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Chapter Two

THE GOD OF COOL BREEZES

His name is Ahhhhh! He is generally a nice guy to have around,
especially on a hot day, he feels mighty good!
He is the cousin of Zephyrus the God of Slight Breezes,
one of the deities of Discworld, which is a whole other
story! (by the wonderful Terry Pratchett
who's web site was under
construction last time I checked)

THE GOD OF DEATH ON THE QUEEN CHARLOTTES poem by Rowland Russell
(environmentalist, poet)
with photograph of Loren Polans (trickster, wildman) as the God Himself

Just as shadow
is implacable
evidence of light
so too is death
cast only by life.
Our every movement
reflects the interplay
of countervailing
yet complementary forces
- agitated water
meets frothy air,
placid swell
echoes languid sky -
If we are ignorant
in the face of
such twinning mystery
we will lose the
substance of our
lives -
that from which shadow
is made of light
that from which death
summons us into
the full embrace of life

Loren Polans as the God Himself

THE GOD OF DIVINE ANGER WAITING

Some things call for extreme measures,
and our anger can be our ally.
Nets are woven so tightly
that an explosion is necessary for freedom to be won.
This deity has a reservoir
to be used for divine purposes only.

- Morgan

THE GOD OF HEALING AND MAINTENANCE

The Night Janitor's Vision, by Ann G. (mother & dancer of all things)

The painting I call "The Night Janitor's Vision" hangs on my living room
wall and is dark, quiet, full of strength. My living room has no windows.
The man's face is somber, Hispanic-looking to me, and he holds the handle
of an unseen bucket in one hand and a sponge in the other. In the middle
of his chest, against the background of an olive-drab T-shirt, is a huge
luminous spiral. The night cleaner works alone, moving from one floor to
the next among desks where other people do banking or selling by day. The
gloriously balanced symmetries of the universe do not often mark those who
work during the busy buzz of the days. Sometimes in the winter he leaves
work in the dark and emerges from the subway just as dawn is breaking, and
the cloud of his breath glows in the golden light.

I wonder whether my 16-month-old son has noticed the painting, and whether
it means anything to him. I wonder whether the long, pointed fingers, the
only real sign of divinity in this otherwise unassuming figure, will disturb
or frighten him at some point in his childhood. I wonder if he will tell me
if they do.

on to the next chapter (3)