Visceral Feminine Energy (Lvs S 223)

I

love

to see

the

visceral feminine energy

of

women

shine and sparkle

in

its proper state

of

being;

a

fulminant, glorious, and titillating radiance,

so temptable,

that it

is

almost impossible

to

ignore or escape.

Despite

the rest of the magic

within the world,

there

is

nothing

quite like its power and embrace…

nothing.

It

is

mesmerizing

to

my focus,

to

every facet of my awareness.

My craving,

my hunger,

my delight,

and

my desire

of

its cherished and unique

presence,

never subsides

when

it

is

pure and unadulterated,

and

at

peace

with

being

true to itself.

Cribb

Revised 2016

The Heaviness and Lightness of Love (L vs S 222)

But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid?

The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love of poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously an image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become.

Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant.

What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Milan Kundera          1984

 

Unshut Up, Uncalm, and Unplop (WPMY 122)

Sitting in a CE (Continuing Education) with a roomful of others veterinarians, it is more than apparent to me and probably everyone else in the room, that I “suffer” from ADD or ADHD. I’m not trying to be disruptive or rude or distracting to anyone else, but the lecture is moving so slow, with much irrelevant minutia commentary and focus on obvious givens/knowns, that it is extremely hard for me to listen with continuous interest and intrigue. I wonder if the practicalities and true “message” of the lecture to the attendees, even crosses the minds of the lecturer and the majority of the other veterinarians. Don’t mistake my opinion, the lecturer is very knowledgable and at times, the information she is presenting is very relevant and intriguing, but this intrigue is buried in such boring, sauntering, and basic knowledge, it isn’t even funny. It feels like I’m sitting in a remedial class on veterinary cardiology where all the attendees arrived on a short bus. The crowd in general seems fairly happy and content, and I am happy for them, but they also make me feel like I’m sitting in my highschool class again, having thoughts, questions, comments, and observations in my mind that most of them can’t even begin to fathom. We all sit in a veterinary governing mandated CE that in this case is sponsored by a corporate owned national veterinary hospital chain, a corporate owned national laboratory company (same as the chain…oh yeah!), and a big pharmacy corporate company, but the innocent, kind, and knowledgeable face presenting the “respectable info” on stage is a veterinary specialist from North Carolina State University, an institution of higher learning. Nope, no,no way, nada, no entangling alliances in this lecture hall. Nothing to ever worry about here how veterinary medicine continues to be bastardized and centralized with such pretty velvet gloves. But, I’m probably just the ADD, ADHD kid, who is having a hard time listening and behaving like all the other good cattle. I should “relax and take something overridingly positive from the experience.” The funny thing that most don’t suspect is that I will. I will take significant positives from the experience. This commentary does not contradict such a thing, except again in the minds of most of the cattle. I process the positives and the negatives, the yin and yangs, the good, the bad, and the ugly. I see them all dance together in my mind, changing partners, speeding up and slowing down in their contributions, and all adding to the total transformation of the dance floor. It all just makes it hard for me to sit still, and not stretch or sway, back and forth, and have my mind reach for more interesting and relevant info. I wonder how many drugs they would use to shut me up and calm me down and plop me in the corner these days if I was still a young boy in school. You can’t disturb the herd. You can’t disturb the ranchers who protect, and fatten, and slaughter the herd. You can’t even be yourself in silent swaying opposition. I believe that the ADD and ADHD (whatever you want to label them) children are graces sent from God to deliver the world from its current state of madness; to restore natural order. Unfortunately, the herd and the ranchers just can’t take a chance that might allow that to happen. Well, who knows how the battle for and against natural order will end. I certainly have my theories. In the meantime, I will continue to watch and observe and stretch and sway and let my mind continue to expand and reach for the relevant and the intriguing. Maybe, just maybe, along the way, I can unshut up and uncalm and unplop, a few like minded souls; souls, who might be just as foolish as my swaying self and also ADD/ADHD enough to try and help save the world. I hope so.

Cribb          2016

 

 

 

The Irrefutable Answer of Crucifixion (L vs S 221)

I saw my mom torture my dad every day of his life. I saw her scapegoat everything he said and everything he did without respite to cover up for her mental illness. She created endless strife, conflict, madness, and insult where none was. It was a rare day in our house when she wasn’t yelling at him for being incompetent or lazy or uncaring or selfish or just stupid. Often at night, she would yell and scream and then withdraw for a short period of time, before repeating the cycle over and over and over. It was hard to sleep…even with a pillow or two stuffed on top of your head in an attempt to shut out her voice. Not my dad’s voice, mind you; her voice, not my dad’s.

And she raised me through subtitles and hints and little passive aggressive gestures and comments, to arrive at the conclusion that it was my dad’s fault for her being so miserable and unhappy and angry all the time; because he was stupid and a failure and he just couldn’t do anything right. Of course, he was the primary breadwinner, and he worked much longer hours than she. He would go to the store every night for her, to get her just what she wanted, and he, not she, would take her car to the gas station to fill it up, so she never had to. He was the one primarily involved with trying to coordinate transportation for me and my brother’s high school athletic practices and games. He was the one that cleaned the litter boxes and fed the animals, while she sat in her bathroom for hours at night. He changed his eating habits for her. He changed his social habits for her. He had always known of her history and the madness of which she would most likely carry within her soul for all of eternity, and still he loved her with every shred of his existence…the damn fool.

