Visions of Gerard Read Online Free PDF

prayer—“Hail Mary—” in French the prayer: “ Je vous salue Marie pleine de grâce ”—Grace and grease interlardedly mixed, since the kids didnt say “grace,” they said “grawse” and no power on earth could stop them—The Holy Grease, and good enough—“ Le Seigneur est avec vous — vous êtes bénie entre toutes les femmes ”—Blessed among and above all women, and they saw their mother’s and sister’s eyes as one pair of eyes—“ Et Jésus le fruit de vos entrailles ”—“entrailles” the powerful French word for Womb, entrails , none of us had any idea what it meant, some strange interior secret of Mary and Womanhood, little dreaming the whole universe was one great Womb—The coil of that thought and wording, not conducive to a true understanding of the nature and emptiness-aspect of Wombhood, the perfect blue sky’s our Womb (but not our guts and coils)—“ Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu, priez pour nous, pécheurs, maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort ”—No comma in the minds and thoughts of the little boys (and their fathers) who ran it straight thru “ pécheurs maintenant et à l’heure de notre mort ”, sinner always right unto death, no help no hope, born—
    â€œ Ainsi soit-il ”, amen, none of them knowing either what that meant, “thus it is,” it is what is and that’s all it is—thinking ainsi soit-il to be some mystic priestly secret word invoked at altar—The innocence and yet intrinsic purity-understanding with which the Hail Mary was done, as Gerard, now knelt in his secure pew, prepares to visit the priest in his ambuscade and palace hut with the drapes that keep swishing aside as repentent in-and-out sinners come-and-go burdened and disemburdened as the case may be and is, amen—
    Now Gerard ponders his sins, the candles flicker and testify to it—Dogs burlying in the distance fields sound like casual voices in the waxy smoke nave, making Gerard turn to see—But in and throughout all a giant silence reigns, shhhhhing, throughout the church like loud remindful ever-continuing abjuration to stay be straight and honest with your thought—
    â€œI pushed lil Carrufel”—It took place in the schoolyard, with throw-cards Gerard had contrived a card-castle at midday recess, the first grader knocked it down coming too close and curious, without reflection Gerard raged and pushed him, really mad, “Look what you done to my house—Nut!” then instantly repented and too late—Now he pouts to concede: “But it was my house— mautadit fou ” (a form of dyazam fool, or, drazyam, or whichever, used by children and in fact everyone including prelates, congressmen and druggists)—“But when I pushed him he turned pale, he didn’t know anybody was gonna push him at that moment and that was the moment that hurt him— Ya venu blême comme une vesse de carême (He got pale as a lenten fart)—His heart sank, and it’s me that done it—It’s a clear sin—My Jesus wouldnt have liked that watching from his cross”—He turns eyes up and around to the cross, where, with arms extended and hands nailed, Jesus sags to his foot-rest and bemoans the scene forever, and always it strikes in Gerard’s naturally pitiful heart the thought “But why did they do that?”—Looking there at the foolish mistakes of past multitudes, plain as day to see, right on the wall—The massive silence enveloping the graceful gentle form of hip and loincloth, limbs and knees, and the tortured thin breast—And the unforgettable downcast face—“God said to his son, we’ve got to do this—they decided in Heaven—and they did it—it happened—INRI!”—“INRI—that means, it happened!—or else, INRI,