Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 7: Brigid

The day dawns when everything changes: Brigid.

I woke the morning before Brigid--what would be the morning of Brigid except that our holidays begin with the evening, as do those of Jews--feeling very odd. The sunlight was very bright in my room, I'd slept late, but June was sleeping still later, so I lay there alone beside her in a kind of well-lit, exalted terror, without thinking much of anything, aware only of the Total Now.

The Total Now, of course, doesn't last very long. You think "ah, here is the Total Now," and then, just like that, it isn't. Thoughts, and thoughts about thoughts, creep in. I'm not enlightened. I'm not even all that different from the doofus who came to this school so many years ago, with no clear plan but a vague desire to belong to a place that looked like a scene from Harry Potter. And yet much has shifted since then, and I knew without doubt that I'd earned the ring I'd be getting later that day. It was simply the enormity of a day longed for, worked for, daydreamed about for so long finally arriving that weirded me out.


As you may have noticed, I can talk myself into a state very easily.

June woke up. I can't tell you how I knew she woke up, as she didn't move, but I did know, as so I said "Today is The Day."

"So is every other day," she reminded me. "Have we missed breakfast? Is there coffee?"

We hadn't missed breakfast completely, but it was well in progress by the time we got down to it and some people were already trickling out, finished, which was just as well because the morning before Brigid is always very crowded--almost the entire campus has returned from winter break, but we're still eating in the Great Hall, all of us except the masters and, of course, the graduating novices. They, the ones graduating, are all in the utter, timeless blackness of the individual cells of The Ordeal, a fact which nobody ever notices until their own Ordeal begins. Once one knows about the Ordeal, the sudden absence of twenty or so people for three days is obvious, but those who don't know to look never see. I've often wondered whether that curious obliviousness is cured by training for mastery, if our ability to see things that were once invisible--and, for some of us, to become invisible ourselves--translates into an ability to see what we're actually seeing instead of only what we're looking for. Perhaps it doesn't, but as they don't play such mind games with candidates I don't really know. Anyway, breakfast was crowded.

After breakfast, June and I went for a very long walk together. It hasn't snowed in over a week, and there's been some melting, so there were plenty of trampled paths almost everywhere we wanted to go, and even elsewhere, up in the woods, the snow was not deep. The air temperature hovered around freezing, warm for this time of year. The sun flitted between quickly-moving, fleecy clouds.

Do you know, I can't think of a time anyone here has ever remarked on whether Punxsutawney Phill has seen his shadow?

We got back to the Mansion around two and had lunch. Then I left June to her own devices for the rest of the day, took a shower, and put on my uniform. By three I was waiting in the Great Hall with the other graduating candidates, as instructed.

"We're supposed to go up, now," said Raven, "as long as no one can see us go."

No one else was in the Great Hall at the moment, so we climbed the stairs, up one flight, two flights, three flights, and then, after looking around one more time to assure ourselves of having no witnesses, we climbed the fourth flight up to the Masters' floor and Raven knocked on the door.

Allen answered, and bowed us inside.

I hadn't been up there since my first year, when I was on the janitorial team. The others had never been on that team, so they had never been up there at all. It looked about as I remembered it--quiet, simple, and somewhat cramped, but every object a work of art, and most of them gifts from students over the years. The interior lights were off, and only a little indirect sunlight drifted into the hallway from one or two open suit doors. No one seemed to be about. Allen gestured for silence and directed us into a side room I'd never seen before. It had always been closed when I'd come up to clean.

The room had no windows. It was entirely interior. Inside it were narrow shelves along the walls of evidently symbolic knick-knacks, tall, heavy vases set on the floor filled with dry plant stems and other items, a small round table, much candle-light, and the Six.

A seventh master stood around the table also, a woman I didn't know, an ally

We hadn't been coached on the contents of the ritual, only its purpose, so we all stood in a clump by the door and waited to be told what to do. Allen closed the door behind us and went to join the others, all six of them standing in a ring around the table, but a step  or two back from it.

"Here is where we make masters," said Kit. "Enter the Circle, if you wish."

We all stepped between the masters and made a smaller ring around the table within theirs. On the table lay various ritual implements and symbolic objects, several of the candles lighting the room, five brown cloth belts each rolled in a tight spiral, and a small bowl containing five green rings. I couldn't take my eyes from that bowl until Kit again began to speak. Then I looked at her.

