Cibola 2 (old)
Beginnings
This thing called a fetish embodies what can never be touched. Its odd contours–all lump & twist & rag-end–are best kept out of view. To see it exposed, one must assume the burden of its origins, one must remake oneself. It lives in a buried season, carboniferous. It is the solid shadow we abandoned in the womb.
This thing called a fetish. No Freudianism, please! In anthropological circles, the term “fetish” has acquired a distinctly un-p.c. aura; terms like “icon,” or the more general “power object,” are generally preferred. What I had in mind was something halfway between a Malian cult object and the personal mi’le of a Zuni priest or medicine society member. In either case, a distinctly aniconic ideal holds sway. For additional commentary, here and throughout, I think I’ll use the comments (appropriately enough).