He says, if nobody speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable?
--Jon McGregor, If Nobody Speaks Of Remarkable Things
He says my daughter, and all the love he has is wrapped up in the tone of his voice when he says those two words, he says my daughter you must always look with both of your eyes and listen with both of your ears. He says this is a very big world and there are many many things you could miss if you are not careful. He says there are remarkable things all the time, right in front of us, but our eyes have like the clouds over the sun and our lives are paler and poorer if we do not see them for what they are.
He says, if nobody speaks of remarkable things, how can they be called remarkable? --Jon McGregor, If Nobody Speaks Of Remarkable Things What's real? I ain't interested in what's real. I'm interested in how things should be.
--Sherman Alexie, The Lone Ranger And Tonto Fistfight In Heaven And that's all we are, Jefferson, all of us on this earth, a piece of drifting wood. Until we - each of us, individually- decide to become something else. I am still that piece of drifting wood, and those out there are no better. But you can be better.
--Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying But we danced, under wigs and between unfinished walls, through broken promises and around empty cupboards.
--Sherman Alexie, The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight In Heaven A space of time is a great breeder of myths.
--Nathaniel Philbrick, The Last Stand: Custer, Sitting Bull And The Battle Of The Little Bighorn In the end, the Lord gave Mankind the world. All the world was Man's, save for one garden. This is my garden, said the Lord, and here you shall not enter.
There was a man and a woman who came to the garden, and their names were Earth and Breath, They had with them a small fruit which the Man carried, and when they arrived at the gate to the garden, the Man gave the fruit to the Woman, and the Woman gave the fruit to the Serpent with the flaming sword who guarded the Eastern Gate. And the Serpent took the fruit and it placed it upon a tree in the center of the garden. Then Earth and Breath knew their clothedness, and removed their garments, one by one, until they were naked, and when the Lord walked through the garden he saw the man and the woman, who no longer knew good from evil, but were satisfied, and He saw that it was good. Then the Lord opened the gates and gave Mankind the garden, and the Serpent raised up, and it walked away proudly on four strong legs; and where it went none by the Lord can say. After that there was nothing but silence in the Garden, save for the occasional sound of the man taking away its name from another animal. --Neil Gaiman, In The End In Reilig Oran by Neil Gaiman
When Saint Columba landed on the island of Iona His friend Oran landed with him Though some say Saint Oran waited In the shadows of the island, waiting for the saint to land there, I believe they came together, came from Ireland, were like brothers Were the blond and brave Columba and the dark man they called Oran. He was odran, like the otter, was the other. There were others And they landed on Iona, and they said, We'll build a chapel. It's what saints did when they landed. (Oran: priest of sun or fire Or from Odhra, meaning dark haired.) But their chapel kept on crumbling. And Columba took the answer from a dream or revelation, That his building needed Oran, needed death in the foundations. Others claim it was doctrinal, and Saints Oran and Columba Were debating, as the Irish love debating, about Heaven; Since the truth is long-forgotten, we are left with just their actions (By their actions shall ye know them): Saint Columba buried Oran Still alive, with earth about him, buried deep, with earth upon him. Three days later they returned there, stocky monks with spades and mattocks And they dug down to Saint Oran, so Columba could embrace him Touch his face and say his farewells. Three days dead. They brushed the mud off When Saint Oran's eyes blinked open. Oran grinned at Saint Columba. He had died but now was risen, and he said the words the dead know, In a voice like wind and water. He said, Heaven is not waiting for the good and pure and gentle There's no punishment eternal, there's no hell for the ungodly nor is God as you imagine-- Saint Columba shouted "Quiet!" and to save the monks from error shoveled mud onto Saint Oran, So they buried him forever. And they called the place Saint Oran's. In its churchyard Kings of Scotland, Kings of Norway, all were buried On the island of Iona. Some folks claim it was a druid priest of sunlight that was buried In the earth of good Iona just to hold the church foundations, But for me that's much too simple, and it libels Saint Columba (who cried "Earth! Throw earth on Oran, stop his mouth with mud this moment, lest he bring us to perdition!") They imagine it a murder as one saint entombed another underneath that holy chapel. While Saint Oran's name continues, Martyred heretic, his bones still hold the chapel stones together, And we join them, kings and princes, in his graveyard, in his chapel, For it's Oran's name they carry. He's embraced in his damnation by the simple words he uttered. There's no Hell to spite the sinners There's no Heaven for the blessed. God is not what you imagine. And perhaps he kept on preaching, for he'd died and he had risen, Until silenced, crushed or muffled by the soil of Iona. Saint Columba, he was buried on the Island of Iona Decades later. But they disinterred his body and they took it to Downpatrick, where it's buried with Saint Patrick and Saint Brigid. So the only saint is Oran on the island of Iona. Don't go digging in the graveyard for the kings of old, the mighty, Or Archbishops and their riches. They are guarded by Saint Oran Who will rise up from the grave dirt like the darkness, like an otter, For he sees the sun no longer. He will touch you, He will taste you, he will leave his words inside you. (God is not what you imagine. Nor is Hell nor is Heaven). Then you'll leave him and his graveyard, and forget the shadow's terror, As you rub your neck, remember only this: He died to save us. And that Saint Columba killed him on the island of Iona. |
Alissa B.Nothing commonplace about The Common Place. Archives
December 2023
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