#57.12, Thursday, June 27, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.

         Foggy morning softens the first light of day dispersing the wedding into a yawning dawn. Stretching our tired aches to the edges we start the cleanup, keeping useful leftovers and digging a pit for the rest.

         The monks of Luxeuil left when the moon was still reflecting off the creek. Those with the long journey along the Moselle left early also. Except Vizsla, the Avar physician. He stayed, maybe to marvel at the serenity-piercing, organizational skills of Hannah. To keep himself useful he is gathering up fire wood to replenish Mater Doe’s supply.

         Haberd is returning from farm chores with the mule and wagon ready to drive his sister with the baby, and Will back to the castle fields. He’s also taking two of the elder nuns as far as Luxeuil. Other nuns scurry to help with the clean-up so that they can follow close after the wagon. But Hannah urges them to go along immediately to save walking those miles unescorted.

         The musicians and most of our family are still here for this new tranquility. But now Thad and his little band of musicians are circumambulating the little round thatched house, chanting. “Brandell, Brandell,” Then the chant morphs musical with “Gaia, Gaia, Gaia,” actually, that seems like a dancing song, and these hungover Roman Christian fellows hear it as nearly the same as that Jewish toast to life. So now they are singing a lusty toast, “LeGaia, LeGaia” [spelling, random] and the noise is scraping my memories of the ancient Hebrew joy over the rocky earth of Gaul.

         Brandell and Gaia emerge from the little house hand-in-hand, leaving Brandell his other hand to bring out his kithara. Gaia takes a seat and he drops the harp strap over his head, taking the center to sing the happy ending to the grandpapa song that once so unsettled the Church.

         “My grandpapa was a Pharisee, fine,

           A God beloved, obedient Jew!

         He feasted on lamb and sipped blest wine

          “Shema Yisrael” — love renews.

         “From Jesse springs the sacred shoot

           It’s awe of universe above

         flourishing from that ancient root

           The vine we share in Jesus’ love

         Touch my shoulder take my hand,

           We’re one together as the vine,

         Dancing feet on every land

         Let all our daughters sip blest wine!

         It’s a foggy morning when the musicians think this new dancing song needs a bit more reference to the intimacy of a man and woman. Brandell smiles at Gaia. What can I say?

(Continues Tuesday, July 2, 2024)

#57.11, Wednesday, June 26, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.
 

         With all of the guests gathered around watching through the windows and opened door of the little thatched house gift, everyone was anticipating Gaia’s response when she discovers this is actually a house that Brandell and his whole family have made for them. This is her house.

         Gaia seems to have gone from the wonder of thatch, to the hope of one day maybe. And now Brandell sits next to her on the bed. A few drunken whoops and chants through the windows tell Gaia they are not alone in this house.

         Brandell asks her, “Do you touch only with your imagination? Or do your fingers tell you what is real?”

         “I do know some things, Brandell. It is only my eyes that don’t see. With my fingers I see a dream you have for us.  The women we traveled with, some are here now, had this same kind of dream.  When they came to their new land they would have houses filled with all the things for family and beautiful life. Now I see that your family has set up this house here in the middle of my string for greeting people, so that I, too, could nurture a dream for a real house for my new husband and maybe for a family of lots of children one day.”

         Now the whoops and cheers from the door and windows are raucous.

         The musicians are starting the dance and the distraction allows Brandell and Gaia a brief moment of solitude in the midst. Brandell draws the shutters closed, and from outside I close the door. I hear the bar on the inside of the door come down too. The solitude we’ve allowed inside that thatched house fills the imaginations of every guest and family at this wedding – memories of our own love bonds, lusts, and beauty, bare —

         Now, the new poet sings tender and familiar words touching depths newly revealed.

         My arms wrap Ana in gratitude.  Thank you, God, for the mother of this family, Ana, and for all these ways of love. Ana offers her own amen, “So be it, Laz.”

         Ana is quivering in the night air, as on the day we first came to our hill cottage. She was a little bird, soft in my arms — yet all of these years with its tender, lavender scented, naked nights, and pangs of birth and infant wakings, have brought us to this abundance of family, children, grandchildren and the dance.

