Oh look, it's Dietrich

Very cool:

Together, many boulders can join to fight a cosmic headwind that otherwise would doom them.

me in June of '04:

I think I need to wait until things stabilize. Live and work and love and hope that everything can coalesce in some way, that this life isn't just a series of uncertainties dotted with devastating passions and ecstasies. That there is some security, here. That there can be the family, the life I've dreamed of, the home I've never found.

Though the darkness and the grey days seem long even in their crushing brevity; though I've been known to complain about the winds that whip through the wide tunnel of Boylston Street, threatening to pluck me up with icy tongs and carry me into the Charles; though black ice, grey slush, chilled bones and heavy skies aren't exactly cheery subjects...

Gods dammit I want my SNOW.

If there's anything that feeds my depression, paranoia, irritation and misery more than short, dark days, it's short, dark, SIXTY-TWO DEGREE days. I mean seriously, what the hell?

I want to inhale that softly metallic, white smell of coming snowfall. I want the shock of frozen nosehairs, the clean clarity of ice as I step outside after the skies have cleared, a wan winter sun gleaming off of glittering drifts, my mind as pure as liquid nitrogen. I want that frozen knife to cleave the fog of my recumbent mind. I want the crunch, the squeak, the soft ssss of walking through fresh snow; I want the otherwise noiselessness of the streets as the weather mutes everything, silences animals, keeps people indoors, cars moored in their driveways, the only interrupting sound the joyous shouts of children, for whom snow creates a sovereign kingdom.

I have a down jacket, okay? Let's go.

It's been over three weeks, and it's probably time for me to post about the wedding, before the events lose all of their freshness, before I forget a day that was, all cliches aside, the happiest of my life to date.

I should probably begin, in typical narrative fashion, with all of the things that went wrong leading up to it. Everyone talks about how all weddings are just small disasters that somehow come together in the end, and I'd gone into the wedding pretty much viewing it as a huge show I was opening on October 7. I've acted, directed, stage and assistant stage managed, costume designed, and participated in just about every aspect of theatre production, and I know what it's like to put on a show. My favorite thing in the wonderful film Shakespeare in Love is the theatre manager's continued insistence that when everything finally comes together, "It's a mystery." I know only too well the truth of this: pretty much every show I've worked on has been hanging by a thread a week before opening, with everyone stressed to their limits and mortified that it's going to be a total disaster.

This production was no exception; in fact, it was probably the worst I've experienced in this regard. Add to it that fact that along with imlad, I was acting as producer, director, and lead actress, and it would be difficult for my stress level to be higher. I don't want to dwell on the negative, but to give a sample, I'll cite just a few of the events of Friday, the day before the wedding:

1. I was still waiting for the FedEx truck to bring the final pieces of everybody's clothing from Colorado.
2. When imlad picked the programs up from the printers, all of the pages were in the wrong order.
3. I picked up my dress, which had been worked on very quickly and thoroughly, that morning, then went across the street to find a dress that would fit entrope and match the color scheme.
4. Given all of that, we did not arrive on site until well into the dark hours of the evening, when we had intended to arrive around 2pm.

Add to this that my ring was not delivered until the Wednesday before (they broke it twice trying to make it), the store that was supposed to order the clothes imlad was going to wear never bothered to do it, the linens cost more than twice what I was quoted and my dear friend who was going to do my hair and makeup got food poisoning the morning of the wedding day, and by the time of the ceremony, I was nothing but a huge ball of walking nerves.

Huge, I tell you.

But in the midst of this, there was zzbottom, who bought food for Friday night's barbecue and acted as head chef, then, along with his girlfriend, set all the tables on Saturday morning. There was macthud, who loomed in that incredibly calming way he has and lisped at me to make me laugh and feel like a princess. There was wurmwyd, who was ready to do anything needed, and also did a spectacular job looking after my mother. There was imvfd, who just took care of all kinds of things almost invisibly. There were the silk monkeys who showed up and provided the most spectacular show and equipment for people - it added so much. There were my official officiants, redheadedmuse and _cazador, and the wonderful addition, queenofhalves, who made everything happen, ceremony-wise, without me having to think about it. There were all the attendants, who did everything imaginable to keep me sane. There was shu_al, who did more than I thought possible to keep the entire operation running. And sunspiral, guiding the crowd with his fine heraldic presence, and jirikido, moving silently and making things happen. So many people to thank that I can only begin here, and hope that I can include everyone by the end of this already lengthy post.

And then, there was the wedding.

