TO GROW IS TO BE ANXIOUS [Exile Edition]

Strathmere NJ-- Sept. 2010

2010-10-12T12:13:00.000-04:00

Projection and Identification - Otto Rank

2010-08-21T07:37:00.000-04:00

“The richer–that is, the more varied and complete–the individual’s emotional life, the less is he driven to projection, and the more will he incline to identification. His outlet and satisfaction comes in identifying himself with the emotions of the other. On the other hand, the narrower and more restricted the individual’s emotional life, the more intense will be his fewer emotions, the less will he be inclined to, and capable of, identification–the lack of which he has to compensate for by projection. Projection thus proves to be a compensatory mechanism that adjusts for an inner lack. Identification, on the other hand, is an expression of abundance, of the desire for union, for alliance, for sharing. “

From a letter to Jessie Taft, quoted in Ernest Becker’s Denial of Death, page ix

2010-08-05T05:26:00.002-04:00

2010-07-30T16:04:00.000-04:00

It was as if the earth was bleached each evening and spun dry. Each dawn found less richness and color in the world, the sun’s rays a little dimmer, less warming; the roiling clouds darker, more menacing. In the kennel, the dogs` growls had become whimpers, as if they knew what was to come, something greater than their ferocity. The barn cats seldom ventured from the back stalls; in fact the man realized that he hadn’t seen any cats outside in days. Until the darkness he was greeted at the kitchen door each morning by many of the cats who seemed to be hoping for an early start to breakfast.

ON CREATIVITY AND FAITH

2010-07-13T15:51:00.000-04:00

……the only way to work on perfection is in the form of an objective work that is fully under your control and is perfectible in some real ways. Either you eat up yourself or others around you, trying for perfection, or you objectify that imperfection in a work, on which you then unleash your creative powers. In this sense, some kind of objective creativity is the only answer man has to the problem of life. In this way, he satisfies nature, which asks that he live and act objectively as a vital animal plunging into the world; but he also satisfies his own distinctive human nature because he plunges in on his own symbolic terms and not as a reflex of the world as given to mere physical sense experience. He takes in the world, makes a total problem out of it, and then gives a fashioned, human answer to that problem. This, as Goethe saw in Faust, is the highest that man can achieve.

{Ernest Becker, “The Denial of Death”, page 185.}

Freud also saw the value of creativity in the individual’s struggle to defend himself against being overwhelmed by his knowledge of his mortality. He believed that all of man`s defenses arise from that most primal defense, that of pure repression. Be they hysterical, intellectual, obsessive, compulsive, depressive, etc. postures, man must limit his conscious knowledge of his mortality by restricting his lived experience to a safe existence shared by the vast majority of his common man. Yet Freud, perhaps influenced by his single-minded devotion to his life project, understood sublimation, the ability to cathect neurotic energy into creativity, as the one defensive posture that seemed to have no life-diminishing properties.

Unfortunately, I believe, that very creative process that allows man to live a less “neurotic” life comes with a terrible burden. The very striving to leave something of value behind, to outlive us, brings into clearer focus the dilemma of our mortality. As the Artist, in Rank’s sense, attempts to create, he becomes terrified at his temerity in doing what is God`s work. It is here that many artists shrink from their creative urges, and fall back on their more neurotic defenses in order to shield themselves. Some others bow to their lack of courage through psychotic breaks with reality.

I`ve always found it interesting that Freud and Jung had such terrible panic attacks when approaching Rome. Yet neither man seemed able to relate their terror to the symbology of Rome as the seat of a major religion. Because of his devotion and single-mindedness to psychoanalysis, Freud seemed unable to reach a personal resolution with nature and its Creator. Even Jung, who always relied on God, could still faint away with the burden of life.

For me, what ultimately resolves the terror inherent in sublimation for many artists is their understanding of their place in the Creator’s plan. As Becker describes the insight of Rank and Kierkegaard in regards to creativity and immortality, ……”one should not stop and circumscribe his life with beyonds that are near at hand, or a bit further out, or created by oneself. One should reach for the highest beyond of religion; man should cultivate the passivity of renunciation to the highest powers no matter how difficult it is. Anything less is less than full development, even if it seems like weakness and compromise to the best thinkers”………. {Becker, op cit, page 174.}

Two Creeps!

2010-07-08T15:42:00.000-04:00

Sempre Libera - Traviata Contest - Anna Netrebko

2010-05-24T15:08:00.000-04:00

My Buddy Loneliness

2010-05-19T15:35:00.000-04:00

Loneliness
an active art,
not so easy
on the heart.

It must be nurtured
given life,
too much love
there is no strife.

You must guard against
involvement,
on obsessions you depend,
disallow the pangs of
solitude,
it`s depression that`s your friend.

V 2005

Dolores Deabler Capone Happy Mother's Day REPOST

2010-05-08T03:48:00.000-04:00

My sister Dolores was a study in contrasts. Proud mother, English teacher, Tarot card reader, Poet, Lover.

When she was about 41, her husband died of a heart attack while they were visiting friends. He was Italian and had never permitted her to work outside the home. She was left with little life insurance and 4 teenage children to raise. However, she was also gifted with a fierce determination to succeed and a natural gift for writing.

In the 17 years remaining to her, my sister saw her 3 daughters married and suffered with her son, who endured extensive brain damage from a head-on car accident.

While working full time she started taking college courses and received her bachelor`s degree fron Gwynedd-Mercy College. Continuing with her education, she earned an M.F.A. from Beaver College and finally reached a personal goal; teaching creative writing at night while continuing to work full-time.

I should mention that she wrote a small book on the history of Warrington Township, Bucks County, PA when she was 38 and had never attended a college class. I`m happy to report that it is still listed on Amazon.com!

Dolores was for many years President of the Philadelphia Writer`s Conference and a scholarship is awarded to a poet each year to attend the conference in her name.

The first remembrance I have of her fierce determination occurred when she was about ten and I was about seven. In our bedroom in our Grandmother`s house, we overheard our parents whispering of money problems. There was talk of whether it would be better if she and I were placed in the Catholic Charity`s home. My sister never said a word; at age ten, she grabbed my hand and together we snuck out of the house. For the next two hours Dolores led me to the nearest apartment houses and actually had someone speak to us about renting. I don`t believe my parents would have ever abandoned us, but just imagine the strength in that ten year old girl!

In her late 40`s, Dolores faced the diagnosis of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma and conquered it, facing the treatment with her usual strength, not slowing down more than necessary. Her battle was assisted by the love she had found in a man devoted to her.

Some ten years after she had been free of cancer symptoms, extreme pain caused her to see her Doctor. The cancer had returned in a more virulent form and very early on a hot August morning in 1996, Dolores expired. I was astounded at seeing her in repose, looking very much as her mother did before her, smiling and at peace.

There is so much sadness in seeing someone you love die just as their life seems at its fullest; children grown and settled, education complete, teaching at the college level, deeply in love. And yet, the realization that God had given her the time to realize her goals causes me happiness.

Sebastien and us.

2010-04-23T09:16:00.000-04:00

2010-03-03T13:03:00.002-05:00

In generosity and helping others be like a river.
In compassion and grace be like the sun.
In concealing others' faults be like the night.
In anger and fury be like the dead.
In modesty and humility be like earth.
In tolerance be like the sea.
Either appear as you are or be as you look.
--Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi, 1207-1273

2010-01-12T15:04:00.000-05:00

She leaned forward in the leather chair, her preferred seat, facing the man in 3/4ths profile, as if looking in the distance for something, someone, perhaps just escaping his questioning gaze.

“I don’t know why. It’s just every time I close my eyes, no matter how tired I am, I feel his closeness, smothering…like his presence fouls the air.”

The woman turned to face the man directly, wrenching her hands, then dropping them to her lap. They were soft, delicate, a very light tan, fingers pink ended, now grasping at the hem of her skirt, as if to gauge her worth by its warp.

Sitting in the swivel chair, the man uncrossed his legs to lean towards her, a gesture of concern. He didn’t speak but looked intently at the woman, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. Like a priest behind his screen, sitting in the dark, open to all, accepting of pettiness and depravity, the man seemed capable of weathering time.

“I feel his lips at my throat, then a sharp pain, as if I was getting a needle. I fall into a dream where I’ve become a river, rushing downhill, gorged by winter meltoff, widening my banks, opening myself up. A wolf comes to my side where he may drink and stares at himself in my reflection of him. He drinks of me, then howls, turning his muzzle to the rising moon.”

The woman is flushed, lips and hands shaking and quivering, She beseeches a reply from the man, who remains concerned but impassive.
“Is there more?” he asks, never moving.

“Just the ending. The same as all the others. I wake up in my room to see a shadow leaving through the window. I can hear a dog howling and I feel the puncture wounds in my neck. And the blood on the pillow.”

The man leaned back in his chair, as if to relieve the atmosphere of its tension, his hands folded in his lap, willing a deep breath from her. He closed his eyes on the room, breathing rhythmically, waiting patiently as he must always wait, absorbing her nervousness, feeding on it. “When you close your eyes and perceive that scene, what comes to view?” The man knew from many hours spent with her that the woman was a visual person; her thoughts presented themselves almost as videos, as if on a movie screen, the better to negate their emotional charge. “I don’t know…I see a room, this room. A safe place, like a sacristy, back and forth, this room, a church, …a man. That’s all I see, Doctor. Everything fades away….it’s darkness.”

Looking within himself, the man recognized feelings of boredom, could feel himself stealing away, abandoning his charge. He suppressed a smile as he mused on boredom’s importance in his work. It was one of the signposts he depended on, as a migratory bird can sense from his relative position to the celestial constellations that he remains on track. As always, he tried to estimate how much longer it would take for her to recognize the truth within, to allow herself the terrible knowledge that she is human, that her dark hidden secrets are not hers alone, but part of the burden God has placed with us.

“Does that place bring anything to mind?”

The woman’s eyes seemed feral, over alert, as if guarding her children, swiveling to the room’s dark corners, daring her fears to present themselves. “When I was a child, I always felt especially safe in church. I’m still moved by the scent of incense and candles burning, but I no longer feel comfortable especially, I just enjoy the atmosphere, the incense furling around me, the candlelight flickering…..I always felt I looked my best in candlelight…or moonlight.” She leaned forward, uncrossing her legs, presenting herself. “Do you think women are more alluring in candlelight, Doctor?”

“Why is that important to you, Theresa?”

“Doctor, that’s just a simple question. Is it so hard for you to be human, to answer a simple question?” The woman leaned backwards in the chair, her arms folded across her chest. “With all that I’m paying you’d think I could get an opinion from you that any teenage boy could give!”

The man sat quietly, knowing better than respond. They had been through this cycle of behavior many times and he knew that Theresa would recognize the pattern.

“I know, I know.” The woman sighed, shaking her head in dismay.
”Seductive behavior, rejection, anger. My personal triad. Jesus, am I so fragile?” She looked at the box of tissues on the table between them, then glanced at him, as if expecting his comfort, expecting her reward, as a puppy would sit at her master’s feet,

Rather than respond with a tissue, the man spoke. “And its importance to you?”

She spoke slowly, softly, “I know….” Theresa leaned forward, extracted a tissue and daubed at her eyes, which were not tearful. As if redefining her boundary, gaining her substance. She closed her eyes, withdrawing, processing; her breathing grew deep and measured.

Waiting, the Doctor reflected back on earlier times when Theresa first came to him. A year and a half ago. Theresa had been very depressed following the breakup of her long term relationship with Sean and was hoping for relief from the pain of loneliness and despair that the breakup had engendered. As always, the tricky part of psychotherapy was to offer symptomatic relief yet present the possibility of characterological change. To help Theresa be rid of those circular, downward spiraling thoughts that strip her world of color, yet offer to her the possibility of basic change in her relating to the world; that is, to modify the woman’s ingrained defensive posture so that it less severely restricts growth, maturity and meaning in her life. And, if she is able, to face his own personal anxieties once again in helping her see what it is to be human, to acknowledge her finiteness.

The man’s thinking was interrupted by Theresa. Smiling, she looked at him, then posed, “But what do you make of the blood? If it’s all a dream, what of the blood on the pillow? And the puncture marks?” She gently opened the bow that fastened the silk scarf around her neck, baring the puncture marks on the right side of her neck to his view.

Strathmere NJ Sept 09

2009-10-18T15:52:00.000-04:00

THE APPLE

2009-08-21T13:45:00.001-04:00

The Apple

Attend the keening of the night,
let the shadows come alive,
to speak through masks of gossamer
the Truth for which we strive.

They might weep for pasts constrained
by characterological lies,
and hide in thoughts of oracles
yet in Gods our hope belies.

Repress, obsess, depress, aggress
our defenses gone awry,
the gift in Eden’s apple
ego’s death can’t be denied.

V2009

"THE CAVE"

2009-05-12T15:54:00.002-04:00

Paleolithic Bulls and Other Animals Crowd Calcite Walls at Lascaux, France

Poetry is so hard

without metaphor or simile.

Nature escapes me

Rhya’s earth, an illusion.

I rub my eyes and sigh

"You know no words".

What drives this need

to sit in quietness and pain?

What need at Lascaux

to picture deer and bull?

Just a bursting!

Ah! the humanness of it!

The rapture, when words were few.

Requiem by John Updike

2009-05-02T07:20:00.001-04:00

It came to me the other day:

Were I to die, no one would say,

“Oh, what a shame! So young, so full

Of promise — depths unplumbable!”

Instead, a shrug and tearless eyes

Will greet my overdue demise;

The wide response will be, I know,

“I thought he died a while ago.”

For life’s a shabby subterfuge,

And death is real, and dark, and huge.

The shock of it will register

Nowhere but where it will occur.

— JOHN UPDIKE

ON DIALYSIS

2009-04-03T11:54:00.000-04:00

A living sentence
to a machine
that gargles and spits,
cleansing the blood.

Ever alert to beeps
that may signal disaster
or a blip of nothing,
sleep comes slowly.

Oh! these wonderful people
and their dignity,
never touched by the tubes
tying them to reality.

V

Existence

2009-02-24T13:59:00.002-05:00

In his seminal works, “The Denial of Death” and “Escape From Evil”, published posthumously,Ernest Becker ponders the central problem of human existence, the human as part animal-part god. We are that which has self knowledge as the Gods, yet are aware that we are flesh and blood and must die. It is that self awareness of our mortality that drives us to attempt to transcend our fate through the value we place in certain cultural institutions. The power of the state and religion are poignant examples of our attempts to identify with immortal institutions, to become something larger than oneself. And yet, Becker ponders why the destructiveness and evil in our history, why such viciousness in the name of our cultural institutions? For him and for me, the answer lies in that dichotomy of god-animal that separates us from the unthinking, that gift from the Creator so exquisitely described in the Book of Genesis. We are the animal that must feel heroic in order to transcend death anxiety, yet are inundated with guilt by our very heroism, our very identification with the cultural institutions of our society. It is guilt at its most primitive level, that which is associated with our feeble attempts to become god-like, to become more than animal. Becker suggests that it is our expiation of guilt that has led our cultural institutions to engage in countless wars, to sacrifice millions of our kind in service to our own mortality. Those within our ranks who question the “rightness” of our value systems must be persecuted; countries with different ideologies must be destroyed. And yet, through the bloodshed and destruction, a most central part of us realizes the illusion and fetishism inherent in this scapegoating. These destructive acts offer only temporary relief from our knowledge that we are less than Gods, that someday soon we will all die. Within these wars and murders I believe there are many more victims than the sacrificed.

V2008

2009-01-28T18:11:00.000-05:00

SANDY AND SEBASTIEN

2009-01-13T16:00:00.000-05:00

Milo`s Brother, SPIKE

2009-01-12T12:51:00.000-05:00

MILO

2009-01-09T09:27:00.000-05:00

2009-01-01T10:54:00.000-05:00

As he lay in his coffin, Alucard pondered how to explain to

Carrie the depth of aloneness he felt as vampire. “Do you know the feeling you have upon awakening? In that instant when you are truly alone? There is that brief second before the people return, before you are able to orient yourself to that which surrounds you, before all of the data of previous perceptions are reloaded. It is a fearful time, that instant when all that defines your oneness is nonexistent. It is the closest that humans can approach death. For humans, ego is what is of primary importance when they try to imagine life everlasting. As they view infinity, it is always from the perception of self; there is simply no other way to experience it.

V2008

VERMONT: Summer 2008

2008-12-26T15:45:00.000-05:00

"On Love" Excerpt from "Vampire Book 2; Carrie"

2008-12-24T08:39:00.003-05:00

While Carrie was touring the Chateau Versailles with Tristan, Alucard lay in his coffin, safe from the morning light. He reflected back on last evening, the most magical night of his hundreds of years. The pleasure it gave him to see the Versailles Gardens through Carrie`s eyes.

At first, he was fascinated by his nervousness. This was something new to him. Would Carrie find him attractive? That would be too much to ask. She knew him only as vampire, a bloodthirsty heathen. What could she find in him that would not repulse her?

And yet, as he shared the Gardens with her, he found her animated, smiling! After he presented her with the Sun King`s guidebook, and she touched his arm, the ache within him blossomed into something else. Something he no longer had words to describe.

What is it that the poets are always reaching for? How do you describe this feeling? It is not want, nor need, though this is part of it. Nor is it lust, nor need of possession. It is something more!

Alucard pondered, what is it for me? It feels like an opening up, a need to give pleasure. The moment when Carrie touched his arm caused such bliss! To see her smile, and know I contributed to it. Perhaps the need to give pleasure is closest!

In the truest sense, he felt the need to please her, to make her happy. Only through her happiness could he feel fulfilled. Perhaps that is love.

Xmas Cactus

2008-12-22T11:16:00.000-05:00

Love & Despair

2008-11-14T12:11:00.002-05:00

She lies amid the promises and pillows

on her side, fetally.

Nightdress riding her thigh and haunches,

exposing that which drove him to her.

The scent of her collides with shame

over his nature and acts.

Or was it a dream, her whispers of sad refusal.

He feels the cold leeching from her hips, shivers,

then joins her to him under covers, encircles her,

his fingers as a snake's tongue, searching, tasting,

the warmth of her breast a chimera.

He feels the cold impaling steel,

dips his fingers in the holy font,

and blesses himself in crimson.

V c2008

LEFT BEHIND

2008-11-11T17:41:00.001-05:00

The eve of death disturbs the phone
of sleeping son and love alone.
Hospice calls a moment past,
the agony unshared, yet to be devoured.

As a stumbling alerts us to the pain
that will inevitably come,
yet begs our balance and resolve,
a futile plea to immortality.

And later, after public utterance
and tearful countenance
do they smile at motes of dust
and bow to God’s reprieve?

V c2008

Fetishism and Addiction

2008-09-14T15:07:00.004-04:00

All fetishes and addictions are life-limiting attempts to fulfill personal strivings for creative heroism in service to the denial of death anxiety.
V T Deabler, 2008.

On Creativity

2008-06-09T15:46:00.001-04:00

"……the only way to work on perfection is in the form of an objective work that is fully under your control and is perfectible in some real ways. Either you eat up yourself and others around you, trying for perfection, or you objectify that imperfection in a work, on which you then unleash your creative powers. In this sense, some kind of objective creativity is the only answer man has to the problem of life. In this way, he satisfies nature, which asks that he live and act objectively as a vital animal plunging into the world; but he also satisfies his own distinctive human nature because he plunges in on his own symbolic terms and not as a reflex of the world as given to mere physical sense experience. He takes in the world, makes a total problem out of it, and then gives a fashioned, human answer to that problem. This, as Goethe saw in Faust, is the highest that man can achieve."
{Ernest Becker, “The Denial of Death”, page 185.}

Freud also saw the value of creativity in the individual`s struggle to defend himself against being overwhelmed by his knowledge of his mortality. He believed that all of man`s defenses arise from that most primal defense, that of pure repression. Be they hysterical, intellectual, obsessive, compulsive, depressive, etc. postures, man must limit his conscious knowledge of his mortality by restricting his lived experience to a safe existence shared by the vast majority of his comman man. Yet Freud, perhaps influenced by his single-minded devotion to his life project, understood sublimation, the ability to cathect neurotic energy into creativity, as the one defensive posture that seemed to have no life-diminishing properties.

