not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

ambition


the beggar stoops shoddy in the shards of his clothes, his body the hollowed out gourd of hunger much like his bowl, which each (body and bowl) have been sculpted from the whole with one fine sweep of a sharp implement. 

god stands very much like a man with a cast black pot but unlike a man he has no hunger, no yearning, and the pot is not heavy for him.  sadly, he turns out three small stones into the beggar's outstretched bowl. 

the man doesn't want to be unkind but his stomach rumbles.  from his pit of ingratitude (which is really misunderstanding) he says, but god, i'm hungry.  i can't eat these stones. 

to which god says, i know.  i'm sorry.  instead, keep them warm.  this is to be your life's ambition.

but the beggar is stricken with pain and asks over the roil of his rumbling stomach, but god, are we not speaking the same language?  do you not understand me?

to which god answers more quietly but with great love, schizlops.

21 comments:

  1. What a situation! I don't know whether to laugh or cry for the beggar, for a god who is obtuse, for language that fails to communicate, for everything we face.....

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    1. oh, but rosaria, poor god, who lacks the means of communicating to us exactly. or rather, poor us, who lack the means of understanding what is communicated. ya, this. (and poor god, for not experiencing what it is we do inside all of our yearning and pain, all of our moments of rising to satiation and joy.)

      but what if god had given the beggar pot roast? one meal and then what? instead, such sustenance in love and desire.

      but no, rosaria, it is not easy... and for that we should love both god and the beggar.

      xo
      erin

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  2. Replies
    1. and i laugh, dirk, at the coincidence of language, good or well in Norwegian containing god. is this so? can i trust goggle translate?

      takk))

      xo
      erin

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  3. no offense... i love your words... but this image should stand alone. it's too much for more... staggering.

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    1. steven, i never know... certainly the moment was.

      and the wind was so cold but with such warmth in the coming together.

      xo
      erin

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  4. i agree, the photograph tears me to pieces, it is too much. i want to face it alone, no words, nothing, but darkness around it...

    (this being said, the words are fabulous too, they deserve an entire post just for them - and i have a poem in romanian that echoes it, i will send it to James for the translation)

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    1. i can't understand the wealth i have in such moments... i can't. i can't.

      i don't know how else to respond. words vanish.

      xo
      erin

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  5. i see tenderness, small and delicate in the vastness.

    we must take care of what we've been given. to keep three stones is an awesome task; one never completed. what a blessing! a three-stone-blessing. now, let's give the poor man something to eat, for one cannot live on stones alone.

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  6. i forgot a couple of things. always the fool, i would probably eat the stones, or, wisely, store them in my mouth, for safekeeping. not sure which. and, most importantly: this is wonderful, both the picture and the words.

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    1. i was surprised when you suggested we feed the beggar. what a feast in the stones, even if only in the hand or the mouth. for a moment i though you had bumped your head:) but then you came back and i smiled. and we tried to have a conversation together but with my mouth full of stones and your mouth full of stones our conversation was too difficult to understand. but oddly enough between our words our sounds converged and i thought for a moment i almost heard, schizlops:)

      xo
      erin

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  7. Utterly primordial and essential. Staggering, really.

    The image carries me to other worlds, and inner worlds — deep, dark worlds of promise.

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    1. jesus, ruth, something happens here, deep, dark worlds of promise. there is a marriage between things which we might intellectually feel are opposed, deep and dark words, and promise, but actually it is the union that we are looking for in our souls, the place well beyond language.

      such days... such arrangements of clouds and vast emptiness and the appearance of man... such times... i don't know how i might have crawled up the steps of such a church.

      xo
      erin

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    2. The body is dark ... and full of promise ... you taught me that. xo

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  8. Dios chochea, ¿qué quiere decir schizlops?
    Un abrazo

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))