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| Blogs > wickedeasy > wicked and that ain't so easy |
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You had to walk through a long tunnel held up by lichened rock, the air so damp it smelled like rain on fresh turned soil, deep, rich, alive. At the end, you pushed upward into a room of plank wood cut three foot wide, the floor only held five of the planks. If you stood more than 6 foot, the need to stoop was in your bones, though you would have cleared the ceiling, albeit not by much. Four lines of benches. A wooden cross inlaid into a simple altar of rosewood canted vaguely to the left. To walk the tunnel took faith. One did it in silence, sat in silence, in darkness until the heavy wooden door was pulled closed. Candles were lit then, the room filled with voices, hands touching other hands, assurances given, babies passed one to the next. Voices ricocheting, leaping, trapped as they were. The Lean man stood, smiling, his hands clasped tightly, his eyes searching the room until at last they came to rest on his feet. The woman in the front handed her to her man, stood, turned, notes of rich beauty flew from her, like a breeze, lifting the hair from your neck, the song lifted the notes from the breasts of the people gathered, until the room disappeared from under the tent feet of dirt that covered it, the people from the darkness of the days they endured, the men from the burden of not being able to protect their families, the women from the pain of their men. For the next hour, in this place, these people were together. When the young people left with the mother who had sung, the elders stayed on. With only 90 minutes until curfew, they fought time, laid out the maps, lists, voted. Only three of them would know all of it. They all agreed that it was better that way. Straws were drawn. It was not perfect. Two more meetings. They left in knots of two and three. The Lean Man sat alone in the deafening quiet. His heart beat strong and steady. He no longer prayed. He did what he had to. He wondered if he was insane. You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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this is Yeats Poem. it has of course inspire more than one person but I suppose Didion is the most famous. I had forgotten some of it. certain lines always stuck, like the center cannot hold. and of course the title of the blog. but now...his choice of words his placement of mere with anarchy. smh. do we ever listen? The Second Coming Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? You cannot conceive the many without the one.
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I know I've come in too early, but I think this may be a political post!  
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But in some cases it is better that the people parade their opposition openly... at least up until they have to go into hiding in order to survive and continue.  Vive La Difference
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If it weren't for Bethlehem in the title, I thought it might be about the Holocaust and one of the Jewish ghettos. But then again, I'm thinking it's something similar. . Maybe the Christians in ancient Rome. It's a sign of struggle and the determination of man when freedom is lost. ( I think ) Well done! 
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Awesome post here Wicked. It isn't as political as spunky made it out to be  hugs VBecome a blog watcher sweet_vm
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California in the 60's, Palestine currently, or outer space some time in the future? Ah, my vivid imagination, I often wander if I am insane!
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very nice. thanks for sharing! To leave private messages, please use my confidential mailbox at my blog: Good luck!!!
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I know W.S. Burroughs was very much interested in trance writing- Yeats' automatic writing. Coleridge too, especially in "Kubla Khan" claimed that it came from somewhere else and that he channeled it rather than creating it. My own attempts at it come out as parody and nonsense. Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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