I hated my father for a long time, blaming him for not being good enough for my mom, for my mom that suffered because of him and his inadequacies. So, I have done everything within my power, my whole life, to strive to have no inadequacies; to strive to be the best, and the purest, and the most attentive…the most empathetic, and aware, and infallible, to all, but especially to my mate. I thought that such an action, such an accomplishment, was the irrefutable answer; that all my mom really wanted was a man to truly believe in. It had to be my dad…and all those other stupid, basic men, who seemed so emotionally devoid, so numb, and stupefied by feelings and thoughts and pain and suffering. It had to be my dad, right? And after mom had passed, and more time had passed between him and I, he said to me, “Jeff, what really hurt me the most was that after all that time we spent together, all those years of marriage and everything we did together, in the end, she didn’t even trust me enough to come to me when she knew she had cancer.”

I believe my mom chose suicide through untreated cancer, to remain the victim of life, my father, and everyone else, even as she departed existence. Remaining the victim in her mind trumped the love of my father and it trumped the love of her sons. She had to deny these things, she had to, because if she didn’t, she would have to look in the mirror and realize that she had tortured herself, her whole life, without provocation…without reason. The inescapable hopelessness and lovelessness she chose to accept to survive her childhood, consumed her psyche forevermore, no matter the reality of her future existence; no matter those who gave her undeniable hope and undeniable love, no matter her husband and her sons. She didn’t want to feel love or hope again, she was terrified of them, she refused them, she denied them, and she manifested her own extreme delusion to alter reality itself in her conscious mind so much that no one could correct her perception. She didn’t want to believe in my dad, she wanted to crucify him, because that validated her fear and delusion. And now, I have learned myself, that doing everything within my power, my entire life, to have no inadequacies, is still not good enough to be an irrefutable correction of salvation for a woman (or any person) intent on crucifying you to justify their delusion.

I walked this earth as my mother once, and now I walk it as my father. I think she felt a lot of pain, and I think he felt a lot more.

Cribb          2016

“Only Wanting to Date Younger Women” (L vs S 220)

Trying to appear casual and nonchalant, but failing miserably in such effort through her assertive posture and accusatory expression, she said “I thought you told me you only liked younger women, that you preferred them, and that you only wanted to date them.”

And I replied “That simply isn’t true. It isn’t even close to the truth. You are significantly distorting what I said. I told you that I had dated two women that were about half my age, and as fate would have it, I love(d) them both. But it wasn’t about their age or them being a hot piece of ass. They were both young, beautiful, and sexy, but what stood out to me the most about them, what captivated me beyond reprieve, was their brilliant minds and their exceptional awareness, their souls and their passion, for them trying to live in a world of infectious numbness and delusion. They were both more mature than many women twice their age. I already told you all of this in full honest disclosure, but I never said anything remotely close to ‘I only want to date young women.'”

Then, I turned and looked her directly in the eyes, and tried to work through the insult of her repetitive rewriting of my more than vulnerable and honest disclosures, disclosures which I had willingly shared with her. I slowed my breathing and tried to remember that her pain, anxiety, and fear were the real demons, and not her delicate and damaged soul. “What you should be asking yourself, is ‘Why is it that I am drawn to women like them and yourself?’. ‘What is it that I see and feel towards them and you?’. I have dated a grandmother and a person over fifty years old. You have never dated anyone else even as old as I am, and we both know about your last younger boyfriend. You know that I married an older woman and was faithful to her for eleven or twelve years. Yes, she was only slightly older, but still, she was older. I have also dated plenty of other women who were my age or a few years older. You can’t make such a factual counterclaim in your dating or your relationships. You can’t even come close. So, why would you twist my words like that? I don’t understand. I don’t look at age or physical appearance or anything so simple as the defining characteristic of my interest, attention, or attraction. It doesn’t work that way for me. So, seriously, please tell me who it is that really prefers to only date younger people? And then, can you tell me why?”.

Cribb          2016

Highness and The Emptiness Below (L vs S 219)

Anyone whose goal is “something higher” must expect some day to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? Then why do we feel it even when the observation tower comes equipped with a sturdy handrail? No, vertigo is something other than the fear of falling. It is the voice of emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.

the Unbearable Lightness of Being

Milan Kundera          1984

If you are ever to find Peace (WPMY 121)

The way to innocence , to the uncreated and to God leads on, not back, not back to the wolf or to the child, but ever further into sin, even deeper into human life. Nor will suicide really solve your problem, unhappy Steppenwolf. You will, instead, embark on the longer and wearier and harder road of life. You will have to multiply many times your two-fold being and complicate your complexities still further. Instead of narrowing your world and simplifying your soul, you will have to absorb more and more of the world and at last take all of it up in your painfully expanded soul, if you are ever to find peace. This is the road that Buddha and every great man has gone, whether consciously or not, insofar as fortune favored his quest. All births mean separation from the All, the confinement within limitation, the separation from God, the pangs of being born ever anew. The return into the All, the dissolution of painful individuation, the reunion with God means the expansion of the soul until it is able once more to embrace the All.

Steppenwolf

Hermann Hesse          1927