This is the beginning of a new day for me. I will now be a presence on the web. I have been reading blogs from the beginning and I have a great regard for all who are truthful and responsible. I was young once and now I am older. Call me ordinary but I hold out hope for our good end...I am reaching out for my beginnings and my end.Thankyou and goodnight. your humble servant Ulric Hubert Rainard
Saturday, February 18, 2012
A Vast Thank You To Rainyman/Blogstream
The following is a “thanks for the welcome” gift to you and your family.Lives – The Gestation of Being
j.b. bergstad aka rainyman
In my first life I heard sound and saw only blur.
I felt pain and discomfort. I knew hunger and thirst.
I could move, but had no control.
Sensations my mind had no name for assailed me.
Large things pushed and pulled. They tugged, lifted and squeezed me.
I knew fear, but not its label.
Sometimes terrible smells came on wet slimy winds and smothered my top part.
Gradually the blur began to clear. Big things I’d sensed took form.
Wondrous objects appeared, then vanished from my line of sight.
Colors exploded in front of me.
There were smells that brought a rumble to my middle part.
And surprise . . . a gurgle to my open place.
A big thing, the warmest one, heard my sound.
It screeched so loud, warm smelly matter filled a wrapping that held me.
I made the same screeching sound . . . in terror.
In my first life there were so many wonders.
And The Xanadu was an instinct deep in my awakening mind.
In my second life I invented motion with purpose.
Gone was my random flailing of before.
Everything before me I saw with astonishing clarity.
Two Big Things seemed to inhabit my world.
One was with me almost all the time. It was the warmest, softest one.
Soft One made funny noises and took away the warm smelly stuff.
This squishy, squirtie stuff seemed to surround me constantly.
The other Big Thing was scary. Hard. It made sounds that rattled my world.
Scary One came when the dark came.
Scary One lifted me high and squeezed me.
Scary One pushed hard, blunt, bony things in my middle part.
Scary One pinched, tapped and wiggled the lump above the hole in my top part.
Scary One covered my top part with a prickly wetness.
The smell, most times, was hard to tolerate.
I invented retaliation with a goop I brought from inside.
The goop smelled bad. Scary One went away. Soft One made happy sounds.
When my middle part was empty it bubbled and lurched. I made the screeching.
Soft One covered my top part with something spongy and very warm.
A hard knob was pushed at the hole in my top part.
With minimum effort warm, sweet nectar filled me.
The warm sweetness found the growling in my middle.
I was content and disappeared; quite sure I was about to find The Xanadu.
Then the warm smelly, squirtie stuff suddenly appeared.
I was back where I started. But The Xanadu was there . . . I knew.
In my third life my brain began its miraculous storage of information.
I invented learning.
It was apparent things in my world had labels.
The Soft One was Mama. But I wasn’t ready to get that all out.
The Scary One was Daaadie . . . Daaa . . .Much easier.
Scary One suddenly became Smiley One.
Growing took all my energy. My middle part grumbled constantly.
I learned my screeching sound brought immediate attention.
I learned my screeching sound brought sweet nectar; pats on the back of my middle part.
I learned my screeching brought warm, dry wrapping. In gratitude I gave my smelly air.
My screeching sound fulfilled all my desires, but it bored me. It tired me out.
To amuse myself I invented rolling.
I found the stalks on my top and bottom useful for my rolling.
Soft One made happy sounds when I rolled.
I decided to reward Soft One. I let her hear my new sound . . . Maaa.
My roll invention, with my new sound, was wondrous. Both paid great dividends.
Maaa and Daaa held me . . . Rocked me . . . Cuddled me and snuggled me.
And then I disappeared.
I think I have found The Xanadu . . . I’m safe . . . Warm . . . Content.
In my fourth life I invented invention.
My learning was rapid. I invented new things one after another.
I learned there are different sounds that describe my parts . . . My world.
I learned these describing sounds are called words.
My Being was called Body. Maaa and Daaa liked to play with its parts.
They tickled its chin, pinched its cheeks, tweaked its nose and kissed its face.
They patted its back and butt. (Daaa’s name) Bottom. (Maaa’s name).
They tickled its feet, pulled its toes. In desperation I used my screech.
My screeching, I’ve learned, has a describing sound called crying.
