some more inner thoughts

PSYCHOANALYSIS REVISITED

A series of inner thoughts about

Myself and everything, I think…

By Izzy Ess of Peacefulness

I cook, but do not follow recipes,

Except my own.  I think I’m good because

I’ve never poisoned anyone, as far

As I know.  Now, I’d like to speculate,

I write and speak well with some interest to

some readers and some listeners, but I’ve

Just noticed that my kith and kin, and the

Majority of neighbours, quite refuse

Outright or press delete or say that I

Should stop my talking, apparently considering

Me out of line and unpredictable

And bound to say and write things that displeasure

Them.  The recipe I use for straight

Communicating is like my approach

To cooking: Everything goes in the mix,

Including kitchen sinks.  At 5 and 70,

I’ve ceased to worry, seemingly.  My talking

And my writing represents my spirit

And my mood, my creativity

And smarts, my failing memory and personality,

Which tends to telling stories with some drama,

Histrionically, and to mixing

Things in novel ways, sometimes re-duplicating

Writers who have come before.

I like to think I’m sensitive to world

Events, religious thinking and some politics,

And family intrigues.  I like to think

I rhyme and rhythm fairly well, a mix

Of Willie Shakespeare and our Dr. Seuss.

I like to think I was an athlete, once.

Conceding that my thinking may be faulty

And illogical, at times, I’d like

To think I’ve gained some insight in my aging

Years and recognize, there’s nothing new

Under the sun.  In fact, I think the ancients

Of Peru were greatly more advanced

Than “us,” in 2013, especially

The “us” that’s raised the carbon levels, in

The air and water and just everywhere

To higher than it was in ages of

The dinosaurs.  I’d like to think that I’m

The one in my own generation that

Has had to fight and win with the Superior

Spirit, but limps away disabled

As a punishment for arguing

And winning over Him.  The best line is

From “Fiddler on the Roof,” where Tevyeh

Looks up to Heaven and says this: “I know

That we’re the chosen ones, but couldn’t you

Have chosen someone else?”  My dad had quoted

Him from “Die Milchecher,” a play he saw

Produced in old Toronto, in the early

20^th new century.  My dad

Was burdened by the usual, as well

As me and his unfortunate dysfunctional

Young wife who were extremely moody,

Argumentively so talkative,

So very bright and histrionic, eh?

While in the presence of my brother, our

Old dad at 80+ lamented that

He was a Martyr to have tolerated

Mom.  In a response to my “dumb” question

Of why he didn’t come to see me playing

Basketball, or not attending graduations,

He became quite angry, shouting,

“Who could live with you?!”  Indeed!  Who could?

My kith and kin treat me as if I have

Communicable diseases.  Perhaps,

I have.  Perhaps, I would contaminate

Their minds with notions that their Gods are false

And quite misleading with regard to happiness

And laughter, stimuli and joyous

Musical responses.  It is really

“Biblical,” and “Freudian.”  Both Old

And Newer Testament believers are

Encouraged not to listen to opposing

Notions of their dogmata.  If someone

Dares to persist, or tries to persuade a

True believer, he is to be run through.

Perhaps, I’m lucky no one has just run

Me through, though socially, they have.  So be

It.  Essentially, I, myself, have made

My bed and sleep in it.  My choosing to

Do otherwise is psychologically

Unhealthy for me.  The consequences

Are quite clear to me at my advancing

Age and creeping, comforting senility.

I don’t remember well the details,

But I make up stories to refill

The gaps.  For many years I thought I had

A cousin Shloime only to be told

I had no cousin Shloime, nor a person

That resembled him, and truly, I

Was shocked and shaken to be forced to face

The facts that I confabulated cousin

Shloime to explain my attitudes

Toward my God and other Gods, like Jesus

And the Holy Ghost.  I must have tried

Accommodation to the stilted world

Of schedules and the dogmata.  My first

Wise shrink once asked me how I a Jewish boy

Had taken on such Protestant work ethics,

Eh?  In retrospect, I was surrounded

By the Protestants of Hamilton,

Ontario, and Canada, in general,

Who seemed to be successful in

Accumulating wealth by working hard

And keeping quiet, when to play is what

I truly wanted and the words kept coming

Out my mouth.  I do remember telling

Jokes my father told me and I still

Remember them.  The jokes and stories and

The legends were abundant in my books

And even in my Pentateuch.  The Pentateuch

Is better than the Soaps, to which

We all did listen on the radio.

The Pentateuch tells all the allegories

Of the Elders and the Rabbis and

My dad and mother who had learned from grandparents,

I’d really never met.  While worshipping

Is not my thing in Synagogues,

The stories I find fascinating.  In

The Book of Genesis,   the folks were like

All folks who sang and danced and fretted and

Prevaricated and showed greed and lust

And sloth and everything.  It seems to me

The heroes of the legends of the aboriginals

Are those who were the leaders

Of the families who were like yours

And mine, so long as they did not pursue

The artificial goals of making wealth

By cutting down the trees and making holes

And sucking up the oil and gas and burning

Everything.  Oi vey!  It is so simple

That it hurts.  And, Jesus said it all

In simple sentences.  He didn’t talk

Of getting even.  Au contraire, He talked

About forgiveness, love and peace, like elders

Of the ones who were the natural

Inhabitants, the poor and disenfranchised

Multitudes who starve to death while others

Hoard their wealth.  It is so simple, isn’t

It?  And yet, it is so hard to be

So generous, in giving up the precious

Gold and silver pieces and the time

And energy it takes to guard them.  In

The quest for wealth, there’s all the seven sins,

In evidence: the gluttony, the sloth,

The greed, the lust, the pride, the envy and

The anger.  And, there is no love for neighbours,

No forgiveness of their trespasses,

No true acceptance of the Loving Jesus

Who did sacrifice his life to save

Us all.  John Lennon sang it soulfully.

“Imagine!” he did sing, if Jesus had

The final word and all the people would

Be happy and in peace.  Our Martin Luther

King made history in telling of

His dream for all of us to live together,

Peacefully, despite our different coloured

Skins.  Mohamed lauded Jesus for

The Muslims and Mahatma Gandhi risked

His life by starving for a plea for feeding

Starving people, everywhere.  Amen.

My cousin Shloime may exist somewhere,

In some invisible dimension, there.

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

July 19, 2013