Hello, Daniel-of-2019, here.
It's been a warm, mostly dry fall--climate change becoming ever more obvious, more ominous--except the day-to-day realities of our lives here are going well. After months of relapse and hit-or-miss treatment, Sarah Kelly's mental health seems that have stabilized again, a great relief. It's as though everyone can finally breathe again. We've also gotten some very good news that I'm not going to tell you about quite yet, but I will tell you.
My story is drawing to a close; we've entered the realm of Lasts, last Samhain post, last Yule post, and so on. I will take my narrative up to the point where I received my green ring, and then there will be a few more posts to catch you up on some of the things that have happened since. Then I will fall silent--except that I may set about recasting my story in book form.
I'm kind of sad--I've been working on this blog for the better part of a decade, now, and it's been an important decade for me. My daughter's birth, for one. The re-emergence of the school as a community, for another. But all things end.
All things end. That is the message of Samhain, I suppose, for while endings are followed by, and to some extent cause or allow, beginnings, there is a point in time where the bereft doesn't want to hear that, where hope and comfort and it's-all-for-the-best just sound like meaningless platitudes. My Dad would say Good Friday must have its due, before you can get to Easter. Charlie would say be here now.
I'm going to keep this note short. I'm preoccupied with endings and losses today, and yet I'm overwhelmed by the beauty of autumn, which has finally peaked this past week. "We are the flowers' threnody," a line of poetry I remember from somewhere, based on the mistaken notion that flowers die upon being visited by bees (the truth is more complicated), and evoking the idea that the bees are simultaneously the cause of and the beautiful mourning for the death of the flowers, as though beauty could in fact be both. The yellow and orange leaves are the year's threnody.
Be here now.
-best, D.
Monday, October 28, 2019
Monday, October 21, 2019
Mastery Year 3: Part 6: Post 4: Trust
So, I finally asked Charlie--for his vote to graduate, I mean.
Putting it off wasn't entirely emotional, I should explain. Yes, I was dragging my feet because I don't want to face my studenthood actually being over, but I had a few things to wrap up, too. There was the poetry book, for one thing. Charlie and I finally finalized the content--which poems, and which versions of the poems to include--about two months ago. It's 365 Elizabethan sonnets, all about a single spot in the woods near campus, roughly organized to depict a full year (although I actually wrote them over the course of more than two years), plus eight pen and ink illustrations and a full-color cover illustration that I also did. I've spent the last two months in a publication process, of sorts, and I've just this week finished.
Charlie and I had discussed my options, whether I ought to seek a traditional publisher, self-publish, or what. Finally Charlie advised me to not only self-publish, but to format and bind the book myself, and not put a lot of energy into selling it. Reason being, he says poetry is difficult to sell, and since the point of the project was art, not business, I could get more out of learning formatting and binding than by struggling through trying to sell my book to a publisher. I can always attempt formal publication later.
So, now I've made eight hand-bound copies, one for each of the Six, one for the school library, and one for me. I've always kind of wondered how the masters get such nice stuff--their furniture, I remember from my days on the janitorial team, is a collection of artwork--and I guess this is part of why; people, mostly students, give them things. I have no immediate plans to have it professionally printed, but I have started posting poems on social media and sharing the poems at local poetry readings off-campus. And I plan to submit individual poems to literary journals and see how that goes.
Then there's my project studying the school itself, find out how it runs, who does what, and what the school looks like to people who aren't here. I just finished the last of the interviews I wanted to do last week and I'm in the process of formatting my report . When I'm done, I'll print and bind a copy for the school library of that too. It's been a fascinating project--no big surprises, but a lot of little ones. Turns out, the school requires the labor of at least three times as many people as I'd thought it did, most of them allies working for free part-time. The whole thing is also a lot more prosaic and ad-hoc than I'd thought. This place is not run by mysteriously well-organized elves but by human beings who are mostly barely organized at all--that it works, and has worked consistently now for almost thirty years, is magic, but not the same kind as I'd expected.
And finally there's the issue of how all this fits into some kind of...I guess you could call it a ministry, if I don't get hired by the school, which logic suggests I probably won't, given that there aren't any anticipated openings and there about 75 qualified applicants in line ahead of me anyway. This one was hard. I mean, on some level, I've bee feeling and thinking and acting as though I will be hired, and so has everyone else. But what if I'm not?
I have several sources of income lined up, but they're not thematically related--they don't form a whole. They don't even form a career.
Finally, I admitted that my ministry is here. My mastery is here. Whatever magic I possess consists of my willingness and ability to serve a community--this community--in whatever capacity they need me.
