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The Hangman
By Maurice Ogden
Into our town the Hangman came
Smelling of gold and blood and flame—
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air
And built his frame on the courthouse square.The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime,
The Hangman judged with the yellow twist
Of knotted hemp in his busy fist.And innocent though we were, with dread
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead;
Till one cried: “Hangman, who is he
For whom you raise the gallows-tree?”Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
“He who serves me best,” said he,
“Shall earn the rope on the gallows-tree.”And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another’s grief
At the Hangman’s hand was our relief.And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow’s sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his hangman’s cloak.
The next day’s sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town
And, stark and black in the morning air,
The gallows-tree on the courthouse square.And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and businesslike.And we cried: “Hangman, have you not done,
Yesterday, with the alien one?”
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed:
“Oh, not for him was the gallows raised . . .”He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
“ . . . Did you think I’d gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That’s a thing I do
To stretch the rope when the rope is new.”Then one cried “Murderer!” One cried “Shame!”
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man’s place. “Do you hold,” said he,
With him that’s meant for the gallows-tree?”And he laid his hand on that one’s arm,
And we shrank back in quick alarm,
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his hangman’s cloak.That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman’s scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute
The gallows-tree had taken root.Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took—and we had all heard tell—
Was a usurer and infidel. And:
“What,” said the Hangman, “have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?”And we cried out: “Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?”
The Hangman smiled: “It’s a clever scheme
To try the strength of the gallows-beam.”The fourth man’s dark, accusing song
Had scratched out comfort hard and long;
And “What concern,” he gave us back,
“Have you for the doomed—the doomed and black?”The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again:
“Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?”
“It’s a trick,” he said, “that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow.”And so we ceased and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score;
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came
And called in the empty streets my name,
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall
And thought: “There is no one left at allFor hanging, and so he calls to me
To help him pull down the gallows-tree.”
And I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman’s tree and the Hangman’s rope.He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town,
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap
And it sprang down with a ready snap—
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.“You tricked me, Hangman!” I shouted then,
“That your scaffold was built for other men . . .
And I no henchman of yours,” I cried.
“You lied to me, Hangman, foully lied!”Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye:
“Lied to you? Tricked you?” he said, “Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true:
The scaffold was raised for none but you.”“For who has served me more faithfully
Than you with your coward’s hope?” said he,
“And where are the others that might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?”“Dead,” I whispered: and amiably,
“Murdered,” the Hangman corrected me;
“First the alien, then the Jew . . .
I did no more than you let me do.”Beneath the beam that blocked the sky,
None had stood so alone as I—
And the Hangman strapped me, and no voice there
Cried “Stay!” for me in the empty square.
My father moved through theys of we, singing each new leaf out of each tree(and every child was sure that spring danced when she heard my father sing)…"
–by E.E. Cummings
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Peter Makela, returning from Bhutan March 25. He writes on Facebook:
Hi Everyone,
I will be returning to the US next week on March 25th. I feel so humbled to have spent so much time in the blessed land of Bhutan. I would like to make available many incredible items from here. Here is a selection of some precious Bhutanese things that are available for pre order. Since they are not so large or heavy I will be able to bring them back in my suitcase and can ship them within the US or hand deliver them on my travels.
If you’re interested in any of these items or have any questions please message me. Prices on request. (Peter Makela @Facebook). Check his Facebook page for pictures and message him if interested.
Thank you so much
1-2. 6” Clay statues made from the blessed land here - Guru Rinpoche, Thangtong Gyalpo, Chenrezig, Dzambhala
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Clay statues made from the blessed land here - Dorje drolo is 9”, Troma 12”
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Blessed Drukpa Kunley keychains from Chime Lhakhang
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26” x 18” Guru Rinpoche with 8 manifestation print thangka
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20” x 13” Guru Rinpoche print thangka
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20” x 13” Buddha print thangka
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20” x 13” White Tara print thangka
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Beautiful natural dye bureh silk scarfs
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Large Natural dye silk scarves with madder and walnut
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13” Hand carved and painted Drukpa kunley Dorjes from chime Lhakhang
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Traditional tightly hand woven bags from Trashigang, Eastern Bhutan
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Amazing elaborate hand woven bureh silk table runners from Trashigang
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Handwoven yak nomad bags from Gasa/ border of Tibet
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What are they? Elephant dildos?
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Back in the Roman times, it was not uncommon to find statues of Priapus in peoples gardens
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"There ain’t nothin’ more powerful than the odor of mendacity . You can smell it. It smells like death. "
—Big Daddy. Tennessee Williams, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.
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my father moved through dooms of love
1894 –
1962
34
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height
this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if (so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm
newly as from unburied which
floats the first who, his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots
and should some why completely weep
my father’s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin
joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice
keen as midsummer’s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly (over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father’s dream
his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.
Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain
septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is
proudly and (by octobering flame
beckoned) as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark
his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he’d laugh and build a world with snow.
My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)
then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine, passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and sold
giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear, to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am
though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit, all bequeath
and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why men breathe—
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all
"
@BlessingsDeers this parrallels what I was talking about in my last post in mudra hands.
The ending of this poem too:
[O sweet spontaneous]
BY E. E. CUMMINGS
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
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From the movie, The Monk and the Gun, about Bhutan. Takes place during Bhutan’s first national elections and has some nice stories woven in it. Worth seeing. Also thought this was interesting, perhaps something similar to the Shiva Linga in Hindu culture.
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From a Pujya
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" Phallus paintings in Bhutan are esoteric symbols, which have their origins in the Chimi Lhakhang monastery near Punakha, the former capital of Bhutan. The village monastery was built in honour of Lama Drukpa Kunley who lived at the turn of the 16th century and who was popularly known as the “Mad Saint” (nyönpa) or “Divine Madman” for his unorthodox ways of teaching, which amounted to being bizarre and shocking.[1] These explicit paintings have become embarrassing to many of the country’s urbanites, and this form of folk culture is informally discouraged in urban centers as modern Abrahamic cultural norms of shaming the human body and sexuality have spread in Bhutan’s urban centers.[2] [3]
However phallus paintings can still be seen on the walls of houses and buildings throughout Bhutan, particularly in villages, and are credited as Kunley’s creations.[4][5] Traditionally symbols of an erect penis in Bhutan have been intended to drive away the evil eye and malicious gossip.[6] The phallic symbols are generally not depicted in community temples and dzongs, which are places of worship where lamas or Buddhist monks and nuns who have adopted celibate lifestyles live. However, rural and ordinary houses continue to display them.[7][8]
While the history of use of phallus symbols is generally traced to Drukpa Kunley, studies carried out at the Center of Bhutan Studies (CBS) have inferred that the phallus was an integral part of the early ethnic religion associated with Bon that existed in Bhutan before Buddhism became the state religion. In Bon, the phallus was integral to all rituals.[7] Dasho Lam Sanga, a former principal of the Institute of Language and Culture Studies (ILCS), while acknowledging that there are no written documents regarding the subject, refers to the oral history: “But the worship of the phallus was believed to be in practice even before the arrival of Guru Rinpoche and Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal … What we know about it is what we heard from our forefathers.”[7]"
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Who is it depicting?
Lots of dragons (or serpents)
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It’s a mirror . . . . . . . . . .
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Bad hair day… 
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Walton Ford
Flucht , 2018
Watercolor, gouache, and ink on paper
60 1/2 x 83 1/2 inches (153.7 x 212.1 cm)
© Walton Ford; Courtesy the Artist and Vito Schnabel Gallery
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@BlessingsDeers , nice synchronicity if you look through the few pics on that webpage
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Amo:
Cabeza de vaca
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