"Identify yourselves vocally--who are you?" she asked.

We each said our names.

"You know who we are," she said, but then said her name anyway, and each of the others said theirs. The ally named herself as Mia. Ebony now knew not only who was in the room but where each person stood in relation to her, just as we knew. Details can be important in rituals, but they are only important if you know what they are.

"What do you want?" Kit asked.

"Our rings," we chorused in clumsy, unrehearsed unison.

"We have them for you," she acknowledged, "but there are things that must be said and done first." She then made a speech about the reason for the ritual and the meaning of the ring and the purposes of the school, all of which we had known already--just as they had known our names already--but the speech served a second purpose; Kit wove into it a detailed description of how the room looked. Ebony smiled.

"If you take these rings," Kit continued, "you must first swear to uphold the values of our community, the welfare of the school, and the welfare of the students, to the best of your ability forever. This step is not one you take for yourselves but for others. You can use what we gave you freely and anywhere, but if you accept the ring it will be because you wish to serve the community and its students. Do you swear?"

I think we all paused a little, just to be sure--it does not do to take major vows by rote--but we all swore. Then Mia spoke up.

"There is another vow you must make if you want the rings," she said, "but the Six can't ask it of you because it is to serve them, not as your masters, for we are all equals, but as your wards. They give their lives to this community, giving up the possibility of outside careers and achievements commensurate with their skills, and they are the only ones who make this sacrifice--even the non-teaching masters can put their work here on their resumes and leave at any time. Our job, yours and mine, is to make sure they never have cause to regret it. Should this school ever close, or should one of the Six have to leave us for any reason, we others who wear the Ring are responsible, individually and collectively, for making sure no one who has been of the Six will ever go hungry or suffer neglect. Do you swear?"

Again, after a pause, we all swore. I had expected the first vow, though I hadn't known the wording, but I had not thought about the second. It felt odd to make that vow, to imagine each of these people, as well as those few who had been of the Six but had left and were still alive, ill or infirm and in need, and what I might do to fulfill my vow. A quiet sense of responsibility settled on me--and a strange, new tenderness.

"We will each of us bless your rings," explained Kit, leaning forward to pick up the bowl. They passed it around the outer circle, each of the Six taking a  moment to place a hand over the rings and concentrate before passing the bowl along.

"You're all of different ring sizes," Kit said, "so you shouldn't have any trouble finding the one that's yours. Take your rings, but don't put them on. Daniel, you're biggest, why don't you go first?"

I took the bowl and sorted through the rings, found the largest of them, and took it. Then I looked around, trying to sort out who was next-biggest. It would be Raven or Veery, I knew. Both Ebony and Eddie have little hands. Raven waved as though volunteering, to I handed her the bowl. It took her longer to find her ring--she had to lay them out in a row on the table--because she's closer in size to the others than I am. She put the other three back in the bowl still in a line and passed the bowl to Veery, who took it and passed it to Eddie, who laughed silently and took the smallest ring, then passed the bowl to Ebony who has slightly bigger hands than he does.

Looking at least of them in turn like that, I felt a tremendous pride to be doing this with such a remarkable group of people, as well as an amused awareness that I stood in a circle with not one but two of my ex-girlfriends. I thought about Joanna and wondered how she was doing. Well, I hope.

We each held our rings. Mine felt cool and smooth and surprisingly light in my hands.

"Bless your rings however you will--make them yours" Kit instructed, "and then hand your ring to the master who will present to you."

I handed mine across the table to Charlie, who took it without comment or overt expression, then nodded slightly. I nodded back, though I'm not sure why.

Raven handed hers to Charlie, and Veery handed hers to Allen. Eddie handed his to Joy, who smiled warmly at him. Ebony seemed a little lost--she has poor spatial awareness and had probably forgotten where in the circle Allen was.

"Put out your hand, Ebony," he said, and she did and he took her hand and so she gave him her ring.

"There," said Kit. "Now is when you change--your belts, I mean."

You may or may not remember, but the color of our clothing has significance, here. Novices where white uniforms with black cloaks, and everybody else wears brown uniforms with brown cloaks, except that the masters have brown cloth belts while the candidates (and other graduates without rings, when they visit) wear white belts.

