Transgressive Adventures of Roris Coctis, esotericist and savage (July 2014)
by Zack Kouns
In a park in St Louis, I witnessed a young mother speaking softly to a child. I had encountered this girl in a past life when I was an invalid and my parents hired her for a season to care for me while we vacationed in Greece in the late 19th century. She was nearly as frail as I was, like a garden that had been lovingly and carefully planted but had become overrun with time and neglect but was the better for it because it was now arranged with an arcane order that confounds the aesthetics of man. I had spent many quiet hours with her, each of us privately seeking an exaltation that to name would be to profane. Now to see her sitting with this child and playing an intricately marked Ney flute I became suddenly moved and time slowed as it does when we encounter the throne of God. She was possessed of a purity that must have been difficult to bear, refined in the cleansing conflagration surrounding illness and the solitude of surrender and obedience to the divine, confounding symmetry of the body and the cosmos. Her performance on the woodwind triggers a recondite response from her ginger haired child who begins to claw at her mother's genitals through her clothing in a desperate attempt to return to the security and warmth of such a benevolent womb. As she struggled to restrain the youth who endeavored with a strength only a child possesses, the infant began softly repeating a phrase: “A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters and streams from Lebanon.” Buds of flowers opened. Leaves matured on fallen branches. Rivers of seminal fluid gushed through hearts parched and withered. Nations pulsed with rapture in uteri that drooped with the weight of vitality. Life everlasting. Everlasting life.
|
