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pete
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the song came in as me and the other cook who were closing were awaiting our last order of the night. the dishwasher, the manager, and a few servers were also in the kitchen, on their side of the line, of course, and within a few seconds we had an all out sing along going on. my thoughts wandered from the words and settled on a future image of a tall, smiling friend, an old woman (i would have had to be an old man in this projection) leaning over at me and speaking the words of the songs. it evoked the voice of pure_dreams, reflecting stars inside the cave that is our kitchen.
in the end, the changes undo the stability of the unchanging, mixing the old memories and insights with present thoughts and tears, especially the tears of the soul straining against the stamina of the body, crying out for a moment of lapse, of weakness, of stress, and of injury. there are too many oppurtunities for injury in the kitchen. no one, in the year i've been there, has every been seriously hurt. the body holds the soul within, even as the soul recoils in terror at the thought of bodily harm.
we're consoled by our philosophy, taken through the stages of her medicine. first with a firm slap, waking us to reality and shaking our selfimportant air from its mantle. next she inquires of our world view, only to cut away its basis and leave us with nothing. in our god-proof box we weep screaming injustices at that first, unmoving, uncaring mover. we desecrate that which we love with profanity, leading the arc out of the jungle and smothering it with the basest acts. then, philosophy takes our hands and leads us along the path of truth. beauty, she whispers, is the hook. as our hearts and thoughts fade away, our reason wakes, stretches, breathes, lives, and infuses life with natural order. the brightest unpercievable light pierces our minds eye, blinding it to the world before us and lifting us to the prophetic plain, where we see the march of souls before the gods in their heavenly realm. one by one they fall, taking their place among the bodies of the earth, each completely full, each in its place on the hierarchy of equality. philosophy then smiles and says:
"even hell is governed by love, and even that old woman smiles, though she supresses her heart and wishes away her truths."
within her words is the trap, and the key. she divides the good and recreates its unity, allowing only her intimates to catch a glimpse because the rest will be posioned by the power it could bestow. those fall victim again divide the good, dividing their souls against themselves, and cease to be students of happiness, forever praticing anger and lust, forever rejecting the practice of happiness and peace.
philosophy smiles, as she always does, and kisses our forheads softly taking her leave, whispering "hello my friends"
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050528
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