At 2pm on Saturday, October 7, the stated start time of the ceremony, I was sitting in a chair in the bathroom of the Lodge, having my hair done. Darling D showed up, looking pale, and while I had to take care of my makeup myself, she managed a quick and magnificent 'do incorporating ayalanya's magnificent headpiece. We were running late, just to add to the stress, but as I watched myself in the mirror and fretted, the vision I had had of myself as bride began, at last, to come together. Quite suddenly I felt that I looked almost perfect, and as that moment of rightness washed over me, I had a chance to get nervous. I had been so consumed up until that point with the concern that everything wouldn't happen properly that I hadn't had a chance to reflect on what I was about to do.

And so, I breathed.

D left for the audience, and I walked out of the bathroom. shu_al's husband was standing there, waiting to give the signal. It was about 20 minutes past 2.

I looked out the door into the field and saw the circle of chairs. I saw the attendants waiting with their elemental representations. I saw imlad, my love, standing at one far corner, his anachronistic finery waving in the wind.

And in the center of the circle, my friends were dancing.

The drummers, who were there to raise energy and accompany the firespinners, had begun playing. regyt was spinning bright gold flags. water_childe, danceboy and dreams_of_wings, among others, were dancing in the circle. As I looked, dreams_of_wings was being lifted into the sunlight to the sound of drums and spontaneous singing.

In that moment, and in every moment after that and since, I could not have been more moved, grateful, and thrilled to be a part of the community that was there around me. Their love, their joy, their effort, their participatory spirit would not even allow them to be bored waiting for a late ceremony to start: they found a way to begin celebrating right away. In that moment, I knew that everything was going to be perfect. And I wished, as I did many other times that day, that the rest of my family were there.

The message was conveyed and the circle grew silent as people returned to their seats and waited for the ceremony to begin. I propped the door slightly so that I could hear the choir sing. They broke beautifully into Delius' "To Be Sung of a Summer Night on the Water," a wordless expression of ethereal pastoral joy, as the officiants cast. It was a mighty circle they made: I could feel it from where I was.

Then, a moment of silence before the processional. The choir sang "The Heart's Cry," and the attendants, with their elements, processed from the four directions, one pair at a time. The piece ended, and imlad and I ended up entering the circle in the small space of silence that followed: it seemed somehow appropriate. As I approached the edge of the circle, shaking, grinning my face off, trying not to cry, holding my grandfather's letter that he wrote to my grandmother from the Air Force when my mother was born, imvfd stood up, and the whole crowd followed. Joy burst in me. I approached the altar, and took imlad's hand.

danceboy, invoking the Fey, leapt and flipped and pinched me and kissed the groom and broke the solemnity of the moment in exactly the way we hoped he would, and the spell was not broken but intensified.

redheadedmuse's invocation of the Star Goddess was one of the most powerful magical things I have felt; I'm sure the choir's haunting, quiet chant of "You Who Open the Vault of Heaven" helped. _cazador invoked the Boatman, and the usual heavy, dark, forbidding and loving presence entered our midst. And we were ready to do the work.

My lovely bridesmaids. The handsome groomsmen. They stepped forward one by one and offered such beautiful blessings and readings that I was overwhelmed. I was so happy to be able to involve them in a way that was more than simple witnessing, and I don't think I imagined what beauty they would bring.

We accepted the Boatman's challenge, and drew two cards, whose meaning we have still to divine.

Then came the charging of the rings. We wanted to involve everyone in this process, and so queenofhalves taught the chant, and encouraged everyone who felt called to to join in with the choir in singing, and to dance, too, if they wished.

The chant began. The drums started. And then, everyone started to stand up.

The spiral dance that redheadedmuse had wanted somewhere in our ceremony happened spontaneously, joyously, beautifully, and in lieu of a receiving line, I got a chance to look into the eyes of nearly everyone at the wedding as they passed, as we spiraled toward the center and out again, as we raised our voices and our bodies toward sending good vibes toward those wedding bands. I could hardly believe that it happened as it did; I'm still marveling at the pictures. I'm still marveling, too, at bbbsg, whom a guest I did not know drew into the dance in her wheelchair. I think I almost shouted as she passed in the spiral, dancing with the rest of us, smiling in wonder.

Finally, we read our vows. We decided to write one short text and have both of us read it, changing only the names and husband/wife designations. imlad got through it solemnly, with a kind of choked up grace. I got to the end before I broke and said the last words, "and maintain a constancy of the highest devotion for as long as I live," in a sobbing cadence, then laughed as I couldn't get the ring on his finger. redheadedmuse bound our hands and pronounced us married, we kissed the way you do, and the choir sang sen_no_ongakyu's incredible new piece. Then, drumming by _cazador, macthud, greendalek and the aforementioned composer, with firespinning by regyt and buxom_bey, during which everyone sat silently and watched, though they were encouraged to join in dancing.

