When the stories I tell can change me, I tell them over again

There are three kinds of memory I’d provocatively tell myself if I knew which self to provoke and the provocative part isn’t what they are so much as who they make me There are the personal memories of course like that one of an early crawl with small fingers tugging at shaggy browns as they make for the Siamese who lies purring grays a world away Or another hand much bigger but less sure The temptation this time is maybe hers sitting close but distant and yet it’s more likely mine and where my hand wants to lie and how it wants me to keep it there forever I have to tell it its forever is longer than mine These memories are an always too slippery to hold and I've always let them go where they will There are also cultural memories the kind with lives and lessons they’ve unkindly kept in books but their lessons don’t live within the bindings clapped down with dust to lessen them They escape with each crack and they tiptoe their stories inside me Their stories that root and rise an idyllic garden leafing lush greens with one forbidden tree I’ve bitten its fruit and it's opened my eyes I’ve re-opened them often and what I see changes and I see in these changes there’s a third kind It’s kept deeper Deeper still Too deep to read or know well It’s written within each cell and it tells the same tales with a different head This head much hairier peeks between dense branches at reds suddenly grown sharper and it peeks for me A snake that can’t be so easily hid.

Fruit of a Bizarre Love Triangle (POW Prompt 3)

If I hedge thus a drooling wager and cash
in on my thrice-foiled cravings for her over-due bites
(plus a guilt-free laugh at his expense), I can
use minced steps to sidle around too-lively
trunks, and avoid the need to heed thugs
barking mad from within their crevice-laid traps.

How those bug-eyed brutes'll clamor and claw at me
to discard this protective wrap, clued in by my rep
of never bending willfully to anybody
but her. "Come on, shed! Get, uh, new set of scales,
for you we will -- promise!" is how she'd stammer,
roughly translating their not-so-twee chatter,

if she were there. Rather, in that lavishly apt way
she has, she'll be off picking suitable pelts
to adorn her newly uncovered, quite-public shames
while fending away an advancing clod, who won't go
easily, but who does go on ad nauseam with
a penchant for naming every God-damn thing

that haps vitally across his cocky path. Beyond
a simple relish of mischief, I'm doing this (mostly)
for her benefit. How could a persimmon
be forbidden, as if he had permission to make
such bargains? He's dismissed it as an ungainly fruit,
and mocked its likelihood to "lava thy lips"

with an orange pulp, but in that chance smattering lies
the matter to inflame my soul. I'll feed her
the pudding-fresh flesh, stripping it down
to its delectably small seeds, and in their splitting
I'll glean the silvery utensils to spill
a man's wholly worthless future. Let's tuck in.

---

This piece is written (a little ahead of time) for the Poetry on Wednesday Prompt 3, and it will require some explanation. A passage from a Ted Hughes poem, in which he describes tasting a fresh peach at 25 (click the link to read it), was the initial inspiration, but my mind wandered into the realm of forbidden fruits and somehow interjected a persimmon into an alternate history of the Garden of Eden told from the serpent's point of view. Note that colored phrases in the text indicate anagrams I used for Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath.

Today's gleanings from Wikipedia: Bio of Erich Fromm

In my Internet wanderings today, I came across the informational tidbit that Psychologist Erich Fromm was born this day in 1900. I admit not knowing very much about Mr. Fromm, but found the description of his world view quite interesting.

Here's a long excerpt from the Wikipedia article on him:

The cornerstone of Fromm's humanistic philosophy is his interpretation of the biblical story of Adam and Eve's exile from the Garden of Eden. Drawing on his knowledge of the Talmud, Fromm pointed out that being able to distinguish between good and evil is generally considered to be a virtue, and that biblical scholars generally consider Adam and Eve to have sinned by disobeying God and eating from the Tree of Knowledge. However, departing from traditional religious orthodoxy, Fromm extolled the virtues of humans taking independent action and using reason to establish moral values rather than adhering to authoritarian moral values.

Beyond a simple condemnation of authoritarian value systems, Fromm used the story of Adam and Eve as an allegorical explanation for human biological evolution and existential angst, asserting that when Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge, they became aware of themselves as being separate from nature while still being part of it. This is why they felt "naked" and "ashamed": they had evolved into human beings, conscious of themselves, their own mortality, and their powerlessness before the forces of nature and society, and no longer united with the universe as they were in their instinctive, pre-human existence as animals. According to Fromm, the awareness of a disunited human existence is the source of all guilt and shame, and the solution to this existential dichotomy is found in the development of one's uniquely human powers of love and reason.

That interpretation of the Biblical story actually resonates quite well with my own. If you think of this and the other stories from the Bible on a metaphorical level, its significance as a historical document actually grows -- at least in my eyes. That our earliest ancestors were able to create and transmit through countless generations a story that symbolically captures the moment when humanity achieved consciousness is an amazing possibility to contemplate.

See also my post The Serpent, the Tree of Knowledge, and Evolution? from last July.