What to do when it's 100 degrees

 

What should you do when it is 100 degrees outside with 99% humidity?

Some suggestions:

Learn about the history of angels and ponder if you have a guardian angel or if perhaps you have encountered an angel. I listened to a talk given by the author of this book, Angels, Peter Stanford from St. Paul's Cathedral back in 2019, and was fascinated by the history of angels through time, how it has changed over time, and how they remain a very important aspect for many people. We often glaze over the angels as we read Scripture, yet they play an important role in so many stories from Scripture. I am gaining to newfound appreciation of the angels in all the stories and throughout history. As a bonus, there are many things discussed that mingles with Dante and his angels in The Divine Comedy (which I am also reading now, currently reading Purgatory). I love when readings overlap like that with complimentary studies.

Whatever you do, do not accept an elusive, vague invitation (especially if it arrives on a letter from someone you do not recognize offering a free holiday) to an isolated island off the coast of England unless you want to end up dead. In And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie, that is what happens. Ten strangers are invited to a modern mansion on an island. None of them know who invited them, yet they all have something dark in their past (which you don't, so nothing to worry about). Not long after they all arrive, they start dying. Is the murderer one of them? This was a re-read for me, but it must have been late high school or early college when I first read it. It was so mysterious, intriguing, and creepy, and I loved it. I knew I would want to read it again. This is definitely one where you can collect clues on the way (kind of like "Clue") to try to figure out who the murderer is.

Investigate a murder when a young woman's body is found in the library. It seems like it would be a simple solution, right? Solve the puzzle in The Body in the Library. The murderer would have been part of the household under the assumptions of a simpleton, except nothing in the evidence points to that. Miss Marple is sent for immediately to help shed some light in this strange case, and in her elderly wisdom and keen sense of observation, she is able to see some particular facts that are the hinge to solving this murder. 

Find a cool dark place underground, discovering deep caves, strange caverns, long tunnels, and tree root networks. In Robert MacFarlane's wonderfully enjoyable book, Underland, he recounts his travels to various places around England, Paris, and northern spots of Norway and Greenland, diving into the dark places of the earth. Exploring glaciers, caves, rivers deep underground, and the catacombs of Paris. Along the way, his lyrical writing brings us along learning about how these underground realms were formed, why they are important, and the deep time look at what these places will be for us humans in the coming hundreds/thousands of years. His perspective spans time as we know it, and I love the interweaving of that.

Dante's Flower - Bright Summit of the Hill

 

I am climbing the path round and round the mountain known as purgatory with Dante, encountering the different results of sins along the way, passing through each one and coming out the other side, to remove the 'P' from Dante's forehead (or “peccatum”, Latin for sin or wound. Seven 'P's are placed on his forehead at the start of the journey upon reaching the gate). He begins to feel lighter as he becomes more and more who he was made to be. His true self is coming through as he spirals up and in, closer to the centre of the love of God. This is the most loved and least quoted book of Dante's Divine Comedy, and I am quickly seeing why, as it is becoming my favourite as well. 

This morn I left the abodes of misery
And still in my first life I journey thus,
Though journeying thus I gain the life to be.
- Canto VIII, Purgatory

Oh, the lifting of spirits feels close to my own as he rises up and away from those haunting sins that hold people in a gross embrace. He sees those trapped in it, until they choose for themselves to break out and away from the sin that entraps them, causing delay in their journey.

The guiding light leads Dante onwards, and when he lets his guide and Love lead him thus, he reaches new heights of easier load and faster feet.

Trusting more and more of the journey to God and His goodness represents itself along the way through angels and gatekeepers; he takes the route up and as a result of his trust, and he grows less and less worried and weary.

Dante grows himself, deeper and more aware of the road and the perils of sins, but also the beauty of what God has created for us creatures who fall so low into pits. He sees that he is - 

Safe on the flower-bright summit of the hill,

And further on, Dante has noticed that he feels lighter. An angel had brushed his forehead with his wings and a 'P' was removed. Dante asks Virgil how is it that he feels a lighter load, as something heavy has slipped away from him.