So, this morning I said all this to Charlie. I got a bit long-winded, I think, and I started repeating myself. Finally, Charlie interrupted me.
"Daniel, I believe you have a question for me?"
And so I said it.
"Charlie, do I have your approval to get my green ring?"
"Yes," he said. "Because you have yours. I have come to trust you, Daniel."
And I felt like weeping, I really did.
Putting it off wasn't entirely emotional, I should explain. Yes, I was dragging my feet because I don't want to face my studenthood actually being over, but I had a few things to wrap up, too. There was the poetry book, for one thing. Charlie and I finally finalized the content--which poems, and which versions of the poems to include--about two months ago. It's 365 Elizabethan sonnets, all about a single spot in the woods near campus, roughly organized to depict a full year (although I actually wrote them over the course of more than two years), plus eight pen and ink illustrations and a full-color cover illustration that I also did. I've spent the last two months in a publication process, of sorts, and I've just this week finished.
Charlie and I had discussed my options, whether I ought to seek a traditional publisher, self-publish, or what. Finally Charlie advised me to not only self-publish, but to format and bind the book myself, and not put a lot of energy into selling it. Reason being, he says poetry is difficult to sell, and since the point of the project was art, not business, I could get more out of learning formatting and binding than by struggling through trying to sell my book to a publisher. I can always attempt formal publication later.
So, now I've made eight hand-bound copies, one for each of the Six, one for the school library, and one for me. I've always kind of wondered how the masters get such nice stuff--their furniture, I remember from my days on the janitorial team, is a collection of artwork--and I guess this is part of why; people, mostly students, give them things. I have no immediate plans to have it professionally printed, but I have started posting poems on social media and sharing the poems at local poetry readings off-campus. And I plan to submit individual poems to literary journals and see how that goes.
Then there's my project studying the school itself, find out how it runs, who does what, and what the school looks like to people who aren't here. I just finished the last of the interviews I wanted to do last week and I'm in the process of formatting my report . When I'm done, I'll print and bind a copy for the school library of that too. It's been a fascinating project--no big surprises, but a lot of little ones. Turns out, the school requires the labor of at least three times as many people as I'd thought it did, most of them allies working for free part-time. The whole thing is also a lot more prosaic and ad-hoc than I'd thought. This place is not run by mysteriously well-organized elves but by human beings who are mostly barely organized at all--that it works, and has worked consistently now for almost thirty years, is magic, but not the same kind as I'd expected.
And finally there's the issue of how all this fits into some kind of...I guess you could call it a ministry, if I don't get hired by the school, which logic suggests I probably won't, given that there aren't any anticipated openings and there about 75 qualified applicants in line ahead of me anyway. This one was hard. I mean, on some level, I've bee feeling and thinking and acting as though I will be hired, and so has everyone else. But what if I'm not?
I have several sources of income lined up, but they're not thematically related--they don't form a whole. They don't even form a career.
Finally, I admitted that my ministry is here. My mastery is here. Whatever magic I possess consists of my willingness and ability to serve a community--this community--in whatever capacity they need me.
So, this morning I said all this to Charlie. I got a bit long-winded, I think, and I started repeating myself. Finally, Charlie interrupted me.
"Daniel, I believe you have a question for me?"
And so I said it.
"Charlie, do I have your approval to get my green ring?"
"Yes," he said. "Because you have yours. I have come to trust you, Daniel."
And I felt like weeping, I really did.
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
Mastery Year 3: Part 6: Post 3: Magic
"Why do you focus so much on science?" asked Albion, one of the yearlings. I should explain that while Albion is young--mid-twenties--he is well-informed and fiercely intelligent. He already has a bachelor's degree in English literature and half an MBA. He also has a very large number of intricate blue tattoos, lots of "tribal" jewelry, and the hungry look of a devotee. I've heard he is a high priest of something or other.
All this, and he spoke to me with that strange mix of deference and challenge that people around here usually address to the masters when they're being confusing. He didn't address me as "Professor Kretzman," but he might as well.
I considered. If he were going to treat me as a master, I might as well act like one.
"What should I focus on?" I asked.
"Magic, of course," Albion answered. "This is a school for magic."
I mentally grumbled something like don't take my classes if you don't like them, you little twit, but what I said was the deliberately intriguing, and not entirely true, "I don't see how there's a difference."
"What?"
"Well, what's magic?" I asked.
"Causing change in accordance with the will," he replied. It's a standard definition in some circles.
