Meandering Through the Writings of Others as a Lament Practice: Towers of Tuscany

Lemon Grove Sorrento Italy

Photographer unknown

Back from five-word poems to explorations:

Cram, Caroline. The Towers of Tuscany. 2014.

890 words

The occupation known as painting calls for . . . light enough to escape through the tower window . . .  a way to paint every day . . .  peace *** profound lack of respect . . . *** to be extolled to the ones who enter the profession [of painting] through a severe form of enthusiasm and exaltation *** turned a blue ribbon through the thick black braid that circled her head *** another book quote to begin each chapter *** her new gown pooling around her in a velvet arc of rich blue *** Place a cloth fragrant with lavender over her forehead. *** She would keep the grief to herself, nurturing it like a cut jewel too precious to share. *** The days and months and years stretched ahead with no one left to love and nothing but household cares to fill her days. *** Our Lady would take her and keep her safe. *** She’d like to mix such a color perhaps for a cloak . . . *** The bells of sext turned the endless morning into afternoon. *** She sometimes let herself remember the feel of the brush dipping into the pigment . . . *** What did God want from her? He’d given her the desire to paint . . . *** Her years as a painter had taught her how to work with diligence . . . *** Even Sofia realized that the third vow – obedience – might prove her undoing. *** It was much easier to be the one to do the despising. *** Many months lapsed between the initial preparation of the wood with its numerous layers of gesso gross and gesso sottile . . . *** Sofia caught a whiff of the urine used to prepare the red lac streaking his hands . . .  *** I have nothing. I work when a patron asks me. *** She remembered punching the tiny designs into the gold leaf . . . *** She smiled at the high prices her father had commanded for her work. *** I expect a good crocus crop this fall. *** the sound of the bells for terce . . . *** She pressed her palms into the thick velvet of her gown to stop their shaking . . . *** Willingly she had bound herself to him for life . . . and willingly she would sever that bond. *** She longed to . . . feel the pigment become smooth and liquid beneath her pestle. *** The answer was in God’s hands . . . *** Part Two *** Children raced after the black rats and snarling dogs. *** Fan-shaped swaths of shiny bricks sloped gently upward to a wall of towers . . . *** The shape is meant to resemble the shell of a scallop. *** He taught me how to look, and God gave me the skill to paint what I see. *** We can take care of each other. *** Sofia raised her brush and dipped it into a pot of rose madder. *** a large table and a fine array of silver candlesticks – proof that the painter’s trade in Siena was brisk. *** Mona Giuliana spoke the truth, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. *** For more complex painting, she used three pots of each color . . . *** In her father’s workshop, she was accustomed to working only when she wished. *** I have a commission for a nativity panel, and you shall do it. *** The only choice was ultramarine blue made for lapis lazuli . . . *** A feeling of peace washed over her like a silk veil. *** You’d miss a dinner to stay and work? *** To have the workshop to herself was an unspeakable luxury . . . *** So if you can’t eat it, wear it, or otherwise use it . . . *** She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she was so content. *** She had never known a woman so fierce and yet so loyal. *** marvelling again at the freedom her disguise afforded her *** She then burnished the panel with a piece of linen. *** She loved working with gold. *** She loaded her brush with terre-verte . . . *** Sofia never imagined her life could be so full. *** The long hours, the poisons in the paint – think what you are doing. *** Even if you were not adequately paid, God and our Lady will reward you for it. *** Salvini enjoyed the give and take of debate. *** the pleasure she took in working on her first fresco . . . *** She bought two new tippets this past month. *** I object to anything that takes me away from my work. *** Many of the pigments we use have noxious qualities. *** mint and lavender, peaches warm and fragrant in the warm summer sun *** a white pavilion completely screened in roses *** But she had no voice. *** What could you have to say? *** When she painted, she was with God. *** She had once been a midwife. *** She again mixed colors and felt the paint flow from her brushes. *** To have been undone by her own work was somehow fitting. ***

…

Micro Writing Five-Word Poem # 119

“Campfire Unlit”

Phone Photo DS

Sun Wind Waves Sand Stripes

Meandering My Way Through the Writings of Others as a Practice of Lament: Hebrew Scriptures, Ecclesiastes to Songs of Solomon

“Warming by the Fire on a Cool Spring Day” Phone Photo DS

The idea of decommissioning a Bible comes back to me as I review my Bible reading habits after the pandemic. Some Bibles are yellow dog-eared small print paperbacks. As I go through them gathering meaning and practising worship and gratitude, I wonder which is the better way to let these old Bibles go? 