Each of us reached out and took the belt in front of us, removed our white belts and tied the brown ones on. The belts are just like those you'd wear in a martial arts class, only perhaps a little narrower, and in martial arts classes when you switch belts you turn away from your teacher--or at least, that's what Karen had us do. Something about not changing your clothes in full view. Now, though, with our teachers surrounding us in a ring, there was no turning away. I felt a little self-conscious about that.

Now, for the first time, Greg spoke up, saying "come to Chapel Hall like normal, and sit in the front row. You'll come up on stage, as you recall--Charlie's students, then Allen's, then Joy's. If you have any questions about that, stay back and ask. Otherwise you're free to go, but you're between things right now, with brown belts but without your rings, and the ritual won't be closed until tonight. So I suggest you avoid mixing with the others or attempting anything psychologically strenuous. Good luck."

Allen spoke a kind of benediction over us, saying "Ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering, there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." It sounds very Zen and ancient, but it's actually lyrics from a Leonard Cohen song.

We filed out. The masters came out after us. Kit extinguished the candles. Once we were out of the room, I caught Charlie.

"Which of us will go first?" I asked him. Raven heard and came over, also curious.

"Which of you wants to?" he asked. She and I looked at each other and shrugged.

"I can," I said.

"Good. You remember what to say?"

"Yes."

"OK. Raven, you want to say anything different, or does the standard work for you?"

There's a dialogue that people getting their rings go through, and the first one who does it every year must always do it the same way. The others can improvise. Raven chose not to improvise.

It was almost four by then. I occupied myself for two hours by wandering around the lesser-used parts of campus and up into the woods again. The temperature was dropping. The sky was growing a high, thickening haze.

At dusk I went to the Chapel and sat down in the front row. Eddie was already there. The others came in a few minutes later. We all sat together bit did not speak. The room filled up behind us.

The ceremony went as it had before. This post is already plenty long enough, so I won't give a full description. When it was time, Charlie stood at center stage and waited. I joined him.

"What do you seek?" he asked me.

"I seek my Mastery," I told him.

"Why do you seek it?"

"Because it is mine."

"Take then this ring from my hand. It is already yours. Congratulations." And he handed me my ring. I put it on. That was it, the heart of the matter. He shook my hand, the other heart of the matter, and I took my seat on the stage among the other masters and looked out at the audience, the students, and I let them look at me.

Everything changes every day. It is always today. It is always Brigid.

Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 6: The End of the Beginning or the Beginning of the End

Well, as promised, the schedule for the graduating candidates for the next few days has been released. They gave it to Raven G., and she gave it to the rest of us and explained what's going on. It's not the first information we got on the subject, either. We'd all heard--from Raven--back around Yule to be back on campus the week before Brigid. We also got our fingers measured for our rings then. Charlie was right: mind games are for novices.

The five of us who hope to receive our rings, Ebony, Veery, Raven G., Eddie, and I, have to each interview for jobs as masters. Passing the interview is a necessary step--the necessary step--to earning a ring, and it means we're qualified for a permanent position here, should one open up. It means we're masters. We knew all that before, of course. What we learned this week was that the interviews would be today and tomorrow. Usually the decision is made in the interview, by the interviewing committee, although they say they reserve the right to delay making a decision--they'll let us know, at the latest, tomorrow night.

Raven even had some advice for us--to come to the interview ready to make the case for our being hired, with any necessary documentation in hand, since we'd be expected to begin with a presentation, not simply given given questions to answer. There would be no black-out bags, no surprises, and no tricks. But, as Charlie warned me at Samhain, the interviews would be quite real. None of us had ever heard of anyone making it to the interview but not getting a ring, but Raven had been told to tell us that it Could happen.

My interview was this morning, one of the first two on the schedule.

Since I had to go over to Chapel Hall right after breakfast, I got all my things together before going downstairs for the day. June was sitting in bed, still in her pajamas, as I put on my uniform with exaggerated care. I wanted everything to be perfect, as though a crooked cowl or an improperly tied belt might be enough to make me bomb the interview and waste everything I'd done.

I took a long, ragged breath.

"Daniel?" June asked.

"I don't know that I want to do this," I told her. "I'm not sure I believe that I can or that I should. I don't feel like a master."

"You'll have to make up your mind," June told me.

"Yes," I said, but I didn't want to move. The truth is I didn't want to leave. I felt like I was dressing for my own funeral.