Virgil explains that a 'P' has been removed rubbed clean, and that shall continue as they move through it all and -

Then shall good-will so over-rule thy feet,
That they will climb, and not be merely strong
And uncomplaining, but delight in it.
- Canto XII, Purgatory

Can we possibly delight in the journey? The burden starts heavy, but as we get through it (it must be passed through), and come out, our lightened load gives us the encouragement to continue with a new sense of rigor. I take this to heart as I muse that perhaps some of this happens now. In this life journey we all have these intense trials to overcome, sins to battle and break through their grip, and the round and round feeling that becomes our climb everyday. Do we give up and succumb to the despairing grip of inward selfishness, or do we hope and dare to move through a very perilous mountain pass? Do we trust in the light of God leading ahead? He has gone before us, Christ's path is the one we follow in our climb. His very footprints we step into.

For better waters heading with the wind
My ship of genius now shakes out her sail,
And leaves that ocean of despair behind.
- Canto I, Purgatory

Summer Storm Survey

I am watching a storm roll in. The black clouds look distant, and yet close enough to touch if I stand outside and reach up. Thick and billowy, like plumes of heavy smoke frozen on the sky halfway between tree and atmosphere of space. The wind comes in waves, like rushes of crowds gathering, swooping by with a palpable anticipation. Thunder follows the crowd of winds with a clash of noise and then suddenly all is hushed and still.

But only for a moment. In a flash the trees animate as the winds get under their branches with a jolt. 

Sometimes I cannot tell if it's going to rain. We are caught in between the deep breath before the plunge. The anticipation grows. The storm is hanging aloft, yet it is moving. The thunder grows in sound and frequency, announcing itself. 

I am at my desk to survey the matter. A citizen keen to observe and let the atmosphere brandish all kinds of images and words to tuck away for some use. No good words go to waste with me. I will welcome them and let my afternoon spin with them as they swirl in the air. I will test the words a bit as the words test me in my evaluation study.

One cannot get close to words without learning some of their secrets, while you reveal some of your own to them. It all might emerge later as some complex tale of intrigue and mystery. Indeed, that would be worth your time to pursue.

I am still waiting for the rain to break through, but the thunder strides on.

Summer Days June - July

 

Begin again another month of solemn, sultry, summer days, amidst the ever-heat-filled hours and breaks of soaking rains. Yes, July encompasses all those things, as well as lazy days of such heat you dare not move a muscle. Hot food and drinks take the backburner, as we seek out more of the cold variety to ease our heat-burdens. Though, admittedly,  I simply cannot replace my morning cup of coffee with iced coffee nor my evening peppermint hot tea, so I am a very poor example of living the summer life.

July holds hands with June in that continuity of their presence. We none of us expect much difference from one month to the next, except maybe more storms to watch out for crossing that wide open sea path from Africa. The same kind of intense heat hovers around every nook and corner, and stepping outside risks the need for another shower. Though I am not one of them, most Floridians head to the coast to keep cool, bathing in the sea water and gathering sand into every bag and shoe as a souvenir.

When you are a child, this is all a marvel, and the anticipation of holiday and beach days is a thrill beyond imagining. I envy the child mentality of not caring at all about the summer heat - they will run and play without a care. Doesn't matter that their hair is sticking straight up and their arms and legs are covered in a new skin made of sand.

Even so, we can all learn a bit from the example they set without knowing, and be a little more carefree in the summer. Letting the heat force us to slow down and reimagine our summer days as a child and how adventurous or fun it was. Even if it was not adventurous in the way of travel. I was always home for summer since Dad worked more (lawn maintenance needs escalate when the grass grows an inch every time you blink), but I loved my long days at home being imaginative and creative in my own ways. My episodes of being bored forced me to come up with creative ways to curb that boredom. I believe it is one of the best gifts a child can have for summer. 

Occasionally the rain will come and stay all day. Oh what glorious weather and atmosphere! It is a gift I am thankful for, as I know there are places where a severe drought is so extreme they would do anything for such a soaking rain, and here we are getting the water falling freely from the sky most of the days and our grass, plants, and trees are green and lush.

Until the next cloudburst comes, go appreciate your sun-soaked summery day to the full.

Summer Reading

 

Each of these books could easily warrant their own entire post where I could gush about them in an abundance of words. Instead, you might want to read each of them yourself. In fact, I encourage that. Interestingly, 3 out of 4 here are re-reads for me. I believe the best books are worth reading multiple times.