Unfortunately, I believe, that very creative process that allows man to live a less “neurotic” life comes with a terrible burden. The very striving to leave something of value behind, to outlive us, brings into clearer focus the dilemma of our mortality. As the Artist, in Rank`s sense, attempts to create, he becomes terrified at his temerity in doing what is God`s work. It is here that many artists shrink from their creative urges, and fall back on their more neurotic defenses in order to shield themselves. Some others bow to their lack of courage through psychotic breaks with reality.

I`ve always found it interesting that Freud and Jung had such terrible panic attacks when approaching Rome. Yet neither man seemed able to relate their terror to the symbology of Rome as the seat of a major religion. Because of his devotion and single-mindedness to psychoanalysis, Freud seemed unable to reach a personal resolution with nature and its Creator. Even Jung, who always relied on God, could still faint away with the burden of life.

For me, what ultimately resolves the terror inherent in sublimation for many artists is their understanding of their place in the Creator`s plan. As Becker describes the insight of Rank and Kierkegaard in regards to creativity and immortality, ……”one should not stop and circumscribe his life with beyonds that are near at hand, or a bit further out, or created by oneself. One should reach for the highest beyond of religion; man should cultivate the passivity of renunciation to the highest powers no matter how difficult it is. Anything less is less than full development, even if it seems like weakness and compromise to the best thinkers”……….{Becker, op cit, page 174.}

FURTHER.........

2008-05-01T16:14:00.000-04:00

“Why is that important to you, Theresa?”

“Doctor, that’s just a simple question. Is it so hard for you to be human, to answer a simple question?” The woman leaned backwards in the chair, her arms folded across her chest. “With all that I’m paying you’d think I could get an opinion from you that any teenage boy could give!”

The man sat quietly, knowing better than respond. They had been through this cycle of behavior many times and he knew that Theresa would recognize the pattern.

“I know, I know.” The woman sighed, shaking her head in dismay.
”Seductive behavior, rejection, anger. My personal triad. Jesus, am I so fragile?” She looked at the box of tissues on the table between them, then glanced at him, as if expecting his comfort, expecting her reward, as a puppy would sit at her master’s feet,

Rather than respond with a tissue, the man spoke. “And its importance to you?”

She spoke slowly, softly, “I know….” Theresa leaned forward, extracted a tissue and daubed at her eyes, which were not tearful. As if redefining her boundary, gaining her substance. She closed her eyes, withdrawing, processing; her breathing grew deep and measured.

Waiting, the Doctor reflected back on earlier times when Theresa first came to him. A year and a half ago. Theresa had been very depressed following the breakup of her long term relationship with Sean and was hoping for relief from the pain of loneliness and despair that the breakup had engendered. As always, the tricky part of psychotherapy was to offer symptomatic relief yet present the possibility of characterological change. To help Theresa be rid of those circular, downward spiraling thoughts that strip her world of color, yet offer to her the possibility of basic change in her relating to the world; that is, the woman’s ingrained defensive posture intended to alleviate anxiety that also severely restricts growth, maturity and meaning in her life. And, if she is able, to face his own anxieties once again in helping her see what it is to be human, to acknowledge her finiteness.

The Story Expanded [for my one reader, T.J.}

2008-04-18T17:08:00.004-04:00

She leaned forward in the leather chair, her preferred seat, facing the man in 3/4ths profile, as if looking in the distance for something, someone, perhaps just escaping his questioning gaze.

“I don’t know why. It’s just every time I close my eyes, no matter how tired I am, I feel his closeness, smothering…like his presence fouls the air.”

The woman turned to face the man directly, wrenching her hands, then dropping them to her lap. They were soft, delicate, a very light tan, fingers pink ended, now grasping at the hem of her skirt, as if to gauge her worth by its warp.

Sitting in the swivel chair, the man uncrossed his legs to lean towards her, a gesture of concern. He didn’t speak but looked intently at the woman, waiting for her to gather her thoughts. Like a priest behind his screen, sitting in the dark, open to all, accepting of pettiness and depravity, the man seemed capable of weathering time.

“I feel his lips at my throat, then a sharp pain, as if I was getting a needle. I fall into a dream where I’ve become a river, rushing downhill, gorged by winter meltoff, widening my banks, opening myself up. A wolf comes to my side where he may drink and stares at himself in my reflection of him. He drinks of me, then howls, turning his muzzle to the rising moon.”

The woman is flushed, lips and hands shaking and quivering, She beseeches a reply from the man, who remains concerned but impassive.

“Is there more?” he asks, never moving.

“Just the ending. The same as all the others. I wake up in my room to see a shadow leaving through the window. I can hear a dog howling and I feel the puncture wounds in my neck. And the blood on the pillow.”

The man leaned back in his chair, as if to relieve the atmosphere of its tension, his hands folded in his lap, willing a deep breath from her. He closed his eyes on the room, breathing rhythmically, waiting patiently as he must always wait, absorbing her nervousness, feeding on it. “When you close your eyes and perceive that scene, what comes to view?” The man knew from many hours spent with her that the woman was a visual person; her thoughts presented themselves almost as videos, as if on a movie screen, the better to negate their emotional charge. “I don’t know…I see a room, this room. A safe place, like a sacristy, back and forth, this room, a church, …a man. That’s all I see, Doctor. Everything fades away….it’s darkness.”

Looking within himself, the man recognized feelings of boredom, could feel himself stealing away, abandoning his charge. He suppressed a smile as he mused on boredom’s importance in his work. It was one of the signposts he depended on, as a migratory bird can sense from his relative position to the celestial constellations that he remains on track. As always, he tried to estimate how much longer it would take for her to recognize the truth within her, to allow herself the terrible knowledge that she is human, that her dark hidden secrets are not hers alone, but part of the burden God has placed with us.

“Does that place bring anything to mind?”

The woman’s eyes seemed feral, over alert, as if guarding her children, swiveling to the room’s dark corners, daring her fears to present themselves. “When I was a child, I always felt especially safe in church. I’m still moved by the scent of incense and candles burning, but I no longer feel comfortable especially, I just enjoy the atmosphere, the incense furling around me, the candlelight flickering…..I always felt I looked my best in candlelight…or moonlight.” She leaned forward, uncrossing her legs, presenting herself. “Do you think women are more alluring in candlelight, Doctor?”

2008-03-20T17:02:00.001-04:00

She leaned forward in the leather chair, her preferred seat, facing the man in 3/4ths profile, as if looking in the distance for something, someone, perhaps just escaping his questioning gaze.

“I don’t know why. It’s just every time I close my eyes, no matter how tired I am, I feel his closeness, smothering…like his presence fouls the air.”

The woman is flushed, lips and hands shaking and quivering, She beseeches a reply from the man, who remains concerned but impassive.

“Is there more?” he asks, never moving.

MELANCHOLY

2008-03-06T15:14:00.005-05:00

Like earthworms blindly burrowing,
The demons probe in fertile soil,
Inherent nature driving them
To feast on grains of self-recoil.

Ah child! When the nightmares
Seduce you to awakening,
Loathing, your illusion,
Obsessed, incurved, enveloping.

V,c 2008

A PRINCESS FABLE

2008-02-28T17:05:00.002-05:00

A Princess Fable

“Tell me of
your wondrous stories”
she begged.

“You could always make
my heart aflutter,
as on a precipice.”

“Smiling, holding out
your hand,
tempting me to
the escarpment.”

Once upon a time there was a Princess so lovely, so beautiful, that her very presence disturbed the tranquility of her father’s kingdom. Even as a child she mesmerized the royal court; her father the King had to raise his voice to break the spell she held over his lords and ladies. Very little work was being accomplished in his daily audiences and the King had to find other diversions for his daughter. The choices were few as her guards, though heartfully devoted to her welfare, proved unable to perform their service when in her presence.

The Princess seemed to awaken a feeling of tranquility wherever she appeared; the food vendors and farmers in the marketplace would fall mute and become statue-like as she strolled by. She soon learned not to smile in public, the faintest glimmering of happiness on her face brought such joy to the common folk that they swooned and collapsed at the elation that filled their hearts.

As the Princess grew to be a young woman, the King could no longer allow her freedom of movement in his kingdom. As much as he loved his daughter he was responsible for the wealth and security of his kingdom and the Princess` very presence produced only happiness and stupor in his subjects.

The King thought to himself, “Oh, if only the Queen hadn’t died giving birth to our daughter. She would know what to do.” The Princess was an only child which intensified the King’s worries. What would happen when he died? Princess Elaina`s beauty engendered slavish devotion throughout the land, from the highest lord to the lowliest peasant, yet their love for her seemed to drain their life’s energy.

And so it came to pass that the King had a beautiful castle built on the highest mountain in the country. He surrounded it by a large moat and defended it with a cadre of his personal Royal Guard who were forbidden to enter the castle. Within were the Princess Elaina and her personal servants, who through close personal contact over many years were able to serve her while remaining upright if not overly alert.

On the Princess` birthday, in July of each year, the King issued a proclamation to all of the neighboring royalty. If any young man of royal blood was able to remain sensible and alert while in his daughter’s presence for one hour he would be granted the Princess` hand in marriage. Within two years every eligible bachelor from all of the neighboring kingdoms had presented themselves to her.

One young Prince, from the kingdom of Neder, seemed to have not succumbed to her beauty and the King’s hopes were raised for a marriage. The Prince had taken a magic potion given to him by his court sorcerer which clouded his vision. He was able to approach the princess and sit closely by her and, as an hour in her presence was nearing, he boldly spoke to her.

“My dear Princess Elaina. Your father has promised your hand to anyone of royal blood who is able to withstand the temptation of your beauty for an hour. It has now been fifty five minutes and I remain alert and by your side. May I have your consent to this marriage?”

Elaina spoke the one word “Yes” and the Neder prince fell to the floor in a deep swoon. In his high anxiety, he had never considered the love and happiness that one simple word from her would release. After the Neder prince’s failure there seemed to be no one left who had the temerity to be in her presence.

Until Siegfried!

Siegfried’s reputation preceeded him wherever he traveled. A renowned poet, there were many myths that surrounded his heritage. It was said that he was the grandson of Wotan, the great warrior King who ruled all of the mighty kingdoms across the ocean.

With Nothung, the magical sword he was able to forge in order to slay the evil dragon Fafner, Siegfried roamed the world in search of his destiny. His grandfather had granted Siegfried many virtues including an inability to know fear and it was this fearlessness that led to his confrontation with Wotan.

The great King was aware of his grandson’s destiny and confronted him when Siegfried was about to embark on his journey across the ocean. Siegfried did not recognize his grandfather and insolently broke Wotan`s spear with one blow from Nothung. Wotan withdrew, leaving the fate of the world in Siegfried’s hands.

In the new world Siegfried disguised himself as a poet and traveled throughout the lands, always on the alert for circumstances that would allow his destiny to be fulfilled. His reputation as a poet spread far and wide and he was granted audiences in the Royal Courts of every country. And so it came to pass that Siegfried learned of the plight of the beautiful Princess Elaina; he traveled to her land and was granted an audience with her father the King.

Siegfried explained to the King how he had learned of his destiny. When he had slain the dragon Fafner, on drawing his sword from the corpse, his hands were burned by the dragon’s blood. He instinctively put his hands to his mouth and upon tasting the blood was immediately able to understand the song of a woodbird that had perched patiently while Fafner was slain.

The bird explained that Siegfried would one day meet the most beautiful of princesses, one who was so lovely that she lived her life as if surrounded by fire. Through his words he would capture her love and they would fulfill their destinies. The King was very excited by the tale told to him and he asked Siegfried to reveal their future to him. The young Prince could only reply that the woodbird had left him with the omen that their union would bring “light-bringing love, and laughing death”.

The King was puzzled. “Do you understand the meaning of this omen?”

“No, my Lord. I only know that my destiny and that of the Princess Elaina are intertwined.” Siegfried bowed to the King, asking “Sire, do I have your permission to present myself to your daughter?”

The King placed his hand upon Siegfried’s shoulder. “My son, it will be my greatest pleasure if you were to win my daughter’s heart. Go to her now, and Godspeed!” The King hurriedly wrote a short note and gave it to the Prince. “This note will grant you access to Elaina`s castle. Present it to the guardian of the moat and the drawbridge will be lowered.”

Siegfried withdrew from the King’s presence, rushing to mount his horse for the ride to the Princess` castle. By the time Siegfried reached the castle the sun had descended behind the mountain on which it was standing. As Siegfried paused, pondering the significance of his meeting with the Princess Elaina, a small woodbird called to him from a rosebush directly in front of him.

“Coo, coo”, it said. “Have you come to face your destiny, Siegfried?”

“I have, dear bird. Yet I must ask you for assistance. Can you explain these words to me, ‘light bringing love, and laughing death’?”

“Coo, coo”, the woodbird responded. “I see you remember me, oh Prince. I will offer you half the puzzle. You must sleep here tonight and approach the castle just before dawning. At first light you must be at the Princess` side. If you awaken her with a kiss, Elaina`s powers of beauty may be muted. In her languor, you may use the potency in your poetry to win her heart.”

“Oh, thank you, kind bird. And what do you see of my chances?”

The woodbird replied, “Coo, coo” and flew away into the night sky.

The next morning, just before dawn, Siegfried presented the King’s note to the guard of the moat. The drawbridge was quickly lowered and Siegfried entered the castle and was given instructions to the Princess` chamber. He dismissed the guard at her chamber door and softly, silently opened the door to the Royal rooms.

It was very dim inside, the only light coming from the dawning just now blanching the night sky. Siegfried crept to the bed sitting directly under the open windows, smelling the perfume of jasmine that was growing ivy like on the small veranda.

Looking down on the bed, Siegfried was able to distinguish the form of a young woman lying on her side facing the night sky. Her blonde hair seemed to shimmer on the pillows as it reflected the sun’s first awakenings. Eyes closed, the Princess breathed softly, just the hint of a smile on her lips.

Siegfried bent closely to her and gently kissed that smile. He could feel the Princess stirring at his touch and he spoke the words that he begged would win her heart. “Please don’t be afraid, my Princess. Your father the King has granted me permission to try to win your heart. Before opening your eyes, I beg you hear my words.”

Elaina lay still, only a quivering on her lips confirming her wakefulness.

“Last evening while approaching your castle, I was met by a woodbird who sang to me from a rosebush. It spoke of your beauty and told me to awaken you with a kiss. The bird also said that I should try to win your love with the voice of my heart. And so, hear is my appeal."

"My name is Siegfried; I am a poet and a warrior. I have never felt fear before this day. It is such a strange feeling! And what is it that brings me to my knees in supplication? Only a brushing of your lips, the merest tasting. I fear for my happiness if I was forever denied that pleasure. And yet I am more fearful for you. I hope you can understand, it is our destiny to love each other. There is no one else on this earth that will be more faithful, more passionate to you. My heart vibrates at the thought of us. Can you feel it? A murmuring within you, like a woodbird`s call, ‘Coo coo---coo coo’. I come to you at dawn’s light to protect my soul from bursting.”

Siegfried withdrew from the bed, standing at the open windows. “Elaina, oh such a word! A name to inspire the poorest soul, yet here I stand, babbling on, saying nothing. I must try one last time.” Closing his eyes, sensing only the sweet smell of jasmine, Siegfried continued:

Lovingly,
I kiss your lips,
Caressing
So soft
I’m afraid of bruising.

Your hair,
Blonde as wheat,
My fingers
long to glean.

Eyes smiling
Sparkling---
Dazzling
my heart.

As he stood in the gathering light, Siegfried felt a tingling in his right hand, then realized Elaina had risen from her bed and was standing beside him. She had placed her hand in his and had moved closer to him. He could feel a gentle pressure where she had encircled her arm with his, then felt, with all his senses, the rapture of her head resting on his shoulder.

He turned his head to her, just inches, and the smell of jasmine was replaced by her fragrance. The redolence drew him to the Princess` hair and he breathed deeply of her. His sigh seemed to release the moment she looked upwards at him and Siegfried gathered her in his arms. Their first kiss was gentle, just a touch, then their eyes met. Siegfried kissed the moisture escaping from her eyes, then held her closely, his left hand gently immersed in her hair.

“Oh Elaina, how I’ve longed for this moment. Could you love me?”

“I do love you, Siegfried. With all my heart and soul.”

“Then, we will be married, my love?”

“Yes, my darling, but first, the words.”

“I love you, my Princess, and I will do everything in my power to make you proud of me. With you by my side, our destinies will be fulfilled.”

As he spoke these words, a black butterfly flew through the widow and alighted on Siegfried’s arm. Elaina drew back with a gasp and cried, “Oh no! Please don’t visit us now!”
Siegfried brushed the butterfly off his shoulder and said “Don`t be alarmed, my love. It’s only a butterfly and can’t harm you.”

“Oh, but Siegfried, it spoke to me. Didn’t you hear it?”

“No my beloved. And its words?”

“Just these, ‘light bringing love and laughing death’. Do you know its meaning?”

Siegfried drew Elaina close to him. “It’s nothing to concern you, Elaina. Just an omen I’ve heard twice before. Words that might have had power at one time. But no longer. Our love renders these foolish words meaningless!”

Although the Princess remained alarmed at the spoken words of the black butterfly, Siegfried drew her attention to a treasure he took from his pocket. Opening the drawstrings of a small leather purse, he withdrew the most captivating golden ring. The ring seemed to draw the dawn’s rays directly into itself, its glimmering making it seem almost alive.

Siegfried took Elaina`s left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “This ring, along with my magical helmet, are the only spoils I allowed myself after slaying the dragon Fafner. As long as you wear it, our souls will never be apart.”

As the couple embraced there was a knocking on the door, followed by the laughing voice of Elaina`s father. “Come, come, you lovebirds. The sun is risen and you have been together since the cock`s crow. May I announce to the Kingdom that we have a marriage?”

Elaina ran to the door, opening it and falling into the King’s arms. “Oh father, please tell the world of our love and allow our union as soon as possible.”

The King beckoned Siegfried to his side and led them both to the gates of the castle. Three horses awaited, including Elaina`s beloved Sebastien, and surrounded by guards the royal party rode to the King’s castle. At the morning audience of his Royal Court the King announced his daughter’s marriage to the foreign Prince, to be celebrated in two month’s time.

Amid the jubilation there was one man who seemed more subdued. The Prince of Neder felt foolish and envious. “That should be me by the Princess` side”, he thought. “This man hardly knows her and is a foreigner to our lands. I swear to God that this marriage will not take place, in sixty days or ever. Two months time will allow me to travel across the waters and learn all that is needed to know to defeat this Prince. Siegfried is but a man and every man has a weakness. His secret will lead to his death and my marriage to the Princess. This I pledge to all that is Sacred.”

The next two months found the entire Kingdom in a whirl of preparation for the long anticipated day. The King issued a Royal proclamation officially announcing the marriage and inviting the Royal Houses of all the known Kingdoms to join them in the celebration. Princess Elaina was very busy planning the festivities with her entourage and Siegfried filled his days with hunting in the forests of the kingdom.

The first few days he found it impossible to be alone as wherever he rode he could feel eyes upon him, the savior of the Royal line of the kingdom. In order to gain anonymity and some time to himself, Siegfried began wearing Tarnhelm, the magic helmet he had taken from the dragon Fafner`s plunder. While wearing Tarnhelm he could assume the identity of any man and he found the freedom it allowed him invigorating.

About a month before the wedding he was spending the morning trailing the spoor of a wild boar in the deep forest when he was forced to give up the hunt by a thick bramble of blackthorn bush. Siegfried bowed to the ending of the trail, acknowledging the boar’s cunning and he sat beneath a giant oak tree to have his lunch. After eating he leaned against the oak tree and closed his eyes, thinking of his love, her visage now his constant companion.

He was awakened from his reverie by the chirping of a woodbird. “Coo coo” it said and came to rest on the blackthorn. Siegfried smiled as he recognized the bird that he had met twice before. “Good morning, little one. How did you know it was me?”

The little bird seemed to smile. “Hail, oh Prince, you must remember. I was with you when you slew Fafner the dragon and first put on Tarnhelm. Its mysteries cannot disguise you from me. And I must congratulate you on your engagement. Princess Elaina wears the magical ring proudly!”

