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in ancient villages
enveloped in secluded forest lived a people flawed like all people can be they had a tradition to name The Secret Eater the most sacred member of the tribe there would ever be this person must have character this person must have the trust of every single tribe member this person must only listen and never divulge a single word the Secret Eater was the keeper of all secret shames and sins go to the Secret Eater to unburden yourself so a new life can begin again He's almost a Father Confessor but not quite a friend this Secret Eater had a place of honor this Secret Eater knew prestige this secret eater ate the best of food and when there was privilege the secret eater knew no need he felt he lived the life of ease this sacred Secret Eater woe the one who thinks he has the world woe the one who in ignorance proceeds to judge those all around him the one who is catered to in every need the Secret Eater as time goes on the tribal members all know there is a certain metered usefulness and when its decided in council the Secret Eater eventually loses his purpose it begins with the generous offering of a very special kind of mead the kind of potent drink that puts the Secret Eater into the heaviest state of dreams and then the tribal members gather round and murder the Secret Eater while he is asleep time is a wearisome reminder time is a worrisome thing confessions of sins and shame grow and build a gathering storm of rain until it is a tempest until it worries every member of a tribe that time has marched on and perhaps the secret eater's tongue might slip and silence may no longer be on their side this is the secret that no secret eater is ever told that in the end the Secret Eater is killed and eaten and the System overrides humanity until the next unwitting Secret Eater is in-ceremoniously chosen ////////////////////////// This is not some made up fiction. I learned about this in a college Social Anthropology course. It fascinated me. Maybe the surprise ending. Maybe the naivite of the secret eater. (This is my word/set of descriptive words for this role.) There are people in society today, not just in Head Hunter societies, who seem to serve this same purpose ....well really throughout history. Sacrificial lambs. Think about this. What is it about a society that creates sacrificial lambs that is so repelling/repulsing and yet at the same time, eerily interesting. Our darkest natures indeed. ////////// I write to get my audience to think about themselves and their own lives, the world around them. I'm sharing myself so that you can think a little more deeply. Letting you borrow my light. I don't merely write emotion-laden stories. legal copyright September 8, 2017 10:49am PST and also for this writer/author Melissa A. Howells and also for this legally copyrighted site title" MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD Vote for this poem |
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