" The Lizard And The Goblet" : A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And Uncertain Times "

‘ The Lizard And The Goblet’: A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And Uncertain Times ‘

04/19/12

To my very, very dearest friends, and loyal, constant readers, there are many times a day…and sometimes nights, that I think of you;  I always wish you wellness, of course, and sufficient security on which to live most comfortably.  But along with my most sincere hopes for days of much lessened, or of no pain for you, I also wish you love, contentment, and happiness, for without happiness—no matter how else you may be feeling—life becomes (and remains) both a chore, and a bore.  To be genuinely unhappy in part, will most likely cause you to be unhappy in all; and with a lingering happiness, I also wish you peace, as endless worry and depression will off-color all your days.  Until life is reduced to an unbearability of simply ‘being’.  Of existing.  Of merely living breath to breath.

And while adult life is filled—enough—by responsibility, financial problems, health problems, with often severe pain; and in seeing nothing change for the better, one eventually tires of searching for the better.  This state of disenchantment and despair fills our lives to overflowing, and affects all others around us; this is why long-time friends flee, and family members become more distant, for fear that such an overbalance of negativity will make us extremely unpleasant to be near, be contagious, or somehow, ‘rub’ off on them.  And, to that end, only the very brave and loving stay close to us, with endless patience, caring, and concern.  Be thankful unto God for them, for else you would be doomed to live a life, alone, with needs as yet unmet; hopes that fade with time; dreams that slowly die; and relegated to intense suffering quite without ever knowing why.

I fully understand, and realize how difficult it is to have to live with a hundred agonies, yet try to smile when presented with some, small kindness. I know how pain can distance you from everything, making even the slightest effort impossible; I know how pain can make one long for a far-away and untroubled Past, or to try to flee a horrible, abusive one; to regret those things whose ‘Sell Buy’ dates have passed us by.  To find no comfort in the Present, with its worries, and dread.  To find that current pain and distress can rob one’s will. And I know the pain that makes one cry.

I know how pain can make you rage, and to lash out at anyone within lashing distance.  To those who would be closest to us, I can even understand some jealousy you might secretly, or…unsecretly harbor against them for their health; their ability to move, to leave, or to just pick-up and ‘go’, without a second’s care; their ability to sleep soundly, snoring by us, as we roil in bed, in pain, unable to get comfortable, watching as the clock mutely announces time’s passage of another, fitful night.  And yet, the mind does not pause in its never-ending contemplation of all that was; what might have been; knowing—only—that the morning will reveal no delights.  Only a darkened house of nightmares and pain…always the pain, that guarantees a day of sluggish tiredness, along with a wearied shame at how disappointing we have become.

Often, in our heart of hearts, we wonder what did WE do, to end up in such a tormented place?  Of course we all have a hidden roster of deeds from our more unpleasant selves; the unkind word; the needless lie; the moment of neglect we opted for. The cruel and pointless deed.  The chance to—perhaps—get ‘even’.

However, I cannot apportion blame to you; we have all been both deceivers and deceived.  Nor, can you ever be blamed for your genes and chromosomes, or perhaps, some past exposure to a set of pathogens that caused in you your illnesses; Of conditions we were born with, or else, developed later; of all the deficiencies of our immune systems that now have failed, and turned on us, making us helpless in our pain, with ‘conditions’ that are incurable, that can only be addressed—palliatively—by more and more medications.

For then, it would clearly seem that our responsibilities begin and end with attention to our own care, while ever trying to not alienate those closest to us.  Granted…it is a battle that prescribes our days; and in this regard, there’s much forgiving to do…first, for yourself, then others.  And, my dearest friends, please allow me to clarify: there’s NO forgiveness warranted by those who have abused you.  I can only pray that—with help, and God’s speed—you will be able to escape such a living nightmare.  Only distance—not capitulation—will ever truly help you.  For someone who has hurt you, your forgiveness of them is your eventual option, not a requirement.

And so, my precious friends, as I pause—again—to think of you, please allow me to share with you a little story; a simple tale that—to me—somehow seems most appropriate to these times.  I am grateful to you for having befriended me, and for being faithful in your friendships, of caring for my welfare as few actually do, and of forgiving my excesses, and of reading my diary entries…which gives me rare pleasure, as when you leave your comments, for which, I thank you with all my heart.

‘ The Lizard And The Goblet’: A Parable That Speaks To These Awful, And Uncertain Times ‘

Part One: The Lizard

In my kitchen, the sink is placed in the corner; behind it is a triangular shelf of paneling (it is a mobile home, after all!), and they lead to the kitchen walls, where—in forming a ‘V’ are two small windows that look out over the back yard.  Of course the windows are hard to reach, and when—such a long time ago, now—my dear, late mother made curtains for them, they proved almost impossible to hang.

