Attempting to Serve as a Healing Hand of God (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 183)

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From an involved surgery from last week.

Balancing life in your hands, knowing exactly how delicate, remarkable, and interdependent, such a force happens to be, is grace, a blessing, and also a curse to those with a comprehensive awareness of the responsibility of their involvement and intervention when attempting to serve as a healing hand of God.

Are you good enough? Are you deceiving yourself in your own perceptions and/or your own capability? Are you being too meticulous and tedious or perhaps, not enough? Can the fear of failure or mistake be kept at respectful bay? And in the end, no matter the reality and the truth, will you be judged an unquestionable hero or incompetent charlatan by those in the periphery of the act? Is it enough or too much to be the only one who might know the truth either way?

It is a supreme honor to be sincerely entrusted with such responsibility and faith. It touches my soul and lifts me up more than you know. I hate to fail a patient, a client. . .and even myself, but nothing is ever guaranteed, no matter the intent and no matter the skill. This is the burden that weighs upon the true healers and that you might not ever see. These are the thoughts that linger and dwell throughout their daily lives, in between their every breath. These are the demons they (we) must fight alone, for themselves (ourselves) as much as for what we may do for you and yours.

This surgery actually went as well as it possibly could have and the patient is recovering in good fashion, but he will be on my mind day and night, 24/7, for the next 11 days, that is until he has passed out of the real post-op risk period. I’m hoping for my hospital, my staff, and myself, that once again we will all be heroes. . .for Sampson and his mommy.

Wish us all luck if you will.

Dr. Cribb

Picking Flowers in the Midst of Hell (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 182)

“I try again and again to console my heart and to pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell. I find bliss, and for an hour I forget the horror. But that does not mean that it does not exist.”

“You expressed that very well. So you find yourself surrounded by death and horror in the world, and you escape it into lust. But lust has no duration; it leaves you again and again in the desert.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Most people feel that way, but only a few feel it with such sharpness and violence as you do; few feel the need to become aware of these feelings. But tell me: besides this desperate coming and going between lust and horror, besides this seesaw between lust for life and sadness of death—have you tried no other road?”

Narcissus and Goldmund

Hermann Hesse          1930

Won’t You Not Play the Game with Me? (The Veterinarian)

For those who might be interested, this is a short poetic note about myself and some of the stressful forces which impact upon the practicing of my profession and the owning/operating of my veterinary hospital. I often fancifully refer to the hospital as the Castle. May these words be taken in the spirit of which they are offered; for greater understanding and the hope that we may all come together to work towards what is the most nurturing and best balanced system for all.

It disgusts me how much the corporate world stands in my shadow, deceptively and manipulatively sucking out almost all of the revenue I can generate in my trade by being a fair and ethical small business person. These entities figured out a long time ago how to put “face men” out there to disguise the intricate ponzi scheme of their diffuse market possession and “behind the curtain” price control they impose on all consumers. The current “capitalistic” system is designed for us to be nothing more than masked puppets for these juggernaut parasites. It equally disgusts me how much the government rapes me over and over in exponential fashion. The amount of taxes I pay for my income and property is egregious, insane, and unfair.

It would seem to me that the underlying lesson taught by both the government and the corporate world is that a man of independence and ethical preference is suppose to break himself of these tedious tendencies and desires. . . because, as they say, “you gotta make a living” or “you gotta make your fair share” or “you gotta play the game like everyone else, that’s just the way it is.” And sooner or later, maybe the system will take me out. I have been close a number of times, much closer than you probably believe, but if it happens one day, it just happens, because you see, I can’t play the game. A game that turns me into a relentless lying and tax evading prick or a bastardized up-selling unethical DVM corporate puppet that has to screw my customers over to generate a decent income for my effort and expertise, has at its victory the death of my honor, the loss of all of my integrity, and ultimately, the suicide of my humanity and the values of existence which make it worth experiencing. This I remind myself.

So, I just wrote a check to the United States Treasury for an absurd amount related to estimated taxes while I’m doing my best trying to get caught up on all of my other bills that cannot be paid from that extracted/allocated amount, but my day goes on with the Castle roof above my head and the Castle gardens flourishing all over the grounds. The magic is alive around here. . .you can feel it; it always holds up pretty good against the petrifying spell of money’s love potion and the wicked withering brought about by its whispered and temptable chants.

There is enough magic everywhere for everyone, but it isn’t to be found in a upsold suicidal game of plundering.

Won’t you not play the game with me?

Cribb          2017

The Orwell you don’t know – 2 (WPMY 134)

The fact is that in passages like that to which I have referred, and in numerous other places in this part of the book, Mr. Orwell is still a victim of that early atmosphere, in his his home and public school, which he himself has so eloquently exposed. His conscience, his sense of decency, his understanding of realities tell him to declare himself a Socialist: but fighting against this compulsion there is in him all the time a compulsion far less conscious but almost—though fortunately not quite—as strong: the compulsion to conform to the mental habits of his class. That is why Mr. Orwell, looking at a Socialist, smells out (to use a word which we have already met in another connection) a certain crankiness in him; and he finds, as examples of his crankiness, a hatred of war (pacifism), a desire to see woman no longer oppressed by men (feminism), and a refusal to withhold the knowledge which will add a little happiness to certain human lives (birth control).

This conflict of two compulsions is to be found again and again throughout the book. For instance, Mr. Orwell calls himself a “half intellectual”; but the truth is that he is at one and the same time an extreme intellectual and a violent anti-intellectual. Similarly he is a frightful snob—still (he must forgive me for saying this), and a genuine hater of every form of snobbery. For those who can read, the exhibition of this conflict is neither the least interesting nor the least valuable part of this book: for it shows the desperate struggle through which a man must go before, in our present society, his mind can really become free—if indeed that is ever possible.  

Forward to The Road to Wigan Pier (Orwell 1937)

Victor Gollancz           1937

The Make of a Man (WPMY 126)

It is not the banner borne, the religion, nor the philosophy chosen

that matters so much,

but the comprehension and processing of awareness

and the dynamic focal ability of such

coupled with

the conditioned posture and willing vulnerability

of the heart

that makes the man

and thus,

the pack he leads.

Cribb          2016

Making the World Safe for Animals and Spirits (WPMY 123)

“If you want to make the world safe for animals and spirits, you must have a system that reduces the amount of fear and greed and hatred and domineering to their minimum, which means that you must have enough economic security to get rid at least of that source of worry. Enough personal responsibility to prevent people from wallowing in sloth. Enough property to protect them from being bullied by the rich, but not enough to permit them to bully. And the same thing with political rights and authority—enough of the first for the protection of the many, too little of the second for domination by the few.”

“Sounds like peasants to me,” said Pete dubiously.

“Peasants plus small machines and power. Which means that they’re no longer peasants, except insofar as they’re largely self-sufficient.”

“And who makes the machines? More peasants?”

“No; the same sort of people that make them now. What can’t be made satisfactorily except by mass production methods, obviously has to go on being made that way. About a third of all production—that’s what it seems to amount to. The other two-thirds are more economically produced at home or in a small workshop. The immediate, practical problem is to work out the technique of that small-scale production. At present, all the research is going to the discovery of new fields of mass production.”

After Many a Summer Dies the Swan

Aldous Huxley          1939

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