my identity and nobody else can teach me that. From this point onward I will use thinking capacity for mastering mechanical processes and follow my heart, which includes my whole nature, which includes your whole nature and that of every human being for all the rest. I’ll go by the name Johnny Whooper Swan who does not explain itself to anyone. By my fruits shall I be known. Watch me soar!

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Planet Loco

People talk or write to feed each other. What? It has been special to me to have a friend who cannot share with me any words in my only language. Most friends talk very much. That is what people think friendship to be. Text. Email. Telephone. Facebook. Conversing.

Someone told me about a time when her mother died of cancer while she was pregnant with her first child. Many people said, both before and after the death, “I am so sorry for your loss. I know how painful it must be for you. Move to our neighborhood. We want to be close by to help you and care for you and the baby.” After the funeral, she said, not one of those people ever called or came to see her or gave any help. What kind of nourishment is that? Words of a learned language? Just words. It reminds me of the fisherman who pretends to feed a fish and his hook. Or the monkey who pulled a fish out of the water and placed it safely in a tree. Or a politician whose barfed up promises are leftovers. Or, teachers on the first day of class who know nothing but words, words, words, having never themselves lived. Or parents who reply, Because I said so. Or, religious clergy who tell us to believe them because truth is beyond our ability to comprehend. What world is this one? Surely, it is not the only one we can experience this life time. Is it?

Am I never going to meet anyone here who understands me? A clown standing in the moonlight upside down bouncing a globe with her feet winked at me and I interpreted the meaning as: there are more things here than you yet know.