Always the allusive contortions, her veiled disguises -
the communications conveyed between the lines
of something altogether different; the other than -
through metaphors of being, and metonymies of lack.
- The Fool
- photo artist unknown
They built a prison for their god out of stone, wood, and colored glass, and they confined their god inside.
They came and sang songs to Him on Sunday, and forced Him to forgive their sins: their dishonors, falsehoods, petty thefts, and adulteries. He was made to bless their children while they killed the children of others in His name. He was forced to consecrate their marriages, and to allow for their dissolutions. He was made to watch as the plate passed from hand to hand to hand…year after year.
But He was a wily jailbird. He became a hardened con. He purloined a spoon during a Sunday tea, and removed a tile from beneath the altar. Slowly - spoonful by spoonful – He began to tunnel, seeking a way out. He worked at night when the guards were lax, when they thought He was sleeping.
Night by quiet night, He excavated beneath the conjectures constructed to confine Him, until He undermined the faulty foundations of the form that held Him.
And on that night, it all came tumbling down, and their god escaped with a deafening sound…
- The Fool
- photo by Cyril Campbell
A. J. had formulated a thousand different scenarios, and they all required a leap of faith. There were just too many variables involved, with combinations tending toward infinite possibilities. It was beyond A. J.'s ability to order and control. He had to trust in his objective, and hold to a belief that things would work out.
A. J. chuckled to himself. So like the Fool of the Tarot. It was as if he had been a querrant and had drawn the card. He was one step from the precipice and the vertigo of freefall, at point zero - the Fool's number - restarting, and on his way to a new beginning. And like the Fool, with just his rucksack, A. J. carried all he needed - to do, or be - in his own being. All he lacked was the dog as a travelling companion. It was an apt metaphor for the moment - it was as if someone were writing his script.
A. J. surveyed what was before him. There was no easy way. There never was. You can never be sure except in hindsight: folly or wisdom; disaster or success; destruction or creation; ruin or transformation. And it doesn't really matter, not when you are willing to risk all for something. There is only the objective.
"Trust," he whispered, "and belief." A. J. closed his eyes, and with a knowing, and a logic beyond reason, he took the next step.
- The Fool
- photo by Rodney Smith
There is a certain part of each
that stands apart, irrevocable -
that goes beyond the rhyme
of anything that can be said,
that goes beyond the reason
of any truth that can be known -
something that all others lack,
and no mirror can ever grasp.
- The Fool
- photo artist unknown
even when
it has been
received
the truth
is not easy
to recognize
- The Fool
- photo artist unknown
The chapters expunged
and the pages rewritten –
the text of the unconscious
beneath the spectacle of truth -
can still be read elsewhere:
in the symptoms of the body,
in the stock of memories,
in the heroic retellings,
in the mannerisms, crude wit,
and paper-thin traditions,
in the deft distortions made
by the edits and revisions,
in the words that are chosen,
and in the silences in between,
over amber waves of grain;
under my country tis of thee.
- The Fool
- photo artist unknown
...stopping is not arriving. To stop is to stay a million miles from it and to do nothing is to miss it by the whole width of the universe.
Taking into consideration what might happen only immobilized A. J.
From seeds of solitude
sown deep within us
the grace of an other
fecundates flowering.
- The Fool
- photo artist unknown
the rhythmic
undulations
of your body
give form
to the hunger
i have for you
like waves
cascading
to the shore
in response
to the moon’s
attraction
- The Fool
- photo Reflection - Flickr
i know what it’s like
to be a mountain
to feel the winds
carry me away
breath by breath
year after year
the subtle erosion
of my essence
i know what it's like
to be a mountain
- The Fool
- photo Windstorm on McKinley Bradford Washburn 1942
there is meaning
in scission,
in the break,
in the spaces
(__________),
in---between…
...and punctuation
is of great import -
the connections,
and the tethers -
the comma
being kinder
than a period
.
