Life Lessons from Centenarians

This is simply lovely.

Something Real

I had a dream once
That you came to me
I was lying in a hospital
Some friends were there
And unexpectedly, you walked in the door

Some dreams are vague
This one was vivid
I could feel the weight of your body
as you sat down next to me on the hospital bed
You put your arms around me
leaned in close
I felt your breath as you said,
"It's all going to be worth this moment."
Then you kissed me
I felt your warm softness underneath my hands
your skin
your hair
your clothes

Is it all worth that moment?
What if it never comes?

I've been told
over and over
and over again
That I should be sensible
practical
realistic
There are so many women who would love to have me
who would do anything to be loved
the way I love you
I should find one, and make her happy
or choose one from my past
who already loves me

But the thing is, you see
I don't love any other woman like I love you
I can't love any other woman like I love you
I won't love any other woman like I love you
Because no other woman is you

Yes, it would be easier
It would be more practical
More rational
More sensible

But nothing worthwhile is easy
The more precious a thing is, the harder to obtain
Pearls come from the bottom of the sea
and diamonds are not found
lying on the surface of the ground, among the rocks
for anyone to pick up
They must be dug out of the depths of the earth
with much labor, sweat, expense, and blood
And danger
For also, nothing worthwhile is obtained without risk

Your love
is the world's most exquisite treasure
rarer than diamonds
more precious than pearls
and I will have no other
If the cost to earn it
is my entire life
or my life itself
then I will pay it
And if I spend my whole life striving
for the best thing in the world
but fail
and die alone
without having ever lived that moment
which will make it all worthwhile
I still will not regret
having lived my life for something real
something true
something magical
something extraordinary
something beautiful
For Love
For You

Judy Garland - Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

This is the only good version of this song: the original lyrics, which capture the exquisite melancholy of being separated from someone you love at Christmas. Note the date: 1944. Bing Crosby's and Karen Carpenter's voices were fantastic, but they ruined it by trying to make it more "positive" and "upbeat". I don't know the story behind the changing of the lyrics, but I can just picture Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra saying "Say, how 'bout we make this a little more upbeat? This song is depressing!" Bah, same mentality that added that dumb final verse to "Gloomy Sunday" about waking up and finding it was all a dream when they translated it to English. But by taking away the melancholy of the song, they took away its deeper meaning; because it's also a song of courage, and of hope. Foolish hope, perhaps. Many, many people who were separated from their loved ones in 1944 were never going to spend another Christmas with them. But when you're living on hope, it's all you have, and you have to do just what the song says: make the best of here and now, and keep hoping that that thing, whatever it is, is going to get better. Otherwise, the only alternative is melancholy's hideous cousin, despair.

"Minuet no. 60" - Danish String Quartet

This is lovely. My daughter heard this quartet on NPR and told me about them.

I danced a minuet in my first acting job (outside school plays). It was Cinderella, and I was a courtier and the captain of the guard. Also, in my brief time taking piano, I complained about having to learn children's songs like "Twinkle-Twinkle Little Star", and my teacher in frustration said, "Well, how about some Bach, then?" To which I replied, "Yes, please!" So the only thing I ever really learned on piano was Bach's Minuet in G. I was kind of a pain in the ass when I was young. Ha ha, yes, I know what you're thinking, so let me say it for you: "You're still a pain in the ass, Mike!"

Your pardon, if the nudes offend anyone. I didn't make the video. Although I personally have no objection to the aesthetic admiration of the feminine form, as long as one can do so without inordinate lust (which I can). God made the universe beautiful, and the very last thing he created was the most beautiful thing of all: the woman. "Rejoice in the wife of your youth...let her breasts satisfy thee always." (Proverbs 5:18-19)

The Scarred Princess (part 14)

Viola rode on through the night, until she was so exhausted that she began to be afraid that she would fall from her horse. In the dark, cold hours before dawn she found a peasants' croft, and stole quietly into the stable. She placed Sunshine in an unused stall, and climbed into the loft to sleep among the hay, too tired to care if they were found in the morning.

When she awoke, she was alone, and the light had a mid-day feel. But she found that Sunshine had been brushed and cared for, and had a full manger of hay and a trough of water. Timidly, she peeked out of the door. As soon as she did, however, she was recognized, and three small children rushed to her, followed by their mother, who came out of the house wiping her hands on her apron. The children crowded around her, while the woman curtsied and said, "You are most welcome, your Highness, to our simple home. Will you come inside and have something to eat?"

Viola was a little disappointed to be so easily recognized, but not very surprised, upon reflection. She accepted the offer gratefully, as the only provisions she had were what had been left over on her board in her chamber. The woman bustled around, waiting upon the princess and fussing over everything, while keeping up a continual stream of happy chatter. She told Viola that her husband had found her Highness sleeping in his loft early this morning, but had left her to her rest after attending to her horse along with his own livestock, before leaving for the fields and his day's labor. She then proceeded to related how she recognized the princess because she had visited their neighbor when his wife had been very sick, and had played such beautiful music that she was sure it was because of it that the poor woman had recovered. And she furthermore told how they had all heard the rumours of the princess's enchantment, but had never been at all convinced that it was so, and that they were so pleased to see that her Highness was well, and were at her service to aid her however they could in her flight, and the king could do to them as he may, for it was plain to see that she was fleeing.

Viola answered that she was very touched and grateful, but that they must in no wise put themselves in danger for her. She said that if they would but give her some bread to take on her road, and then keep the matter quiet, that she would ask nothing more of them, but would be on her way as soon as she had eaten. And she forced the good woman to accept some silver coins.

The woman tried to insist that the princess stay one more night, or at least wait until her husband returned from the fields, but Viola was adamant that she must move as quickly as she could, for her father's men would be close behind her. So, with a satchel filled with bread, cheese, sausage, and apples, for the good woman had refused to hear of sending Viola on her way with only bread, and a new skin full of water, she found herself on the road an hour or two past noon. As soon as she was out of sight of any habitation or dwelling, she took out the mirror and found that, as the hermit had promised, it showed her the way. She turned her palfrey's head, and followed.

She found, as she traveled, that the mirror guided her well. It led her by secluded and little-used paths, and always, it seemed, to places where she was known and loved; places to which she had been before, on her long rides and adventures. Soon she began to trust it confidently, and ceased to be afraid that she would be caught and captured. For not only did the mirror help her, but the common people she met were all very much on her side, and she was very surprised how ready they were to defy their king and oppose his soldiers for her sake. If the searchers came close to where she lay hidden, they would deny ever having seen or heard of her. Or they would give false directions, to get them lost on purpose while she made her escape in the other direction. And everywhere, she was given as much food, drink, and hospitality as she could desire, as well as much more of the tale of her own kindness and generosity than her modesty could bear.

Eventually, she came to the borders of her father's realm, and crossed over the edge of the Wild, and it was here that she first began to be genuinely afraid. But the courage of a woman in love, who has made up her mind and given her heart, is not to be outmatched by the boldest of knights or the most hardened of soldiers, and she rode on with a resolve that would have impressed Sir Perditus so to move him to tears of admiration and love, if he could have seen it.

The mirror led her to the hermit's cell, which, she was very sad to see, was unoccupied. But there was a note, praising her for her courage in coming thus far, and inviting her to rest here a few days, and to make herself free with whatever she found here, which was enough food to fill her stomach as well as her saddlebags. She did as the note had bidden her, sleeping well and securely for several nights, then left with as much provision as she could find a way to carry, riding away with a lightened and encouraged heart.

Now the mirror led her by the same path that Sir Perditus had taken before her. She found her way through the forest easier because he had cleared it ahead of her. And when she found his surcoat lying on the ground where he had left it, she picked it up and wrapped it around herself, tying it tight with her own thin leather girdle, and it felt as if it afforded her more warmth and comfort than its thin fabric could account for. And when she felt afraid, or alone, or unsure, she thought of how her knight had walked this same road before her, and how much he had suffered for her, and of how much he loved her, and she was comforted.

But when she looked in the mirror to see Sir Perditus, she could see naught but darkness. She thought she could hear his voice, occasionally, faint and low, as if from a distance, or perhaps he was sick or weak. She wondered with much apprehension what this could portend, but she had promised to trust the old man, and he had said there was a chance, and so she persevered steadfast in hope.

And thus she continued: across the river, which her horse swam with much more ease than Sir Perditus had (for the spring floods had passed), and where she found his mail hauberk. She was much surprised to find that it had not rusted, but shone as if new-burnished; perhaps the holy hermit's touch had imparted to it some magical protection. She put it on, and though it was much too big, it made her feel safe and gave her courage. Across the plain, where she retrieved his helmet, which she donned, tying up her hair underneath it to keep it from falling over her face, and over the mountains where she picked up his shield. She was armed only with her lady's dagger, but from a distance she could be mistaken for a page or a young esquire. As her load of food grew lighter, Sunshine was able to carry the added weight without trouble, though in the mountains Viola had to dismount and walk beside her in some places. Until one day, before she even realized how far she had already come, she found herself looking down upon the same landscape that the knight had seen many months before.