At the end, though, applause and cheering broke out, the wedding party escaped to photographs, and our guests started the party without us.

Pictures and a few minutes at the Lodge after the photographs tell me that a veritable circus took place there before dinner: silks trapezing, hula-hooping, contact improv dancing, labyrinth-walking (pheromone actually brought a portable labyrinth!), sangria-drinking (thank you, tisana!) and munching happened simultaneously.

Dinner was a blur of hellos and hugs and tears and love and excellent food (which imlad and I wisely enjoyed before everyone else came in to dinner), provided by deadwinter, fanw, doze_e_fish, rosif3r, and non-LJ Andi. The hall looked lovely (thanks ever, lifecollage and doeeyedbunny, who couldn't be there, for the favors, and rule30 for the decor help), the wine flowed, people stuck leaf-shaped confetti to their foreheads, the music rocked (thank you, Nutz and Dex!), and, strangely, everything went according to plan, only better.

The night wore on, the cake was cut, people started to leave, and then everyone carried the candles from the tables back up to the Lodge. There was a bonfire, more dancing, psytrance, and mostly low-key merriment well into the night, and I felt over and over again rocked in the arms of my loving community.

I want to make a couple of things clear before I end this far-too-long chronicle.

One: if you haven't been directly named here, it is oversight and not ingratitude. Oh, how I love, and how I endlessly thank, every one of you that was there that day.

Two: I don't think I ever fully realized, until that day, the extent of this community's love, support, and commitment to me, to imlad, and to our union. I don't know if I'll ever stop being profoundly moved by all of you, and by how I felt that day, seeing the way you all made everything happen. There's a part of me, that childish part that's still the little girl nobody is friends with, who still can never quite believe that so many amazing people could ever be more to her than casual acquaintances - or, on worse days, that they're not thinking or saying bad things about her when she's not around. If I'm ever cold or distant, or quiet, if I ever disappear for a time, if I ever seem difficult to reach or hard to be close to, that's why.

And for the first time, at this event, I felt the full force of how much you all care for me, and us, and for each other, and the totality. I felt open to love of all varieties and levels in a way I never had before. I felt, if this makes any sense at all, that the event itself was a vindication of everything I've wanted my life to be: you all made it possible, and made it real. And I didn't shy away from anyone, because I knew you were all here for us, and I could finally feel, without doubts and insecurities, the full measure of your love.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for that, forever.

And for those of you who were invited and couldn't be there: we missed you. We love you. And thank you.

And go here for some pictures (thank you, mangosteen, rule30, and queenofhalves!):

"Barnaby Evans’ WaterFire® is an artwork involving movement, participation and surprise. When visitors encounter WaterFire, they cannot absorb the sculpture from just their sense of sight or even from a single vantage point -- they must walk through the installation and they must use all five of their senses. WaterFire is full of motion -- throughout the night the firetenders stoke the fires, the boats move past the flames, the rivers flow quietly beneath the braziers, and the flickering flames reflect off the dark surface of the water animating the architectural fabric of the city."


A few weeks ago, I went to Providence at last to experience WaterFire. Neat, I thought: bonfires on canals. Should be cool. So imlad and I piled into the car and endured the annoyingly trafficy drive to Providence and met up with my old friend C. and her friend, K.

I'd only been in Providence a few times, and, being there mainly to see shows, I wasn't so much gazing at the architecture. This time I saw everything by daylight, and had the opportunity to walk around downtown. The preservation and neatness of the old buildings here puts Boston's counterpart to shame. And besides, there are all of these canals running through the city, along the edges of parks, with bridges over them, with statues and stone libraries and brick and cobblestone everywhere...this is a place where you really feel New England.

After having dinner we strolled down and saw where they were still lighting the fires. In the middle of the canals, at regular intervals, stood braziers filled with wood. Long black boats with names like Prometheus passed them with torches, setting them instantly ablaze. This was a fairly impressive sight. The lighters wore all black as well, giving the boats the solemnity of funeral vessels. And we strolled along the banks as it grew darker, and watched the fire flicker on the surface of the water. At the end of the line, we looked down the canal to see them all lit in a line, like an endless string of holiday lights.

Pretty.

