lucernarium

[prismaticbleed]

 

I am speechless. Let me try to type.

I got to church 30 minutes early and sat there in the twilight, shaking uncontrollably, utterly convinced that I was going to be dead by morning. I remember praying silently, telling God that if I had to die, I'd rather die in a church than anywhere else, just "don't take me during mass so I don't disturb anyone else." Over and over, unable to calm down my racked body, I prayed to die, to be free of pain, to be delivered from this ridiculous daily ache.
Still, the beauty of the situation was not lost on me. I remember looking up at the lilies around the altar and immediately thinking "hey, a Merkabah," before my addled mind registered them as flowers. I remember looking up at the stained-glass windows above the high altar, decorated with images of the Sacred Heart, which I had adored as a child. I remember thinking how the entire church was all in Genesis' colors, all subtle ambers and indigos and golden whites.
Yet I was still swimming at the border between wakefulness and total unconsciousness, feeling the same freezing-cold fog creep up on me as it did in dreams, as I lay dying, as I would have sworn I was then. I closed my eyes and felt myself slipping away, wondering what death in real life would feel like, feeling vaguely sad that I wouldn't get to see Easter.
And then I realized Laurie was sobbing. I wish I could say it took me by surprise, but... it didn't. After all the other nights she'd cried over my pain, after how many tears she'd shed for the sufferings of others, did I really expect any less, when I was practically begging the grim reaper to take my hand and lead me away from that place?
And for a moment, I hesitated. I remembered that the last thing I'd written here was that I "hated headspace." And I realized that I really didn't. I hated that we couldn't be together without pain. I realized that these people still loved me, that somewhere in me I still loved them, and that if that precious opportunity to love and be loved had not been lost despite all our traumas and ills, then maybe that was enough. Maybe that was worth everything, that we had been able to find that love in the face of everything opposing it.
And suddenly I decided that maybe, hope really was merited here.
Hesitantly, I called for Genesis. It took three tries, but then he hazily showed up in the seat beside me, his vibe feeling as sad and exhausted as I did. I realized he was crying as well, and without a word, he lay his head against my shoulder and said he'd rather die with me if that's what I wanted. I remember looking at him in the setting sunlight, all pinkish gold through the windows, coloring him with the same delicate hues, and asking him why? His response was simply, because he loved me, and would rather follow me into the unknown than remain behind alone.
I forget how long he was there. I forget what I did, or said, or felt. All I remember is looking back up at the altar, feeling this strange but honest love from the invisible ones all about me, and wondering... if this was still possible, if this was still happening, now, despite my suicidal empty tiredness... maybe hope still had merit. Maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to die. Maybe that was a choice I could make. But should I? Would it be worth it, if living meant suffering even more?
I asked. Voice shaking with a different sort of sadness, I asked... I was perfectly willing to die, and I was perfectly willing to live. If it were God's judgment for me to do either, I would follow it. Whichever was best, He knew, not I, and right then, I was open to either submitting to death, or a miracle.
But the response I got was simply... "it's ultimately your decision."
I wondered. Was it really? And yet there it was. "Either possibility is here before you. It is up to you, which you want to pursue."
I paused, took that in. But I couldn't choose. What was better-- dying, or living? Which one did I really want, right now? Which would ultimately hold the greatest good here? I couldn't tell. I don't think I was capable of telling, then. I was too tired to want anything more than that moment anyway, existing in that little bubble outside of time that church always offered to me. So I said so. "I don't know, and I don't think I'm capable of deciding. If I have at least one more hour, allow me until then to choose." So I effectively resigned myself to being Schrödinger's cat, at least until the mass was over.

Then they lit the paschal fire, and the first words were spoken.
"Dear brethren, on this most sacred night, on which our Lord Jesus Christ passed over from death to life...
...if we keep the memorial of the Lord's paschal solemnity in this way, listening to his word and celebrating his mysteries,
then we shall have the sure hope of sharing his triumph over death and living with him in God."

Already. Already, within five minutes of effectively saying "I don't have hope and don't know how to find it," there it was.

The fire was passed throughout the church, and as my little candle was alit, I suddenly found Javier and Knife admiring it through eyes that had never known this small miracle before, through eyes that understood the meaning of this fire more than I could at the moment. Knife looked up through the church then, edged with shadow but glowing beautifully with a hundred minuscule lights, and his awestruck joy lit something just as tiny yet bright within my own heart.

"May the light of Christ rising in glory dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds."

I suddenly remembered how Ryman and Markus had suddenly returned to visit us last night, saying they wanted to stick around, to "start over" in friendship and community if the past really was gone. "Let's begin this anew." And Ryman was our Paladin of life within death, of dreams born from a seemingly empty void, of light within shadow... while Markus was our righteous Pharaoh, the star leading the way out of mental exile, the rose in the desert. I remembered the strange glint of "what if?" that had sprung to life within me as he spoke barely 24 hours before, that sudden and amazing possibility of living life the way it was meant to be lived, in joy and wonder and camaraderie.

