Christmas Eve after Eve it seemed harmless enough, but when the snippet
rolls unbidden through the mind this eve, it has talons not noted before
‘from now on we all will be together, if the fates allow’
and the inner voice roars in response:
but the fates never allow the fates toy with you plaything for years at a time together together together
only to ease into unawareness to the moment when ‘if’ becomes ‘not’
and we are not all together from now on.
we are not all together we are all dismembered we are torn apart we are wrenched and dissected and pained and teared
and made a mockery of we
and the Eve is dark . . .
But what are who are the fates? What authority is theirs and why?
There is appeal beyond them to One who does whatever is necessary to return Adam and his Eve to Eden
to One who will not leave the Rood as monument to death, and rather renders it precursor to life, tomb (as I have have heard it said) to womb
and so perhaps, again, we will all be together?
The choice is hope, or cease.
Choose hope.
(Christmas 2020)