I have been working on a story, writing it out by hand in this little rough-edged journal, and when I have a little time I add to it. I am continuing to share some more chapters. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts as they sink into the story.
Read the Prelude HERE.
Read Chapter I HERE.
Read Chapter 2 HERE.
Read Chapter 3 HERE.
Read Chapter 4 HERE.
Read Chapter 5 HERE.
Read Chapter 6 HERE.
Chapter VII
As summer waned, the scents floating in the air changed. Blooms begot visual and scent pleasures that were unknown to Nella before. The white blooms, starlight, were densely packed layers of petals that opened with such simple beauty, Nella frequently foraged and had vases and tables well stocked with natural beauty. She even brough a bunch to the library to give to Lady Kira, who burst into smiles.
"You bring light wherever you go, Nella."
From their height in the trees, the sounds of many waters was very dim, almost like a wind coming through the forest, but they all knew when it happened. Everyday around the late afternoon hour before they all go home, the swift waves rush beneath them, claiming anything at ground level, and causing a sea to envelope the forest through the night. Often Nella would stand outside on a walkway, listening to the water rush through the trees. A melancholy would fill her as she thought about the intentions of the one who shifted a world with words, forcing the people to retreat and be contained. They were suppressed here, and yet, they were happy and content with what they had. She mused.
By morning, the flood drains away, somehow, and all seems normal. In Nella's research, she had detected words and phrases that indicate underground caverns, and perhaps sub-terranian tunnels that lead the water elsewhere. It was intentionally written in, as someone shaped the landscape. Perhaps it was a repair that later writers tried.
She asked Master Nolan the next day.
"Yes, Nella, and very good deductive skills. A later writer wanted to prevent severe flooding that would never go away, so he had some drainage added. It is carefully written so that the ground is still able to support the trees and root systems. The water by-passes those essentials and is led away."
"Where does it go?"
"I haven't figured that out." He answered. "The words used in the passages indicate an origin, so we always assumed that meant a great sea somewhere. How it might be originally intended."
Nella had her doubts, but she kept silent. In all her research the word meaning 'origin' meant something more specific to the cause of the beginning. That would mean it could be leading back to the place from which the waters came, and thus feeding back into the issue. She wanted to be sure of that before letting Master Nolan know her theory. She needed to study some phrases and words that could be written to correct that attempt to fix part of the issue.
Each evening as she walked home, she let the sweet, misty air sink into her skin. A breeze was normal at that time of day, and sometimes a light rain would fall. This was her time to think in a solitude-steeped walk. She left the library later than most everyone else who would leave their duties for the day, so she didn't often run into other people, as it was the time for the evening meal.
As soon as she walked through her door, Miriam would pour her a glass of a refreshing drink, orgeat, made from almonds and orange flower. She would enjoy that drink on the balcony, and very shortly after, Miriam would bring her meal to her outside.
By this time, she felt close to Miriam and knew what life here meant to her. She had grown accustomed to her hurried way of cleaning up after her, and never letting Nella do any of it. She felt so strongly the duty she had and embraced it as the most important work. With no children or husband, she was dedicated, and had passion in what she did.
Nella was thankful for her consistency and her company. She learned a lot about Selador through Miriam, and every evening she would ask more questions.
On one particular evening, the rain fell heavily outside, starting right after Nella got home. It was the kind of rain that fell thickly from dense, low clouds. A chill filled the atmosphere and it no longer felt like summer. A new season was upon them. Nella stayed inside for her meal and when she was done, she asked Miriam to make tea and to join her at the table to enjoy a cup.
Nella remembered that Miriam had a brother who left Selador, and she wanted to know more of that. Nella learned it was about 20 years ago that he left. A risky venture with many waters.
"How did he leave with the floods? Isn't that risky? And why did he leave?" Nella always had questions.
Miriam folded her hands around the steaming cup of tea, "He knew the pattern of many waters, so his timing was carefully prepared, but he was always a big thinker, wishing to bring great change to this realm. He wanted to make it bigger and more affluent. Master Louver and he had many disagreements, and that eventually turned into a situation where my brother, Tive, became rebellious and opposed the qualities of this realm that make it so special. That, of course, had many dangers. I am not sure if he was asked to leave, but he did leave quite abruptly." Miriam looked into her tea.
