New Year ~ Midnight Amuses Herself

We were parting for the night.

We had already said our goodbyes and embraced

and I had stepped away.

He called me back to him.

He held my hands in a ball of his.

"I love you" he said

"and in midnight fading, I love you more."

~

That boy of blessed memory,

he had a way of saying something

so you would never forget it.

~

"Minuit s'amuse, minuit

Minuit s'amuse, minuit...

Midnight has come,

I hear music...

And I'll keep on singing...

Midnight has come,

I hear music..."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QN3j2ZsLkv4

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4wfcEpssXg

[And do us both a favor and click on the photo ---

it wants to be seen larger!]

It is no longer Christmas. It was a Christmas I really never embraced, and one I am now reluctant to let go of. When I tell the truth these days, my eyes fill with tears, and (wink) I never lie. I work in the kitchen, cleaning and then cooking, then cleaning from the cooking. It keeps me out of trouble. I go through my stack of music, throwing each on the player like frisbees. I light a candle, first because the wind is blowing, then because the snow is deep and eventually because the lights have flickered. I unearth the four for advent and tho' it is past, I light them late in the night when everyone is asleep. I gaze at them in the darkness, admiring the glow they cast and letting them chase away doubt and fear from the corners. I have whispered a prayer as I brought match to wick and now sit with the lotus-bearer for more than a while, considering the secrets the unfolding new year will reveal.

C.M.Carroll

In the bleak midwinter....

In the midst of winter

I finally learned that there was

in me an invincible summer

- Albert Camus

It was the middle of the night and I was hopelessly awake. I needed a quiet occupation. I puttered in the kitchen with my windowsill conservatory. Needing some soil to repot a plant, I reached for a handful of dirt that was already relegated for discard. In it, I found a surprise clump of sprouting calla lily bulbs! Earlier I had thrown away the marker... they will be pink if I can nudge them to full fruition. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ctzmEwcMHEY

A Christmas Carol

by G. K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all alright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.

Merry Christmas!

"Open your heart,
Open it wide,
Someone is waiting outside!"

Love is Born

Splintered and fractured

in human form

comes the savior, the christ, the babe...

and love is born

to bind us to loftier realms and reconcile

us to our better selves.

A tiny, helpless infant

inspires our care and our kiss.

Worthy or unworthy,

bidden or unbidden,

hallelujah,

he has come.

C.M.Carroll

Noel, Christmas Eve 1913

A frosty Christmas Eve

When the stars were shining

I traveled forth alone

Where westward falls the hill

And for many, many a village

In the darkness of the valley

Distant music reached me

Peels of bells were ringing

Then sped my thoughts

To olden times

To that first of Christmases

When shepherds who were watching

Heard music in the fields

And they sat there

And they marveled

And they knew they could not tell

Whether it were angels

Or the bright stars a-singing

But to me heard afar

It was starry music

The singing of the angels

The comfort of our Lord

Words of old that come a-traveling

By the riches of the times

And I softly listened

As I stood upon the hill ---

And I softly listened

As I stood upon the hill

Robert Bridges

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3qP4Vz0xJQ

Some Children See Him

Some children see Him lily white
the infant Jesus born this night
Some children see Him lily white
with tresses soft and fair

Some children see Him bronzed and brown
the Lord of heav'n to earth come down
Some children see Him bronzed and brown
with dark and heavy hair
( with dark and heavy hair! )

Some children see Him almond-eyed
This Saviour whom we kneel beside
Some children see Him almond-eyed
With skin of yellow hue!

Some children see Him dark as they
Sweet Mary's Son to whom we pray
Some children see Him dark as they
And, ah! they love Him so!

The children in each different place
Will see the Baby Jesus' face
Like theirs but bright with heav'nly grace
And filled with holy light!

O lay aside each earthly thing
and with thy heart as offering
Come worship now the infant King
'tis love that's born tonight!

. . . 'tis love that's born tonight!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XR5vupwpRJc

Preparing the Body


When the words were said
“He’s dead”
something gripped me around the middle
and tugged me toward the floor.
I was surprised to find I didn’t follow or fall.

Three days later my arms were swollen and splitting.
Rashes came, too, relentless as I watched his death ravage my skin.
I couldn’t understand why physical pain
had to be added to this mix.

I didn’t want to go to the memorial;
too much love and sorrow in one room.
I thought about asking if I could go
wherever what was left of him was being kept
to say goodbye as we had lived---
the life of singular friends, alone.

A few days later in the shower, it occurred to me the final gift
was to make sure I was not the one to find him.
I thought of every metaphor for life and every story of mourning;
of Lazarus’ sisters and of the crucifixion and the women with their oils,
of Aeschylus’ Libation Bearers, and the irony of it all…
that our’s are the bodies that needed preparation.

I remember pronouncing my forecast for recovery from a boy-broken heart
from the floor of his sun dappled room in Michigan in 1983.
I scoffed “Let’s see, that one was here for a year and it took me five to get over!"
He was here for thirty; by my mathematics, I will never outlive this grief.

The chrysalis came in the mail and I felt like
I was inside that shell and that everything in me
would have to change to come out resembling something alive.
In my champagne colored car, I imagined the paint specks along the roof line
like the gilded spots on the swaddling paper hanging in my classroom.

