Serendipitous as we are, humans are relatively dry creatures, Gods image nonetheless, like the muster of so many riggings, as my father used to say, so far from the sea, as we vacationed in the town of my faraway youth, in Sedan, France. The blunting currents of gathering inlets would force a sudden calm along the rivers edge, and we would speak among the halo of stars, as if the rainbow we never saw at day wanted some indelible echo or shade to cudgel us into a more explicitly rural, pastoral mood. I never needed the help of sublunary intercession to love my father. His ships danced in my head that no appropriation could incite or detract. Maximillian Pruchegot, my father, made straits through atolls and African marshes all the way to the isthmus of Hormuz, by way of his 48 foot schooner with Messerschmidt engines, he would say to me as he dreamed of the next, his next generalcy. This difference in textures, Drownan also emphasized to instruct me, according to the ways of the One, Christ, the Redeemer, the Messias; He would intermittently deny and accept divinity like Peter before thePyramid of Cestius at the eastern gate of Rome, trying to slip away from his destiny, only to be stopped on the road by the apparition of Christ and asked Quo Vadis. The fear of Peter is in all of us. It is not easy to deny ourselves in this life, but what long remembered fame will guide egos death in the new world to come!; and leave us a prophet amongst poets and Woman and Saints in directions of infinite existence, Jesus called paradise and my father called the eternal blue.
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 14:14:26 +0000
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015