tents – 2/16/14

From some recent writing on Paul, mixing in the Phaedrus:

 

He is already beautiful

Born then basketed

Treasure in transit

Mouth of a river, and

The way the world look to his forming eyes swimming

World, swimming eyes

Not ready

The moon is getting farther, brighter, yielding yellow, baby jaundice pushed

Aside; silence is aside and

Peace is sustainable doubt

Will you kill me too?

Now he is consenting

Saul, to one side

The tent of the wrong god

Now he is consenting to his death

To be saved, you need a basket, it seems

 

Column of fire column of smoke – One

Illuminates, one obscures – same thing; you follow both

Waving to the old men across the diner

Well, you are an old man

Smoke comes and takes us as story takes characters away in the Bible. Story is a thief whose trick is indirection, takes empathy away, killing a character at a time. You know and feel less, the more story

 

Minneapolis cold

Breakfast is safety

He held their coats

He is very beautiful

He held their coats

He is very beautiful

 

Where’s the horse, where are the horses? The horse

Is your certainty. If you ride a horse versus drive a team –

You will be unseated in this story. He

Rode the horse of desire. Held

Their coats. In one coat he found a jackknife, a cup; en every coat, more rocks

Where he was an old man and his flesh needed tending, needs

Reading, needed cutting like a book. Came

To find one thing – an ending, which is always a dream meaning: desolation

He comes to take it all, to take it all away

 

That a people not be destroyed: we sustain paradox

If I have a body, I am resisting light

In what ways do we consent to evil?

Not by stoning

But by holding

 

The promise is outside. You have a way

Out, a river, and your imagination (your

Reason) is a basket. Reason is imaginary

In Antioch they are first called Christians

It is in the nature of light that anything

Can approach it; it can withhold itself from nothing –

It is all motion-to

 

This morning I had enough food. I was not in trouble when I reached for it, I was safe. I had water to wash a pot, a bowl, a spoon… and places to put these things, places to go. Given his bounty, won’t I give away? First, can’t I admit that I have privilege enough to make space, to empty a space? This activates my will, gives it license to move out of me. First: don’t have. Then: give the rest. The will is public property. (Adrienne Kennedy)

Be astonished and die

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