I'm not familiar with your work, but I get the feeling from this short
piece that the boy didn't really love SLC. At least not with his whole
heart. It is fascinating to him, eating at him, part of him, betraying
him, shaping him, annoying him and clinging to him like a familiar odor,
but he doesn't seem to love it. It's full of memories bigger than life,
distorted by a confusion of perception and reality, and he can't quite
ever seem to square the circle in his own mind. He's a *beholder* of
Zion, after all, not a *belonger*. Of course maybe that was the point, I
have no idea what Cee's love of Manhattan was really like either.
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Ron Scott [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]
> Sent: November 5, 2003 5:36 PM
> To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
> Subject: [ZION] Beholder of Zion
> At the present, I'm editing some short stories, columns, poems etc.
> proposed anthology. I thought some of you may enjoy this short piece,
> relevant somewhat to our discussions today.
> A BEHOLDER OF ZION
> By RB Scott
> C2003, 1986
> Cee's love for her Manhattan was not unlike Jed's for his Salt
> As a
> youngster he lived near enough to walk to the center of the city after
> school and on weekends. Often, he would sequester himself in the back
> vast oval Tabernacle on Temple Square while Alexander Schreiner's
> worked their magic over the five keyboards on the console of the
> pipe organ. At times it seemed as if the performance was intended
> specifically for Jed, hiding out, alone with his imagination in the
> balcony. There was something positively uplifting, calming about the
> haunting tones and accompanying reverberations that emanated from
> towering Sequoia-like pipes.
> On occasion, he slipped up the tight circular stairs that led to
> seats, which spread out like a hillside meadow between the forest of
> pipes and a furrowed valley of wooden pews, each one planed and sanded
> the callused hands of Jed's ancestors and their brethren. Sitting on
> benches, as he regularly had for general conference in April and
> and, later, for concerts by the Utah Symphony Orchestra, he imagined
> Paradise, communing face-to-face with one departed ancestor or
> God lived up the hillside, there in the hollows of those majestic,
> euphonious trunks of native pine.
> Four blocks from home, he played out a different, if equally
> fantasy. On the gridiron in the stadium at the University of Utah:
> seconds left in his mind, he would race down the field, cut left
> grain, dive as his outstretched arms crossed the goal line, snaring
> with his fingertips. The fans would be going crazy as his teammates
> him onto their shoulders; he had lived righteously, fought the good
> and now God, being just, had blessed him with a winning touchdown
> against BYU!
> Deeper into the sprawling campus he'd roam the university's old
> library, pulling books with strange-sounding titles from the shelves,
> selecting one or two of them to take to the his hideout in carrels
> sequestered, entombed deep in the stacks, reading for hours as if he
> diligent graduate student gathering research for a Master's thesis.
> It was there he read that babies need not be cut-out of their
> bellies; that Benjamin Franklin had been an incorrigible womanizer;
> church's original prophet, Joseph Smith, opened a tavern in his
> manse in Nauvoo, Illinois, and that his successor, Brigham Young, and
> members of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles once made regular use of
> stationed like sentries at doorways leading to the holiest sections of
> temple. And, that many actually thought New York City was a quite
> place, not at all the horrific den of thieves and murderers and
> parents and the local newspapers made it out to be.
> Right then and there he learned that perceptions often bear no
> to reality and that reality has everything to do with how one beholds
> /// ZION LIST CHARTER: Please read it at ///
> /// http://www.zionsbest.com/charter.html ///
/// ZION LIST CHARTER: Please read it at ///
/// http://www.zionsbest.com/charter.html ///
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