Siegfried smiled at the little woodbird. “The ring of the Niebelung holds no magic for me, gentle one. Only my Grandfather Wotan can unleash its powers. Its only enchantment to me is the happiness it brings to my love’s eyes.” Siegfried sat upright, staring at the woodbird intently. “Gentle one, will you now tell me of the meaning of the second part of the omen, the words ‘and laughing death’?”

“This much I can tell you, oh Prince. On the day of your wedding someone will die. The last thing this person will hear before expiring is the killer’s laughter.”

It took all of Siegfried’s control to remain sitting as he asked the little bird “Is there some threat to the Princess? Will someone try to harm her?”

The woodbird replied “Coo coo” and flew over the blackthorn, disappearing down the boar’s trail.

A week before the wedding, the Neder Prince returned from his trip to the lands across the waters. In his wanderings he had stopped in many towns, offering reward for any information about Siegfried.

Although his fame as a mighty warrior was known far and wide, very little was known of Siegfried`s personal life or heritage. However his informants generally agreed on one fact; the Prince must travel further east until he reached the banks of a mighty river. It was in this land where the tales of Siegfried`s heroic exploits had first originated.

The Neder Prince traveled another four days before reaching the banks of a majestic river. It was early evening and exhausted, the Prince fell asleep next to the water. Some time in the darkest night he was awakened by the sweetest song. At first he thought he must be dreaming as the roaring of the river would drown any human voices. However, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, the Neder Prince saw a glowing in the river. Within the light were the figures of three women staring at him and softly singing.

“We are the Rhinemaidens, owners of the magic ring. That which has been taken from us. Have you been sent to help us reclaim our future?”

The Prince was enchanted by the beauty of their voices and confessed “I may have knowledge of such a ring. Could it be in the possession of the hero Siegfried?”

The Rhinemaidens sang in reply, “We have heard the tale of Siegfried`s slaying of the dragon Fafner and of his taking ownership of the ring and of the magic helmet Tarnhelm. Oh Prince, do you know where Siegfried can be found? Can you help us regain our ring?”

“I will do all I can to see that you once again possess the ring but first, tell me more of the magic helmet.”

“Tarnhelm has the power to permit the wearer to assume the figure of any human, the better to hide from his enemies.”

The Neder Prince smiled and asked, “And are there tales of Siegfried`s strengths and weaknesses?”

The Rhinemaidens seemed to confer, though no words were spoken. “You will help us? You will return the ring?”

“I give you my word as Johann, Prince of Neder. With your assistance I will defeat Siegfried and gain the hand of the Princess who is wearing your ring. The ring will then be returned to you.”

Replying, the Rhinemaidens sang, “The hero`s greatest strength and weakness are like hand in glove. He is able to wield the great sword Nothung because he knows no fear, a gift granted to him by his grandfather, the God Wotan. To balance this endowment Wotan left him with but one weakness; since a man who knows no fear will never retreat, the only way he can be harmed is by direct injury to his back.”

“Thank you, ladies of the Rhine. I will return with the magical ring.” Feeling energized and refreshed, Johann bowed to the Rhinemaidens and turned to mount his steed. As he was preparing to begin his journey home he heard their final song.

“Heed this, oh Prince. If you are approached by a Wanderer with a broken spear or a dwarf named Alberich, continue on your way. In either of their hands, the golden ring could cause the end of the world.”

The Neder Prince returned home without incident, arriving one week before the Princess` wedding. He had just enough time to complete the preparations for his revenge.

On the day of the celebration, Johann arrived at the Cathedral with his father the Neder King. The Nederland was of such importance that their entourage was given the prized first pew to view the wedding. Moreover, as an attempt to assuage any ill feelings over Johann`s rejection as the Princess` suitor, the Neder Prince had been selected by the Princess` father to be best man.

After seeing his father seated, Johann joined the wedding party in the waiting rooms at the entrance to the Cathedral. Siegfried and his ushers were gathered in the smaller room to the right and Johann approached the groom.

“Good morning Siegfried. What a perfect day for your wedding. I just want you to know that I have no hard feelings towards this wedding. You have won the Princess` heart fairly and it is my great pleasure to serve as your best man.”

“Thank you, Johann” replied Siegfried. “Your father is the King`s most trusted friend and I`m proud to have you bear witness to our wedding.” Siegfried extended his hand in greeting and Johann shook it as the Princess` father entered the room.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Johann spoke, “Since the Princess is already wearing the golden ring, my opportunity to serve you as best man is limited. Please, Siegfried. At least let me carry your helmet Tarnhelm to the altar. I pledge to guard it with my life.”

Siegfried seemed undecided but under the mounting marital pressures he gave Tarnhelm to the Neder Prince before turning to greet the King. Johann smiled within himself, “With Tarnhelm, my plan is complete and only awaits the moment!”

As the King left the room the Cathedral`s bells began pealing, announcing the wedding procession. The ushers lined up and began their walk down the aisle, Siegfried being preceded by Johann carrying the magical helmet Tarnhelm.

As they waited at the altar the bells silenced and an orchestra in the balcony began playing a wedding march. The Princess` attendants strolled down the aisle, strewing jasmine flowers in memory of Elaina`s first meeting with Siegfried.

The Princess arrived at the altar on the arm of her father who placed her hand in Siegfried`s. Dressed in a pure white gown, simple in its sophistication, Elaina wore only three adornments; her Princess crown, her mother`s pearl necklace and earrings, and the golden ring. She carried a small bouquet of jasmine, which she gave to her maid of honor who was standing at her side. Elaina and Siegfried bowed to each other and turned to face the Cardinal standing in front of the altar, the maid of honor and best man at their sides.

Before the pledge of vows, the Cardinal first consecrated the marriage with the celebration of the Holy Mass. When it became time for the wedding party to receive Holy Communion, the Sacrament that allows the communicants to receive the Body of Christ, the Prince of Neder knelt next to Siegfried.

As the Cardinal approached him with the Sacrament, Johann seemed to reel and he fell backwards, breathing heavily. Two groomsmen and his father`s physician rushed to his side but he recovered quickly and again took his place beside Siegfried. The Cardinal approached him again with the Holy Eucharist but Johann bowed his head, refusing the Sacrament. He spoke “I`m sorry. I think it`s best that I don`t receive the Body of Christ. My stomach remains queasy.” Siegfried faced his best man with a quizzical look, then turned back to the Cardinal.

The rest of the ceremony was uneventful and as the Cardinal pronounced Elaina and Siegfried man and wife, the entire church erupted with cheers of joy and happiness. The fainting incident seemed forgotten as the audience awaited the wedding party`s passing so that the celebration might begin.

As the newly married couple finished the procession and arrived at the entrance to the Cathedral, Johann approached Siegfried, “Before you greet your guests with your lovely wife, may I have one minute of your time? It`s very urgent!”

Siegfried frowned, then nodded, and the Neder Prince directed him to the private room they had used before the ceremony. Siegfried kissed his bride and told her he would be back in a moment, then entered the room. Johann followed, closing the door behind them.

The moment the door closed, Johann fell to his knees. “Siegfried, I have a confession to make. My jealousy of Elaina`s love for you had overwhelmed my reason. It was only when I was to receive the Holy Eucharist at your wedding that my eyes truly opened to my calumny. In my state of envy and dishonesty, I was unable to accept the presence of God.”

Siegfried helped Johann to his feet and bade him to continue. “Oh Prince, I`ve traveled to your homeland in order to learn of your weaknesses, to know the means of defeating you. At the great river in your country I was awakened from sleep by the music of the Rhinemaidens. From them I learned of your defeat of the dragon Fafner and your capture of the golden ring and the magic helmet from his lair. I am aware of Tarnhelm`s power and I was going to use it against you. You see, the Rhinemaidens told me of your one weakness; that your Grandfather Wotan left your back vulnerable to death since he granted you the power of fearlessness. I was going to embrace you and use my knife to slay you, then use Tarnhelm to take your place. As Siegfried, I would tell my Father that I had left Neder for adventure since I had failed to win Elaina`s love. In that way, I would truly take your place at the side of the Princess forever. Your body would be hidden here until late this evening when I would dispose of it.”

Siegfried was shaken by this news, but asked, “It is at least possible that you could have slain me, but surely you didn`t think that the Princess wouldn`t recognize the differences in our character?”

“I didn`t think that far, Siegfried. My jealousy consumed me.” On the verge of tears, the Neder Prince continued. “It was only when I was to receive the Body of Christ in commemmoration of your wedding that I was able to see the ugliness of my soul.”

Siegfried moved closer to Johann, placing his hand on the Prince`s shoulder. “Come, Johann and join the festivities. The courage you have shown in this confession has earned my forgiveness.”

Johann bowed to Siegfried and replied, “Thank you for your forgiveness, oh Prince, but I have much more to tell of the Rhinemaidens. The lives of you and your bride may be in mortal danger! The golden ring holds the answer!”

Siegfried put his arm around Johann, leading him to the door. “I believe you, but the celebration and my wedding night await. We will speak more of this on the `morrow.”

As Siegfried put his hand on the doorknob, he sensed a quick movement behind him. Johann pounced quickly and Siegfried felt the dagger penetrate his back, his place of vulnerability. The last perception he had as darkness overcame him was of a laughter, joyous yet malevolent. After moving Siegfried`s body to a closet that was practically invisible at the far recess of the room, Johann donned the magic helmet Tarnhelm and exited the room to meet his bride.

Elaina was standing in a reception line between her father and the King of Neder. Johann, now indistinguishable from his nemesis Siegfried, kissed Elaina on the cheek and approached his father, the Neder King. Johann bowed to the King and spoke, “Your Majesty, Johann has asked me to speak to you. To spare any embarassment, he has decided to leave us before the reception. I did my best to dissuade him, but he felt that his earlier rejection by Elaina may mar the day`s happiness. He said not to worry; he was going on a solitary hunt and would be home in a matter of weeks.”

The Neder King replied “Thank you, Siegfried. That sounds very much like my son, always thinking of others. I accept his decision and I say let us make haste with the reception. I know that you must want to complete the formal ceremonies so that you and the Princess may be alone.” Smiling, the King continued, “After all, even an old man like myself remembers his wedding night.”

His son, disguised as Siegfried, bowed to the King and took his place in the reception line next to the Princess Elaina. He smiled and took her hand, feeling the power emanating from the golden ring on her wedding finger.

As soon as possible, the newly married couple stole away from the reception and withdrew to the Princess` quarters in her father`s castle. Her bedroom was festooned with the scent of jasmine, an odor that Johann was not fond of. He opened the doors to the patio to let in fresh air, then approached the Princess.

“Finally alone, my dear. And I have something for you.” Johann as Siegfried withdrew a small box from his vest pocket and presented it to Elaina. She opened the box to reveal a beautiful diamond engagement and wedding ring set. “My Princess should be wearing rings befitting her status, not that little ring of gold I gave you for our engagement.” He took her left hand in his and started to remove the ring from her finger.

The princess looked at him questioningly, “But Siegfried, this little ring of gold signifies our love. I have no want of other rings. Our ring of love is all that I wish to wear.”

Johann put his arms around her and drew her close to him. “As you wish, Elaina. Let`s say no more of it.” He bent down and kissed her passionately.

After more than a few seconds, Elaina withdrew from the kiss and stared into Johann`s eyes. “Is everything all right with you Siegfried? You don`t seem yourself.”

“I`m fine, my dear. I think it may be this infernal smell. This room is infested with jasmine blossoms, their odor is overpowering.” Johann sat on the bed after further opening the patio doors. “Come sit by me, Elaina. It`s time for bed.”

As she sat next to him Johann pulled her roughly to a supine position next to him, then moved his body over hers. As he brought his face to hers, Elaina put her hands in his hair and pulled the helmet Tarnhelm from his head. Instantaneously, Johann appeared as himself.

“What have you done with Siegfried?” Elaina asked as she stood up from the bed.

Johann approached her, stating “I`m sorry, Princess. You are too late to help Siegfried and if you know what`s good for you, you will hand over the ring.”

As Johann rushed to retrieve the talisman, a small woodbird alit, took the ring in its beak and flew to the edge of the patio. It hovered perhaps a foot from the patio`s railing, behaving more like a hummingbird than a typical woodbird. As the bird seemed to tease him forward, Johann approached the patio railing and reached forward to where the woodbird was arcing. It hovered just out of harm`s reach and Johann slowly turned his body to face left, thereby freeing his right hand holding the dagger to reach further over the railing. The woodbird seemed to sense the change and began to widen the arc of its flight away from the patio. Fearing the loss of all his dreams, Johann tensed and as the woodbird`s arc narrowed his distance to the railing, the Neder Prince extended his daggered hand in one fell swoop towards the woodbird. The bird stopped his progress in mid-flight and Johann was carried forward by his momentum over the patio railing, landing three flights below on a ground of tiled paving.

The woodbird flew to Elaina`s side and dropped the golden ring next to her hand. The bird perched on Elaina`s shoulder and whispered in her ear “Coo-coo”, then flew out the patio doors. The Princess sat, unable to move, but when the bird repeated this ritual three times she roused herself and followed the bird to the patio. The bird flew directly to the side door of the chapel and perched above the door, staring at the Princess. “Coo-coo”, he said, “Coo-coo”.

Princess Elaina opened the door and followed the bird inside. The bird flew directly to a darkened area of the chapel and seemed to hover above a closet door. Lighting her way with the golden ring, Elaina sped to the closet and said a prayer as she opened it. Lying on the closet floor was Siegfried`s body; inert, unmoving.

The Princess sobbed as she fell to the ground, cradling Siegfried`s head to her breast. “Oh, dear Lord, please help me. I must save him!” As she kissed his lips, the ring touched his face: Siegfried`s eyes flickered as he suddenly gasped for air. Elaina felt him struggling, trying to rise, then falling backwards in a faint. She quickly took his hand and placed the ring on his wedding finger. In seconds she could see the color returning to his face.

Siegfried opened his eyes and smiled when he saw Elaina holding him, her lips close to him, her tears watering his cheek. The Princess kissed him and spoke “My love, what did he do to you? Are you feeling well enough to speak?” Siegfried seemed to gain energy as he remembered the plunging of the knife in his back by the Neder Prince. He felt his back, moist with blood, yet could feel no pain.

c2007 Deabler, V.T.

The Moose

2008-02-27T14:30:00.003-05:00

The moose roams forbidden terrain,
betwixt the rotting smell of Man.
Foraging the shrinking landscape,
her children weakened, dying,
as if doomed by nature`s whimsy.

V

Haiku to S. "Synchronicity"

2008-02-21T08:04:00.003-05:00

To be loved by one
who nurtures garden blossoms,
to live the Buddha.

DEPRESSION`S ANALOG

2008-02-07T11:00:00.000-05:00

Alone, circular thoughts demand attention.

The present, filled with sadness and despair,

Drives us to earlier worlds

and engages our attention

in the futility of life.

SABI

2007-12-05T14:03:00.000-05:00

I`ve never known a horse before. Sebastien is a 22 year old Quarterhorse, owned by my love S. He has a fine pedigree, descended from the proper families I`m told, and is a handsome chestnut, 16.2 hands, strong and proud.

I remember when I first met Sabi. Unknown to me, he had been drafted into the "Get V Healthy" campaign silently initiated by S following some hospitalizations of mine. I was still unable to walk very far and I sat in the open door of the horse trailer while S retrieved Sabi from his pasture. From my sitting position he seemed enormous and as S and he passed by closely she warned me to watch my feet to be sure they weren`t stepped on. There was just enough room between trailers to walk a horse and S led him behind the trailer where there was room to turn him around.

S smiled at me and said "Do you want to feed him?" I looked behind me and saw the pail with grain, intending to stand and get out of their way while he was fed. Before I could stand, S had brought Sabi to me and as I looked up I saw a very hungry animal. [I would soon learn that horses were always hungry and would graze for hours if given half the chance.] I followed S`s instruction and put the grain pail between my knees. Immediately, a large nose and mouth descended into the bucket and Sabi began to eat. He devoured his portion of grain in two minutes and continued to lick the sides of the pail, hoping to chance upon a stray grain. I looked at S and we both laughed as she started to tell me something. "After he eats grain, you have to watch out…….."

Before she could finish Sabi turned his face to me and I leaned in closer to him. Just as I began to lift my hand to rub his nose, Sabi raised his head six inches and proceeded to baptize me into his herd. A giant sneeze sprayed me from forehead to chest and I learned my first rule of feeding horses grain: Some of the grains will enter his nostrils when feeding and it`s prudent to turn his head away from you as he finishes!

V

L O V E

2007-12-04T16:46:00.000-05:00

In Vermont

It`s evening.

The pond is quiet,

Serene.

Smoke from the fire

Licks my nose,

Awakens me

From reverie.

My son is sleeping,

Comforting me.

His existence defines

My worth.

To know, within me,

Love will exist forever,

In heaven,

Or the ether.

A LOVE AFFAIR: REMINISCENCE.

2007-11-11T14:23:00.000-05:00

“A LOVE AFFAIR”

Looking for nothing,
escaping the day,
I come upon our pages.
An old manila folder
almost thrown away
so many times,
yet always rescued
contents unread.

I feel the pages
smell them.
Eyes closed,
envisioning their mysteries.

Oh the tides
splashed upon these pages.
Passion never ceasing,
highs and lows
but overwhelming.

At first the letters,
pledges, undying,
meetings planned
consummated
written of
in full circle.

The burning within us
with urgency is fed,
consumes, is fed.
We marvel at its power
and forget we are
stripping our hearts
for kindling.

Much later
at the bottom of the folder,
I can sense the poems.
Odes to heartbreak,
to love
to our heroism and
immortality.

Meditation and Psychotherapy

2007-11-08T13:59:00.000-05:00

My friend and I were talking yesterday, wide-ranging. We were speaking of death terror and the Tibetan Book of the Dead, of Meditation and Psychotherapy. A central issue here was the nature of the terror: was it of physical mortality? Is that which drives us to cloak ourselves in our characterological defensive postures? Or is the terror more Ego driven; do we hide from it in order to deny the meaninglessness of our life experiences?

From the beginning of man and his/her endeavors to make sense of the world, there have been attempts to deny our aloneness through acknowledging a higher Power, be it the Sun or the sun as a representation of that which has ever said “ I AM “.

In “The Denial of Death” Becker has shown a courageous light on our historical attempts to appear heroic, to be more than animal, more than mortal. And yet, when presenting his personal solution to our predicament, Becker agrees with all of humanities` strivings; the solution to the terror of finitude is a bowing, a giving-in to That which has made us.

As we spoke, it became clear to us that the philosophy behind psychotherapy and meditation, expressed in metaphor, acknowledges the same central truth. In meditation, each person is given something to concentrate on; a mantra, breathing, etc. When the “heaviness” of their thinking becomes alarming, the person has a safe haven on which to concentrate, thereby becoming attuned to the absence of distress.

The same principle is what psychotherapy attempts to teach: in metaphor, the essence of “wellness” is having a picture, a thought, a “lightbulb” that is instantaneously available to us. This “lightbulb” should continually have less of an ideational component as we approach “wellness”. In essence, mental health can best be defined as that mental state that continually attempts to deny energy to thoughts that exist for no reason than to cause us pain.

V

THE DEATH OF MY BEST FRIEND

2007-08-09T15:13:00.001-04:00

At the burial site I felt a weakness in my knees, a void somewhere within. Death touches us so deeply. There is really no one`s death, no one who we love, that is not also our death, a piece of us. The stark reality of our own existence, the barest time left to us, brings a shudder to our souls. That little conceit buried deeply in our hearts, “Thank God it`s not me.” I felt that cravenness, that recreant scream inside.

It is not death that makes cowards of us all, it`s the living with that knowledge. All of what the world knows of us, all of our personality, our character, is nothing more than our feeble attempt to deny our finiteness. And yet, in our time on earth, we are sometimes fortunate enough to be touched by another`s struggle. The basic humanness of it.

