We cannot know both the reality of the Snow Angel and the trajectory of our desire. The one will erase the other, opposite poles of attraction we cannot hold together. But somewhere, (who cannot believe it will be so!) we may hear a Voice that will lead us to some greater freedom, from the prisons of memory, to visions of the Peaceable Kingdom, lead us on a Winter’s Night, even to the Left Side of the World, and grant us the gift of a new name.So it was for Jacob, who first saw the angel on the Frankford El, and where she fell in the snowa photograph, a note, an address to the house of Nacht. What could he do, but follow the signs? Ah, but there will be fire to pass through if you are to meet the messenger, with riddles, like koans that have no end. Follow the cat. Run your finger over the alphabetfeel where his teeth have left their marks, close your eyes, draw pictures in the dark, let your fingers tell the story, like reading brail, that it may unfold, not in words, but out of the unfathomable silence of the body.
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About the Author
Visual artist, poet, novelist, Street Medic & activist. Live in West Philly. Jacob Russell is my pen name. Sign my art Willard (my legal first name). No Revolution without poetry! No Poetry without Revolution!