Dying/broken/forgiven.... now I begin

Born: 17-06-56....gemini.... monkey
re-born: 3-09-80
born again\found: 14-04-08
other notable dates: 10-03-68; 03-09-87; 23-03-96;
1-05-98; 31-01-02; 5-04-04

Interests: movement, stressed/transgressive embodiment, lived experience (body\space\time\relation)
expression ( word, dance, text, image, story, music, poetics)
learning, yielding......

Hopes for the blog:
offer up the wild intersectedness of lived experience and engage others in creative, expressive, perhaps irreverant, hopefully playful, and respectful encounters....
enact kindness
create moments of pause for disclosure, discovery, stillness

Friday, June 26, 2009

The Mace

After the ceremony, I swaddled the mace in its blue velvet shroud and placed it in its pine casket. I was deliberate ... if not exactly deferential. So much of what all this means leaves me cold these days. I crouch next to the box, my own regalia spread about me like a cape and I realize with a stab of irony that to the unknowing eye, I might appear reverent. I smother a snort of mirth and begin pulling off my white cotton gloves... with these I protect the Mace from unsightly body oils... finger by finger I extract myself from this, my last performance of honoris causa, and toss the discarded skin of my duty into the box next to the discards of two years of such performances in this role that requires that I bear the Mace.

Times gone, the Mace would have been a gory and gloriously barbaric thing, with spikes & barbs & the blood of slaughter. The Mace I bear is ceremonial, and although the spikes and barbs find their mark, the violence is bloodless. I have to say, during that week of ceremonies, I brandished the Mace with more than a little irreverent aplomb, but it was my secret swan song-- everyone watching saw a ritual enacted with dignity, respect and grace, the least I could do for days designed for sweet memories.

I suppose it's not a bad thing to walk away while the swans are still singing.


  1. Love your writing. I tend to read and then read again looking for the connections I nearly always find.

  2. Great text, I liked it, although it was pretty harsh to get it, I had to read it a couple of times, maybe cause I was asleep or I am stupid in the end.

  3. There are them yet still awed by ancient ritual, finding some strange connection to a history mostly unknown to them. At least you wore the gloves that protected the symbol of the awe of others. That was respect enough.

  4. I'd be interested to know more about this ceremony of yours.

  5. Linda-- thanks for your sweet sentiment; you are a warm and thoughtful presence
    Mariana, WM and Jimmy-- the description is deliberately cryptic, here; I am going to elaborate on this context I inhabit in a next few posts ... it is too effing absurd not to share...
    but the "ceremony " is a long standing one, borne in the belly of the times of monasteries, mysteries, and monstrosities.

  6. I once for a few years worked in a major museum, I got the need for gloves.

  7. Beautiful, elegant, and wonderfully ironic description. I know this swan will sing again.