1. Phantastes by George MacDonald
I have been re-reading this book (for the ?th time?) along with the Rabbit Room, as they post questions and discussion video each week. It does not take much for me to pick up MacDonald - someone just has to mention it and I will go grab it to read again. Especially this book, which baptized the imagination of C.S. Lewis whilst he was still a young atheist. This fantasy book cause him to see beyond the film of the familiar, entering fairyland by way of Anodos (the hero), who is a young man who is lost not only in fairyland but also in himself. We learn with Anodos that in order to grow we have to go through the darkness and make mistakes as we go. He carries an innocence with him, which sometimes falls into the youthful pride of thinking he knows it all. That carries him into trouble, but when he finally gets it, he has grown into the man he was made to be, which is the beauty of the story.

This book has so much depth that I had missed in my previous readings that is coming out more now, and aided by the discussion videos at the Rabbit Room. My appreciation for MacDonald has hit an even deeper level.

2. Dune by Frank Herbert
I don't know if you are excited for the movie coming out, but it is one I am excited to see, and that is a rare thing for me to say about movies. I am the advocate who says the book is always better, and I stand by that notion. The movie does look amazing from what I have seen in the trailer and some interviews. I just had to re-read this one as we get closer to the movie release. 

Dune is a fantasy sci-fi novel published in 1965. It follows the house of Atreides and their move to the planet Arrakis, or Dune. Politically, there is a lot of  turmoil and scheming (mostly revolving around the spice, only harvested on Dune). Paul, the young hero, must learn how to be a leader and recognize he has faults as a human. Environmentally, Dune is a planet of total desert where water is a precious resource - not one drop is wasted. Tears are seen as gifts because tears are precious water. Mystically, a complex created set of beliefs and mysticism span different religions, which parallels a theme of the use and misuse of power. Much of this follows an ancient belief system, contrasting the very futuristic time in which Dune takes place.
"I must not fear - fear is the mind killer" runs the course of the book. It is a perfect epic story for summer. 

3. Five Red Herrings by Dorothy L. Sayers
Classic whodunit mystery of who killed the painter and how was the murder done? Sure, there are many books with this kind of premise, but in the hands of Dorothy, it is always one step above all others, intellectually and complexity. Lord Peter is so fun to follow around and his manservant, Bunter, is an absolute delight to read. I often forget I am reading about a murder, their banter is so good. 

I sometimes get lost in the details being thrown at me in these mysteries. Lord Peter interviews this suspect, then that one, and another one. Soon, you wonder how he can keep track of all the people involved, the timetables of the trains they took, where the bikes were left, what time that suspect drove around that curve in the road. I just hang on and let the mystery take me, and it always takes me into wonder and enjoyment as I try to solve the case. I catch glimpses of details that show up later, and congratulate myself that I was detecting correctly. Then, I am taken for a loop as my weak theory is wrong, until Lord Peter clears it up in the end with a really fun re-play of the entire murder sequence.

4. Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle
I read this book so many years ago, it was time for a re-read, and thanks to my friend Emily for gifting me the book a little while ago, as it caused me to pick it up again. This book is the musings of L'Engle on being creative and a Christian. She often would get asked about how to be a Christian artist. This is her answer to that question - a whole book. It pulls on much of the threads that C.S. Lewis and Dorothy L. Sayers wrote about regarding good work, good writing. There is so much bad art out there labelled as "Christian". It is better to do really excellent work, which does not have to say Jesus in every paragraph. A good writer can say deeply Christian things in a story without mentioning God at all.  Her words have always encouraged me to create with the imaginative tug into the deeper, even if critiqued that it is not what will "sell" in the market.

Coffee and Keats

 

It really is a good idea to start a morning with coffee and Keats. I have been reading through this book of  selected poems of John Keats (1814 - 1820) and so enjoy the progression of his development as a poet. They are placed in chronological order from when he was  ages 20 - 25, and as I read more and more, I see the skill of language used and marvel at the beauty of his imagery. The improvement is remarkable. He had a way with words - his imagination was immense and so ahead of his own life, which sadly ended at age 25.

This poem in particular, titled as "When I have fears that I may cease to be" was actually written in a letter to a friend, as he was sharing his fear of dying (long before he became ill) before his ability to write all that he needed/wanted/desired to write. His creative energies were just growing into who he was made to be. He had decided not to continue his studies of medicine (on the journey to becoming a doctor) but turned to devote his life to writing poetry.