In trying to understand the waste in the death of my friend, I`m drawn again to the work of the Anthropologist Ernest Becker. In his seminal works, “The Denial of Death” and “Escape From Evil”, published posthumously, Becker ponders the central problem of human existence, the human as part animal-part god. We are that which has self knowledge as the Gods, yet are aware that we are flesh and blood and must die. It is that self awareness of our mortality that drives us to attempt to transcend our fate through the value we place in certain cultural institutions.

The power of the state and religion are poignant examples of our attempts to identify with immortal institutions, to become something larger than oneself. And yet, Becker ponders why the destructiveness and evil in our history, why such viciousness in the name of our cultural institutions?

For him and for me, the answer lies in that dichotomy of god-animal that separates us from the unthinking, that gift from the Creator so exquisitely described in the Book of Genesis. We are the animal that must feel heroic in order to transcend death anxiety, yet are inundated with guilt by our very heroism, our very identification with the cultural institutions of our society. It is guilt at its most primitive level, that which is associated with our feeble attempts to become god-like, to become more than animal.

Becker suggests that it is our expiation of guilt that has led our cultural institutions to engage in countless wars, to sacrifice millions of our kind in service to our own mortality. Those within our ranks who question the “rightness” of our value systems must be persecuted; countries with different ideologies must be destroyed. And yet, through the bloodshed and destruction, a most central part of us realizes the illusion and fetishism inherent in this scapegoating. These destructive acts offer only temporary relief from our knowledge that we are less than Gods, that someday soon we will all die.

Within these wars and murders I believe there are many more victims than the sacrificed. Freud, Rank and Becker spoke of the “artist”. In the widest sense, the artist is he/she who by temperament and life experience is more widely open to the knowledge of his/her own mortality. I believe there are three solutions to this conundrum; “madness”, artistic expression through the use of sublimation and a deep abiding faith in the Creator. I define “madness” in the widest sense, the use of brittle defensive postures to repress primal anxiety. It`s my belief that my friend hadn`t the depth of faith to sustain him through the horrors of Vietnam; I`m not sure if many of us would. Through drug usage he experienced “madness” with no relief. Finally, his life experience, his “Thrownness” into the world, denied him the courage of artistic expression. There was little left for him but the gradual giving in to his mortality through excessive drinking.

Other than the war,I know of little that separates my circumstances from Ed`s. I`ve felt the “madness”, I`ve denied myself artistic expression lo these many years, I`ve had doubts of the Creator. Yet here I am, trying to write, feeling a deeper understanding of the Creator. Ed`s sacrifice is akin to all of us artists, millions of us who struggle to express ourselves, knowing few masterpieces will be created. Yet, we struggle on.

A U T U M N

2007-08-03T10:15:00.000-04:00

AUTUMN

Each morn

a minute later,

the sun arises

over the river.

Each dawn

a degree south,

on its journey

to the Equator.

Canada geese arrive

following the sun;

disciplined V`s

collapse and rest.

Bees and wasps

flitting lazily,

the sun signalling

the end of struggle.

Leaves depart,

depending on the kindness

of strangers,

for their blaze of glory.

Autumn, inexorable,

cloaks its arrival

in glorious colors,

soon to be blanched

by winter`s snow.

Written October 12, 2006

2007-08-03T10:01:00.000-04:00

I`m not sure of all that has stopped me from writing since my hospitalization. I know of terror and I think of some of my readers who have been living with that knowledge. I look back at much that I have written about the universal denial of death and its primary importance in limiting us and our cultural world view. About Becker, and his amazing presentation that has so fueled my thinking. And I realize the utter truth in his words in my week-long hospital stay. Not just the knowledge that my life is limited but that the terror inherent in that knowledge, the abyss, the “sickness unto death”, is real and inescapable. Even now, part of me wants to describe those nights of despair, of hopelessness. Perhaps some of it may make good poetry, maybe. But I think of my readers, you know who you are. I think of the courage I find in your writings. Even in the darkest of those hospital nights I felt myself buoyed by thoughts of you, of your struggles to be, your acknowledgement of the terror. And my patients, and my son, and especially, S.

10-12-06

" E L O W E R S "

2007-07-05T15:06:00.000-04:00

Oh how it is, I wonder,

to smile at break of day.

And marvel at the flowers,

overcoming grey.

How can a simple flower

in the beauty of its play,

live a life of honor,

when all I do is flay.

Sad thoughts demand attention

this statue made of clay.

My consciousness demands it,

for I`m its chosen prey.

To " S " A Haiku

2007-06-19T17:29:00.000-04:00

So strong, yet fragile

God has given you to me

Paradox, a mystery.

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Fourteen

2007-05-31T14:57:00.000-04:00

Princess Elaina opened the door and followed the bird inside. The bird flew directly to a darkened area of the chapel and seemed to hover above a closet door. Lighting her way with the golden ring, Elaina sped to the closet and said a prayer as she opened it. Lying on the closet floor was Siegfried`s body; inert, unmoving.

The Princess sobbed as she fell to the ground, cradling Siegfried`s head to her breast. “Oh, dear Lord, please help me. I must save him!” As she kissed his lips, the ring touched his face:Siegfried`s eyes flickered as he suddenly gasped for air. Elaina felt him struggling, trying to rise, then falling backwards in a faint. She quickly took his hand and placed the ring on his wedding finger. In seconds she could see the color returning to his face.

Siegfried opened his eyes and smiled when he saw Elaina holding him, her lips close to him, her tears watering his cheek. The Princess kissed him and spoke “My love, what did he do to you? Are you feeling well enough to speak?” Siegfried seemed to gain energy as he remembered the plunging of the knife in his back by the Neder Prince. He felt his back, moist with blood, yet could feel no pain.

2007-05-25T16:37:00.000-04:00

Oh the times I`ve lost,

What is left unlived

Fruitless, unformed,

Kept alive by fantasy.

V`s New Buddy---- S`s Sabi!!!!!!

2007-05-11T17:34:00.000-04:00

Awakened

2007-05-10T14:37:00.000-04:00

As if in limbo,

The man floats

On his back, leisurely.

The wind settled,

Waves gently moistening his skin,

The man seems spent, smiling at

The placidness of the sea.

Bereft of energy,

Abandoned of will,

It seems enough

To breathe, to think,

To be.

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Thirteen

2007-02-08T13:39:00.000-05:00

As the Neder Prince brought his dagger to her throat, he spoke. “It will be difficult to explain your death, my dear, but as the grieving newlywed and widower, Siegfried will bathe in the tears of his nation. It matters little to me; which do you value, the ring or your life?” Elaina sobbed and took the golden ring from her finger and threw it onto the patio, where it lay among the jasmine.

As Johann rushed to retrieve the talisman, a small woodbird alit, took the ring in its beak and flew to the edge of the patio. It hovered perhaps a foot from the patio`s railing, behaving more like a hummingbird than a typical woodbird. As the bird seemed to tease him forward, Johann approached the patio railing and reached forward to where the woodbird was arcing. It hovered just out of harm`s reach and Johann slowly turned his body to face left, thereby freeing his right hand holding the dagger to reach further over the railing. The woodbird seemed to sense the change and began to widen the arc of its flight away from the patio.

Fearing the loss of all his dreams, Johann tensed and as the woodbird`s arc narrowed his distance to the railing, the Neder Prince extended his daggered hand in one fell swoop towards the woodbird. The bird stopped his progress in mid-flight and Johann was carried forward by his momentum over the patio railing, landing three flights below on a ground of tiled paving.

The woodbird flew to Elaina`s side and dropped the golden ring next to her hand. The bird perched on Elaina`s shoulder and whispered in her ear “Coo-coo”, then flew out the patio doors. The Princess sat, unable to move, but when the bird repeated this ritual three times she roused herself and followed the bird to the patio. The bird flew directly to the side door of the chapel and perched above the door, staring at the Princess. “Coo-coo”, he said, “Coo-coo”.

V

FLOWER POWER !!!

2007-02-06T15:47:00.000-05:00

K L I M T 1906 "Garden With Sunflowers"

Hi Everyone! I`ll be visiting soon. I have so much reading to do.
Hugs,
V

The Old Pine Tree

2006-10-30T14:24:00.000-05:00

After the asteroid struck, the majestic old pine reeled, its highest branches having been struck by the burning projectile. The earth`s friction had eroded the asteroid`s size and energy; by the time it reached the earth`s surface it was little more than a flaming speeding ball, not much bigger than one of the tree`s pine cones. After assaulting the pine, its descent took it directly into the stream that wound its way through the forest. As the water absorbed the molten energy of the asteroid it roiled and boiled, then quiesced. The asteroid settled to the stream bed, like a tumor at rest, dormant, yet capable of eruption.

For some minutes the forest was quiet; the birds had stopped singing, squirrels stood tall, unchattering, checking for strange smells. A family of deer was the first to disturb the stillness, ambling upstream to drink from the stream. Within moments the forest was again alive with energy; only the old pine tree seemed to have suffered any ill effects.

He stood stoically as always. Being the tallest and oldest of the living pine trees was a lonely existence. Other trees whispered to him through the wind, wondering if he was alright. The giant pine acknowledged the others and told them not to worry; he would be good as new in no time at all. Yet, within himself, he could feel immediate changes in his body. He could feel globs of sticky resin oozing down his trunk, filling in the injuries and fissures caused by the asteroid`s impact. The resin seemed to capture anything in its path, its only instinct to preserve the pine`s life. The pine tree, exhausted, closed its senses to the world and withdrew in itself, hoping to be protected by the resin while it healed.

It was only many years later, the pine tree had no idea of the length of his sleep, that he was roused from his slumber by a rushing of water encircling his trunk.The flow seemed to have started above his highest branches and seemed to be gradually moving lower, freeing his trunk from an ashy material in which he seemed entombed. For the first time in what must have been many, many years, the pine tree began to feel what in humans might be called happiness. He could once again feel a connectedness with the world and nature. He closed his visual sense, preferring the feel of freedom that was coursing down his length. And, could it be? The top branches were warming in the rays of the Goddess Sun! The pine could sense life pouring through his body; he could practically feel the beginning of buds bursting into life from his arms and branches.

V

Saul Bellow " RAVELSTEIN " pg 222-223. c2000

2006-10-15T16:17:00.000-04:00

………………He had, however, asked me what I imagined death would be like ----- and when I said that the pictures would stop he reflected seriously on my answer, came to a full stop, and considered what I might mean by this. No one can give up on the pictures ---- the pictures might, yes they might continue. I wonder if anyone believes that the grave is all there is. No one can give up on the pictures. The pictures must and will continue. If Ravelstein the atheist-materialist had implicitly told me that he would see me sooner or later, he meant that he did not accept the grave to be the end. Nobody can and nobody does accept this. We just talk tough………………..

……………..This is the involuntary and normal, the secret, esoteric confidence of the man of flesh and blood. The flesh would shrink and go, the blood would dry, but no one believes in his mind of minds or heart of hearts that the pictures do stop……………………..

On Meditation, Psychotherapy and Death Anxiety

2006-10-14T10:23:00.000-04:00

My friend and I were talking yesterday, wide-ranging. We were speaking of death terror and the Tibetan Book of the Dead, of Meditation and Psychotherapy. A central issue here was the nature of the terror: was it of physical mortality? Is that which drives us to cloak ourselves in our characterological defensive postures? Or is the terror more Ego driven; do we hide from it in order to deny the meaninglessness of our life experiences?

From the beginning of man and his/her endeavors to make sense of the world, there have been attempts to deny our aloneness through acknowledging a higher Power, be it the Sun or the sun as a representation of that which has ever said “ I AM “. In “The Denial of Death” Becker has shown a courageous light on our historical attempts to appear heroic, to be more than animal, more than mortal. And yet, when presenting his personal solution to our predicament, Becker agrees with all of humanities` strivings; the solution to the terror of finitude is a bowing, a giving-in to That which has made us.

As we spoke, it became clear to us that the philosophy behind psychotherapy and meditation, expressed in metaphor, acknowledges the same central truth. In meditation, each person is given something to concentrate on; a mantra, breathing, etc. When the “heaviness” of their thinking becomes alarming, the person has a safe haven on which to concentrate, thereby becoming attuned to the absence of distress. The same principle is what psychotherapy attempts to teach: in metaphor, the essence of “wellness” is having a picture, a thought, a “lightbulb” that is instantaneously available to us. This “lightbulb” should continually have less of an ideational component as we approach “wellness”. In essence, mental health can best be defined as that mental state that continually attempts to deny energy to thoughts that exist for no reason other than to cause us pain.

V

Y O !!!!!

2006-10-12T17:01:00.000-04:00

I`m not sure of all that has stopped me from writing since my hospitalization. I know of terror and I think of some of my readers who have been living with that knowledge. I look back at much that I have written about the universal denial of death and its primary importance in limiting us and our cultural world view. About Becker, and his amazing presentation that has so fueled my thinking. And I realize the utter truth in his words in my week-long hospital stay. Not just the knowledge that my life is limited but that the terror inherent in that knowledge, the abyss, the “sickness unto death”, is real and inescapable.

Even now, part of me wants to describe those nights of despair, of hopelessness. Perhaps some of it may make good poetry, maybe.

But I think of my readers, you know who you are. I think of the courage I find in your writings. Even in the darkest of those hospital nights I felt myself buoyed by thoughts of you, of your struggles to be, your acknowledgement of the terror. And my patients, and my son, and S.
V

W O R D S

2006-09-29T11:38:00.000-04:00

It`s been a month since I presented myself to the Emergency Room of the Hospital closest to my home. Some six days before, I had experienced symptoms which were consistent with a diagnosis of TIA, transient ischemic attack, or a “Mini-Stroke”. I kept the knowledge of what I had felt to myself until the weekend four days after the experience. Absurd, rediculous, yep! On that Saturday I spoke of the symptomatology to two people very close to my heart. They both expressed their frustration with me and demanded that I be evaluated by Medical professionals.

I followed their advice and by Monday lunchtime I had been admitted as an in-patient for evaluation and treatment. For the next four days my presenting complaints were worried over and expanded. Every new test darkened the vision of my future, be it MRI`s, stress tests, echocardiograms, PT scans, transesophageal EKG`s, various Doppler screenings, etc.. My Attending Physician was very sensitive to the Specialist`s opinions, especially the surgical consults and I began to dread every meeting with him as he would explain to me the next diagnostic test to be performed, always with the underlying feeling that there was little positive to be found.

My mental state was negatively affected by the fact that I had not properly prepared myself for hospital admittance. I arrived at the ER with no phone numbers or email addresses and my son and his girl friend were in Iowa visiting her family. I couldn`t see how it would be helpful to call him when he was so far away. I did have my ex-wife`s number and I spoke to her. After a couple of days she stopped by on her way home from work but she was very worried about getting home to let the dog out. There was no one else at home to take care of him since our son was in Iowa. Psychologically, I found my stay in the hospital quite stressful. I had no one to speak to about my concerns about mortality; of course not many people are able to be open to those thoughts anyhow. I did feel concern and comfort from some of the nurses, something I greatly appreciated at 3.00AM.

{{{You know, as I sit here writing this drivel, I realize that I really have nothing new to offer my readers. I`m really just saying that I want, need others to admire, support me; to appreciate the pain and fear that I experienced. Classical Depressive symptomatology; the way of any Obsessive under stress. Well, no matter. At least I`m writing!}}}

V

RENOIR "Vase With Roses" 1870

2006-09-24T11:56:00.000-04:00

Hi!!!!!!

2006-09-21T06:54:00.000-04:00

It`s been quite awhile since I`ve written anything here [or anywhere]. Once again, I`d like to thank everyone who took the time to express concern about how I`m doing physically. As many of you know, I suffered a TIA or mini-stroke, which caused me to eventually seek diagnosis & treatment at an ER. In many ways, this may have been the best thing that could have happened, since evaluation has shown the need for a cardiac catheterization [scheduled for Oct. 5th] and a carotid artery stenosis that needs to be cleaned up. In addition, I`m taking Meds for High Blood Pressure and Diabetes. All things considered, I`m doin` pretty well and following Doc`s advice on Meds & Diet. And today is my 25th day of Not Smoking! Woo Hoo!
OK, enough of that. Hugs to all!
V

MY THANKS

2006-09-10T07:09:00.000-04:00

Aynetal3, VivianSulliNwank, Insight32, Krobbie67, Slacbacmac, OndineMonet, DEABLER3, Gbgoglo, Barbpinion, Globetrotter2U, CaRLy0042, CNEinhorn, Z7Snow Flake, IndigoSunMoon, TSGERKIN, Theresarrt7, Paisleyskys, JckFrstRoss, B4i8clover, christina@ckays1967.com, Bedazzzled1, JOuell3935, tammyndavid@frontiernet.net, Sgortercass, lorismail@cox.net, lotusmartinis@sbcglobal.net.

Taking a break from Siegfried, I wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time to express concern over my health. I have received Phone calls, Cards, emails and comments from so many people. I am deeply touched and humbled. I apologize for the concern and worry I caused many of you; when I went to the ER on Monday, Aug.28, I didn`t think I was goin` to be admitted. There`s work to be done to get me back in tip-top shape including a cardiac catheterization and carotid cleanout but I`m on the right meds and will follow Doc`s advice.

Ayn would want me to close with this------ No Cigarettes- 14 DAYS!!!!!

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Twelve

2006-08-24T17:42:00.000-04:00

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Eleven

2006-08-17T11:53:00.000-04:00

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Ten

2006-08-15T16:06:00.000-04:00

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Nine

2006-08-13T08:56:00.000-04:00

Before the pledge of vows, the Cardinal first consecrated the marriage with the celebration of the Holy Mass. When it became time for the wedding party to receive Holy Communion, the Sacrament that allows the communicants to receive the Body of Christ, the Prince of Neder kneeled next to Siegfried.

As the Cardinal approached him with the Sacrament, Johann seemed to reel and he fell backwards, breathing heavily. Two groomsmen and his father`s physician rushed to his side but he recovered quickly and again took his place beside Siegfried. The Cardinal approached him again with the Holy Eucharist but Johann bowed his head, refusing the Sacrament. He spoke “I`m sorry. I think it`s best that I don`t receive the Body of Christ. My stomach remains queasy.” Siegfried faced his best man with a quizzical look, then turned back to the Cardinal.

The rest of the ceremony was uneventful and as the Cardinal pronounced Elaina and Siegfried man and wife, the entire church erupted with cheers of joy and happiness. The fainting incident seemed forgotten as the audience awaited the wedding party`s passing so that the celebration might begin.

As the newly married couple finished the procession and arrived at the entrance to the Cathedral, Johann approached Siegfried, “Before you greet your guests with your lovely wife, may I have one minute of your time? It`s very urgent!”

Siegfried frowned, then nodded, and the Neder Prince directed him to the private room they had used before the ceremony. Siegfried kissed his bride and told her he would be back in a moment, then entered the room. Johann followed, closing the door behind them.

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Eight

2006-08-10T08:14:00.000-04:00

The Neder Prince returned home without incident, arriving one week before the Princess` wedding. He had just enough time to complete the preparations for his revenge.

On the day of the celebration, Johann arrived at the Cathedral with his father the Neder King. The Nederland was of such importance that their entourage was given the prized first pew to view the wedding. Moreover, as an attempt to assuage any ill feelings over Johann`s rejection as the Princess` suitor, the Neder Prince had been selected by the Princess` father to be best man.

After seeing his father seated, Johann joined the wedding party in the waiting rooms at the entrance to the Cathedral. Siegfried and his ushers were gathered in the smaller room to the right and Johann approached the groom.

“Good morning Siegfried. What a perfect day for your wedding. I just want you to know that I have no hard feelings towards this wedding. You have won the Princess` heart fairly and it is my great pleasure to serve as your best man.”

“Thank you, Johann” replied Siegfried. “Your father is the King`s most trusted friend and I`m proud to have you bear witness to our wedding.” Siegfried extended his hand in greeting and Johann shook it as the Princess` father entered the room.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Johann spoke, “Since the Princess is already wearing the golden ring, my opportunity to serve you as best man is limited. Please, Siegfried. At least let me carry your helmet Tarnhelm to the altar. I pledge to guard it with my life.”

Siegfried seemed undecided but under the mounting marital pressures he gave Tarnhelm to the Neder Prince before turning to greet the King. Johann smiled within himself, “With Tarnhelm, my plan is complete and only awaits the moment!”