Plutarch on Marital Relations

"Some men, either unable or unwilling to mount themselves into their saddles through infirmity or laziness, teach their horses to fall upon their knees, and in that posture to receive their riders. In like manner there are some persons who, having married young ladies not less considerable for the nobility of their birth than their wealthy dowries, take little care themselves to improve the advantages of such a splendid conjunction, but with a severe moroseness labor to depress and degrade their wives, proud of the mastery and vaunting in domestic tyranny. Whereas in this case it becomes a man to use the reins of government with as equal regard to the quality and dignity of the woman as to the stature of the horse." -- Plutarch, Conjugal Precepts

I came across this today, and it struck me as a fine example of the inaccuracy of the standard modern feminist narrative of the past. That is, that before feminism came and enlightened us and set women free from the shackles and dungeons of patriarchalism, all women were everywhere oppressed by cruel men who valued them not at all except for the pleasure and fruit their bodies afforded. Here is an example from the first century A.D. of a man--a Greco-Roman and a pagan, no less, teaching other men that they should be respectful and gentle to their wives.

I, on the other hand, maintain that, though it is true, has been true, and unfortunately, always will be true (until the restoration of Justice and all things upon the Earth), that there are bad men who treat women badly, that the patriarchal past is not nearly so monolithically oppressive and evil as they pretend. There were men who treated their wives badly. And there were men who treated their wives well. Just as there are now. Different ages and cultures contained varying mixes of the two: one could very easily say, for example that women were treated much better on the whole in Victorian England than they were in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. I would argue that women are treated much worse on average in relationships by men in our society today than they were a hundred, or even fifty years ago. But there have always been good men, who genuinely love women and desire and strive to treat them kindly and with respect and dignity.

But the feminist narrative is not about accuracy or truth. It is propaganda, pure and simple. In order to sell a radical ideology, one must create a dichotomy of oppressor class vs. victim class, and then re-write history and define the world according to that view. Communists use proletariat and bourgeoisie; Nazis used Jews and Arians; the French reign of terror used common and noble; and feminists use women and men.

As an example, feminists reading this passage will no doubt seize immediately upon the use of the horse as a metaphor, and claim that Plutarch is equating women to livestock. But in reality, it is just a metaphor: just as, when Jesus uses agricultural parables to demonstrate spiritual truths, he is not equating his disciples to plants in value or worth--it's just a metaphor. Focus instead, on his actual theme--that husbands should show "equal regard to the quality and dignity of the woman". And it's not equal regard to the quality and dignity of the horse--it's to the physical stature of the horse, in regard to mounting it. Again, metaphor. Meaning that the man must himself rise up to the challenge of being the husband of a woman of quality and dignity, as he must make the effort to mount a tall horse, rather than lowering the horse to his own level.

Offenbach: Les Contes d'Hoffmann / Act 3 - Barcarolle (Arr. For Violin, ...

I am left breathless.

"One who pricks the eye will make tears fall, and one who pricks the heart bares its feelings."

Ecclesiasticus 22:19

The Scarred Princess (part 13)

One day, as Princess Viola languished in her chamber, a strange old man wrapped in a heavy cloak, with his hood drawn so that it obscured most of his face, presented himself at the castle gate and asked to be granted an audience with the king. When asked his business, he told that he was one who knew about all kinds of enchantments, spells, and sorceries; that he had heard rumour of the princess's condition; and that he desired to offer his services to her and to the king.

He was admitted with all haste and not a little apprehension, and shown immediately to the king's presence. The king and queen, though no less appalled than their people at the appearance of such a wizard, received him eagerly, asking him if he really could cure their daughter of whatever spell she was under.

"First," the old man replied, "we must determine if she is indeed under any spell or enchantment. That is not at all to be assumed until I have seen and spoken with her. And that I must do alone." The old man stopped there, and waited for their reply, offering no further explanation nor excuse, as if he were accustomed to having kings waiting upon him.

The king felt a little affronted that his judgment in the matter should be thus questioned, but the queen felt strangely relieved, and hopeful for the first time in many weeks. Nevertheless, the king ordered that the stranger be shown to the princess's room and allowed a private audience with her. But he gave the captain of his guard a look which meant, "But be careful to watch him closely, and stand just outside the door, ready to enter at the slightest sign of anything amiss." The captain understood perfectly, and moved to carry out his orders, motioning the wizard to follow him and his men.

When Viola's door opened, she expected to see her mother, who was her most frequent visitor, or perhaps her father or the loathsome Sir Ictis, trying once more to worm his way into her favour. But when she saw the old man enter, lowering his hood as the door closed behind him, she was filled with sudden, almost violent joy, for here was the one who had brought her the mirror! She felt as if she were seeing a friendly face for the first time in long months, and she broke down without a single word, and fell to weeping on his shoulder.

"Courage, dear heart," he said after allowing her a few minutes to vent her emotion, holding her tenderly as a grandfather would a newborn babe. "I am here to help, but you must be strong." He backed away from her and looked her in the eye, and she found new strength, hope, and peace, for she trusted him completely, though she knew not why.

"Have you gained any new insight into your heart, dear, since we spoke last?" He asked.

"Yes, Father," she answered, trying and failing to stifle a sob, "I have. I see now that I have been not only foolish, but cowardly and cruel. I have been unfeeling, hard-hearted, and cold to the best of men, whose only offense was loving me. And now he has been falsely and vilely slandered, and defamed such as no good knight could possibly bear." Here she burst into tears anew. "And it is all my fault!"

"Do not judge yourself so hardly, Dear One," answered the hermit. "Though you were mistaken, you meant no harm, but were only afraid. Is that not so?" She nodded. "Then dry your eyes, and have courage, for there is still hope that all will be well."

"But how?" she asked. "For Sir Perditus is gone I know not where, and I am prisoner, and even if I could find him again, and my father's knights did not hunt for him in all corners of the land, how could he ever forgive me? And how could I ever face him, after what I have done?"

"To him, there is no forgiveness called for. He loves you still, and blames himself for your quarrel, as you do. And he hopes, every day, every hour, and every moment to see you, or to hear from you, and little else."

"But there is still..." Viola began, but stopped, afraid to speak of her scar. But her hand went instinctively to her breast.

The hermit touched her chin and raised her face, and looked into her eyes most knowingly. "He knows," he said, and she felt as if he were speaking directly into her soul. "He has seen. He did not mean to see, but let us say that it was destined to be so." And here the old hermit placed his hands on her shoulders, never releasing her from his gaze. "My sweet, tender, lovely princess; my dear, beloved daughter: it is because of your scar that he fell in love with you."

Princess Viola felt as if the veil of the world had just opened up, and she had stepped through, out of the grey, drab, and sad world of men into a realm of joy such as mortal heart had never known; of music such as mortal ear had never heard; of colours such as mortal eye had never seen: a land of golden sunlight, sparkling starlight, and brilliant rainbows. She had no more doubt of what she must do.

"I must go to him," she said simply. "Will you help me?"

"Yes, you must," the hermit answered. "For he is in peril, and suffers much. But for this, you must have courage, and you must have faith. Will you trust me?"

"I will," she said, without hesitation. And now there was a fire in her eye that might make the boldest of warriors to step back.

"Good!" he said, "Then listen to me. When I leave you, I will say that I must examine the rose and the mirror, and I will arrange that both your door and the one across the hall, where they have locked them, are left open. Then I will return to your father and tell him the truth, that you are not bewitched, but in love. He will grow angry, and I will cause such a disturbance that he will call for his guards, and the maids and others will rush to see what is happening. Do not worry, though!" for here she looked concerned. "I will not harm anyone, nor will they be able to hurt me. Take the time as soon as I leave to gather what you may, and as soon as you hear the shouting, take the mirror and the rose, and make your way to the stables. There you will find Sunshine, your palfrey, already saddled. Get on her at once, and ride as fast as you can, east, out of your father's kingdom. After that, look into the mirror, and it will guide you." She nodded, to show she understood and was eager to obey.

"One last thing: I cannot tell you how all this will end. You will be taking a risk. And if you do succeed, you may be forever leaving behind all that you have ever known, and everyone you have ever loved. Are you still willing?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes," she said, and it was enough. The old man embraced her and kissed her forehead, then turned to leave. She heard him telling the guards that he must examine the objects which caused the enchantment, and in their confusion, sure enough, the guards forgot to lock the door behind him.