"Were you two close?"
"We were, yes, but he and I saw things so differently, and he had a lust for power and control that caused him to only care for doing what would be best for himself, so he hurt a lot of people."
They were quiet for a moment as Nella reflected on what she heard and Miriam was reliving some of her past in her mind. She wondered why it would be so dangerous to rebel here and have disagreements with Master Louver. Surely the leaders here would be open to good ideas, but not ones that would shake the core of the realm. The only ones who would be able to be so dangerous and literally change the shape of their lives would be an entry-writer, she concluded.
"Tive was an entry-writer, wasn't he?" Nella broke the silence.
Miriam nodded.
Nella knew then that the entries in which she researched and found grave phrasings were written by Tive, in rebellion of the leadership. Her suspected doubts of the added entries to drain the waters in the best way were warranted, and now she knew that is where the flaws would be so carefully woven in. If Tive was to leave in anger, he would have likely desired to leave his mark on this realm that opposed his expansion ideas and wealth-possessed desires. Perhaps his intention was to keep the people here, unable to follow him? But where did he go? Where else can the tunnel take you?
"Do you know much about the tunnel?" She asked Miriam, pouring some more tea.
"Only that it brings people here who have purposes to fulfill. Since Tive wanted to get there, I suspect he wanted to go to another realm where he could pursue his ideas of power."
Nella mused upon this conversation for days. While it provided some more detail, it did not explain how she got there from the tunnel. However, it awakened in her a new vigilance as she looked for ill intent in word selection of the entries. Words have great power. It is like wielding a sword, by which you can protect what is good, or slash away at what is good. Sometimes it is not so obvious when the slashing is deeply woven in.
The rain drizzles steadily
and I dash between the droplets
of heavy water falling.
Donning my favourite rain coat
a deep blue of warmth and a shield
from the damp skies coming low.
Today, the grey clouds take a trip
down to the ground to visit,
calling for a cup of rose chai
to make this morning even sweeter
than it already is.
A hot scent of rose and spices linger
with each sip. A smooth comfort
on a wet, chilled day.
I always love a good, grey day, and I know I am in the minority. But to me, a grey-cast sky adds a cosiness to the indoors, an atmosphere that fosters thoughtfulness and musing. The perfect weather for reading along with a companion of a cup of tea or coffee. Add rain to the mix, and it's even better. Especially a steady, light rain that doesn't soak you, but that reminds us that God blesses us continuously, even when we don't ask.
I have been working on a story, writing it out by hand in this little rough-edged journal, and when I have a little time I add to it. I am continuing to share some more chapters. Please feel free to let me know your thoughts as they sink into the story.
Read the Prelude HERE.
Read Chapter I HERE.
Read Chapter 2 HERE.
Read Chapter 3 HERE.
Read Chapter 4 HERE.
Read Chapter 5 HERE.
Chapter VI
A few weeks later, she was sitting at a desk with stacks of books within arm's reach, in the most beautiful place to her seeking imagination - the library. In the air hung the scent of paper, leather, book binding materials, and that perfect book sweet vanilla musty-ness. It was not just a room, but a labyrinth of rooms as she had discovered, spanning several treetops and levels. A spiral staircase connected the two levels. Upon entering the library her first time, she felt the need to wander through each room to take it all in. To gaze upon such richness of books felt like an honour. Each day she sat in a different room, so as to experience the different feel, light, air, and space.
Her routine had become mundane to the unscrupulous. Breakfast in the hut. Chats with Miriam where she always asked her about herself to try to get her to open up. Each day she learned a little more, such as Miriam has a brother named Tive, who was one of the very few who chose to leave this realm. Her favourite fruit is an apricot variety that grows abundantly here, and she lives in a tiny hut on the level below. She learned that an attendant would traditionally stay on the level below the house they serve, for easy access, and ability to cook below and carry it up.
