Day Of The Dead

Unexpected...suddenly...as if from nowhere they appear,

the monks are wearing fire-coloured gowns,

their faces, friendly but determined, are hidden behind

lacquered masks,

painted black and white, they're having the shape of

over-dimensional skulls.

Quickly and nimbly they are moving forward, hopping

dextrously,

throwing their legs like ageless jesters...so high up

into the air.

Each of them is armed with a short and even piece of

wood,

remarkably resembling...ancient worn-out washing-

boards.

Polished by the years of use, they brandish them like

swords or sticks

ready to strike ritually...-this is the DAY OF THE

remaining DEAD.

On this day we celebrate the expulsion, or rebuke,

of the spirits wich have unintendedly been dragged

along.

Some of these ghosts have been forgotten, some have

simply been ignored,

these remnants with a growing hunger...must be

exorcised, must be removed.

This ritual alway commences without warning, suddenly,

therefore it cannot be assigned to a certain date of

time.

It rather tends to inevitably follow a chain of events,

a special spiritual feature inherent in each and

everyone of them.

Out of the sphere of influence...of the sphere of the

days to be

the monks are approaching, spinning on their own axis

as they dance and sing

and hitting every person present so hard between the

shoulder-blades

as everyone here is dragging fidget,

invisible..."appendages".

As if by change, not expressly invited, we've assembled

here today

vehemently we are being hit...and driven through the

western gates,

out of the monastery in the direction of the setting

sun

a necessary purifying ceremony for the (fragile) days

to come...