Super-Natural
This is a little something I wrote as a possible introduction to the novel manuscript I’m working on. I’m still up in the air about including it, but it touches on one of the major themes of the work: resurrection.
The reason for This, which may or may not matter:
The essence of what it is to be human stems from a very basic act and the logic, we as people, associate with it. Being human involves little more than picking something up, moving it, and remembering having done so. For example, mud is loaded into a wheelbarrow and is barrowed to a slab alongside a furnace–the furnace having been constructed from moving a lot of things and remembering to do so–where the mud is shaped into blocks and then baked in the furnace to make bricks. The bricks are then moved somewhere and turned into a building. Repeat, and you have a city with a lot of brick buildings.
And on a Sunday drive, you might pass through that place with those things you moved–most likely intentionally because it’s nice to see you did something once–and will point and say to your child–daughter for the women, son for the men, brickmovers all–“I built that,” which is more or less accurate.
The logic of your pointing finger that makes you human–and yes, me too–is that what you’ve done has resulted in something. Either individually, or as a part of the human collective, people assume that they tend towards something. But something once moved will undoubtedly be moved again. Think of it as lateral gravity (which is again, only essentially accurate). Contrastingly, to be a universe is to have made everything from scratch. And to be a god is to be residual. Somehow, without really doing anything, whatever you’ve moved will be moved again through the unavoidable effects of lateral gravity, but will undoubtedly be moved back again. Your deeds and self will not just be remembered–they’ll keep happening. At least, that’s the general idea.
(s)laughter
Because we should take chances,
and try to get into as much trouble
as we can handle, at all times:
I have stood at the precipice of my days
and watched men and women become consumed
by the potential of what they could be.
All so keen to be the Renaissance children,
wanting to please everyone and be good at everything,
making a land of middle-placed folk,
yelling their heads off at the absolutes
that strangle them in their sleep,
while they are unable to be absolutely anything.
Finnegan’s Wake
“Finnegan’s Wake”
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.
–Plato
To everyone out there who ever
believed against their neighbor:
one day you will wake up
and see a dying deity hanging before you,
and you will want to know
what it feels like,
what it tastes like–the way a resurrection really feels.
You will find that sometimes the painkillers
only make the pain worse.
And that we all have our own reasons to hope,
but they’re harder to cultivate
than faith, or community, or sobriety.
And you’ll want that to,
the chance to tend towards an end,
to be significant.
Here She Be -- The Battlements 