Current
Filed
Dossier
Scribbles
Telegrams
Briefing
Patron

I Got All I Need
10 February 2003
4 12:51

(In checking online this weekend, I noticed that the people whose diaries I read, like me, tend not to update them on weekends. I feel somewhat vindicated, as I like to think this means we all have better things to do.)

In walking back to my desk from the rest-room just a few minutes ago, I noticed that it's started snowing again. We're supposed to get another one to three inches (since we're right on the coast, we'll probably only get one, unfortunately) today. This makes me very happy. I love snow more than I love any other weather condition. I love it more than mere bitter cold, more than temperate greyness, more even than wild thunderstorms, and certainly more than bright sunny hotness. I've probably rambled on about how beautiful I think snow is, as it covers everything in a blanket of whiteness, lending a look of spiritual cleansing, of innocence to everything, giving us all another chance, muffling all sound, brightening the daylit grey air, and in the night, reflecting the lights of the city into the sky, rendering it an ethereal near-vermilion colour, so I'll pass over the extended details here. I found myself thinking, as I walked out for lunch on Friday, though, that as beautiful as the snow is in this city, it must be truly awe-inspiring in the vast flat expanses of the northern midwestern states, where one could step out one's door and just stare into the blank slate of forever, and at night, attempt to navigate the horizon, where the light dims away the edges of the visible white ground, smudging the deep blue of the sky onto the fields...I want to go back to Alaska.

The utterly childlike joy which I feel in the snow is surpassed only by the sense of peace it brings, which is all the more remarkable considering the current state of the world. I could step outside and cry in a mixture of bitterness and wonder that I cannot share this feeling, this sense of hope, of the infiniteness of possibility, cannot communicate it to those who need it most, those leaders who would deliver us unto evil. I find myself thinking of the third and fifth verses of "It came upon the midnight clear." The fifth verse remains practically unknown to most, and the third was omitted from the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass this year at Christ Church, I suppose because we like for that to be a very peaceful, quiet and joyful service, though as we sang it the year before, I found myself absolutely choked by tears at its appropriateness.

V3: Yet with the woes of sin and strife / The world has suffered long; / Beneath the heavenly strain have rolled / Two thousand years of wrong; / And man, at war with man, hears not / The tidings which they bring; / O hush the noise, ye men of strife, / And hear the angels sing!

(An alternate version contains the text: "O hush the noise and cease the strife," but lately, I think "ye men of strife" is more appropriate, as men are almost without exception the aggressors in such situations.)

V5: O ye beneath life's crushing load / Whose forms are bending low / Who toil along the climbing way / With painful step and slow, / Look now! for glad and golden hours / Come swiftly on the wing. / O rest beside the weary road / And hear the angels sing!

I'm not a fan of the exclamation points, but I do think those two verses are incredibly beautiful pieces of poetry, no matter what one's beliefs, which ought never to be omitted from our consciousness. Similarly, I discovered this past Christmas verses of Longfellow's "I heard the bells on Christmas Day" which are typically omitted because of their references to the War between the States, during which the poem was written. They, too, seem appropriate in light of the current world situation:

"Then from each black accursed mouth / The cannon thundered in the South, / And with the sound / The carols drowned / Of peace on earth, good-will to men! // It was as if an earthquake rent / The hearth-stones of a continent, / And made forlorn / The households born / Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

The two stanzas don't do much to tell the full and wildly tragic story of how Longfellow came to write the poem (You can do your own research on that one; it's definitely worthwhile.), but they certainly illuminate part of the source of his despairing sentiment in the next stanza, declaring, as I so often have been inclined to of late, "There is no peace on Earth."

But sometimes, in those moments in the darkness and the silence and the (apparent) purity of the snow, there is.

Much of this entry seems, now, to be completely inappropriate to the season, as Christmas passed over a month ago, but if only we COULD manage to hold that sense of peace and hope, rather than the shopping-madness, all year, we might all be so much happier.

While I'm on the subject of churchy-things, though, I went to Mass yesterday, despite the fact that the choir was not on, due to the recent budget cuts, and observed how horrific everything sounds without clear leadership of what's being sung, chatted briefly with the Priest-in-Charge, who said, "It's good to see you here, though it's unfortunate to see you out here instead of up there," (referring to my presence in the congregation, rather than in the empty choir stalls), to which I responded, "Well, I think it's better to be here than not," because I honestly believe it, and then, leaving after coffee hour, was told by the organist that the e-mail I sent in which I thought I might come off as a bit naughty and "shit-stirring" was among the most eloquent things he's ever read. This was very good for my self-esteem, indeed, as he doesn't dole out such compliments regularly and is a really rather well-read person. (Clarification: I've written here before about a service called Compline which we sing at 10 p.m. on Sunday evenings. Recently, there's been a movement to add a short "Missa Nocte" to the end of that service, which I initially thought might be really beautiful, but then, thought might alienate non-Christians who attend Compline (and there are many), so I expressed my doubts in great detail via e-mail to the people whose idea this addition was. Ultimately, it wasn't perceived as an attack, but as further thought-provoking and discussion on the topic, which is good. We'll see what happens, and perhaps I'll post my comments here, not that they'd mean anything to anyone who reads this, as they're kind-of specific, but we'll see.)

Friday night, after having a martini and a shot of vodka with co-workers in honour of our employee who was leaving and returning to his native Russia for architecture school, I went home, had dinner, then went to C's, where we drank heavily, smoked up and watched HAPPY GILMORE. I'm not a big Adam Sandler fan, but it was really quite funny, perhaps in large part due to our state at the time. He is my friend and so much more, and I love him dearly, but I sometimes wish I knew what he was thinking and that we didn't have these distance and scheduling issues. I won't say more here on that topic, though, as I try to keep him out of this, and I will leave it to him to initiate any discussions which might be needful. It's totally unlike me, but I've got soulful women on my earphones and a cutie haircut and everything else I need, so it's all good.

r

Last Dispatch - Next Dispatch