I think of shredding as a form of creating a holy fire that totally consumes the fuel. As I do a search on fuel I come across the term ‘Fire Triangle’. These are the three things that are needed for a fire to burn: oxygen, heat, fuel. So these symbolize my part as the offering of the Bible back to God, God’s part in receiving the shredding and the actual pages of the Bible themselves as the offering.

The other way, the one recommended for contemporary de-commissioning/de-consecrating of Bibles, would be to put them into the recycling. I ponder this. If I deconstruct the Bible into sheaves of pages and place them lovingly into the yellow re-cycling bag, the Bible is not totally destroyed. Someone may find these pages and perchance read snippets of Scripture and be saved. I think of how Saint Augustine heard the words, take up and read, initiating his salvation. In this way, the Bible continues its mission by the Spirit.

In the end, I decide to offer one Bible for being consumed by the shredder as an act of low key worship. The other Bible I place on the altar of the yellow recycling bag for possible continuation of the Great Commission. At the beginning of this quest, I did not consider it possible to get rid of a Bible. Over the years I had many in my collection. Some were too written on and fragile to give away. It did not seem right to put them in a bag with refuse or touch the machine which would be their destruction. 

I consider now, that it is the intention, the heart, that denotes either respect or is demeaning to an object. It is prayer, as a two-way conversation that gives the book meaning. As the book changes form, the conversation will continue. As well, I need more space for writing my comments between the lines of the verses in newer Bibles of different versions. God knows the history of my growth in comments in older Bibles, the corrections and the affirmations that were given to me there. I review them as I shred them to see how God spoke to me in the past. The speaking is always there. May the Spirit help with the listening. I find myself reading. Is this my new, temporary practice of reading the Bible? God speaks again as my eye goes to the underlined passages.

In theory, both methods are okay. In practice, I find today, that the shredding feels more meditative. I also accidentally come across these verses from Leviticus 22,  under the heading ‘Acceptable Sacrifices’ as I shred:

The Lord told Moses to tell Aaron and his sons and everyone else the rules for offering sacrifices. He said: The animals that are to be completely burned on the altar must have nothing wrong with them . . . whether the sacrifice is part of a promise or something you do voluntarily. . . When you offer a sacrifice to give thanks to me you must do it in a way that is acceptable.

In one way, the book is not important; it is the words of the book. Or actually it is the Person of the book; the Word of God who lives and speaks and acts on our behalf when we call, and sometimes before we call.

Here are my explorations:

Ecclesiastes to Songs of Solomon

The rivers run

Into the sea

But the sea is

Never full

The more my wisdom

The more my grief

To increase knowledge

Only increases distress

Anything I wanted

I took

I must leave my 

Hard work for others

There is a time

For everything

A time to heal

A time to destroy

A time to rebuild

A time to cry

Two can accomplish 

More than twice

As much as one

It is far better

Not to say you’ll

Do something

Than to say you will

And not do it

A good reputation

Is more valuable

Than the most

Expensive perfume

Because God does not

Punish sinners instantly

People feel it is safe to

Do wrong

Give generously

For your gifts will

Return to you later

How fragrant your cologne

How great your name

Follow the trail of my flock

To the shepherds’ tents

And there feed you sheep

And their lambs

How beautiful you are

My love

My lover is an apple tree

Rise up my love my fair one

And come away

For the winter is past

The rain is over

And gone

My beloved is mine and I

Am his

You have ravished my heart

My lovely one

My beloved tried to unlatch the door

And my heart was moved for him

My hands dripped with perfume

My fingers with lovely myrrh

As I pulled back the bolt

My beloved my friend

Your hair is your crown

The vines have budded

The blossoms have opened

The pomegranates are in flower

Seal me in your heart

With permanent betrothal.

