Tuesday, January 24, 2006

heaven's just a thin blue line

"but it was a valley of mere earth, rock and water; there was not a tree, not a bush, not a blade of grass to be seen. The earth was of many colors; they were fresh, hot, and vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the singer himself and then you forgot everything else." the magician's nephew, cs lewis

you did it once before, in the beginning. i know you did. the genesis. oh god, darwin. reading glasses. monkey trials. seven days. laugh at it or shake your head. the beginning that everyone has something to say about. stupidity for the academic. magnifigence for the preacher. more work for the ecologist. bewilderment for the i-always-grew-up christian. but what for those dear desert people, corners of mouths still cracked from sandstorms or from telling too many secrets under tables about earth rich countries. maybe they heard words about a land they knew well after working it through their dirty fingers, black fingernails.back bent. maybe they heard the thick hebrew of a land that was uninhabitable, uninhabited (because this is more close to the true translation) and sighed, ah yes, one man might nod, theres a desert like that just past my fields, that heat sin struck sand ocean never returned my son last spring. maybe they heard out of the oh so monotheisticly odd sentences, god. out of his charred, slated, stub of a world. over his now broken damaged delight of a people, deciding of all things, to do good. there in the beginning. or there in the middle, desert fire ash to his right, tree roots and rubber tires towards his left. to something good, because, god knows, desert people know, its about time. and reading the scratched out story, maybe they thought to themselves, or whispered under tables, but it makes sense to us.

*photograph by carlos mesquita


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