In the well of understanding

In the well of understanding

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Tati Le Dit

My great-aunt, affectionately known as Tati, is often my confidant and conversation partner. She has an uncanny knack, which I believe I have inherited, for summarizing a situation succinctly and pointedly; and when she does I always remark to myself, "Tati le dit." (Tati said it):

On the recent flap between the Vatican and US Nuns - "The Pope had best take care with ostracizing nuns. While the Cardinals may be the princes of the Church, the nuns are the mothers; and in any culture, motherhood always outstrips other ranks in the family. His Holiness should reflect that upon resurrection His Lord appeared to women first to carry the announcement, and that at His Lord's birth a mother was required without the aid of a man."

Quillsby Quip of the Day

Says Sable Quillsby, "The Syrian government has killed and continues to kill innocents. The United States, through drone attacks and euphemistic military engagements, has killed and continues to kill innocents. There is no moral relevancy to justify and distinguish one from the other: both are equally repugnant and criminal acts against the whole of humanity. You cannot mouth the words of freedom and democracy while your right and left hands are actively participating in terrorist acts. One would have thought the Janus-head would have died in the ashes of Rome."

Monday, May 14, 2012

My Lady Has A Necklace

Inspired by Diana Wynne, a Lady of rare wit, intellect, and emotional fortitude

'Twas in the garden of friendly delights
My Lady, the Huntress, came in summer's allure;
She, who girds the Earth from her lunar abode,
Bestrode the path to the African's lair,
Darkling boots chased with fire crackling,
Each step whispering silver on verdant plane,
Bright day caressed by sinuous night

With horn upturned, My Lady, summoned with song
And I hastened to attend from my starry perch
For I yet bore the fruits of country in tribute
To her personage and fealty to her honor-
Apples of elder wisdom, oranges of blushing passion,
Resplendent pears of tart desire, purple plums of supple strength;
Her bounty near its' fullest measure in all graces save one

Longing and anticipation equally combated and
Animated her lithe glide as she sought the arbor of Love's priest
And I danced in her shadow, following on heel,
Blessing the flowers of field and larks of the meadows
Until at length we arrived at the mouth of hallowed grove
An unseen gong bellowed a welcoming call
And we entered into audience with the kindred soul within

My Lady was shown a multitude of wonders
A menagerie of assorted pleasures, but her heart
Sifted through the flour of gloss, seeking intently
Settling upon the glassy luminous stones of a sister Goddess
A gold-tipped arrow fletched, and the auric gleam upon her brow;
The music of one hunt enchanting the roving spirit of Huntress,
And a breathtaking stag of the purest yellow crept in range of her bow

Faster than a heart can beat, My Lady was in pursuit
She negotiated the terrain as the cleric shouted encouragement,
Notched the arrow of her Will, and aimed, fire alight with her skin
Ignoring blandishments of other colorful prey, she loosed the shaft
Which blazed towards the heart of the stag and struck true
And the Lady, with mercy, chanted the dirge of Ending
Transforming carcass and bone into the trophy of spoils

As was her want, she gifted the remains to the priest
And bade him work his craft upon the stones and bones
With soul and sinew he bound the elements
With heat and light he wrote the runes
The African called to witness Wind, Water and chthonic spirits of Earth
Birthing with his labors the scintillating Brisingamen
And by her divine leave clasping it around My Lady's curvaceous neck

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Familyspeak (The Beginning)

It walks amongst us and mimics

The news shocked Sere, not just by what it conveyed but how it was transmitted. He could feel the ache of detachment, almost taste the bitter, acid fluid of grief. But tears would not come, could not come. Not here. Sweat beaded on his arms, and trickled from his head, down his back, as if in answer to the moisture which hid just out of the reach of the ducts.

It walks amongst us and mimics

Thursday, March 15, 2012

A Short, Short, Short Story

Somewhere in time - certainly not the past, definitely not the present, potentially the future - a country which had come to interact with the rest of the world chiefly through its militaristic hegemony, passed new laws. After many years of the tin-eared drumbeat for warfare to create peace, of promises never realized and iniquitous perjury by the elected officials of the national government organs, the people reclaimed their power and own destiny via a populist referendum. It simply and unerringly dictated that any said officials authorizing new military engagements forthwith forfeited their standing in the body politic and entered as combatants in such police actions.

This chilled the fevered blood, and calmed the clamoring hearts of legislators to such a broad degree that diplomacy was reawakened. Their thoughts ran something like this: I am too old to fight but wise enough to know when to fight. And it was the singular characteristic of the first portion of that thought which henceforth drove their policy of warfare. Needless to state, in the absence of battle-mongering crusades, peace accrued in great measure and real attention turned to the previously obfuscated domestic matters.