As the King left the room the Cathedral`s bells began pealing, announcing the wedding procession. The ushers lined up and began their walk down the aisle, Siegfried being preceded by Johann carrying the magical helmet Tarnhelm.

As they waited at the altar the bells silenced and an orchestra in the balcony began playing a wedding march. The Princess` attendants strolled down the aisle, strewing jasmine flowers in memory of Elaina`s first meeting with Siegfried.

The Princess arrived at the altar on the arm of her father who placed her hand in Siegfried`s. Wearing a pure white gown, simple in its sophistication, Elaina wore only three adornments; her Princess crown, her mother`s pearl necklace and earrings, and the golden ring. She carried a small bouquet of jasmine, which she gave to her maid of honor who was standing at her side. Elaina and Siegfried bowed to each other and turned to face the Cardinal standing in front of the altar, the maid of honor and best man at their sides.

V

THE RHINEMAIDENS

2006-08-05T08:26:00.000-04:00

Henri Fantin-Latour 1836-1904

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Seven

2006-08-04T09:21:00.000-04:00

A week before the wedding, the Neder Prince returned from his trip to the lands across the waters. In his wanderings he had stopped in many towns, offering reward for any information about Siegfried.

Although his fame as a mighty warrior was known far and wide, very little was known of Siegfried`s personal life or heritage. However his informants generally agreed on one fact; the Prince must travel further east until he reached the banks of a mighty river. It was in this land where the tales of Siegfried`s heroic exploits had first originated.

The Neder Prince traveled another four days before reaching the banks of a majestic river. It was early evening and exhausted, the Prince fell asleep next to the water. Some time in the darkest night he was awakened by the sweetest song. At first he thought he must be dreaming as the roaring of the river would drown any human voices. However, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, the Neder Prince saw a glowing in the river. Within the light were the figures of three women staring at him and softly singing.

“We are the Rhinemaidens, owners of the magic ring. That which has been taken from us. Have you been sent to help us reclaim our future?”

The Prince was enchanted by the beauty of their voices and confessed “I may have knowledge of such a ring. Could it be in the possession of the hero Siegfried?”

“The Rhinemaidens sang in reply, “We have heard the tale of Siegfried`s slaying of the dragon Fafner and of his taking ownership of the ring and of the magic helmet Tarnhelm. Oh Prince, do you know where Siegfried can be found? Can you help us regain our ring?”

“I will do all I can to see that you once again possess the ring but first, tell me more of the magic helmet.”

“Tarnhelm has the power to permit the wearer to assume the figure of any human, the better to hide from his enemies.”

The Neder Prince smiled and asked, “And are there tales of Siegfried`s strengths and weaknesses?”

The Rhinemaidens seemed to confer, though no words were spoken. “You will help us? You will return the ring?”

“I give you my word as Johann, Prince of Neder. With your assistance I will defeat Siegfried and gain the hand of the Princess who is wearing your ring. The ring will then be returned to you.”

Replying, the Rhinemaidens sang, “The hero`s greatest strength and weakness are like hand in glove. He is able to wield the great sword Nothung because he knows no fear, a gift granted to him by his grandfather, the God Wotan. To balance this endowment Wotan left him with but one weakness; since a man who knows no fear will never retreat, the only way he can be harmed is by direct injury to his back.”

“Thank you, ladies of the Rhine. I will return with the magical ring.” Feeling energized and refreshed, Johann bowed to the Rhinemaidens and turned to mount his steed. As he was preparing to begin his journey home he heard their final song.

“Heed this, oh Prince. If you are approached by a Wanderer with a broken spear or a small man named Alberich, continue on your way. In either of their hands, the golden ring could cause the end of the world.”

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Six

2006-08-01T17:21:00.000-04:00

Although the Princess remained alarmed at the spoken words of the black butterfly, Siegfried drew her attention to a treasure he took from his pocket. Opening the drawstrings of a small leather purse, he withdrew the most captivating golden ring. The ring seemed to draw the dawn`s rays directly into itself, its glimmering making it seem almost alive.

Siegfried took Elaina`s left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. “This ring, along with my magical helmet, are the only spoils I allowed myself after slaying the dragon Fafner. As long as you wear it, our souls will never be apart.”

As the couple embraced there was a knocking on the door, followed by the laughing voice of Elaina`s father. “Come, come, you lovebirds. The sun is risen and you have been together since the cock`s crow. May I announce to the Kingdom that we have a marriage?”

Elaina ran to the door, opening it and falling into the King`s arms. “Oh father, please tell the world of our love and allow our union as soon as possible.”

The King beckoned Siegfried to his side and led them both to the gates of the castle. Three horses awaited, including Elaina`s beloved Sebastien, and surrounded by guards the royal party rode to the King`s castle. At the morning audience of his Royal Court the King announced his daughter`s marriage to the foreign Prince, to be celebrated in two month`s time.

Amid the jubilation there was one man who seemed more subdued. The Prince of Nader felt foolish and envious. “That should be me by the Princess` side”, he thought. “This man hardly knows her and is a foreigner to our lands. I swear to God that this marriage will not take place, in sixty days or ever. Two months time will allow me to travel across the waters and learn all that is needed to know to defeat this Prince. Siegfried is but a man and every man has a weakness. His secret will lead to his death and my marriage to the Princess. This I pledge to all that is Sacred.”

The next two months found the entire Kingdom in a whirl of preparation for the long anticipated day. The King issued a Royal proclamation officially announcing the marriage and inviting the Royal Houses of all the known Kingdoms to join them in the celebration. Princess Elaina was very busy planning the festivities with her entourage and Siegfried filled his days with hunting in the forests of the kingdom.

The first few days he found it impossible to be alone as wherever he rode he could feel eyes upon him, the savior of the Royal line of the kingdom. In order to gain anonymity and some time to himself, Siegfried began wearing Tarnhelm, the magic helmet he had taken from the dragon Fafner`s plunder. While wearing Tarnhelm he could assume the identity of any man and he found the freedom it allowed him invigorating.

About a month before the wedding he was spending the morning trailing the spoor of a wild boar in the deep forest when he was forced to give up the hunt by a thick bramble of blackthorn bush. Siegfried bowed to the ending of the trail, acknowledging the boar`s cunning and he sat beneath a giant oak tree to have his lunch. After eating he leaned against the oak tree and closed his eyes, thinking of his love, her visage now his constant companion.

He was awakened from his reverie by the chirping of a woodbird. “Coo coo” it said and came to rest on the blackthorn. Siegfried smiled as he recognized the bird that he had met twice before. “Good morning, little one. How did you know it was me?”

The little bird seemed to smile. “Hail, oh Prince, you must remember. I was with you when you slew Fafner the dragon and first put on Tarnhelm. Its mysteries cannot disguise you from me. And I must congratulate you on your engagement. Princess Elaina wears the magical ring proudly!”

Siegfried smiled at the little woodbird. “The ring of the Niebelung holds no magic for me, gentle one. Only my Grandfather Wotan can unleash its powers. Its only enchantment to me is the happiness it brings to my love`s eyes.” Siegfried sat upright, staring at the woodbird intently. “Gentle one, will you now tell me of the meaning of the second part of the omen, the words ‘and laughing death’?”

“This much I can tell you, oh Prince. On the day of your wedding someone will die. The last thing this person will hear before expiring is the killer`s laughter.”

It took all of Siegfried`s control to remain sitting as he asked the little bird “Is there some threat to the Princess? Will someone try to harm her?”

The woodbird replied “Coo coo” and flew over the blackthorn, disappearing down the boar`s trail.

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Five

2006-07-30T10:07:00.000-04:00

As he stood in the gathering light, Siegfried felt a tingling in his right hand, then realized Elaina had risen from her bed and was standing beside him. She had placed her hand in his and had moved closer to him. He could feel a gentle pressure where she had encircled her arm with his, then felt, with all his senses, the rapture of her head resting on his shoulder.

He turned his head to her, just inches, and the smell of jasmine was replaced by her fragrance. The redolence drew him to the Princess` hair and he breathed deeply of her. His sigh seemed to release the moment she looked upwards at him and Siegfried gathered her in his arms. Their first kiss was gentle, just a touch, then their eyes met. Siegfried kissed the moisture escaping from her eyes, then held her closely, his left hand gently immersed in her hair.

“Oh Elaina, how I`ve longed for this moment. Could you love me?”

“I do love you, Siegfried. With all my heart and soul.”

“Then, we will be married, my love?”

“Yes, my darling, but first, the words.”

“I love you, my Princess, and I will do everything in my power to make you proud of me. With you by my side, our destinies will be fulfilled.”

As he spoke these words, a black butterfly flew through the window and alighted on Siegfried`s arm. Elaina drew back with a gasp and cried, “Oh no! Please don`t visit us now!”

Siegfried brushed the butterfly off his shoulder and said “Don`t be alarmed, my love. It`s only a butterfly and can`t harm you.”

“Oh, but Siegfried, it spoke to me. Didn`t you hear it?”

“No my beloved. And its words?”

“Just these, ‘light bringing love and laughing death’. Do you know its meaning?”

Siegfried drew Elaina close to him. “It`s nothing to concern you, Elaina. Just an omen I`ve heard twice before. Words that might have had power at one time. But no longer. Our love renders these foolish words meaningless!”

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Four

2006-07-27T20:52:00.000-04:00

The next morning, just before dawn, Siegfried presented the King`s note to the guard of the moat. The drawbridge was quickly lowered and Siegfried entered the castle and was given instructions to the Princess` chamber. He dismissed the guard at her chamber door and softly, silently opened the door to the Royal rooms.

It was very dim inside, the only light coming from the dawning just now blanching the night sky. Siegfried crept to the bed sitting directly under the open windows, smelling the perfume of jasmine that was growing ivy like on the small veranda.

Looking down on the bed, Siegfried was able to distinguish the form of a young woman lying on her side facing the night sky. Her blonde hair seemed to shimmer on the pillows as it reflected the sun`s first awakenings. Eyes closed, the Princess breathed softly, just the hint of a smile on her lips.

Siegfried bent closely to her and gently kissed that smile. He could feel the Princess stirring at his touch and he spoke the words that he begged would win her heart. “Please don`t be afraid, my Princess. Your father the King has granted me permission to try to win your heart. Before opening your eyes, I beg you hear my words.”

Elaina lay still, only a quivering on her lips confirming her wakefulness.

“Last evening while approaching your castle, I was met by a woodbird who sang to me from a rosebush. It spoke of your beauty and told me to awaken you with a kiss. The bird also said that I should try to win your love with the voice of my heart. And so, hear is my appeal."

"My name is Siegfried; I am a poet and a warrior. I have never felt fear before this day. It is such a strange feeling! And what is it that brings me to my knees in supplication? Only a brushing of your lips, the merest tasting. I fear for my happiness if I was forever denied that pleasure. And yet I am more fearful for you. I hope you can understand, it is our destiny to love each other. There is no one else on this earth that will be more faithful, more passionate to you. My heart vibrates at the thought of us. Can you feel it? A murmurring within you, like a woodbird`s call, ‘Coo coo---coo coo’. I come to you at dawn`s light to protect my soul from bursting.”

Siegfried withdrew from the bed, standing at the open windows. “Elaina, oh such a word! A name to inspire the poorest soul, yet here I stand, babbling on, saying nothing. I must try one last time.” Closing his eyes, sensing only the sweet smell of jasmine, Siegfried continued:

Lovingly,
I kiss your lips,
Caressing
So soft
I`m afraid of bruising.

Your hair,
Blonde as wheat,
My fingers
long to glean.

Eyes smiling
Sparkling---
Will dazzle
My heart.

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Three

2006-07-22T09:53:00.000-04:00

The King was puzzled. “Do you understand the meaning of this omen?”

“No, my Lord. I only know that my destiny and that of the Princess Elaina are intertwined.” Siegfried bowed to the King, asking “Sire, do I have your permission to present myself to your daughter?”

The King placed his hand upon Siegfried`s shoulder. “My son, it will be my greatest pleasure if you were to win my daughter`s heart. Go to her now, and Godspeed!” The King hurriedly wrote a short note and gave it to the Prince. “This note will grant you access to Elaina`s castle. Present it to the guardian of the moat and the drawbridge will be lowered.”

Siegfried withdrew from the King`s presence, rushing to mount his horse for the ride to the Princess` castle. By the time Siegfried reached the castle the sun had descended behind the mountain on which it was standing. As Siegfried paused, pondering the significance of his meeting with the Princess Elaina, a small woodbird called to him from a rosebush directly in front of him.

“Coo, coo”, it said. “Have you come to face your destiny, Siegfried?”

“I have, dear bird. Yet I must ask you for assistance. Can you explain these words to me, ‘light bringing love, and laughing death’?”

“Coo, coo”, the woodbird responded. “I see you remember me, oh Prince. I will offer you half the puzzle. You must sleep here tonight and approach the castle just before dawning. At first light you must be at the Princess` side. If you awaken her with a kiss, Elaina`s powers of beauty may be muted. In her languor, you may use the potency in your poetry to win her heart.”

“Oh, thank you, kind bird. And what do you see of my chances?”

The woodbird replied, “Coo, coo” and flew away into the night sky.

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part Two

2006-07-21T09:32:00.000-04:00

Siegfried`s reputation preceeded him wherever he traveled. A renowned poet, there were many myths that surrounded his heritage. It was said that he was the grandson of Wotan, the great warrior King who ruled all of the mighty kingdoms across the ocean.

With Nothung, the magical sword he was able to forge in order to slay the evil dragon Fafner, Siegfried roamed the world in search of his destiny. His grandfather had granted Siegfried many virtues including an inability to know fear and it was this fearlessness that led to his confrontation with Wotan.

The great King was aware of his grandson`s destiny and confronted him when Siegfried was about to embark on his journey across the ocean. Siegfried did not recognize his grandfather and insolently broke Wotan`s spear with one blow from Nothung. Wotan withdrew, leaving the fate of the world in Siegfried`s hands.

In the new world Siegfried disguised himself as a poet and traveled throughout the lands, always on the alert for circumstances that would allow his destiny to be fulfilled. His reputation as a poet spread far and wide and he was granted audiences in the Royal Courts of every country. And so it came to pass that Siegfried learned of the plight of the beautiful Princess Elaina; he traveled to her land and was granted an audience with her father the King.

Siegfried explained to the King how he had learned of his destiny. When he had slain the dragon Fafner, on drawing his sword from the corpse, his hands were burned by the dragon`s blood. He instinctively put his hands to his mouth and upon tasting the blood was immediately able to understand the song of a woodbird that had perched patiently while Fafner was slain.

The bird explained that Siegfried would one day meet the most beautiful of princesses, one who was so lovely that she lived her life as if surrounded by fire. Through his words he would capture her love and they would fulfill their destinies. The King was very excited by the tale told to him and he asked Siegfried to reveal their future to him. The young Prince could only reply that the woodbird had left him with the omen that their union would bring “light-bringing love, and laughing death”.

V

" A PRINCESS TALE " Part One

2006-07-20T18:41:00.000-04:00

“Tell me of
your wondrous stories”
she begged.

“You could always make
my heart aflutter,
as on a precipice.”

“Smiling, holding out
your hand,
tempting me to
the escarpment.”

Once upon a time there was a Princess so lovely, so beautiful, that her very presence disturbed the tranquility of her father`s kingdom. Even as a child she mesmerized the royal court; her father the King had to raise his voice to break the spell she held over his lords and ladies. Very little work was being accomplished in his daily audiences and the King had to find other diversions for his daughter. The choices were few as her guards, though heartfully devoted to her welfare, proved unable to perform their service when in her presence.

The Princess seemed to awaken a feeling of tranquility wherever she appeared, the food vendors and farmers in the marketplace would fall mute and become statue-like as she strolled by. She soon learned not to smile in public, the faintest glimmering of happiness on her face brought such joy to the common folk that they swooned and collapsed at the elation that filled their hearts.

As the Princess grew to be a young woman, the King could no longer allow her freedom of movement in his kingdom. As much as he loved his daughter he was responsible for the wealth and security of his kingdom and the Princess` very presence produced only happiness and stupor in his subjects.

The King thought to himself, “Oh, if only the Queen hadn`t died giving birth to our daughter. She would know what to do.” The Princess was an only child which intensified the King`s worries. What would happen when he died? Princess Elaina`s beauty engendered slavish devotion throughout the land, from the highest lord to the lowliest peasant, yet their love for her seemed to drain their life`s energy.

And so it came to pass that the King had a beautiful castle built on the highest mountain in the country. He surrounded it by a large moat and defended it with a cadre of his personal Royal Guard who were forbidden to enter the castle. Within were the Princess Elaina and her personal servants, who through close personal contact over many years were able to serve her while remaining upright if not overly alert.

On the Princess` birthday, in July of each year, the King issued a proclamation to all of the neighboring royalty. If any young man of royal blood were able to remain sensible and alert while in his daughter`s presence for one hour he would be granted the Princess` hand in marriage. Within two years every eligible bachelor from all of the neighboring kingdoms had presented themselves to her.

One young Prince, from the kingdom of Neder, seemed to have not succumbed to her beauty and the King`s hopes were raised for a marriage. The Prince had taken a magic potion given to him by his court sorcerer which clouded his vision. He was able to approach the princess and sit closely by her and, as an hour in her presence was nearing, he boldly spoke to her.

“My dear Princess Elaina. Your father has promised your hand to anyone of royal blood who is able to withstand the temptation of your beauty for an hour. It has now been fifty five minutes and I remain alert and by your side. May I have your consent to this marriage?”

Elaina spoke the one word “Yes” and the Neder prince fell to the floor in a deep swoon. In his high anxiety, he had never considered the love and happiness that one simple word from her would release. After the Neder prince`s failure there seemed to be no one left who had the temerity to be in her presence.

Until Siegfried!

V

LOVE

2006-07-08T09:28:00.000-04:00

In Vermont
It`s evening.
The pond is quiet,
Serene.

Smoke from the fire
Licks my nose,
Awakens me
From reverie.

My son is sleeping,
Comforting me.
His existence defines
My worth.

To know, within me,
Love will exist forever,
In heaven,
Or the ether.

V

"VAMPIRE" Book Two: CARRIE

2006-07-01T15:59:00.000-04:00

A fellow blogger sent me this song for use with the "VAMPIRE" books.
INKUBUS SUKKUBUS "Vampire Erotica"

"VAMPIRE" Book Two: CARRIE

CHAPTER 33

Carrie`s Journal

I must forgo much reporting of my personal experience over the past hours to chronicle Dr. van Helsing`s account of the activities of last evening. Vlad and Elaina left for the opera without incident, arriving there just before dusk. The rest of our group were in their assigned places around du Chatelet and saw Vlad and Elaina enter the building.

Shortly after dusk, a limousine pulled up to the front entrance and a woman who perfectly fit the description of Mondrian exited the vehicle, accompanied by a young man in evening clothes. They were immediately escorted inside by an anxious functionary of the Opera House. Wagner`s "Die Walkure" was of such length that it required an early curtain, yet Vlad later reported that the overture was not started until Mondrian was seated. Such power does money bestow on us!

At first intermission Vlad and Elaina approached Mondrian`s box. They stood silently as Vlad awaited Mondrian`s sense of him to invade her consciousness. Without facing him, she spoke, "Ah, Vlad. I`ve been so looking forward to seeing you again. But, I notice a certain something about you, your essence. Don`t tell me! You`ve allowed yourself to be stripped of your power. Oh, this is wonderful!"

"My dear Mondrian, I am who I am. May I introduce my companion Elaina?"

Mondrian turned to face the couple,"And the full name, Elaina?"

Elaina smiled and replied, "I prefer the one name, Countess. I don`t expect that we`ll become friends."

"As you wish, my dear. And may I introduce Maurice, one name only. Maurice, this is the former Alucard, now merely Count Vlad Tepes." Maurice stood and bowed, saying nothing.

"To save a tiresome conversation, Vlad, do you really have the temerity to face me as a human being? And is that old man with you?"

Vlad smiled, "My dear, I have no need of aid in destroying you. Remember it was I who made you vampire. Only I have the knowledge of who you are, your weaknesses. And I will have you."

