hand
in hand I have leapt over small rivers and climbed hillocks with the
beautiful woman, the woman inside me, anima --- I have called
her Vasilisa, or Lalleshwari, or Enheduanna, Mirabai, or maybe Edith
or Rani of Jhansi... they have all gazed with me from the crenelated
terrace of love out over the steppes out there, down there,
unexplored, dangerous... Did not Lalleshwari, ferocious Lal Ded, the
wolfess in the shroud of a woman, tear the modest rags off her body
and give her away thoughtlessly to the burning woodlands, the
nigrescent horizon, the terror of the unknown, having renounced the
fixed marriage of her honor-obsessed family, having suffered under
patriarchal suppression like a fucking hound, having warded off rape
and desecration since childhood... Did not Enheduanna, the high
priestess, cry and wail at the thought and sight of Lugalbanda
destroying her temple in Ur? Or Edith, as she fought off the imps of
tubercolosis with rusty scimitars, stubbornly, passionately... As did
Rani with her British invaders... And I have fallen handlessly into
the web of love for these wolverines, I have enucleated the gods and
goddesses of causality... they have not been able to see me in my
arrogant tamperings with space and time, the continuum is no longer
continuous... for I have loved all the way through it... Such was the
power of my passionate love!
Inga kommentarer:
Skicka en kommentar