The mat we pray on is made of the same fundamental fibers; our governments, our churches…all came after the food and the drink.
We were first filled by beast and berry. We worshipped them — their giving of strength and clarity, and it was for them, in their fundamental and objective importance, that we first took time out to draw and write and build.
Millennia have passed and the antediluvian world of innocence and truth have given way to a cynical, warring one where the Lords of Control just can’t leave us the fuck alone.
These foes are friends, not. They seek control, caring nothing, really, about the quality of the life I lead. I choose not to pity them; they have chosen to live an inglorious life shielded against the advent of even the smallest pleasure, and they have only the ashes of distancing privation in their mouths.
I just want to drink a glass of wine…often the one I have made…but more often the one that one of my sisters has. I just want to let the sunlight fall upon my shoulder and bathe in the laughter of my love; think, perhaps, of the way that glass brightens my food and my mood…relish this true communion with self and family, history and culture, agriculture and science.
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