In this short poem, he embodies the fears of all of us who create - that we will not have enough time to create all that we were meant to create. He does it so beautifully, in this sonnet that he models after Shakespeare's sonnets. 

When I have fears that I may cease to be

   Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,

   Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,

   Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace

   Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

   That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

   Of unreflecting love—then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats' best poems are written after he scribbled this poem in a letter. And he produced a lot of poetry in the time before his death. As I read this, as a writer, I feel the same pang of time, knowing that there is so much I need to write. It is not just a passing fancy - oh I hope to write some more one day - it is a deeply rooted purpose in life. I agree with Charlotte Brontë in what she wrote in her journal - "I must write". 

I love how Keats phrases the cloudy symbols above as his inspiration and then never having the ability to trace their shadows with the magic hand of chance. For what is the work of a sub-creator but to take that deep searching for beauty through experimenting with words in the most thoughtful manner?

And oh, how my pen has so much more to glean from my teeming brain. I love that image of the gleaning of the brain, just getting the bits and clips takes time and practice. Just as this collection of poems shows me, in my very long appreciation of Keats, that his poetry grew and improved over time. I read two of his longest poems, Endymion (1817), and then read his later poem Hyperion (1819), and there is a significant difference in the flow and imagery of these poems that makes the latter the better poem by far. That's why the idea of gleaning is so perfect, as a reminder that any skill or talent that we work on is done not in vain. Every little bit that we give to our talent to share with the world might have meaning and purpose well beyond our own time.

Time Present and Time Past

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

- T.S. Eliot, "The Four Quartets"

Time is a funny thing, is it not? It distorts our memories - sometimes it feels to us that time is speeding by so quickly, whilst other times it feels that time is creeping just barely. Like holding infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour, to borrow from William Blake. Sometimes it feels like something happened yesterday, when it was actually 10 years ago that it took place. We are stuck in a sort of time tunnel. We are not actually able to slow it down or speed it up, unless we move away from the fixedness of our planet earth. I won't go into that, but it is fascinating to consider that time is not the same everywhere in our galaxy and universe, but for us it remains linear.

But something simple like a very quick stop at the grassy foot of my old college chapel one morning sets my mind to wondering back into memory of my years past on this campus. Day in day out, walking these paths under the low-ceilinged esplanades to class and into the buildings designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. I appreciated my time in college when I was living on campus. I am a lifetime student in my heart. I loved exploring the buildings and getting to know their history, and I loved learning in the classrooms. 

I was a very studious student, foregoing many social activities to study. Immediately after college I had a little regret not being more social, but now I don't. Because that is not who I am. I really am that studious girl who always has been and always will be happiest whilst wrapped in between pages of good books, and preferably surrounded by books as well. I behold the time I have and seek out that which I do not know, to acquire wisdom through the eyes and words of others. There is simply too much wonderful in our world to learn, read, and ponder.

The campus of cement blocks shaped into buildings with odd alcoves and layers, completed with triangular edges somehow feel like they grow out of the ground, which was Wright's intention. I loved anytime I had a reason to go into the Annie Pfeifer Chapel, pictured here on a gleaming hot morning. It always holds a peaceful stillness held softly in the light streaming in from the tall steeple rising (like a bicycle rack as students used to say). There is comfort in familiar shapes used in utmost creative ways. It somehow holds together time present and time past.

A Poetical Gathering

 

I am just a fly on the wall in the house of painter Robert Haydon in 1817, on that December 28 evening in London when he invited the writers Charles Lamb, William Wordsworth, and John Keats for dinner. What if we somehow could have a recording of the conversation of that dinner? Wouldn't that be something? In our current time, it's nothing to record a meeting with the click of a button. But in 1817? Only what is left behind in letters and journals lives on for us to ponder now.

Haydon was at that time working on the grand painting "Christ's Entry", a piece which he worked on for years, inserting the faces of Wordsworth, Keats, and Lamb, among other historical figures like Newton and Voltaire in the crowd on the side of Christ entering Jerusalem on the donkey. This invitation to dinner was partly to see the progress of the painting that each of these poets were part of. 

