Tags
Adirondacks, banishment, Inflictions, metaphysical, miracles, Mourning, Oswegatchie, Pitcairn, punishment, Religion, shamans, St. Lawrence River
Exit; Stage Left
Well, reader of my words, you’ve read more than enough of my prattling. In the name of mourning, I command you: record for the servant of our guardian how the matriarch of he — whose name I dare not utter — crumpled that little black hen in her hands and gave it to you as your reward, and how thoughts effected my private parts when a young man, burdened with many sins … mainly fornication and self-abuse of every sort … stood before a coffin , and how my canoe was swept away, but it, and everything in it returned whole, and how I shouted in bliss, and whatever else you recall, to the glory of the matriarch of he — whose name I dare not whisper — .
Heed what I’m saying: if you don’t start mourning, I’ll be vexed and no mistake! You loved listening to my wailing and mourning, so why be ashamed? Mourn something, if only a little!
The Town Appraiser related before everyone at the town council in Geer’s Corners “what miracles and wonders had been wrought among the Harrisville residents,” in the third book of deeds, page 36; and on page 42, and the name of the landholder was magnified, and many that believed came, and asserted, and showed their deeds.
Yes, and much of this is found in the county book of deeds.
Mourn now, never fear, just keep your conscience clear! Speak, seeking glory not for yourself but for the matriarch of he — whose name I will not mention –. Let the servant of all who open those pages rejoice in seeing them.
When I die, who will mourn and remember me before he — whose name I dare not utter? I will implore he — whose name shall not pass my lips — on behalf of those who mourn me.
They will be my unsophisticated followers, and I will be theirs, evermore and perpetually.
(Wailing in silence ensues)