I Am Not Hamlet

Old Flatt is as dead as a drywall screw.  My father is dead.  I'm not sure when it happened, but I believe it was sometime last fall.  I don't know what happened; I only found out about it in a Facebook post.  No one told me.  No one has yet told me.       I believe I've revealed on this blog about my origins: that the man who holds  held the title of father to me only did so because he was a rapist.  Someone who claimed to be a good friend to my mother chose to take his anger and God knows what other thoughts and emotions he couldn't handle out on my mother by asserting his sexual power.  His fecundity was forced rather than as a loving act of self-donation.      Which brings up a side point.  I can't tell you how prickly I get whenever I hear some pro-abort talk about the importance of being able to kill the  Lebensunwertes Leben .   I get, more than most men, the pain and shame a woman r...

Tonight, I make first reconciliation (or confession for the way backs).  I feel dread, partly of the unknown, partly of bringing things to light that crave the darkness.  I pray for courage to peel back the skin to the skull, for the pus to make its way out to be destroyed by absolution.

Nine credits away from a Master's degree and I'm taking Restoration Ecology. I had to write my profs, yes! there are two, and briefly explain why I'm taking the class. I mentioned I was interested in the notion of reconcilation and that "Restoration Ecology" appears to fit somewhere in there. I surprised myself with that one. Restoring ecosystems to a state, not in the past--impossible to do anyway, where they can reach equilibrium and growth is very much like what happens with human relationships that are damaged. This stuff is fairly useful I'd say.