Viola rushed around her room, gathering what she thought she might need on such a journey. She was thankful that she had gone on her adventures, for now she had some idea what that might be, and also confidence that she would be able to make her way alone to wherever the magic mirror guided her. That done, she stood by her door, waiting for what seemed both far too short and far too long a time for the commotion to begin. Soon she heard distant shouting, and the guards outside her door running down the hall. As soon as she heard them turn the corner and their footsteps fade away, she stole out of her chamber, shutting the door behind her, and into the one across the hall, which was normally for her maids but now was empty, and found her beautiful mirror and rose. These she placed gently into her satchel, and slipped noiselessly, flitting from shadow to shadow, down the stairs, out the door, across the courtyard, and to the stable, where she found her palfrey waiting for her, just as the hermit had promised. She leapt onto her back, turned her head, rode out through the gateway, and was gone.

On my Health and Fitness

I am so happy. I went hiking yesterday with my brother and his family, who were down for Thanksgiving, and I felt good. Out-of-shape, from eight months of "resting" (also known as "sitting around on my ass"), but good: strong, and without, for the first time in a very long time, that weakness that has been plaguing me and holding me back.

I saw the doctor earlier this week, and got cleared to start exercising again. And in addition, he's prescribing me a new medication to help me lose the weight I've put on while recovering: it's a daily injection which is supposed to act on the appetite centers of the brain to reduce hunger and cravings. And one of the "side effects" is that, if you do try to overeat, it can make you sick and nauseous, which I see as a bonus--a bit of aversion therapy.

Not that I've really been "overeating". I've been still eating super-healthy; my only weakness is fruit. But even fruit has calories, and if you eat too many of them, you're going to gain weight, if you're so predisposed, no matter where they come from.

So, it's time to start getting back in shape! Like I said, I'm badly out of it right now, but it should start to come back pretty quickly: it hasn't been nearly as long as it feels like since I worked out. It is somewhat discouraging to have to almost start over from where I was 18 months or so ago. But really, I've found that that's the way it works: I generally have to lose the same weight two or three times before my body adjusts and settles into its new, lighter self. The first time, I had to use brute force to break through all the resistance and barriers to change. This time, I'll go slower and more healthily, and hopefully there won't have to be a third time.

"It is true that sin is the cause of all this suffering, but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."
-- Jesus

(from Revelations of Divine Love, by Julian of Norwich)

Thinking of You on Thanksgiving

"I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought, and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder." -- G.K. Chesterton

I am truly, genuinely, profoundly thankful
for all that God has done for me.
For all that He has given me.
For all that He has promised me.

He has healed my body.
He has freed my mind.
He has restored my soul.
He has renewed my spirit.
He has provided what I need, and more.
He has given me gifts.
He has spoken to me.
He has shown Himself to me.

He has given Himself, for me, and to me.
And for that, of course, I am thankful above all.

But after Himself,
I thank Him most
For you.
That I have seen you.
That I have known you.
That I have loved you.

I thank Him for the time that we had
and the wonder of the loveliness that I first beheld in you.
I thank Him for the example
and the inspiration you gave me.
You challenged me to become
a better version of myself.
A man whom I always felt was there,
but trapped
hidden
imprisoned
mired in the morass
of the ugliness of the world.

I thank Him for the things He's taught me
about Himself
and about myself
through loving you
and through losing you.
Things I never would have seen
if it hadn't happened this way.
For only a love of this magnitude
is stronger than despair.

Most of all,
I thank Him that you are.
For it matters more that you are
than that I should have you.

"What does that feel like?" she asked.
We were talking about being in love. True love.

She was a pretty girl, with a big dog, who was curled up at my feet.
She'd gotten out of her Volvo,
barefoot, long hair loose
her femininity showing through her thin cotton t-shirt
While I was sitting at a roadside crossing
reclining against my backpack
boots off
eating trail mix and jerky
and thinking about the coming rain

Over the next few days, we crossed paths several times
She said she was trying to make it to the North Carolina border and back over the weekend
But I met her coming back the other direction, and she kept showing up
like she couldn't make up her mind
And we talked

I should probably have been hitting on her
It felt like that's what she wanted
But instead, we ended up talking about You.

"When she walks by," I answered,
"I see sparkly fairy-trails behind her.
When she's in the same room,
I hear a faint hum, just below the silence,
like angels' music.
When she's in the same building,
I feel a warm glow in my chest,
like opium.
Just knowing that she is in the world,
even if I never see her again,
makes me see it as a brighter, more beautiful place,
And loving her
makes me love everyone else more."

"In this vision he also showed me a little thing, the size of a hazelnut in the palm of my hand, and it was round as a ball. I looked at it with my mind's eye and thought, 'What can this be?'  And the answer came to me, 'It is all that is made.' I wondered how it could last, for it was so small I thought it might suddenly have disappeared. And the answer in my mind was, It lasts and will last for ever, because God loves it; and everything exists in the same way by the love of God." -- Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love

 Breakfast of champions

I love complimenting ladies. I love the way a girl's face looks when she feels pretty. And how, sometimes, she can't help but prance a little bit in her movements when she feels herself being admired.

I'm at a wedding. Guess who I'm thinking of? 

"Nobody can write a new fairy tale ; you can only mix up and dress up the old, old stories, and put the characters in new dresses."

 -- Andrew Lang  

Signs

Do you remember the day I gave you the bouquet?
Of yellow roses blushing pink at the tips of their petals
And deep pink-crimson ones
Arranged to match the pattern on the antique china vase in which they were set

Yellow roses turning pink
mean friendship turning to love
I didn't know that at the time
But it was right

Nor did I know
that they were your favorite rose
But that, too, was right

I didn't know, still, which one you meant
So I gave you another one of each
another time
And asked which was your favorite
You pointed to the yellow and pink one
with your little finger
and a little tremble in your hand

We sat together that day at the ice cream parlour
you fidgeted and fussed, and put on the scarf I'd complimented before
then took it off
then put it back on again
and arranged it to look pretty
You glanced at me, and then away
and then at me, and then away

Did you ever realize
that just after you met me
was when you caught the bouquet at your cousin's wedding?
The picture is gone now, but I still remember the proud, shy smile
Half-playful
But half pleased and wanting to believe that it truly did mean something
And the caption: "High time!"

Do you remember the last day we were friends?
The day I gave you the basket full of rasperries
that I'd picked myself
washed, and sorted
dried, then carefully arranged in layers
with wax paper and tissue paper in brilliant aquamarine blue
to match your eyes
and a ribbon of the same color wrapped around the handle
and tied in a bow

Do you remember, as you left the party that day
after coming to say goodbye to me on the front porch
where I sat, smoking my pipe
the way you looked at me
over your shoulder
as you walked away?

Still

I was thinking this morning
that it's time to move on.

I still love you.
I always will.
I'll never love anyone
Like I've loved you.

But I could find someone
to love with a different kind of love.

But then I'm out
I'm surrounded by beautiful young women
And all I can do is imagine you
Walking up to me
Saying Hello
Like you did on that cold Midwinter evening in Staunton.

"Hi, Mike."
I close my eyes.
I hear your voice.
I see your smile.

"Hi, Mike."
I've never particularly cared for my own name.
But I like it when you say it.

I close my eyes.
I hear your voice.
I see your smile
Your blush.
I feel the warmth of your presence
The glow of your femininity.
I sigh.
I stand and leave.

The Scarred Princess (part 12)

Now you may be wondering, as was Sir Perditus, what Princess Viola was doing; whether she knew of his plight; and if so, why she did not at least send word requesting mercy for him, as the cruel giant had offered to free him if she did. What happened was this:

One day, while she was gone on one of her rides, her parents began discussing her behavior and the change that had come over her, as they had often done before. The fact that it had begun with Sir Perditus did not escape them, and the Queen, who was tender-hearted and good, even wondered if Viola was, after all, in love. Her husband dismissed such a thought (he did not believe in love) but could not deny that it might very well have something to do with the errant knight.

Now there was a courtier in their household who loved Viola and wanted her for himself, and who had the ear of the king. This gentleman, after the queen had retired, approached the king and spoke thus:

"Your Majesty," he bowed low. "I hope you will forgive me, but as I was attending Your Majesties both just now, I could not help overhear. And I confess to your Majesty that I, too, am very concerned for Her Highness the Princess, and remarked, as did Your Majesties, the alarming change in her from the time the rogue knight came. And, if Your Majesty will further pardon me, I will tell Your Majesty that it seems to me...a most peculiar and unnatural change." Here he caught the king's eye, and the king took his meaning at once, and his eyes grew wide.

"Verily," he said, with rapidly-increasing alarm and conviction, "I think thou hast there hit upon it, Sir Ictis. I wonder that I did not see it myself. Hast thou any further thoughts?"

"Only, Your Majesty, that I have heard gossip among the ladies-in-waiting that from the time the recreant escaped, Her Highness has been more reclusive than was her wont, and very secretive about her chamber."