After breakfast of porridge with nuts, honey, fruit, and tea, she gathers her notebooks and her satchel, and walks the pathways to the library. She has discovered there are several ways to get there, and likely countless more she hasn't figured out yet. The paths connect and cross.
The morning birdsong would cheer up the grumpiest of souls. The misty, cool air was perfection. She needed her jacket each day. The view from the walkway was breathtaking. It amazed her that the whole village was above ground, in the trees. She had to go up a level, and then take a short walk by the Knotted Tree (an old, rare tree so she learned, that looked like the bark was tied in knots).
Then, the path to the library, her favourite journey. The building was the largest she had seen yet, but it branched off into different rooms, quite literally, since the trees have to support all the abundance of books. The windows are all placed so that light is natural and lamps rarely needed. If there are curtains anywhere, they are sheer. Windows are meant to be opened to let in light and air.
The librarian is Lady Kira, who was the other woman at that first meeting. She was elegant, knowledgeable, and keen-eyed. She knew where every book was stored, and gave off the air of having read every one. But how could she? She wasn't very old. Nella wondered how old she was, but was afraid to ask. Lady Kira wore her long black hair in a swirled bun, and donned rich, velvet jackets that made her appear scholarly, and perhaps she was.
Their conversations were engaging, and Nella felt that she learned an entire book-worth of information with every short talk. Lady Kira had a way of relinquishing knowledge onto others, enlightening them before they even know it.
Nella was there working on her assignments. Copying and learning the script and the specific words of Selador. The descriptions and the phrasing was so essential, Lady Kira explained one day, that the proper usage and way of writing had to be perfected. Then, she would leave Nella to her copy and practice in her notebooks, appearing every now and then to bring another book for her to learn.
She was reading and copying words from a book on natural elements. Water. A natural element that almost killed her as she entered this realm. She couldn't help but wonder again what was going on with the flood wall that came fast within moments of her being rescued by the guard. This realm had many secrets, she could sense them. She wanted to learn them. The mystery of the place enveloped her thoughts sometimes.
Her hand hovered over the page as she gazed at the word for water and all the descriptions, elementals, and characteristics of water. Aspects of water were filled with contradictions, such as being unpredictable like a flood and yet can be predicted like a tide; controllable and yet natural and out of our control. Readily available and yet scarce at times due to weather. Her pondering grew deeper for awhile until Master Nolan came in and interrupted her thoughts.
He has been the one teaching her about the books and the writing. He was a writer, researcher, and keeper of the books, not in the sense that a librarian keeps books, but the one who monitors certain books, because as she was learning, these books had a mysterious power. Certain books (The Books of Time, they were called, they all had a stamped round symbol embossed into the cover, with thick pages, and artisan feel) had a power to create and change the realm in which they lived, by way of words written in the book. Everything from the diction to the word selection was essential because a wayward word or one with a different meaning could change the properties of the realm.
"For example," Master Nolan had explained sitting down across from her, "If you wrote about the sky being blue and used all the descriptors of that blue but neglected to write that there was moisture in the air to create cloud formations to dot the blue, you could change the weather, which could have lingering effects on the landscapes that we don't know or understand. What we write in these books, how we phrase entries, will directly impact our world here as we know it, for good or ill."
Nella could feel the weight of the duty, and the privilege. To be a writer was to wield that power of change. But she did not understand one aspect, in particular.
"Why don't we simply stop writing in these books, put them away safe, and let this realm exist with what was already written?" she asked.
Master Nolan sat back and smiled at Nella. He appreciated her rational thoughts that would help her in her writing later on. He noticed in Nella a keen sense of awareness of what is around her, without prejudice. She sees and observes, and then dwells in those observations for a while. He held her gaze and looked into her eyes for a moment, and he saw the desire to know. She asked questions that were thoughtful and she clearly wanted to gain as much information as much as possible. She was hungry for it. He walked to a bookshelf lined with books of the ages. Written words of the realm that have come to pass. Words become life.
"Because this realm would not exist if it were not being sub-created constantly. Blank pages make a blank world. We must add a page of writing everyday, or this place will fade away." He watched her from across the table. Her green eyes were inquisitive; he could almost see the thousand questions dancing in her eyes. The magic of the books.
