Okay, I admit, I did not watch the president's State of the Union Address on Tuesday night. I try to avoid watching the president give speeches if I can possibly help it, because he really, truly, seriously infuriates me, and then I sit and yell at my TV as if he could hear me through it. (My ex-H refused to watch the 2004 presidential debates with me after the first one. It takes a very special sort of person to put up with watching TV with me.) As a once-upon-a-time communications major and forensics team member, I absolutely can not stand the way that man gives speeches, regardless of the content!
But I have read parts of the transcript of the speech. And within the transcript, I found this glorious bit of crap:
Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research -- human cloning in all its forms ... creating or implanting embryos for experiments ... creating human-animal hybrids ... and buying, selling, or patenting human embryos.
I'll not argue that there all kinds of bizarre moral issues in genetic and medical research, but creating human-animal hybrids? Please pardon my language, but.... what the fuck? Did some aide think it would be hilarious to slip a sci-fi story into the president's research briefings?
Absolutely mind-boggling.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Gingerbread Slave
Ingredients: Flour, water, milk, sugar, soul, thought, cinnamon, wonder, molasses, compassion.
Mix ingredients carefully.
Shape slave as desired. Place on cookie sheet.
Extract wonder. It will not be needed, but was used to flavor slave with hopeless memory.
Heat oven to 350˚. Or, if desired, use life-oven set at “frenetic.”
Bake.
Remove from oven when toothpick inserted into soul comes out clean.
Decorate as desired. Painted-on smiles with dead eyes are favored.
Consume.
Note: Compassion and thought generally evaporate during baking.
Mix ingredients carefully.
Shape slave as desired. Place on cookie sheet.
Extract wonder. It will not be needed, but was used to flavor slave with hopeless memory.
Heat oven to 350˚. Or, if desired, use life-oven set at “frenetic.”
Bake.
Remove from oven when toothpick inserted into soul comes out clean.
Decorate as desired. Painted-on smiles with dead eyes are favored.
Consume.
Note: Compassion and thought generally evaporate during baking.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Why I Changed My Avatar
Why yes, she is rather different from the dancing water sprite I had up before, isn't she? But in truth, both represent aspects of me.
On the surface, part of the reason I changed pictures is an acknowledgment of my newfound "evilness" from my post a couple days ago. Just being silly, and looking for a different picture.
Part of it goes deeper, though. I have parts of my spirit I'd rather not see. And I have on occasion had flashes of insight when dealing with others, and realized things that they would rather no one knew about, including themselves. An acquaintance put it this way, when I asked her candidly why she had such trouble looking me straight in the eye. She said, "You see things I don't want you to see."
It is not right to be so focused on the light that it is all we can see. Nor is it right to use light as a way of hiding from darkness, for we are all made up of both. We are beings of twilight.
So this new avatar of mine, this dark elf, is a reminder to me to look steadily into the darkness so that I may neither fear it nor be snared by it. The beings of twilight do not do well when they focus on one side to the exclusion of the other. I am learning to live in both parts of life.
On the surface, part of the reason I changed pictures is an acknowledgment of my newfound "evilness" from my post a couple days ago. Just being silly, and looking for a different picture.
Part of it goes deeper, though. I have parts of my spirit I'd rather not see. And I have on occasion had flashes of insight when dealing with others, and realized things that they would rather no one knew about, including themselves. An acquaintance put it this way, when I asked her candidly why she had such trouble looking me straight in the eye. She said, "You see things I don't want you to see."
It is not right to be so focused on the light that it is all we can see. Nor is it right to use light as a way of hiding from darkness, for we are all made up of both. We are beings of twilight.
So this new avatar of mine, this dark elf, is a reminder to me to look steadily into the darkness so that I may neither fear it nor be snared by it. The beings of twilight do not do well when they focus on one side to the exclusion of the other. I am learning to live in both parts of life.
Friday, January 27, 2006
My Obnoxious Brain
I have noticed that there are times, fairly frequent times, when my brain will just not shut up.
It seems to enjoy making obnoxious commentary at the most inopportune moments, thus leaving me struggling not to laugh in a serious situation.
It gets its jollies most often by trying to make me laugh during choir practice-- or even worse, during choir performances!
For example, last year we sang a song called "Lord of the Dance."
Dance, then, wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the Dance you see; I will lead you all, wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the Dance said he.
And of course my brain immediately conjured a mental image of Jesus and the disciples riverdancing on the shore of the Sea of Galilee.
I mean, I found out later that this song was the one on which Michael Flatley based his "Lord of the Dance" step dancing show, but it didn't change the absurdity of the mental image!
Or how about the song we did based on Psalm 23? Actually, just this one line of it:
My table God has spread, in the presence of my enemies.
And my brain thought, "Hey, God must have hit the weekend sale at Gardner White!"
Then there was an actual performance error. The line of the song was:
Hail, thou Universal Savior.
So what did my obnoxious brain have me sing?
Hail, thou Universal Solvent.
And as any high school chemistry student can tell you, the universal solvent is water. Yes, I sang a hymn to water. Which I suppose could have worked if we were doing baptisms that day, but we weren't. I don't think anyone heard me, at least, or if they did, they didn't say anything.
These all happened last year. But lest I get comfortable and think that maybe the obnoxious part of my brain has decided to nap during choir, it started acting up again at Tuesday's practice. The song (which is really very pretty) was thus:
Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling, O Sinner, come home.
And my brain's response? "Gee, I hope Jesus isn't calling collect. That's really long distance!"
At least I'm not the only one whose brain does things like this to them. On one of the Advent Sundays, we sang "O Come O Come Emmanuel," which I believe is listed in church law as being required during Advent.
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.
I don't know who did it, but I very, very distinctly heard someone sing, "and ransom Captain Israel."
*doo-doo-doo-DOO!* Captain Israel! Here to save the day from the Canaanites! More powerful than the Dead Sea Scrolls! Able to leap the Sea of Galilee with a single bound!
I'm just glad I didn't sing that one!
It seems to enjoy making obnoxious commentary at the most inopportune moments, thus leaving me struggling not to laugh in a serious situation.
It gets its jollies most often by trying to make me laugh during choir practice-- or even worse, during choir performances!
For example, last year we sang a song called "Lord of the Dance."
Dance, then, wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the Dance you see; I will lead you all, wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the Dance said he.
And of course my brain immediately conjured a mental image of Jesus and the disciples riverdancing on the shore of the Sea of Galilee.
I mean, I found out later that this song was the one on which Michael Flatley based his "Lord of the Dance" step dancing show, but it didn't change the absurdity of the mental image!
Or how about the song we did based on Psalm 23? Actually, just this one line of it:
My table God has spread, in the presence of my enemies.
And my brain thought, "Hey, God must have hit the weekend sale at Gardner White!"
Then there was an actual performance error. The line of the song was:
Hail, thou Universal Savior.
So what did my obnoxious brain have me sing?
Hail, thou Universal Solvent.
And as any high school chemistry student can tell you, the universal solvent is water. Yes, I sang a hymn to water. Which I suppose could have worked if we were doing baptisms that day, but we weren't. I don't think anyone heard me, at least, or if they did, they didn't say anything.
These all happened last year. But lest I get comfortable and think that maybe the obnoxious part of my brain has decided to nap during choir, it started acting up again at Tuesday's practice. The song (which is really very pretty) was thus:
Softly and tenderly, Jesus is calling. Calling, O Sinner, come home.
And my brain's response? "Gee, I hope Jesus isn't calling collect. That's really long distance!"
At least I'm not the only one whose brain does things like this to them. On one of the Advent Sundays, we sang "O Come O Come Emmanuel," which I believe is listed in church law as being required during Advent.