"Like this?" I asked, and picked up a small stick and broke it in half.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because everybody knows how to break a stick with their hands," he retorted, though a moment's thought should reveal that's not quite true. I let that point go.
"So you want to cause change by means that not everybody knows about?"
"Yes."
"So, it follows that you want to understand how the universe really works, not just how most people think it works."
"Yes...."
"Congratulations; you want to be a scientist."
"But I want to do things, not just study them!"
"Then you want to be an engineer."
"No, but I...."
"So you don't want to understand the secrets of the universe and cause change using the things you know?"
"Dammit, I don't want to be some intellectual bean-counter, the world is full of wonder! I want to key into that!"
I chuckled.
"If you think scientists aren't aware of wonder, you don't know very much about science," I told him. "Maybe you should take some of my classes?"
And I walked away and left him gaping.
Is this really me? I find myself having these conversations, and to an extent some of them feel artificial, but more and more I'm thinking yes, this really is me.
It's sort of magical.
All this, and he spoke to me with that strange mix of deference and challenge that people around here usually address to the masters when they're being confusing. He didn't address me as "Professor Kretzman," but he might as well.
I considered. If he were going to treat me as a master, I might as well act like one.
"What should I focus on?" I asked.
"Magic, of course," Albion answered. "This is a school for magic."
I mentally grumbled something like don't take my classes if you don't like them, you little twit, but what I said was the deliberately intriguing, and not entirely true, "I don't see how there's a difference."
"What?"
"Well, what's magic?" I asked.
"Causing change in accordance with the will," he replied. It's a standard definition in some circles.
"Like this?" I asked, and picked up a small stick and broke it in half.
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because everybody knows how to break a stick with their hands," he retorted, though a moment's thought should reveal that's not quite true. I let that point go.
"So you want to cause change by means that not everybody knows about?"
"Yes."
"So, it follows that you want to understand how the universe really works, not just how most people think it works."
"Yes...."
"Congratulations; you want to be a scientist."
"But I want to do things, not just study them!"
"Then you want to be an engineer."
"No, but I...."
"So you don't want to understand the secrets of the universe and cause change using the things you know?"
"Dammit, I don't want to be some intellectual bean-counter, the world is full of wonder! I want to key into that!"
I chuckled.
"If you think scientists aren't aware of wonder, you don't know very much about science," I told him. "Maybe you should take some of my classes?"
And I walked away and left him gaping.
Is this really me? I find myself having these conversations, and to an extent some of them feel artificial, but more and more I'm thinking yes, this really is me.
It's sort of magical.
Monday, October 7, 2019
Mastery Year 3: Part 6: Post 2: Falling
"Are you going to honor Elmo at Samhain?" I asked Eddie. We were taking a walk the other day, between things, roughly following the periphery of the campus. The sugar maples in the avenue along the main entrance are turning, and the trees blazed orange above our heads.
Elmo, you remember, was his dog.
"I don't know," he said, after a bit. "I guess so. I've never heard anyone memorialize an animal, except you with Sanchez."
"You remember!"
Sanchez was the kitten I had when I was a little boy.
"I have a good memory."
"Well, it can't possibly be wrong, even if it's rare, or someone would have said something about it."
"I suppose," Eddie acknowledged. "I guess I will. It just hurts to think about."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, I think about it even when you don't bring it up. It just...it wouldn't be so bad if he were just dead, it's that I can't stop thinking maybe it was my fault."
"Eddie, he would have been put down months earlier at the shelter, if it wasn't for you. You did everything you could."
"Maybe I should have been able to do better."
"You're going to make yourself crazy," I told him.
"I'm already crazy," he said.
We were quiet for a bit.
"I guess it's coming up, though," he said.
"What?"
"Samhain. Whatever I'm going to do, I'd better get ready to do it."
It's true. We're three weeks out, but already the campus is more than half decorated for the holiday, mostly harvest-themed stuff, pumpkins, weirdly-shaped squashes, and decorative gourds, dried shocks of corn stalks....And then there's the Halloween paraphernalia, the bats and witches and arch-backed cats, which have almost nothing to do with Samhain but which a lot of the students, mostly yearlings, enjoy as a kind of camp--it's all through our dorms, even if not elsewhere on campus. In a week or two, Charlie and his team will put up the grape and bittersweet vines in the Mansion, and people will start making the memorial alters.
But....
"I can't believe it's this close," I said.
"Do you have your votes yet?"
"No, not all of them. But I will."
"Who don't you have?"
"Charlie," I admitted.