(Continues tomorrow)

#57.10, Tuesday, June 25, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.
 

         Wedding traditions forever use all sorts of imaginable metaphors to plot that moment when the newly married are surprised by something very sweet that feels so wonderfully good when fully revealed — opening gifts — being flung in the air by well-wishers — doused in wine — smeared in cake — so many ways to tease out the not-so-secret purpose of wedding. The seeing fingers of this blind bride lead Gaia and Brandell right into that place plotted as a gift to the bride by the husband.

         She touches the thatch of the walls, then the wood jamb and door. Brandell takes her finding fingers in his hand and opens the door.

         “Brandell, what is this? Did you know the string I set was torn apart, and here is this thing?”

         “Yes, Gaia.  As soon as you had your woolen yarn spread all around the clearing, I just came out here and cut it apart and tied it to the beams that make this doorway. Papa did the thatching so it is perfect.”

         She lays her hand on the thatched wall.  “What is it? Is it a roof?”

         I should explain, “No, this is a wall. I don’t suppose they make whole houses in Greece from thatch, and even here in Gaul we’ve been using more dob and wattle, but it is traditional for ancient tribes and some people, even today, make whole houses from thatch.”

         “Oh! So, we could use this thatch and someday we could make a house?  Thank you, Papa; it seems to be very well made.” She studies the tightly tucked reeds with her fingertips.

         Brandell now has to explain it, which kind of makes an underwhelming response to discovering a whole house as a gift.

         “Gaia, this is the door.” He guides her into the door as the guests crowd around the outside getting glimpses into the little house.  Gaia moves slowly touching each little gift – the bench — the table — the bed — the weave of wool for a blanket — the linen sheet gifted by the monks — pillows and pad stuffed with goose down — a gift from the garden ganders…

         With all of us crowded at the windows and door Gaia sits on the bed touching each layer of finery,

         “Brandell, this is a fine featherbed. It’s fun to imagine something like this – a little house of thatch with a table and a bench and a fine feather bed. Someday we could live in a house, Brandell.”

(Continues tomorrow)


#57.9, Thursday, June 20, ’24

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.
 

         Ana and I are all watching Gaia make her way following the string she left for herself, meeting the guests as she goes, soon to reach the surprise our family has tied into her guide line. Hannah had been guarding the secret, and now Gaia wants to introduce Hannah to this man who seems to be alone at this party. She tells Hannah he was the medical practitioner for the Avar guards on the journey.

         So how will Hannah, woman of medicine, healer, background organizer of everyone else’s festival, deal with Gaia’s suggestion that she, herself, meet a man? This is not a medical emergency or a needy plea. Gaia just noticed an opportunity here discovering the balm for an emptiness in Hannah that can possibly find the healing potion for two lonelinesses.

         “Vizsla,” Gaia calls out, “I want you to come and meet my sister-in-law, Hannah.”

         Vizsla follows orders immediately like the good soldier he is. He stands straight, adjusts his cape, glances at his shoes, stretches out his hand, and takes a step toward Hannah, but not two steps to appear improperly forward. His precision makes him awkward, gawky, like a half-plucked gander.

         “Hannah?” he says.

         Gaia adds, “Hannah is a medical practitioner, well-known among the people of this area for her skills and compassion.”

         Now Vizsla seems to know what to say. Hannah, clearly does not. Gaia steps aside, to return to her string.

         So, fearing the surprise will be discovered too soon, Ana takes my arm and hurries me along with her to stop Gaia from that next reach toward the little thatched house.

         “Brandell needs to be with Gaia when she makes this find.” Ana tells me, as she reaches Gaia. “Gaia, Brandell will want his old friends to meet you.” So, Ana and I whisk Gaia off to the far side of the circle of string so that she may meet all the musicians.

         The dancing music starts again and Gaia takes Brandell with her on her walk around the string, greeting people all along the way.

         All of the attention turns to the bride and groom now, as her hand leads along the string to…

         The music stops and now a hush moves throughout the crowd as Gaia’s hand touches one bundle of tightly tucked straw. What is this? She knows by the cheerful sounds of the people it must be something sighted people expected her hand to discover.

