Spurious Obliquity
Once a year, the man lets the worker rest.
The worker hears the whistle blow and immediately his shoulders release months of aching tension and strain. His back weakens and it is as if his body weighs an inordinate amount - even still the weight feels good for the worker knows it is time to rest. Time to spend time somewhere other than the hole...time to feel something other than the hand-worn smooth pine of his spade underhand. It is a brief respite that the man gives the worker, and it is one the worker looks forward to all year.
The break comes during the winter, when the ground is hard and fast. The spade no longer dives as deeply into the permafrost at the bottom of the hole. The break lasts about fourteen days and is intended to be a celebration, a remembrance of sorts. Time is given to look back on the whole of the man's plan.... to hearken back to the day when this present hole had been a mountain and not a single spade and moved even a grain of sand. It is a celebration of the man and his origin and vision primarily, but it is also a time to celebrate with family and fellow laborers knowing that even should you give out, the hole will be dug.
It is the workers favorite time of year... not because he ceases to toil, but because he is honored, deeply, to be involved in such a project. And perhaps too, feels a touch unworthy.
After the break is over, the worker calls the man back to the hole. The worker descends the creaky hand-lashed ladder that traverses ledge after ledge. Not only is the work hard, but the commute in and of it's self is challenging. Not only must the worker do his work, he must force himself to get there. As he descends the ladder, he is buffeted by memories of the break and a strong sense of gratitude to the man. He feels this will get him through the year.
And he is right.
Whether or not he believes it.
The worker hears the whistle blow and immediately his shoulders release months of aching tension and strain. His back weakens and it is as if his body weighs an inordinate amount - even still the weight feels good for the worker knows it is time to rest. Time to spend time somewhere other than the hole...time to feel something other than the hand-worn smooth pine of his spade underhand. It is a brief respite that the man gives the worker, and it is one the worker looks forward to all year.
The break comes during the winter, when the ground is hard and fast. The spade no longer dives as deeply into the permafrost at the bottom of the hole. The break lasts about fourteen days and is intended to be a celebration, a remembrance of sorts. Time is given to look back on the whole of the man's plan.... to hearken back to the day when this present hole had been a mountain and not a single spade and moved even a grain of sand. It is a celebration of the man and his origin and vision primarily, but it is also a time to celebrate with family and fellow laborers knowing that even should you give out, the hole will be dug.
It is the workers favorite time of year... not because he ceases to toil, but because he is honored, deeply, to be involved in such a project. And perhaps too, feels a touch unworthy.
After the break is over, the worker calls the man back to the hole. The worker descends the creaky hand-lashed ladder that traverses ledge after ledge. Not only is the work hard, but the commute in and of it's self is challenging. Not only must the worker do his work, he must force himself to get there. As he descends the ladder, he is buffeted by memories of the break and a strong sense of gratitude to the man. He feels this will get him through the year.
And he is right.
Whether or not he believes it.
posted by rOmiLaYu at 2:27 PM
1 Comments:
Ahhh, poor uncle romi- a plethora of insightful posts, each a small revelation of a soul with vision.... and nary a comment in sight. You are not alone- i, too, have screamed into the silence. i just happen to do my screaming on myspace. although, there is something carthitic in the screaming, with or without the notice of all the others in the dark.... so scream on merry screamer- someday you will be heard. perhaps by yourself...
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