In homes such as mine, the windows form two parts, with a bottom pane opened by two, little clips near the sill; usually, most times whenever I find myself at the sink, my gaze looks through the windows to see all the greenery outside, and part of my neighbor’s yard which is fenced, has citrus trees growing at the fence’s border, and a garden there, and lots of chickens…AND, two roosters (which start to crow at 3:15AM; I know, because I timed them, and they drive me crazy).  It remains—though—for one who is too often too agoraphobic to venture out, a beautiful scene, with trees moving to the breeze, and casting shadows on the window panes.

About three months ago, one morning, while starring out the window, some movement caught my eye.

Perched upon the metal window frame was a tiny lizard, no more than two-and-a-half inches long, including tail.  It was lying there, soaking up the morning sun that warmed the window’s frame, head darting side to side, as it looked to catch little bugs.  Since it was a baby, and as lizards are cold-blooded, being trapped inside an air-conditioned house usually means they will freeze to death in time.

I tried without success to somehow capture it to toss it outside, rather than find it dead—somewhere—in the house.  He leapt away from me, and hid down in the curtains. “O.K.”, I said, you’re on your own, buster.”

I fully expected it to die in a day or two, but somehow, the window was warm-enough, with little bugs-enough, to keep the little thing alive.  Days passed, and weeks passed.  And while I can hardly explain it, it was like a gift to have another, little, harmless life in the house. I just wondered what it could possibly find to eat.

But every morning, no matter how horrible my night had been, no matter what my awful pain, when I finally stumbled to the sink to make my mid-morning coffee, there it was; I never gave it a name, but, I found myself telling it good  morning every day, and was so glad that it had survived.  I don’t know why it seemed to cheer me.

Once, a very large wasp got into the house, and into the kitchen. In time, it hit the curtains, and its course of flight brought it nearer and nearer my little friend.  Now, I am very deathly allergic to insect bites, wasps being among the worst.  My little lizard seemed to give it some thought of making of it a lunch, but in realizing that the wasp was just too large, scuttled down the bottom of the curtains, where—you might know—the wasp would errantly follow.

There ensued a comical review, with me—with my girth—standing on a stepstool, flyswatter in hand to chase the wasp, and whap it before it could either bite me, or, the lizard.  In wielding the flyswatter like St, Michael’s sword, I could not help but scare the lizard.  But soon, I managed to kill the wasp, and let my lizard alone to recover; later on in the day, it was perched on the window—again—as apparently content as such creatures can be.  And I was glad that we (Daisy, lizard, and I) were safe.

Part Two: The Goblet

I have a cousin who has become a very, very good, and kind friend to me; actually, both he and his wife have been ever thoughtful, and decent to me.  When our schedules allow, he comes over once a week to visit me, perform some very needed repair of computer adjustment that I cannot do; he brings me a couple store-made-ready sandwiches, and we have a couple of beers while we kibitz, and in general, just ‘hang out’.  I always enjoy his visits, and am grateful for all his kind help; after all, it is he who has assembled probably 95% of all my new furniture you can see, shown at my profile.

He also brings along a little hip flask of vodka (which I do not drink because of my many medications).  For him, I found a simple, pretty, little goblet for him to put ice in, and afterward, the vodka. I doubt the ‘drinks’ can be more than four ounces, and it looks better than using a water glass for the purpose.

Because of my often global pain, and severe lower-back pain, I must admit I am slack on washing dishes, leaving them for my dear C.N.A. to do, which she does not mind, and when the drain board is full, she’ll put the clean, dry dishes away, or, if she’s out of room, will stack some of the cups, and glasses on the space just behind the sink, where I quite often forget them, especially my cousin’s, little goblet, which, with shelf space a premium, I just ignore.

One morning—though—as I again staggered to the sink half awake, and already in a rush of pain, I looked, but could not see my lizard friend.  Oh well, I thought, it’s off on the hunt, looking for tiny bugs, and hiding behind the curtain.  I seem to recall that my cousin was due—soon—for a visit, and, as an afterthought, picked up the goblet to make sure it was clean.

And there it was, my little lizard friend, having somehow fallen into the goblet—not able to escape its glassy sides--lying there, contorted in death.

It was such a tragic end to a cute and harmless life; as I looked at it, suddenly (please do not ask me why), I began to cry, in silent, tears of misery.  I felt so sad for it, myself, and, for all of us.  Had—perhaps—I had found it earlier, and still alive, I might have been able to let it go back to its window-kingdom.  Could I be blamed for my neglect?