(Continues Tuesday, June 25, 2024)


#57.9, Thursday, June 20, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.
 

         Ana and I are all watching Gaia make her way following the string she left for herself, meeting the guests as she goes, soon to reach the surprise our family has tied into her guide line. Hannah had been guarding the secret, and now Gaia wants to introduce Hannah to this man who seems to be alone at this party. She tells Hannah he was the medical practitioner for the Avar guards on the journey.

         So how will Hannah, woman of medicine, healer, background organizer of everyone else’s festival, deal with Gaia’s suggestion that she, herself, meet a man? This is not a medical emergency or a needy plea. Gaia just noticed an opportunity here discovering the balm for an emptiness in Hannah that can possibly find the healing potion for two lonelinesses.

         “Vizsla,” Gaia calls out, “I want you to come and meet my sister-in-law, Hannah.”

         Vizsla follows orders immediately like the good soldier he is. He stands straight, adjusts his cape, glances at his shoes, stretches out his hand, and takes a step toward Hannah, but not two steps to appear improperly forward. His precision makes him awkward, gawky, like a half-plucked gander.

         “Hannah?” he says.

         Gaia adds, “Hannah is a medical practitioner, well-known among the people of this area for her skills and compassion.”

         Now Vizsla seems to know what to say. Hannah, clearly does not. Gaia steps aside, to return to her string.

         So, fearing the surprise will be discovered too soon, Ana takes my arm and hurries me along with her to stop Gaia from that next reach toward the little thatched house.

         “Brandell needs to be with Gaia when she makes this find.” Ana tells me, as she reaches Gaia. “Gaia, Brandell will want his old friends to meet you.” So, Ana and I whisk Gaia off to the far side of the circle of string so that she may meet all the musicians.

         The dancing music starts again and Gaia takes Brandell with her on her walk around the string, greeting people all along the way.

         All of the attention turns to the bride and groom now, as her hand leads along the string to…

         The music stops and now a hush moves throughout the crowd as Gaia’s hand touches one bundle of tightly tucked straw. What is this? She knows by the cheerful sounds of the people it must be something sighted people expected her hand to discover.

(Continues Tuesday, June 25, 2024)

#57.8, Wednesday, June 19, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.

         In a moment for rest from all the dancing, the new poet sings a wailing ballad, a love story it is, but we aren’t sure of what makes a poem a love story just now. There are so many ways each of us is touched with beauty – sometimes it is in the longing or the pain, or the losses, or the hopes. [footnote]

         While Brandell is meeting with some of his old friends who are here tonight with the music, Gaia takes this time to follow the string of wool she has tied around the clearing that will lead her, unguided by any helper, to greet each of the guests sitting along the edge of the circle. She had a good plan. The first guests along the string are the women she traveled with in the caravan of recent Jewish travelers. She discovers, on this occasion anyway, it is the widows from both sides of the river, who have found their common lot among those they once feared. So here the invisible, unspoken heart of their new friendship is the gratitude for Gaia’s imagination for peacemaking. Finding them here together is Gaia’s joy, just now.

         Gaia takes the string in hand and continues to the next guest. I don’t know him. He is a man sitting alone, dressed as an Avar soldier, but he also wears the long robe of a scholar over one shoulder like a cape. The rest of the Avar guard Brandell and Gaia traveled with didn’t come to this event. So, he stirs my curiosity. Gaia seems to know him. She sits right down on the bench next to him and catches his attention away from his mindless staring off toward the place nearby where Hannah stands by herself.  Hannah seems intent on guarding Gaia’s guiding string right at this place where the secret gift of the house awaits her discovery of it.

         After a moment chatting with the fellow, Gaia goes back to following the string, and as she moves nearer the little thatched house her groping after the yarn takes everyone’s attention. But she doesn’t discover the house just now. When she reaches out her hand it is Hannah she touches.

         “Hannah?”

         “Oh Gaia, it’s all so wonderful!”

         “Hannah, there is someone here I want you to meet. He was sitting right here, along the yarn I set …

         “That man you were just talking too?”

         “Yes, he was the Avar guard’s physician, Vizsla.”

