Post by Janice Olivia Monroe on Sept 26, 2010 0:20:16 GMT -6
Isaiah 43:1-3 But now, this is what the LORD says - he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior..."
Time and aspect mattered little inside of the Great Cathedral. It stood to Janice like an ancient, stately Norman remnant of days of yore. It was older than its finished year to her.Was it on the spot of old pagan rituals? The land under her feet always hummed when the threshold was crossed before securing the heavy door behind her. If Time did need relevance, it was long after Vespers. People settled in homes beside crisp fires at the end of a long day of trying to thrive, to prosper. Prayers weren't uttered in the pews. Voices didn't come from the altar. She was alone in the company of gargoyles, saints, and the Christ.
Had anyone paused to consider the inside of the Cathedral? Why was she, after having come in to this place daily for so many years, looking on it with new eyes? She had been hearing the Daily Offices and Mass at the Hall since the coming of Brother O'Corrain and his neophytes. They strove to anchor the souls in the house while the whole of it eradicated many. Like anything it was for the sake of harmony. The world was moved by ritual, older than what animated Christendom. Man desired his motives, his motions to cleave to so the day had meaning. When the night fell he or she could consider those accomplishments before the next dawn. Janice had felt that time slowed between the absence of the sun and its coming. She wanted to freeze all the time under the stars in order to press it inside of herself. She smiled at the thought of being the night-thief. It is also human nature to consider the most impossible things relevant for even an instant.
She walked down the aisle of the place with her hands entwined between the beads of her rosary. A blue as rich as the heraldic colors in the French coat of arms covered her throat, hid her arms, and trailed just so at her ankles. Pale vanilla lace finished the work of making modest the remainder of the hand, as well as hiding the hair on her head in submissive respect. She didn't consider it but the company of somber saints with angelic companions noted that the stained glass was thrown to allow her to walk on bursts of color. Many times had she come down this aisle, adorned with piety and holy water. She came with a veiled head, as many women are want to do, but never once to kneel at God's altar with another. If their faces could move, some might have laughed. Others might have found it sad. The Blessed Virgin, the last thing she saw before the altar itself had no opinion to offer. If any would have spoken for the company, it would have been her.
Once near the great crucifix at the last pew she knelt, crossed herself, and proceeded to step up as far as one might go before the sacred space. She knelt not far from where many knelt for rites of passage. Promise me that I may see your wedding.. deAquitaine's voice implored for the opportunity to see that rite, now twice deprived. Twice deprived of all. Love was confessed but not a state made legal in one nation but eternal by God. Inveryne's tender affection followed next as if to tell her what it meant to be strong, to be woman for she had many years left still to know. Each master had a dominant place, their significants. Even the King she heard once more asking of her a thing that would change the nature of the known world. The point of it all was that they had been there in one way or another through this journey of change. She was embarking on another in lapse of a first, a journey where she was being slit from top to bottom. Once opened she was being filled with things she did not know how to always process. She understood them, experienced them, but was alone in how best to articulate a need.
Since her coming of age she sometimes fell piteously, at others only a slight stumble. Now she was walking upright through a strange land only to kneel before the Crucifix at the center of the Cathedral as if this were True North. Now some people dreamed things that made for them a life as holy people, but Janice's dreams were the product of both a pious person and a frightened one. The intimate knowledge she has acquired of the stigmata in a waking dream never left her. She found she shook before God, laughing softly to herself before the sound faded away. She needed help, and so would ask for it from the immaterial before seeking the material world. Material beings were harsh judges. Today, she realized, would be one of the first times she had ever missed a mass. Having lived among nuns, she was terribly contrite. The Latin left her lips in silent recitation of the booming internal voice that said:
(1*)Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatæ Mariæ semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Ioanni Baptistæ, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et vobis, fratres: quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, beatum Michaelem Archangelum, beatum Ioannem Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et vos, fratres, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum
Thus no one knew she prayed this holy part in Latin.
Clasped hands held the small beads that trembled as she did, ever so slightly. The gentle sway continued as she prayed for all before herself that she loved or might have offended, and to God that he might strengthen her in all that was to come. She prayed to be fashioned to what was needed. A suitable companion for one ailing, a daughter for those who find such in her, and an ever-friend. God saw her ask for help with her arms crossing over her body at the chest instead of clasped hands:
"They are sick, or hurting of body and soul. Nothing may ever be as it was but what shall be, O'God, may your mercy come to heal it."
She was terrible at asking for the help of tangible beings. Her husband would think her one of the crazed, for her devotions but he never faulted her for them. The Masters were each devout in their own way, each an isle unto themselves even as they moved closer together. Everyone she knew needed something, but he was terrible at asking the depth of what. Improvement had come as she sought, but she could seek harder, couldn't she? "Help me.." she whispered, "So that I may find the strength to help him, to help all of them."
From her knees she stretched herself until her body was entirely prostrate before the Cross. It was after Vespers, and she was alone in the forms of others save for God and the company of saints. Arms outstretched in front of her, face against the cool stone she continued to pray.
(1*) Translation: I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, to all the Saints, and to you, brethren: that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word and deed: through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Therefore I beseech blessed Mary ever Virgin, blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, all the Saints, and you, brethren, to pray for me to the Lord our God.
