The letters of our thoughts are the ideas present in our mind before they come to realization . . . Thoughts that are, yet not felt . . . The words of the subconscious . . . of the soul . . .


Wednesday, January 28, 2009

La danse de l'idiot

In a wedding hall in Brooklyn two souls unite as one.
The groom sits resplendently in his chair - raven black fedora resting eloquently on his head, glimmer of light reflecting of the sweat of his brow. His new wedding frock flies from behind him like the cape of some knight valiant.

Around him, increasingly larger concentric circles of dancing friends twist like cogs in clockwork. Each figure moves in sync with his fellow, their actions guided by the beat of the music and fueled by the common bond of love between them.

Suddenly a man enters the hall. Like every other man, yet different. He doesn't seem to notice the beat.
His beard is messy, his payos stand on end and tangled. His coats, as he has several on, are covered with stains. His hat looks looks miserably crushed.

His eyes rolling in his head, the white of his eyes large and visible for all to see.
His hands move about wildly, as if given a life of their own.
His teeth gnash. And as he walks he sings to himself.

 He jerks and spins as he moves towards the groom in what has become apparent to all is a dance. His dance. The fool's dance.

As he moves through the still rotating series of concentric circles, the cogs of the Human machine, his actions sowing seeds of dissonance one must wonder.

Is it the fool who can not hear what has brought us all in sync?

Or is it our own foolishness that hides what he sees from us.

(Image: Stańczyk by Jan Matejko)

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Leora said...

Great painting. The jester, deep in his thoughts. No credit? Looks 18th century.

In your dance, I wonder where's the bride... behind a wall, with a totally separate group of dancers?

I like Turner's ships, also... almost abstract, his compositions. Full of energy, like the dances at this wedding.

The Real Shliach said...

Maybe he just drank too many buds?

Mottel said...

-Leora: I put the credit in - I forgot to add it last night. The Bride was on the other side of the mechitza . . . where I tend not to look (too often at least)

-TRS: perhaps he smoked to much bud, but that's another story.

e said...

OK. Who was this? Was it one of the usual mishegoyim?

e said...


Anonymous said...

i think the confused man is the writer, or is that being to cynical? it sounds like Mr. Motel over here has more in common with this "stranger" who walks in
but then again i am just a reader and have no idea who anyone really is. its just an opinion

Mottel said...

-E: One of the news special cases.

-Anon: Statements like that need to backed up with some sort of reason. What do you mean and why do you say it? Doing it under an anonymous name gives it even less credence.

Cheerio said...

wonderfully written piece. loved the description of the chosson, and the dancing. "bonds of love" - cute :)

redsneakz said...

There's a beautiful story that during the wedding of the Ropschitzer, a man dressed in peasant garb broke into the circle around the chasan and started dancing wildly; only later did the outsider realize that it was Rebbe Naftali himself.

We set a lot of store by outside appearances. We don't like to be reminded that in our communities are poor people, people with mental illnesses, people unable to apprehend even the most common events. As Garrison Keillor l'havdil says about his imaginary Lake Wobegon, "All the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average."

Chazak to those who help those who can't help themselves. Chazak to those who let them join a S'eudas Mitzvah to which they weren't invited. Chazak to those who make the unwelcome feel welcome.

Mottel said...

-Cheerio: Thanks for the kind words.

-Redsneakz: I'm glad you liked it. Thnaks for the background information - do you know if there's a copy of that story online?