(Continues tomorrow)

[footnote] Just to share the moment, as this blogger had just come to this place in writing, our local writing group Lakeshore Writer’s Group, was gathering and submitting works. This poem popped into my inbox with a ding. And it expanded whatever it was I was trying to say about ways of sharing our griefs and disabilities – Thanks Mike Hammer who is a Member of National Ataxia Foundation – National Ataxia Foundation

#57.7, Tuesday, June 18, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.

         The feasting begins. Wine is raised to toast bride and groom. “Here, here” we all are together, beloved people, celebrating every name for love under the canopy of sky and forest. 

         It’s a gluttonous feast, barbaric and loud. The bridal couple and musicians eat first. So, it isn’t long before the music begins that captures the rabble in tempo – the unison beat on a hollow gourd, shared heartbeat of music.

         Thad leads the musicians. This is the first time in a long time Brandell’s musicians have all played their old songs together. After Brandell left, the crowds at the winter parties thinned. Musicians each found new venues. Thad plays for the king now. He dresses in gold and jewels, as when he visited Constantinople on the journey to find a new wife for King Dagobert.  That gift ship was in port in Constantinople a summer ago, so Thad went into the city and found Brandell there simply by following the music. Now Thad is still dressed up in his royal finery, and for his harp he now has a Greek Kithara.  It’s not just because of this versatile harp with many sounds, there are other reasons why this music may be the best it has ever been. Music is the mystical reach touching us in celebration. And it is present here in a rhythm so that even Mater Doe can know is music.

         Now Brandell and Gaia go into the center of the clearing, standing together like two dancers who would start the vine dance. The people murmur, “surely a blind woman can’t dance,” And now she dances.  They dance!  Right at the shouting place in the music, both have that precise little flick of heel, the kick, the dip of the knee, the bend of the hip Gaia does it in perfect time, that was always Brandell’s little special thing. They dance!

         Others join in the dance. And now so many of us are dancing – hands to shoulders, hands to shoulders, a circle inside a circle – one circle turning one way, the other the other, Christians, Jews, Pagans, children, elders, everyone is connected to everyone in God’s huge all-encompassing vine of holy love. We circle around, and then into the center, and then the shout.

         The torches are lit! More food!  More wine! More music! In the dizzying moment of remembrance, I feel the presence of my childhood friend who whispered to all of us who come to feast, “I am the vine and you are the branches…” [John 15:5]

(Continues tomorrow)

#57.6, Thursday, June 13, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.

         It is the poet’s wedding when God is Word, and Word is unspoken breath.

         It is the deaf priest who hears of the love by watching the lips –

                  I – Open in anticipation

                  Love – tongue to teeth, then open, then touch of the lips

                  You – lips for kiss, shared breath with another

         “We celebrate fertility rites — erotica – it is called by some, and just that word itself evokes a poetic pleasure.”  Thus speaks this priest for all, without boundaries, as she reads poetry from an ancient book that speaks, in part of the pagan deities of fertility.

         “Garden fountain, a well of living water,

                  And flowing streams from Lebanon.

         Awake, O north wind,

                  And come, O south wind!

         Blow upon my garden,

                  Let its fragrance be wafted abroad

         Let my beloved come to his garden,

                  And eat its choicest fruits.”  [Song of Songs 4:15-5:1a]

         As she reads the lengthy poem, from the opened walls on one side of the church come the giggles from the youth who have already unveiled the full metaphor of this in its most probably intended way – the fuzzy lambs among the lilies. And from behind us, the choir of sisters from Luxeuil whisper affirmation that the Church is the bride of God, and she, The Church, also knows this “well of living water.” And yet, from the windows on the more easterly side comes the ancient echo of these same words said to be of Solomon spoken in Hebrew from the deep omniscience of rabbi’s voice. Everyone claims it. And everyone knows it is what it is. And so, in weddings we all wish for the husband’s sheep to find their fragranced wanderings into the garden. This day is all about the breath that needs no words.

         Even the chanting of the sisters and brothers of Luxeuil are the Halleluiah’s – holy words – breath, with rarely consonants. Does chanting ever have a joyful sound? Today it does.