Time and aspect mattered little inside of the Great Cathedral. It stood to Janice like an ancient, stately Norman remnant of days of yore. It was older than its finished year to her.Was it on the spot of old pagan rituals? The land under her feet always hummed when the threshold was crossed before securing the heavy door behind her. If Time did need relevance, it was long after Vespers. People settled in homes beside crisp fires at the end of a long day of trying to thrive, to prosper. Prayers weren't uttered in the pews. Voices didn't come from the altar. She was alone in the company of gargoyles, saints, and the Christ.
Had anyone paused to consider the inside of the Cathedral? Why was she, after having come in to this place daily for so many years, looking on it with new eyes? She had been hearing the Daily Offices and Mass at the Hall since the coming of Brother O'Corrain and his neophytes. They strove to anchor the souls in the house while the whole of it eradicated many. Like anything it was for the sake of harmony. The world was moved by ritual, older than what animated Christendom. Man desired his motives, his motions to cleave to so the day had meaning. When the night fell he or she could consider those accomplishments before the next dawn. Janice had felt that time slowed between the absence of the sun and its coming. She wanted to freeze all the time under the stars in order to press it inside of herself. She smiled at the thought of being the night-thief. It is also human nature to consider the most impossible things relevant for even an instant.
She walked down the aisle of the place with her hands entwined between the beads of her rosary. A blue as rich as the heraldic colors in the French coat of arms covered her throat, hid her arms, and trailed just so at her ankles. Pale vanilla lace finished the work of making modest the remainder of the hand, as well as hiding the hair on her head in submissive respect. She didn't consider it but the company of somber saints with angelic companions noted that the stained glass was thrown to allow her to walk on bursts of color. Many times had she come down this aisle, adorned with piety and holy water. She came with a veiled head, as many women are want to do, but never once to kneel at God's altar with another. If their faces could move, some might have laughed. Others might have found it sad. The Blessed Virgin, the last thing she saw before the altar itself had no opinion to offer. If any would have spoken for the company, it would have been her.
Once near the great crucifix at the last pew she knelt, crossed herself, and proceeded to step up as far as one might go before the sacred space. She knelt not far from where many knelt for rites of passage. Promise me that I may see your wedding.. deAquitaine's voice implored for the opportunity to see that rite, now twice deprived. Twice deprived of all. Love was confessed but not a state made legal in one nation but eternal by God. Inveryne's tender affection followed next as if to tell her what it meant to be strong, to be woman for she had many years left still to know. Each master had a dominant place, their significants. Even the King she heard once more asking of her a thing that would change the nature of the known world. The point of it all was that they had been there in one way or another through this journey of change. She was embarking on another in lapse of a first, a journey where she was being slit from top to bottom. Once opened she was being filled with things she did not know how to always process. She understood them, experienced them, but was alone in how best to articulate a need.
Since her coming of age she sometimes fell piteously, at others only a slight stumble. Now she was walking upright through a strange land only to kneel before the Crucifix at the center of the Cathedral as if this were True North. Now some people dreamed things that made for them a life as holy people, but Janice's dreams were the product of both a pious person and a frightened one. The intimate knowledge she has acquired of the stigmata in a waking dream never left her. She found she shook before God, laughing softly to herself before the sound faded away. She needed help, and so would ask for it from the immaterial before seeking the material world. Material beings were harsh judges. Today, she realized, would be one of the first times she had ever missed a mass. Having lived among nuns, she was terribly contrite. The Latin left her lips in silent recitation of the booming internal voice that said:
(1*)Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatæ Mariæ semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Ioanni Baptistæ, sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo, omnibus Sanctis, et vobis, fratres: quia peccavi nimis cogitatione, verbo et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper Virginem, beatum Michaelem Archangelum, beatum Ioannem Baptistam, sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum, omnes Sanctos, et vos, fratres, orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum
Thus no one knew she prayed this holy part in Latin.
Clasped hands held the small beads that trembled as she did, ever so slightly. The gentle sway continued as she prayed for all before herself that she loved or might have offended, and to God that he might strengthen her in all that was to come. She prayed to be fashioned to what was needed. A suitable companion for one ailing, a daughter for those who find such in her, and an ever-friend. God saw her ask for help with her arms crossing over her body at the chest instead of clasped hands:
"They are sick, or hurting of body and soul. Nothing may ever be as it was but what shall be, O'God, may your mercy come to heal it."
She was terrible at asking for the help of tangible beings. Her husband would think her one of the crazed, for her devotions but he never faulted her for them. The Masters were each devout in their own way, each an isle unto themselves even as they moved closer together. Everyone she knew needed something, but he was terrible at asking the depth of what. Improvement had come as she sought, but she could seek harder, couldn't she? "Help me.." she whispered, "So that I may find the strength to help him, to help all of them."
From her knees she stretched herself until her body was entirely prostrate before the Cross. It was after Vespers, and she was alone in the forms of others save for God and the company of saints. Arms outstretched in front of her, face against the cool stone she continued to pray.
(1*) Translation: I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, to all the Saints, and to you, brethren: that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word and deed: through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault. Therefore I beseech blessed Mary ever Virgin, blessed Michael the Archangel, blessed John the Baptist, the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, all the Saints, and you, brethren, to pray for me to the Lord our God.