The cantor began to sing.
"Let all corners of the earth be glad, knowing an end to gloom and darkness. Rejoice..."

I looked back around at the candles, feeling the memory already locked into our collective thoughts, and paused. Were moments like this worth living for, truly, despite the pain tormenting my body and mind? Could I find the strength to say it was worth it, and give life another shot?

"This is the night that, with a pillar of fire, banished the darkness of sin...
This is the night, when Christ broke the prison-bars of death, and rose victorious from the underworld...
O truly necessary sin of Adam, destroyed completely by the Death of Christ!
O happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer!
O truly blessed night, worthy alone to know the time and hour when Christ rose from the underworld!
This is the night of which it is written:
The night shall be as bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness.
The sanctifying power of this night dispels wickedness, washes faults away,
restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners,
drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty."

I had already been shocked at how everything so far was speaking about death, and life, and hope. I had not expected this at all, not now, ironically, not now when I needed to hear this more than anything... but when they sang that bit about innocence, I honestly stopped breathing for a second.
That little promise, that assurance that even during this dark night of the soul, even within this darkness, the shadows were blessed by the light and fire of God... that promise that even within this velvet dark, we who had been convinced of our filthiness were somehow, miraculously, made whole again... it was the exact thing I had needed to hear, right then. And my heart kept crying out, "that's Infi, that's everything Infi reflects back to us; you KNOW that every word of this is true."
Riveted, I continued to listen, incredulous.

"But now we know the praises of this pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God's honor,
a fire into many flames divided, yet never dimmed by sharing of its light...
O truly blessed night, when things of heaven are wed to those of earth, and divine to the human."

I was in tears. Despite my feelings of unworthiness all I could think of was headspace, and it was tearing my heart in half.
If we could mirror this, even a little, maybe even a lot, wasn't that worth something? Didn't that speak volumes as to the true meaning and worth of this?

"May this flame be found still burning by the Morning Star: the one Morning star who never sets, Christ your Son,
who, coming back from death's domain, had shed his peaceful light on humanity, and lives and reigns for ever and ever."

In that moment I looked back down at my own candle flame and for the first time in ages I felt that courageous fire within my own soul, an element I had thought I'd lost, warm and true and luminous against the cold of the night. For a moment I felt that maybe that verse had been meant for me, too... may I be found still burning in the morning, as well, to share in Christ's joyous and eternal victory over death on Easter morning. It felt like a prayer for me, and it was deeply humbling, and it was honest enough to lift me up like a wave, gentle and powerful all the same, bringing me to the edge of the shore, and imploring me to set foot on solid land.
I turned my eyes up to the statue of Jesus above the altar, as the congregation sang Amen-- so be it-- and decided that if the universe was really being this loud tonight, if it was really trying so fervently to catch my heart's attention and give me hope, then... well, then let's take a chance. Let's let the cat out of the box, and decide that it's alive. If it really was all up to me, making the judgment call on my own life tonight, if I had that ability... then let me be merciful too, and willing to see life rise again with the morning star, and start a new life. Let's say yes to miracles tonight.

And no sooner had I thought that, then the first lights in the church clicked on.

Yes, this is how incredible synchronicity can get on these nights. It's staggering, really.
It honestly took my brain a few seconds to realize that yes that did actually happen, haha. You can rest assured that I paid extra attention from then on out!

Even better? The entire rest of the mass was like that.
I don't know how much I can possibly write here. I don't know if I can. The impact of it was so crushingly gorgeous, I don't think it could lend itself properly to words. It's all this sobbing-honest, "you're not the lost soul you think you are" feeling, this vast and embracing welcome under those blissful lights, making me feel just like the prodigal son all over again, never rejected, only loved. It is beyond expression, how I get that every single time I find myself crying in a church pew, without exception. You want to talk about unconditional love, well, there's the very definition of it, as unfailing and heartfelt as anyone ever hoped it could be.

"Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life...
We know that our old self was crucified with him, so that our sinful body might be done away with, that we might no longer be in slavery to sin. For a dead person has been absolved from sin. If, then, we have died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him. We know that Christ, raised from the dead, dies no more... you too must think of yourselves as being dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus."

