“Once upon a time when we all lived in the woods…”
So starts a book that I read infrequently but the words remain imprinted. Faery tales, legends, truths and lies from the moment man looked from sun to moon and wondered how and why…those things were once my diet, whole. The same story, over and over, with local embellishments for flavor. And every one of them thinks they have the only answer.
“I see the first ones lately much more clearly
Spilling blood along the turning ground…”
There is so much window dressing on the myths that it is impossible to see the original. It became so confused when man decided to use it – to become the intercessionary. I was a precocious child. I needed my own answers and one tome led to another so that I could peg a thing – a symbol – from its innocent beginning to its warped tenet. It was important to me that I know. No mysteries permitted. And I sought all manner of knowledge.
In time, I came to see that it isn’t what you name a thing but what you do with it. No need to call it God if you prefer to see it in the love of your dog. No reason to dress on Sunday if you hear the hymn of the forest. It is a quest to name the ineffable, a desire for a preview of what we will never know. And with all that busy preoccupation we leave ourselves vulnerable.
“…Gabriel before me…Raphael behind me…”
The earth will spin, we will come and go, and what matters is what we do and who we are. So as we round the curve into the new year and the trials to come Remember Grace.
Addendum: I wrote the above before finding the excellent post from the lovely Joan. Damn, but she’s so much better at this…