I did take a shot of the scene with my phone, but alas, I have no idea how to download files from that ghetto phone and so I'm stuck keeping it to myself, unless I have your phone number. But it was lovely and peaceful to sit after a few months of much ado on said porch and enjoy a pot of earl grey, a beautiful book while scribbling away in a journal homemade for me by the artistic Emily Pohlod.
Sitting there for a few hours I took a nap, explored the clouds, and watched some other tennant carry his beagle like a child across the lawn, the dog's head lolling peacefully. It's moments like those when I get crazy ideas in my head and this strange sensation to pour all of it out onto an innocent piece of paper unsolicited. Those moments are when I come up with stuff like this:
Liturgy is
like a spiral staircase: repetition leads us deeper into truth, helps us
surround it, see it from all angles. Each step may feel the same as the last,
especially once we really get going and have been on the case for a while. But
each turn leads us higher as we drag our hand upon the pillar behind us; the
mystery of the outcome is that which compels us forward - the mystery being
more beautiful than the certainty of straight steps. Liturgy is the repetitive unknown
which kindly terrifies us. Without it the beauty of the turn wouldn’t compel us
forward for more than the simple necessity of elevation, if even we knew that
we needed it.
Every once
in a while a window opens up to us, surprising us at our height and gives us a
new perspective; we see the ground below as only the birds can see or a secret
courtyard which we had been restricted from before, a new landing showing us the underside of the
ceiling which we only knew existed in theory….
It really doesn't fit into anything - no story has much of a place for it I don't think. But it's fun to write anyway in an attempt to exactly articulate whatever is going on in the caffiene generated brain of mine.
Cheers!
rmvb