O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel.
I don't know who did it, but I very, very distinctly heard someone sing, "and ransom Captain Israel."
*doo-doo-doo-DOO!* Captain Israel! Here to save the day from the Canaanites! More powerful than the Dead Sea Scrolls! Able to leap the Sea of Galilee with a single bound!
I'm just glad I didn't sing that one!
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
My Descent into Evil
I have a friend whose name is Joe. Joe is Evil.
At least, he says he is.
He claims to have Top Secret Evil Plans to take over the world and rule us all with his iron fist from an orbiting luxury space station. Granted, they’re very vague plans as of yet, but he figures he can fill in the details later.
Naturally, I must oppose these plans. I mean, Evil must be fought in all its forms, right? Even in the form of a friend with whom I exchange rambly emails on boring days at work. So I am now Joe’s arch-nemesis, as well as his friend. (Just because we’re mortal enemies, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, you know.)
Today we were discussing the prevalence of snarkiness on the internet, and wondering what should be done about it. I suggested that once Tirithien gets through med school, we have him invent a type of surgery called a snarkectomy, which would render people incapable of further snark. Joe quite rightly pointed out that surgical removal of snark would be difficult to do, as surgery requires such things as consent. But a snarkectomy would be a mad scientist type of surgery, I explained. Therefore, there would be no need for consent at all. What mad scientist bothers to get the consent of his victims?
Apparently with this I broke character from my “good” persona, because Joe sent me this:
Ah ha! Encouraging non-consensual surgeries! You're coming around to my evil ways. Soon it will be entirely unnecessary to defeat you, since you will have become as evil as I am! BWA HA HA HA!
Okay. I guess I’m Evil now. Fear me. :-P I am Evil. I am wicked. I am immoral and malevolent. I kick puppies… wait, no I don’t. Even if I’m going to be Evil, I still have my standards, darn it!
I’m sure it won’t be so bad. Villainesses get much better costumes than heroines do, most of the time.
But Joe still will have to defeat me... if he can! I’m not giving up the arch-nemesis gig. I mean, if I’m Evil, I’m taking over the world for myself. Evil people don’t have to share. ;-)
At least, he says he is.
He claims to have Top Secret Evil Plans to take over the world and rule us all with his iron fist from an orbiting luxury space station. Granted, they’re very vague plans as of yet, but he figures he can fill in the details later.
Naturally, I must oppose these plans. I mean, Evil must be fought in all its forms, right? Even in the form of a friend with whom I exchange rambly emails on boring days at work. So I am now Joe’s arch-nemesis, as well as his friend. (Just because we’re mortal enemies, it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, you know.)
Today we were discussing the prevalence of snarkiness on the internet, and wondering what should be done about it. I suggested that once Tirithien gets through med school, we have him invent a type of surgery called a snarkectomy, which would render people incapable of further snark. Joe quite rightly pointed out that surgical removal of snark would be difficult to do, as surgery requires such things as consent. But a snarkectomy would be a mad scientist type of surgery, I explained. Therefore, there would be no need for consent at all. What mad scientist bothers to get the consent of his victims?
Apparently with this I broke character from my “good” persona, because Joe sent me this:
Ah ha! Encouraging non-consensual surgeries! You're coming around to my evil ways. Soon it will be entirely unnecessary to defeat you, since you will have become as evil as I am! BWA HA HA HA!
Okay. I guess I’m Evil now. Fear me. :-P I am Evil. I am wicked. I am immoral and malevolent. I kick puppies… wait, no I don’t. Even if I’m going to be Evil, I still have my standards, darn it!
I’m sure it won’t be so bad. Villainesses get much better costumes than heroines do, most of the time.
But Joe still will have to defeat me... if he can! I’m not giving up the arch-nemesis gig. I mean, if I’m Evil, I’m taking over the world for myself. Evil people don’t have to share. ;-)
Zzzzzzzzzz.....
Today is a day of incoherence.
For the past two nights, my neighbor has stayed up until 2:30 AM, loudly playing the same two Doors and Lynyrd Skynyrd CDs over and over.
And singing along.
Loudly.
Drunkenly.
Out of key.
It would be hilariously surreal if I wasn't so tired.
I'm not sure what has inspired this neighbor to suddenly become the neighbor from hell. He's always been very quiet-- I might have occasionally heard his TV, but that would always be during daylight hours. He's normally a nice, quiet, stoner-type of guy. But apparently now he's practicing to audition for American Idol.
I really hope this is not a new trend, or else there are going to be problems. Badgers might have to be involved.
For the past two nights, my neighbor has stayed up until 2:30 AM, loudly playing the same two Doors and Lynyrd Skynyrd CDs over and over.
And singing along.
Loudly.
Drunkenly.
Out of key.
It would be hilariously surreal if I wasn't so tired.
I'm not sure what has inspired this neighbor to suddenly become the neighbor from hell. He's always been very quiet-- I might have occasionally heard his TV, but that would always be during daylight hours. He's normally a nice, quiet, stoner-type of guy. But apparently now he's practicing to audition for American Idol.
I really hope this is not a new trend, or else there are going to be problems. Badgers might have to be involved.
Monday, January 23, 2006
The Council of Elders
Yesterday was my church’s “annual meeting.” This is the day when they combine the 8:00 and 10:00 services into one service so that all voting members of the church can be there to take care of business for the year. Usually this involves a review of the budget and of the annual reports from various committees, along with elections for the delegates for the following year’s Diocesan Convention and for new Vestry members.
The Vestry is an Episcopal Church parish’s governing body. It’s what my brother calls the “Council of Elders.” Because that sounds much cooler than Vestry. Usually at Grace Church, we have nine Vestry members, and each member serves a three year term. They rotate the terms, though, like the Senate does, so that each year, three people finish their terms and three new people come in.
We’re in kind of an odd situation, though, because we don’t currently have a rector. We didn’t elect new Vestry members last year—each person who was on when our former priest left agreed to stay on for an extra year so that we would have some continuity of leadership and stability. It’s very difficult for a church without a full time priest to maintain its focus, and this would help.
We still don’t have our new rector, but we’re expecting to call someone by Easter. (I’m on the Search Committee, and that is a hugely involved process, but I’ll not get into that now.) So they came up with a novel idea. The three people who would have gone off this year will stay until June, but three new people would be added.
I was one of those three, voted in by secret ballot.
I didn’t want to run at all. First of all, church government makes me more than a little uncomfortable, and second of all, I may not even be here next year. I’m going to grad school. I don’t yet know where, but I am going. I may be as much as 5 hours away! It’s not right of me to take on a three year obligation when I may be gone by this fall. But the Senior Warden (Vestry Chair) and Secretary kept at me and at me when nominations were being taken. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they nagged me. But being the absolute wuss I am, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I would keep saying maybe, or I needed to think about it, and never gave a straight answer, so my name showed up on the ballot.
Other nominations were taken, aside from the ones printed on the ballot. All I would have had to do would have been to raise my hand and ask that I be removed from consideration. But oh, no, I couldn’t do that either. Too scared, too nervous, too shy. I prayed like you would not believe while the voting was going on, that they would decide other people would be better suited than I.
Didn’t do a bit of good.
So now, if I go away to grad school, I’m going to be in the rather craptacular position of having to resign from the Vestry. Now, I’m sure I’m not the first person to have done so for reasons of moving away, and it’s not like they don’t have plenty of experienced people to step in and take over. Still, no one’s going to like it.
All in all, I’m feeling pretty disgusted with myself today. :-(
The Vestry is an Episcopal Church parish’s governing body. It’s what my brother calls the “Council of Elders.” Because that sounds much cooler than Vestry. Usually at Grace Church, we have nine Vestry members, and each member serves a three year term. They rotate the terms, though, like the Senate does, so that each year, three people finish their terms and three new people come in.
