①May 25th, 2009 Here are some responses to your most recently-received complex letter.
- If I wrote as I talked: Talk about unintelligible! Or maybe telligible but vulgar, crude, rude, blasphemous low class mispronunciations, slang, colloquialisms, slurs; impenetrable (attempted) humorous asides, usually irrelevant to the primary subject. * * *
My grandmother Sybil's intellect was formed on pre-motorcar agrarian good and common sense, 'horse' sense, plant sense, no nonsense, basic-survival-of-the-fittest sense; but got swept up in the onrush of the early 20th century infatuation with the groundswell push toward 'modernization., and found herself moved to an urban scene, fresh into electrification and no more horse shit everywhere! No more having to hand wash everything, building fires to heat the water—and often having to carry the water from the well to the house—refrigeration, movies, womens suffrage. And bore her children into the new burgeoning mess of that conversion from agrarian-based to increasing dependency upon the new (flawed) system coalescing around every (urban) one's lives, as the 20th century crawled along.(Rural folk's decent-rate lapsed by the factor of a generation and more.) Hilda's intellectual-quotient got skewed by depression and war. Her 'luck' in scoring the rare secure gentleman is easily seen, from her perspective, to have been just that. But this sort of 'luck' also lent a further debilitation or retardation factor, if you will, another step removed from the golden quality (?) of (very hard physical working) agrarian horse-powered life; to where: 2nd-generation-removed me, then, was born into a world that never really ever seemed to make much of any (real) sense to my inborn agrarian spirit—until L. S. D. Alas: By then, I'd already undergone a quarter-century of urban-conditioning, propagandizing, and (only partially, then, mid-50s) dumbed down public schooling; which I now understand how its effect added another generational schism-of-retardation-quotient to 'the mix' into which you now scream the agonizing “Wha' hoppen'd?!” & got maddened . . . & then said: well, fukit then.
Although I agree with the emotion behind your stating “Reconstitution of damaged psyches is vital,” I cannot seem to sense it as being possible, no matter we could so-dearly wish it so. Irrational? Insufferable? Irresponsible? From the philosophical-perspective of sincere desire-ers-for-healing, the three above questioning judgments will be understood to be 'the right call.'But as long as all the facts are, realistically, still incompletely-understood, and the lengthy lists of extenuating circumstances are all communicated, genuinely-considered, and rationally-discussed and sorted through, can enough understanding occur for progress to have any chance at influencing the situation in the desired direction.
My recalcitrance to expend further energy on this is driven by 'buttons' having been 'pushed' too hard by a recalcitrant miss. Miss Sis and my relating, being too full of negatives for either of us to tolerate in this era of short-attention-span-theater theatrics, serves no positively-directed purpose, and therefore needs not to exist. I can live with this. I am secure; come from a confidence in my spirit that it's okay to ignore her: For 'the best' at this point-in-time. My time is whose but mine own, yes?
② Although I have only recently heard the naturopaths' verbalizing explaining that: “It's the condition of the terrain” of the human body, not the microbes, bacteria, and virus needing to be (attempted) combated by exteriorly-concocted substances; I sensed this, intuitively, over 40 years ago, now, and took appropriate action away back then. My favorite medically-themed radio talk show host—a homeopathy enthusiast—drives this home week after week with repeated reference to the nineteenth-century French medical philosopher/ researcher, Beauchamps' “It's the terrain” ideology: following that up with: There is no disease caused by a deficiency of this or that Pharmaceutical concoction.” (supports Ron Paul; drops snide asides re: fiat money and the fed.: advocates: Health freedom!)
How would you and us/ we propose going about attempting to alter Jadene's terrain? Now there's a question for the ages! What instigation/ interjection, or attempted insertion into her terrain could possibly have any potential for effecting any change in her personality in our desired direction? Come on, now: I know that you are smart . . . Where, if anywhere—which portion, part, or section of her holistic entity is vulnerable to any thrust from outside of her? Where is a weakness? And if there is one: In what way or ways might we have any chance of exploiting it advantageously?
I keep drawing blanks. There for, this suggests that this whole line of subject matter quiz seems a futile exercise. Therefore: Its discontinuance is suggested, then approved, and set into motion. A month into this mindset still hasn't freed me to any noticeable degree . . . I know that I can outwait her, and do so while calculating the gamble's potential costs versus the possibility for undesirable penalties and potential loss' significance.
Positively-termed and toned entreaty has not worked. Negatively-spewed hurtful is not a reasonable choice. Maybe neutral holds out some hope, no matter how slim the chances might seem by my doing nothing. I intend to just hold a bated, stalled out, fagged out, burnt out, squashed out, and put out breath; and remain keeping a quiet, patient posture, and await the seeming-inevitable repeat (attempted) performance . . .
A brick wall begets a brick wall. In what form should, could, or would describe the basic material(s) and shape(s) of the wrecking ball? Another blank I draw. I only love mysteries that end in a satisfying manner. The unanswerable ones must only murmur in an easy intrigue that passes through my fancy, and retires to a quietude, out of the way-forward, undisturbed, remote.
This mystery is an unlovable one, grounded in some rather too-profound confusions for this one sensible sensitive's soul/ spirit to accept that I just absolutely must endure. For all that I may know is truth, my brain-capacity is small. So small that this unknowable solution to the key(s) to unlock the mystery that is Jadene is best left to brains mightier than mine. A cop out? Easily: One judgment. I certainly have backed out; and intend to keep my 'hands' and brains off, and my pen, printer, and mouth shut until something 'GIVES.' Am I a nutcase? I think not. I think not.
(this transcribes my pen-scribbled letter-of-response to Jerit letter rcvd May 20 to where pg#7 of that letter begins)
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