Historical Setting: A stone hovel in an unknown time
On this new day I linger in the straw thinking I’ll move but thinking doesn’t make it so. I’m watching the nearly dawn sky, then a fog through the eyelet of the stones at what is surely the eastern arc of this hovel. My clarity of mind today only muddles the memory of the circumstances that brought our boat to this tragic end. I’m haunted, but I know in my head there was nothing I could do to save Cloothar.
Forgive me God.
And here I am, myself needy, but this little monk doesn’t fail me.
My ponderings terrify these nights.
In these glimpses of memory, I am with Cloothar in the little leather currach in that storm rising from the west. The wind was against the oars, as we were trying to make our way to a safe harbor. But before we could find any mooring, we turned broadside to the wind and the sea rose up and tumbled our craft in froth, churning and washing over us again and again. At first, I was floating free clinging to the empty coin chest until the sea filled it and it was gone. Then I drown too.
Neither Cloothar nor I survived. His coin chest he clung to was filled and heavy and sunk straight away.
Being as I am with this persistent healing, even from death to life, for me, rescue didn’t depend on capturing something left afloat. I’m always gifted back in some version of tedious but reliable healing, back into life. It is better explained with a “why” than a “how.” But here I am a captive of pain in this stone eye staring always into the eastern sky.
***
This morning, I’m awakened by two tiny birds outside the wall singing a loud dialogue of carnal love and probably preparing a nest. I believe these birds are planning for an egg and whatever may become of that. Their raucous song of creature courting began the moment the sun broke into the darkness — and now there is so much loud singing.
Spring is wrapped in the smell of fresh earth –clay or moss — laying hold of scent even inside this place that might otherwise stink of stable. Springtime hangs loud and heavy today.
I can only guess where this is. At night I watch our tiny glimpse of sky for a familiar star, but to know a star one has to find its pattern with other stars. What I can see from here is very little use.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 