The writer attempts to retreat from the world in prayer when dreams intervene and the struggle begins, between the conscious and the unconscious, between thought and imagination.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen All men along the waters edge, the drowning tractor wheels in mud, Go slow, back where we came, pray to the creeping poison vines.
Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae, et in Iesum Christum, Filium Eius unicum.
“Bless you. They say the baby will die.” Last rites, mother. “What is his name? Where is the father? Where is Michael?” The hospital light. Barren windows. “Call him Peter”.
Dominum nostrum, qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine, passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucifixus, mortuus, et sepultus, descendit ad infernos.
“The father’s name is Peter. His name is Peter.” My brother’s bones dug up, ground up, and buried naked, empty, in the tomb with a magic marker name.
Tertia die resurrexit a mortuis, ascendit ad caelos, sedet ad dexteram Dei Patris omnipotentis, inde venturus est iudicare vivos et mortuos.
Three times ‘round, finished my plate of peas, in a dismal light. “Oh, father, where is this place in the land of thunder and of rain Where the snake weaves its way by my feet?”
Credo in Spiritum Sanctum, sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem, vitam aeternam. Amen.
The mother at 2 pm, when the silence starts. The plane of infinite space. I eat cookies and sit with the great navigator. Grandfather holds me tight. The red oak, gripping my pack, waiting.
Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. I am not so naive as not to know This road, gravel, bitter, trying to keep you near me.
Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.
Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,
et dimitte nobis debita nostra . This pitbull ripping
at my sleeve. Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem,
sed libera nos a malo. Amen.
The flaying vines, plastic pines of love, Respighi’s Fountains. My arms outstretched, and lying On the road. Time to face the drill, and the grey pain.
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.
Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Morningside, and low hanging fruit.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus,
nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen. Saturnated in torential love, I read your lips and say good night.
Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto.
Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper,
et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Cold, cool steps
down from the burning garden. In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran in the step gardens, the log bridge, and the deer flies,
through caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea. And the piercing light and the thirst that rises up, Requiem aeternam
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Requiescatant in pace.
Amen.
Strange, and unedifying. Some, though, assume that which is strange and unedifying "must have some secret measure of edification, for otherwise it would be too strange, and it couldn't possibly be a bunch of meaningless drivel, could it?"
The SUPERIOR RELIGION of TEMPLISM plays so such tricks. A man as UNACCEPTABLE as yourself is more than welcome to it.