April 5, 1722: The Dutch explorer Jacob Roggeveen discovers Easter Island

by Bryan Edenfield

The moai of Rapa Nui pollinate a secluded speck in the rippled blue Pacific,
standing guard, mourning, daydreaming. Are they the blink of our eyes?
Our souls encased in stone? Silent, blinded, carved with the ancient
history of rain and wind, shivering at night when we clamor through
the thicket of nightmares, mediaeval thorns reminding our skin that grass
has teeth. The dark cave world, stalactites of cerulean sky and a shifting
fur of green, the weeds slither between her toes. It’s not uncommon to

live beneath a tall man’s shadow. Buried deep beyond the shores are giants,
the megafauna of Terra Australis. Today we witness another kind of resurrection;
maybe this is where the idols fell but nothing can smash this stone. Forever
trapped in a day of rest, maybe I have returned to the garden of Eden….
Saw a turtle, floating weed, and birds. Smoke rises. Ready the guns, because

here has been spoiled by man too. I admire the stupid animal; to them,
mirrors are magic. Here the devil plays: ‘t is tyd, ‘t is tyd, geeft vuur.
We killed a dozen, but the moai are immortal. Watch them gather around
the statues, praying, prostrating. Goodbye, land of fire. We have not
reached the end of the earth yet. I continue my father’s obsession. All
worship the ancestors. Goodbye, brother. Let you too be guided by a
ghost.

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