"Charlie! But he's the main one you need! What's your hold-up?"
I should explain; mastery candidates technically only need the vote of their own master--Charlie, in my case--to finish. It's not like the novices who need the votes of all the masters. But the other requirement for earning the green ring is we have to pass a job interview with a committee made up of some of the masters, and none of us know who our committee will be. So we've all decided it's smart to get the approval of all of the masters, just in case.
"Well, I haven't asked him yet."
"Daniel!"
"I know, I know. I will. I just...can't."
We were quiet for a bit.
"Do you have your votes?" I asked.
"No. I haven't asked. I'm not ready. I think I'll be ready by Brigid, I have three months. If I'm not, well, what's another year?"
"There are times I'm afraid I'll never get out of here," I admitted. "I'll be stuck as a student here forever...institutionalized. And then sometimes I'm afraid I won't be able to stay."
"I know. Me, too."
We were quiet again for a bit. Late-season crickets sang in the grass. The air was cool, the sun getting ready to set. A car sped by on the main road nearby and startled both of us--it seemed like it was from another world.
"So, what's you're hold-up?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"I'm just not happy," he said. "I'm Ed, I'm supposed to be happy." The name, Ed, which in his case is not short for Edward or Edgar, or anything like that, means happy. "But I think I lost something when I lost my dog, and I don't think I'll get it back."
And just at that moment, I kid you not, one of those flame orange leaves fell and it settled in his hair.
Elmo, you remember, was his dog.
"I don't know," he said, after a bit. "I guess so. I've never heard anyone memorialize an animal, except you with Sanchez."
"You remember!"
Sanchez was the kitten I had when I was a little boy.
"I have a good memory."
"Well, it can't possibly be wrong, even if it's rare, or someone would have said something about it."
"I suppose," Eddie acknowledged. "I guess I will. It just hurts to think about."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, I think about it even when you don't bring it up. It just...it wouldn't be so bad if he were just dead, it's that I can't stop thinking maybe it was my fault."
"Eddie, he would have been put down months earlier at the shelter, if it wasn't for you. You did everything you could."
"Maybe I should have been able to do better."
"You're going to make yourself crazy," I told him.
"I'm already crazy," he said.
We were quiet for a bit.
"I guess it's coming up, though," he said.
"What?"
"Samhain. Whatever I'm going to do, I'd better get ready to do it."
It's true. We're three weeks out, but already the campus is more than half decorated for the holiday, mostly harvest-themed stuff, pumpkins, weirdly-shaped squashes, and decorative gourds, dried shocks of corn stalks....And then there's the Halloween paraphernalia, the bats and witches and arch-backed cats, which have almost nothing to do with Samhain but which a lot of the students, mostly yearlings, enjoy as a kind of camp--it's all through our dorms, even if not elsewhere on campus. In a week or two, Charlie and his team will put up the grape and bittersweet vines in the Mansion, and people will start making the memorial alters.
But....
"I can't believe it's this close," I said.
"Do you have your votes yet?"
"No, not all of them. But I will."
"Who don't you have?"
"Charlie," I admitted.
"Charlie! But he's the main one you need! What's your hold-up?"
I should explain; mastery candidates technically only need the vote of their own master--Charlie, in my case--to finish. It's not like the novices who need the votes of all the masters. But the other requirement for earning the green ring is we have to pass a job interview with a committee made up of some of the masters, and none of us know who our committee will be. So we've all decided it's smart to get the approval of all of the masters, just in case.
"Well, I haven't asked him yet."
"Daniel!"
"I know, I know. I will. I just...can't."
We were quiet for a bit.
"Do you have your votes?" I asked.
"No. I haven't asked. I'm not ready. I think I'll be ready by Brigid, I have three months. If I'm not, well, what's another year?"
"There are times I'm afraid I'll never get out of here," I admitted. "I'll be stuck as a student here forever...institutionalized. And then sometimes I'm afraid I won't be able to stay."
"I know. Me, too."
We were quiet again for a bit. Late-season crickets sang in the grass. The air was cool, the sun getting ready to set. A car sped by on the main road nearby and startled both of us--it seemed like it was from another world.
"So, what's you're hold-up?" I asked.
He shrugged.
"I'm just not happy," he said. "I'm Ed, I'm supposed to be happy." The name, Ed, which in his case is not short for Edward or Edgar, or anything like that, means happy. "But I think I lost something when I lost my dog, and I don't think I'll get it back."
And just at that moment, I kid you not, one of those flame orange leaves fell and it settled in his hair.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)