There are words made of letters unwritten and letters made of the most transparent words. Some of them are praiseworthy, but most of them are only amusing to ourselves. The architecture of communication. Spires and arches, darlings, spires and arches.
Today is Sukkot. After work I go to Silva’s to celebrate. She’s all that ties me to religion. It must be comforting to believe in something. Somehow I think I have a lack, following nothing. There must be something missing. Then my humour pops in saying “yes, brainwashing”.I respect Silva so very much that I respect her beliefs, though somehow not the beliefs themselves. My disconnection doesn’t stop me from loving the singing, from learning the prayers for their beauty. Sukkot is what is left of an old harvest festival dedicated to the Goddess. About an hour ago, the celebrations began. By the time I get there, the sukkah will have been built, (a harvest hut, made of branches and flowers and produce), on the back porch, and the kitchen door will have been taken entirely off so that the kitchen is the sukkah extension. Candles will have been lit, and I might miss the potluck. I’m allowed. If I was slightly more organized, there would be a pie in the oven as I write this, but alas, I have nothing yet to bring but my voice. I should put music on to sing along to, so my voice is warm when I get there. It would be nice to read the book in richer tones than I’m used to. We pass it around and tell stories. We’re all educated in various ways, we all know of Lillith.
How heavy are angels, I wonder. What is the weight of divinity?