"If we are sub-creating this world, who created it?"
"The Divine One." He answered. "The Creator who is above all, gave us the power to change and create with the imaginings of our minds. I know your next question is why the Divine One doesn't force us to only create good. We are not forced in any way. The Creator wishes us to choose good on our own, and display our creativity for the good of others. That means some may choose to do ill, and that is what happened two ages ago, with many waters."
"Many waters?" Nella asked. Then she understand, "You mean the rushing flood of water that almost drowned me when I arrived."
"Indeed." Master Nolan looked grave. "That event, which occurs everyday, was written in from one of the Writer's Guild. He chose to do ill with his gift, and now we are separated, stranded here in a way because we cannot travel safely by land. The land becomes sea, and because it is a dense forest, a boat will be crushed, as the current in the water moves too quickly. Many have tried, and failed."
"Has anything been done to repair it? Surely another writer..."
Master Nolan nodded, "Yes of course. But you must understand the man who wrote it was the best writer we've ever seen; there has never been another to match his gift. No one since that age has been able to fix it." He watched her as she was beginning to see her role, and she listened intently. He could see the gears in her mind turning as she surmised solutions and possible ways to fix the realm.
"What happened to him?" She asked after a few moments.
"He escaped beyond the forest before the first flood, at least that is what gathered in the stories. He was never seen again."
She wondered if he escaped into the tunnel, from which she emerged. If he got inside, he would be protected, transported to another place, and still alive.
"The tunnel..." she began.
"Yes, we assume so. Which means he has been able to move to different realms, and would be very difficult to ever track down."
"Do people here desire to leave?"
"The other realms reached by the tunnel have no guarantee of being pleasant. We love our place here, and wish to keep it beautiful and peaceful. Because of the floods we rarely have people come or go, due to the danger. You just barely made it in. Another minute and you would have been swallowed by many waters.
She wondered how so many writers could not correct the floods, and it occurred to her that they didn't know from whence it came. If they knew its origin or cause, they could reverse it. She would need to study those volumes, and she did. She assumed that he would have slowly hidden pieces of the changes over many multiple entries. Maybe even years, which means it wouldn't be an easy fix.
She told Master Nolan this idea and he answered with a smile. He knew there was something about Nella that was special. She brought light to the situation. He had been reviewing her test notebooks that she practised in. Soon, he thought, she would be able to take the writing from him. He was just a stand-in for that position, anyway.
The mastery of this writing skill was a lot of work, and Nella threw herself into it, largely staying tucked away at the library most days and nights. But one evening, Master Nolan approached her, looking over her shoulder he saw great work being done. As she looked up to him with a question on her lips, he snapped her book closed, and told her to head out to the Festival of Lights.
It was the change of season celebration, and the whole village gathered at the centre, where there were open spaces filled with tables, chairs, food spread over every table, music playing, circle dancing, and twinkle lights cascading from every tree. It was magical, and the moment she stepped up to the main centre, a handsome man pulled her into the dance. It was easy to catch on to the steps, and the wooden flutes, stringed instruments, and fairy lights made the whole scene seem like a storybook tale.
She didn't notice that almost every eye was on her as she danced. She didn't see the curiosity in their eyes. She twirled, she drank an earthy mixture that seemed to be fermented, she ate delicious fare, and she found herself laughing. She had spent all her days holed up studying that she hadn't explored or enjoyed the culture of Selador much. Each time she discovered something new, it opened up another door deeper into the heart of the people. They were a peaceful people who seemed to love the place and the history.
Children wore flowers in their hair and danced merrily. Even the elder ones danced and the children put flowers in their hair. After the meal, Master Louver got up to speak, and a quiet filled the twinkled space as he told the tales of Selador. Stories of heroes, betrayals, mysteries, and the coming of many waters and the trials caused by it. The whole village was moved to the treetops, for before it was mostly at ground level. Through facing the trials and working together, the realm was now a place of light, beauty, and peace. To Nella it was clear that the traitor intended to kill them all. The story, indeed, had taken a darker turn.