The king thanked Sir Ictis, and dismissed him, then hurried to speak to his wife about his new fears. Although she was not as convinced as her husband, she was duly alarmed and agreed that they must find out the truth of the matter. They waited until the next time Viola ventured away, for on the queen's advice they did not wish to reveal their suspicions to her until they knew whether there was aught to them, and searched her chamber. And the mirror and rose were found. So when the poor princess returned, she was horrified to learn that her secrets had been discovered, and that she was to be confined for her own good until a cure could be found for her, for her parents were now certain that she had been ensorcelled and were deaf to her pleas and arguments.

And so Viola was having a miserable time as well, and had no news of Sir Perditus's suffering, for the last she had seen had been when he entered the giant's castle. The king promised Sir Ictis that as soon as the princess was brought back to her senses, he should have her as reward for his faithfulness, which is, of course, exactly what Sir Ictis wanted. Viola made no secret that she loathed and despised him, but her parents were sure that, once she was cured of the sorcery, she would look on him with gratitude and love as her deliverer. Search was made far and wide for an enchanter, leech, or wise-woman with the skill to unravel the spell, and the knights of the household took it as their personal quest to find the one who could free the princess, and also to hunt down the wicked false knight who had worked the dark magic upon her, and punish him.

Now the False King Sarx knew all this, for he had sent spies into the land as soon as he had learned whence Sir Perditus had come. And he laughed, for it suited his cruelty that the good and true knight should be thus maligned. He even began to consider releasing him so that he would be caught, in weakened condition and unable to defend himself, by the questing knights, for the thought of Sir Perditus bearing the shame, first, of ignoble defeat at some nameless knight's hand, then a trial and execution for vile deeds and witchcraft, brought more delight to his wicked heart than any torture he could have designed on his own. And when he made his offer to the knight, he thought that he would win either way: if Sir Perditus accepted, then he would have gained a very useful servant. But if not, he could free him, pretending to be gracious, then enjoy the very entertaining spectacle his further suffering would provide. But either way, he planned to take Viola's father's kingdom, and Viola too, whom he thought promised to be quite tasty, for he liked the taste of princess very much, when he could get it.

And so, after giving him a good long time to think, he returned to Perditus's prison, and asked him his answer.

Sir Perditus, for his part, had not needed to think at all, but knew his answer as soon as the giant asked, and never wavered. But he did need to think about other things, one being how best to show his last defiance to his enemy, for he was sure that his refusal would be his death.

He also, as I think you would agree would anyone, had a very great struggle to make his peace with how he had come to this pass. He had believed himself to be acting rightly, and following the guidance given to him by Heaven. But nonetheless, here he was, defeated, shamed, imprisoned, tormented. 

One night, or at least he believed it was night, for it had been many hours since he had last been brought food or heard the guard stir outside his door, he was revolving these things in his mind, and it occurred to him that it had been a very long time since he had said his hours--the last time, in fact, had been the night before the battle. He struggled to his knees, crossed himself, and recited the first thing that came to him--a psalm. But before he got through it, his heart finally broke, and the tears flowed, for the words of the psalm were, "Why, O Lord, have you forsaken me?" He fell to his face, and wept as only the truly brokenhearted can weep, until he fell into a deep sleep such as he had not slept since he had been in this horrible place.

And once again, though he could not say whether it was in a dream or whether he was woken in the night to receive a visitation, he saw his guide. 

"Father," he gasped, "How have I come here? What have I done? Was I not sent to defeat this wicked giant? Was it not the King Himself who guided me to Viola's castle? Was it not His voice, that bid my heart to love her?"

The hermit laid his hand gently on the weakened knight's bony shoulder. 

"Yes, you were guided to all these things."

"Then where is he now? Where is the Grail King, when I have served him, and suffered for him? Why does he not deliver me? Why does he not at least comfort me in my affliction, which I suffer gladly if it is his own will? Where is he?" The broken man's voice rose in complaint, then cracked and failed, for it had been long unused, and he succumbed to tears again.

"I Am Here," said a very different voice, and a light filled the darkened hole of the dungeon. Sir Perditus looked up, blinded at first by the brightness, to find that the image of the old hermit had been cast away and he was at last beholding his Master as he was. On his ageless head was a golden crown, and in his hand was the sacred vessel itself.

"My Lord," said the knight, and fell at his feet, but the King took his hand and raised him up.

"It is still my will that you defeat the giant and reclaim your birthright. But if you think, you know why you failed the first time."

"I do," Sir Perditus replied, hanging his head in shame. "I ate his tainted food, and accepted his hospitality, and it made me weak. I should have run his heart through the moment I saw him, though it cost me my life."

"Indeed, so should you have done. Why did you not?"

"For honour."

"Whose honour?"

Again the knight hung his head. "My own. Forgive me."

"You are forgiven. And furthermore, you are restored, to honour, to strength, and to my friendship." And he offered him the chalice which, as soon as Sir Perditus had drunk from, he felt strength and life and light run through him. He felt as though he could tear down the stone walls of his prison with his bare hands, and run all the way back to Viola's home in a single night.

And then the King was gone, with the light and the cup. But Sir Perditus knew what he had to do, and he slept peacefully the rest of the night. And when the jailer came again, he refused his food.

"Do not be afraid, for she was destined for you from eternity. You will save her, and she will accompany you."

 -- Tobit 6:18

Evermore

I believe I genuinely am getting better. I went outside today and did five times as much work as I've done on any other day this summer, and didn't feel absolutely horrible afterwards, for the first time since late last summer--tired, but the right kind of tired, not like I'm totally spent and about to collapse (which is how I felt the whole time I was hiking, too).

I see now that this really started last year, in the final months of my fast. That's when I began not having the strength to get through a day's work--before that, I'd been outside working all day most days of a week, from the time I started my projects. And I actually think the beginnings of it goes back further. I've been reading on it, and one of the key symptoms is inability to lose weight or even weight gain while doing serious diet and exercise. That's what started the whole thing; when I realized after getting my bodyfat checked, that I'd been working really hard at the gym and seriously dieting for over a year without making any progress whatsoever--that's when I started doing the extended fasting, to break through that. But I think now that that was my body already telling me that it was in the beginning stages of overtraining or adrenal fatigue or whatever.

I will get the next part of the story up. It's actually drawing near the conclusion; it shouldn't be more than two or three more installments.

All I'm supposed to do is rest. And to be honest, that's all I feel like doing. But things are being left undone, and I'm feeling guilty about them, and overwhelmed by the thought of them stacking up. I try to tell myself that the garden was going to  be left untended while I was hiking anyway, but it doesn't help. I didn't have to look out every day at it from the trail and think about all the things I need to get done. Plus, I was accomplishing something else, and saw it as a compromise.

I'm starting to feel better, very slowly, so I guess it's working. But you know when you've been sick and stuck in the house for days, and you just feel completely worthless and lazy and a bit stir-crazy, even though there's really nothing else you can do?

Also, my weight is getting to me. I haven't actually gained that much, but I feel like I have. The thing is, I don't feel like a fat person who's lost weight anymore: I feel like a thin person who's gained weight, and it makes me feel miserable and even more guilty and lazy.

I know I should be using this time to be productive with my writing and reading, but I'm having trouble focusing because of all this nonsense.

And this damned backpack is just sitting here in my office, staring at me. I suppose I should move it to the basement or something.

Recuperation

So I've seen three doctors, a nurse-practitioner specializing in sports medicine, nutrition, and weight loss, and a nutritionist, as well as doing a lot of my own research, as I always do. And all have come up with variations of the same answer: I overdid it. Some of them attribute it to the long-term fasting, others to the hardcore training, physical labor, and AT hiking, but it doesn't take a genius to put it together and see that it's all of it together.

I'd heard of "overtraining" of course, having been around gyms and various fitness venues most of my life. But I always thought it was something relatively minor, like, "I overtrained last week, so I'm taking this week off to rest." But apparently, there's an actual thing: Overtraining Syndrome, and in stage 3 (where I am), your body is just completely broken down and in serious distress. This, so I hear, is why serious athletes so often have to just quit, and sometimes never come back.

I've heard of something similar before--guys coming home from long-term internment in POW camps have to spend years in recovery, and very often retire from the military when they get back. Theirs, of course, is much more severe than this, but it's the same species, different degree.

If you want to know how it feels, think of the feeling of weakness you get when you have the flu: how doing something you normally do with ease exhausts you--out of breath after walking up a flight of stairs, or spent after a trip to the grocery store. It's that, but without any of the other flu symptoms.

The only cure, it seems, is rest. I've been told I'm not allowed to try to lose weight until further notice. I've got it stabilized (I had been gaining after the hike), but I have to stay where I am and let my body heal and recover before I go back to trying to lose again. No exercise, except some very mild cardio (i.e., going for casual walks). I fudge a little on that, because there's stuff that just has to get done in the garden, so I use that as my exercise. But I take it easy, and only do a little in a day, a couple of days a week.

