The Irrepressible Handwriting

My local variety store owner disappeared mysteriously for a month, leaving his store pretty much unattended and closed to the public. He reappeared the other day open for business.  "And how have you been? Same old, same old?" he inquired of me. I felt a bit miffed with my unreponsiveness as though in fact my life had indeed been blase the whole time he was gone. So I returned today to mention to him, "No, Eunace, my life has not been 'same old, same old.' How could it be when I see in every face the handwriting of God?"

Excerpt from The Adventures of an Urban Wizard

The Arena of Words and The Memory Wind

Diog’s library collection was comprised of books which had been assembled from words he had recorded surreptitiously - at first scribbling furiously after positioning himself not unlike a fly on the wall, then in the latter day he placed his recorder into a machine and it splendidly transcribed the tapes, setting them out with an elegant typeface in a six by nine inch format. Easily carried about, alluringly designed, each book was leather-covered and beautifully bound. The interior architecture of the library was reminiscent of an ancient Roman facade borrowing as he had from the Vancouver Central library frontispiece.  His library of which he was rightfully proud was visually an arena of words.

His mission with Lyla was to gather all these words and make them some day available to all. He hadn’t conceived yet of how exactly he was going to introduce this wealth to humankind. Lilith, of course, had all sorts of fantastic ideas.  From a 76 tromboned parade of militants marching into university grounds to parachuting every one of the books from a shuttle returning from Mars. They were working on it. It was a charming pastime.

The love letters of Stendahl recorded in his bedroom, the essays of Tesla read aloud in his study, the sociological observations of Aldous Huxley and George Orwell during conversations with other geniuses, the enthusiastic orations of Thomas Jefferson, the lighting of the intellectual fires of Darwin and Einstein, the almost unintelligible contemplations of a young Stephen Hawking, the moments of discovery of Alexander Fleming, the fierce ramblings of Helen Blavatsky, the hollerings of Graham Bell and the mirthful dialogues of Tolstoy and Tolkein to name but a few. These minds were the refuge of Diog Innis. And his library was his home, his spiritual fortress. Not only was he recording these sage soothsayers but he was discovering too his listenership - those students of truth whose appetites for cerebral release was almost unfathomable but surely daunting for their relentlessness. 

At first Diog tried indexing them by subject matter but their mercurial minds defied any such limitation. He simply sorted them all alphabetically starting with their last names. He had compiled more than three thousand tomes and being immensely pleased generally with how his life’s task was resolving itself he did find relief from excrutiatingly frustrating days in Happinessland. Lilith and he both knew they were approaching the saturation point. And this was a subject they cared not to dwell upon.

The next morning Diog had awakened startled. Not often at all did one of his dreams have such an effect. All he could remember was that he had been called upon to speak aloud to participate in the discussion of God which had been transpiring in his dream. He did and it was his voice which had awakened him… but he could not remember what it was he had just said. He shared his consternation with Lilith who seemed to make much of it while he was letting it all pass away, as go most dreams. Besides, he had recently opined that dreams were mere mental dumpings, similar to what our bodily functions insist upon every day. He couldn’t quite ascribe that dream to a dumping though.

   He might cogitate on it later but for now he was in a building mode. But first he had to broach the subject of this new building with Lilith. And when it came to making any changes on this property Lilith was usually loathe to agree.

   He started with compliments on her new hairdo. “Your curls dear are so much more pronounced. Good choice.”  He proceeded to the breakfast she had prepared. Poached eggs on wheat toast with salmon jerkie, native style. "Smartly done, gal! Smartly done!"

   After the smarm had settled in to a delighted Lilith, Diog realized the approach to the idea of the new building was going to render the compliments rather transparent, and him the guiltier. So in typical Diog-esque style he blurted onward: “Lilith, dear, I have a mind to do a little building… here on the property. Nothing much, not really more than an outhouse in size. Cedar-shaked and quite comfy for sitting, there by that patch by the river. You see, it won’t disturb our view at all tucked away there and it will serve an important function.”

  “A sitting room like an outhouse? I don’t get this, Diog.”

   “Well, it’s more than just a sitting room. It’s a room for contemplation and some magic-making.”

   “Oh yes. Indeedy. More please.”

   “Well, it’s like a sweat lodge. Very hot. Heated rocks brought in. Pour water on them to get a good steam up. Much like a steam room, a cleansing room.”

   “Oh. Our own little sauna?”

   “Yes dear. That’s how it functions with one little addition.”

   “I really don’t like your pregnant pauses or surprises, especially about the property. Now you’re on dangerous ground. Tread gingerly.”

   Diog felt he was losing the whole gambit. “Just the addition of a mirror. A round mirror. Where visions might materialize. It could be very helpful.”

   “Helpful? In what way?”

   “For our seeing. I seem to be wasting an inordinate amount of time seeking the righteous out there in Happinessland. The library is at risk of getting dated. Methinks this mirror might truly help. These little buildings are referred to as psychomantiums. There is precedent.”

   “Indeedy.”

   “And really dearest, if it doesn’t work out, we can disassemble it.”

   The silence was deafening.

   “As a project…”

   “Hush! My hair is bristling with your calculated compliments.”

   Diog blushed the depth of a ruddy colour he was pleased not to be viewing in any mirror, magic or otherwise.

   “We will build this psycho-thing of yours. Must be pretty though. I’ll put flowerbeds outside it. No outhouse for me.”

   “Oh dearest, you’ll see…”

    She cut him quick. “As a temporary experiment.  We’ll see. We’ll see.  And where did you come across this information? Somewhat obtuse, this psycho-thing.”

    “I can’t recall. In one of our books in the arena I reckon.”