A darkness veiled Mondrian`s face as she replied, "Be careful what you wish for, Count. You wouldn`t want to be deprived of that cherished humanness."

Vlad bowed, took Elaina`s arm in his and withdrew.

Outside the Opera House, the three teams were meeting as van Helsing wanted to confirm Mondrian`s identity. Lucinda had contacted Interpol and had the license plate of the suspected limousine traced to a rental company. The company confirmed that the vehicle was leased to a Countess Bluczek, Mondrian`s real name. Armed with this information, the three teams went back to their waiting vehicles.

After an interminable wait, du Chatelet`s doors opened and the opera goers began to leave. The teams could see Vlad and Elaina enter their vehicle and shortly afterward Mondrian and her companion were driven away in their limousine. James and Lucinda were perfectly positioned to follow and they quickly but unobtrusively took up the chase.

Van Helsing had cautioned against using radio communication so he and John as well as Claire and Sean slowly followed using GPS. It took some 15 minutes to get a clear fix on Lucinda and James` vehicle. By the time they had GPS communication with the first team`s car it was not moving! The teams sped to the position identified and found an empty vehicle sitting at the entrance to the famed cemetary, "Cimitiere Pere Lachaise". Wearing crosses, carrying weapons equipped with bullets made from silver, the four of them cautiously entered the cemetary.

Van Helsing led his companions slowly forward down the central path of the cemetary. It was simply too dangerous to separate into groups. Even the four of them may prove no match for Mondrian, but he knew that his companions were willing to take the risk if it meant rescuing Lucinda and James.

He could feel the palpable anger in Lieutenant Kelly, could feel it ever since they arrived at the entrance of "Pere Lachaise". It took all of his control to dampen that emotion in himself. Van Helsing was well aware of John`s love for Lucinda, yet knew of the man`s professionalism; John would react cooly when the time came, he was sure.

As the Doctor`s flashlight led them deeper into the cemetary, he motioned for the group to stop. Bending closely to the cobbled walkway, he silently called the group forward. There were fresh drops of blood on the stones, seemingly leading off to the right. He gestured to John to follow him off the pathway, leaving Sean and Claire to guard the rear.

Concern and anxiety increased with the volume of blood in the trail they were following. The two men quickened their pace and, in the distance, saw what appeared to be a body lying on a stone monument. John rushed past him, stumbling in the dark, then reaching the body. "Abe, it`s Lucinda! Hurry!"

When van Helsing reached them he could see Lucinda`s body in John`s arms and he silently said a prayer as he bent over to check the pulse in her neck. "John, she`s alive! Her pulse is weak and she`s in shock, but she`s breathing!"

"To hell with the noise, Doc. I`m getting her right out of here. Where`s the nearest hospital?" John picked Lucinda up and the two men returned to their companions. Van Helsing spoke, "Claire, you know Paris, drive John and Lucinda to the nearest hospital. Just one moment."

The Doctor took out a pad and pencil and scribbled a message. "John, this is the private number of the General Secretary of Interpol. Call him from the car and have him call the French Foreign Office. When Lucinda is examined, if there are two bite marks on her neck or at any other access to her bloodstrem, I want her blood to be completely replaced! I`ve written a message to the attending physician addressing the same issue. With the general secretary being involved I will have no worries about my instructions being questioned. Hurry now and Godspeed."

As Claire and John left the cemetary, Sean and van Helsing ventured back on the bloody trail, pausing at the monument where Lucinda was discovered. As they were about to continue, the soundless evening was pierced by the roar of a wolfen wail, then another. The men stood silently, waiting for the growls to repeat themselves. Once again, the two wolf howls, and the men were able to orient themselves to the general direction of the sounds.

"Sean, we must hurry! James must be with them. If we have any chance to save him, we must find him immediately. And, did you hear the pitch of those howls?"

Sean nodded and replied, "Yes, Abe. There are clearly two of them."

As the two men prepared to continue deeper into the cemetary, van Helsing`s flashlight revealed a Catholic rosary lying where Lucinda was discovered.

"Sean, I think I know how Lucinda`s life was spared. The wolves must have been repelled by the power of this rosary as they drew close for the attack. And yet, they were able to get close enough to cause her great harm. I can only assume that the rosary was not immediately visible to these fiends."

Sean was a few steps ahead of the Doctor and he replied "I think I may know what happened, Doc. Right in front of me is the beginnings of another bloody trail! I`ll bet that`s James` rosary and that he threw it on Lucinda as he saw the wolves worrying her. He must have sacrificed himself to draw the wolves away from her!"

Van Helsing joined him and said "Sean, there`s no time to lose, we`ll follow the bloody trail as quickly as we can. Keep your gun in your hand and make sure the cross around your neck is clearly visible. If we can get close enough, the consecrated silver bullets we have in our Glocks will destroy them."

The two men followed the trail deeper into the cemetary. They stopped twice at places where James had either stumbled or been thrown to the ground. "Damn them. Doc, they`re playin` with him. They could have killed him whenever they wanted. Especially here, where he fell a second time."

"You`re right, Sean. It`s almost as if they wanted to leave a trail, to draw us in. Well, they might have been overconfident in their frenzy. If we can get close enough....."

At that moment both men recoiled as they heard loud squeaking above them and caught the sight of two large bats soaring away from them towards the cemetary entrance.

"That`s them, dammit" said Sean.

Van Helsing nodded and the two men rushed forward. Directly in front of them was a large crypt with the name Cartolome chiseled above the doorway. On the two steps leading to the entrance they found James` body. It was a sight so gruesome that both experienced investigators had to turn away for a moment in order to gain control of the upset raging in their bodies.

James` body seemed a mass of entrails; the monsters had been feeding on him. Lying next to the body was his head. His spinal column lay exposed, his neck had been eaten, destroyed. Van Helsing removed the cross from around his neck and placed it on the body where James` heart would have been.

"Sean, before we call the police, let us kneel and offer a prayer over his body. His suffering must have been indescribable but he died a hero and he died as a human being. We must thank God for that and ask for his assistance in exterminating the evil that caused this."

After Dr. van Helsing and Sean finished their silent prayers over James` body, the Dr. called his contact in the French National Police, Chief Inspector Solon, requesting his presence at the cemetary. Jean-Claude Solon was a man with whom van Helsing had shared many adventures and he was the driving force in persuading the Foreign Office to request Interpol`s assistance in the mysterious deaths about Paris. Solon had also discretely phoned van Helsing in advance of the Foreign Office`s request so that the gravity of the situation was made quite clear to his friend. It was evident to the Chief Inspector that he was dealing with a series of deaths that urgently called for the Doctor`s singular talents.

Solon wasted no time in responding to van Helsing`s phone call and within fifteen minutes he had arrived at the cemetary with his two most trusted assistants. Sean escorted them to the murder scene where they found van Helsing guarding the remains.

“Good evening, Chief Inspector. The body you see is of my head of security here in Paris. James Lacorte died a hero protecting the life of Lucinda Williams. As you can see from the remains, his was no ordinary death. Such destruction could only be caused by giant animals in a feeding frenzy.”

“They were wolves then, Abraham?”

“Yes, my friend. James and Lucinda were on the trail of our known vampire and her consort. You must have faith in my judgement, Jean-Claude. Count Tepes identified her at the opera this evening and we were prepared to follow her to her lair. However, it is evident that I underestimated her abilities. She evidently sensed our trap and led Lucinda and James directly here.”

As van Helsing lit a cigarette, it was obvious how the night`s events had effected him. Sean spoke, “Abraham, you mustn`t blame yourself. We took every precaution.”

Van Helsing shook his head in thanks, then bent over James` body as he spoke “My dear friend, the least that I can promise you is that your sacrifice will not be in vain. Upon my soul, Mondrian Bluczek and her consort will be destroyed.”

c 2006 Deabler, V.T.

2006-07-01T13:15:00.000-04:00

La Boheme

SOME MUSINGS

2006-06-30T15:34:00.000-04:00

In reading the wonderful blog of Theresa Williams { http://theresawilliams-author.blogspot.com/} I am once again challenged to think of creativity, love and muses. I`d like to present some thoughts from three of my favorite writers:

1. From Goethe;

A Plan the Muses entertain`d

Methodically to impart

To Psyche the poetic art;
Prosaic-pure her soul remain`d.
No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre

E`en in the fairest Summer night;
But Amor came with glance of fire,--

The lesson soon was learn`d aright.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

2. From Theresa Williams;

Another take on the creative experience has been offered by Theresa Williams in her interview in the BGSU Monitor:

In her poetry, Williams says, “I look for a core that reveals the terrible beauty of things, and I want to slay the reader with that beauty. When I say ‘terrible beauty,’ I mean a force like the Ohio River, which can be placid and lovely, but which can also sweep you away and tear down your house. Another way of saying this is that I am searching for a way to express an experience of the sublime, which doesn't just mean beauty but also fear and awe.”

3. From Rollo May;

The sexual metaphor indeed expresses the importance of encounter. In sexual intercourse the two persons encounter each other; they withdraw partially to unite with each other again, experiencing every nuance of knowing, not knowing, in order to know each other again. The man becomes united with the woman and the woman with the man, and the partial withdrawal can be seen as the expedient by which both have the ecstatic experience of being filled again. Each is active and passive in his and her own way. It is a demonstration that the process of knowing is what is important; if the male simply rests within the woman, nothing will happen beyond the prolonging of the wonder of the intimacy. It is the continuous experiencing of encounter and re-encounter that is the significant happening from the viewpoint of ultimate creativity. Sexual intercourse is the ultimate intimacy of two beings in the fullest and richest encounter possible. It is highly significant that this is the experience that is also the highest form of creativity in the respect that it can produce a new being.

V

My Thanks

2006-06-22T15:57:00.000-04:00

Hi everyone. I just wanted to post a short note to let those who were concerned that I`m pretty much recovered from a bout with pneumonia. I haven`t done much visiting or posting in the past few weeks obviously.

I would especially like to thank those who took the time to leave a word or two at TGITBA and to those who emailed me their love and support. It`s nice to have friends. LOL.

V

" STRIVINGS "

2006-06-10T11:37:00.000-04:00

The furies of the Gods
attend to mortals,
to keep us in our place.
Oh, The stories they tell !

Of mother Rhea
hiding her youngest son
in Mount Dicte`s caves,
defying Cronus the Titan.

Zeus, full-grown,
rescues Poseidon and Hades
from his father`s vomitus
with Hestia, Demeter and Hera.

The Titans fall before
their children;
father vanquished
imprisoned in Tartarus.

Spoils shared by brothers;
Hades the Underworld,
Poseidon the Sea,
Zeus the Sky and Earth.

The story continued in Genesis
as the God of Earth and Sky
Creates his children,
Yet dares them to defy
His dicta.

Adam and Eve,
striving for immortality,
oppose His will,
thus freeing theirs.

But oh, the price of
knowledge
in the presence
of their mortality;
only half Gods,
the abyss immutably
beckons.

Yet among them,
the fearless,
from Lascoux to
Argentuil;
The Artists who draw
Courage
from their Creations
and thus become
immortal.

V c 2006

APPARENT DEATH

2006-06-10T06:50:00.000-04:00

Weep, maiden, weep here o`er the tomb of love;

He died of nothing--by mere chance was slain.
But is he really dead?--oh, that I cannot prove:

A nothing, a mere chance, oft gives him life again.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

My Son Is Building His Ultimate Computer Today!; Here`s The Specs For Puter Freaks

2006-06-04T10:12:00.000-04:00

MY BUILD :

CASE:
Thermaltake Armor Series VA8000BWS Black Aluminum/Steel ATX Full Tower Computer Case

PSU:
FSP Group (Fortron Source) FX700-GLN ATX12V/ EPS12V 700W All-In-One Power Supply 115/230 V CSA,IEC,UL,CE,TUV

MOBO:
ASUS A8N32-SLI Deluxe Socket 939 NVIDIA nForce SPP 100 ATX AMD Motherboard (full x16 SLI)

CPU:
AMD Athlon 64 FX60 Toledo 2000MHz HT 2 x 1MB L2 Cache Socket 939 Dual Core Processor

CPUheatsink/fan:
ZALMAN CNPS9500 LED 92mm 2 Ball Blue LED Light Cooling Fan with Heatsink

RAM:
CORSAIR XMS 2GB (2 x 1GB) 184-Pin DDR SDRAM Unbuffered DDR 433 (PC 3500) Dual Channel Kit System Memory

HDD:
2 Western Digital Caviar SE16 WD2500KS 250GB 7200 RPM 16MB Cache SATA 3.0Gb/s Hard Drive

GFX:
2 BFG Geforce 7900 GTX OC 512MB GDDR3/PCI-E/VIVO/Dual-DVI-DL

OS:
Microsoft Windows XP Professional With SP2 (32bit)

MUSINGS

2006-06-04T09:38:00.000-04:00

It`s been nearly two weeks since I`ve posted in either this blog or my book. I`ve also just completed my appointed rounds to other blogs for the first time in awhile. Talk about losing a Muse!

I figure maybe I should just stumble on here, see if there are any juices at the bottom of the jar. I think Ed`s story took a lot out of me, 8000 words in about a week to ten days. Ah, but I loved the drivenness of it!

I could sense depression trying to rear its ugly head at its ending, could sense self deprecating thoughts about my work. Man, to me, the starting to write is such hard work. The obstacle course to get to the typing [or, for a poem, the writing]. I wish I had the discipline that I see so often displayed in the wonderful blogs that I have the pleasure to read. There`s a whole group out there that continually give me pause.

Oh, and then I got sick, a cold and stuff, better than depression though! Ramblin` on, ………… [geez, got stuck, nothin` to say]…….I think I`ve been delving a bit too deeply lately; on death, depression, dreams [see Jod[i], all D`s! Serendipity!]

I think of the sadness in Ed`s death and the sadness visiting so many homes across our nation. Iraq is truly this generation`s Vietnam. The deaths, the mutilations…for what? I believe there is only one thing stopping our youth from the same kind of protesting that was so prevalent to my generation, to the senselessness.

The lack of a draft allows this generation to emotionally distance themselves. They feel no threat to themselves, don`t think about the horrors. The pain of this war is not shared by the body of America, only the families of volunteers and reservists called to active duty. I believe the institution of a national draft would bring an end to this folly. Course, Washington knows this too. Ergo, no draft. Too much money to be made, too many Halliburtons.

V

UNDERSTANDING DREAMS

2006-05-23T19:25:00.000-04:00

Gustav Klimt " Death and Life Completed " 1916

Dreams

In my experience, there is a wealth of material hidden in everyone`s dreams. In the rush to invalidate Freud`s theories, researchers have reduced his groundbreaking work on dreams to mere literature, philosophizing. Dreams have been attributed to the random firing of neurons, to upset stomachs, to various aches and pains. Researchers attempting to use the "scientific method" have discovered remarkable correlates between brain functioing and observed maladaptive behavior such as schizophrenia, depression, bi-polar disorder. Many of these researchers would disagree with my use of the term "correlates". It is their belief that it will eventually be possible to explain all human behavior as a reflection of brain activity.

The work of clinicians who report their findings in individual case studies, psychiatrists and psychologists who accept the brain researchers` findings as neurological correlates, not as causality, is dismissed as "soft research". My 30 years experience as a clinical psychologist has always been defined by viewing man as something more than his/her overt behavior, yet at the same time acknowledging the inherent power of the scientific method. In fact, my dissertation was an early attempt to measure subjective "existential" values using advanced statistical techniques. All of this said, I believe that dreams address both individual and group concerns.

In my experience, depending on the individual`s state of mind and psychological makeup, there are three levels of interpretation that can be analyzed from some but not all dreams. The level of interpretation is directly related to the depth that the dream may reach before the individual`s anxiety tolerance forces wakefulness.

A person`s ability to tolerate anxiety while dreaming seems somewhat fluid, depending on their mental state while awake. A person feeling relatively stress-free, with a good mental outlook, will be more open to experience deeper levels of the dream experience. It is also my belief that individuals who have been open to the creative process are more amenable to experience their dreams at the deepest level.

The first level of a dream generally is referenced to the individual`s daily life. The happenings of the previous days[s] present themselves to the dreamer in fairly undisguised form, easily open to free association.

However, if the dreamer remains sleeping, his/her personal unresolved conflicts become part of the dream pattern. It is at this level that many of us experience repetitive dreams as the ego continually tries to remove the cathected [bound] libidinal energy from earlier unresolved conflicts in our life. Dream interpretation through free association is especially valuable here as these unresolved conflicts and their cathected energy constitute much of our defensive posture. It is the unresoved, anxiety arousing earlier experiences that define our personality, that posture that allows others to define us and helps narrow our exposure to similar experiences. In dreaming, we are generally awakened at this point; the cathected energy often appears as anxiety, causing nightmares and/or restlessness.

Finally, and rarely, there is a level of dreaming that is archtypical, that is part of all of us, the stuff of thousands of years of animal experience. Only the most courageous and those most open to the creative experience will generally see more than a glimpse of these primitive id strivings before nightmares drive us to wakefulness. These are the dreams of the human unsocialized, dreams that reveal our strivings toward immortality. Dreams that define us as human and condemn us to death and finiteness.

V

A SHORT STORY

2006-05-21T08:26:00.000-04:00

It`s only at night, when shadows come alive.

Barbara worked at "All-nite Diner", and the thought of walking home always gave pause. Jamesford was an old town, sustaining itself by its proximity to the interstate. Barbara had grown up here, the fourth generation of Irish stock; like most girls growing up in small towns, she had had her dreams.

Senior year of high school, her English teacher had encouraged her writing. Mrs. Abrams praised her bright mind, her imagination. In twelve years of school she had been very lonely, had only the friends that presented themselves at night, that seemed to materialize next to her bed.

At first, she would close her eyes and cry out to her mother, who would rush in to comfort her. "Bobbie, it`s ok, only a dream" her mother would say, holding her in her arms. As Barbara grew older and her mother responded to her angrily, more dismissively, the nightly visits becoming tiresome, Barbara first felt the terror of loneliness.

She prayed to God to spare her these dreams, yet even in the midst of her supplications she felt their reality. The two figures stood before her each night, unspeaking. One of the figures was a child, perhaps four or five. Very silent, her face blank, a slight downturn to the lips. She seemed within herself, by herslf, lonely.

The other figure was ephemeral in its blackness. It seemed a man, tall, dressed in black, a hat pulled down concealing his eyes. It seemed not real next to the child, its figure vacillating between distinct and something else. Something that reminded her of a Hologram, like Princess Leiah in "Star Wars", something from the past.

After many, many visits there came a time when Barbara became bolder. The figures must be here for some reason! She must find out what was their meaning, why they appeared to her each night.

That evening, the two figures appeared as usual, standing to the right of the bed. Instead of lying there passively, Barbara abruptly pulled herself up and sat on the side of the bed closest to them. "Who are you? Why are you here?" she asked.

The dark man turned his body to her and raised his head slightly, enough that she glimpsed his face. His eyes were blue and kindly and the smile on his lips allowed her heart to slow.

"We are here because you summoned us, Barbara. Please don`t be afraid."

"But who are you, how did I ask for you?"

"We are always here. We are always everywhere, at everyone`s side. Waiting to be beckoned, to be seen. Most people, late at night, have seen us. But most people are not as open to us as you, Barbara. For most people, we are seen only for a split second, when they awaken in the middle of the night, perhaps from a dream. As they open their eyes, we appear; they see us and startle. Most of them dismiss us and turn us into shadows, a dress laying on a chair, a coat hanging in a dark closet. People have that power. Others are frightened and turn on their bedside lamps in order to drive away the shadows, drive away their fear of us. But we are always there."

"And there are the special people, like you, Barbara. Those who open their eyes at night but also open their minds. Who lie awake and wait for us, looking in the shadows. And to them do we appear."

Barbara was nervous, wary. "But who are you? What do you want of me?"

The tall man looked kindly into Barbara`s eyes. "I am He who is. Nothing more. I am here to protect you. To give you solace. Gabrielle here, is my gift to you. She will be with you always. Remember her."

"Are you Jesus?"

"I am the Son of Man."

"I`m so confused. What do you want of me?"

"Faith."

