An English In Kentucky


















Friday February 22nd 2013    Tim Candler


    Ritual binding of the corpse to discourage any sort of loitering,  falls short of the standard I look for in the days between now and the departure of my own 'breath of life' or 'soul' when presumably it will find its own answer.  No doubt there is a distinction, or perhaps wall, or maybe a time clock, between this side of living and the other side of living, but I think it a little extreme to develop  a practice which in my view at least, appears to toss the departed over that wall.  The opposite approach, which is to return again until Sainthood is achieved, also has a commanding or competitive insistence that in my world is not in the least ameliorated by inserting a 'maybe' or 'syad' before embarking upon any proposition.

    And while I can completely understand ritual binding of corpses as a product of minds made irritable by the inconveniences of winter, and while I can see it in terms of a cold weather conviction that death is good for you whether you welcome it or not, I can't find the necessary enthusiasm to pursue the idea of ritual binding with a view to adopting it as my own.  Fridays of course not a good day for such contemplations, because on Fridays I am wholly engrossed by the penalties of any and all dualistic understandings of being, so on Fridays I tend to lean toward a stake through the heart as the proper solution because by Sunday around four thirty, when the stake is removed, I am both renewed and worthy of Sainthood. Which I guess makes me more like a Vampire than a Cathar Novitiate.


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