Born from the long forgotten the golems drift in the company of echoes. Half lit unremembered near to beingness you can hear the golems muttering inaudibly. Their mouths stuffed with wombs dreaming gumming up their enunciation. The words don’t come. Or they come partly formed echoes of long forgotten speech from furthest recesses from distances not yet faced. At cliff’s edges some golems stand considering flight while others wander dumbstruck in a graying limbo always on the cusp of fading out fading in. Christ might have been a golem. Or perhaps after the crisis on Golgotha his golem returned to leave off where mythology began. No one knows. Many unremembered crises become golems. The wombs implanted in the golem mouths are there for dreaming. The womb mouths of the golems gives them creative power perhaps their only power as they bring themselves to life through the dreaming. Through the dreaming the warming and this makes the golems solitude bearable. The dreamless golems become hopelessly bound within their own lost forgotten. Only dreaming can save the long forgotten. Dreams become lighted company in the opaque mirror pool abyss of long forgotten.

Painting by Linda Stojak