   It might have been clumsy but Diog had won the day and was set then to go over the plans and make the preparations, all of which he gladly then shared with his beloved Lilith.

The early autumn weather had been most cooperative. A good omen thought Diog. They were on the new roof, only a few shingles left to nail home. It was a simple, austere layout. A bench, the place for the hot rocks and the bucket. No windows, just small portals for an air flow. It was time for a break and Diog seated ambled over to Lilith and put his arms around her and they watched silently the sparkling river flow on, ever embellished by flocks of birds and the breeze animating all the leaves of the surrounding forest of pine, birch and the shoreline arbutus, their gnarled, wind-driven limbs all grasping sideways to heaven. This quiet moment was saturated with love.  

“Now the piece de resistance!” announced Diog. Lilith had been fussing over how to find a mirror which would be of such critical importance to the whole shebang. He clamored down from the rooftop and tucked into the woods and reappeared carrying a just manageable concave mirror, half his size and having just polished it mightily brightened by the sun.

   “It was used in a telescope. Just imagine Lilith”… he enthusiastically explained, “this little honey has been witness to the goings-on of our very universe!”

   “Well my heavens Diog. Where on earth did you come up with that?”

   “Our neighbour Brindle suggested we make a run to the observatory and see if they had anything there to fill the bill et voila!! Can you believe my luck?”

   “It’s bloody perfect you old trickster.  Can’t imagine a better resolution!” added Lilith, standing now precariously on the rooftop and much to Diog’s pleasure, equally enthused. Diog affixed the warped mirror by himself within the hour and now there it sat eight feet up across from the sitter’s bench facing just slightly downward but not quite reflecting the face of the room’s occupant.

   They were both well pleased with the project.

   It will need to be blessed, Lilith. Before we put anything to it.”

   “Yes, dear. I suppose. Yes.”

By twilight Diog had excused himself for his time of prayer beseeching once again God and His emissaries the power to break the spell of agoraphobia that had encumbered Lilith ever since she had made the promise to be so unnaturally housebound. While Lilith had taught him well the powers of wizardry those centuries ago, this spell was in trade for their freedom from incarceration in that dungeon where he had been so unceremoniously dumped. They had been given their immortality by the evil maniac who thought it the perfect poetic irony: to be enslaved forever. Maniac had underappreciated Lilith’s power and willingness to sacrifice. Diog owed her his freedom and vicariously his immortality and his power.  It was now incumbent upon him to find a release for her from this spell of agoraphobia, and he believed the mirror and the psychomantium were going to be the devices he needed to achieve the victory in this mission. 

    Never a dull moment in the life of wizards. While Diog and Lilith were inclined to see the handwriting of God in every face, Maniac saw puny mortals to be made subservient to his will. His ungodly will.

Meanwhile, Lilith had been pondering Diog’s lack of remembering his dream about the God conversation. She realized it was an important dream and understood Diog’s earlier consternation for not having remembered those words he spoke aloud. This dream was important and needed to be recalled. With this in mind she approached the psycho-thing and resolved to invoke the Memory Wind to help her focus on her husband’s memory stream and there she would extract those important words. And at the right moment surprise her lover with her rendition of them. What a perfect surprise this would make! And then, too, she would perhaps gain a greater appreciation of this new edifice on their property. 

   With some apprehension, a rather foreign state of mind for her, she poured water over the rocks they had heated and up billowed the hot steam. She sat there on the bench and laid her eyes on the mirror and began her chant invoking the Memory Wind. She detected soon a cool breeze, the arrival of the mystic wind.

Diog on his way home detected in the wind by the river something amiss. He paused in his step and attempted to zero in. He raised his hands and swept them about and danced to the rhythm of the wind. A subtle and inviting series of light movements and then he cupped his hands in front of his eyes and peered at his palms and there taking shape was the figure of Lilith, almost ghostly at first, wavering, and then crystallizing well enough that he could make out the expression on his beloved’s countenance. Lilith was frozen in terror in the psychomantium. He began running, thrashing through the forest, crying out “Lilith! Lilith! The mirror! The mirror! It has not been blessed!”

   He arrived. Threw open the door and reached out to her. Her body was stiff. Her eyes all a’gawking. Her hair, her beautiful reddish curls upwardly immobile. He lifted her gingerly and marched out to the daylight. He laid her down and stroked her face and her stiffened hair. His heat his body was communicating to her and then finally she gasped and colour returned to her face.

   “Where am I?” She held her hand to her forehead, “Who are you? What’s happening here?”     

   “Lilith, Lilith it’s me Diog. It’s me Diog.” He helped her stand. She wobbled a little and then she said, “I don’t know you. Where am I? What’s happening?”

  Her amnesia was seemingly total. He escorted her up to the house to the porch… and at wits' end he played music, hoping maybe some of her old favourite songs might help her regain her memory. He couldn’t imagine who he’d call, how to explain any of this. An hour passed, the sun was setting. Setting it seemed on their lives. Now he knew this mission had become the greatest challenge of his mystic career. To bring Lilith back, to restore somehow her memory. Mosaic piece by piece if necessary.

    He withheld his tears but when Willie Nelson began singing “Who will buy my memories?”, they waltzed and he held her close and as he said, “I will keep your memories, dearest. I will,” that’s when he wept quietly on her shoulder.      

    

  

Making Room

Let us picture for a moment our mind as a house, a place of limited space. Well in order to make room for peace and happiness to abide in this space, how 'bout we evict the evil cousins - unfounded judgments and complaint. 

Now stretch those spiritual muscles and enjoy. 

And guess what? Others will enjoy you more. Much more.