It's pretty frustrating. Apparently, it can take months, or even a couple of years for the body to come out of it. But I just have to deal with it, and trust that God is doing what needs to be done in my life.

The Scarred Princess (part 11)

Sir Perditus lay long in his miserable prison. All he could see was darkness, and all he could feel was pain from his grievous injuries, and shame at his ignoble defeat.

Sometimes the giant would come and visit him, and taunt and mock him. The knight must have spoken his heart in the depths of his delirium, for when he began to come to his senses, he found that his enemy knew of his sweet princess, and of his broken heart, and it was this with which he taunted him most.

"I know of this princess," he would say. "I have heard of her fame, and that she receives lovers and suitors from all the lands. It seems that she will receive anyone. Everyone, that is, except for you. Even now, she mocks you, and laughs at you with her lovers."

"Liar!" the knight would reply, with all the strength and vehemence he could summon. "She is pure and sweet as the first light of a spring day. If she was unkind to me, it was my own failing; I should have been more courteous." And the giant would laugh.

"If that is so, then why does she not send you word? Surely, she knows your suffering. I will offer you a bargain: if she sends for you, then not only will I allow the message, but I will release you, free of all bond or condition." And then he would laugh again, and leave his prisoner to brood over his words.

And though Sir Perditus knew the giant to be a liar, he still could not help but suffer the anguish of the images his words created in his mind. What little sleep he had was troubled by dreams of the cruel, scornful, and haughty coquette, dancing with her lovers, laughing with them, touching their hands, giving them the smiles that he craved for himself like sunlight, and the piercing glory of her eyes, which was to him as food and wine. And when he awoke, he would wish that the giant would simply beat him or torture him, for this torment was worse by far than any atrocity the cruelest mind could devise.

And also, part of him hoped in vain that she would see; that she would take pity, and send for his release. But whether she did not see, or did not care, or was unable to send for his relief, or whether she did but the giant lied and did not allow the message through, Sir Perditus could not know. And this, too, was vexation and misery for him.

At other times, the giant would mock and revile him over his devotion to the Grail King. He would call him a false king and and delusion of weak souls, and ask him, if he were so good and powerful, why he did not come and rescue or ransom his vassal. And this, too, struck deep into Sir Perditus's heart, for truly he wondered the same thing himself. But he would say, "It is his will for now, that I suffer; he will save me when he deems the time is come to do so."

One day, or night--he had no way of knowing which it was, after he had been left long alone with the lies and fears of his enemy, king Sarx came to him again, and this time his manner was friendly.

"You have earned my respect, Sir Knight," he said. "You have suffered manfully, and though you lost, you fought very well: no one has ever wounded me like that before. Your faith and devotion are admirable, but neither your lady nor your lord have come to your aid, nor sent word, nor shown the slightest concern over your plight. Therefore, I say this to you: renounce them both, and serve me. Swear to me, that this so-called king is either a false king, or too weak or cowardly to save those who call on his name, or too cruel to care what pains and dangers they suffer for him; and swear that your princess is naught but a vixen and a jade. Do this, and I shall release you, and make you my first knight, my marshall, constable, and steward over all my kingdom and whatever further realms I conquer. And furthermore, if you still so wish, I will get for you your princess, to do with according to all your desire, and add her father's kingdom to my domains."

Sir Perditus hesitated, considering his reply, and the giant smiled slyly, for he thought that his words had had their intended effect.

"Do not respond now; I know that what I ask is a hard thing. Take time, and consider, and I will send for your answer in time." And with that, he left again.

If your question is "Still?" then my answer is "Always."

Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinen

I know you're probably wondering what's going on--why I haven't written anything in so long, either about myself or the next part of our faerie story.

I've been becoming more and more closed off, and reticent about talking about my feelings, both here and in real life. I guess you could say my heart has been growing hard again. I don't talk to anyone anymore, really. Not even my kids.

When I got back from hiking, I kind of went into a tailspin. I was more saddened by having to come home early than I admitted even to myself, but it came out in other ways. I was super-emotional, like you are after a traumatic experience, or like a woman post-partum, when all the hormones and emotions are just running wild at random. I shed tears watching The Waterboy, for Pete's sake. It was ridiculous.

During this time, I was able to keep writing my story, because it was so close to my heart. But other things in my life were spiraling out of control, like my appetite, for instance: post-hiker hunger, my blood sugar issues, and the depression I was experiencing were all ganging up on me. And as I predicted, I've been struggling with my weight again. Not that I've been eating junk food: the day after I got home, I switched back to healthy. But my body is just DETERMINED to put on weight. I've been gaining weight eating fruit and salad. Eventually I had to make the decision to use the stupid meds again to help get things under control before I ended up undoing everything I'd worked for the past ten years.

But, with the meds, once again my feelings are deadened, and so is my creativity. My feelings right now are so strong, though, that even with the meds I'm still experiencing them to a much greater degree than I ever did before while on them. But there's no creativity right now at all, and any attempt I made at writing would just turn out crap, as I've learned in the past.

I guess the thing is, the AT hike was supposed to be the triumphant ending of my decade-long quest to change my life: the elimination of the last vestiges of obesity, an achievement that I could look back on with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and the transition to a different kind of life. Instead, it was just another disappointment and failure.

What happened, I can see now, is that I put far too much stress on my body (and perhaps on my mind, too). All the fasting and dieting, the exercise, the garden work, the hiking...it was just too much. I've always had a tendency to push myself too hard, ever since the Army helped me discover that most of the limitations we feel when physically stressed are in our minds. But not all of them are: there are very real ones, especially for me, with all my injuries--and I'm not exactly young anymore. Plus the thing with my heart a couple of years ago--that was very real physical damage that it did, even though the cause of it was emotional, and my cardio never did fully recover from that. But I tend to ignore the real ones too. And doing all that, while living with a thrice-broken heart, while simultaneously trying to be obedient to God, to keep hoping, to submit myself, to be humble, to have faith, while everything around me in the natural is telling me the exact opposite of what He is telling me to believe, which is pretty much the most difficult thing in the world. It all just caught up with me, I guess.

"O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: O let my prayer enter into thy presence, incline thine ear unto my calling; for my soul is full of trouble, and my life draweth nigh unto the grave." - - Psalm 88:1-2

The Lord's Prayer sung in Aramaic

Aside from the power and beauty of the music, there's something particularly touching about this, because it's the language in which Jesus originally spoke the prayer to his disciples.

The Fruit of my Labors

Remember all that digging up rocks and building of planters I did last summer? Well here's my reward.

The Temptations - Just my Imagination

Apologies for the delay in the next installment of the story. I'm having trouble with this part.

"But at night-time, when the house was empty, and there was nothing to do...I'd always think of Jenny."

The Scarred Princess (part 10)

The giant looked slightly taken aback when Sir Perditus entered the hall armed, but then his expression shifted to one of sarcastic amusement.

"I see you deem yourself ready to fight," he said with a smirk.

"There shall be delay no longer--I have dallied too long already," answered the knight. "Face me now, or I shall slay you here in this hall."

"Very well," said the monster. He motioned to his guards. "See him to the tourney grounds. And bring me my armour."

Sir Perditus was led to what had once been a gay and festive field, where knights had jousted in bright-coloured arms, bearing favours from their ladies, and merry yeomen had shot the mark to the approbation of peasant girls. There were stands raised all about for spectators, once painted in cheery blue, silver, and gold, now faded, grey, and decrepit. As he waited, they began to fill up with all the inmates of the castle, somber and subdued, but whispering with a suppressed excitement. And as he looked into their faces, he saw faint traces of something beginning to dawn that had been lacking in every visage he had met since entering this dismal realm: hope. His heart swelled with emotion, and he resolved to conquer, for their sake as well as for his own.

The giant appeared, armed in an enormous coat of overlapping plates like scales, and a grotesque helm with bull's horns on top and the visor shaped into the face of a swine, complete with tusks. He bore a huge and cruel-looking mace, and a shield the size of a table, and his boots were set with wicked spikes.

The fearless knight could hardly wait for the marshall of the lists to make the prerequisite announcements, naming the terms of the combat and the prizes of victory. As soon as the signal was given, he was on his foe with a fury that took the giant quite by surprise, stabbing, slashing, dodging, deflecting, and dancing around his larger opponent, always just out of reach. Sir Perditus drew first blood within a minute, and the giant roared with pain and outrage.

Then began the combat in earnest, for the giant saw that here indeed was a formidable foe, one whom he could not defeat without considerable effort. Every knight he had faced for many years, he had beaten with ease, until he had become quite lazy, arrogant, and complacent--no one had ever given him this much trouble before. But now he became grim, purposeful, and cautious.

