Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Words Play Favorites

Salt, which has a restorative property. Afternoons, which don't. Or the answer included the word "holy," which was to be distinguished from "sacred," which was overused and thus stripped of meaning. Or so the thoughts seemed, as he walked along the road waiting for the sun to rise, all the stars above him flickering like holes in a fabric. Do not, in other words, play favorites.

Another way of saying it was to ask what possible relationship could exist between preference and truth? Because, as every cat knows, if you can say it two different ways, it isn't true. The salient hoops were chakras and we ascended through them effortlessly, regardless of all our mistakes. Jesus was silent (or so I thought.) Baking bread brings more than just flour and water and salt together.

Naps, homemade sauerkraut, more tea than a marching army could drink (yet we too are on the move, no?) We play games while our minds are elsewhere - particularly when awaiting news from the doctor. Which is to say? The growth of cucumbers is astounding and the early fall air - as night falls, as horses are put up in the barn - braces one for a later cold. Must we always be in a state of preparation?

Yet after, I was okay - I was more than okay - and to witness I rose and began cooking. Jesus watched from the corner, reminding me - though I recall it only now in the writing - not to disregard Crossan so quickly. The voice competes with other voices until you realize that the other voices are a dream, a hallucination made solely to obscure the one, the first. You do indeed come to mind! The answer is there was no question with which to begin.

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