... there is a reason you are called so...
Observations While Writing an Ode to the Holy Muse
The journey seems long and cold When the iron doors are sealed tight to protect the treasures And the coffee nearly chokes you with the taste of hypodermic needles mixed with sugar. When you step inside the temple finally, you greet The art lovers who are guards and the guards who are art lovers There are two sights to behold when you stare at a corner of brown paisley H E A V E N Makes you look up at Witnessing a family that never complained about driving on snow-covered roads Never worried about the shopping season and the deceptions of e-commerce They have a good home amongst the angels in the COELVM EMPIREVM HABITACVLVM DEI But the amateur art critics and the guards still look upon them… Trying to find the language of the faces. Do they really embody the rules of family love? Cold and distant they may be But they are wrapped in swaddling clouds Embraced by innocence They are fragile beneath the light, but strong against the wind. The previous knowledge comes back to greet your mind and introduces you to new friends. But you hear only the echoes of footsteps on the hard floor and the resonance from the visitors’ lips. The subjects below, on E A R T H Need rest for they didn’t heed to the alchemist’s advice And went strolling through open meadows with animals that didn’t get inoculated Are they looking for something that isn’t there? They must be insane to carry palm branches To greet someone important and powerful, riding on an ass. (However, the Pope is busy at the moment) They occupy their minds to other things it seems After all, it’s such a waste of life for devotions to something Platonic and abstract While someone squeezes his eye to obtain a distorted view, something attracts my attention. It’s the hand of a sister… the sister to the Lamb of God She gently touches herself to keep the faith in her heart and the ghouls out of her coverings I can see why she would want to do that. After all, there is something about her frail appearance that is attractive. I would love to hold on to her because I don’t want the stormy backdrop to conquer her. Please God… can I join her in the canvas? I’ll take good care of her, I swear… Why should I let the earthly dominion win jurisdiction over her? You know and I know that she would only become just another file in the cabinet I can be a guardian and protector too, you know? But you don’t trust me do you? You know that I make these promises that expire when the clouds break by Apollo’s chariot. You think that I move heaven and earth for her because I follow hormonal commands And genetic ladders Maybe You are right. After all, You are always right in the end. But thank You for framing a small section of heaven for me. Thank You for taking me there safely, since the District can never be trusted with the traits of Utopia. Thank You for letting me communicate (words and other ways) acquired knowledge. Thank You for making me hear surreal melodies in my head that accompany well to the outside walls.
Date of First Draft: 28 December 1999
Information: This was written while in the presence of the painting “Madonna and Child with St. Martina and St. Agnes,” painted by El Greco (1541-1616) and displayed at the National Gallery of Art, Washington DC.
Annotations: COELVM EMPIREVM HABITACVLVM DEI is Latin for “Empyrean Heaven, Habitat of God” or the outermost region of the Ptolemaic universe after the Celestial Equator. “Ο ΔΕΙΞΑΣ” is what El Greco sometimes added to his signature on his paintings. It’s Greek for “one who reveals.”