That Epistle meant a lot when I heard it, obviously, especially in light of what Laurie and I had discussed yesterday afternoon. But even moreso at the moment, it almost playfully tossed me between my still-lingering mindset of "well maybe I should just die tonight," up to the forgotten truth of "but I don't have to die to be forgiven, and to live a new life; that's what Easter is all about!" It was like the reader was saying, subtly to me, "you're allowed to have a second chance. You're allowed to say 'yes' to the life your very soul yearns to live, a life lived in joy and goodness, without fear. You don't have to literally die in order to be reborn."
It was all death and rebirth, all of it, just like my daughter taught me two years ago during this same mass... just like Infinitii and my boss retold to me last year during this same mass! Told you it was relevant. And yet I never expect what happens. It always completely leaves me awestruck.

There was one more very relevant bit that I want to mention.
Every year, when they renew the baptismal vows, we get together all the new people in headspace to catch that vibe of fidelity and joy, to partake in those promises to persevere in goodness and exalt in the reality of love and light in the world. This year Jeremiah was the one most strongly inspired by it, followed by Javier (who was standing alongside him at the time) and Knife (unsurprisingly).
But even before that, the priest had to bless the baptismal font, and I cannot believe that those words had never been so obviously relevant to us before.
...I don't know if I mentioned it anywhere here yet, but one of the topics that struck me most strongly in therapy lately-- after we showed her the map of headspace I am still writing up an entry for-- is the apparent significance of the water in our System. The therapist attributed that importance to the catacombs initially, to the great depths down there that all the chthonic people seem to spring from, and which are disturbingly darkened and assumedly brackish... but none of us can deny that since headspace began, water in all its forms has always been tied to Chaos 0, both literally and figuratively. And he was the first person to react to that prayer today, even before I realized what was being said.

"For you created water to make the fields fruitful and to refresh and cleanse our bodies.
You also made water the instrument of your mercy; for through water you freed your people from slavery...
through water the Prophets proclaimed the new covenant...
through water, which Christ made holy in the Jordan,
you have renewed our corrupted nature in the bath of regeneration.
Therefore, may this water be for us a memorial of the Baptism we have received..."

Of course this was all meant directly for the baptismal font. We all knew that. But there was still a message in there for us, unavoidably so.
Chaos 0's a bit of an enigma in our System for several reasons. Most notably, he's the only Outspacer to have been offered a position in the Central Spectrum, for heaven's sakes... and that color was aquamarine. Right between Blue and Green, the link between the heart and the voice, the ability to express what was otherwise inexpressible. That's what that color always meant to us, if only on a subconscious level. And now, with this sudden revelation of dark and pained waters far below the surface of our inner earth, to hear such a proclamation that water itself could sanctify, could herald the victory of virtue, could signify the redemption of broken spirits via the sincerity in the vows we were about to re-acclaim... it meant a lot. It was hope, the same that had shone in those post-flood rainbows, all over again. It was effectively a divine reassurance, that not only could those pain-born individuals in the underground seas find new life and healing, but so also could Chaos 0 himself rise above the chaotic and tumultuous past he has up to this point felt so terribly chained to.
The simple usage of the word "Prophets," with the relevance that same term holds in our inner world, was notable too... for both Dream World and for our innerworld's "metainomenai" phenomenon, thanks to which Chaos 0 was named the Prophet of Life-- a name that raised him up above his old destructor title and allowed him to embrace one of vitality and mercy instead.
The first line was also surprisingly meaningful, except maybe for no one but we original four, blue and cyan and purple and red. We took our original roles from Luke 10:27, true story: "you must love the LORD your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind." Chaos 0 was attributed to strength in that verse, and by extension, to the body as well. Perhaps it was ironic, for the inherent holiness of the physical form to have its reminder in a being who didn't even have a skeleton, but... it worked. Somehow, it worked perfectly, as it built a respect and reverence in him that those of us who took our forms for granted often couldn't match. And to this day, it amazes me, that even when I am tormented by the untrue conviction that I am flawed, by simply having a body, I am blessed enough to be loved by that strange creature, who will forever attest to the opposite, to the truth-- that strength, that our worldly capacity for might and courage, by virtue of our very forms-- was just as holy as our hearts, our minds, our souls... and it worked in unity with them, as part of this greater love. I don't know how in the world it worked, but it did, and I am incredibly grateful for it... especially now, when the struggles with that proclamation seem to be at the forefront of daily life once again.
So yeah, can't believe we never caught the relevance in those words this strongly until tonight, but I suppose it was the right time.

There's another prayer for the font that we didn't read tonight, but which I want to write here nevertheless.

"O God, whose Spirit in the first moments of the world's creation hovered over the waters,
so that the very substance of water would even then take to itself the power to sanctify;
O God, who by the outpouring of the flood foreshadowed regeneration,
so that from the mystery of one and the same element of water
would come an end to vice and a beginning of virtue..."

