Saint

You glimpse him
And the sky charges with grandeur.
The grass shoots long and lovely and lush,
The wind settles to a serenity.
The very air breathes
As if it were all made for him and this moment.
Perhaps it is a gift from the night-sky's Endless,
Those demigods and mythical monsters
Eternally circling one another.
They look down on him, their kindred,
Knowing he's Awake
And feels the obligation due everything
Smaller in the Universe.

Children and Money

Today we were out and my son said two funny things about money:

"They don't make two dollar bills anymore because now we have credit cards."

And later...

Raesh: Sure. If you want to go that's fine.
Son: Does it cost money?
Raesh: I don't know. Let me see. It says "Five Dollars."
Son: I don't want to go.
Raesh: Why not? You just said you wanted to go.
Son: I don't want to spend your money.
Raesh: Hahah. I think I'll be fine.

Solaris

I recently saw Steven Soderberg's film Solaris again. It's not a great movie as a whole, but what's fantastic about it is that no one is fooled by the contructs. Even the contructs know they're not "real." No one is stupid and thinks they're something they're not. Yet the characters are human and can not help themselves but relate irrationally and emotionally.

Here is an excerpt from the screenplay where psychologist Kelvin is talking to his dead wife. He is fully aware Rheya's gone and this thing laying on his chest is a construct. She hasn't discovered she's not "real" yet. He's trying to keep some emotional distance, but she innocently thinks she's Rheya and pushes his resistance like a familiar lover:

Rheya: I don't actually remember anything. I only remember you. Have I been ill?
Kelvin: Sort of.
Rheya: And we've been apart?
Kelvin: Yes.
Rheya: For how long?
Kelvin: A few years.
Rheya: Were you alone?
Kelvin: Yes.
Rheya: Was that difficult?
Kelvin: It was easier than being with someone else.


Once Rheya discovers she's a product of Solaris, she relates to it like God:

"It created me. And yet I can't communicate with it. It must hear me, though. It must know what's happening to me."

In this way, the film is really beautiful.

Holy Saturday

As a child, I always wondered about the Saturday after Good Friday and before Easter. In my mind, God was dead and the Earth and Nature should have rebelled and fallen apart in its own chaos. After all, Matthew tells us that the dead rose and walked in Jerusalem - as if all Hell had broken loose in a very literal sense.

Catholics believe he "rested" in the grave. No sacraments are given and there is no Mass. The world is left without religion for a day.

The early church has a doctrine called the "Harrowing of Hell." Based on a few verses in Acts and 1 Peter, they believed Jesus died and, covered in the sin of the world, was sentenced to Hell. While there, he preached the Gospel and gave unrepentant and ignorant souls a chance at salvation. He miraculously overcame sin and death and was resurrected then reunited with the Father in Heaven.

Personally, I like the idea of a day of stunned silence. The angels and faithful humanity shocked into a meditative contemplation - trying to discern the meaning in Jesus' death. The demons and Satan confused for a time about what to do next - listless in their "victory." I imagine that it was a day where nature tried to flex the rules and bend the boundaries and if you lived on that day, you would have seen many miraculous sights as the spiritual battle line disappeared for a day.

Good Friday

I remember you.
And I remember that your body was broken.
And I remember that your blood was spilled.
I remember that you didn't have to do it.

I remember you.
And I remember that your body was broken.
And I remember how they pierced your side.
Then you defied death and you ascended
into the
sky.

- Gene Eugene

Louisville

I traveled to Louisville, KY for business this week. As far as I know, Kentucky is famous for horse racing, chicken and whiskey. It wasn't race week, I can get KFC anywhere and I don't drink, so I was trying to find ways to entertain myself.

There was a play called "Fissures" that was being performed at a local theater, so I elected to do that. I didn't have high expectations. Louisville is not exactly Broadway, but it beat sitting by the indoor pool and reading.

The play was about reminiscence and memory. The acting was mediocre but the script was very impressive. The most powerful moment was when an actress gives this monologue about how she's stagnant and incapable of change. She sounded like an old woman set in her ways, or an Anne Rice vampire, or a mental patient. Later, the audience realizes that the actress is playing the memory of a man's dead wife. She's not able to change because she's this idealized recollection, not a real woman. It's the best moment in the play.

The picture is that of a heart-clogging sandwich called a "Hot Brown." They are a Louisville specialty and this is the original Hot Brown eaten at the Brown Hotel where the sandwich was invented. I took some hypertension medication before hand, just as a preventative. It's made of bread, cheese, turkey, cheese, bacon, cheese and parsley. Take that Crestor!

As an aside, the hotel I stayed in was haunted, but I didn't find out until I was checking out! Had I known that going in, I would have asked for the most haunted room. Spooky!

Dogs and the blind dream in scent.

A group of us are going out for lunch. The elevator I'm in stops and a young blind woman walks in. The door closes and she says, "I know you're here. I can smell you."

"I never know how much of that stuff to put on. I can't smell it myself."

"Funny I didn't hear you, not even your breathing."

"I get that a lot."

We both get off at the restaurant level and I'm early (like always). The blind woman is by herself and I agree to sit with her awhile. We talk about the solitude and sleep of the sightless. You catch my eye and wave me over. I excuse myself and you're upset. You tell me everyone's waiting. They can't order until I join you.

I know you're right. "I'll say goodbye to that woman, tell her you're here and I that need to go."

"No, you need to come NOW." You're strangly insistent. Our eyes meet and they're not your own.

I give you the smile I always do; I touch the back of your hand. "You're a dream."