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Aswad -> RE: Home Stone and city (3/1/2010 4:58:50 PM)
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Who would you say is a Jew? Persian? Anatolian? American?
The Egyptians understood that to be lost to memory was to be truly dead to the world, that so long as the essence of a thing persists, its corporeal form is a focal point, a vessel that enhances its influence in the world of the living. Accordingly, the dollar is housed in paper and metal, the Jews had the Ark, and various tribes around the world have had the equivalent of totems. Most of the West uses symbols (e.g. flags), craft names (i.e. titles) and incantations (e.g. terrorism). The notion of city home stones is little different: it gives form to an idea that gathers people, binds them together, and sets them apart. Aššur would make for a nice comparison.
I'm a simple man, too simple to sort out the complex and shifting allegiances, values and ideas that appear to make up the relation my neighbours have to their perception of the community where I live. I am content to note that our temples (i.e. city hall, etc.) are not as elaborate, as well kept, or as cared for as were the temples of older civilizations. The word used these day, "public building," somehow manages to connote a part of what our modern temples lack. But temples aren't a people. Even for those who settle in a place. It merely serves as one of many outward signs of what the community is like. As does the small, but growing, number of people who are rediscovering what it means to be someone. Someone with a stake in the community, who is part of something. One day, I may choose to be part of that community, when it has proven itself.
But in what way do I define and view it? I was born in this place. My mother's ashes rest here. This place marks my accent and mannerisms. It is subtly different from the other places I've been, even those that are close by. Nothing I could put my finger on. But sometimes, when I see the sun framed by familiar mountains, or smell the lightning on the wind, it's perfectly clear: this is home. The people change. The face of the town changes. Even a lot of the culture changes, given enough time. But the land is the same. My home. It's a part of me, and I will always carry a part of it within me, whether I carry one with me or not.
Oh, and, there's a rock. Maybe it's just a rock. Or maybe it's a piece of this land.
The town doesn't have a rock. Yet. It is a rock, though.
Health,
al-Aswad.
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