Acute & Chronic(les) by Otsana - VI - Of bread, silence and perceptions (in a medieval sort of setting)

It was her non-deliberate but inescapable choice – that, of a place of comfort with known awns (1). A place of tremendous lucidity, by contrast. The contrast between traits sustained, in their own fantasized obscuration, by the barbicans of the tower of distance, and those other traits, jumping off that same stronghold, reckless and uncovered, in sight and onto the public square of all adjacencies and – also by contrast – of all confrontations.

The comfort of a state of being like one who sieves flour, adds salt and yeast, and then kneads and lets it rest so it will double in volume, to then, and only then, mold, in the precise portions, with the exact sizes and shapes, that which is meant to be baked and divided among those who expect. The comfort of letting the being BE, with the nobleness and the humility of a task that is indispensable but of which one thinks solely when it is not done, or the portion, the size and the shape do not match the expectations of those who expect.

The comfort, bristling with subliminal awns, of letting the being BE aside the contention, the romance, the saga, the braveries, the treacheries, the wounds, the sighs, the entreaties and the imprecations – but of feeling it, feeling it all in the soul; the soul, that thing that can’t be seen, and thus is as if it were not, just like the air, that thing that kills when it’s missing and can’t be seen, either, or hunger, that thing that kills when what is missing is, precisely, that which is expected from this invisible state of being – the supply of sustenance to those who expect:

-  Those who are, today, warriors or troubadours of the same heroic or hysterical causes which will make of them criminals, ridiculous, or simply dead, tomorrow.

As for her, she will be, tomorrow, what she is today, in that non-deliberately but inescapably chosen place, where comfort is the courage of being prepared to feel, amidst the wheat and the rye, also the awns; alive or dead, one who makes, or used to make, of the tears wiped to flour-covered hands, simply… bread – because, of the dark red blood with which she used to write marginal texts, while perceptions were leavening, nobody will hear, just like nobody ever heard it drip from the gashes.

After all – but these are secrets that only someone who may also happen to descend from millers, or may have learned how to thresh, knows – be it from white or red wheat, the flour made is always silent, and comes from similarly dense, smooth, and white ears; with black awns at the basis.

© 2007 by Otsana (Image – botanical depiction of wheat by Khoe)

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(1) Bristle-like appendages, forming the “beard” of certain grasses and cereals – e.g. wheat. Certain awns are very pointed, and can pierce the skin, causing painful wounds.

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Notice: Otsana is one of several literary characters created by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®. Discover her profile in the introduction to her first story here, in AD, by following the link provided below. Both the character Otsana and her literary works are © by Alexandra* ~ OneLight*® - All rights reserved