As Sir Perditus had suspected on first seeing him, this was no slow and stupid giant such as the common ones one finds among the rocks and hills of the wilds. Not only was he clever, but he was fast, so that you could not even run from him, but he would catch you in a few steps, as a parent will catch a child who is trying to run away, and thus many poor souls had met their grim demise. Soon the first vehemence of Sir Perditus's assault passed into a more cautious and measured combat, and then the giant's size and strength began to turn the fight in his favour.

And Sir Perditus, despite his anger, his courage, and his resolve, felt fat, weak, and slow. A week of idleness, with as much food and wine as he could hold, had taken the edge from him and dulled his skill. The giant hadn't needed to drug his food: the food itself had done its work well enough.

Sir Perditus fought valiantly. He fought ferociously. He fought heroically. But he could not win. He wounded his foe many times, but the giant was simply too strong: he beat him down; wore him out. The spear was broken by a swing of the mace; he cast it aside and drew his sword. Again and again Sir Perditus was knocked down by the impossibly heavy blows of the giant's mace, and again and again he rose to fight. But each time there was less strength, less vigour, less spirit in his movements. And every time, there was less hope in the faces of those watching, until finally they began to trickle away, for they could see now the outcome without any doubt, and did not have the heart to watch. There were only a few left to see as the giant's mace came crashing down on the knight one final time, and he buckled, fell, tried to rise, but failed and lay sprawled facedown in the blood and dirt. The giant leaned on his mace for a moment, catching his breath, then seized Sir Perditus by the foot and dragged him away, back to the castle, where he was cast into the lowest and darkest dungeon in the place.

The Scarred Princess (part 9)

Sir Perditus ate heartily that night, for it was the first real meal he had had in many a day. He thought, of course, of the possibility that the giant would poison or drug his food. But he decided that he would face that with the same courage with which he would face a fight: if this was to be his death, then he would face it boldly, and trust himself to God's care. But the food was not poisoned, and he was glad, because he was very hungry. Then he slept deeply, in a soft and comfortable bed, which he had not done since he left the Princess's castle.

When he awoke the next morning, he found that he was left to himself for a while, and he sat on the balcony which adjoined his chamber, resting and enjoying the feel of the sunshine and the breeze on his face. But before mid-day, he was summoned to the giant's audience chamber.

"Have you rested, Sir Knight? Are you ready?"

"I have, and I am."

The giant looked closely into his face. "I do not think you are wholly recovered, yet, and I wish to fight you in your full strength. Rest another day, and arm yourself well, and then we shall meet." Sir Perditus, though loathe to delay, accepted his host's orders, for indeed he was still very tired, and thought he could do with another day of sleep and good food. He bowed again, and returned to his chamber.

So it was each day, for at least a week. The giant-king would summon him, examine him, and pronounce him unfit yet to fight, and then would dismiss  him. Sir Perditus found that he was allowed freedom within the castle so long as he stayed in the western wing where his chamber was, or in the courtyard outside it. The lord of the keep did not come into these regions, being too big for them, but confined himself to the central parts where the rooms were larger and the ceilings were higher, and left the other areas to his servants. He was shown to the armoury, and there chose for himself new mail, helm, and shield, as well as a long spear, which he thought would be very useful in fighting an opponent so much larger than himself. These were all man-sized, which the giant kept for the use of his soldiers, and not his own arms.

On about the seventh or eighth night in which Sir Perditus slept in the giant's house, he was awoken very late (or very early) by someone lightly touching his shoulder and whispering in his ear.

"Be quiet, please, Sir Knight. I did not mean to disturb you; but there is something I must show you." He awoke quickly and fully alert, from long habit of sleeping outdoors with one eye open, as the saying goes. Moonlight came in by his window, and he recognized the outline of the serving-girl who kept his chamber clean and brought him his victuals. "I will wait outside your door while you dress: your guard is asleep. Please, come quickly."

In a moment, he had pulled on his clothes and girt his sword and dagger on his waist. He slipped outside his door into the darkened hall, and felt a soft hand laid on his arm. He allowed himself to be guided around several turns, then they stopped and a lamp was lit. He asked no questions, but continued to follow her to a long-disused and dusty part of the castle which he had not seen before. She brought him to a barred double-door, and he helped her with the heavy beam which sealed it shut.

When the doors were opened, they entered what had plainly once been the chapel, but was now piled with all the flotsam and clutter from every part of the place for which the giant had no use. Thick dust lay upon it all, and cobwebs were in all the corners and crannies, glinting in the moonlight which came in through high, vaulted windows. The maidservant led him to the front of the sanctuary, and then off to the right to where the choir would have been. There, resting on the rearmost choir pew and leaning against the wall behind it, was a large painting covered in a sheet. She removed the cover and held her light up so he could see. And Sir Perditus beheld a picture of...himself, holding his own sword, but wearing a crown.

"God's Blood!" he exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this?"

She looked afraid, and pointed to the plaque attached to the bottom of the frame. It read "King Amicus VI" and gave a year of birth and of death which would have been a generation or so before Perditus's time. He stood silent, wondering.

"Forgive my impertinence, m'lord. But what do you know of your birth?"

He was thoughtful. "Nothing," he said. Except that my father was a lord of some kind. There was some calamity, I know not what, and my mother fled from him with me in her arms. I remember her, a little, but she died not very many years after. Of a broken heart, they say. I was fostered by a kind knight who had love enough to spare for me, but not enough substance to take an inheritance away from his own sons. Still, I am thankful for all he gave me, and I honored him as a father until the day of his passing."

"And your sword?" she asked.

"I had it from my mother. The only thing she saved of the ruin of her life. She said it was my father's."

He fell silent again, gazing at the portrait in wonder. "This is too strange not to have some deeper signification. This must be..."

"Your grandfather," she finished. "And you are our rightful lord." She knelt and, after a moment's hesitation, he placed his hand on her head in blessing.

They left the sad chapel and she returned him to his bedchamber, quickly now before the drug that she had put in the guard's goblet of wine wore off and he awoke. As she turned with a curtsy to leave his room, he stopped her, turning her back around to face him.

"There is one more thing I would ask of you. The people of this land--there seem to be far fewer than there should be."

She hid her face in horror. "He eats us," she whispered. He nodded. There seemed to be nothing left to say. Then another thought, a horrifying thought occurred to him.

"The food you have fed me...?"

"No," she said quickly. "He keeps that meat for himself. But the kitchen where it is prepared...." He nodded again, understanding what she could not say. He felt very sick.

He embraced her. "I thank you for this, and I know the terrible risk you have incurred to do so. If I prevail, by God's mercy, I shall not forget you." She said nothing, but squeezed him tightly, then wiped her eyes as she hurried from the room.

Sir Perditus spent the rest of the night in vigil, kneeling by his bed, and when he was summoned into the giant's presence the next day, he answered the summons in full harness, bearing shield and spear in hand.

Spring!

Arise, my love, my beautiful one,

and come away,

for behold, the winter is past;

the rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth,

the time of singing has come,

and the voice of the dove

is heard in our land.

-- Song of Solomon 2:10-12

Après un Rêve

Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image

Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage,

Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,

Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;

Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre

Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,

Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues,

Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues,

Hélas! Hélas! triste réveil des songes

Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends-moi tes mensonges,

Reviens, reviens radieuse,

Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!

The Scarred Princess (part 8)

As Sir Perditus walked on through this land, he began to see that whereas it had appeared peaceful and prosperous from afar, it was in fact somewhat desolate. Many houses stood empty and derilict, and many fields lay fallow and barren. And there was something--an air or atmosphere, which he could not at first quite name. There was a quiet. Not a quiet of tranquility, but of subdual. The very light seemed to have a dim and somber quality. And then, as he thought on this, and on the people's treatment of him, he suddenly recognized it: it was fear. He had seen it before, on crusade, in realms ruled by tyrants and despots.

And as he traveled, he began to notice, too, that people acted as though they recognized and were expecting him. He was treated with increasing suspicion and growing coldness, and he thought he could guess that rumour had preceded him. He expected any time now, that word would reach whatever lord it was who held this people in such awe, and in this he was not disappointed, but very much surprised.

There came a day when, as he passed along a broad lane between two fields growing green with new grain, he saw, first a cloud of dust approaching him from ahead, and then a body of mounted men with the air of officialdom about them. He stopped and awaited them, for he knew they were come to seek him, and indeed they halted when they espied him, consulted quietly amongst themselves, then one of them, whom he took to be the envoy, rode forward, flanked by men-at-arms on either side.

"His Gargantuan Majesty, King Sarx, requires that you present yourself before him and answer what be your purpose in entering into his dominion: whether you be friend or foe, whether your intent be good or ill, and whether you come in peace or in war." He looked down at Sir Perditus's sword, which still hung at his waist, the only visible badge still marking him as a knight. "Will you come willingly?"