Meandering Through the Writings of Others as Lament Practice: Girlfriend in a Coma

“Forested Properties”

phone photo DS

Artist and writer Douglas Coupland has come into view in my life a couple of times. The first time was at a talk at the Vancouver Art Gallery when he had installed his work, “Bubble Gum Head”, on the gallery lawn. I too bought gum, chewed it, and stuck its colour on the large head sculpture along with the others. I observed his patience with the staff struggling to get things set up late.

The next time was an arts and culture course through Regent College online in the pandemic with Prof. Mary McCampbell. He observes and engages with people in a comfortable way; although his work can be discomfiting. In him, in his work, the viewer can see themselves.

Here are my explorations:

Coupland, Douglas. Girlfriend in a Coma. 1998.

925 words

I believe that unless a person passes through some great experience, that person’s life will have been for naught. *** Road signs blister and rust. *** My friend [ ] grew old while I got to remain forever young. *** Fate is for losers. *** Karen and I deflowered each other atop Grouse Mountain. *** Karen had been off kilter all afternoon . . . *** I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you with that. *** Russia isn’t our enemy any more. *** All of the girls who once mooned over Jacob began mooning over me . . . *** He’ll eat cat food by midnight. *** It’s a girl thing. Drop it okay? *** How was I to know that time was now different? *** Mrs. McNeil gives them to her. *** I felt as though I was a jinx of a friend. *** Karen could notice [ ] weird little things like the color of mandarin oranges. *** The five of us had already realized we were never going to finish school in a normal way. *** I was no longer just like everybody else . . . *** Why would she leave me? *** Only years later does it dawn on us that Mr. Phillips is a manic depressive wife beater . . . *** He returned to us with maddeningly obscure information. *** Let’s not give each other presents, okay? *** No. This child must be born. *** Often in midweek, George and I never talked much . . . *** I experienced what was to be the only vision of my life. *** She was a kinder, softer, feminized version of me . . .  *** Thus my own mother was able to experience the flush of grand motherhood dauntingly early . . . *** We were so young that we didn’t even know what unhappiness could be. *** Karen was then moved permanently to a room of her own in a local nursing home then called Inglewood Lodge. *** Meghan knew from the start that I was her father  . . . *** I thought of what life ought to have been as opposed to what it had become. *** With savings I bought a Kleenex-box house in North Van where I lived alone  . . . *** I maintained a good front while inner deterioration grew. *** I would have to be calm now. *** No one is there to witness. *** His years away were treated as though he’d popped out to get a pack of cigarettes and returned a few minutes later. *** She provided a platform on which people could hope. *** I want to be where Karen is. *** I’m worried that we might not be able to change. *** A tiny patch of blue sky allowed was seen to sparkle the light meter that hung around her neck. *** I liked its vibe and it was the most polite set I’d worked on. *** I’m not sure. *** We have an acceptable level of affluence. *** It seemed a typical enough rebellion. *** Skitter was every parent’s worst fears of a daughter’s dream date. He loved in a mass-roofed 1963 cereal box in darkest Lynn Valley. *** I just don’t get Trekkies. *** I saw trees the color of Karen’s eyes. *** A bird trilled above. *** Then the nurse hears a voice, gentle, husky . . .  *** Instead, they discuss the commonplace. *** Linus is on the chair by the bed, happy. *** Lois threw on a twin-set and pearls. *** Her jaw hurts and she feels like a chopped-down tree. *** The world doesn’t like simplicity or relaxation. *** This geography of their lives became the same as when they were teenagers. *** For you, the Moon. *** And now there’s only the system. *** And then came the collapse on the football field followed by the thousand passionate nights that never were to come. *** I think we should all know by now that Meghan is not and is unlikely to ever be college material. *** And suddenly she is lost in a blast of white light. *** She’s too confident to follow the crowd. *** I dreamed I was telling you the world was going to shut down. *** Guest hear a galvanizing crack crack! On the living room window, where an ostrich pecks the glass with a cruel, hilarious beak. *** Traffic controllers there have requested we stay aloft for half an hour or so while the situation down there is rectified. *** They hop into the boat, which jolts away from the shore like a knife tugged by a magnet. *** I don’t know. *** Lois was at Super Valu in Park Royal striding purposefully amid the store’s glorious isles of glorious food all gloriously lit, when the sleeping began. *** Lois thought of Karen and the children who grew up so wild inside the forest. *** The scene continues. *** Nothing was known about this new sickness, not was any treatment available. *** She crosses over and reaches home through the dark forest she knows by heart. *** Is this a joke? *** What other place can there be? *** She will build a nest of ferns to keep her warm until daybreak. *** Linus places a mohair blanket over her, and Wendy flinches at his touch. *** Could you all put your personalities on hold for just two minutes? *** You, you’re finally here. *** I know. It’s cool. So beautiful it almost hurts.***