"Faith is so hard. Life is so hard. I have no friends, no money, no love. How can I have Faith in You or anything?"

"If you have Faith, then you will have all that you need. Rest assured."

Barbara felt the tears running down her cheeks. Faith and love were so hard for her. Her life had given her so little of these things. Yet she was overwhelmed by this meeting. Could Jesus really love her so much? He would appear to her?

"I appear to everyone, in some way, Barbara" said the tall man. "Yet many choose not to see. Faith is not for the faint of heart. It must be freely given to Me."

Barbara realized that the tall man had known what she was thinking! "Oh, God, forgive me! And I have Faith in you."

"Then you will have all that you need." With that, the tall man seemed to fade, as if a hologram. Gabrielle approached her, touched her hand. And Barbara felt a melding, a blending. She felt peaceful and fell asleep.

V

THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

2006-05-14T09:19:00.000-04:00

I remember my first day of school. As I think back, this was a year before my brother was born, yet I am unsure whether we had moved into my Grandmother`s house.

My first memory of living in my Grandmother`s house was the day that my father brought my mother and brother home from the hospital after his birth. My sister and I were at the top of the stairs on the second floor, looking down into the living room. We must have been living there for some months or my sister and I were quick learners; it`s clear to me now that we had already learned the first rule of living with my Grandmother and Aunt Mary, “Children are to be quiet, unobtrusive.”

I remember bending down, peering through the newels at the top of the staircase. I could feel the excitement in the adults, the very fact that a bassinet was set up in the parlor signalled the importance of this day. I could feel the impatience in my older sister. She was squirming, smiling, unable to control her agitation. Yet she knew the rules; we were not allowed in the parlor unless we were walking through to reach the kitchen and the unheated shed behind it, where she and I ate our meals. My Aunt Mary did not like to be disturbed by children at mealtimes and in this house, her word was law.

Finally, all of the adults had taken turns holding the baby and my mother put him down in the bassinet. She looked up to us and told us to come down and meet our new brother. My sister raced down the stairs to our mother, “Can I hold him, can I, Please!”

“Yes, Dolores, but you must be very careful. Babies are fragile and can be hurt easily.”

“Yes, Mom, I`ll be very careful. Please!”

My mother told Dolores to sit on the chair next to the bassinet and she picked up my brother and put him in her arms. “Oh, Mom, Dad. He`s beautiful! Such a baby!”

I slowly walked over to my sister and looked at the bundle in her arms. So small, and with blonde hair! And so important! Even my Aunt Mary stood over him, smiling down at him. My father stood further back, silent but happy. The next thing I remember is being on the stairs, looking down on the scene. Had I done something wrong? Or was I just nervous being in the parlor?

On my first day of school my mother brought me behind the church we attended to a large brown building, squared, many windows. I was carrying a schoolbag with pencils, an eraser and a notebook. My sister wished me good luck and ran off to the schoolyard to be with her friends and my mother led me to the entrance to the first grade schoolroom. She bent down and kissed me, saying that she would be back at noon to bring me home.

“Vinnie, be a good boy and do what the Sister says.”

“Yes, Mom. See you later.”

I entered the classroom, saw that the desks were nearly full with kids. Near the back of the room there were two empty desks and I slid into the closest one. I noticed that the other kids had their pencils and notebooks open on their desks so I did the same, just finishing putting my schoolbag behind me when the Sister in front of the room spoke.

“Good morning, students.”

“Good morning Sister”, the class replied.

“Welcome to your first day of class at Our Lady of the Holy Souls School. We will start each morning with a prayer to Our Blessed Mother. How many of you have learned to say the ‘Hail Mary’? Please raise your hand.” Most of the children waved their hands, some saying “I do, Sister, I do!”

“Please children, the first rule of my class. Children do not speak until spoken to. It`s sufficient to raise your hand. I`m very happy that so many of you have learned the ‘Hail Mary’. Let us pray.”

As we recited the words as best we could, I looked around the room. Behind Sister`s desk was a large blackboard, something I had only seen in pictures. Encircling the room were what I knew to be the letters of the alphabet. I could see A, B, C, then a jumble. I knew they were letters, had seen my sister`s books and my father`s newspaper, but I hadn`t been taught their meaning. I felt something inside, a nervousness. Suppose the rest of the kids knew their letters?

After the prayer was completed Sister turned to the blackboard and wrote letters in white chalk. “Children, my name is Sister Bernadine. I have written it here on the blackboard. In a few short weeks, you will have memorized its spelling. I will leave it here on the blackboard next to these two words, which you will also know by heart.” Sister wrote more letters on the board and said “These letters spell the words ‘Live Jesus’. They will be the words that will always be closest to your hearts. Learn them well and you will live them.”

I noticed when Sister Bernadine said the word Jesus, she slightly bowed her head, just as we were taught to do in church. I waited for her to repeat His Name so that I could show that I learned my first lesson. Instead she told us to open our notebooks and pick up a pencil. We were going to do our first schoolwork!

Sister asked the class “How many of you know your numbers? Raise your hands.”

I could feel the nervousness in my belly as I saw the room full of upraised hands. Not mine. I didn`t know my numbers, hadn`t ever been taught. Sister told us our first assignment was to write a page of the number 1, being careful to keep inside the lines. Most of the children bent to the task and I followed their example, bowing my head over my notebook. I tried to see what the girl sitting next to me was writing, maybe I could see how to write 1 without drawing attention to myself. I could feel tears in my eyes, couldn`t see what she was writing. What a dummy I was!

At this point, I felt Sister bending down to me, gently saying, “Let me write the first one for you. Then you can finish the page like the others.” I was so relieved.

Following her example, I copied the 1, filling the page with numbers overflowing the lines. No matter, I had finished my first schoolwork and could hardly wait for my mother to pick me up after class.

V

" S " ---- Special Guest Post

2006-05-11T16:54:00.000-04:00

Photo and Flowers by "S"

Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem a "cuckoo song," as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and Wood, without her cuckoo strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, "Speak once more- thou lovest!" Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me; toll
The silver iterance, only minding, dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Sonnets from the Portuguese
verse xxi

" IT`S MAY, THE LUSTY MONTH OF MAY! "

2006-05-07T09:05:00.000-04:00

G. H. Boughton [1883 - 1905] "Road To Camelot"

The Lusty Month of May

From Camelot the musical

(In a Castle garden the Queen and the courtiers are a-maying)

(Guenevere)
Tra la! It's May!The lusty month of May!
That lovely month when ev'ryone goes
Blissfully astray
Tra la! It's here!That shocking time of year!
When tons of wicked little thoughts
Merrily appear
It's May! It's May!That gorgeous holiday

When ev'ry maiden prays that her lad
Will be a cad!
It's mad! It's gay!
A libelous display
Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes
Ev'ryone breaks
Ev'ryone makes divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

Whence this fragrance wafting through the air?
What sweet feelings does its scent transmute?
Whence this perfume floating ev'rywhere?
Don't you know it's that dear forbidden fruit!
Tra la la la la. That dear forbidden fruit!Tra la la la la

(Knights and Ladies) Tra la la la la!

(Guenevere) Tra la la la la!

(Knights and Ladies) Tra la la la la!

(Guenevere) Tra la!
(Knights and Ladies) Tra la!
(Guenevere) Tra la!
(Knights and Ladies) Tra la!

(Guenevere)Tra la la la la la la la la la la laLa la!
It's May!The lusty month of May!
That darling month when ev'ryone throws
Self-control away
It's time to do
A wretched thing or two
And try to make each precious day
One you'll always rue

It's May! It's May!
The month of "yes, you may,"
The time for ev'ry frivolous whim
Proper or "im"
It's wild! It's gay!
A blot in ev'ry way
The birds and the bees with all of their vast
Amorous past
Gaze at the human race aghast

(Guenevere, Knights and Ladies) The lusty month of May!

(Guenevere)Tra la! It's May!The lusty month of May!

(Knights and Ladies)
That lovely month when ev'ryone goes
Blissfully astray
Tra la! It's here!
That shocking time of year!
When tons of wicked little thoughts
Merrily appear
It's May! It's May!
The month of great dismay

(Guenevere)
When all the world is brimming with fun
Wholesome or "un"

(Guenevere, Knights and Ladies)
It's mad! It's gay!
A libelous display
Those dreary vows that ev'ryone takes
Ev'ryone breaks
Ev'ryone makes
divine mistakes
The lusty month of May!

***All lyrics posted copyright 1960 Alan Jay Lerner and
Frederick Loewe Chappell & Co., Inc., Warner Bros. Publications U.S. Inc

When i was very young, I saw "Camelot" the last month before Richard Burton & Julie Andrews left the show on Broadway!

V {Posted for the third May in a row!}

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Epilogue

2006-05-05T10:48:00.000-04:00

Epilogue.

In trying to understand the waste in the death of my friend, I`m drawn again to the work of the Anthropologist Ernest Becker. In his seminal works, “The Denial of Death” and “Escape From Evil”, published posthumously, Becker ponders the central problem of human existence, the human as part animal-part god. We are that which has self knowledge as the Gods, yet are aware that we are flesh and blood and must die. It is that self awareness of our mortality that drives us to attempt to transcend our fate through the value we place in certain cultural institutions.

The power of the state and religion are poignant examples of our attempts to identify with immortal institutions, to become something larger than oneself. And yet, Becker ponders why the destructiveness and evil in our history, why such viciousness in the name of our cultural institutions?

For him and for me, the answer lies in that dichotomy of god-animal that separates us from the unthinking, that gift from the Creator so exquisitely described in the Book of Genesis. We are the animal that must feel heroic in order to transcend death anxiety, yet are inundated with guilt by our very heroism, our very identification with the cultural institutions of our society. It is guilt at its most primitive level, that which is associated with our feeble attempts to become god-like, to become more than animal.

Becker suggests that it is our expiation of guilt that has led our cultural institutions to engage in countless wars, to sacrifice millions of our kind in service to our own mortality. Those within our ranks who question the “rightness” of our value systems must be persecuted; countries with different ideologies must be destroyed. And yet, through the bloodshed and destruction, a most central part of us realizes the illusion and fetishism inherent in this scapegoating. These destructive acts offer only temporary relief from our knowledge that we are less than Gods, that someday soon we will all die.

Within these wars and murders I believe there are many more victims than the sacrificed. Freud, Rank and Becker spoke of the “artist”. In the widest sense, the artist is he/she who by temperament and life experience is more widely open to the knowledge of his/her own mortality. I believe there are three solutions to this conundrum; “madness”, artistic expression through the use of sublimation and a deep abiding faith in the Creator. I define “madness” in the widest sense, the use of brittle defensive postures to repress primal anxiety. It`s my belief that my friend hadn`t the depth of faith to sustain him through the horrors of Vietnam; I`m not sure if many of us would. Through drug usage he experienced “madness” with no relief. Finally, his life experience, his “Thrownness” into the world, denied him the courage of artistic expression. There was little left for him but the gradual giving in to his mortality through excessive drinking.

Other than the war,I know of little that separates my circumstances from Ed`s. I`ve felt the “madness”, I`ve denied myself artistic expression lo these many years, I`ve had doubts of the Creator. Yet here I am, trying to write, feeling a deeper understanding of the Creator. Ed`s sacrifice is akin to all of us artists, millions of us who struggle to express ourselves, knowing few masterpieces will be created. Yet, we struggle on.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 13 The End

2006-04-27T15:37:00.000-04:00

The next morning when I arrived at the funeral home I found out that the six men would be Ed`s pallbearers. They were Nam veterans, men from the bar where he had been going near his home. I followed the procession to Ed`s church for the Catholic service, then to the cemetary.

At the burial site I felt a weakness in my knees, a void somewhere within. Death touches us so deeply. There is really no one`s death, no one who we love, that is not also our death, a piece of us. The stark reality of our own existence, the barest time left to us, brings a shudder to our souls. That little conceit buried deeply in our hearts, “Thank God it`s not me.” I felt that cravenness, that recreant scream inside.

It is not death that makes cowards of us all, it`s the living with that knowledge. All of what the world knows of us, all of our personality, our character, is nothing more than our feeble attempt to deny our finiteness. And yet, in our time on earth, we are sometimes fortunate enough to be touched by another`s struggle. The basic humanness of it.

Whenever I think of Ed, who he was, three thoughts run through my mind. First, our cat Rennie. No one outside the family could get close to him, except Ed. No one paid attention to him, except Ed. Second, my son Sean. Children are not easily fooled and Ed was always Sean`s favorite among my friends. Third, my brother Mike,our companion at the Nixon Inaugural Protest. Mike has told me many times that Ed was the only one of my friends that treated him as an equal, even when he was not much more than a child. So, goodbye, my friend, sometime soon we`ll have a beer in heaven.

The End.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 12

2006-04-27T06:34:00.000-04:00

Two days later, I received the news of Ed`s death. According to his Mom, it seemed likely that I was the last person to speak to him. Patient notes indicated that he had slipped into a coma in the evening of my visit. His Mom asked if he seemed peaceful when I saw him, I told her yes. There was no need to mention the war.

Ed`s funeral was held in Kensington, within blocks of his home. Barbara, Sean and I came in separate cars so that I could stay awhile. As we entered the viewing room I had second thoughts about my decision to bring Sean. Which was more important, our coming as a family or his being shielded from these images? I had mixed feelings as we approached the casket.

The coffin was closed, an American flag fully draping it. On top of the flag, to the left, was a picture of Ed in an army dress uniform, something I had never seen before. I felt relief for Sean, yet confusion about the military pomp. I believed that the last thing Ed would have liked to define his life was his involvement in the Vietnam War. Yet, it wasn`t my decision. I had only to respect his parent`s wishes.

After a prayer at the casket I brought Barbara and Sean to where Ed`s parents were grieving. They hadn`t ever met Barbara and hadn`t seen Sean for a few years. Sean brought a smile to Ed`s parents, making me feel more comfortable about my decision to bring him. I walked my family out to the car and stood outside while they drove away.

I lit a cigarette, standing outside the small funeral home. A tap on the shoulder turned me to face two friends from the National Guard, men who had joined the reserves in the same month that Ed and I had enlisted.

“Hi, Bob, Jim. Thanks for coming.”

“How ya doin` Vince?” said Bob, as we shook hands. “Man, this is such a shame. What happened? Was he sick?”

“Yes, he`d been sick for awhile” I replied. “He had liver and kidney problems.”

“Damn. Such a waste. Ed was a good man. I just can`t believe this. Did he suffer much?”

“Yeah, I think he`s been suffering for awhile now” I replied. “Maybe since the war.”

I finished my cigarette and led them into the funeral home, pointing out Ed`s parents for them. Sitting down in the smoking room, I met John, the only one of the old gang to come that evening. I had known John would come; he was a good man, always had a good heart. Before we had a chance to speak, the priest had arrived for the evening prayers and we joined the others in front of the casket.

Along with family and friends, I noticed six men standing near the casket, dressed in jeans, some in army fatigue jackets. I had never seen them before, wondered who they were.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 11

2006-04-25T18:06:00.000-04:00

Not long after the cookout, maybe two months, I was at home with Sean near dinner time. Barbara was in the kitchen, making dinner, Sean and I were watching television, Bugs Bunny, a personal fave of ours. The phone rang and I leaned over Sean to answer it.

It was Ed`s Mom. He had been taken to Veteran`s Hospital two days before. It seems that Ed had been having difficulty for months with water retention and was taking medication for it. For the last week the medication didn`t seem to be working. Ed`s body swelled, he was in great pain, but he refused to go to the hospital. I asked her if he had been going to the bathroom, she said he had been trying, she didn`t really know. She did know that he hadn`t gotten out of bed for days and she could hear him practically crying at times. He wouldn`t eat, wasn`t even drinking much, just beer and water.

Ed`s Mom finally couldn`t take it anymore and against his protestations, she called an ambulance service to have him transported to the hospital. She was afraid that he would refuse to go but by the time the ambulance came he was in such great pain that he had little to say, no protests, just groans of pain. I asked her if he was allowed visitors, she said yes, they were giving him pain meds. I told her not to worry, I`d leave right away.

I kissed Sean and Barb, whispered to her where I was going and saw my pain reflected in her face. “I`ll say a prayer. Tell him we`re all thinking of him.”

It took about forty five minutes to drive to the University of Penn`s campus, where Veteran`s Hospital was situated and another twenty minutes to sign in and find Ed`s room. He was lying in the bed closest to the door, on his back.

I bent over the bed and saw he was sleeping so I grabbed the nearest chair and sat next to him. As I saw the size of his body beneath the light sheet my hope for him vanished. In three days there should have been some reduction in his fluid retention, that much I knew. Yet his whole body was swollen, not just his stomach. Ed`s face was red, his mouth a grimace in sleep. His chin seemed to rest on his chest, his body so distended that his neck could hardly be seen. I couldn`t help but sob, then saw that I had awakened him.

He spoke softly and I bent close to him to hear his words. “Aw, Vince, I don`t look so good huh?”

“Well, you`re here Ed. They`re taking good care of you.”

“It`s too late this time. I can see it in their eyes.” I was about to protest when he continued, “You know, I don`t want to die, not really. Aw shit, maybe I do. I knew what I was doin`, I knew I shouldn`t be drinking, not like I was. That fuckin` war. Shit.” He tried to shift his body, failed, and I tried to fix his pillow, make him more comfortable.

He looked up at me, directly in my eyes. It took all of my strength not to turn away. “Vince, you know those statues I brought back from Nam?” I nodded yes. “Well, it would give me pleasure if you would take them, give them a home. The Buddha needs to feel useful, to be around love and peace. I think I failed him in that regard.”

I could no longer hold back the tears, letting them fall on the sheet covering him, sort of an anointing. “Ed, you didn`t fail anybody. You did your best. That`s all God asks of us.”

He grimaced in pain, closed his eyes, seem to try to speak. I bent closely but couldn`t make out the words. His face seemed to lighten as he fell asleep and I stole away from the pain, wiping the tears from my eyes.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 10

2006-04-25T16:50:00.000-04:00

I heard very little of Ed for many months after that. It seemed as if each of us had moved forward, although in different orbits. I was very busy, finishing graduate school, my internship, working to support my family. I seldom stopped to see the old gang and when I did, there was no info on how he was doing. I left messages at his house a few times but we never seemed able to hook up. The war was over, America had withdrawn from Vietnam, but I had doubts if Ed was free of his demons.

A few weeks after I had defended my dissertation and had gotten my diploma in the mail, my wife and I invited a few friends over for a cookout, a kind of celebration. The guests were mostly friends from school, a couple from the old crowd. Ed came with our friend Monk; I was very happy to see him. He told me he wasn`t working but was taking two courses at school which qualified him for government benefits. His eyes were glassy and he had put on weight. The weight was shocking and worrisome to me. Ed had always been a strongly built, stocky man. He brushed off my questions about his health, saying what he needed was more exercise. I accepted that, what choice did I really have, what right.

I went into the dining room and got my diploma. “Yo, Ed. Take a look. Finally!” I said as I handed him the red booklet holding it. He opened the booklet and gazed at the diploma.

I saw a frown on his face as he said “I don`t understand, Vince. I thought you were getting your doctorate in Psychology. This says you`ve earned a Doctor of Philosophy, a Ph.D..” I started to explain how the Doctorates in Liberal Arts were Ph.D.`s, then it struck me. Ed was a philosophy major and I may have inadvertently taken away one of his dreams. Although he hadn`t as yet finished undergraduate school, he always had that dream to finish a doctorate in Philosophy, a Ph.D., something that would make him stand out. I felt foolish and put the diploma away, telling him I knew he`d get one of them someday.

I grabbed him by the shoulder, led him outside, introduced him around. Ed seemed to shrink a little and found Monk near the bar. He made himself a vodka and ice and sat down. My son saw him and ran over, excited. Sean had always felt close to Ed and he gave him a hug, bringing a big smile to Ed`s face.

“Wow, Sean. Look how big you`re getting`! Pretty soon I won`t be able to beat you at arm wrestling.”

“Yeah, Uncle Ed, I can already beat my Dad.”

