Very occasionally a man walks into the Spirit bar and makes everyone stop and wonder. His appearance may hide a depth not usually seen; the gifts he brings not usually seen either. They can be astonishing.
So it was today that dishevelled and gaunt, tired, caked in dirty oil and in need of a deep Grace, a young man came in and bestowed a Grace that he himself carried and which could have come from my cellars.
My Tavern is an ante-chamber to a far greater place. We have all sorts in here. Many drink deep of Grace. But some, of course have a long walk to the bar. Even from the door.
This man, who describes himself as a
'disobedient, warm machine'
had something to show and something to say. His hand could touch the bar from the door.
I recognised this young man. I know a Bro. He is no Knight but wears an Armour just as tight. He is no Knight as determined by a man-Liege but he is born to it. Destined. His Liege is above all and he has yet to find Him.
This place is for sinners as well as Saints; the man on a hard path as well as the Hero. And his name will one day be written in light on the base of the Grail.
His tears fell again as he showed his gift.
So, sit in calm and see what he brought. Then hear the tale....
and then hear his tale.
"Adagio" (2000) -is a ten minutes long animated miracle created by Russian master-animator Garri Bardin. He used paper folding 'origami' technique in the film and it took nine months to produce.
The film has a reach. It says different things to one as to another. It is a philosophical parable exploring the conflict between a hero and the crowd and is loosely based on a romantic short story written by the famous Russian writer Maxim Gorky about a young man named Danko and his burning heart.
In the story, Danko belonged to a tribe of strong men that were forced by their enemies to retreat into the depths of an old dark forest filled with swamps.
Danko, young and brave, believed that there was a way out of dark and hostile forest, and he bravely led the people deeper inside. But soon they started to grumble. Fuelled by fear and darkness, frustration and anger grew among them. Danko looked at the people and saw only hatred in their faces, and the flame of desire to save them flared up in his heart.
"This flame of love for his people became stronger and stronger, and suddenly, overpowering the sound of thunder, Danko exclaimed: 'What shall I do for my people?' And he tore apart his chest and tore out his heart and raised it high over his head. It blazed like the sun, even brighter than the sun, and the forest, stunned by this overwhelming love for the people, became quiet. Danko ran forward, holding high his burning heart, lighting the road for the people, and they rushed after him.
Suddenly, the forest ended, and they emerged into an ocean of sunshine and fresh air, cleansed by the rain. Danko looked at the free land, laughed proudly and fell dead. And the happy people, filled with great hopes and expectations, did not even notice Danko's death and did not see that next to his body his brave heart still burned brightly. Only one person noticed it and fearing something, stomped on the proud heart and extinguished its flame...
Others, of course will see not a Russian folk-tale, but a far deeper meaning.
Niffiwan, standing at the end of the bar said:
Garri Bardin said in a March 12 interview that he had an argument with his son Pavel about the film; his son thought that he should have ended it before the entrance of the black figure, and had it be the story of Jesus. Garri Bardin replied that his film was
not about Christ - it is about"the grey masses"
who don't know history, don't want to know history, and repeat the same mistakes".
The Taverner knows a little about the artistic spirit and its place in our humanity. What the artist says he is 'saying' often comes from a place that even he barely recognises. The landscape of the soul/psyche is sometimes rugged and what he shouts out echoes off canyon walls, even from the Abyss, and
returns a different message
from the intent.
The white and black pieces of paper have a connotation of good and evil, first thing that anyone would see depending who the observer is, but seems to distinguish them from the rest. The "rest" always consume it in someway.
Ok second time around. The grays didn't accept anything not like them and treat the white paper like crap. They end up killing it and figure out its difference makes it great. The nature of the grays makes them conform to the idea that the white paper is accepted and revered.
When blacky shows up they makes the same mistake again because he isnt a white worshiping gray and turn on it, even though the black and white are more connected than the grays.
He has a strong point. There is a Messiah and there are False Prophets. Many in the 'masses' cannot tell the difference. They see with temporal eyes but not with their Heart.
