Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Lament for a Cathedral
Half a world away, I sit on the ground, and weep for beauty broken.
Lady of Paris, ochone.
For what I have never seen, I raise now a lament.
Lady of Paris, ochone.
I raise a lament for the forest felled, for 800 years: ash, now, ember and ash.
Lady of Paris, ochone.
I raise a lament for the stones that stood, for the hands that wrought.
Lady of Paris, ochone.
People of Paris, that weep in the streets, with you I raise my lament.
The Lady of Paris has fallen.
Ochone, ochone, ochone.
Comments
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Tuesday, 16 April 2019
Rose windows not destroyed, but some damage:
https://hosted.ap.org/article/abf11681d6164918982e5cbca0957548/fire-under-control-attention-turns-notre-dames-future -
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I spent many hours meditating there when I was a sophomore in college. It feels like a part of me is destroyed.