"Daniel, do you ever feel like shit?" my wife asked me. I turned to look at her, surprised and a little confused.

"Yes, I guess so."

"Are you ever actually shit? As in feces?"

"No."

"Well, then, seems to me your feelings have nothing to do with it. Not feeling like a master has nothing to do with your being one. Now, do you want that ring or not?"

I thought about it. I wanted to be sure.

"Yes."

"Then go."

So I went.

I left my room with the nerved-up confidence of a Man on a Mission, but I still had breakfast to get through, which took forever, especially as I arrived a little early for it. The Great Hall is unadorned, now, the austere lack-of-decoration that is the "look" of Brigid around here. The room was clean and very bright, with sun reflecting off the new snow outside and shining in at the windows, and with people starting to come back from the winter break, the place was crowded and noisy. I had nothing to say to anyone, though I made eye contact with Veery, who would interview at the same time as I but with a different committee. She wasn't talking, either, but she looked more cheerful than I felt.

Finally, the Time Arrived. I hefted my bag of documentation and headed over to Chapel Hall. The interview was in one of the offices on the ground floor there--the Chapel itself is on the second floor. I found my committee waiting for me: Charlie, Allen, Sharon, and Karen. They saw me poke my head in and beckoned me and greeted me warmly.

"I guess that's one question I forgot to ask," I said, taking my seat.

"Oh?" said Sharon.

"For my project getting to know the school. How do you decide who's on these committees?"

"I was wondering if you'd ask," said Allen, merrily.

"Don't worry; we won't dock you for the oversight," said Charlie.

"We're those who know you best and those who know you least," explained Sharon.

"That last would be me," put in Karen. It's true I've hardly had a a conversation with her the whole time I've been here.

"Hi, Karen," I said, a little embarrassed, and she waved her fingers at me in a girlish way.

Sharon cleared her throat.

"OK, I've got everything all prepared and planned out," I said, "except the beginning. How do I start?"

That made them laugh.

"Begin anywhere," Charlie said, "and proceed. Where you start is where the beginning is."

"Why are you here?" Allen offered as a hint.

"Well," I started, "I'm here because I want to earn my ring and I am, as far as I can tell, ready. And I'm here because I arrived ten years ago. I arrived because I wanted to learn to engage more deeply and more meaningfully with life, because I wanted community, and because I wanted wonder. And I got those things. Now, I'm in a position to help other people get those things. So, um, I'm here."

It was an awkward version of the speech I'd thought up earlier. It made the others smile a little. They've all been here, done this. I took a deep breath and I continued.

I explained the general course of my studies, starting with my novitiate--speaking mostly to Karen, who might genuinely not know my history--including how and why I'd chosen Charlie, how I've changed over the course of my studies, what I did during my Absence, what assignments Charlie has given me since I've been back, and what classes and workshops I've taught, noting those I've developed myself or with Rick.

I handed out copies of the syllabi and course plans for my various workshops and classes and the proposal I'd submitted to start offering tutoring in writing and in algebra and statistics. I also handed out copies of reviews I've gotten from students for the work, and records of how many students had signed up to work with me. I handed over copies of the testimonial I'd thought to have Steve write about my work with him, together with a report I'd written up about his progress when I turned his education back over to Charlie. I verbally summarized what I saw as my potential strengths as a master and what areas of school function I might be able to take on, if called to do so. I said I thought I might be able to take on landscaping, though I acknowledged Raven or Rick would be a better choice.

"I could be a good craft-master," I said, "but my craft would primarily be writing."

And I handed over a copy of my book of poems, a copy of the literary journal I'd co-edited in grad school, and testimonials from students I had tutored. I also handed over a copy my report on how the school runs, explained that project, and made a few comments on what I'd learned from it and how I thought the school might possibly be improved--and changes I thought we should be on the look-out to avoid.

"Not that none of you know this stuff," I acknowledged. "The point is I noticed."

I talked on in a semi-organized and well-documented way in my properly-straightened and correctly-belted uniform for about twenty minutes, and then I kind of sputtered to a halt.

"I guess the only other thing I didn't plan out was the ending," I said. "Everything I've thought of sounds cheese, vote Daniel TODAY kind of thing." I blushed. They all laughed.