Crying changed my environment. Crying got me what I wanted. I used crying often.
I have recently invented coordination. It helps rolling. My rolling has led to rising up.
My rising up has led to sitting up. Moving my arms and legs has created motion.
Maaa and Daaa saw this and happily said I’m crawling.
So be it. To investigate my world I crawled.
My world was truly miraculous. Everything was strange . . . New . . . So much food.
This then was The Xanadu. This wonderful place I’ve invented for me.
Tomorrow I’d go. I would taste everything.
My body needs fuel for the task ahead. The Xanadu filled me.
The Xanadu is me . . . I am The Xanadu . . . The Xanadu must grow.
In my fifth life I invented walking.
A necessity to save my knees, hands and toes.
Necessity is The Me of invention.
During the light time I patrolled my world . . . I tasted it.
I found all types of interesting, sometimes savory, morsels in the fuzzy surface.
I found more on the shiny, hard surface.
I gathered as I crawled. When my knees, hands and toes hurt I sat. I rested.
I took this time to taste my gatherings.
Suddenly Mama was there, taking my gatherings away, shaking my hands.
Mama made a loud describing sound: NO, NO . . . NO, NO . . . NO, NO.
This was a new word . . . Loud . . . Powerful. I didn’t have an option, I cried.
At dark time I was tired from my labor. Sore from my exploration.
My stomach was full. My diaper, clean and dry.
Mama laid me in the soft place with bars and the woolly thing I can’t eat.
I was supposed to disappear, but I couldn’t.
I was infused with energy. My hands found the bars. An instinct cried: PULL.
I was upright . . . swaying, but upright. I looked down. My feet were gone.
My feet were so far away. Lost in the tangle of covering Mama calls blankie.
A new instinct showed me how to move my leg. I took a step. I fell.
I was back up in an instant. Stronger. My feet were closer. Free to move.
Holding on I stepped again . . . And again . . . And again.
I made a sound, half gurgle, half screech. I was upright. I had triumphed.
In my fifth life I invented walking . . . I AM THE XANADU . . . THE XANADU IS ME.
In my sixth life I invented reason. I used my reasoning to modify my learning.
I found my first truth . . . my world was part of a bigger world.
This bigger world lived and thrived. Not because of me, but in spite of me.
In my world, of course, I was King.
I learned there were other Beings like me.
And still other Beings like me who looked and smelled different.
I learned quickly these other Beings wanted the same things I wanted.
That was impossible. This was my world. I was King . . . wasn’t I?
I used my Power Word . . . NO, NO . . . NO, NO.
When my Power Word failed I learned about hitting. Hitting worked well . . . for a while.
I grew quickly. My reason brought me understanding. I learned I must progress.
I learned how to run, to jump and go potty. I learned to protect MY THINGS.
Finally, to my terror and dismay, I learned I must go to SCHOOL.
Here I learned the most painful truth. Here there were many Kings . . . even Queens.
My absolute rule was challenged. NO didn’t work. Hitting didn’t work.
Crying made hiccups and sometimes wet pants. I learned sharing was easier.
This existence was cruel, my importance no longer important.
I learned the bad thing that made me cry is called pain.
It came with hurts of all kinds. Cuts, skinned knees, splinters and bangs on the head.
Sickness found me. Measles, Mumps and Chickenpox assailed me.
All manner of discomfort seemed to follow and surround me. My world was gone.
Right and wrong were taught, but mostly learned by example.
Bad or good. Hard and easy. Popular and unpopular. All begged for my attention.
My reason told me all choices were important, but something was missing . . . forgotten.
My unique-ness. My special-ness slipped away. Buried by the cruelty called reality.
My reason told me I was never special. Never unique. I was not The Xanadu.
The Xanadu was never me. My reason taught me The Xanadu was . . . Never.
In my seventh life I became increasingly bored. There was nothing new to invent.
I‘d seen life’s mysteries. I’d conquered them all. I was cool. Smart. Hip.
School was the ultimate boredom. Teachers taught garbage . . . stuff that didn’t matter.
They gave homework, wasting my Hanging Out time . . . Not cool . . . not near cool.
My parents were worse. They gave me parent shit. Tried to make rules . . . I should live by?
They preached, pestered, threatened and punished. My parents were assholes . . . a pain.
