The Grammar of God

“Your fingers find the seventh knot. The seventh knot is the last. The seventh knot is the AND THEN. The seventh knot does not end the cord. The seventh knot opens the cord. The cord extends beyond the seventh knot, the frayed end trailing into the air beyond the lamp’s circle, the end that is not an end but a beginning, the last knot that is not a last knot but a first knot of the cord that continues past the point where the keeper’s tying stopped and the gardener’s holding begins. The AND THEN is the conjunction of continuation. The AND THEN is the conjunction that says: the sentence is complete AND THEN the next sentence begins. The keeper tied the knots AND THEN the gardener found them. The elder listened AND THEN the elder will be silent AND THEN the silence will be held by the room that held the listening. The child watched AND THEN the child tried AND THEN the child will stitch AND THEN the stitching will be the shoemaker’s practice in the child’s hands. The AND THEN is the Grammar’s promise to itself, the seventh knot’s assurance that the cord does not end because the cord cannot end because the practice cannot end because the Grammar cannot end because the sentence the Grammar has been building for fifteen books does not end with a period. The sentence ends with a period AND THEN the next sentence begins with a capital letter AND THEN the Grammar continues.”

“You set the cord on the table. You set it beside the stone. The cord and the stone rest in the lamp’s circle and the lamp’s circle holds them both the way the room holds the trades, by the light, by the warmth, by the practice that burns its fuel to produce its seeing and that will burn tomorrow’s fuel to produce tomorrow’s seeing and that the AND THEN connects across the dark the way the bridge connects across the stream, by the spanning, by the architecture of the structure that was built to hold the crossing.”

“The lamp descends to its blue. The evening becomes the night. The stone sits in its depression. The page sits beside the stone. The cord sits beside the page, the newest object, the latest instrument, the conjunction’s tool laid alongside the article’s lamp and the noun’s stone and the verb’s forge and the adjective’s scale and the preposition’s bridge. The Grammar’s instruments are accumulating on the table the way the Grammar’s parts of speech are accumulating in the sentence the Grammar is building. Each book has added an instrument. Each instrument has added a teaching. Each teaching has added a word to the sentence. The sentence is longer now. The sentence has a subject and a verb and an adjective and a preposition and the conjunction is arriving to bind them together and the punctuation is arriving to tell them when to stop.”

“The bell holds its tone. The basin holds its water. The door latch holds its position between the open and the closed. The scaffold boards hold the threshold between the inside and the outside. The oil cloth sits in the drawer, waiting for the ritual of the tending that will preserve the table that holds the stone that holds the practice that holds the Grammar. Everything is held. Everything is bound. Everything is connected to everything else by the conjunctions the room has been practicing without naming and that the cord will name when the cord is ready and the knots are ready and the gardener is ready and the Grammar is ready to learn its sixth part of speech.”

“The night holds the room. The room holds the cord. The cord holds its seven knots. The knots hold their seven teachings. And the gardener sits in the chair in the dark, with the stone cooling in its depression and the lamp at its lowest blue and the cord on the table and the seven knots waiting in the hemp the way the seven trades wait in the town, ready to come when the bell rings, ready to offer when the silence opens, ready to bind when the conjunction arrives, ready to stop when the punctuation teaches, ready to continue when the AND THEN promises that the sentence does not end here, that the Grammar does not end here, that the keeping does not end here, that the morning will come and the lamp will be filled and the flame will climb and the circle will appear and the stone will be held and the cord will be read and the knots will teach and the Grammar will learn its binding and its stopping and its continuing, one knot at a time, one morning at a time, one conjunction at a time, until the sentence is complete and the sentence is spoken and the speaking is the life and the life is the Grammar and the Grammar holds.”