Or, is it but the realization that we all live such truncated lives, and to have them thus filled by pain seems—to me—to counter, “Why we are here?”  As adults, we all know that things die; friends and loved ones die; dreams and hopes unrealized die before us, and litter our years with their deaths.  Eventually, we—too—will die, and return to a silent earth the sum of all we were.  To have lived, and died, without notice, or purpose.., what can that mean?  Or does it mean anything?

This is why—perhaps—so many cultures around the world have their own “After life theories”.  I would not in my current place in time, dare argue with any of them.  I would like to think that, rather than fall—unnoticed—into a slippery goblet, unable to return or be free, that our lives are marked—instead—by what we do WHILE alive.  What kindness can we show.  What compassion.  What radiant goodness?  What unselfish love.  What purity of spirit.

And when we finally die, is it to an endless, dreamless sleep?  Or falling into an oblivion of hellish nightmare, and never-ending torture, far far greater than the sum of all our earthbound pain?  Or, else to be catapulted out among black galaxies with their cold, and lifeless stars? 

Or should we—instead—with wings of joy

ascend to the full explanation of our Bliss? For these are but possibilities, questions to which I have no ready answer.  For that—my very dear, and wonderful friends, I gladly leave it up to you.

But please, ever know I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

Please always know I love you,

‘Zahc’/Charles

" Though Worked-for, And Well-deserved...."

      ‘ Though Worked-for, And Well-deserved, Why Do S.S.I., And S.S.D.I. Entitlements Confer A Life Of Grinding Poverty For Those Who Need It Most ? ‘

04/15/12

To my very, very dearest friends, and ever loyal readers,

Sometime—around noon, I guess, for those  whom such exactness is required—the month of April will be half-over; that roughly means that there are still two weeks, m.o.l., until May, and until the rusted doors of the Government coffers screech open. And like an endless swarm of bats scarce seen at twilight, out will fly the little checks we are granted, that—once again—will ensure some little, hoped-for comfort on which to live.

I full-believe that these sums are reckoned at by governmental dweebs and feebs (quite possibly horned, and very feral), kept safe by bullet-headed, armed guards, as they scratch their brow ridges, by the divination of sheep entrails beneath a full, and lambent moon, somewhere quite possibly in Virginia, let’s say Arlington, as so much other mischief goes on there.

For on or about the third of every month, I—and so many others—get a check that is plainly insufficient for our needs.  Although there is about eighteen days until ‘pay’, I find that I am already almost broke, and still with bills to pay.

After my second application for disability (requiring an attorney’s intervention at $5.700.00) when I was finally awarded first S.S.I., then S.S.D.I, in being ever cautious, I was able to survive the month, bills paid; groceries obtained, with—perhaps—a smidgen left over to call my own.  That, my dearest friends, was in 2005.  But as the months and years passed, with no cost of living raise…except the one that booted me out of Medicaid covering my hospital and surgical stays, and doctor’s visits, the cost of everything—it seemed—went up once, twice, almost three times, while my entitlement gamely tried to keep up, and—exhausted—soon fell on its face, a lay there dead.

The Entitlement Program, which many call a ‘supplement’, no longer is nearly enough; and for those of us who cannot work ( damn us, anyway!), it is our ONLY source of income; there’s nothing else.  And while there was one, small 3.8% raise this past January, Medicare quickly sucked up the increase, leaving us, the elderly, the ill, the disabled, and dispossessed to twist in the breeze.

I am currently fifty-eight years old, and fully two years away from any helping or assisting County Programs (imagine…a double-sided page, font eight, of available programs that are denied me, until my sixtieth birthday, or, until I croak, instead).

The ONLY two programs I am currently eligible for are, since I have Medicare, I can pay the County Public Transportation two dollars each way to my doctor’s appointments, only, not even to stop to have prescriptions filled, and the Volunteer Way, a most laudable public program, whereby they deliver to me one box of canned goods and the like, a month.  That’s IT.  Oh...and Medicaid (bless its pointed, little head), has—in its wisdom—declared me eligible for (wait for this….), $16.00 a month in Food Stamps.  $16.00?????

Ah, b-b-b-but wait a second, here.  I worked for over thirty-four years; I filed taxes; I paid my share of S.S., and FICA.  None of this shit makes any sense.  Whenever the Government goes broke, they simply raise the debt ceiling; why then can’t I raise mine?  Or just print more currency?  Or, attach my needs by hiding it within the language of an insignificant bill to be voted upon by those few legislators who even bother to show up to vote?