O God, who are the light of the minds that see You, the life of the souls that love You, and the strength of the thoughts that seek You, enlarge our minds and raise the vision of our hearts, that on swift wings of prayer, our spirits may reach You, the eternal wisdom, who are from everlasting to everlasting, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
- St. Augustine
It is an ordinary day you might say, as mundane as a Monday. Yet I would persist that no day is ordinary. I have in my grasp a day to take hold of, to appreciate the gifts that God has given me.Though I do have to work at certain times each day during the week, I get to choose what I do with my time outside the office. What I choose to do with that time is important. Even at work, it is important. The everyday day is the only day like it. There will never be another day that is this everyday.
I know that I sometimes fall into the trap of saying that a day is ordinary, dull, mundane. Yet, through the day I noticed the birdsong outside my office window, or I walked to the library for lunch, or I shared a meaningful conversation with someone, or I wrote a poem, etc. I don't think these things are ordinary, because they all hold a piece of beauty. True, radiant beauty. I think more so if I say that a day was ordinary, I am trapping myself inside the cultural views of what is ordinary and not, and losing sight of the eternal perspective.
C.S. Lewis tells us in "The Weight of Glory" that we have never met an ordinary person. We don't talk to mere mortals. I know from my own self that we have to work to maintain this sense of the eternal. When I am able to do that, it's magical. Everything around me becomes enchanted and reminds me of God's gifts. Suddenly the tree-lined road I drive everyday becomes a tunnel into the enchanted forest. The lake is the swans' neighbourhood, and they have errands to run and lessons to give (they seem very busy a lot of times).
May we look with new eyes of appreciation of the ordinary. For what you see everyday and who you talk to everyday, nothing is ordinary when we view it with an eternal lens.
There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, in the end, "Thy will be done." All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened.
- The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis
I am in study mode. My weekend assignment was drinking tea and studying - prepping all my books and references. I am leading a 4 week study on The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. He was a master of imaginative supposals. He didn't aim to lay out some theological arguments (he was by no means a theologian), but rather to set forth a response to an earlier writer (in this case, William Blake and the thought that surrounded him) by way of a story. He had specific points he wanted to make regarding desire, human nature, and choice.
Lewis brings us into a refrigerium (a medieval thought that souls in hell get to take a holiday in heaven), where we meet characters he encounters who are dealing with some kind of issue (sinful nature) that keeps them from entering deeper into heaven. Does their issues make them smaller, diminished even? Yes, indeed, we see how Lewis depicts them as transparent, ghostly, and sometimes shrinking into nothingness.
But to enter into reality, they must step into the heavenly realm by letting go of whatever they are holding on to. They cannot take an ounce of hell into heaven. It must be left behind. Most of the characters won't let go of what they hold onto, and would rather choose to dwell in hell than stay in heaven. Those who choose to stay go off into the deep heaven with their desires met in ways they couldn't even imagine before.
Lewis divorces hell and heaven - they cannot be the same, or even overlap (as would suggest William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell where he writes about wholeheartedly pursuing desire, and by continuing on in folly we become wise). But to Lewis, they are separate and distinct, and we cannot bring one trinket or souvenir into the other place.
In this book we learn about the elements of choice, desire, human nature, and creating our own reality. The denial of the realness. Or the acceptance of the more real, true reality. The book parallels Dante's Divine Comedy even from the outset - the narrator suddenly finding himself arriving at a bus stop as if in the middle of a dream. Lewis also includes real-life figures in hell, as Dante did, as well as providing a teacher to guide him (his own Virgil is George MacDonald).
The book is a literary response to Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, and Lewis chooses to tell an imaginative supposal in response to Blake. I love how he chooses not just to react to it, but to write a story to show us visually and imaginatively illustrating what he wants to say. Lewis has a masterful way of writing a story to illustrate a deeper thought, which is reflected in his non-fiction, and then he translates the non-fiction into a story that we might be able to relate to in our daily lives. In this case, his sermon "The Weight of Glory" is his non-fiction work that is translated into The Great Divorce.