“Well, let`s see how strong you are”, Ed laughed, as he put his arm on the little table next to him. He bent his arm low to accommodate a seven year old`s, said ready, set, go. Ed pretended to struggle letting Sean all but pin him, then brought his arm forward until Sean`s hand was inches away from the table. Sean struggled, not giving in and Ed gradually gave him purchase, allowing his own hand to be pinned. Sean jumped up and down, shouting “I won, Uncle Ed, I won!” Ed laughed, rubbed Sean`s hair and got up to get himself another drink.

About a half hour later Ed and Monk came up to me at the grill, where I was just finishing a bunch of hamburgers. Ed said sorry, they couldn`t stay, had to get somewhere. I asked him to give me a second to get the burgers off the grill, then found them saying goodbye to my wife Barbara and Sean. I walked upstairs with them and put a couple of cheeseburgers and two beers in a bag, handed it to Ed. As always, one for the road.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 9

2006-04-24T16:12:00.000-04:00

When Ed returned to Philadelphia he used his G.I. benefits to return to college. Both of us were busy and we saw each other about every two or three weeks. It seems as if he was doing fine, though he was drinking more than usual. Our trip to Washington was the longest time we had spent together in ages.

It was shortly after this that he borrowed his father`s car and drove up to my house in the northeast part of the city. Ed seemed happy. He had sold much of the grass to friends, a little at a time, to help himself financially and said he was doing well in school.

Ed pulled something from his shirt pocket and handed it to me; it was the paper that came with his monthly check from the government. I was surprised at the amount he was getting and looked it over carefully. It seems as if there was a bookeeping mistake, Ed was receiving benefits as if he was married and had two kids. I asked him how long he had been getting this larger amount and he replied, since the beginning of last semester. I said “Ed, have you called them, tried to straighten this out?”

“Naw, why should I? I`ll let them catch their mistakes. The hell with `em.”

“I don`t know, Ed. Once they catch it, you`re gonna have to pay all that money back. And I don`t know about penalties or how much time you`ll get to pay it back.”

“Well, Vince, I`m not goin` to worry about it. I`m doing good, have enough money that I don`t have to work. I`ll just leave it alone.”

Ed offered me ten dollars that he had borrowed, then asked if I had anything to drink stronger than beer. I poured us two glasses of jug burgundy and he drank his quickly, saying he had to go.

The next time I saw him was many weeks later. On the way home from a night class I stopped at the old neighborhood bar. All the boys were there, playing the bowling machine. Ed was sitting by himself, not in the game. I said Hi to him and bought us a drink, a beer for me and a vodka and ice for him. Ed was obviously drinking heavily, slurring his words. Not falling down drunk, but sad, within himself.

I asked him what was happenin`, he replied “I`m not in school anymore. The government caught their mistake. I can`t receive any cash benefits `til I`ve repaid what I owe them.”

“Aw, man, I`m sorry. I told you that might happen.”

Ed glanced at me, then seemed to focus past my shoulder. “That`s real helpful. Thanks for bringin` it back up.”

I didn`t know what to say, told him I`d be around if he wanted to talk. He nodded, finished his drink. I patted him on the shoulder, said my goodbyes to everyone and went home to my family.

It was shortly after this that Ed went to the West Coast, visiting some friends of ours. I heard nothing from him for months, then he was back home in Philadelphia, living with his parents. I stopped there to see him and was stunned by how he looked. His body was bloated, face puffy and red. We grabbed a beer and sat on his front steps.

“Ed, man, you don`t look well. You`ve been sick?”

He lit a cigarette, then replied “Yea, out on the Coast; guess I was drinkin` too much. I felt a lot of pain in my sides, like near the kidneys? I couldn`t piss, just kept swelling up. Finally, Jack took me to the V.A. hospital out there. It seems like my liver is going.”

I lit a cigarette myself, shook my head. "Aw, man, what did the Docs say?”

“Well, there was this one young Doc, a nice guy. He got me on the right meds, got me stabilized. When I was getting discharged he stopped to see me. He asked if I smoked grass, I told him yes. He was really serious, said to me to smoke all the grass I wanted but to stop drinking. Otherwise I`d be dead in a couple of years.”

"Ed, I`m really sorry, But what are you doin` with that beer then?”

“Just beer, Vince. No hard stuff.”

“You gonna be able to do that Ed?”

Ed took a swig from his can, “Fuck it. I don`t really give a damn.”

I looked at Ed, asked if he had been over to see any of the guys in the old neighborhood. “Naw, I`ve been hangin` around here. There`s a bar down by the El, at Cambria. A lot of vets hang out there. I feel comfortable there.”

“Are you drinking a lot there Ed?”

For the first time he looked me squarely in the eye. “Vince, I appreciate your concern, but this is none of your business. I gotta take care of myself.”

I nodded, finished my beer and went inside to say goodbye to Ed`s parents. Coming back outside, I gave Ed a hug, told him to call me and drove home.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 8

2006-04-23T07:41:00.000-04:00

In the middle of a dream, I heard “Yo Vince, you OK?” Oops, I had fallen asleep at the table. I looked at my watch, it had only been about fifteen minutes. “Yea, Ed” I replied as I closed my eyes, trying to catch the wisp of my dream.

My son was there, only much older, in uniform. Looking at him, then over his shoulder, I could see a sniper, aiming. I tried to stand, to scream, to warn him. Then, I was awakened. The overt meaning seemed obvious, my inability to help him scary. Present circumstances held me to that vision, I`d lost any other detail. So be it; move on!

Ed seemed ready to leave so I said my goodbye to Breeze and went to the Camaro, checked on Mike. In a few minutes we were on the road, northward to home. Breeze had given Ed a large coffee which I sipped gratefully as I saw both my passengers fast asleep.

I turned the radio off, opened my window further to stay alert. I thought about the day, what it meant to America. Maybe not much immediately; it would be easy for Middle America to look with derision at the pot-smoking draft dodgers, self-centered long hairs, afraid to serve their country. I had no doubt of how the TV networks would portray the demonstration. Ten seconds of Jerry Rubin, some closeups of guys burning their draft cards, lots of pics of pot smokers, then a pan of the White House, featuring the mounted police. Finally a fade to the Lincoln Memorial, being desecrated by the presence of these crazies.

Yet, for me, there was an inkling, a specter of change. There would be little in the news about the thousands of families, people of all ages, that had joined the demonstration. And, most importantly, the media could not for long disregard the protests of soldiers who had been there. People like Ed and his friends in the Vietnam Veterans Against The War. Men and women who had served their country and had found their leaders wanting. This was not a political problem. Both Democrats and Republicans were equally guilty in their faltering attempts to win this quagmire of a war. And yet, our young men and women continue to die. The future of our country I felt strongly, was in the hands of these brave men and women.

Thinking of them brought me back to Ed and his return to the United States. I laughed as I remembered his tale. Each vet was allowed to bring home his/her footlocker containing their personal items. Ed had found out that these footlockers were inspected by native Vietnamese for contraband, there being not enough Americans around for this task. Knowing this, Ed came up with a plan to get thirty pounds of grade A marijuana past their noses and onto the plane home. There was no further inspection on the West Coast, as far as he knew.

Ed wrapped the grass in blankets, with incense, and put his clothing over it. Then, the master stroke! He bought various religious statues; Buddha, Cao Dai, and put them on top of his clothing. Ed was willing to bet that the inspectors wouldn`t disturb the statues and he was right! A nice windfall for his return to civilian life.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 7

2006-04-22T08:06:00.000-04:00

Shortly after entering Maryland, Ed directed me to exit the interstate at a sign that read Fort Meade. We drove for about ten minutes, then started seeing the signs that said we were entering a military reservation. I felt a little uneasy as we were just returning from a large anti-war protest and we were approaching the home of the National Security Agency. I would think that there would be extra guards, etc. around Fort Meade and I didn`t know what their standing orders were.

Whatever, Ed directed me down some back roads, I had no idea if we were on or off base. On a lonely road, not a building in miles, I could see some lights ahead on our right. Ed told me to pull in and I entered a small dusty parking area, just one other car parked, a Chevy Bel-air. The small one story building was obviously a bar, neon signs in the windows advertising Budweiser, Schlitz beer.

Before leaving the car I checked on Mike, let him know we`d be right back, put a jacket over him and locked the car, leaving the windows slightly ajar. As we walked to the bar`s entrance I reached for a cigarette in my pack and realized I was carrying the last of our joints in my Marlboro pack. I showed it to Ed, then field stripped it, scattering the marijuana to the winds. I just wasn`t going to sit in a bar at Fort Meade with a joint in my pocket!

Ed seemed to understand and led me into the bar, just one small room. To the left was a shuffleboard table and a pinball machine for bowling, standard equipment for any neighborhood bar in America. It seems wherever men congregate, there are ways to compete.

I knew the rules, had spent many an hour on the bowling machine. Six of you would put your coins in, bowl ten frames on the machine. The lowest score, to the general derision of the others, had to buy the next round of beers; the next lowest had to put in the coins to play the next round.

Back in our local bar in Philly, the players fell into two catagories: First, there were the regulars, players who took competition seriously, who couldn`t stand to lose no matter the game. These were guys who would spend hours perfecting the slide of the quoit on the machine, just practicing so they would never have to buy the next round of beers. It wasn`t the money for them, just the feeling of being a winner. Then, the rest of us, usually three or four, who would take turns losing, buying beers, inserting coins. I always felt a sadness when seeing the elated faces of the first group, their excitement over getting free beers, winning in a game that was preordained. A sadness over what must have been missing in their lives that they could invest so much time and energy for these fleeting moments.

In the middle of the room were three worn tables to sit, laminate worn, chairs old and rickety. To our right was the bar, about twenty feet long, maybe ten or twelve high backed chairs. The only other person in the bar was the bartender, no patrons. He was a tall black man, well built, with a slight belly that all bartenders seemed to carry. He looked at us warily, two freaks entering an empty bar, then his face seemed to light up as he recognized Ed through the hair and beard.

“Ed, what`s happenin`?” he said, offering his hand, then coming around the bar for a bear hug. He held Ed at arm`s length, smiled, “You made it back.”

“Told you I would, Breeze. And I told you I`d stop by when I did. By the way, this is a good friend of mine; Vince. Vince, this is Breeze. He`s the guy that filled me in on what to expect in Nam, how to stay alive. A good man.”

I shook Breeze`s hand in that new convoluted way we all did, then sat at the bar as Breeze poured three mugs of beer. “I guess you two were at the rally? Wish I could have made it.”

Ed raised his mug in salute and took a sip. “To everyone who served” he said, as we repeated the mantra and drank to the heroes who had sacrificed themselves in so many ways in service to their country.

I grabbed my mug and walked to the jukebox, giving them time to talk. I was out of place in that conversation, hadn`t earned the right. There was some Marvin Gaye on the jukebox, “What`s Goin` On”. I put a quarter in and sat at one of the tables, listening to the rage in the man`s soft voice, waiting for Ed and Breeze to catch up.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 6

2006-04-20T04:39:00.000-04:00

Getting back in the car, I was pleased to see that Ed was back with me, tired, drained but alert. I handed him one of the coffees and checked on my brother, who continued sleeping in the back of the Camaro.

“How you feelin`, Ed” I asked.

“Pretty good,Vince. Thanks for the coffee.” Ed reached into the glove compartment and grabbed a pack of Marlboros, lit two, handed one to me.

“Ed, what effect do you think today is going to have on the war?” I asked.

He sat back quietly, smoking. “I think the demonstration today has already changed the course of the war, Vince. Washington was only the major protest. I just heard on the news that there were demonstrations all over the country. Not just New York, LA, Chicago. Even smaller towns, even the Midwest. Draft cards being burnt, people just saying it`s enough. Man, I can`t tell you how happy I am.”

Ed lit another cigarette and continued. “When I was in Nam, I met all kinds of people, guys who enlisted, guys who were drafted. There were fervent supporters of the war, guys who really believed that we had to make a stand against Communism. And there were others like me who were just trying to survive, to get back home. In the beginning there were a lot of debates, arguments. But war wears you out. And I think what got most of us together was how the war was being waged. I think the political decisions being made in Washington were what caused all this unrest. If the grunts in Nam could sense that the U.S. was committed to winning the war, that there would be an offensive into the north, they would have supported the administration. But all we did was tread water, try to keep our place. Gets you frustrated; instead of being angry at the Viet Cong, you start thinking about everybody around you, dying. Dying for nothing. And that you might die, for no reason. Is your life really worth nothing? I think that`s how I became committed.”

Ed turned on the radio, fiddled with the dial, found a Baltimore jazz station. They were playing “Clifford Brown With Strings” soft, sad, beautiful. It seemed a perfect choice for tonight. Clifford was a Baltimore native, a brilliant trumpet player, who had died in a car crash, 28 years old, never to give us all he had. Just like the tens of thousands of young Americans who had given their lives in this senseless war, never to see their kids grow up, never to work and love, never to create. The music brought a deep sadness to me, as if for the first time I could understand Ed`s heart. I think he sensed this as he spoke, “On the way home, let`s stop for a beer. There`s a place I want to show you.”

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 5

2006-04-18T16:45:00.000-04:00

As the shadow of the Washington monument grew longer, I could feel my energy waning. It had been a long day for each of us and it was obvious that Mike was also worn out. Ed would soon be feeling the aftereffects of the acid and would need a safer environment in which to return to us.

It seemed a good opportunity to start the trip home and I received little argument as I led us back to the Watergate Apartments and our car. It took nearly one and a half hours to reach Interstate 95 North proper. As anyone who traveled through the nation`s capital in those days quickly understood, the small signs that mapped the meandering route that the still uncompleted interstate traveled through Washington were often missing or hard to see. It seemed that we were like trailblazers or worker bees; each car of a large caravan moving north, taking turns getting lost, then settling back in the pack.

I felt relief as we approached the interstate; it was at least another four hour drive back to Philadelphia and I wasn`t sure if I would have any company for the trip. Mike had settled into a deep sleep in the back seat and Ed was lost in his thoughts, his eyes closed, breathing deeply. I pulled into the first reststop, asked Mike and Ed if they needed to use the bathroom, then entered alone. After using the facilities I entered the small restaurant and ordered three large coffees to go.

As I waited in line to pay I could see the haggardness in the waitresses` faces. They had probably been overwhelmed now for hours feeding an unlikely band of long hairs, both men and women, dressed in jeans, tiedied shirts, remnants of military uniform. And they all seemed to know each other, no hassles, just smiles, knowing looks. I was approached by an older couple who were standing just behind me in line.

“Pardon me, but were you at the demonstration today?” the man asked.

I smiled, nodded, “Yes sir, I was”.

“Are you a veteran?”

“No, I`m a National Guardsman, but my best friend is with me in the car. He served two tours in Vietnam.”

The man`s wife seemed to urge him on. “My eldest son died in Vietnam. He was there three weeks. Never left his base camp. An incoming mortar shell killed six of them.”

I looked at him, unsure of what to say, how to respond. I could see the mounting tears in his wife`s eyes. “I`m very sorry sir.”

His wife neared and took my hand. “Please tell your friend that we are proud of what you are doing. My son`s legacy lies with all of you. Something has to be done to stop all this killing.” Her husband spoke, as he must have done so many times, trying to understand the loss of his son. “Bob was drafted as soon as he completed college. University of Maryland, Philosophy major. He was going to go to graduate school, extend his deferment, but we ran out of money. He told me not to worry, that he would complete school after the Army. Now he`s gone.”

I placed my hand on his shoulder, “I`m so sorry for your loss, sir. And I hope you can understand that we have no disrespect for anyone who`s served. It`s just that we don`t want to see more death, more lives devastated.”

The man forced a little smile and took the check out of my hand. “This one`s on me son. Please tell your friend to hang in there.”

His wife drew my face down and kissed me. “With all of your help, maybe this war will end before my Jimmy is old enough to enlist. He doesn`t understand the fruitlessness of this war. He wants to go over there and kill those people who took his brother`s life.”

“Well, Ma`am, we`ll continue to do everything we can. And maybe you could take him to talk to some vets in the group that my friend has joined, the Vietnam Veterans Against The War. I think they can help Jimmy understand.” The couple thanked me and paid my check and I left the reststop, silently saying a little prayer for both their sons.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 4

2006-04-16T08:51:00.000-04:00

The parade wound its way back to the monument area. There was no finishing point, no judges. Just a winding, snake-like, people joining, dropping out.

The three of us left the parade at the Lincoln Memorial and climbed the steps to view the great man. Of all the memorials in Washington at the time, Lincoln`s was, for me, the most imposing. We sat at his feet and Ed opened his wallet and removed a hit of blotter LSD, offered me half. I declined, laughing, “Are we goin` to hire a driver to get us home?” He put half the piece in his mouth, sat back, waiting for the rush.

Keeping one eye on him, didn`t want to go searching again, I joined my brother who was standing back, gazing at the immense statue of “The Great Emancipator”. Mike majored in history in college and shared what he knew of Lincoln, the good and the bad. I was pleased to see he was thinking clearly, pretty sober. I`d probably need his help keeping an eye on Ed in the next few hours.

Mike and I spoke of earlier times; our age difference precluded our hanging around together but there are always stories. The one he always delighted in was his tenth birthday. He laughed as he recited the tale, smiling at my discomfort. I had bought him a brand new Wilson basketball for his present. Course, he didn`t play basketball at the time while, at sixteen, I was in love with the game. He always said it was the nicest gift I ever gave myself for his birthday!

We talked of when I scored the winning basket with 16 seconds left to capture the Philly summer league championship and of the game when he scored 17 points that summer. He was so proud of that game, playing with the older guys, getting hot, making every shot. Ah, the love I felt for him.

By this time Ed was rushing from the acid, smiling, in wonder. From our vantage point at Lincoln`s feet, he looked down at the vast expanse, the hordes of people.

“I knew this day would come” he said.

“Does it help, Ed?”

“Yes, a lot, Vince. Thanks for comin` with me.”

“No problem, Ed. Just stay with me here, no wanderin`!” We spent the next few hours tagging along as Ed roamed, seeing everything and more. I wondered what he must be thinking, of Vietnam, of this demonstration.

V

NIXON`S INAUGURAL PROTEST Part 3

2006-04-13T18:41:00.000-04:00

Ed and I finished in the bathroom and waited about 50 feet away, just out of the growing line. We sat down on the grass and I looked at this long-haired smiling man, proudly wearing his Army shirt with the insignia that identified him as serving in-country. Outside of my family he was the person to whom I felt closest.

I asked him how he was feeling, he said “Cool”. Ed lit a joint and continued “I`ve been waiting for this day forever, seems like anyway. Over there you don`t really know if anybody cares.”

Taking a hit from the joint, I tried again. “Ed, why`d you go back?”

“Because I was fucked up. Too much speed, too much anger. I lived in constant fear over there. Driving a gas truck every day, six hours north, six back. Then maintenance on the truck, fix any flats, fill the damn truck for the next day. You had to do speed to stay awake, except when you were getting shot at. I always thought of myself as one of those moving ducks in a shooting gallery? That`s what we all were. Dead any second. And the shooting was all comin` at me. I couldn`t do nothing but drive, get outta there. And vow I`d get a chance to shoot back some time, kill some of those bastards.”

I passed the joint back to him and opened a beer, saluting him. Ed stood up, said “By the way, where`s Mike?” Uh oh! We had been sitting for 15 or 20 minutes, no Mike. I fought my way through the line, got into the men`s room; nada. Ed circled the building and we met about 20 minutes later. I could feel the panic in my stomach; this was my younger brother who had been drinking and smoking, messed up, something he wasn`t very used to. I tried to think where he might go, how he might try to find us and decided my best bet was at the car near the Watergate.

Getting directions, we walked the first few blocks back, worry pervaded. Then, like a miracle, I turn a corner, dodge some people, hear a voice, laughing, “Yo Vinnie, Ed!” My brother is in a mob of crazies joining a counter parade. And he is marching under a sign that says “Kensington Gays Against The War”.

Ed and I practically fall down laughing, both from relief and from the sign. Ed had grown up and spent all of his life living in Kensington in Philly. This was a poor white neighborhood. In those days, you could spray a machine gun in Kensington and not hit a black or Hispanic person, never mind a gay man. Ed and I rush over to Mike and join him under the banner as we become part of the counter-protest parade, just a few more gays from Kensington!

V