I live alone, and basically have the same bills to pay as does everyone else: utilities; cable (for telephone, and internet, NOT 900 channels of TeeVee and movies).  I have to pay a private duty C.N.A. to assist me with showers; clean the house; and do the laundry.

And whenever the lawn wants mowing, or the hedges trimmed, oh God, or any groceries purchased ( and that includes prescriptions ), the too-often neglected care of my dear dog, the occasional doctor’s visit co-pay, and trying, hopelessly, to pay down a maxed-out credit card.  ALL of this comes out of MY pocket, and they are shallow ones, indeed.  And, let us not forget taxes I must pay.

What this now means is that I can hardly withstand the month.  In past, I’ve had to borrow money from friends, which I regret, and relatives, which I detest.  I thank God the house is paid for; I have no car, nor car insurance.

Every month—about this time—I start to panic and to become even more depressed. I did not ask to become ill and disabled; I cannot think of anyone who—in their right mind—would.

All this constant worry adversely affects my health; it cannot help but do so.  In consequence, my pain levels go up and stay there; I have searing migraines; my glucose, and blood pressure is shot to hell and back; and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Funny, but in becoming ill, I did not suddenly fall off the earth; I have to ‘buy’ things; I make, and sustain jobs; I pay taxes, and help support the common weal.  I am now no less a citizen of these ‘United States’ than ever I was.  I salute the flag; I vote; I most firmly believe in our Rights and Freedoms.

Among them—though—I do not think includes the Right To Starve; or the Freedom To Die Unattended.  Yet…too many of our citizens do both, which should be considered an egregious stain upon our Constitution, and Bill Of Rights.  And when it involves our children, it is both vile, and inexcusable. As Americans, we think ourselves to be a World Power, but act with fifth-world nation mentalities.

Annually, billions, and trillions of dollars, are misspent, misappropriated, lost, hidden, or simply given away, as if the ‘cookie jar’ has no bottom; how much DOES an aircraft carrier cost?  How much to bailout Goldman Sachs—who in their blatant disregard refer to the public as ‘Muppets’?

In all of this, we—too—must take on a portion of the blame; for it would seem that every four years…at Election time, the Populi shits it collective pants; we hang—breathless—to every promise that we know will not be kept.  How can they, when carnal greed is met with the lure of boundless cash?  The Grand Industrial/Corporate/Military Complex would eat our babies, were it not for errant twitter boasts, or You Tube video morsels that slip--unnoticed—from the mouths of our self-considered ‘New Age Romans’, who enjoy a life of Barbarous Splendor, living outside, and above the Law.

Never mind that nighty Rome fell not so much from outside attack, but from excesses that rotted it away from the inside.

We sadly witnessed the undoing of the Peaceful March on Wall street, when one banker—from the safety of an upstairs window—jeeringly offered a single person a job at $50,000.00 a year….which was taken.  I find I cannot be angry too much at the person who broke through lines to accept the job.  Pure need is pure need.

But part of me—especially when I have no money, now, well-before month’s end—would rather see that jeering offer met, instead, by a fired shot.  It doesn’t matter if it misses.

 

What these so-called movers and shakers need to feel is fear…of their money, security, their lives.  Until they are forced behind a barricade of desks, surrounded by an uncertain cadre of guards, will we—as a People, as Americans, will ever know both Rightness, and Justice.  We’ve witnessed a succession of petty tyrants overthrown around the globe. Too many of our own elected—who are as culpable of crimes as they, and even worse, were truth be known.

The sad and sadder Truth already lies before us; it is our neglectful shame, full reflected in any mirror. When evil is allowed, it propagates and flourishes, while we—the governed, or enslaved—are too easily distracted by sparkly toys to notice our enslavement?  Before it too late, if not too late already, who shall we, as one, name as our true Champion?

My dear, dear friends, and constant, loyal readers, I thank you for your demonstrated kindness, your inherent goodness, your patience…and, your love and regard.  I thank you for befriending me, and for making me feel not so alone.

I wish so much for you quiet, joyous days  (where did they go?); days of wonder, and delight; pantries full, with security and funds to spare so that you may have fuller lives, free from the worries I know we share; I wish you be surrounded by love and greater care, and days of much-lessened, or of ‘no pain’; true friends to sustain you; balmy afternoons of quiet fun  (when was the last time you had that !?); a gladly-assumed duty to report abuse; and evenings and nights of naturally, blissful sleep;  with flights of angels to comfort and protect you and yours’, until, a happy, and well-refreshed morning.

And please, please know, I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles