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In the vast Alaskan Arctic, legend has it there once lived a mythic tribe - Iñukuns. But now Inukuns only exist in rumors and whispers. Until an.
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They kept asking me if the girl got lots of toys when she made it out of the well. This was so against my point that I said, out of spite, Unfortunately, no, she did not. I made the boys keep me awake with stories.
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The younger one was into a British television show about marine life, which the older one maintained was babyish until I pretended not to believe what they were telling me. Then they both told me about cookie-cutter sharks, who bore perfect round holes in whales, as if their mouths were cookie cutters. They told me about the sunlight, the twilight, and the midnight zones, the three depths of water, where there is transparent light, then a murky, darkish light, then no light at all. They told me about the world pool, in which one current goes one way, another goes another way, and where they meet they make a tornado of air, which stretches, my little one said, from the midnight zone, where the fish are blind, all the way up up up to the birds.
They piled all the sleeping bags and blankets they could find on me, then climbed under and fell asleep without bathing or toothbrushing or getting out of their dirty clothes, which, anyway, they sweated through within an hour. Then I looked at a hunting magazine, which made me remember the Florida panther.
The danger had been abstract until we saw this bodily proof of existence, and my husband and I led the children home, singing a round, all four of us holding hands, and we let the dog off the leash to circle us joyously, because, as small as she was, it was bred in her bones that in the face of peril she would sacrifice herself first. The rain increased until it was deafening and still my sweaty children slept.
I tried to bring back the poems of my youth, and could not remember more than a few floating lines, which I put together into a strange, sad poem, Blake and Dickinson and Frost and Milton and Sexton, a tag-sale poem in clammy meter that nonetheless came alive and held my hand for a little while.
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Then the rain diminished until all that was left were scattered clicks from the drops falling from the pines. The batteries of one lantern went out and the light from the remaining lantern was sparse and thwarted. I could hardly see my hand or the shadow it made on the wall when I held it up. This lantern was my sister; at any moment it, too, could go dark.
I feasted my eyes on the cabin, which in the oncoming black had turned into a place made of gold, but the shadows seemed too thick now, fizzy at the edges, and they moved when I shifted my eyes away from them. It felt safer to look at the cheeks of my sleeping children, creamy as cheeses. It was elegiac, that last hour or so of light, and I tried to push my love for my sons into them where their bodies were touching my own skin.
The wind rose again and it had personality; it was in a sharpish, meanish mood. It rubbed itself against the little cabin and played at the corners and broke sticks off the trees and tossed them at the roof so they jigged down like creatures with strange and scrabbling claws. The wind rustled its endless body against the door.
Everything depended on my staying still, but my skin was stuffed with itches. Something terrible in me, the darkest thing, wanted to slam my own head back against the headboard. I imagined it over and over, the sharp backward crack, and the wash and spill of peace. When it was gone and I was alone again, I felt the dissociation, a physical shifting, as if the best of me were detaching from my body and sitting down a few feet distant. It was a great relief. For a few moments, there was a sense of mutual watching, a wait for something definitive, though nothing definitive came, and then the bodiless me stood and circled the cabin.
The dog moved and gave a soft whine through her nose, although she remained asleep. The floors were cool underfoot. My head brushed the beams, though they were ten feet up. Where my body and those of my two sons lay together was a black and pulsing mass, a hole of light. I passed outside. The path was pale dirt and filled with sandspur and was cold and wet after the rain. The great drops from the tree branches left a pine taste in me.
The forest was not dark, because darkness has nothing to do with the forest—the forest is made of life, of light—but the trees moved with wind and subtle creatures. I was with the raccoons of the rooftop, who were now down fiddling with the bicycle lock on the garbage can at the end of the road, with the red-shouldered hawk chicks breathing alone in the nest, with the armadillo forcing its armored body through the brush. The cabin was not visible, but it was present, a sore at my side, a feeling of density and airlessness.
With each circle, a terrible, stinging anguish built in me and I had to move faster and faster, each pass bringing up ever more wildness. What had been built to seem so solid was fragile in the face of time because time is impassive, more animal than human. Time would not care if you fell out of it. It would continue on without you. It cannot see you; it has always been blind to the human and the things we do to stave it off, the taxonomies, the cleaning, the arranging, the ordering.
Even this cabin with its perfectly considered angles, its veins of pipes and wires, was barely more stable than the rake marks we made in the dust that morning, which time had already scrubbed away. A low mist rose from the ground and gradually came clearer.
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The first birds sent their questions into the chilly air. The sky developed its blue. The sun emerged. I watched him. He gleamed. He was rubbing one unbloodied lock of my hair on his lips, the way he did after he nursed when he was a baby.
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Categories: Bereshit. However, on day four, God seems to do the same thing again. Traditional Interpretations The Buried Light — The Midrashic-Kabbalistic Solution The Babylonian Talmud suggests that God originally created a very special light on day one, but that He hid that light and replaced it with sunlight because he saw that people would be too sinful to deserve the original special light b.
But was the light created on the first day? For R. And for whom did he reserve it? But the Sages say: It is identical with the luminaries; for they were created on the first day, but they were not hung up [in the firmament] till the fourth day. The Original Light Was Placed in the Sun on Day Four: Malbim The 19th century Ukrainian commentator known as Malbim Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser, offers a complicated two-step process in which the light is created on day one but is only gathered up and stored in the sun on day four Gen And God said let the be lights — We already explained that balls of the sun, moon, and stars were created out of nothing on day one, and from that point on they were travelling in their orbits as they always do.
Only the sun, which spreads its light upon the world and all the stars, did not yet have any light in it and it was a dark ball.