We’re in kind of an odd situation, though, because we don’t currently have a rector. We didn’t elect new Vestry members last year—each person who was on when our former priest left agreed to stay on for an extra year so that we would have some continuity of leadership and stability. It’s very difficult for a church without a full time priest to maintain its focus, and this would help.
We still don’t have our new rector, but we’re expecting to call someone by Easter. (I’m on the Search Committee, and that is a hugely involved process, but I’ll not get into that now.) So they came up with a novel idea. The three people who would have gone off this year will stay until June, but three new people would be added.
I was one of those three, voted in by secret ballot.
I didn’t want to run at all. First of all, church government makes me more than a little uncomfortable, and second of all, I may not even be here next year. I’m going to grad school. I don’t yet know where, but I am going. I may be as much as 5 hours away! It’s not right of me to take on a three year obligation when I may be gone by this fall. But the Senior Warden (Vestry Chair) and Secretary kept at me and at me when nominations were being taken. In fact, I’d go so far as to say they nagged me. But being the absolute wuss I am, I couldn’t bring myself to say no. I would keep saying maybe, or I needed to think about it, and never gave a straight answer, so my name showed up on the ballot.
Other nominations were taken, aside from the ones printed on the ballot. All I would have had to do would have been to raise my hand and ask that I be removed from consideration. But oh, no, I couldn’t do that either. Too scared, too nervous, too shy. I prayed like you would not believe while the voting was going on, that they would decide other people would be better suited than I.
Didn’t do a bit of good.
So now, if I go away to grad school, I’m going to be in the rather craptacular position of having to resign from the Vestry. Now, I’m sure I’m not the first person to have done so for reasons of moving away, and it’s not like they don’t have plenty of experienced people to step in and take over. Still, no one’s going to like it.
All in all, I’m feeling pretty disgusted with myself today. :-(
Friday, January 20, 2006
We have a birthday boy!
Happy 29th birthday to our own Bougie Black Boy! Yay, Stephen!
Of course, now he's probably going to pull this thing he does every year where he decides he's too "mature" to talk to me anymore and he doesn't have to listen to me until I catch up to his age in May. Oh well. Historically, this lasts less than 15 minutes each year. :-P
Happy birthday, Stevie!
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Quandary!
A few weeks ago, a friend of mine told me that she was falling in love with a very sweet guy, and they talk on the phone all the time, have so much in common, and are getting very close.
A few days ago, another friend of mine told me the same thing.
About the same guy.
The girls, of course, don't know about each other. The guy very likely is doing this just to be flirty and friendly, and doesn't think anyone is taking this seriously.
Why do I suddenly feel like a minor character from a Shakespearean comedy?
A few days ago, another friend of mine told me the same thing.
About the same guy.
The girls, of course, don't know about each other. The guy very likely is doing this just to be flirty and friendly, and doesn't think anyone is taking this seriously.
Why do I suddenly feel like a minor character from a Shakespearean comedy?
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
I want this....
Okay, I really, really, really, really want this dress.
I have absolutely no reason to have it. There is nothing to which I would wear it. I just really want it.
Maybe I should join the Society for Creative Anachronism so I can play with people who won't think I'm too old to be playing dress-up. They'd teach me sword-fighting, too. And that would be really cool.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Why dost thou tempt me so?
I already have more books than I have shelf space. The shelves are jammed full, and my apartment's one closet is mainly full of the boxes of overflow books.
So you'd think that I'd be sensible and refrain from buying more books until I have a place to put them.
But oh, no, I am not known for being sensible. I think that book clubs know this. They can sense my weakness, and they prey upon me, sending me catalogs of the most delectable books, the ones that cause my synapses to fire in delight! Oh yes, they know. They know exactly what they are doing.
Most of the time I manage to resist the temptations these book clubs lay before me. Reading the fine print is a help for that. Oh, sure, I might get 6 books for $1 each today, but tomorrow you'll come demanding my firstborn child? No thanks!
But today in my mail was a catalog from the History Book Club. This one is new. This one I'd never seen before. "Get 4 books for $1 each with membership!" it proclaimed. "No obligation to buy more!"
I read the fine print with a skeptic's eye. Well, what do you know? They were being honest. Plus if I wanted a 5th book, I could order it for 50% off the publisher's price.
I flipped through the catalog itself. I think my brain may have begun to drool at this point. Ancient history, medieval history, church history!
Well, what's a bibliophile to do?
Really, $29.73 for five hardcover books (the $4, plus the half price book, plus shipping) is an excellent bargain.
I'll find places for the new books somewhere or another. Not sure where, but somewhere.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
An Utterly Surreal Voicemail
At about midnight-thirty, my cell phone rang. NO ONE calls me at that hour, so I figured it was an emergency and jumped out of my sickbed to answer it. It was just a wrong number. The caller apologized and hung up. The phone rang again just seconds later, but I let the voicemail pick it up. I figured that would convince the guy that he really did have a wrong number.
Surprise, surprise! He left me a voicemail, so this morning I was greeted by a message from some guy who apparently feels he is God's gift to women. Here are some of the highlights, bad grammar left intact:
"Hey, girl, I know this a wrong number and all, but you gots a really beautiful voice and you sound like you could use some male attention...."
"I don't know if you gots a man, and I don't care. I can take care of your needs better than he can..."
"So if you wants to get down with your man Jay, I up in DEE-troit, and here's my number...."
Truly a WTF moment! Did the guy really think this would work?
To make it even more surreal, he had kind of smoothed out his voice from the first time he'd called, and sounded now like a bad imitation of Barry White and/or the Ladies' Man from Saturday Night Live.
So, just a note to any wanna-be Casanovas who think that leaving voicemail with a wrong number is a way to meet women: it's not going to work. Instead, it's just going to get your skanky message posted online for all the woman's friends to ridicule.
I'm not sure whether to laugh or be disgusted. I think I'll laugh. But if he calls back again, the cops will be getting a phone call from me!
And I still feel sick. On my way back to bed now. Nighty-night.
Surprise, surprise! He left me a voicemail, so this morning I was greeted by a message from some guy who apparently feels he is God's gift to women. Here are some of the highlights, bad grammar left intact:
"Hey, girl, I know this a wrong number and all, but you gots a really beautiful voice and you sound like you could use some male attention...."
"I don't know if you gots a man, and I don't care. I can take care of your needs better than he can..."
"So if you wants to get down with your man Jay, I up in DEE-troit, and here's my number...."
Truly a WTF moment! Did the guy really think this would work?
To make it even more surreal, he had kind of smoothed out his voice from the first time he'd called, and sounded now like a bad imitation of Barry White and/or the Ladies' Man from Saturday Night Live.
So, just a note to any wanna-be Casanovas who think that leaving voicemail with a wrong number is a way to meet women: it's not going to work. Instead, it's just going to get your skanky message posted online for all the woman's friends to ridicule.
I'm not sure whether to laugh or be disgusted. I think I'll laugh. But if he calls back again, the cops will be getting a phone call from me!
And I still feel sick. On my way back to bed now. Nighty-night.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Blearghhhh....
I'm sick. I have a stomach bug. So between sleeping, trying to keep down fluids, and wishing I could be at least temporarily dead, I haven't really felt like blogging anything. Maybe tomorrow I will be back with you and feeling at least partially human.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
I swear I am not making this up.
Background: Usually I have choir practice on Tuesday nights, but this week it was Saturday morning because the director had to be out of town on Tuesday. We had a new member join us today, a lady of around 50 or so (old enough to have a grandbaby, because she was showing off pictures of him). She wound up sitting next to me, and during a lull, she started talking to me.