         Thank you, God, for always giving us earth’s creative metaphor, showing us in poetry what you want us to know of love.

         Brandell and Gaia go into the crowds of friends for the toasting and feasting and some of us stay behind in the church, the monks and the sisters from Luxeuil, our family, and Mater Doe who takes little Willanod in her arms and she is baptized now.  As her father, Will, wishes for her, she is Christian, and it has been spoken aloud now, “a child of God.”

(Continues Tuesday, June 18, 2024)

#57.5, Wednesday, June 12, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.

         There is no room for all these people to crowd inside the little church. It is a little heap of old Roman rocks once stacked with arched openings down the sides. The walls are opened with gapping window spaces that let in wind and snow all winter and allow Mater Doe to always feed the birds. The large fire that she keeps at the ancient altar year-round is not only a nod to the pagan cults in this random chaos of tradition; it sources warmth. In this season for new life and weddings, guests gather on all sides around the outside of the little church as though the building is a cherished little nest. Maybe this is how, in Christian style, a church which means people, can become the building itself. Will and I have been checking on the guests all around and I am pretty sure everyone can find a good place to see and hear everything of the ceremony from outside through the spaces in the walls.

         Family is inside. Ana and our children and grandchildren crowd together and then the nuns and Gabe’s brothers, the band of monks from Luxeuil have all come inside calling themselves the choir.

         Notably, Gaia isn’t in here. Brandell reminds me, she will need to be led, Papa. Oh, of course. It was my task to set her on the horse, to lead the horse up here, then I was supposed to lift her down, and bring her into the church. But as soon as we arrived here the guests swarmed around like bees to the queen. So, I did leave her out there on her horse with so many friends gathering around. Everyone was reaching up to her to take her hand and tell her she is beautiful and beloved. And I know I am a bit flustered by all this ever-expanding event, but in Brandell’s mind I don’t really have a good excuse for forgetting to bring in the bride. I apologize to Brandell. So, I get on with my task – Gaia forgives, and the wedding begins.

         Weddings are always some variety of skewing of life’s priorities. While celebrating a new union of family, we suspend all our thoughts of daily needs — food sources and shelter. The woman who will do chores forever from this day forward, cleaning up messes, bearing the children, hugging away tears – she is untouchable nobility on this one day. And so, it is a paradox.

(Continues tomorrow)


#57.4, Tuesday, June 11, 2024

Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Vosges Mts.

         Will and his family arrived leading the peasants walking up from the creek.  He goes immediately to the long board sparse for feasting — if it had only been our lambs. But some peasants came with venison and Luxeuil sent a boar in the donkey cart. I would expect to find Will touting the options as people are also arriving from the vineyards on the river. What might he say about the ethnicity of these meat choices with lamb at one end, venison in the middle and a pig at the other end? If he could just quietly appreciate the boar – that would be fine with me.

         But now, he is here with the baby in his arms, and Layla close at his side at the lamb end of the table welcoming everyone as they are arriving from the vineyards.  They’ve had a long day’s journey already, and now, they find Will ready to sort out Jew from Gentile, I fear.

         But why do I fear?  Did I fail to trust that the Jesus’s love would one day infect him with a need for wider love, also? He is answering everyone’s questions as though he is the guide here, introducing himself as “family,” and the baby in his arms is “little Willanod, the youngest niece of the bride and groom.” He brags so proudly.

         “She will be baptized today after the wedding. She was born Christian, you know,” he says to a man who is clearly in Jewish garb. Then he adds, “So here on the feast board we have this fine lamb – if you have a taste for it, and at the far end is the long-anticipated boar. Enjoy the feast but not yet. First the churchy thing.”

         Again, it is so good to hear Will calling himself “one of our family” and the proud father of our newest grandchild. He seems a very different man than the brutish thief who stole Layla away in the middle of the night then ridiculed her Jewish heritage. Dear God, thank you.

         I ask Will to help me direct the people toward the arch openings in the walls of the little stone church so that everyone will be able to see and hear the ceremony even though such a crowd will never fit into the tiny building. He is still bullying people as it is his nature, separating people, saying only the family may go inside. But it is true, there isn’t room for all the guests inside.

(Continues tomorrow)