Sir Perditus looked up, not at the envoy but the sky behind him. There, though it was day, he saw faintly the star. "I will come," said the knight.

"Then follow." The envoy hesitated, glancing down at the sword again, as if he wished to require that it be surrendered. Sir Perditus laid his hand on the hilt. He did not look much the knight now, disheveled, soiled, and worn by exhaustion, wearing only his filthy tunic and trousers. But there was a fell grimness in his countenance, perhaps the more so for all that, and the messenger thought better of it and left it be.

He moved back toward the main body of men, and Perditus followed, wondering if he was to follow mounted men on foot. But a horse was produced for him, and if any there had been doubt as to his knighthood, it was laid to rest by the skill and facility with which he mounted and rode, even after so long and weary a time afoot.

They led him many miles, until a castle came into view, and toward this they steered. It was large and imposing, but like the rest of the kingdom it was in ill repair, and was wanting the full number of men-at-arms and archers who could have manned it. Sir Perditus said nothing, but silently followed his escorts and obeyed when they told him to wait outside the great doors of the hall.

When at last he was led into the great hall, he was not prepared for what he saw. But he understood at once the state of the kingdom, and the fear in the hearts of its people. For there, in a large throne set up in the center of what used to be the great feasting hall, sat an absolutely enormous person. A giant, in fact, but a giant larger than any he had ever seen, and different, too. For the giants he had faced before had been large, heavy, slow, and stupid; roughly man-shaped, but misshapen, ill-proportioned, and ugly. But this giant looked exactly like a man, only much larger, and one could tell by looking in his face that he was not stupid at all, but clever, wicked, and cruel.

"So this is why I have been sent here," he thought. "To slay this tyrant and free this people from slavery." But what he said was:

"Hail, Sire. I greet you in the name of the Grail King." At this name, the giant grimaced, and frowned.

"You may keep your greetings," he said in a voice so big and so deep that it could be felt as well as heard, "in that name, and I will thank you not to mention it again in my realm." Sir Perditus said nothing, and after a moment's pause the giant continued. "It was reported to me by my subjects that a strange knight had entered my realm, although I hardly see a knight before me. Pray, what are you? A varlet and a knave who has stolen a sword?" This was very rude, but I am afraid that that is how giants talk; I never met one who had an ounce of courtesy.

Sir Perditus knew better than to be insulted and angry. "Nay, your majesty. A knight I am, though a poor one, and one who has wandered far on hard roads," he said. And to himself, he said, "And one who will thrust this sword into your heart, by the grace of God."

The giant smirked. "And pray, what was your purpose in entering my realm, Sir Knight?" he asked with mock-courtesy.

"Nothing at all, Sire. I wandered into it quite by accident, following..." he paused long enough to make clear that he was omitting the name which he had been forbidden to speak. "Following the leading of my fortune," he finished. His meaning was not lost on the giant, whose eyes glinted maliciously.

"I see. You pretend to have been 'sent' here to defeat me, but no doubt your true intent is to murder me the first chance you get, and steal my kingdom. Do you deny it?"

"Nay," said Sir Perditus. "Since you would have it so, I do not deny the former, although I do the latter. I shall steal nothing, but restore this place to its rightful king or his heirs, if any be left that you have not murdered. Slay you I shall, however. Not by murder, but in fair combat. I challenge you on the field of honor. Face me, if ye be not craven."

The giant smiled most disconcertingly. "I accept, Sir Knight," he said again with pretend deference. "But what is more, I offer you the hospitality of my castle this night, for I would not have it said that I defeated you in your weakness, fainting from travel and hunger. You shall have food, you shall have rest, you shall have whatever you require from my armoury, and then tomorrow we shall see." He clapped his hands, and servants and soldiers closed in around Sir Perditus, who bowed and followed them.

Perhaps you think it was very foolish of Sir Perditus to accept this offer. But in those times, even the most wicked of giants feared to break the sacred laws of hospitality--once offered, it could not be betrayed without bringing a dreadful curse on one's head. Besides, he really had no choice--if he resisted now, he would only be made a prisoner anyhow, and that without the chance to free himself by single combat with his foe, or at least to fall honourably in battle.

The Parting Glass

I was thinking about how it would be to take a trip to Ireland and, among other things, visit the place where they craft my pipes (Peterson of Dublin) and the place where they distill my whiskey (Tullamore, County Offaly), and I came across this. I know it's basically just an extended commercial, but still, it's nice. I'd also love to do some "rambling," that is, the gentler British Isles version of hiking, while I'm there.

The Scarred Princess (part 7)

After the hermit left her, Viola found a secret place in the garden where she had often gone to be alone with her most intimate thoughts, and carefully unwrapped the bundle he had given her. She caught her breath as she saw the exquisitely worked silver of the mirror's frame and handle, and then looked into it, as maidens will do. She did not immediately notice anything magical about the mirror, but she did think, without vanity, that she was looking exceptionally pretty today, and she smiled bashfully at her own reflection. And when she did so, the beauty and radiance of her own smile smote her heart, and she thought, again without any vanity or self-consciousness, that she was, after all, lovely and lovable. She re-wrapped the precious thing in its cloth bundle, and hiding it in her bodice next to her heart, she stole back into her chamber and quietly placed it in her secret place next to the rose, under a loose flagstone hidden beneath a pretty silk rug embroidered with flowers.

Thereafter, she went often and looked at her reflection, for it filled her with joy and happiness which she did not quite understand, to see herself as the mirror showed her. And before long, she started to suspect that there was something unusual about this mirror, for her image in other looking-glasses in the castle did not please her as this one did. Her suspicions became certainty when, one night, she held the mirror at arm's length as she was undressing for bed, and saw that there was no scar on her breast. So shocked was she that she dropped it, but thankfully, it did not break. But her heart sank as low again as it had been exalted a moment before, when she looked down and saw the scar still there. She was so angry and disappointed, that she picked up the mirror with the intent to break it on purpose for lying to her; but when she looked in it, her anger melted and she stowed it safely again in its covert.

That night, she thought of Sir Perditus and what his gift could mean, and she was still thinking of him next morning when she looked again in the mirror, and discovered its other use. For as she thought of him, her own image faded and disappeared, and she saw him struggling and fighting his way through a thick forest, cutting at branches and brambles with his sword. And as he cut, he sang a song in rhythm to his strokes, and the song was about her. She blushed furiously, though no one could see her, and looked away as if she had been caught doing something naughty, then hid the mirror away.

Then began for her a struggle in her own heart. For she was determined not to look again, nor to watch him, and to convince herself that she did not want to see him nor know what he was doing. But try as she might, she would weaken from time to time and look--sometimes just for a glance, but sometimes she would give in altogether, looking long and watching as he faced the wood, the river, the plain, and the mountains, and listening as he sang, or recited poetry, or prayed, always about her. And although she believed that his love was based on naivety and ignorance of her hidden ugliness, and knew that she could never accept his love, still it filled her heart and gave her joy to know that someone loved her so, and thought so well of her, and she began to find a courage and confidence that she had never had before, although she herself did not fully recognize what was happening in her heart.

She began to go on long rides, alone, on her beautiful palomino palfrey, and ever she rode further afield from the safety of the castle, and deeper into the farmlands and forests of her father's kingdom, until she even came to its borders and crossed them. She knew that she was putting herself in danger, but she refused all escort, even stubbornly sneaking away after her father had outright forbidden her to go alone any longer, until her parents finally resigned themselves to allowing her her will, for it seemed that the only alternative was to make her a prisoner by force. She could not have said why she did so. Part of her, perhaps, desired to punish her parents for her loneliness, for though she knew in her mind that her father had not meant for her to be hurt, and how sorry he was, still something deep within her held him to blame. Another part of her, maybe, simply desired to break free of their control, for though the rational part of her knew that they had been so very protective of her out of love, something else within her resented the prison which their love had made for her. And perhaps, even, there was part of her which thought that she herself ought to be punished, and that by exposing herself as she did, she was inviting what she really deserved. But perhaps there was another, even more secret part, which was hoping that, if she did fall into danger, that someone would be there to rescue her. She would not have admitted even to herself who she hoped it would be, and even if she had, she would have known that it was impossible, for she had driven him far away, and he could not return unless she herself made the way for him.

But as the days, and weeks, and months passed, something else began to happen on her little adventures, as she called them to herself. She began to see, and talk with, the people who lived in the villages and countryside. And she beheld their needs, for they were simple and humble folk, and her heart was deeply moved within her. She began to bring things from the castle to give away to those who were poor. She stopped and visited with the infirm, the sick, and the lonely, and she would bring her harp with her and play and sing for them, for she loved the joy which it brought to their faces. And the people began to truly love her, not just as a princess and a rumour of beauty and loveliness, but as a woman of tender heart and sweet compassion.

