How Religion Got Its Start

A barrage of wonder. Great piece. *

Goats. Yes.

I want to say more about this, Bill, and I kind of don't at the same time. But it makes me think about things that aren't entirely comfortable, and despite the discomfort of thinking about them, I like that it makes me. And goats. I like goats.

Smoldering, mythic. *

Certainly as plausible as any other history.

Yes. I love the way this intertwines myth, childhood symbols and reality.*

*

The last paragraph is a doozie. *

Yes. Great explanation. *

I guess I had excellent doctors at least twice. Supposedly, someone is not better off to have gone to the doctor. One of the two doctors I am thinking of, a doctor then in Princeton, NJ, now apparently in Manhattan, answered his own phone that day. I was calling from Houston where I was seeking nearly in vain a neurologist for TLE. Meanwhile, I tried to stay in contact with Bob, the chem dep counselor for beer in my case (he had quit codeine pills himself), for whose time I paid $60 on the clock plus long distance, per minute daytime then. The doctor, Eric Braverman, answered. I think he said, "Jesus yet?" but he may have said, "D'jeet yet?" I said, "No, Ann, mother of Mary," and he said, "Good, I heard from seven people claiming to be Jesus today alone."

I love doctors, most of the ones I've met in the office and two I met socially, while a few of course I abhor. Since people seem to prefer slim bases for not-even syncretic religion in this time of home armaments, anything to avoid the pew or the psychiatrist, let me put in my negative vote here for School of Education counselors, especially, but not limited to, and in favor of appropriate treatment for physical symptoms. This poem is scary, Bill, too scary for me, plus I love goats, most of any farm animal. I have a b/w woodprint that I hand-etched in 8th grade all-school art studio, 8T2 was my class, in Junior High in Hopkins district in Minnesota, 1975-76. I remembered pencil sketching freehand and carving it with the tool. Hands were too difficult. It is a Madonna-child scene mostly precious in the faces with Mary's three-spike-fingered hands and -- how cute! -- both the art teacher, Mrs. Lynn ___ and my mom must have noted it since my mom saved it: a goat instead of a lamb. I was done with lambs. I had been "a lamb" in the Christmas play at church since I was a short-haired medium blond 6 or 7 on the hair color scale as I learned later. No hit the buzzer this time for it as a poem, but I get a chance to say why and that is a *

Thanks, Sam, Frankie, Daniel, Gary, Amanda, Arif, Jake, Beate, and Ann. Appreciate very much your reading and commenting.

*, this such a fun, skillful piece, Bill. To me, it's almost a chanting child's, seder-lkie song. So well done.

yeah. Interesting, arresting, it builds and makes you look.

Glad I found this. That last stanza, wow!*

I can never follow Ann Margaret Bogle....

Would to God poets really were Shelly's legislators of the world, Bill, cuz I'd really cheer for those bomb-eating goats & the Realignment/Knife shining boy. A sad-lovely poem.

Two days later, and I still can't get this haunting poem out of my mind. Just thought you ought to know.

Appreciate all the comments! Thanks, David, Darryl, Gary, Jim, Ed, and Beate.

@David: "seder-like song"--yes!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chad_Gadya

Haunting is right. Not sure what all to make of it, and I mean that in the very best way possible. My favorite works, regardless of type, are always those that can mean different things to different people or, in this case, different things also to the same person at different times.

Thanks, Epiphany!