Then they asked me a few questions. Karen asked the most. Unlike the interview at the end of my novitiate--which was partially a pretext for my ritual kidnapping--they didn't have me tell them things they obviously already knew. The point was not to tell them what I had done and learned but why what I had done and learned qualified me to teach. They had asked for documentation not in order to make me prove myself, but simply because even Charlie and Allen had forgotten or not known relevant parts of my history and wanted to be able to look things up easily. My bringing my records were a courtesy to them, a way of making it easier for them to help me.

I think we were there about another twenty minutes, asking and answering and clarifying, passing papers and books back and forth, before Charlie looked up over his reading glasses and said "well? Do we need to discuss this privately?"

"I don't," replied Allen. "I've wanted him on board for years, now. What do you think, Karen? Are we being biased?"

"Not as far as I can tell," she said. "Neither of you are the type. And I've never heard anything negative about him."

"It might help to consider," ventured Sharon, "what else we would want to see from him? If he's not ready yet, what could he do to get ready?"

I held my breath.

"You always say that," grumbled Charlie.

"Always when it seems helpful," acknowledged Sharon.

"Well, I can't think of anything," said Allen. "He's done everything, or close, anyway."

"If we don't give it to him now," said Charlie, "he's just going to keep doing more of what he's been doing. My thinking is he should be a master while he's doing it."

My heart leaped a little, and Charlie glanced at me and smiled a little, as if he knew. Maybe he did.

"Karen?" asked Sharon.

"I'm good," she said.

"Well, then," said Sharon, who seemed to be in charge, "I believe we are in agreement. And the committee of the whole left us no concerns, so we are empowered in his case...."

"Congratulations," said Charlie and shook my hand.

I felt like whooping for joy, but instead I said nothing at all. I felt completely muddled up. We all stood up, and Sharon reminded me of the time to meet for the pre-commencement ceremony. I'm at liberty until then, apparently. I felt hollow and full at once.

I left, but the others didn't follow me. I don't know why. Maybe I'll ask? Asking why seems to be something I do, now.

Out in the hallway, I met Kit, who had been on Veery's committee, which had apparently finished up a little before mine. She looked like she had been waiting for me.

"Well?" she asked.

I stammered, vaguely.

"I know," she said. "When I passed mine I felt like weeping."

Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 5: Success

I did it! I did it! I did it!

I snuck up on Charlie! He'd asked me to, of course, but I did it for real. I surprised him.

I had discovered that though he is very aware of everything around him, he tends not to look behind him much--if he sees a place and notices it's unoccupied, then passes it, he doesn't check behind him visually to see if it has become occupied in the last ten seconds. He does listen, though, and keep track of animal behavior and so forth. The question was how to take advantage of that?

I've been watching him, and in addition to noticing where he puts his attention, I've also learned his habits. He doesn't have many--he makes a point of not falling into unthinking ruts, not going on autopilot when he can help it. But he does have a few, patterns of behavior that are fairly consistent because they make sense. And this winter, he'd developed a new one. His laptop died and he hasn't replaced it yet, so he's been going to the computer lab for an hour or two a day. And because he's trying to avoid students (all the masters do at this time of year), he does it when we we're all eating dinner, since then we're pretty reliably all clustered in the Great Hall and the adjacent Bird Room and Great Hall Kitchen. He walks up to the front door in the office, usually from the direction of the greenhouse, and goes into the office and from there into the computer lab without entering the Great Hall. And he does it around 5:30, sometimes a little earlier. It's almost dark when he comes, probably because he wants to be hard to see. Of course he does not use a flashlight.

Yesterday, I waited for him.

I took advantage of the darkness, standing almost behind one of the columns of the porch off the office. I could see him because he was moving, but I did not move, so he didn't see me.

When he turned to come up the steps, the column was momentarily between us, so I silently shifted my position so that when he passed me I'd be behind the column. Once he passed, I silently shifted back, putting myself in full view, illuminated by light shining through the windows in the office door--if only he'd looked behind him. He didn't.

"Hello, Charlie," I said, as he opened the office door.

He actually visibly startled.

"Daniel. You got me," he acknowledged, and then went inside without turning around.

In the morning, as I went out for my walk, he caught up with me.

"I suppose I ought to try to sneak up on you, now," he said. "Just to see if you can keep me from doing it."

The original assignment was not only to sneak up on him, but also to make myself un-sneak-up-able by him.

