the labyrinth
She found herself in a maze deserted,
among funky archaic roots.Throbbing
waves of heat took her to its heart, and
as she penetrated this body of stone, the
image of the monstrous the site was
thought to be gave away.The stones breathed of peace, and the
walls told a story of a proud and freedom-
loving people. Slender and with heads
high borne, they moved along the walls
with graceful evidence.The labyrinth was shrouded in mystery,
there was so little known about it, details
were missing,denunciations of exactitude
lacking, and she probed her way viscerally
through this lost garden of Eden, through
a centre now empty and deserted. Only
clouds of sand stirred in the heat, as she
moved along the wall where the king once
had his seat.
But then, once long ago, the square had
been filled with men and women from far
away. Maybe, this had been a place of
wheeling and dealing, of mixing and
socializing, of dancing and drinking. This
empty site would have echoed of all the
tongues meeting here in a Babylonian
jumble of voices: unlimited billowing
uncontrollable, and, hence, horrifying
monstrous.A buzz of voices gone traversed the air in
a sudden puff of air; a buzz that once was
silenced by history.She had come to a rest, drowsy, with eyes
slightly closed, as she felt a thrill along
her spine. She opened her eyes and found
herself facing the abominable.Across the empty courtyard oxen horns
outlined, one resting in the west, next to
the king’s seat, and the other in the east,
in the house belonging to the priestess of
the snake. In its bosom, in the joint
between, in midst of the two compasses, a
double axe lay across.And she remembered, she remembered that
the labyrinth was not a place of a maze;
she remembered that the labyrinth
was the house of the double-edged axe, the
house of the equivocal and ambiguous, the
house that splits and discriminates.She saw a center that was not; she saw a
double axe splitting it in two, and she
followed the horns of the oxen with her
eyes from the seat of the king, through
that which is not, to the throne of the
priestess of the snake and back
- back and forth -back and forth - back
and forth.The movement of the eyes aroused the
lost dialectics between man and woman
that once had been harboured in the
house of the double axe. She
remembered how the centre that was
not,was the space, where gracile men
and women entered the trance of dance,
where you are neither man nor woman.She saw these men and women lose all
proportions, as the movement
intensified and brought them into the
heart of themselves, into the pulse of
the heart, where the day blossoms forth
in a lily of blood.It was the blue hour, she stood in the
nakedness of unconcealment, as the rut
of a taurus filled the centre that is not
her. She felt the rut wax in that which
is not; she felt it grow in her absence,
inside of her, moving inside of her,
under her skin, and the body twisted
itself in an emotion grotesque.Legs thighs hips swelled into
proportions unforeseen, shoulders
budded wings. The bull was inside her.
Ravaged her, raptured her. She wasn’t
herself, but, more like herself, raptured.Spirited away, she stood in her absence
with the atrocious the abominable
playing under her skin.The air changed, a warm moist wind
blew through the labyrinth, and out of
its ganglions soft tones are heard
seeking their way out from the dark
continent, from up down out of the
broken perspective and bursting forth in
an erotic play in the centre that is not.She danced the music of the labyrinth,
where man meets woman, where I meet
myself, where the dance happens just in
the split between you and me, between
me and myself, where neither you nor I
is man or woman.The feeling of the body’s grotesque
deformation is traversed by a sudden
metamorphosis, as a star dances over the
mountain peaks and throws its light over
forms clear sprung out of the music of
the body and the soul.