Lady: So, what grade are you in?
Me: I'm not actually in school anymore.
Lady: (confused) How old are you?
Me: 28.
Lady: What? You're kidding! I was thinking you were, like, 17 or 18!
Me: (trying not to laugh hysterically) Nope, I'm a fair bit older than that. And done with school. Well, maybe grad school in the fall if all goes well.
Lady: Wow.
Either I look very young or I am very immature. :-P
Lady: So, what grade are you in?
Me: I'm not actually in school anymore.
Lady: (confused) How old are you?
Me: 28.
Lady: What? You're kidding! I was thinking you were, like, 17 or 18!
Me: (trying not to laugh hysterically) Nope, I'm a fair bit older than that. And done with school. Well, maybe grad school in the fall if all goes well.
Lady: Wow.
Either I look very young or I am very immature. :-P
Thursday, January 05, 2006
New Blog!
Or, really, a sub-blog. This one's going to still be my primary blog for all my personal journaling, but I've started a new one called Glorious Convergence. This will be for all my ramblings and musings about theology.
I'll warn you all right off, I don't have a whole lot in the way of formal theology training, so it will be less a collection of scholarly papers, and more the verbal wanderings of someone who annoyed the Sunday School teacher by asking too many questions. Except that I didn't ever go to Sunday School. But if I had, I probably would have been that kid.
So I hope you all will stop by and visit me there!
I'll warn you all right off, I don't have a whole lot in the way of formal theology training, so it will be less a collection of scholarly papers, and more the verbal wanderings of someone who annoyed the Sunday School teacher by asking too many questions. Except that I didn't ever go to Sunday School. But if I had, I probably would have been that kid.
So I hope you all will stop by and visit me there!
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
A History of Dreams
This is going to be a long post, so please bear with me. In follow up to my two recent posts about dreams, I am posting some dreams I have journaled over the past couple of years. These dreams are of a different quality than my normal dreams; they have a sort of clarity and sharpness that most of my dreams lack. The coloration of the dreams is brighter even than real life, and they seem to contain colors that waking eyes can't even see.
Dream #1, 4/29/04 (repeated exactly 5/3/04)
In this dream, I was a seminary student. I was sitting outside somewhere on campus with a group of other students on a sunny afternoon, and we were having some sort of deep discussion about some bit of theology or philosophy.
This dream happened when I was preparing rather intensively for my Confirmation, so the first night I laughed and thought it was because I'd been spending too much time with the priest and parish coordinator. When I dreamed it again, it became cause for thought.
Dream #2, 5/17/04
In this dream, I was kneeling at an altar in some unknown place. There was a Being of Light before me with its hands on my head in blessing. There were also other beings in the room behind me, whose presence I could sense, but I could not see them if I turned my head at all. (Ghost People.) It was nearly unbearable to be in the presence of this being—it was wonderful and loving, but it was impossibly intense. I would have probably fallen away if the Ghost People had not been behind me propping me up.
Fragments of this dream were repeated during the course of that summer. This is the first part, apparently, of the dream I reported here a few days ago.
Dream #3, late June 2004
In this dream, there was a battle raging somewhere in the distance. The sky was red from fire. I was far away from the battle, but aware that it could come to my little area. I was in a sort of alleyway, and I had a sword. Behind me was a group of small children, all around age 4 or 5. They were remarkably calm, considering what was going on. I don’t know who they were—there weren’t any kids I recognized from waking life. My task in the battle was to protect these children, because they were somehow vital to the outcome of the ongoing war.
This dream appeared on two consecutive nights but has not been repeated since. This one I'm almost hesitant to include, because it doesn't quite fit with the others, but it has the same quality as the others, so I put it in.
Dream #4, 10/8/04 (repeated periodically)
In this dream, I was wandering in bright autumn woods. It was a very idealized sort of forest—it looked similar to areas of West Virginia, but there were no steep areas to give me trouble with climbing or falling. There wasn’t any underbrush, and there were no pesky bugs. It was afternoon. As I was wandering along this path, I came to a river. The path split there—I could go alongside the river in either direction, or I could cross a rickety, claptrap, unsafe-looking bridge. On the far shore I could see a clearing where an altar had been set up. The altar looked ancient—it seemed to have been made of stone. It was set up as if for a Sunday service, though. The chalice was brightly polished silver and the cloths were gleaming white.
I wanted very badly to get across, but that bridge was a mess. I looked upstream and downstream a little way, but didn’t see any other bridges. The river was too wide to jump across and looked like it was too deep and had too fast a current to swim. I stepped towards the bridge, and when I got closer I saw that there was some sort of carving on a large rock near the side of it, but it was mostly covered with moss. I cleared away the moss and saw that someone had carved, “None may cross who be not willing to surrender into love.” I took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge as lightly as I could. The old rotting wood held. I took another breath, then stepped forward.... and woke up!
This one changes a little each time I dream it. The moss stays cleared away from the stone, and I can see my footprints from previous "visits." I get slightly further across the bridge most times, but I've never made it across before waking.
Dream #5, November 2004
In this dream, I was trying to find my pregnant aunt in a crowded mall. (My aunt is not pregnant in real life.) She was always just a little ahead of me in the crowd so I could never quite catch up. She kept going down levels and levels, like the miles of underground mall in Montreal or Toronto, until we finally came to something that looked like a combination of a family room and a church. It was a long cozy room with lots of big pillows on the floor. There was an altar set up along one of the long walls, but it was off to the side, not centered. A lot of people were sitting down getting comfortable, so we sat down too. Most of the people there were people I know or knew, from church, school, or past jobs.
My church's former rector was there getting ready to preach, but he was on the opposite side of the room from the altar. He gave a sermon, which I'm going to have to confess I don't remember a word of, and then moved over to the altar to start Communion. There were no EMs to help him, so he called me and another lady from church up out of the crowd to help serve. But when it came to the time that he would have handed me one of the cups, he instead handed me the plate of bread, kissed me on my forehead, and said, "It's your turn to do this, little sister." So I served the bread to the people, one by one. There were so many people that I couldn't count them, but the bread didn't run out until the last person had been served.
I only dreamed this one once, but it's quite full of many types of symbolism.
This was right about the time when my ex and I started having horrible problems, and the dreams of this strange clarity backed off. But now it seems they are starting again, now that I am safe and can listen.
Dream #1, 4/29/04 (repeated exactly 5/3/04)
In this dream, I was a seminary student. I was sitting outside somewhere on campus with a group of other students on a sunny afternoon, and we were having some sort of deep discussion about some bit of theology or philosophy.
This dream happened when I was preparing rather intensively for my Confirmation, so the first night I laughed and thought it was because I'd been spending too much time with the priest and parish coordinator. When I dreamed it again, it became cause for thought.
Dream #2, 5/17/04
In this dream, I was kneeling at an altar in some unknown place. There was a Being of Light before me with its hands on my head in blessing. There were also other beings in the room behind me, whose presence I could sense, but I could not see them if I turned my head at all. (Ghost People.) It was nearly unbearable to be in the presence of this being—it was wonderful and loving, but it was impossibly intense. I would have probably fallen away if the Ghost People had not been behind me propping me up.
Fragments of this dream were repeated during the course of that summer. This is the first part, apparently, of the dream I reported here a few days ago.
Dream #3, late June 2004
In this dream, there was a battle raging somewhere in the distance. The sky was red from fire. I was far away from the battle, but aware that it could come to my little area. I was in a sort of alleyway, and I had a sword. Behind me was a group of small children, all around age 4 or 5. They were remarkably calm, considering what was going on. I don’t know who they were—there weren’t any kids I recognized from waking life. My task in the battle was to protect these children, because they were somehow vital to the outcome of the ongoing war.