You cannot bring up Wordsworth and Keats without also making the connections of the friendships of Coleridge and Shelley, among other poets and writers in London at the time. The first and second generations of the Romantics mingle here, a period in English history that produced some of the most beautiful poetry and thoughts on nature. As a counter to the purely rational reductive Enlightenment period of thought, the Romantics did not look to science but to nature and beauty to find truth. 

In reading this encounter and about the intertwining of their creative lives, I am reminded that there is a real importance of collaboration in the sense of sharing one's work with others, but it does open up the door to receiving critique. Sometimes critique will come through other opinions - Wordsworth did not have the warmest regard for Keats's poem "Endymion" that he was invited to read from on a different evening as an unfinished work. When Keats finished reading a passage, everyone looked to the elder Wordsworth for praise of the younger Keats and he coolly remarked, "A very pretty piece of Paganism." 

Hopefully more often it is praise and encouragement that comes to us through creative friendships. Though it is a very difficult thing to open up one's heart to reveal creative work. When you create something, it is heart and soul that is put into the work, and the aim is work that looks toward a perfected skill. It is always a process of progress and improvement. In just a two year time period from this 1817 dinner, Keats for example will reach his epoch talent, writing poems that are absolute treasures. We study them today as masterpieces (his splendid Odes for example). It is an encouraging thought that in Keats's time he was not fully appreciated. Of course he sadly died of consumption at age 25 and I wonder if he would have seen any of such deserving praise for his work if he had lived longer.

Oh the wondering! Well, it's been an enjoyable evening dropping into a creative-filled dinner discussion. Until next time.

Eventide

 

The sun is setting later each night. It is a slow burn turning orange as it descends from our viewpoint. Even as the sun sets, it stays bright with lingering light for such a long time. I can sit at my desk with a cup of tea and drink two cups before the rays diminish. Long summer days awaken in us a new sense of reality over the hottest months of the year. Trees have burst forth with the greenest leaves. I feel the shift in the air and it invokes a mellow vibe in me; something causes me to linger in thought - maybe it is the extra light. But the eventide falls and the words flow on a particularly windy evening. For now, the evenings have been dry and dusty, allowing a coolness to seep into the strong breezes.

Eventide

A wistful glow dances through leaves

Basking in the refreshing air, I seize

A breath where heart and soul choose a place

Here in the quiet melancholy of grace.

The softness of the air and light

Fills me with an atmospheric delight.

I am in the space between the trees,

Letting a subtle moment fill my needs.

If you look for me, I shall be here,

In my mind, letting in a breezy clear.

Brilliant Storytelling

 

I am thankful that in the last year I have discovered many writers, especially a wonderful, brilliant writer and storyteller, Susanna Clarke. I am absolutely enchanted by her writing, her style, her subtle themes and metaphors that reach into the past from writers, myths, and legends that influenced her. She writes with elegance and magic that I find so often missing from today's writers.

For years I was curious about Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, but had not read it. Yet I wanted to at some point. Then, in September her newest book came out, Piranesi. In the last year I have been more intentional about supporting writers and their new releases as Covid had shut down so many bookshops and events/talks for authors. So in September, my interest was peaked, as this was already an author I wanted to read. 

I ordered Piranesi and read it in a couple days (it's not a long book at all - less than 250 pages), in a mysterious, enchanted, puzzlement of a story wrapped in wonder and imagination I deeply desire in a good book. It is difficult to describe the book without spoiling important things, but all I will say is - it is marvelous. I was left wanting more, and the feeling automatically swept over me that I wanted to read it again. 

The next step was to finally read Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, which I did. You can read my post about it HERE. It was a heavy volume of more than 1,000 pages, and I loved it. I was further enchanted by her talented writing. After that epic book I still wanted more, and discovered that there was one more book available, The Ladies of Grace Adieu, which is a collection of short stories. I just finished reading this collection and feel that want for more yet again. These were all written whilst she wrote Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, and they feel like footnotes from that epic book (if you read it you would have noticed how her footnotes were stories themselves, often extending to the following pages). Indeed, even Jonathan Strange and other familiar characters appear in a few of the stories. The magical charm and wit of each story and her writing in general is sweeping my imagination with wonder-filled stories and I am only sad that there are not more books to explore by her. 

Is there an author you more recently discovered and wish there was more to read by such talent?