Gnostic Gnonsense & Andean Vistas

inca-dream-herge

Lest fellow members of the body misconstrue my Andean longings, let us comprehend,
O loyal connectees, the corporeal metaphor sublimated, transmuted into empyrean fire
and rendered universal by St. Paul of Tarsus the founder of our holy and elect communities, when he wrote:

All flesh is not the same flesh: but there is one kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption: It is sown in dishonour; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.

[I Corinthians 15:39-43]

The decentralized undulating landscapes of terrestrial desire can be confused with celestial bodies, yes, but the astral bodies are free from carnal taint. And it is only in the night devoid of lunar light that the celestial bodies may be clearly glimpsed…

But enough gnostic gnonsense —

let us depart for the lyrical peaks of the Andes with Joel Barlow as our guide. Capac and Oella await us there on the distant and sacred summit.
capac & oella

Fixing our sight on those majestic heights,
we nonetheless begin the ascent
through Amazonian jungle headwaters.

TT Broken Ear

Our llamas are well-provisioned with coca, pisco and papas…

Tintin en la selva Prisoners of the Sun LLAMA

IMAGE CREDIT: Hergé – Prisoners of the Sun / The Broken Ear
landesfes / Caroline Savard @ Deviant ART

Kushitic Closure

Apr11

I end my Abyssinian blog posts with a poem I wrote several years ago.
It may be indirectly inspired by memories of a lovely and kind-hearted Ethiopian university student who lived with my family when I was 10. She introduced us to berbere and doro wat, and set me up to appreciate gastronomy from Africa’s horn for a long time to come. She had a beautiful smile, she had a Wilson Pickett record and she initiated me into the mysteries of pop music and the radio. Her name was Adeye. This was in the mid-70’s just before the Marxist coup which brought in Haile Mengistu Mariam. We lost touch with her long ago. The poem is also inspired by times I have been offered coffee among Ethiopian people, who have a beautiful ceremony involving frankincense when they partake.

One last Kushitic dream—be patient: once I was at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, in the Egyptian mummy room. I was chatting for a while with a beautiful Eritrean security guard among the crypts. Mysteriously, everyone cleared out and for a short while it was only the two of us, surrounded by opened sarcophagi in the dimly-lit room. For a moment I thought I was speaking with the eternal spirit of some Nubian princess who had just climbed out of one of them !

(Of course Psalm 68 in the King James Version also had something to do with my Ethiopic overload…) Now my poem:

Kaffa-Coffee

Abyssinia

I long to know that land in spirit
where the highlands meet the desert.
Where there’s faith and coffee served
with ceremony still observed.

The white-robed land, where priests intone
in levite ritual ‘round the ark.
A land in clouds of frankincense,
whose past is bitter, strong and dark.

meroe02

I’ll enter where the rock is carved
in cruciform epiphany;
where Midian’s curtains hide the starved
whose hunger feeds conspiracy.

I’ll walk the wilds of Meroë
all ruined in the desert sands, ethiop cross
where beauty wails and ululates
as silver gleams on amber strands.

Her kings and peasants come to naught
when princes’ plots are overthrown.
Her blameless name was never bought;
her faith in Christ is scribed in stone.

lalibela04

Queen Sheba’s golden sepulcher –
your modern guises can’t suffice
to quench the fire of God and spice.

Davidic land—like calvary
your power purifies the heart
through struggle, prayer, and ancient art.

School of Soft Knox

Apr7

By way of closure to my recent Abyssinian musings, I offer my loyal connectees this doctrinally reformed limerick for their elect delectation.
(Of course, no Presbyterian has to ask what millenarian means…)