This dream appeared on two consecutive nights but has not been repeated since. This one I'm almost hesitant to include, because it doesn't quite fit with the others, but it has the same quality as the others, so I put it in.
Dream #4, 10/8/04 (repeated periodically)
In this dream, I was wandering in bright autumn woods. It was a very idealized sort of forest—it looked similar to areas of West Virginia, but there were no steep areas to give me trouble with climbing or falling. There wasn’t any underbrush, and there were no pesky bugs. It was afternoon. As I was wandering along this path, I came to a river. The path split there—I could go alongside the river in either direction, or I could cross a rickety, claptrap, unsafe-looking bridge. On the far shore I could see a clearing where an altar had been set up. The altar looked ancient—it seemed to have been made of stone. It was set up as if for a Sunday service, though. The chalice was brightly polished silver and the cloths were gleaming white.
I wanted very badly to get across, but that bridge was a mess. I looked upstream and downstream a little way, but didn’t see any other bridges. The river was too wide to jump across and looked like it was too deep and had too fast a current to swim. I stepped towards the bridge, and when I got closer I saw that there was some sort of carving on a large rock near the side of it, but it was mostly covered with moss. I cleared away the moss and saw that someone had carved, “None may cross who be not willing to surrender into love.” I took a deep breath and stepped onto the bridge as lightly as I could. The old rotting wood held. I took another breath, then stepped forward.... and woke up!
This one changes a little each time I dream it. The moss stays cleared away from the stone, and I can see my footprints from previous "visits." I get slightly further across the bridge most times, but I've never made it across before waking.
Dream #5, November 2004
In this dream, I was trying to find my pregnant aunt in a crowded mall. (My aunt is not pregnant in real life.) She was always just a little ahead of me in the crowd so I could never quite catch up. She kept going down levels and levels, like the miles of underground mall in Montreal or Toronto, until we finally came to something that looked like a combination of a family room and a church. It was a long cozy room with lots of big pillows on the floor. There was an altar set up along one of the long walls, but it was off to the side, not centered. A lot of people were sitting down getting comfortable, so we sat down too. Most of the people there were people I know or knew, from church, school, or past jobs.
My church's former rector was there getting ready to preach, but he was on the opposite side of the room from the altar. He gave a sermon, which I'm going to have to confess I don't remember a word of, and then moved over to the altar to start Communion. There were no EMs to help him, so he called me and another lady from church up out of the crowd to help serve. But when it came to the time that he would have handed me one of the cups, he instead handed me the plate of bread, kissed me on my forehead, and said, "It's your turn to do this, little sister." So I served the bread to the people, one by one. There were so many people that I couldn't count them, but the bread didn't run out until the last person had been served.
I only dreamed this one once, but it's quite full of many types of symbolism.
This was right about the time when my ex and I started having horrible problems, and the dreams of this strange clarity backed off. But now it seems they are starting again, now that I am safe and can listen.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Some Photos of Christmas Gifts
Since I know you've all been wondering....
This is what a Christmas Armadillo looks like.
The Badger Brothers! Belshazzar is on the left and Melkior is on the right. 
And the mysterious and beautiful Oaken Chalice of Rockwood.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
End of the Year
I don't have a very good history with New Year's Eve.
Up until now, I'd say the best NYE celebration I've managed (since I've been old enough to do anything interesting, at least) was the year I was 18. I watched a Godzilla movie marathon with my brother, who was 4 at the time. And if a giant radioactive dinosaur can't brighten up someone's New Year's Eve, I don't know what can.
But now 2005 drifts away quietly, washed away softly into the river by the rain that's been falling all day. I can't say I'll be sorry to see this year go.
Of course many good things happened to me this year. Falling in love was certainly not the least of those. But so many bad things happened as well, especially early in the year. So much turmoil, so much change!
If I'd written such a thing on New Year's Eve 2004, it would have looked completely different. A year ago, I was still married, though the tensions which would eventually bring the marriage to its breaking point were beginning to grow. A year ago I was settling in for a rather mundane life, believing that it was all that there was.
Come to think of it, it could easily be argued that New Year's Eve of 2004 was the beginning of my realization that the marriage could not last. There was a horrible party, a horrible fight, a horrible drive home, all ending with me sitting up until 2 or 3 AM alone because I was too stuffed up from crying to sleep yet. All alone, pouring out my tale of woe on the snopes message board, because I had no one else to talk to.
Oddly enough, other snopesters were still awake, and offered me a glory of cyber comfort and tried to make me laugh until I felt better and could go sleep. Tirithien was one of those friends. Kindness to virtual strangers can have very long-lasting and unforeseen effects, apparently.
The ex and I patched up that New Year's Eve fight, but nothing was ever quite the same between us again. Trust had been broken, and never quite healed up.
This year, I swear will be different. 2006 is a year of great possibility, full of magic and hope, and I will see it in quietly, nestled safe in the arms of the man I love.
And that's all I ever really wanted of a New Year's Eve celebration anyway.
Happy New Year, friends. :-)
Up until now, I'd say the best NYE celebration I've managed (since I've been old enough to do anything interesting, at least) was the year I was 18. I watched a Godzilla movie marathon with my brother, who was 4 at the time. And if a giant radioactive dinosaur can't brighten up someone's New Year's Eve, I don't know what can.
But now 2005 drifts away quietly, washed away softly into the river by the rain that's been falling all day. I can't say I'll be sorry to see this year go.
Of course many good things happened to me this year. Falling in love was certainly not the least of those. But so many bad things happened as well, especially early in the year. So much turmoil, so much change!
If I'd written such a thing on New Year's Eve 2004, it would have looked completely different. A year ago, I was still married, though the tensions which would eventually bring the marriage to its breaking point were beginning to grow. A year ago I was settling in for a rather mundane life, believing that it was all that there was.
Come to think of it, it could easily be argued that New Year's Eve of 2004 was the beginning of my realization that the marriage could not last. There was a horrible party, a horrible fight, a horrible drive home, all ending with me sitting up until 2 or 3 AM alone because I was too stuffed up from crying to sleep yet. All alone, pouring out my tale of woe on the snopes message board, because I had no one else to talk to.
Oddly enough, other snopesters were still awake, and offered me a glory of cyber comfort and tried to make me laugh until I felt better and could go sleep. Tirithien was one of those friends. Kindness to virtual strangers can have very long-lasting and unforeseen effects, apparently.
The ex and I patched up that New Year's Eve fight, but nothing was ever quite the same between us again. Trust had been broken, and never quite healed up.
This year, I swear will be different. 2006 is a year of great possibility, full of magic and hope, and I will see it in quietly, nestled safe in the arms of the man I love.
And that's all I ever really wanted of a New Year's Eve celebration anyway.
Happy New Year, friends. :-)
Thursday, December 29, 2005
More Dreaming
“My child, my love, I need your voice. I need your words. They have forgotten the truth. Tell it to them.”
So has spoken the Being of Light in my dream. For two nights in a row now.
The first time I woke full of trembling.
The second time I woke sobbing with loneliness.
Why can’t I just have normal dreams?
I don’t even know why I’m posting this, except that I feel like I’m about to fly apart and need some place to put the story.
Those of you readers who pray, please pray for clarity for me. I am in sore need of it.
So has spoken the Being of Light in my dream. For two nights in a row now.
The first time I woke full of trembling.
The second time I woke sobbing with loneliness.
Why can’t I just have normal dreams?