- The Fool
They no longer believe
in the aggregate, in unity -
everything is disparate,
shattered, and partial.
They no longer believe
in moments before and after -
nothing primordial
or promised to come.
They no longer believe
in maps demarcated with colors -
just dull grayed contrasts
of chiaroscuro shadows.
They no longer believe
in connective certainties -
only continual detachments
and gaps of disjunction.
They no longer believe
in anything but disbelief –
the voices echoed in the rifts,
in the spaces in between.
- The Fool
- photo by Mishra Gordon
- The Fool
A. J. walked for days until he came to a small village. He met a man with a jackhammer, reducing the remains of a statue to rubble. The jackhammer made a lot of noise as the man chipped away at the rock. There was no sign of a statue proper, just the last vestiges of a foundation, and some surrounding debris. The man was sweating profusely. He stopped working as A. J. approached.
A. J. asked the man about the statue. He wanted to know more about it - what was it a statue of, and why was it being removed? The worker told A. J. that he really didn’t know anything about the statue's history. He had only been hired out of the union hall that morning on a short call. He said that the piece of rock he stood upon was pretty much what he found when he came to work.
The worker went on to say that the statue was probably built and toppled many years ago. He told A. J. that building and toppling statues once made for quite the past time. He chuckled, and asked A. J. what he thought about people who built statues - or those that took them down. A. J. had never thought about such things before, and had no reply.
“All of their efforts to help pad my paycheck and feed the kids,” the worker proffered. He squinted at A. J. and added, “Perhaps one of your ancestors built this statue.”
Then the worker laughed, and returned to his task. A. J. shuffled on.
- The Fool
- photo by Stanko Abadzic
All is conjunction
everything connects
"and..."
"and then..."
"and then..."
the continuity of flow
each finds their placement
in the production of God.
- The Fool
A. J. knew there was something in his experience that determined his apparent schizophrenic behavioral patterns; the slippages- the assumptions of roles revealed through his humor, art, poetry, and writing. He'd admitted long ago to having a whole kingdom-phylum-class-order-family-genus of related symptoms. Everybody had them in some degree. Only the extremes were ever considered mad. And to paraphrase Thoreau, Pity the poor madman, he never sees himself as such.
A. J.'s schiz flows could also be traced in his assumption of roles, his traits, that which he called upon to venture over the wall- the cast of hero, rogue, fool, and Prodigal Son - all the seekers of transformation. He knew what he was about. He also knew what he was about to do - even if it was rather out of character for most. His doctor would understand:
"It would appear that once precipitated into psychosis, the patient has a course to run. He is, as it were, embarked upon a voyage of discovery, which is only completed by his return to the normal world, to which he comes back with insights different from those of the inhabitants who never embarked on such voyage. Once begun, a schizophrenic episode would appear to have as definite a course as an initiation ceremony - a death and rebirth...What needs to be explained is the failure of many who embark upon this voyage to return from it."
Indeed. His doctor would understand. A. J. smiled. He had an appointment to keep.
- The Fool
- excerpt Gregory Bateson - introduction to Perceval's Narrative: A Patient's Account of His Psychosis.
- photos by Rodney Smith
A. J. sat down in order to better assess the current situation. There was a lot to consider. He pulled out his biggest magnifying glass for clarity.
Things were different. A. J.’s trip over the wall had changed him. He’d lost all sense of connection with his surroundings. It didn't feel like home anymore. He felt like a foreigner on the estate. Worse, he felt like a prisoner. And A. J. realized that the restrictions that held him in check were of his own doing. He needed a plan for escape.
A. J. sat for a long time. He thought and thought, until there was nothing left to think about. It was then that he decided it was time to do something. He knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. He knew what he deserved. He had his work cut out for him.
A. J. determined he would need some tools. He put down his magnifying glass and headed for the shed. He would need the big hammer for this job. Making a door in the wall was not going to be easy.
- The Fool
- photo by Rodney Smith
