What is home: it is the shade of trees on my way to school before they were uprooted. It is my grandparents’ black-and-white wedding photo before the walls crumbled. It is my uncle’s prayer rug, where dozens of ants slept on wintry nights, before it was looted and put in a museum. It is the oven my mother used to bake bread and roast chicken before a bomb reduced our house to ashes. It is the café where I watched football matches and played—
My child stops me: Can a four-letter word hold all of these?
There are dogs and dogs. I was among the chosen. I had good papers and wolf’s blood in my veins. I lived upon the heights inhaling the odors of views: meadows in sunlight, spruces after rain, and clumps of earth beneath the snow.
I had a decent home and people on call, I was fed, washed, groomed, and taken for lovely strolls. Respectfully, though, and comme il faut. They all knew full well whose dog I was.
Any lousy mutt can have a master. Take care, though — beware comparisons. My master was a breed apart. He had a splendid herd that trailed his every step and fixed its eyes on him in fearful awe.
For me they always had smiles, with envy poorly hidden. Since only I had the right to greet him with nimble leaps, only I could say good-bye by worrying his trousers with my teeth. Only I was permitted to receive scratching and stroking with my head laid in his lap. Only I could feign sleep while he bent over me to whisper something.
He raged at others often, loudly. He snarled, barked, raced from wall to wall. I suspect he liked only me and nobody else, ever.
I also had responsibilities: waiting, trusting. Since he would turn up briefly, and then vanish. What kept him down there in the lowlands, I don’t know. I guessed, though, it must be pressing business, at least as pressing as my battle with the cats and everything that moves for no good reason.
There’s fate and fate. Mine changed abruptly. One spring came and he wasn’t there. All hell broke loose at home. Suitcases, chests, trunks crammed into cars. The wheels squealed tearing downhill and fell silent round the bend.
On the terrace scraps and tatters flamed, yellow shirts, armbands with black emblems and lots and lots of battered cartons with little banners tumbling out.
I tossed and turned in this whirlwind, more amazed than peeved. I felt unfriendly glances on my fur. As if I were a dog without a master, some pushy stray chased downstairs with a broom.
Someone tore my silver-trimmed collar off, someone kicked my bowl, empty for days. Then someone else, driving away, leaned out from the car and shot me twice.
He couldn’t even shoot straight, since I died for a long time, in pain, to the buzz of impertinent flies. I, the dog of my master.
Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still for once on the face of the earth, let’s not speak in any language; let’s stop for a second, and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines; we would all be together in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea would not harm whales and the man gathering salt would not look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire, victories with no survivors, would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused with total inactivity. Life is what it is about; I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death. Perhaps the earth can teach us as when everything seems dead and later proves to be alive.
Now I’ll count up to twelve and you keep quiet and I will go.
When I went out to kill myself, I caught A pack of hoodlums beating up a man. Running to spare his suffering, I forgot My name, my number, how my day began, How soldiers milled around the garden stone And sang amusing songs; how all that day Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.
Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten, Stripped, kneed, and left to cry. Dropping my rope Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms: Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten, The kiss that ate my flesh. Flayed without hope, I held the man for nothing in my arms.
In order to arrive at what you do not know You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance. In order to possess what you do not possess You must go by the way of dispossession. In order to arrive at what you are not You must go through the way in which you are not. And what you do not know is the only thing you know And what you own is what you do not own And where you are is where you are not. – T.S. Eliot, from East Coker
I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness of the Creator of creation.
I arise today Through the strength of Christ’s birth with His baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of doom.
I arise today Through the strength of the love of cherubim, In the obedience of angels, In the service of archangels, In the hope of resurrection to meet with reward, In the prayers of patriarchs, In the predictions of prophets, In the preaching of apostles, In the faith of confessors, In the innocence of holy virgins, In the deeds of righteous men.
I arise today, through The strength of heaven, The light of the sun, The radiance of the moon, The splendor of fire, The speed of lightning, The swiftness of wind, The depth of the sea, The stability of the earth, The firmness of rock.
I arise today, through God’s strength to pilot me, God’s might to uphold me, God’s wisdom to guide me, God’s eye to look before me, God’s ear to hear me, God’s word to speak for me, God’s hand to guard me, God’s shield to protect me, God’s host to save me From snares of devils, From temptation of vices, From everyone who shall wish me ill, afar and near.
I summon today All these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel and merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul; Christ to shield me today Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me an abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness of the Creator of creation.
Edge of Atlantic 