I don’t even know why I’m posting this, except that I feel like I’m about to fly apart and need some place to put the story.
Those of you readers who pray, please pray for clarity for me. I am in sore need of it.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Boxing Day: The Aftermath
No, I did NOT go out and hit the post-Christmas sales! I was quite thoroughly worn out from such a long musical program on Saturday and not too much chance to rest on Sunday, so I spent most of Monday hibernating. Ah, hibernating! I only ventured out to get some dinner and check my mail, and that was plenty good enough for me.
I did get my new TV hooked up: my family all joined in together and got me a nice 20-inch flat screen TV to replace the little 13-inch TV/VCR combo I'd had since my freshman year of college. And I hooked it, the cable, the VCR, and the DVD player up without the first glance at the instructions-- and they all worked on the first try! Technology, I vanquish thee!
My brother, for some strange reason, loved his Christmas Armadillo. Why? I don't know! I just can't figure that lad out. And my mama loved her truly strange ornament of a scuba diving Santa riding on seahorse-back. I was hoping my brother would have at least a hint of indignity about the armadillo, after he got Tirithien and me matching badgers. Eeek! And from the tag on my badgers, I discovered that real badgers weigh about 22 pounds; if I'd known they were that big when the unseen badger chased us out of the woods last summer, I'd probably have fainted dead away! But the badgers my brother gave us are really very cute. I named mine Belshazzar, after one of the kings of Babylon when the Israelites all were imprisoned there. No real reason; I just thought Belshazzar Badger was a very cool name.
Meanwhile, Tirithien loved the gift I gave him: a Scottish knife, a sgian dubh, with his clan's crest on it. (The internet is a wonderful shopping tool!) And I truly love the gift he made for me. Out of a block of oak wood, he carved for me a chalice, something like unto how the Holy Grail may have looked. We are both history buffs and very interested in the Grail legends, so this was a VERY cool gift!
And today I am back at work. Hardly anyone is here; the company is only open three days this week. I am doing mundane secretarial tasks for a boss who isn't even here! Argh. Oh well. At least it's not as bad as the stretch between Christmas and New Year's last year. Last year during the long weekend, a rat got into the building, nibbled some wires, and fried itself. The smell when we came back in was.... interesting, to say the least. *shudders at memory* This year everything smells fine, which makes work a much more tolerable place to be!
I did get my new TV hooked up: my family all joined in together and got me a nice 20-inch flat screen TV to replace the little 13-inch TV/VCR combo I'd had since my freshman year of college. And I hooked it, the cable, the VCR, and the DVD player up without the first glance at the instructions-- and they all worked on the first try! Technology, I vanquish thee!
My brother, for some strange reason, loved his Christmas Armadillo. Why? I don't know! I just can't figure that lad out. And my mama loved her truly strange ornament of a scuba diving Santa riding on seahorse-back. I was hoping my brother would have at least a hint of indignity about the armadillo, after he got Tirithien and me matching badgers. Eeek! And from the tag on my badgers, I discovered that real badgers weigh about 22 pounds; if I'd known they were that big when the unseen badger chased us out of the woods last summer, I'd probably have fainted dead away! But the badgers my brother gave us are really very cute. I named mine Belshazzar, after one of the kings of Babylon when the Israelites all were imprisoned there. No real reason; I just thought Belshazzar Badger was a very cool name.
Meanwhile, Tirithien loved the gift I gave him: a Scottish knife, a sgian dubh, with his clan's crest on it. (The internet is a wonderful shopping tool!) And I truly love the gift he made for me. Out of a block of oak wood, he carved for me a chalice, something like unto how the Holy Grail may have looked. We are both history buffs and very interested in the Grail legends, so this was a VERY cool gift!
And today I am back at work. Hardly anyone is here; the company is only open three days this week. I am doing mundane secretarial tasks for a boss who isn't even here! Argh. Oh well. At least it's not as bad as the stretch between Christmas and New Year's last year. Last year during the long weekend, a rat got into the building, nibbled some wires, and fried itself. The smell when we came back in was.... interesting, to say the least. *shudders at memory* This year everything smells fine, which makes work a much more tolerable place to be!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
'Twas the Night Before Christmas....
And I finally finished wrapping presents!
And I must say, my living room looks very festive. :-)
And here is a closeup of the ornament Tirithien and I picked out together. Could they possibly be any cuter? :-)
My singing of "O Holy Night" went very well. I felt great about it. There was only one problem. Right in the middle of it, a little 3-year-old girl started yelling that she needed to piddle. Now, when I am singing a solo, especially a solo in church, I don't notice anything except the music, so I actually did not hear this. But her mama told me about it afterwards and apologized. Well, things at Grace Church are never perfect, but they are always good. :-) I will sing again for the 10:30 service, and there probably won't be any little kids at that one!
The thing I always love most about the Midnight Mass, though, is not the music, but the sense of expectant joy. When the service is done and I come outside, it's as if the whole world just for a moment is waiting in perfect silence and perfect joy. The hush of the snowy night wraps us all in peaceful stillness as we wait once more for the Child to be born.
Merry Christmas, my friends. Peace and joy to you all.
And I must say, my living room looks very festive. :-)
And here is a closeup of the ornament Tirithien and I picked out together. Could they possibly be any cuter? :-)My singing of "O Holy Night" went very well. I felt great about it. There was only one problem. Right in the middle of it, a little 3-year-old girl started yelling that she needed to piddle. Now, when I am singing a solo, especially a solo in church, I don't notice anything except the music, so I actually did not hear this. But her mama told me about it afterwards and apologized. Well, things at Grace Church are never perfect, but they are always good. :-) I will sing again for the 10:30 service, and there probably won't be any little kids at that one!
The thing I always love most about the Midnight Mass, though, is not the music, but the sense of expectant joy. When the service is done and I come outside, it's as if the whole world just for a moment is waiting in perfect silence and perfect joy. The hush of the snowy night wraps us all in peaceful stillness as we wait once more for the Child to be born.
Merry Christmas, my friends. Peace and joy to you all.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Holiday Odds and Ends
My boss gave me a small Christmas gift—a little silver ornament shaped like an apple, with different color crystals on it. It’s very cute. But the odd thing is that when I thanked her for it, she beamed and said, “As soon as I saw it I thought of you!” Huh? I mean, I don’t really make the connection between me and an apple. I’m not a teacher. I don’t eat a bunch of apples. I do usually make apple crisp for company potlucks, but that’s maybe twice a year. It’s very strange.
Yesterday I had a rather pathetic experience. I had choir practice earlier than usual last night, so I figured I wouldn’t go all the way home in-between work and choir, but would instead stop at the mall and get the Christmas Armadillo for my brother (I think this is probably the kind of gift we will wind up passing back and forth for years), and then get a little bit to eat before practice. So the Armadillo was obtained, and I decided I wanted one of those big soft pretzels. With cheese sauce. Yummy! The pretzel place had a deal where you could get the pretzel and a 32-ounce pop for … um … I forget how much. But it was cheaper than buying them separately. I was sitting on a bench, enjoying my pretzel, but when I went to pick up my pop, I discovered that apparently the lid didn’t fit the cup exactly right. I wound up wearing about 16 ounces of pop. Yuck! Most of it got on my coat, so at least I didn’t have to feel that cold stickiness right next to my skin, but some got on my jeans, in my hair, and on my glasses.
Pop is not easy to clean off of glasses. And of course I can’t just throw my coat in the washing machine; it has to be dry cleaned! And this is going to be a trick, seeing as how it’s too bloody cold to go without it while it’s being cleaned! Argh. Maybe I can get some of that Dryel and borrow my mom’s or auntie’s dryer.
