December 24, 2002
"Sacred Fire"
At the Unitarian Universalist service, fire is handled in a careful, orderly manner. First the sacred challice is lit, as happens at every service. But the solstice candle lighting featured an orderly arrangement of twelve green votive candles in small clear glass holders. The first twelve people, which was most of the congregation, took turns lighting one. Each was representive of various things. At first, the way the different religions have viewed this time of the year, from 'the return of the sun' to 'the return of the son'. Then, for all the ways they honor 'the golden rule', a fairly glowing concept. Earlier, we'd been given small candles, and lastly, the flame was passed from the first person to the next, until everyone held a flaming candle.
But at the pagan gathering, fire was dealt with in its primitive, barely tamed state. A bonfire was lit. It raged powerfully, and at the apex of its power, it warmed all of us who gathered around it in the cold night air. The yule log glowed until the morning, and was regarded as an auspicious omen.
The two ways of handling fire reflect the outlook of the two groups. Unitarian Universalism, while honoring the mystical, has a more controlled, intellectual approach. Pagans, while honoring the intellectual, have a more mystical approach, not being afraid of summoning powerful forces to the gathering.
I value both approaches. And here in our home, we too, had a celebration of the 'sacred fire' of another sort. It wasn't in any formal way, but it was a celebration just the same. We received a new candlestick and holder today which we'd ordered a while back ago. Naturally, the event got commemorated with pictures. I wasn't happy with the first photo I'd taken, then Julia suggested she pick it up and hold it. ''Bring it closer to the light,'' I told her. And thus the colored ceiling lights were captured, as well.
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Not only that, I did like a creative alteration of the first attempt at the mystical flame.
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December 25, 2002
"Christmas Thoughts"
Meanwhile, today's a day for fun. Oh, the second movie is nothing but action packed. It was thrilling, beginning to end. The horrid little gray Gollum gave us hopes of changing, his 'bad self' kept arguing with his 'good self', but at the end, it looks like he's reverted to bad ways, having felt Frodo betrayed him. Maybe he'll surprise us in the next show. Meanwhile, the ring is having a terrible power on beautiful little Frodo. He's still just the cutest thing, with those lovely blue eyes. And, as in the first movie, his friend Samwise stays besides him, pulling strong on Frodo so the evil ring doesn't overpower him.
Now, as I write this, the soundtrack from The Fellowship Of The Rings is playing on a small stereo beside me. Julia and I were the only ones to linger at the movie theater today to listen to the ending music and read the credits. I had no idea it took such a large army of people to create this masterpiece. It might have been 10,000 strong, like the army of Isengard itself. I wondered what Tolkien would have felt watching it. I imagine a great pride, both in his creation, and the creation of those many people.
Afterwards, as we returned to the house, I was especially missing Laura. How she would have enjoyed being able to see all three movies! I then sat down by the computer near the phone, preparing to call my Mother, and found a paper shoved into the shelf, along with the print out of our address book.
I'd not seen it earlier. It was a copy of an e-mail Laura had written her brother March 4th of this year. In it, she revealed her doctor's grim prospects for her health. '' . . . he has seen many people at my stage of life and says the end will come either quickly by a heart attack or more slowly by pneumonia. He can't say exactly when [I will die].''
''Once in a great while a person can last longer than expected . . .'' Laura assured her brother she had no intention 'of giving up easily' and had hopes 'of foiling the doctors one more time'.
But no one has to feel sorry for me when I am gone. I can not die young. I have seen a lot of life. I leave the world a better place than I found it. I have a lot more things I am proud of having done, than I am ashamed of having done. If you can say as much at the end of YOUR life, then you too will have lived and died well.
. . . Each one of you know the depths of my love and my gratitude. I can not emphasize enough that without you, each one of your in your own way, my life would have been greatly diminished. Thank you for all that you have done and been. Thank you for being in my life.''
I can cry all I want about 'not fair', but the fact remains, I'm grateful for the time I did have with you. I shall hold the memories of it close to my heart every day. My life, without YOU, would have been more than 'greatly diminished'.
I love you, Laura, and always will.
"What Faint Light Dawns?"
I am not scared. Well, at least not much and more for Joan and Julia than for me. I have lived one hell of a life, full of everything imaginable. There are people, many, who love me to pieces and there are those, a very few, who hate me with equal strength. With one exception, no one hates me who I wish didn't hate me. Mostly, I want very much to hang in here until Julia has a job. That is my primary goal. If we can manage that, I could, if I must, die peacefully.
Thank you, Laura, for that one last message. Somehow you must have meant for me to see it now, when I'm especially missing you. I won't ever be done talking to you, you should know.
December 27, 2002
And an odd poem for the day:
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Quiet now, to observe the small things, small whispers. What faint light dawns? What tiny critter stirs? The world in wakefulness, an ancient owl is watching, marks each step, each falling twig. A world is being born. Liquid to the brain, rivers of teeming life. An ancient owl is watching.