…

Meandering Through the Writings of Others as Lament Practice: Hebrew Scriptures, Proverbs 16-31

“Bridge from the Gallery”

Phone Photo DS

The formation of soul habits keeps me on track toward healing and reorienting post pandemic. Bible reading can be done creatively, meditatively. Here are my explorations:

Hebrew Scriptures: Proverbs 16-31

We should make plans

Counting on God to

Direct us

It is a horrible thing

For a king to do evil

His right to rule

Depends upon

His fairness

We toss the coin but

It is God who

Controls its decision

Wisdom is the sensible pursuit

Of sensible men

A fool’s goals are at the ends

Of the earth

A rebellious son is a grief to 

His father and a blow

To his mother

The character of even a child

Can be known by 

The way he acts

Teach a child to choose 

The right path

When he is older

He will remain upon it

Their kindness is a

Trick

They want to use you as

Their pawn

This good man

You trip him up

Seven times

Each time he will

Rise again

Fire goes out for

Lack of fuel

Tensions disappear when

Gossip stops

Better to be poor and honest

Than rich and a cheater

Where there is ignorance

Of God

The people run wild.

Meandering Through the Writings of Others as a Practice of Lament: The Plague

“Pandemic Wildflower Garden”

Phone Photo DS

Many of us went for daily walks during the height of the pandemic. It was heartening to see so many friendly faces in the neighbourhood. We were survivors.

As I practice lament personally and for others, here are my explorations:

Chong, Kevin. The Plague. 2018. (Prof. of Creative Writing, U.B.C.)