"I'm not convinced you haven't tried," I answered. It's true he hasn't successfully snuck up on me since he gave me the assignment. I can't prove that he was trying--I never spotted him literally tip-toeing along behind me, but of course that's not his method--but that doesn't mean he wasn't. Anyway, my suggestion made him laugh. "I'm sure you can," I added. "I'm not better than you are. But I think you'd find me harder to sneak up on than I used to be. I know where you aren't."

"Good enough for me," he said. "Remember to be aware of other people, too."

And he bid me good morning and left. I suppose he's busy starting to prepare for graduation, now. They'll start interviewing graduating novices in a few days--and whatever happens with graduating candidates will start happening t me.

Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 4: Progress

So, yes, I'm still stalking Charlie.

I've engaged a few spies, people who don't normally talk to Charlie at all, and so are unlikely to arouse his attention by acting oddly around him. I've also asked Rick to come visit for a few days a few times this winter and collect information for me. And I've been keeping my own eyes peeled.

What information am I trying to collect? I want to know how he moves through campus, what his habits are, where he goes and what he does. I want to know where the holes in his attention are--he has to have some, and hopefully one of them is big enough for me.

I'm doing all this more or less at his instigation, just in case you forgot or skipped that post. He wants me to sneak up on him. It's a very challenging assignment. In fact, I worry that he's on alert because he knows I'm running out of time in which to do it. I should have made a half-assed attempt a month or so ago to throw him off his guard--though maybe he would have figured that out, too. Maybe all I can do is what I'm doing, slowly and cautiously collecting information.

I've had my information-gathering network in place for weeks, now. Slowness is critical, because if I try to collect information too efficiently--if I or my spies spend too much time watching him--he'll notice and start watching me even more carefully. Passivity is critical, too, for if I attempt to deceive him or manipulate him in any way, he'll notice. Students trying to pull one over on their masters make fools of themselves when they forget their masters ARE masters, as in excellent at what they do. I am not forgetting it.

Which is not to say that I'm automatically going to succeed. I could very well fail. I just won't make an ass of myself while I'm at it.

But I do think I've had a breakthrough.

The key to invisibility, I've learned, is to put yourself in a place the other person doesn't look. And that's going to be difficult because Charlie looks everywhere--but he only looks once. Charlie doesn't turn around and look behind him very often, probably because he doesn't want yearlings to realize he's as aware of everything as he is. That way, he can startle people by knowing things he wasn't apparently paying attention to. And he doesn't need to turn an look because most of what's behind him used to be in front of him he saw it when it was, and he has excellent hearing and a clear awareness of birds and squirrels and whatever else that react to what's behind him. But the fact of the matter is if he passes a place and sees I'm not in it, he doesn't turn around to check that I'm still not in it. He thinks he already knows.

Now I just need to figure out how to put myself in a place he's already checked.

Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 3: Poetry and Prose

I'm back on campus now. June and I spent Christmas and New Years at her parents', then she went back to work and I spent a few days with my parents--and so did she, simply commuting to work from my parents' house, rather than from campus. We just got back to school this afternoon.

We're doing an odd thing, June and I, over the next few weeks; we're going apartment-hunting.

For all that I've been working for the past three years to become a master, there's no reason to believe there's going to be an opening. It's not that none of the Six are likely to retire--for one thing, Greg is semi-retired already, and while I think he may choose to stay on until he dies, he also could choose to retire wholly at any time--or a medical problem could force the issue. The non-teaching masters also come and go somewhat faster, or the Master's Group could decide to expand. But I am not qualified to replace Greg, there is no obvious place for me among the non-teaching masters, and no reason to expand the group. Realistically, I'd only get hired if Charlie retired, and that he will, quite obviously, never do. In any case, I'm sure Rick or Raven would be a better match for the role than I am. So I'm going to remain an ally--in more standard terms, an adjunct--for the time being. And allies don't get on-campus housing.

So, we're looking for something affordable within biking distance from campus, probably a mother-in-law apartment off the back of somebody's house. We're thinking about renter's insurance and transportation, furnished vs. unfurnished, accessibility to shopping. Shopping? I haven't bought a load of groceries for three years. All of it seems so banal, so mundane. So normal. It's bizarrely disappointing, but I suppose it has to be done.

