Before I arrived here long days of travel prepared me to be caught in the vortex of wondering where, if anywhere, I belong.

Beauty hisses,
Brain probes
with flickering tongue.

Gulped down, illusions are seen
as the peristaltic throbbing of
God's insatiable stomach.

History feeds on corpses; mythology too. Millions of children are born each year because his doubt goes with him, like breath, like his breathing between each step--fitful, oppressive--so that the skeleton present in the shaman's costume summarizes and reactualized the drama of his initiation, that is, the drama of death and resurrection. It is of small importance whether it is supposed to represent a human or an animal skeleton. In either case, no true rhythm, no one pace, can be held. And the farther his doubt goes with him, the nearer he feels to the source of that doubt, so that in the end death is as ravenous as beauty is enduring.



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