5 months ago


Primitive Plainsong You

Primitive Plainsong You there, YHWH, hiding in the bush, what do you want from us? God knows we’ve tried to please you with our dancing, with our drumming, dressing up in plumage, carving out a totem, slaughtering a ram. In the jungles, by the Ganges, in the covens of the witches – through the deserts, on the mountains we have wrestled with your name. Robed and hooded we have chanted; in the midnights and the mornings we have heeded the Oremus. Homes forgotten, bodies hidden we have sought to match your humors with our psalms. You watch us make you over every day. We shape you to our needs and moods; we fashion you to fit the news, to change our health or weather.

And what of you in all of this? Ambivalent, to say the least, or do we dare, indifferent? No, not that: we couldn’t bear ~ ~ ~ We’ve taken off our shoes, “I am,” To cross the quicksand of belief. Thunder, Lightning, Wailing Wind that finds the cracks we haven’t sealed, that moans the womb to quickening. Spiral Staircase Dizzying View Back of Beyond Dark Of The Moon: you suck us down to silence and old grief. “Is anybody out there?” shouts our fist ~ ~ ~