Early afternoon. You two ran errands and had lunch at
Smashburgers. You are feeling better today after several days of low back pain.
– Amorella
1327 hours. My guess is that returning
to Cincinnati weather and altitude had something to do with the uncomfortable
arthritic hip joints, that and the cold front passing through as we drove on
Sunday. I will feel better getting back into my exercises and writing. In some
ways though it was rather nice taking a break. I am waiting for Carol who is in
Hallmark Cards picking up something for Linda whose birthday was Tuesday. She’ll
give it to her when they arrive Sunday. There s something about Carol’s
disorganization that I find charmingly clumsy and innocently human at the same
time. There is a culturally casually Brazilian approach to life that is very
similar, at least in my mind.
Mid-afternoon. You are about to go for a car
reading/writing time. Presently Carol is putting leaves into bags that you had
already raked into piles. You are thinking about the Brazilian Portuguese word
‘je to’ and how it is, to you, culturally untranslatable. Let’s see if we can
work that into Dead Six.
1619 hours. We spent an hour and a
half working in the yard, raking and cleaning leaves from flower gardens and
clearing out summer pots of now dead plants. Not the exercise I was expecting
to do today, but physical movement is physical movement and lifting is lifting.
It is in the fifties, which is certainly much better than working in the
forties or thirties.
You have begun work on Dead Six perhaps
we’ll complete it tonight. You have this romantic thought that somehow
humankind is missing a letter or two in its many standard and unorthodox
alphabets of the world. The argument for this would be justified if a
particular spelling would help solve some of the mysteries of the world as Mark
Twain and Jimmy Buffet have said there is a great difference between lightning
and lightning bug. Just so you know where you thoughts are coming from. And, of
course the bugaboo of particular Biblical translations (as you remember from a
religion class at Otterbein). There is a great difference in “Jesus walked in the water,” and “Jesus walked on the water.” What is that difference
in ancient Hebrew and ancient Greek? Alas, you don’t remember those differences.
Human error is certainly plausible to you, one who had judged many a human
error in the thirty-seven years of reading students’ papers, gifted students
and otherwise made the errors which were uncaught in proofreading. This makes
you skeptical of any ‘valid’ translation from one language to another. Enough
for now. Post. – Amorella
1646 hours. I cannot imagine anyone in
the world writing a correct direct translation from G---D or an Angel of G---D.
Divine Intervention, some might say, but for the human translator to remain
fully human (that is honest in heartansoulanmind) honest errors would be bound
to happen. If the gift of Free Will is real this shows that the subject to
error concept is very real. Would G---D then deny this gift in order to send a
direct angelic message? It does not make sense when taking in objective descriptions of any human mind at work.
2206 hours. I have 'rushed' into a completion of Dead Six.
***
The
Dead 6 © 2013, rho, [final] draft in GMG.One
Merlyn soon found
himself slipping into dreamtime, slipping into dreamtime, slipping, while lying
between the rock and great Oak. On introspection Merlyn considers being dead a
pleasant existence, no aches or pains unless I want them. All sensory data is
psychosomatic. I think in my native Celtic tongue but when I want to be heard I
appear to be understood by others in my presence. Irish, Latin, Greek, English,
Norse are freely translatable from one to the other simultaneously from Ogham,
the Celtic alphabet
This
alphabet has letters based on reasonably forked branches mimicking naturally
forked tree branches. Merlyn’s sometimes kenning-like poetic thoughts produce
the alpha-an-beta, and in this poesy not all the Ogham tree letters are known
to humankind, and never were, and therein the mystery lies the hidden meaning.
Once dead and now living Merlyn thinks, ‘I sound the poetry of the old letters
which are heard by the Living by their eyes alone.’ In this sounding sense the
dead within are but whispering to continually aging dilatable eyes.
Considerations may be misconstrued even before translation. Swift do
I see echoed incongruent lines, which were once the intimacy of the Bard’s
great ear in Act I, scene iii. With these three lines below and unknowing an author,
his plays or anything else but reason and imagination, recreate the entire work.
“o,
what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
. . . and I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
.
. . now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
like sweet bells jangled,
out of tune and harsh;
. . . o, woe is me,
to have seen what I have seen, see what
I see!”
Merlyn
reviews the thin and narrowed black and white. “Some facts in the world are similar
to the above literary forty-eight word slice and dice. One has the lines but no construction before or
after. No context exists but a forty-eight word observation, a momentary
reality; a sliced truth in one human being’s original moment. This is a human
metaphor of the Big Bang, the Creation as we know it. What are the
chances some other human would gather the correct coded lines before and after? What would be the pronounced purpose
and meaning? Why such a creation of wordy stars each shining its own dynamics
of light?”
Merlyn
continues, “A lot of people affected my living -- family, friends,
acquaintances, and perceived enemies. People are not an indifference to me.
Living or Dead each is a piece on the crystal board. Each is in herorhis own
squared area of consciousness or lack of it. All have a shared square area of
the same heavenly blue sky randomly decked with clouds of similar fluff.”
Two
friends float above the rest within my soul. Why? I have never known because
some friends are older, better known and deeper within. Living druidesses they
were. Each snaked and coiled her way around my very soul or so I feel this is
so, still.
Brigit
of Iona was a human reincarnate of the earlier Brigit, who was thought by some
to be a goddess. She was not. She was a female sage, a physician and a smith as
was her druidic father, who also had been a physician and a smith. I was placed
to dangle on the bottom of her moon silver charm bracelet. She stirred my fiery
passions into her hot and throaty caldron and had the summary of my Celtic
faith for an immediate dinner.
The
second was Vivian who designed a silver and golden brooch to capture my reason
with the heavy breathing in and out through her tangling net of erotic charms.
A crystallized madness she became in my imagination alone. I never touched her
nor her me. No need to touch when she was already a haunt beneath my boneless
bag. I was a sorry sack of skin with Vivian.
Both
women were equally a damnable pleasant witchery. Priestess Brigit and Priestess
Vivian druidically placed me, Merlyn, a once shining jewel, into a rolled
leathery piece of ancient pre-Celtic phylactery. Scroll-like I was wound and
unwound from mind to soul and soul to heart. Unthinkingly we became a spiritual
ménage à trois.
Merlyn peered into the elementary
considerations of his being included in the highest first order of druidic
shamans. The same druidic hierarchical setting in which he would also place
Brigit and Vivian, a position off the board, Betweeners who are Elsewhere. We
were off the Board, a trinity of consciousness outside this Creation of Light
and Thought. Outside, the whisper of missing letters and words set a chant for
uncharted dreamlands. Each segment a missing letter to a word unknown to
humankind.
778 words
***
Tomorrow you may think differently, but then how
unusual is that even if you attempt to mimic the Bard. Post. - Amorella
2209 hours. I understand my intent of this selection but the delivery comes unknown.
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