I have felt a sadness lingering in me this week. My Grandma passed away over the weekend, and she was a special part of my life. She lived in North Carolina, and I spent many trips as a child (every year in Autumn) and in recent years (usually the Summer) up there exploring the beautiful mountains and visiting with Grandma.
Grandma was not into any technology. No computer, no cell phone, nor any device with a screen other than a television. We wrote letters/notes to each other over the years. I was about to write her another letter (I had the stationery out) when the sad news reached me.
In my nightstand drawer I found the Christmas card she sent me, just a few months ago, and in it was this little slip of paper, with her name printed on it, on which she wrote "May all your days be blessed with the presense of an angel watching over you." And the way she spelled presense instead of presence struck me as holding double-meanings. It reminds me that God is with us in every moment, and the spirits of our loved ones are not lost. They stay with us, because they are part of us in some ways. I love that the last note I have from Grandma is a blessing.
I had an inspired inkling to put together a little list of things I learned from my Grandma over the years, as a course of reflection and appreciation for her long life of almost 92 years.
Things I Learned from Grandma:
(whether by observation or experience)
- Appreciate nature. Look at nature.
- Take long walks everyday, but wear cosy shoes.
- Be frugal.
- Write poetry, and share it with others.
- Think independent thoughts.
- Be witty.
- Be content with where you are and what you've been given.
- Pay attention to flowers. Collect them.
- Listen to the birds. Watch them.
- Collect Autumn leaves and make art out of them.
- Write letters like they will never go out of style.
- Live simply.
- Breathe in the mountain air.
- Don't give in to getting all the new technology.
- Pray for others' love and well-being.
- Don't worry about what other people think of you.
- Stay sharp.
- Do all the word searches.
- Do things that make you happy. It may not be what everyone else wants you to do.
A cold wind slips off the grey clouds
Spinning, gliding, dancing down to me
Bundled in layers of wool and scarf.
The cold swirls around me, halted.
Yet I still smile, as the season comes
To appreciate the warmth of a blanket,
Or a cup of hot tea after being outside.
A time of grey-expansed skies
And the cosiness of the indoors
Strike me as some glories of creation
A magical time of imagination
That can spin, glide, and dance
Around in my head all winter long.
Oh how I love the cold days when they do arrive here, and stick around. I might freeze a tad in my old home with wood floors and single-pane windows, but I don't care. The season of winter should be cold and monochrome. We should all wear jackets. May we all feel the warmth of God's presence in our hearts to remind us of His love that never freezes. He is unchanging, unlike the seasons. I have needed this reminder lately. While our surroundings may change, and the people on our lives may change, our Lord is changeless. His love was the same in 900 as it is today, as it will be in 2300.
We are graced with another beautiful, cold day. Cold by Florida standards. I get to wear a warm sweater and layers. It's a joy to me. I am off to the library. It may seem like an unremarkable day to some, but it is not. No day is just another day - for each day is unique and on its own the only day ever like it. So I try to treat each day like it is a special time to pay attention to. Then, I try to spend it doing things that make me smile.
Going to the library makes me smile. I don't go to check out the books (except the books on sale), but I bring my own book, Beowulf (J.R.R. Tolkien's translation and commentary). I order at the cafe - avocado toast and a rose chai. I sit down and crack open the chunky softcover book and dive into more of Tolkien's commentary on the story of Beowulf. I had read this in school so many years ago, and then read again in college, so I knew the story, but I had not appreciated it much until now.
The addition of Tolkien's commentary is hugely helpful. It has felt like being in a lecture with Professor Tolkien as he explains the history and meaning of a passage. He unwinds the language and the words used. It clarifies the story for me, and the deeper meanings. It is here that we get to see the origin of some of the names he uses in The Lord of the Rings, such as Orc and Grima (as in Wormtongue). It's very much like Tolkien to pull names from Old English. Isn't it fun to find the origin of such things? Or am I a complete nerd?
I shall continue to be a nerd, proudly reading and learning. It won't stop. I sit in the library cafe and every other person around me by themselves was reading a book. Hello fellow reader friends!
