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Nick Bahl
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Upon a hill with chisel and stone in hand, Gluskap thought thus to
herself, “I’m certainly all-knowing, for I created the
essence of subsistence upon this barren plain. Woman-with-woman love
brought forth these things with Mother Earth as my maiden. Rocks and
thickets and poisonous animals have no bearing on me, because I, and
I alone, have banished and slain the wolf, their father, from this
earth.”
The ridge was steep, the challenge leveled low, yet the breeze off
an eagle’s wing hastened Gluskap’s decline, cracking her
forged tablets as she fell. She gathered the pieces, puffed out her
chest, re-tied her sheepskin cloak, and descended upon the despondent
herd waiting round the bottom of the hill in hope of omnipotent commands.
“In all things you are equal, and equal you shall be in the
place I give you each individually,” proclaimed Gluskap. “Thou
shalt leave no field plowed; no oxen lame, and strive not forward
because these things are wolves in a sheepskin cape. Move forward,
I tell you, though I give you not the means.”
“Your nature is good, my preachings better, and with them you,
too, can peak my hill. Study my preachings, for they alone are truth,
and through my truth you can surpass your nature, but never reach
mine. I am shameless, and thou shalt…”
“The stars have gratefully received their names from I, and
monsters of stone have been driven from this land. The things before
you will forever be myths because they are of the past. Now go forth
to create tools, to multiply and to further divide.”
“Hip, hip, hurrah,” the masses cheered, for hope was
given and hope moves the hopeless and confused in the direction it
points.
Gluskap boarded her birch-bark canoe and paddled into the sunset.
Out of sight and hearing range, Gluskap came upon a waterfall. As
she spilled over the edge to her death with a rock tied to her ankle,
ever in denial that her fateful end would come without her say-so,
she proclaimed, “I plan on dropping…”
Thus spoke Gluskap.
You feeble- and closed-minded fool, you know neither what nor why
you act out – what makes you think you know me? Ancient parables
are ancient and nothing more – now you are a parable! Forgive
yourself for your mistreating, but I forgive you not.
“Boredom is the root of all evil,” yet you brought the
best out of me. Your evil was the bringer of my boredom, and from
your evil I herald goodness. From your evil web my goodness arose,
and for that you may forever pat your own back.
Your hands are calloused and stained, and your shame precedes you
for you have not owned up to your meting. You mete out only evil,
and gravity has taken you below. My conscience is clear, my tower
made of ivory, and my soul alive and well. Greece fell, and if you
were to fight, you would also fight nude – your cloak has been
ripped away for I know you!
I am the light in this dismal world, and without my flame your shadow
cannot haunt you – blow me out, but wait, your breath is gone!
A snake is a snake by any other name, and you Gluskap are a tarantula.
“Revenge sits in your soul: wherever you bite, black scabs grow;
your poison makes the soul whirl with revenge” – I know
your bite, and your bark is infinitely louder!
You have no soul because you deny the inequity of the body, and for
this you sank in your own tarn. Judgments given are judgments received,
and you judge while I call you on your judgments.
My compassion lacks for those that bleed their own hearts, and my
pride loathes those who bleed what’s not theirs – my pride
tied the rock to your ankle, and my compassion will counsel your herd
back to health.
You claimed that which was never yours, and I claim only what’s
mine – my body. You preached the void of one-sided thinking
under the veil of tolerance, but you drowned in your own tenets.
I raise the bar of human accomplishment, while you seek to hollow-out.
Your disciples innocently tried to save you, you their only hope,
and you welcomed them to your grave – hypocrite!
You puff out your chest, show your fangs, and shake your bright true-colored
feathers behind the flock’s back, but the hollowness of an inflated
chest never gives buoyancy to those whom dig their own cesspools –
you are but a molehill, and I’m climbing toward Everest’s
peak.
Verily, I say unto you, keep your friends close and your enemies closer,
for by that you shall succeed; misdirect your allies, and also your
enemies, for then you’ll succeed doubly in this!
Misdirection’s a tool for sport, as are you, and my sport is
misdirection!
If man creates and uses tools as you preach, then I am the disposer
of rusty tools, for man created you – you Gluskap are pre-,
while I am post-modern!
You, your thoughts and your beliefs are whimsical, Gluskap, and you
are nothing but a myth.
I am stone, but you’re the monster, and benevolent am I, not
thou. From nothing you came, till nothing you became, and now as nothing
you return – I am I!
You were never an eagle, yet you built your nest above an abyss and
in that abyss you now rest. Hold your head high dear Gluskap, for
I want you to forever see me soaring prominently above you!
Thus I speak.
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