Het (fence): part 8 in The Red Letters

Het is often misimagined.
It invites concepts of enclosure,
and wild west, hand hewn
beam and post wood,
splintered and weathered.

Something to do with
cowboys. Splintered
and weathered are, at least,
accurate measures – I
imagine it roughly gouged,

disfigured and grotesque,
suitable only
for martyrs and thieves –
but its bounds
are not so dimensional.

It doesn’t mark territory. It
stakes no mundane claims, nor
prevents our fierce,
determined wanderlust.
The Pharisees saw it this way:

surrounding, keeping in,
hedging and fortifying.
For them, it codified
spiritual condition
into absolutes.

Certain strictures
became their indicators, and,
in the place of God,
they made exclusions
and determinations

based on what pasture
you were grazing in.
But Het is really at
center. It draws,
not contains. Not selects,

simplifies. For where
that beam and post
cross, there, written
into those scars,
are only two questions:

What direction are you facing?
Are you moving?

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