Parents, teachers. Like, they’re pets sent from Hell. They feed on your misery.
They shit on your freedom. Then piss you their grief and forget you exist.
Never mind. . . How’s it going? Feel Okay? Need some help?
You too busy chasing life? DID I ASK TO BE BORN?
The coolest were my friends. Guys like me saying, What’s the big deal?
And the girls . . . Way pretty cool . . . Way maximum cool. They looked good. Looked fine.
Sometimes when they saw me they’d giggle. They whispered behind their hands.
What’s up with that? That ain’t cool, kind of put down. But sometimes one would wink.
That one, the winker, was really fine. She’d say Hi . . . I’d mumble cause I was cool.
I grew. Years passed. I found I didn’t know it all. Suddenly my reason was back.
I’d lost it somewhere during a strange time called puberty. I’d missed it not at all.
Now reason found reality. My perspective was illuminated. Education beckoned me forward.
Some teachers I learned to respect . . . those who challenged me most.
Some teachers I viewed with contempt . . . those who curried favor with gratuitousness.
My parents became loving allies . . . the wise ones . . . the two I could trust.
The Winker became a confidant, a friend. As my lover, she touched something deep in my mind.
With the sweat of her lusty body, the hot blush of our breath, an old memory found life again.
Something was out there. Something I missed. A tool to build life from the chaos.
But here and now craved the importance . . . and the flesh governed the soul.
I paused to reflect. I stopped. Closed my eyes . . . and quite suddenly forgot to remember.
For then I dreamed many dreams so sublime and I wept as I fell in love.
In my eighth life I invented a most incredible adventure.
Blithely, I performed the profound.
In my eighth life I offered my Being. I committed to no turning back.
With consent of the Winker, we married. And LIVES was BORN again.
I didn’t realize.
Life whistled by in slow motion. No time was left to take time.
My inventions were prolific. Multiplying exponentially. Each unit of time overfilled.
There were jobs, but no money. Education, but no learning. A bed . . . no moments for sleep.
I didn’t realize.
There were arguments. Fights. Mad and make up. Failures. Life’s lessons learned?
There were ragged apartments. Old junky cars. Macaroni and cheese and Spam.
There were seconds of rage. Moments of fear. Minutes of laughter. Hours of love.
I didn’t realize.
Children were born. Some good times . . . some hard. Sickness and booze and lost, scary times.
There were fun, lazy days and mean hard-work ways. Dark days of sadness . . . despair.
Yet we grew and we thrived. We were down, all around. We were boisterous and stingy too.
I didn’t realize.
Every moment of life that passed through my space was invention unique unto me.
I consciously fashioned what I would become. The triumph or loss I would taste.
All my creations, so simply made . . . I passed to the life rushing by.
I didn’t realize.
What power I held. That I wield yet today. I’m amazed I just didn’t see.
For I pull in a breath and expel the trapped air. Pushing all in the mouth for form.
Articulated by tongue, shaped on teeth and gum. These lips give birth to my destiny.
All-powerful. Invaluable. WORDS. The beginning . . . the end of us all.
YES . . . NO . . . NO . . . YES . . . I NEVER REALIZED.
In my ninth life I invented time. An intrinsically valuable most remarkable discovery.
Time makes it possible to experience, not merely live. Understand, not simply exist.
Time gives me complacency; therefore contemplation. I am free from a need to explain.
I find no desire to justify time or fill it with extraneous excuse.
My invention needs no measures to contain it. No casing of plastic or red glowing face.
Reality is here and time is life’s scavenger . . . a gift of the aged to the old.
A static marauder, but at once full of motion. This invention is maddeningly fickle.
While it gives of my memories. Adventures. Disasters. It seeks to measure my worth.
And it watches this vessel. As my life nears its brim. The cycle of participation absolute.
Through all the years my inventions were many. Drops of life in experience’s cup.
And my YES’ and NO’s still fashion the key that will open My Xanadu’s gate.
Yes, I’ve found it again. But it always was there . . . Just obscured by ego and greed.
The Xanadu is in us, a Bright Shining Energy. Pulsing clearly at birth and with death.
These pure seconds of life are the soft clay of innocence. Prepared for the fingers of God.
My newfound invention has sated my spirit. Brought enjoyment, great peace and a smile.
I FINALLY REALIZED.