And we're all going through it--Eddie, Raven, Ebony, Veery, and I, putting together the circumstances of our lives out in the real world. It's melancholy. I think all of us have thrown around the idea of all getting a house together, but it doesn't seem quite right somehow and we're not taking the idea seriously. There's no avoiding what comes next in this strange trip of ours--leaving, and, in a way, leaving for good.

But at the moment, there are no such errands to run, no practical steps on the hunting of houses to take. And I have no classes to take or to teach, no votes to secure, no madcap challenges from Charlie to tackle (except that one, and it is well in hand and needs no action today). There is nothing to do.

And so I sit at the table by the window in the Great Hall all alone, watching the sun turn the snowy world golden.

Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 2: New Years

When I think of New Years' and school, I always think of that giant parade we had in the snow, it seems so inherently like us to do something like that. But it's only happened once, that I know of. This year, I won't even be on campus for New Years--I wasn't for Christmas. I was with June's family, missing my family and school, because the alternative would have been for her to miss hers, and she did that already at Thanksgiving.


June's family doesn't quite celebrate Christmas, which sometimes makes me wonder why we can't spend Christmas with my family (who do) instead, but I can see why she doesn't want to miss her non-Christmas, either. It's this low-key, unofficial, non-religious day with a big, yummy breakfast and everyone getting and giving little stocking-stuffer type things with everyone else. It's lovely. It's family time. And I seem to be welcome. I could see learning to miss this myself, if one year I couldn't go.

Is this what growing older is just like? The more people and places you connect with, the more you wish you were somewhere else no matter where you are?

June's family was similarly low-key about New Years last year--we all just stayed up to toast at midnight with Champagne  in nice glasses, then we went to bed--but I hear they're planning a party this year. I'm looking forward to it.

And I'm thinking about things on campus, about the party they're gearing up for, and about which of my friends will be on campus then and which will not.

I'm thinking about something Allen said to me the other day.

June and I were on campus for Yule, of course, before leaving for a week and a half with her parents (including travel time--it's a long way), and in the evening, before the masters withdrew again to wherever it is they go outside of the school year, I asked Allen something about whether he was going to Charlie's for Christmas. And, I guess, there was an edge to it when I said it. I didn't mean there to be.

The thing is that I've always wanted to be part of what these people have, and there's a sense in which I always feel excluded. There are things students aren't allowed to join, there is Charlie being prickly and growling to keep others--sometimes me--and there is the fact I'm just not as close to them as they are to each other. I'm not really being excluded or rejected, but somehow it just feels like I am. Allen would say I'm being emotionally needy. And sometimes it shows.

And Allen can always tell.

I said whatever I said and he grinned at me fondly.

"I'm always amused," he said, "That you yearn so deeply for that which you already have."

Mastery Year 3: Part 8: Post 1: Yule

Merry belated Yule!

Last year the weather was awful, to the point that we couldn't go up the mountain to watch the sunrise. This year, the weather made up for it (not that Charlie would appreciate such anthropocentrism) and our trip up the mountain was gorgeous--clear and cold under fading stars, and just enough cloud at the horizon to turn red and gorgeous. The was after, of course, we stayed up all night partying in the Great Hall.

And, as per tradition, when we got back after seeing the sun up, we found the Great Hall transformed by the Sprouts, who had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere (they'd been up in the master's dorm all night having a separate party with the masters), putting out gift bags for everyone for us to run around and find and all the fixings for a lovely breakfast. Then we sat around for most of the rest of the day eating, drinking hot cocoa, and playing with our new toys--yes, toys. Mostly stocking-stuffer type things--Rubix cubes, playing cards, novelty socks, candy, slide whistles, and so on. They weren't random, each of us got things we actually liked. Among other things, I got a new mini tape measure, because my old one I use for plant ID has started to lose its paint. June got a second-hand deck of Goddess cards.

Also, we sat around taking naps. I think most of us crashed out on the floor for at least a few hours. A few people went upstairs to bed. Greg zonked out sitting up on the sofa with a cheap Santa Clause hat pulled down over his eyes. I sat with him for a while, him sleeping, me sitting there staring into a mug of hot cocoa, wondering if I'd be asleep soon, too. I was sitting there when Greg woke up.

He gave a start, though I can't think why--there was no particular noise to wake him or anything like that--pulled the hat off his eyes, and looked around in a rather confused way for a few seconds, then realized where he was, I guess, and smiled.