On the plus side, choir practice went well, in spite of it being the last rehearsal before Christmas Eve. (Most years, this entails much wailing and gnashing of teeth.) I have a solo for Christmas Eve, too—“O Holy Night.” Only the most beautiful Christmas song ever!
I have all my Christmas shopping done. At least I think so. None of the gifts are wrapped, though; they’re all strewn about my apartment still in the shopping bags. I don’t have to work on Friday, though, so guess what I’ll be doing! Unlike Clew's experiences, wrapping paper and I tend not to get along. I usually tape myself to a package at least once. *sigh* But soon it will all be done. I still have Christmas cookies to make, too!
Yesterday I had a rather pathetic experience. I had choir practice earlier than usual last night, so I figured I wouldn’t go all the way home in-between work and choir, but would instead stop at the mall and get the Christmas Armadillo for my brother (I think this is probably the kind of gift we will wind up passing back and forth for years), and then get a little bit to eat before practice. So the Armadillo was obtained, and I decided I wanted one of those big soft pretzels. With cheese sauce. Yummy! The pretzel place had a deal where you could get the pretzel and a 32-ounce pop for … um … I forget how much. But it was cheaper than buying them separately. I was sitting on a bench, enjoying my pretzel, but when I went to pick up my pop, I discovered that apparently the lid didn’t fit the cup exactly right. I wound up wearing about 16 ounces of pop. Yuck! Most of it got on my coat, so at least I didn’t have to feel that cold stickiness right next to my skin, but some got on my jeans, in my hair, and on my glasses.
Pop is not easy to clean off of glasses. And of course I can’t just throw my coat in the washing machine; it has to be dry cleaned! And this is going to be a trick, seeing as how it’s too bloody cold to go without it while it’s being cleaned! Argh. Maybe I can get some of that Dryel and borrow my mom’s or auntie’s dryer.
On the plus side, choir practice went well, in spite of it being the last rehearsal before Christmas Eve. (Most years, this entails much wailing and gnashing of teeth.) I have a solo for Christmas Eve, too—“O Holy Night.” Only the most beautiful Christmas song ever!
I have all my Christmas shopping done. At least I think so. None of the gifts are wrapped, though; they’re all strewn about my apartment still in the shopping bags. I don’t have to work on Friday, though, so guess what I’ll be doing! Unlike Clew's experiences, wrapping paper and I tend not to get along. I usually tape myself to a package at least once. *sigh* But soon it will all be done. I still have Christmas cookies to make, too!
Monday, December 19, 2005
The Light of Mid-winter
This is one of my church newsletter articles, which seemed appropriate to put in here this week. :-)
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.—John 1:1-5
I seem to wind up talking to a lot of people on the internet, and this is usually a very good thing. This way I manage to meet people I otherwise wouldn’t because they live on the other side of the country or of the world, and I hear viewpoints I might not otherwise hear. I manage to get into religious discussions with many of these online acquaintances, and for the most part, they are very respectful. We all listen to each other’s perspectives, ask questions, and explain our own understandings of God.
This time of year, though, one of the things I often hear from my non-Christian friends is a bit of good-natured ribbing. “Well, the church just stole a pagan festival and named it Christmas. It’s not really Jesus’ birthday!”
Historically, there is much truth to this. When the early church wanted to set a date to celebrate the birth of Jesus, they had no real idea what that date had been. They weren’t even entirely sure of what year it had occurred. So they had to pick a date and go with it.
Some of my online friends will insist that the early church leaders chose December 25th simply to take away from the Roman festival of Saturnalia—that they didn’t want people celebrating that pagan feast anymore, so they would give the people something to take its place. I don’t deny that there is some truth to this. There is much historical evidence of church missionaries co-opting local pagan customs and adapting them to the new faith. Holy days were set at certain times. Local deities were reinvented as saints.
However, I also believe that in their search for an identity, the early church made use of a beautiful and symbolic truth in setting Christmas in December. The Winter Solstice is the longest, darkest night of the year, and nearly every ancient culture had a celebration of it. They celebrated not because of its darkness, but because it is the time of a profound shift. On the Solstice, the Earth crosses an invisible line in its orbit around the sun. Suddenly the tilt of the Earth’s axis, which had been causing the Northern Hemisphere to tilt away from the sun, begins to face us towards the sun instead. The nights begin ever so slightly to become shorter, and the days to become longer. It is the return of light.
The actual birth date of the historical Jesus is a matter of curiosity, yet it in the long run, it makes no difference. The old Christmas carol “Do you hear what I hear?” contains a phrase which makes this quite clear: “The child, the child, sleeping in the night, he will bring us goodness and light.” The child Jesus is the light itself.
Historians and folklorists have a saying: “Truth passes into legend, legend passes into myth.” On the level of the truth of the spirit, hard cold facts come to matter less and less. The mythical truth is what counts. On the darkest night of cold winter, light returns through the stately turning of planet and star. In the darkest night of a human life, light returns through the long ago birth of a child.
Truly, symbolically, there could be no better time of year for our joyful Advent waiting and our celebration of the child’s birth. The birth of Jesus and the return of the sun’s light symbolize the very same thing. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can not overcome it, for it is a light God has set for us to follow and find our way home.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.—John 1:1-5
I seem to wind up talking to a lot of people on the internet, and this is usually a very good thing. This way I manage to meet people I otherwise wouldn’t because they live on the other side of the country or of the world, and I hear viewpoints I might not otherwise hear. I manage to get into religious discussions with many of these online acquaintances, and for the most part, they are very respectful. We all listen to each other’s perspectives, ask questions, and explain our own understandings of God.
This time of year, though, one of the things I often hear from my non-Christian friends is a bit of good-natured ribbing. “Well, the church just stole a pagan festival and named it Christmas. It’s not really Jesus’ birthday!”
Historically, there is much truth to this. When the early church wanted to set a date to celebrate the birth of Jesus, they had no real idea what that date had been. They weren’t even entirely sure of what year it had occurred. So they had to pick a date and go with it.
Some of my online friends will insist that the early church leaders chose December 25th simply to take away from the Roman festival of Saturnalia—that they didn’t want people celebrating that pagan feast anymore, so they would give the people something to take its place. I don’t deny that there is some truth to this. There is much historical evidence of church missionaries co-opting local pagan customs and adapting them to the new faith. Holy days were set at certain times. Local deities were reinvented as saints.
However, I also believe that in their search for an identity, the early church made use of a beautiful and symbolic truth in setting Christmas in December. The Winter Solstice is the longest, darkest night of the year, and nearly every ancient culture had a celebration of it. They celebrated not because of its darkness, but because it is the time of a profound shift. On the Solstice, the Earth crosses an invisible line in its orbit around the sun. Suddenly the tilt of the Earth’s axis, which had been causing the Northern Hemisphere to tilt away from the sun, begins to face us towards the sun instead. The nights begin ever so slightly to become shorter, and the days to become longer. It is the return of light.
The actual birth date of the historical Jesus is a matter of curiosity, yet it in the long run, it makes no difference. The old Christmas carol “Do you hear what I hear?” contains a phrase which makes this quite clear: “The child, the child, sleeping in the night, he will bring us goodness and light.” The child Jesus is the light itself.
Historians and folklorists have a saying: “Truth passes into legend, legend passes into myth.” On the level of the truth of the spirit, hard cold facts come to matter less and less. The mythical truth is what counts. On the darkest night of cold winter, light returns through the stately turning of planet and star. In the darkest night of a human life, light returns through the long ago birth of a child.
