It is right that the gods be worshipped outside of any sort of enclosure. Temples and churches are idolatrous architecture: we are best with the original cathedral of the forest, with its irregular aisles and its roof crowned with the sky. Stone can only suggest the great canopy of the stars.
In the place of sacrifice, at the crisis or crux of the year, in the moment of the knife, that is the true place. That is the opening onto infinity, and that is the real place. “Favorite” is such a weak word for it, as if my individual will had anything to do with it. Beauty, too, that’s a weak word too, for what I want is something that means beauty and power and the awe we feel in the place of the sublime…
… that son et lumiere at the opening of Kirsten Felix’s Frankenstein, that conjures the northern wastes of the pole, yes, that’s what I mean. Caspar David Freidrich, of course: and that design so cleverly summons those pictures, without being literal about it… and it’s Petra Miller’s design, of course, but even a half-breed can get something right, if it’s so obviously in the air.
Six Sentence Sunday has been replaced by a number of options. Weekend Writing Warriors offers eight-sentence excerpts from a variety of writers; see the other excerpts here.