Why Not To Be A Doctor Or Spock –  A Prose Poem

When as a 36 year old doctor I had severe chronic back pain, Dr John Sarno took me on a journey of recalling all my childhood’s pain. The rain of old memory, cured my back pain by allowing my life’ new memory to peacefully reign. You’ll understand sooner or later, perhaps in this story.

baby-1178539_1920Remembering birth was tough, but time before it was easy. Life in the 1700’s was magnificent but that came from past life regression and this story is not about that journey, but the one after my current birth, not before. I never did manage to remember this more recent birth, perhaps because I really don’t care to or maybe can’t. I do recall however being about age one. It’s not that interesting other than for its wordless description. So I will save you a long recital by telling you it was about cycles. I recall the cycles of the sun behind my crib as day came and went through the window behind where I slept (I slept through most of it). The next interesting thing, perhaps from your viewpoint, was the periodic visitation of floating faces that made cooing noises. I knew they were “nice” as I could feel their happy thoughts. When I could stay awake, seeing them was entertaining.  By the next year, I now knew they were “people” and that with gifts of food or lack of care their visits seemed to bring joy or fear.

When I was about three sitting on the basement floor, I watched my sister assemble a puzzle and for the first time really knew disappointment. I insisted on trying but when I could not do it my mother laughed; it was the first time I ever felt abashed. I did not understand that my sister being nearly twice my age had an advantage. How I “viewed”my mother’s laugh shaped who I am forever – competitive, but mostly with myself. Mom was very creative and to this I was native. There was little TV, just building creative toys and dreams for me.

In kindergarten, the teacher told us to put on reindeer hats and parade in a circle to music and entertain our parents. I refused her, asking why I should do this?  She just got mad thinking that I dared need a reason! From then on I looked at her with derision for her very poor emotional decision. This event that day made me a father to Spock,  emotion free as a rock; though I suspect he was conceived in my mother’s laugh.  We were one and the same with just my name. 

In high school and college, sex I had to acknowledge; but joy for me was being so high on the curve that everyone else would fail. Calculus, Chemistry, Biology all the sciences, her laugh long ago determined how far I would go to leave them all in the dust. 

doctor-2337835_1920Fifty years later having joyfully invented a branch of Holistic Medicine, my patient’s pain had become dark rain. A body cooked long round the spit of the sun finally begins to fail, it ceases to run. My patients grew, old my joy grew cold, for even years after I could still hear her laughter.  It was time to leave!  After 45 years I’d earned that reprieve.

Here in Florida I met a lady who’d been my best friend 40 years ago when I had been painfully divorced.  Her eyes were failing and her surgeons flailing. I volunteered my services for a guided tour that the doctor, not Spock, should have known to abhor. Surgeons well selected, care well directed. But, years of life predicted age could not be interdicted.  Now I remember the reason to retire, watching life end inspires no great desire.

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But being a friend before life’s end is a gift of value that laughter can’t devalue.  As I sit here this morning enjoying the sun, I’m glad that from other’s pain, I chose not to run.  I cannot stop the end of life but with love and caring there is great opportunity for preparing.  

For much of my life I’m again married to a wife, who had been to many daring to be selflessly caring. Now I’m inspired, to be so desired, life’s too short to stay retired. Care given to a friend does spiritually help them mend. Her laughter faded in the ever after. 

 

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Subprimal Poetry Art/Subterranean Poetics

Here is an elegantly written piece of micro fiction, which John C Mannone describes as a prose poem that doesn’t use juxtaposition, yet is surreal.  I was just blown away by the density and depth of the chosen words that makes this poetic picture one to never to leave your mind:

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Subterranean Poetics

The river writhes through narrow chambers, crisscrossing into reticulation of arteries mapping the heart of earth. For a moment, I’m smaller than a drop of that water dissolving through rock; smaller than a microbe propelling inexorably to the source of life, to the laughter of rain, to the brass-brilliant sun, to the hero of creation.

Source: Subprimal Poetry Art/Subterranean Poetics

by John C. Mannone

The Plot Thickens – Overcoming A Writing Challenge

SHARING A #WRITING #CHALLENGE WITH YOU: I am about 80% through with the longest most complex fun novel I have ever written, “The Carneeg”; however, for the first time ever I the-strategy-1080527_1920noted that I was avoiding completing my work. I was writing poetry, researching marketing, working on our author’s meetUp group, learning new software…. Just not writing.

I told my wife, Evelyn, where I was in the story. She had read and quickly edited the first 200 pages 3 weeks earlier. I had added 50 pages but not more. Because the story is so complex and rich with world creation, I have 26 pages of notes which include my first attempt at interviewing my characters as @Alvin Wander, my friend and author, inspired me to do.

I needed someone to talk to about my problem so she listened.  I told her wear I was in the story and I enumerated the 6 sub plots that were seeking resolution, most of which had started in the first 200 pages she had read.

rear-mirror-2480506_1920As the wise teacher once said, “the solution is in the problem,” also a powerful 5,000 year old Rosicrucian teaching. When I finished, I knew why I was not writing and what I had to do. I had “felt” overwhelmed by the complexity of what I thought I had to keep in mind; however, in reality all I had to do was summarize the issues and speak them to another person. When I clearly formulated my challenge, I also formulated a question that my mind could ask of the muse and I had the answer.  All I really needed to do was decide which were the main subplots, how they would resolve (completely in this book or partially for the next volume to come), decide what is a great ending for this series installment and write it. My books write themselves, I never know the ending.  In this way it is as much fun writing it as reading it.  I have my 26 pages of summary notes to reference and my editor will know if I have left anything untied. Tomorrow is the beginning of the end 🙂

Janr Ssor