Truly, symbolically, there could be no better time of year for our joyful Advent waiting and our celebration of the child’s birth. The birth of Jesus and the return of the sun’s light symbolize the very same thing. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can not overcome it, for it is a light God has set for us to follow and find our way home.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Dreaming Weirdness
As I was waking today, I had a very strange dream. As someone who's performed on stage and given speeches before, I'd almost be inclined to call it a nightmare, if it hadn't been so amusing to me after I woke up.
See, one of the ways I help out at church is by doing readings during the service. For each service, there are two Eucharistic Ministers, and one of them reads the Psalm and one of the Bible readings, while the other reads the Prayers of the People later in the service. Then both of them help the Priest serve Communion. During Advent season, there's also a script the two EMs read from at the beginning of the service, during the lighting of that week's Advent candle. So now that you have the background....
In my dream, I was the EM for the fourth Advent Sunday, which is tomorrow. (In reality, I am not supposed to be!) I processed in with the choir, as I usually do, but instead of taking my seat with them, I stayed out front to do the script-reading and candle-lighting. Now, for some reason, there was no other EM with me, and it wasn't like someone had forgotten and was hurrying to the front-- in the context of the dream, I was supposed to be the only one up there. Everyone was looking at me expectantly, so I started to read from the script.
It was absolutely unreadable. The words were in some foreign language with non-Roman letters, the letters/glyphs were blurry, and the things were moving around on the page! I'm sure there must have been a look of abject horror on my face. The actor's nightmare! Even worse, there was no one around who could help me out-- the Priest and Parish Coordinator were nowhere in sight (and why on earth I'd be up there without them around is a mystery too strange to contemplate), and none of the other choir members seemed to understand my gestures to let me look at the script in their bulletins. (you know, in case maybe mine was just defective or something!)
Apparently my dream-self is much more poised and self-possessed than my real self would be, because I started giving a completely off-the-cuff speech about the end of our Advent journey, and the quiet waiting in Bethlehem for the Child to be born. It was really very lovely and poetic, and I wish I could have remembered it when I woke up! I gave this beautiful speech, lit the fourth candle, and went to sit down in my usual seat in the choir stall.
There were no seats available in the choir. In real life we have seven members and twelve chairs. In the dream, every seat was taken! Eeek! So I wound up having to walk across the front of the church in my blue choir robe, all the way across to the chairs where the Priest and the non-choir-member EM would have been sitting. You know, if there had been a Priest. Or another EM.
Luckily for me and my stage fright-induced heart palpitations, I woke up as soon as I sat down over there and thus didn't have to worry about trying to continue the service!
So, any amateur dream interpreters care to take a try at this one?
See, one of the ways I help out at church is by doing readings during the service. For each service, there are two Eucharistic Ministers, and one of them reads the Psalm and one of the Bible readings, while the other reads the Prayers of the People later in the service. Then both of them help the Priest serve Communion. During Advent season, there's also a script the two EMs read from at the beginning of the service, during the lighting of that week's Advent candle. So now that you have the background....
In my dream, I was the EM for the fourth Advent Sunday, which is tomorrow. (In reality, I am not supposed to be!) I processed in with the choir, as I usually do, but instead of taking my seat with them, I stayed out front to do the script-reading and candle-lighting. Now, for some reason, there was no other EM with me, and it wasn't like someone had forgotten and was hurrying to the front-- in the context of the dream, I was supposed to be the only one up there. Everyone was looking at me expectantly, so I started to read from the script.
It was absolutely unreadable. The words were in some foreign language with non-Roman letters, the letters/glyphs were blurry, and the things were moving around on the page! I'm sure there must have been a look of abject horror on my face. The actor's nightmare! Even worse, there was no one around who could help me out-- the Priest and Parish Coordinator were nowhere in sight (and why on earth I'd be up there without them around is a mystery too strange to contemplate), and none of the other choir members seemed to understand my gestures to let me look at the script in their bulletins. (you know, in case maybe mine was just defective or something!)
Apparently my dream-self is much more poised and self-possessed than my real self would be, because I started giving a completely off-the-cuff speech about the end of our Advent journey, and the quiet waiting in Bethlehem for the Child to be born. It was really very lovely and poetic, and I wish I could have remembered it when I woke up! I gave this beautiful speech, lit the fourth candle, and went to sit down in my usual seat in the choir stall.
There were no seats available in the choir. In real life we have seven members and twelve chairs. In the dream, every seat was taken! Eeek! So I wound up having to walk across the front of the church in my blue choir robe, all the way across to the chairs where the Priest and the non-choir-member EM would have been sitting. You know, if there had been a Priest. Or another EM.
Luckily for me and my stage fright-induced heart palpitations, I woke up as soon as I sat down over there and thus didn't have to worry about trying to continue the service!
So, any amateur dream interpreters care to take a try at this one?
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Colin the Guinea
This is Colin.
He was just about 5 years old. I'd had him for 4 1/2 years. He was very soft and liked to nuzzle up under my chin when I would hold him, and when he was happy he would make soft squeaky purring noises that sounded like a tribble from Star Trek. When he was hungry, he would squeak loudly until I fed him-- and he knew exactly when mealtimes were, so I'd better not try to delay, or my eardrums would suffer. He weighed over 3 pounds, which is enormous for a guinea, according to the vet.
About a year and a half ago, Colin developed a strange scabby sort of cyst on one of his front feet. It didn't seem to hurt too much, but it was nasty. The vet had me treat it with oral and topical antibiotics, but it never would heal up. It was usually scabbed over pretty well, but I would bandage it up when it would ooze or bleed a little.
Last night, Tirithien and I left my apartment to go grab some dinner at about 8:00. Colin was fine then. He looked at us while we were leaving-- his cage is right by the front door, and I scratched his little velvety nose through the bars and told him we'd be back soon.
We made it home around 10:00 (the roads were awful, plus we'd had to stop at the store).
Colin had died while we were gone. He was stretched out in one corner of his cage, very still. He didn't respond when I shook the cage, or when I reached in to touch his soft guinea fur. His body was limp and lifeless. There was blood across the bottom of the cage, and when I rolled him over to see what had happened, it looked as if his cyst had maybe ruptured or split open.
We put him into a shoebox for a coffin, and we're going to bury him in my mom's back garden when I get home from work today.
Sleep well, baby guinea. I will miss you.
He was just about 5 years old. I'd had him for 4 1/2 years. He was very soft and liked to nuzzle up under my chin when I would hold him, and when he was happy he would make soft squeaky purring noises that sounded like a tribble from Star Trek. When he was hungry, he would squeak loudly until I fed him-- and he knew exactly when mealtimes were, so I'd better not try to delay, or my eardrums would suffer. He weighed over 3 pounds, which is enormous for a guinea, according to the vet.
About a year and a half ago, Colin developed a strange scabby sort of cyst on one of his front feet. It didn't seem to hurt too much, but it was nasty. The vet had me treat it with oral and topical antibiotics, but it never would heal up. It was usually scabbed over pretty well, but I would bandage it up when it would ooze or bleed a little.
Last night, Tirithien and I left my apartment to go grab some dinner at about 8:00. Colin was fine then. He looked at us while we were leaving-- his cage is right by the front door, and I scratched his little velvety nose through the bars and told him we'd be back soon.
We made it home around 10:00 (the roads were awful, plus we'd had to stop at the store).
Colin had died while we were gone. He was stretched out in one corner of his cage, very still. He didn't respond when I shook the cage, or when I reached in to touch his soft guinea fur. His body was limp and lifeless. There was blood across the bottom of the cage, and when I rolled him over to see what had happened, it looked as if his cyst had maybe ruptured or split open.
We put him into a shoebox for a coffin, and we're going to bury him in my mom's back garden when I get home from work today.
Sleep well, baby guinea. I will miss you.
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