his was the dance crow had danced in youth in praise to god, for dance was his love and love the body’s hallelu— without chagrin or prevarication, this was joy joy until god fled and steps and flight movement he had not moved since his soul became still as god’s voice sleep was the exception untainted by the lost world within faint confine he dreamed and he dreamed he awoke and he dreamed he danced again and god too love and love he woke with disappointment; upon waking, his dreams were simply moments interpolations and god the God of the dance an understudy
it was as if christ it was as if christ, the median, was in his inner sight and he could not yet see the end; he peered towards the core with fear, for in this place was the surrogacy of hope like some ancient artifact that held him; he thought about the grail, its containment, and he felt lost without it, lost with it—wondered if he was moving, travelling—between fragments, less of his past or the divisory elements of the now and while he wondered it was as if Christ became an augment to heart, Christ— soothing, sonorous, solist it was as if Christ, until now, had waited to speak these words, as if Christ had bent into his hollow frame to promise the very grail, how blood and flesh meet in this holy surprise
bosom he knew his soul he knew its stem its voice, its creed its stupefaction he had known it when he waited for god in a church ~ had observed the pure enchantment of its ancient quiver when he had looked at jesus and his perfumed feet and a woman washing his body ~ since then his soul had never denied him and now in the reach of an uneven love he knew once more the call of its passions pure as breath upon the new day in a new prayer, he bent towards this for this was his soul and he knew it
interment we laid them at rest walked the short walk from star to grave bequeathed them towards their own dust onlookers seemed drawn in grimaces of grief they watched the deaths as distant deities the tragicomedy, the priests led the way and then the wood and then the others and then the descent always down always we filled the graves with sand and rock the dirt, itself, alien, though familiar as children, we tasted the ground the spade in my hand was comforting a comfort to touch and shovel and dig propel the past finally we lay the elements down patted the ground my hand pressed there remains
John Rueal Comninos is a Gestalt Psychotherapist and Play Therapist as well as a Pastoral Psychologist. He initially studied theology (LIC.Th) and became a Presbyterian Minister and later studied Pastoral Psychology at Stellenbosch University (M.Th.) and Gestalt Therapy at UNISA and has extensive experience in trauma, he lectured broadly in Psychology at Huguenot College and lectured and supervised students in the Masters Programme in Pastoral Psychology at SU and in the Masters programme in Play Therapy at the Play Therapy Centre, Wellington.