Friday, March 30, 2012

taxes and sugar

Lying face down on 17th St. I found a copy of the The Odyssey with a ripped cover. At home, I opened it and heard a crack as old glue snapped and the spine split. It opened to Aeaea, the island of Circe, where the most lovely of witches instructed Odysseus on finding his way home. Reading her words helped soothe the burn I'm feeling from chopping off the limb we owe the government. Ouch. It is really not easy for people to give up what they have. I'll take my spoonful of sugar from that old home boy, who has increased my ability to see the spiritual nature of the mandated offering. Just in case ethics weren't enough.

There in Acheron the river of pain two streams flow, Pyriphlegethon blazing with fire, and Cocytos resounding with lamentation, which is a branch of the hateful water of Styx: a rock is there, by which the two roaring streams unite. Draw near to this, brave man, and be careful to do as I bid you. Dig a pit of about on cubit's length along and across, and pour into it a drink-offering for All Souls, first with honey and milk, then with fine wine, the third time with water; sprinkle over it white barley-meal.

And that was only the beginning of the sacrifice. For All Souls? Yes. To get home? Yes.

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