"Um, good morning, Daniel," he said. "What time is it?"

"Around 11:30, I think?"

He nodded, still putting himself together.

"It feels later," he said.

"Greg? People don't nap this much after Litha, do they? I never really thought about it before." Litha, you may remember, is the summer solstice, another occasion we mark with an all-night party. Greg shrugged.

"I don't think as many people stay up," he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose behind his glasses. "The summer dance is spread out across the campus, so it's harder to notice if someone drops out to sleep. And we don't really spend the next day together in the same way, so again who is doing what is less obvious."

"I'm sorry, Greg. I shouldn't be questioning you, you're asleep."

"No, no, it's OK. You can question me while I'm asleep." And he sat back on the couch again and closed his eyes. I thought he was indeed asleep again until he opened one eye quite suddenly and looked at me. "I don't promise to answer, though," he said. And then the eye closed and I think he was indeed asleep again soon.

I got up again and wandered around with my hot cocoa until I found June at the Yule tree looking intently at one of the glass bird ornaments.

"They really should put a warning on the hot pepper candies," she said, without looking up at me.

"Fire and sweetness," I said, "the themes of the holiday. The day itself is a warning."

"My mouth sympathizes with Icarus." Icarus flew too close to the sun, remember.

"Want me to kiss it better?" I offered.

"No, and you don't want to, either. Your mouth would end up hurting. You can find me some alcohol to cut the heat, though."

"I actually can," I said, and went off to beg a shot from a novice who had brought a flask. Later, June and I sat at a little table looking out together.

"What are we going to do next year?" I asked.

"Anything we want to," June hazarded.

"I mean about Yule. You remember celebrating it with me before I got back here? No, you don't, because we didn't. Because I always forgot, every single year I was away from this place. And I missed it so much. I missed Yule. It's just hard to do without the community."

"We could visit campus for Yule," she pointed out.

"That's not really my point. Anyway, if we don't come here for Yule, we'll be able to visit your family for Christmas. And if we do come here for Yule, how will we remember to prepare for it and set aside time for it if we're not on campus in the run-up to it? It's like...neither of us celebrated Yule before we came here, and I didn't celebrate it when I left. How do we take what we learned here and bring it with us? I want to stay involved with the community, I don't want to be dependent on it. I don't want to feel institutionalized." I have no idea where any of this was coming from. My feelings about getting my green ring, something I've been thinking a lot about lately, are complex.

"Coming here wasn't my first time celebrating Yule," June said, still looking outside through the big window.

"Oh?"

"It was the first time I'd done a big production of it, but there was this time--I was in grad school, the year before you got there, and I was just seriously overworked, exhausted all the time, and a bunch of self-doubt started coming up, and it was just bad. So I did a couple of therapy sessions, you know, with the psych students?" Our grad school also had a psychology department and lots of student therapists looking for practice. "Well, this one day, everything was just going wrong. My car broke down, but I had to get to campus because I was supposed to have a meeting with my study group from some class, so I biked it, but it was raining, one of those long, slow, cold rains, you know? and I get there soaked to the skin and freezing, except my study group isn't there because I'd written down the date wrong or something, and then I try to go to the store to pick up some things, except I discover I'd lost my wallet, so I went back to campus to look for my wallet, maybe it fell out of my bag when I was looking for my notes on the meeting, and I spent so long looking for my damn wallet that by the time I remembered I had therapy that day my session was half-over, which was just awful, because I really needed some therapy, and--"

And I had no idea where this long and grammatically inconsistent tale of woe was going or what it had to do with Yule, but June usually does have a point when she talks, so I waited and listened and tried to keep track of all the twists and turns of the plot.

"So I finally get into therapy, find my therapist still waiting for me, hasn't cancelled or anything, and I just fall into her arms blathering and sobbing about everything that's going wrong. And after listening to me go on for a while and letting me calm down, she said 'There's a reason why today is the worst day of the year.' And I say 'what's that?' and she said 'Because it's the shortest.' And so we talked about what that meant for a few minutes and she takes me through this little ritual thing and I start to feel a little better. She offered to give me and my bike a ride home. I accepted--I was still cold and wet--and on our way out I found the rain had turned to snow."

I said nothing. I understood her, but I couldn't think of anything that needed saying. I took her hand and thought about things. I wasn't worried as much anymore.