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What can it mean? If you don't know, I take these things down, word for word from that subliminal part of my mind. So it's a bit like translating DREAMS sometimes. I have an idea. Earlier, I've spoken of feeling Laura's SPIRIT, sometimes in dreams, and sometimes a sense of her presence. I felt her strongly back in November and am fairly certain she caused me to find that letter Christmas day.
I've had the feeling Laura's spirit ''was born in ancient times'' and that she's been ''called back to the realm of the ancients''. I think LAURA is the 'ancient owl' watching.
LAURA with an owl
STORY behind that picture . . .
I am, too, the 'host being' for them to objectify their experiences. And thus it was last night, I was doing research for Michael. It was fascinating, learning many aspects of dairy farming. Before, with the mug of milk to my mouth, I'd never thought of the many steps involved in getting it there. I have a new appreciation for the labors of cows and farmers.
Calves are born head and feet first . . .
Of some old cancelled checks, she asked, ''Do you want to keep the ones with Laura's signature on them?'' I took a look at a few of these, with Laura's broad, sweeping signature, and picked the clearest one of them. I then put it to the scanner's eye, and erased away the check background, leaving only her signature:
So dynamic, are her movements over the paper.
It's like her hand was dancing with sweeping, graceful lines.
This wasn't the only treasure claimed from the clutter today. Julia found the cover page off of a first edition of Laura's softcover book. We'd had several printed up ourselves, with a spiral binder to hold the pages. Julia was asking ''Do you want to keep this? We have that image elsewhere?'' And then she looked on the back. There was a note for me:
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To My Soul Mate, This narration is our child. In the course of your life, it may be published and come to have some meaning for other people. But remember always, what we shared to make it possible, and that, in the end, it was created, as a child is created, out of love. When you find you are anxious or depressed, or if you begin to forget how wonderful you are, then read Part Two again, and restore your faith in you. the first copy of ''our'' book, after the run of 50 November 7th, 1992
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It, indeed, was created out of love. I'll not forget this, on this night when I have only the paper on which she wrote that to me. I'll not forget, dear Laura.
December 30, 2002 - A
"Still Not Famous"
I probably shouldn't have eaten those five bricks of dark chocolate. I shall BE self-absorbed and moody. I'm not really as angelic as I often seem in these pages. I don't know. The house is cold. The winter's been a cold one, OKAY, not by any other standard than the low desert standard. But it's been too cold for ME.
The heat's turned up and I shiver and can't keep warm. If I let all the 'nasty me' out, would people still like me? I'm thinking of the funny diaries Cassandra Claire has 'obtained', the Secret Diaries of those in the Fellowship of The Ring. Aragorn son of Arathorn whines in every entry ''Not King yet . . ; Still not King . . ; Still not King, goddammit.''
What if I let all my hideous egotistical whining out, would those few of you who are so patient with me start fleeing for sites elsewhere? ''Not Famous yet . . ; Still not Famous . . ; Still not Famous, goddammit.'' After all, I AM so witty and wise, and WHY can't MORE of you SEE that? I really deserve FAME and the adulation of millions. Well, THOUSANDS, at least??? I'm not asking for riches.
SEE! I'm not a total pig. But I'd really like to be famous. Why can't I be?'' After all, every famous divine author was once a nobody herself. Have all the truly 'famous and divine' dreamt of it long before they ever obtained it? Or were they saints who never thought of their ego, but only of patiently refining their craft? I know Emily Dickenson was one of the patient saintly. She kept most of her efforts private.
Were she writing in the days of the web, or the web long ago began in HER day, would she be putting her poems out for public perusal, hoping the legions stop by? No, she would have crafted her small, perfect items and leave it to God to determine the fate of such things. And even to HIM, the knowledge of the true quality of such things.
But I am not such a saint. I know I like for people to think I'm angelic and sweet. Ah, it still could be possible. But is that hope, TOO, an aspect of EGO? Right at this moment, I really don't care. I want to curl up in my self absorption and dream, ''Someday, SOME day . . .''
December 30, 2002 - B
"Armand Begs"
I've decided to toss my 'artistic' hat into the ring as well:
(pardon the anachronism of the song. . .)
FIVE DAYS LATER:
But You wouldn't even give me TWO, MARIUS!
Now what possibly could have been MORE IMPORTANT than ME!
Meanwhile MARIUS . . .
''All I Wanted For Christmas Were My Two Front Fangs,
My Two Front Fangs,
(okay, there are really FOUR!)
You were off busy, doing OTHER THINGS!
ME! ME!! ME!!!
is not aware how impatiently his 'Amadeo' waits
for time moves quite differently for a 1500 year old vampire
than it does for a 17 year old mortal boy.