One day, as she rode through a hamlet, she found that a house had been consumed by fire. The family had escaped, but they had lost all their possessions and, worst of all, the young daughter, a pretty girl just in the first bloom of maidenhood, had only just escaped. Her hair had been burned, and she lay on the ground, hiding her head in shame and weeping to break one's heart. Viola turned silently and rode away, but stopped at the nearest town where she knew there was a wigmaker. Him she ordered, though he was loathe to obey, to cut her own long, gorgeous, honey-golden hair and make a wig, and she returned to the hamlet next day with a purse full of gold for the father and a head full of gold for the girl, who was so pleased and overwhelmed that she threw herself on Viola's breast and wailed harder for gratitude than she had the day before for grief. The princess slept that night in her bed with a greater sense of happiness than she thought she had ever known. And she wasn't thinking about her scar.

Thigpen's Wedding

"He wrote your name on my heart in flame, it's a wound I can't erase."

Yes. Precisely.

The Scarred Princess (part 6)

Sir Perditus walked east, and once again he found that he was guided by the familiar star. Soon he came to a great forest, through which there was no path. So he pushed, and cut, and hacked, and forced his way along, but he quickly grew very tired, for the forest floor was thick with brush, brambles, vines, roots, rocks, logs, stumps, and thorns. When he came upon a trail which crossed his path, running the wrong direction, he thought he might follow it, in the hope that it might lead him to another which ran his way, or perhaps even turn and take him where he needed to go. But as soon as he did, he knew he had gone wrong, and he had not followed it very far before he saw that it was no good and that he must either abandon the star or the trail. But he thought that his going might be easier if he went without his surcoat, which was the thing that snagged and tore most in the undergrowth, and so he removed it and left it on the forest path.

And ever, as he walked through the forest, he thought of Viola.

After many days, the forest ended, and he had easy going for a little while, through pleasant, grassy country. But then he came to a river, and the river was both wide and deep, and running very fast and high from the melting snows in the mountains from which it had its birth, for it was Spring. Sir Perditus walked for many miles along its bank, first in one direction and then in the other, but no bridge or ford or crossing could he find, and at last he decided that he must swim it, for the star did not waver in its direction, but hung fixedly, resolutely, almost he imagined, impatiently in the sky night after night directly on the other side of the river. So he doffed his mail coat, tied his sword in its sheath and his other possessions in a bundle and placed them on his shield as a kind of raft to float them across, and waded out into the rushing current.

It was very hard going, harder than the forest had been, and several times he despaired of getting his things across, and once of his life, but in the end he made it, utterly exhausted, and collapsed on the far bank unable to go a step further that day. But he did immediately take his sword out of its sheath and dry it as best he could, so that it would not rust. Fortunately for him, the sun was out and the day was warm and lovely, and so before long he was dry and warm, and feeling quite comfortable. He had something to eat of the provisions the hermit had given him, and rested all that day and through the night, and the next day continued on his way.

But as he swam, and struggled against the current, and even as he despaired of his life and thought he would drown, he thought of Viola.

He traveled on, and the grassy plain stretched on and on. Water began to become scarce, and he had to ration it, but then he was always thirsty. And it was hot. He was glad, now, not to be wearing his hauberk anymore, but the sun beat on his steel helm like a warhammer, and so he took it off and left it lying on the plain, and instead tied a cloth about his head, Saracen-style, to keep the sun from burning him. But still, it was very hard going, and a day came when he drank the last drops of his water and could find no more. He did not know what to do, except to stumble on after the star's leading, and trust that it would not lead him to his death. Or, if it did, that that was what was appointed to him and he must accept it.

And as he stumbled along, with his head spinning and his eyes going black, and thought of water with excruciating longing, he also thought of Viola, and longed for her even more.

And at last, after two days as long as ages without water, he came upon a little spring flowing out of a rock, and there he drank his fill, although it made him feel sick at first, and there he rested two days, drinking and bathing his face in the little pool the water made as it flowed out of the earth. And it was then that he first noticed that the land had begun to roll and swell, and the rock from which the little spring flowed was merely the first of a wide country of rolling hills, and beyond them were mountains. They were high and sharp, and the tops were still covered in snow, but he knew he must go straight on, remembering how turning aside had not helped him in the forest or at the river, and that following the star straight on had saved his life on the plain. So on and up he went, trying to find the best path he could but always following the direction in which he had last seen the star. Up, and down, and then up again he climbed, but always more up than down. It became very steep, and very rocky, so that sometimes he was scrambling on all fours over huge boulders, and sometimes he was sliding down gravelly slopes, trying not to fall or to set off an avalanche. As he climbed ever higher, his breath came shorter and harder, everything he carried seemed to weigh ten times what it had before. He cast away his shield, for it seemed foolish to carry such a heavy thing when every step and every breath was so difficult.

But with every step, and every breath, he thought of his lovely Princess Viola, and thought to himself that it would all be worthwhile if only his steps were leading him toward her.

After many weary days and as many cold nights, he crested the last mountain and began to come down the other side. And as he began to descend at last, he found himself looking down at a pleasant and inviting country of villages, farms, hamlets, towns, and castles. It was unfamiliar to him, but, he thought, there was something about it which he could not quite define. Almost as though it should have been familiar; as if he had seen it in a dream or a very old and forgotten memory. He reached the valley floor, weary to the bone, filthy, and bedraggled, and soon began to pass scattered farms and houses where he could stop and ask for bread, for he had run out of food some days before. The people who lived in that country were seemingly ordinary enough people, who spoke the same language as Sir Perditus, though somewhat strangely. But there was an odd feeling everywhere he went. They were not exactly unfriendly, and when he asked for something to eat or permission to sleep in a barn, he was usually given that for which he asked. But it was given somewhat grudgingly, and always hastily, as if they were very anxious to have him move on or get out of sight, and thought that giving him what he wanted was the quickest way to get rid of him.

"I do not myself believe in misfortune; anything to which men give the name is merely the shadow-side of a good." -- George MacDonald

So I contacted my doctor about the diabetes, and the doctor told me to find a VA clinic and get it checked. But I was in the middle of the Smoky Mountains, several days' walk from anywhere I could get out of the wilderness, so I planned to have it checked at my next hostel stop.

And that's when my blood sugar decided to take a nose dive. I spent the next several days trying to keep it stable enough to keep moving, only able to go as far as the next shelter; spells of dizziness, feeling weak and wobbly, losing my balance, stumbling, tripping, falling. Several times my vision started to go dark like I was going to lose consciousness. At one point, somebody found me huddled in my sleeping bag in a shelter in the middle of the day (hypoglycemia makes you feel cold) and wanted to call the forest rangers and have me medevaced out, but I told him no, I wanted to walk out.

So I did, but it took me five days. And as if that all weren't enough, exactly two miles from the pick-up point where I was able to get off-trail, I tripped, stumbled, fell, and wrenched my bad knee (which had been doing just fine), and had to walk the last two miles with my knee hurting. Now it's all swollen and stiff, and making a funny clicking noise.

So, as you've probably guessed, I'm done. <sigh>

But, on the other hand...

The truth is, that I was going to be out there exactly as long as God willed for me to be out there, and not one minute more or less. I planned a complete through-hike, but He had some other purpose, and I guess whatever lesson, or growth, or change He wanted me to accomplish was accomplished in the time I had. Same as last time: it seems patently obvious, looking at the convergence of factors working together to send me home both times, that it was His time for me to do so. The Lord's will be done.

I've been given another reason to do this as a section hike rather than trying to finish the whole thing this year: I have another grandchild due this August. This is the daughter who has had two previous miscarriages, so I think I should really be there.

Also, please pray for the health of mother and child.

A Realization

I have long struggled with unforgiveness and feelings of bitterness toward the clergy of my former church, for not being more helpful to me, and to her, during the time when we were experiencing the torments of our wounded feelings and broken relationship. I believed, and still believe, that they were dismissive, judgemental, and deeply lacking in genuine Christian love toward us, and to put it bluntly, failed miserably and spectacularly in their job as pastors.

It has been much more difficult for me to forgive them than it has to forgive her, or even her parents, because I've always believed that she and her family were acting out of their own woundedness and fear, whereas I held our priests more culpable, as those who were in a position of authority and power, and who had voluntarily taken on the task of caring for the spiritual and emotional well-being of God's people who were entrusted to their care. And I've justified it by grouping my own experience with others whom I'd seen treated similarly there.

But I have just been granted the ability to truly forgive them through a revelation of the true nature of humility--that is, that I cannot expect other people to love me. It's wonderful when they do. But when they don't, I cannot hold it against them and resent them for it: I must accept their sin and failure in recognition that they are flawed and broken just as I am, and look to the Lord only for my sense of being loved and accepted. This holds true for pastors, parents, and leaders as much as it does for lovers and friends.

So, this is me formally and publicly forgiving them, and acknowledging and repenting of my own sin of unforgiveness.