A conversation with myself, in the cemetery:
Me: That statue looks…weird.
Me: Pan? It’s a statue of Pan? What the hell?
(pause for photos)
(also pause while I thought about the character of Pan in Tom Robbins’s book Jitterbug Perfume, and how my friend Laurie and I co-wrote a poem about the book and some other stuff and how that poem had the memorable [!] lines “seemed only right for a woman who was fond of fucking around/with seriousness, sanctity, syntax.”)
Me: Why is there a statue of Pan?
Me: He’s a pagan god!
Me: Wait. Who am I to say he’s pagan? Do I get to decide that? Or is it just my own Judeo-Christian background showing up?
Me: Wait. How am I going to refer to Pan in my blog post? Can I say “pagan” or what?
I am sorry to had to see what goes in my head. I hope you can recover from it.
San Angelo, Texas