If Thou Wilt Foil Thy Foes with Joy
RITA POWELL
Stave III: The Flower Guild Rebellion
Indirect tactics, efficiently applied, are inexhaustible as heaven and earth, unending as the flow of rivers and streams; like the sun and moon, they end but to begin anew; like the four seasons, they pass away to return once more. —Sun-Tzu, The Art of War, V.6
In this Third Stave of The Art of War, the problems build, and new forces for good are discovered. In the First Stave, we met our heroines, H&H, Hodegetria the horse, and Hepzibah (daughter of Isaiah) her headless rider whose daily practice is to ride the town (Belmont and Boston Massachusetts) proclaiming the gospel of Incarnation; spirit-body-knowing. In the Second Stave, we met the Adversary to that gospel—Sir Real who is the enemy of Truth. We also learned how H&H found each other, how they came to their daily mission. They fight an unseen force, a force which fears what they know. Fears bodies, women, buried knowledge.
Enter the church. The church is not the enemy, but the enemy can use the clothing of the church to hide in plain sight. The church is one of the new problems we encounter in this section. And also, the heroes of this installment are serious church people: an astute and archetypal parish secretary (who also has an outlandish H-name; Hyacinth Hripsime, Ms. H for daily use) and the Flower Guild. Thank God they spot the adversary lurking in the church. And they imagine a way, with the help of Mr. FabuLouse, to resist the enemy’s snare with the treasures of the tradition.
Meanwhile, unaware of these developments, Hodegetria (Our Lady of The Way) feels the pull toward a singular gesture of significance, built from but distinct from her daily practice. Daily, horse and rider canter through town, proclaiming their prophecy. Now, she wonders if that practice might expand, literally go further. Like, maybe from Boston to New York. She gets help from a friend—friendship is always part of how the bad guys are defeated—this friend is like another kind of ancestor, another kind of horse.
The story accelerates as we head toward a reckoning, a convergence. Violence waits like heavy summer air. This Stave ends with Hepzibah’s voice; she speaks what she hears, inexhaustible as heaven and earth, like the sun and moon, she tells that ending is but beginning again.