Inside I sing, I pray, I ask him to help me find sleep.
I remember the places we have sat together. I recall the sound of his harrowing cry.
When I hear it now, it is mine. Occasionally, I smile.
I will stay in here a while; I am preparing the body. I was going to say when I emerge
I will love the world again, but the truth is, I love it now.

C.M.Carroll 10/16/10

Letter to a Friend ...

My friend Christy has been THE gift of this part of my life. I am not sure I can articulate the scope of that in any case, and I certainly cannot say it aptly in the very short amount of time I have to write this morning. One of the particular gifts she has given has been appreciation. Although we work together, sometimes long periods of time pass where we do not see each other, so we have sometimes taken to writing each other letters. One such time she described feeling quite desperate for something positive, so much so that she exclaimed "I struggled to read your letter by MOONLIGHT!" She sometimes laughingly described handing the letters I have written her to "all her friends. " This letter was perhaps the first, and I asked to see it again after some significant amount of time had passed from when it left my hand. I think I said "If you know where it is...." She answered that she knew exactly where it was and that she carried it with her all the time. She gave me a smile that day, as I remembered the enthusiasm and LOVE for letters that I knew when I was younger, when I was in college or when my friends were, and as she reminded me that words in hand to far flung friends or those close to us, are a gift all their own.

[ ...after attending the Solstice Concert of the Paul Winter Consort at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine , NYC, 2009. ]

1/8/10

Dear Christy,

I had hoped to get this to you on Epiphany, but was just too busy to manage it. I am so glad that you came to the Cathedral with us for the solstice concert!

I love that space. I love the way some of those particular sounds fill that space. I love that that space is charged to be "a house of prayer for all people." After twenty-five years, one of my favorite moments in the concert is still when the globe is suspended above us. Stanley Kunitz wrote a poem called "The Long Boat" about getting older. Among his many observations, he describes the realization of loving the earth so much, one never wishes to leave it. When that blue-green ball is hoisted up in the solemn darkness, I can almost feel myself gasp with Kunitz' realization.

The feeling that that moment evokes may be the closest thing to the experience of the first astronauts who took photos of the earth from space... to see it from afar--- as a separate thing from 'life as we know it' for the first time! It is said that those photographs were instrumental in the development of the conservation movement because of their unique perspective and the inherent idea of the earth's fragility and as an entity to be cared for which can only be inspired when you see it in its context --- as a small blue ball suspended in the huge and boundless black.

I always think, at that moment in the dark, of the idea of sacred geometry which sees the cube of the cathedral blown open and apart by spirit---- and there in the center hangs our delicate earth with everything we know and love on it... it ALWAYS makes me think of the definition and charge of stewardship... and, of course, that always makes me think of the Stewards of Gondor from Lord of the Rings-- the holders of the Key to the White City- where the Library ( i.e. knowledge) is, and where the 'world of men' waits for the line to be "remade" ; for the King to be returned to power through an ultimate act of sacrifice which changes the course of the future (would that be Frodo or the Christ???) ....

Something about sitting there in that space charges me (and perhaps all) to be a true steward in this world that houses all we love so much... and I just love the moment of re-dedication of faith: that winter's long dark night WILL end... Spring WILL come and the tomb WILL be empty.

And now, I also love that you were there! I also love that in that space, in response to an unexpected question, I got to use the word 'transubstantiation' ( because, believe me, that was a mutual thrill)!

So, I made this christmas stocking for you as a memento... with the earth as a fragile ornament hanging from a bough. In this juxtaposition, the branch is solid and substantial and the earth is ethereal--- inspiring us to weep at the shock of its fragility and the fragility of all that lives on it--- inspiring our care... and ethereal in that it is subject to being blown apart and reforged --- its architecture reborn by spirit as we are.

Love,
C

1/25/10

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Long Boat

When his boat snapped loose
from its mooring, under
the screaking of the gulls,
he tried at first to wave
to his dear ones on shore,
but in the rolling fog
they had already lost their faces.
Too tired even to choose
between jumping and calling,
somehow he felt absolved and free
of his burdens, those mottoes
stamped on his name-tag:
conscience, ambition, and all
that caring.
He was content to lie down
with the family ghosts
in the slop of his cradle,
buffeted by the storm,
endlessly drifting.
Peace! Peace!
To be rocked by the Infinite!
As if it didn't matter
which way was home;
as if he didn't know
he loved the earth so much
he wanted to stay forever.

Stanley Kunitz

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

http://www.youtube.com/PaulWinterConsort#p/a/u/1/N64tBKDqM_o

http://www.youtube.com/PaulWinterConsort#p/a/u/2/PYIUWh5M348


Do I have to say "GO!" if you live anywhere near there?
It is where Saturday night will find me... with Christy and other loved ones.


* Also see related post
http://wingedmigration-cmc.blogspot.com/2010/09/quiet-descended-on-her-calm-content-as.html

Fall throws in the towel and says "Uncle."

SOMETHING TOLD THE WILD GEESE
By Rachel Field

Something told the wild geese
It was time to go,
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered, "snow."
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned, "frost."

All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,

Summer sun was on their wings,

Winter in their cry!