...As you can likely gather, I'm reading through the missalette right now and they actually skipped at least two of these readings, and whoa are THEY ever relevant. I'm going to have to read them on my own when I'm done with this. I actually was 'inspired' to sit and read about 5 Psalms last night, utterly out of the blue, and they were deeply reassuring too. Just wanted to mention that.
Also there was a bit about holly leaves in a nearby Christmas book (yes there was one on the table, I told you those two holidays always end up coinciding for me), that I loved so much I recited it back to my boss later that night...
"Green grow’th the holly, So doth the ivy;
Though winter blasts blow na’er so high
Green grow’th the holly...
Green grow’th the holly, So doth the ivy;
The God of life can never die
Hope! Saith the holly."
That's probably more relevant right now than it was last night, even, so there it is.

Oh yes, also, the moment I saw the thurifer walking down the aisle I couldn't help but grin-- which got even wider when I realized that, in not sitting in the back by the fire this year, I was now sitting right in front of where they would offer up the incense. God only knows why I love thuribles and all the liturgical processes associated with them-- perhaps I can blame the Angelorei-- but I do, and having that perpetually-beloved smoke swirling all about me, coloring the air like the morning fog after a thunderstorm, a quiet herald of peace and renewal... well, I guess that about summarizes what it felt like this evening.

Knife also surprised me by co-fronting with me during one of the final songs, and actually trying to sing, or at least be part of the music as it was expressed through us. He both understands well and reveres the role of music in our System, thanks to his admittedly moving experiences with it so far, and so that meant a lot to me personally, to feel that sincerity of joy in him through song tonight.
Needless to say I left the vigil mass tonight with a LOT more hope than I started with.


There is glitter all over my right hand and I have absolutely no clue where it came from, that's hilarious actually. Nice though.
I am also utterly exhausted and I just realized it's almost 12:30, I should really call this quits for now.


...Oh wait. Can't close up yet. One last important thing.
I want to apologize again for the agonized entry I wrote earlier, maybe even 'we,' as that old part of myself came through to express some of the most bitter regrets I've ever had. And although that part of me was sincere, in voicing the terrible regret and sorrow we feel at the loss of our 'innocence' and childhood simplicity... she didn't grow older. Blessedly so, but she didn't. I did. I have the bloodline. "I" endured that "happy fault" and its consequences for another length of her life. Growing up, even if it was too fast and traumatic, was indeed painful and confusing and frightening and left us angry and hateful some days. And I am sorry for that.
Pain makes people say awful things. But I don't hate headspace. I don't. I can't.
Yes, some part of me "hates" what it has brought with it, and rightfully so. No one wants to suffer or be tortured for years like we have in many ways. No one wants to be broken so badly that memory and coherence and daily life is fractured beyond coping many days. No one wants to wake up in the morning hoping only to sleep or die. No one wants to be where I was today, practically chasing down Death hirself, begging for everything to just stop, because I couldn't handle another day of this anymore.
But even though headspace was born with and from that... like I said earlier, it has somehow flourished like a daffodil through concrete, a beacon of hope and joy despite all odds. Headspace, and all the people within it-- ALL of them-- have done nothing but somehow, somehow, point in the direction of growth and understanding and forgiveness and wonder and love, dear God there is so much love in here, it breaks my heart to feel it sometimes, shining undauntedly against the creeping shades, even if it's scared as hell.
I love headspace. I love everyone here. But God knows I am so tired of our lives being plagued by suffering.
If Preludove is right-- and I hope to God she is-- and there is no gap, there never was a gap, between our world and hers, between the virtues of growing up and the virtues of childhood... then for the love of everything that is good and true in this universe, let's CROSS that nonexistent breach once and for all.
If Love is the driving force in both our worlds, if the transmutation of Fear into Light is the purpose of both our existences, then let's make this holiday of rebirth into our first mutual step into making that our total reality.
"Lift up, O gates, your lintels; Reach up, you ancient portals, that the king of glory may come in."
We keep getting signs, everywhere, that we're on the right track, that we need to keep walking, and living, and hoping, and trusting. We need to continue on despite the lingering nightmares, and we need to be brave as we've ever been now.
I still don't quite know how to sew this together. Maybe it can't be, not yet, not so quickly. But there are little connections, even now, between here and there. I know where the first links are, I know where the threads exist at this very moment.
I'm scared as hell too, I've never done anything like this before, part of me is terrified that I'll mess everything up for good.
But all the people that love me, and love each other, and love all of this, are cheering me on, and we're all going to try and do this together. I really can't ask for anything more.
That damn fruit was a fortunate fall, it was an evil through which a greater good was born, and it too-- we, too-- were the will of God.

One day, we'll also wake up to find that the tomb is empty... and we'll be reassured, even then, not to be afraid.
And something tells me that, when we all finally reach that point, we won't be. We'll be overjoyed.


To quote an article that was blessedly tossed at me right before mass:
"I believed in magic before dying. Now I live it every day. You go do the same!"