Friday, December 2, 2011

Blah blah blah.  The heart of the matter won't be found in prior posts. That would be the missing maturity of the personality pounded out on the anvil of youth in four seasons and seven years.   7 years on the  line while others had to grow up, came and went, or were already grown, too far to play at life in a make believe place.  Oh, Skip and Dick, my mentors, might have had a moment of envy (did you all?), but they had found their work in challenges more realistic, with tools and abilities equal to greater goals than mine.  Jeff did.  George did. Russell and the Bay area gang, Bob and the Tuscon gang.  And I'm happy to hear Bruce did, Kit did, and most of all Tony. They said thousands had come by '78 .  Some are too personal to list, and that would take all night.  It needs doing by me though.  I wonder sometimes if Ron the baker was not the greatest of all next to Mary and Roger and Tomiaki, anonymously and unheralded giving me luxury not dreamed of in the world.  I have not forgotten and miss it every day I have to eat bread from a store.

So the  analysis below is an interesting but not deep enough explanation of missing elements.  One can say war babies like me never grew up.  It is telling to me in light of the reasoning that undergirded my work at the time and since that I consciously broke off but a fragment of the male archetype, the Shaman, and this oversimplified, ignorant fragmentation, was a poison pill the great generalist and synthesis maven that I styled myself swallowed.  It will be a miracle if such a knucklehead can return from this maze and become the adult demanded by our teacher as the requisite of citizenship. There is a rumor that such creatures enjoy collaboration (rightfully earned by competition).

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