a hundred men with songs on their backs and a heart in either hand.
brothers and sisters. i slept and as i slept He whispered things to me. such an assortment as it was that i cannot remember most of it. but of what i can recall i will labor to present in as clear a fashion as possible. this is but a beginning to something that i will put forth a strenuous effort to see to an end.
there are streets. streets that neither you nor i have seen, but understand that they exist. and, if by chance we were ever to encounter them, we should recognize them in an instant. and on these streets a hundred men stood. warm and alive. but still and quiet as the cobblestones beneath their feet. by men you must understand that i mean both men and women as a whole. intertwined as if it was never intended that these two flesh be seperated. one from the other. and upon the back of each man there was a weighted pack. dirty. gray and worn. with rusted buttons. as though it had been borne for many years but never opened. and in his left hand, by his you must understand that i mean all men, he held a beating heart of such a brilliant red and so fresh that it appeared he had just plucked it from his own chest. but you must understand that behind it's color and shudder it was just an ordinary human heart, nothing more. and in his right hand, what appeared to be a small black book. but, as it occured to me later, was much more than just paper and a binding. as he stood there carriages would pass by on either side. dirt from the gutters of those streets was caught up in the twirling and spinning of spokes and tossed on both the heart and the book. after some time, i noticed that the dirt would cling to the hearts, until their color was no longer bright and their pulse would all but cease, due to the filth that covered it. yet when that same dirt was tossed upon the book it was harmless as a pitcher of water poured out onto the surface of a shallow dish. and, to my vast astonishment, the more mud that was heaped upon it simply left the leather of the cover even more handsome and rich in tones than it had, at first, been. i continued to ponder on the curious nature of all this, and was quite lost in my own thought, until maybe the fourth or fifth man had set himself to motion. as he opened his coat. there was a hole near his left breast that had before escaped my attention. being as it was hidden by a thick pocket. remember that i refer to he as all and all as he. for they are indeed one and you will see what i am getting at by this before the end. in it each man would place either the heart or the book. and after doing so would begin to walk down the street until they were lost from my sight among it's crooked path. some would come to their decision quickly and be on their way. others would deliberate for such a long time i would begin to lose patience, and encourage them to choose one and be on with it. in almost all these cases, their face would twist into an expression of bereavement or frustration before thrusting the heart into that gaping black cavity and following the others down the street. that as i have said before. neither you. nor i. have ever seen. as each man continued on in this manner i became increasingly confused, and somewhat concerned, as too why so few of them would choose the book and instead shelter this fistful of dirt and flesh within their breast. i also noticed that which of the two they did not keep would be flung onto the stones and left behind in their hurry to be off. at times a man might return and cast aside his first choice and take back what he has been so eager to rid himself of. but these occasions were very few. and after what seemed an age these hundred men had made their choice, and the last horse had trotted by, drawing behind it's loud and heavy carriage. so, with a virginal curiosity still stirring in my mind, as a sparrow bathes in the mud without a care in this whole earth, i bent over, shouldering a discolored pack. and began, once more, to continue in my travels. a heart in one hand. and a book in the other.
'but if i didn't have you as my guide i'd still wander. lost in sinai.' - aaron weiss.