But he, the 'Disobedient, Warm Machine', this glorious young man, however had much else to say.....This is HIS tale.....
(He spoke his pain while the music played. I suggest you do too. Listen to the music as he bares his soul in the night, in his all-too- short respite from the Oil fields.)
there's a certain kind of restless time in an evening that's different from the rest.
when you know you're only miles away
from that scary exit that all kinds of preachers
and teachers taught you about as a boy.
theres that sunken in feeling when you know your bodies done. and at its peak.
will you die at 27 , never having learned to speak?
the adagio slow march, into all the wheat fields you'll never see.
and all the bleeding chapped lips you'll never kiss.
and all the hot oil you'll never smell or understand the pricing of.
where is all this steam coming from?
is there folks in busy cities buying this shit?!
am i a mosquito taking my fill off the surface of the earth?
so cursed and blessed with the inherent understanding of private property
that it gets in the way of spiritual connectedness.
so loyal to loneliness that its stumbles the steps toward friendship.
slumped over a hypothetical and literal bar , while theres only one song on the jukebox.
and this one is it.
if you're like me , brother you're feeling older now ,
you're friends and family are dying.
the ones that aint, have their little kiddies , who are also getting older.
but not you , you're still you. in small towns working long hours in places
no one has heard of. wearing gas masks while arch angels hover above you ,
holding a sign that says "repent O tired believers!"
but its one step at a time , the slow march forward
the bobbing of heads.
with the revolutionary assumption that god doesn't need you to say anything.
for if you had time to say it and write it ,
it would be untrue
because the truth is faster than the speed of light.
this sound and this image stops all time ,
allowing for you give that eternal sigh
in the naked natural way you've always wanted.
brother, all this , all this money and these machines and warm bodies
showing up everyday.
its hard to take it seriously anymore. you're obviously along for the ride.
you have the lonely money to leave anytime you want , but you're still here.
there's not really anywhere to go. what ya knew has changed, what ya love probably didn't exist in the first place.
if you're like me
the slow march , more bobbing of heads , the garruntee of some type of cancer.
this is not a fantasy anymore , you better get serious.
its happening right now and so fast
you're eating less and less. tired of the usuals. just skipping all 3 eventually.
you walk in and immediate start doing anything you can to feel that bliss.
you hate the morning. its all a hungry black hole , sucking you into it.
all but this sound
this summer is almost over now. its going to be time to turn your collars up to the cold wind and the dry skin , the absolute hurt.
there's really going to be something different this time
while god and the devil are too busy fighting over your soul,
you are walking into the badlands.
not having time or energy to debate either of them. (you gotta be rich in the first place to think like that)
basically ya missed your exist , and only realized it 1000 miles later.
you're losing too much weight too fast.
you're getting sick , music isn't even sounding good.
its only that the right music is sounding right , and matching up to its proper reality. this one
the source is over there >>>>> just walk towards it
and without prejudice interrupt god and the devil fighting for your attention.
give them something they've never seen.
a cosmic and eternal sigh.
you never had time anyways.
dinner was already cold when you got there
but all parties involved will get a good tip (as any good waiter should)
from this warm blooded human being
whom even though minimized and scattered in the spec of galaxies far beyond the space depris of appollo missions ,
and the dead quietness of black space,
forgave himself foremost and also forgave others.
and in defiant human spirit ,forgave god and the rest of the things he couldn't see in exchange for a personal revelation.
not for the promise of heaven or for a comfortable eternity.
but because he meant it
forgive me god for taking this long.
it's probably turned into a lie already
but as long as the right song is playing ,
you're going to hear me one way or another
The road is hard on the feet. The Tavern is a resting place.
Tears sometimes flow with their own intent.
The drinks are on the house for this young man while he sits. He will be off again into the badlands soon and may his armour of self-doubt and gentle heart protect him from the gray-masses certainties in the forests.
Pax Dei Vobiscum.