And for a while, that was it. Okay: pretty. Fire and water. Yay! There was music floating from speakers installed beneath the bridges, creating maximum resonance in this outdoor setting. Haunting things, sounding like Eastern European composers (I later found out that what sounded like Arvo Part probably was), arias from Italian operas, snippets from especially moving film scores. We kept on walking. At some point I became aware of the woodsmoke smell, and the scent of the fuel they were using to light the braziers so efficiently. My head became heavy and light at the same time, and with muffled senses I strolled along, entranced by the flames. At a beautiful stone railing we stopped again and stared out. Some unspeakably gorgeous piece of music was echoing through the space: a mournful alto singing in some unknown language, over some intense instrumentation I cannot recall. I only know I felt I wanted to close my eyes and listen, but I have a voice in my head that tells me how I am supposed to experience art, and a conflicting desire made me want to keep them open and watch the flames. But at last I felt a moment of calm assurance that a few moments of isolated listening was what I wanted, and so, I gave in and my eyelids dropped soundlessly. The voice washed over me, the smell of the wood still reaching me, the fires still flickering behind my eyelids, the sound of their crackling a counterpoint to the music, and I entered a mystical realm of experience: the feeling of being nowhere and in no time, being within a bubble of sound, that sound at once the only thing existing, and the irony striking only afterwards that music, entirely dependent on the passage of time for human perception, is one of the few things that can transfix me in utter timelessness.

We continued to walk, and I was quiet, observing. Fires. Smells. More haunting music. Passing beneath the stone bridges, where there were hanging chandeliers and sconces alive with candles, creating the feeling of a medieval castle. What had seemed like a simple arrangement of elements had become spellbinding.

A bit later, we moved away from the water and checked out some of the exhibits nearby: a collection of large sculptures, one of which threatened to eat us (but which we frightened out of it by banging with our feet simultaneously on its metal hull); a mile of sidewalk chalk drawings in different levels of skill; a combination magician/mime, who actually did neither but wore a top hat over his adorable red head and created small origami creatures as we watched, then soundlessly handed them to children (including our C.); and the gargoyles.

The gargoyles might be getting a short story of their own. They were two men, dressed in horned workboots, tight jeans and pieced-together padded armor painted the same shade of stone grey. Their facial masks were in pieces to allow them expression, and their fingers were extended into spindly points. Left alone, they sat at the base of a huge statue, unmoving. Given a little money, they would animate and interact: scritching your head with a quizzical look, kissing your hand, even grabbing you a bit. One engaged in a staring contest with a child who eventually shrugged and walked away, leaving the gargoyle to put his head in his hands, distraught. One woman stood with him for a while, exploring touch and engaging in a kind of slow contact improv. Interactive spontaneous street performance. I yearned to explore their inner lives.

At last we walked up the hill to beautiful Benefit St., where C. had parked her car, which was full of Camus and apples. We ate luscious Cortlands and parted ways.

WaterFire does a full lighting for the last time this year on October 9. If you can make it, do. But remember to spend a few hours and be patient. This is an experience that washes over you.

The first one I love because it's a sexual initiation song. The second because, well, I really like the idea that maybe God just has no idea what he's doing.

Bonus for figuring out what they have in common. (Because I certainly don't know.)

( Sung by Little Red Riding Hood. )

( And one sung, apparently, by a frog. )

A day once dawned,
And it was beautiful.
A day once dawned
From the ground.

And the night she fell,
And the air was beautiful.
The night she fell
All around.

It looks like the snow, which was going like gangbusters not ten minutes ago, has finally abated, and the sun's coming through.

This morning I had the luck to be offered a ride to Kendall by M-----, redheadedmuse's paramour. This had multiple effects, the positives far outweighing the one negative, which was that I probably got to work even later than if I had taken public transit.

The more time I spend near M-----, the more I see what a wonderful person he is, and what a wonderfully calming and stabilizing influence he seems to be for redheadedmuse. It's beyond good to see someone you care about being treated in a way that makes her happy.

I've also rarely come across someone who creates such comfortable silences, even with someone he doesn't know well. I feel at ease, but never bored, in his presence. In the silence, I watched a spectacle I'd never seen: snow swirling from the sky, slowly set alight by the sun, emerging from the clouds.

I also listened, for the first time, to the wonderful Coffee House on ERS. A new song by Beck, called "Paper Tiger," reminded us alternately of Dead Can Dance and Nick Drake, and some moments later, a Nick Drake song came on.

I felt a peaceful kind of synchronicity in my morning commute, which is more than I can say for the 87, the red line, or the CT2.

So look see the days
The endless colored ways
And go play the game
That you like
For the morning.