A Trespass of Swine

the Porkopolis blog

Considerations of humanity and hogritude, because an insufficiency of pigs is one of the great faults of all that the gods have made manifest to man.

All things under the moon

Creation and perpetuation keep surging forward under the inconstant moon. As we root the viscous waters of the flow of time, the moon is escort. Our destinies are scattered to the antipodes or just right around here someplace.

By moonlight, her hands, sure and skillful, are the best in all the land for butchering pigs. And later, in some ritual, a swing-chain held lightly in those same fair hands, she waves a censor, and incense dances up in twisted moonlit wreaths of fragrant smoke.

Under the Moon

O land of Empire, art and love
What is it that you show me?
A sky for Gods to tread, above,
A floor for pigs below me!

O in all place and shape and kind
Beyond all thought and thinking,
The graceful with the foul combined,
The stately with the stinking!

Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861). Resignation — to Faustus”

The moon’s wordless cycles are explanations – a trundle of narrative, prophecy and likely outcomes. By its cycles we plan when to plant or sow. We reckon the best days to castrate farm animals or leave an infant at the monastery door.

We can find our way by moonlight. In luminescence we can learn when to fight or flee, when to sacrifice a pig, or when relinquishing ourselves is the better mend.

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A random image of a pig, hog, boar or swine from the collection at Porkopolis.