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Vinnie

Welcome to . . . here

Posted on 2005.08.10 at 10:08
Current Mood: refreshedrefreshed
Current Music: The Minstrel Boy (trad. Irish)

First Place

Welcome to this place. It is my place, yet I can tell you rather little about it. For I walk here only a little ahead of you, and the torch I hold aloft allows me to only barely see where my next footfall will land - and even then, the uncertain flickering of the torch may sometimes cause my foot to land badly. So if you will undertake the journey, stay close and try not to see too far ahead.

Second Place

This place has stood here for a long time. If you need any proof, peer through the shadows and note the dust-covered clutter. Rap your knuckles on the walls. They are handsome and well-built, though their configuration can be a little confusing. Some of them give shelter from the elements. Some of the thicker ones will handily stifle the dragon's fire on the other side. Some are purely ornamental, and may even topple under moderate pressure. And some of the strongest walls seem to provide protection, yet when I look on their opposite side, I see that they are protecting me from . . . nothing at all. Some remodeling is clearly in order.

Third Place

Here is a large, well-appointed room. I can douse my torch here, as there is plenty of light. Every shift in the sun and the clouds is played across the soaring brickwork. Unseen minstrels caress our ears with their sweet harmonies. The tables are made of heavy aromatic wood, and we might linger upon their fragrance were it not for the fresh banquet resting upon them. This is the Great Room, and it is where we will spend as much time as we can. The senses are all so utterly suffused here that it seems to matter not whether our eyes are open or closed; the same light still fills us. And yet, we may abruptly leave this room, either because duty calls us, or because we have stayed too long and foolishly begun to take its pleasures for granted.

Fourth Place

We come to the main hall by the front door as I thank you for being a courteous visitor. You don't remember seeing this door on your way in. It's funny how that works. I don't know why or how, but visitors rarely seem to notice the entrance on their way in - somewhere in one of the rooms, they suddenly realize where they are. Before you go, you are given something to tuck into a pocket. It's a little brass key. It means that you're welcome back any time. I must say that we have a little bit of a quality control issue with those keys - they won't always open every door in the place, but you can always get in the front way.

And the door closes

If you've come all the way to this last paragraph, I have a few things to tell you. I don't think this is going to be the kind of journal where I talk about the day-to-day experience of being me. Well, not directly anyway. I think (and I reserve the right to change my mind) that my entries may be infrequent at times, and I think they are far more likely to be poems, songs, and fanciful essays. Thanks for visiting, and I hope you'll put that little piece of brass on your key ring.


Comments:


(Anonymous) at 2005-08-19 14:56 (UTC) (Link)

Reactions to Poem

NICE! I'm sorry you feel so lost at work. I have the opposite problem....too many eyes on me. I also love the Mandella thing. Great stuff. Carmen
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