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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    ...Created 2018-06-10 16:29:56

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    The afternoons grew heavier now. Looking out the door of the church, Barley could see the roofs of houses disappearing in the haze that the late summer made over all of the village. Whatever it was that lived in there, he told himself, I would like to make myself a part of it so that I could rise over the buildings and conceal all of it for as long as my body would hold. The church was quiet in the interval between people’s needs. He had thought that giving himself to what lingered of God on earth would be the surest way to feel what it was like to be haze or dust or all those things that masked the truth of matter. He wasn’t sure if he was right, but he also knew now that he’d never know. How had God told him? It was nothing so grand as Martin Luther, but still, when the remembrance of it came over him, he could almost forget the ways he wanted to be transparent and able to touch everything and nothing all at once. He sometimes imagined that that was what it was like to be God. That God continued to look in on him because he wanted to know what it was like to touch the earth as Barley did.

    God had told him, well, he had allowed the trees to tell him one afternoon, what it was like to be in Eden first. He told him how Adam had risen from the ground as a dust that transformed into mist and spread itself over the entire perimeter of the garden. And in that interval where he was everywhere and nowhere, Adam had attributed each living thing with a name that seemed most suitable from its feel. Adam had touched every living thing, but it wasn’t enough. Barley thought it would be enough for him— that he wouldn’t need a woman if he could know what it was like to be a part of everything. He would be satisfied. The steeple bell pealed out directly above him cooler than the brook that ran behind the church. He always thought of the bell like water coursing through the town and shocking the people out of whatever idleness they were entertaining. He looked back fondly on the days when it had been his duty to pull the dry-flax rope and send the water roaring down to wake those dead in thought.

    But those days were over now. Pastor Jan had seen the Adam-look in his eye one morning after ringing, and couldn’t rest until he found out what it was that made his face have the presence of the north star, as he called it. Barley knew what he meant, but also didn’t, the same way as he felt when he thought about being that haze above the town. He couldn’t tell the pastor anything, so for fear that Barley were being pulled out of the garden of purity, pastor pulled him, first, into the service of the townspeople. “One cannot go wrong when one is holding God’s candle and leading other’s through the dark passages of their lives,” said Pastor Jan. Of course this was how he had understood it, but he hadn’t seen what Barley had seen up on that hill above Borrister, where the oaks and pecans spread out like a legion of angels and covered the earth so tightly they blocked out all sun. He hadn’t seen what God had shown him about Adam, and heard Adam’s voice clear as a dawn chorus taking on the voice of every living bird. Barley knew something that even the pastor didn’t know, but until he knew how to find his way there, he had decided to come to the church every morning to hold the candle and pray for the people who didn’t until the last bell rang for the evening.

    ...Created 2018-06-10 16:29:35

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

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    January 10 07
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