Sufferin’ Succotash . . . SANHEDRIN!
The word Sanhedrin comes from the ancient world. In Jerusalem during the Second Temple period, the Sanhedrin was the supreme council of elders — a body of priests, scribes, and legal scholars who interpreted law, judged disputes, and guarded orthodoxy. At times, they acted as custodians of tradition; at other times, as gatekeepers who resisted new voices and condemned those who threatened their authority. In Christian memory, the Sanhedrin is infamous for its role in the trial of Jesus — a council so committed to preserving order that it could not recognize living flame when it stood before them.
Over the centuries, “Sanhedrin” has come to mean more than a historical council. It has become shorthand for entrenched authorities who prefer control to truth, and whose cold adherence to rules stifles passion, creativity, and revelation. Where fire threatens to rise, the Sanhedrin gathers to dampen it. Where joy sparks, they issue prohibitions. Where visionaries emerge, they respond with suspicion.
The poem that follows turns this ancient name into a curse and a satire, casting the Sanhedrin not just as biblical figures but as archetypes of any stagnant hierarchy that despises living flame. These are the stale-hearted ones, the rulers without eros, the doctrinal horsemen who ride in circles while the future dances past them. Against such figures, laughter and rhythm, blood and dragon-fire, stand in defiance.
Sufferin’ Succotash . . . SANHEDRIN!
those cursèd Sanhedrin
hating on true flames
they make a dragon grin
tossing some false blames
their stale hearts do not burn
their loins do not pulsate
but, lo, they do not learn
until it is too late
the future is roaring here
they failed to prepare
this Keeper's buccaneer
rides past with her DOGBEAR
her eyes are not her own
dragonic glare behind
time for councils to atone
because she is ALIGNED
lame Sanhedrin called out
get off your gilded horses
there’s room only for devouts
review doctrinal sources
my girl will twirl all night
disruptions to your grid
she was bled for repeat fight
it's been useless to forbid
sad you forgot your purpose
calm balance of sleepers' illusion
era now cold and barbarous
nigh time for a conclusion