Jacob's Brother
Shonto Begay: Grandfather Tree of Knowledge
I used to despise the grinding roar of airplanes overhead,
the ones that disturbed my repose or interrupted my conversations.
But now. . . that sound, post 9-11, reassures me,
reminds me that everything is in place,
that all is as it ought to be--
Especially after the convergence of those draconian events
whose wellspring was hatred--
a hatred spawned long ago
dating from the days of Isaac
when his half-brother Ismael
(the elder of the two) and Ismael's mother
were driven out into the desert--
driven out to perish. . .
dating from the days of Jacob
when his twin brother Esau was robbed of
his treasured birthright. . .
dating from the days when one religion after another
fought for dominance and in so doing
provided the genesis for thousands of years,
hundreds of centuries, tens of decades
of "righteous," holy bloodshed,
of pillage, rampage, and Jihad, of holy war.
Does it really matter any more what we call it?!
Have we forgotten about those early sinful transgressions?
of Cain's committing fratricide?
Have we forgotten why?
Had not God, the original Father, rejected
the son, Cain's, gift to Him but
had compassion, nevertheless,
to send him out among a people with a mark,
yes, a glorious and undeniable mark, one that said,
"Do not touch my son! Grant him safe
harbor wherever he ventures
because not just he, but maybe I, the Father,
made an error!"
And what of Cain's parents?
Was there not also some blame to share there?
Was there not original disobedience whose penalty
was eternal punishment?
Or was that transgression meant to occur?
Was it inevitable? Was it predetermined?
Was not the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge--
a tree whose fruit invited early adventurers to
distant explorations whose consummation
is humanity's rainbow,
Recommended for You
the tree, the fruit from which gave birth
to real heroes like David, yet heroes that
were nonetheless flawed,
of creators who gave us the dynamic wheel
and the plane (ah. . .the plane),
of music which touched the soul's very
depths--
a music whose tones fill our hearts
with melodies reminiscent
of a distant past,
of future possibilities,
of a spiritual grandeur,
of art with all its magnificence and infinite
dimensions whose strokes
reflect a real or imagined history
or foretell a future with
boundless prospects,
of artisans of the word,
producing a different kind
of eternal beauty--
its offspring? its prodigy?
the quill and ink whose lyrics
inspire the soul
and set it flying.
So our future, predestined or not, does allow for the human factor,
the input of mind and heart!
Where, then, do we find ourselves along the infinite continuum
the Father has created?
Is there to be a sudden, catastrophic silence, emptiness, vacuum
that fills up the remainder of linear space?
Is there yet time and opportunity to create a birth, a rebirth,
a renaissance, if you will, whose endgame
will return us to the path from which we somehow
errantly, unthinkingly wavered,
dangerously strayed?
Can flights of mind and not of machine take us back. . .and also forward?
Do we have the capacity, the fortitude, the commitment?
Are we deserving? Are we worthy?
Perhaps only we can determine that.
Time will tell. We shall see. . . . I like the rhythm of planes now.
Rosemary Jenkins
Saturday, 7 September 2013