751 words

Multi-genre research *** characterization *** setting *** original metaphors *** Close observation of human behaviour *** stories within stories *** different ways of providing information *** understanding of culture *** irony, non-believer actually Christ figure *** well-observed sense of place *** prophetic *** cross-cultural masterpiece *** They all attempted a futile struggle to forget what happened. *** They made sure to wish their exes happy birthday by text message. They visited their parents on weekends. They overate on Saturdays and hiked on Sundays. *** Her humour had grown caustic in the past year. *** It had been different since Elyse fell ill Rieux thought. It was the difference between going to church and feeling one’s heart churn in the refrain of a hymn. *** humour then pathos *** narrator interjections *** story offered through the eyes of five? witnesses especially a DTES male doctor, male reporter, the mayor, a visiting author from Hong Kong *** rich cultural detail *** The yo-yo he owned was an indulgence and an aspirational purchase, it was made for professionals and produced a pleasant ratcheting sound as it unwound. *** Rieux was arrogant – like many doctors Saddhu had met. *** There’s been a flu in the neighbourhood. *** He’d kicked a dead rat. *** She’d needed to quit; she needed the band width. *** Tso was reminded that ‘sorry’ was a form of punctuation in Canada. *** As she gave her remarks, pausing for chuckles, a parallel talk took shape in her mind. *** The lecture was unexpectedly pleasant, but she’d reached her half-life of fun. *** Unlike most of her contemporaries who explored mixed media and abstraction . . . *** He’d passed on to his only son his hair, his slight stature, and according to Mrs. Rieux, his taste for argument. *** In Hong Kong she was waited on by a Filipina helper hired by her older sister. *** It was the better room, with a mountain view, the one they had set aside for a nursery. *** He felt the superintendent’s shame reflect back onto him. *** The swelling of his lymph nodes startled Rieux. The doctor slept poorly that night. *** The next morning before work he found six rats. *** For the first few days, the results were kept undercover. The name of the disease had ugly historical connotations, and the antibiotics used to treat modern cases were highly effective. *** Many ascribed the fatalities to a resurgence in the drub problems. *** The Coastal Health Authority released information on hand-washing and warnings to stay away from rodents and wild life but only a few people knew someone affected by the illness. *** Her extended stopover in Vancouver during a public health crisis was an opportunity for reflection . . . *** More and more people were wearing face masks in public. *** People were coughing in the library, coughing into their hands then typing their queries at the Internet terminals afterward, she went to the drugstore and bought hand sanitizer. *** He swiped his Compass card as he rushed through the Skytrain gates . . . *** They met in a way that is typical of Vancouver aquaintanceships. *** I don’t plan to die anytime soon even with the pandemic outside. *** The whisky tasted like the ocean, a shoeshine, and a campfire. *** We are trying to do things differently. *** Guess who we want to contact the mayor for comments? *** New faces ran our scant groceries through the register . . . *** He has to be monitored closely. *** I’m done hiding, I can meet you anywhere. *** I thought the people of Vancouver needed some distraction. *** There’s too much distrust of doctors. *** Rieux craved exercise and air. *** You made your volunteers sign waivers. *** Since the holidays there have been funerals galore. *** She was uncommonly beautiful in a way that made Siddhu envy women for their ability to fawn over young children without becoming criminally suspect. *** The dying spoke with no fear of consequences. *** They watched the seagulls gather around the crust and he threw them another piece. *** Isn’t it possible not to believe in God but still feel his influence? *** He had become, as he feared, a stranger to his own sons. *** The other night he’s tried to kiss her in the restaurant lounge. He wasn’t her type. *** This caution was not heeded. *** Nurses came and went. *** Any history contains contradictions. ***

…

Meandering Through the writings of Others as a Lament Practice, Hebrew Scriptures: Proverbs 1-15

“Pylons at the Shipyards” photo DS

In this time of grief, I do not feel like using my own words. I find expression in choosing the words of others to speak for me.

Hebrew Scriptures: Proverbs 1-15

How does a man become wise

Trust and reverence God

Fools refuse to be taught

Listen to your father and mother

All who listen to me

Will dwell in peace and safety

In everything you do put God first

He will direct you and

Crown your efforts with success

Have two goals: wisdom

Knowing and doing right

And

Common sense

They fill you with

Living energy and are a

Feather in your cap

Cling to wisdom

She will protect you

Love her

She will guard you

Above all else

Guard your affections

They influence everything else 

In your life

Don’t let your desires get

Out of hand

Can’t you hear the voice of

Wisdom

She is standing at the city gates

At every fork in the road

At the door of every house

The value of wisdom

Is far above rubies

Wisdom says

The Lord formed me in the beginning

Before he formed anything else

From ages past

I am

I existed before the earth began

I lived before the oceans were created

If you rebuke a mocker

You will only get a 

Smart retort

Don’t bother with him

He will hate you for

Trying to help him

The upright speak

What is helpful

The wicked speak rebellion

It is possible to give away

And become richer

The words of the wise

Soothe and heal

A wise woman builds her house

The godly man’s life is exciting

The Lord is watching everywhere

And keeps his eye on both the

Evil and the good

The Lord destroys the possessions

Of the proud

But cares for widows.