Going Long

You can run ahead, being a target for the long pass, hoping for the touch down, hailing Mary. You can punt ahead, kicking the can down the road, hoping that you're not kicking somebody under the bus. You can attempt the art of the long view, seeing ahead through a thousand different eyes not yours.

And in the end, the long goodbye. Happy Children's Day.

Today

It is today, says Wolff to himself. Today is the last day of a wicked age. Incompetence rewarded, arrogance cosseted, silliness encouraged — these were the things of that age. It was not always so. And he remembers.

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What is that blade you bear, Sir Wolff?

It is named Perdurias, milord. It was sanctified by Bishop William.

What are its properties? Know you that no blade may be brought into the Citadel without our inspection?

I had not heard that, milord. As to your question on its properties, it is perdurable. And hence, the one who forged it called it 'Perdurias'. It is merely an instrument, although somewhat potent.

Put it away. This is a new age, and a better one. We will not have relics of the past in our way, where we might trip over them.

I shall hang it up next to my door, then, milord.

Better you hang it behind the door, Sir Wolff.

But that is where I hang the shield of my ancestors, milord.

You call us 'milord' and yet you disobey us?

Milord, by virtue of your office, I call you thus. But by virtue of it being true, I tell you what I tell you. For that is the nature of truth, milord.

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And in Wolff's mind, he weighed two things. Primus, Wolff was no longer Sir Wolff. Secundus, 'milord' would never be anyone's lord again. Looking up at the ravens, he smiled.

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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.

Closure

At certain times in one's life, one feels a sense of certainty — whether certain resolve, certain satisfaction, or certain rejection. Whatever it is, it is the rock-solid sense of being present at the inception of a new time, a better time.

I was chatting with Gnomus (and also, it seems, half the world) over the last few days. The image that arises most frequently in these conversations is that of the Fall of Barad-Dûr. Sauron's collapse undermined the foundations of that dark tower, and his hosts scattered in the wind. The eagles are coming, and the Marshals of the West are gathering at Minas Tirith to determine the fate of men.

All those who allied with Sauron are tainted. Those who pled innocent dealings will still have to pay reparations for war-crimes. And from the depths of the dungeons have been salvaged many things.

But some things cannot be repaired. Like Frodo, some wounds cannot be healed, and the Elves must pass into the West, taking ship at the Grey Havens.

All that awaits, really, is the Scouring of the Shire.

Marginal Note

Too soon, it is November's end; with that comes all the tumult of the last of time, the last of times, the running out of sand and fuel and life and noise and scant resources.

And here we are, watching over the dissolution of the old.

Nightwinds

Tonight I turned my face to the wind and the rain. And I thought of ravens and ships and storms and the face of God. It is times like this, near the turning point between the years, when the fabric of reality has worn thin and has not been resurfaced, that one feels the immanence of the numinous.

Perhaps one of the songs that captures this odd sense of loss and future loss is Billy Joel's The Downeaster 'Alexa'. As Ambrosius said to Brian Duffy in The Drawing of the Dark, "Much has been lost, and there is yet much to lose." I've appended the lyrics to Alexa at the bottom of this post.

It's all about the Sea and an honest living, you see. The Sea, in my context, is my professional environment. Metaphorically, I was brought up in four generations of those who laboured at sea to make a living for themselves and others. As BJ puts it, "I was a bayman like my father was before..." and his father before him, and even before that, but it's a case of "...can't make a living as a bayman anymore..." Simply put, you can engineer it so that there are more people working in the industry, but if the industry is bust, it's bust. Kaput.

I spent a couple of hectic months writing about this sea. At the end of it, I was happy to have written something. But the sense of fin de siècle creeps up on you. It is like the end of the 'long 19th century', that curious period from about 1776 to 1918, in which British power oscillated from world-spanning and all-conquering to fragile and on the verge of extinction without knowing it. The French called it la Belle Epoque – but they would, of course.

I feel that the Sea, as my ancestors – my parents, grandparents, great-grandparents – knew it and loved it, is gone. Its waters recede, just as the Sea of Faith does in Matthew Arnold's Dover Beach. Soon, the age of post-postmodernism, of a deliberate attempt to destroy the things of faith, will launch its eagle-taloned bid to strike and seize the heart of the world. That is what struck me tonight as I dreamt thoughts of ravens harrowing an eagle in the purple skies of the night, as the wind flung the rain like spears against the tall towers of my life.

Yes, "There ain't no future for a man who works the sea / But there ain't no island left for islanders like me..."

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The Downeaster 'Alexa' by Billy Joel

Well I'm on the Downeaster "Alexa"
And I'm cruising through Block Island Sound
I have chartered a course to the Vineyard
But tonight I am Nantucket bound

We took on diesel back in Montauk yesterday
And left this morning from the bell in Gardner's Bay
Like all the locals here I've had to sell my home
Too proud to leave I worked my fingers to the bone

So I could own my Downeaster "Alexa"
And I go where the ocean is deep
There are giants out there in the canyons
And a good captain can't fall asleep

I've got bills to pay and children who need clothes
I know there's fish out there but where God only knows
They say these waters aren't what they used to be
But I've got people back on land who count on me

So if you see my Downeaster "Alexa"
And if you work with the rod and the reel
Tell my wife I am trolling Atlantis
And I still have my hands on the wheel

Now I drive my Downeaster "Alexa"
More and more miles from shore every year
Since they told me I can't sell no stripers
And there's no luck in swordfishing here

I was a bayman like my father was before
Can't make a living as a bayman anymore
There ain't much future for a man who works the sea
But there ain't no island left for islanders like me...

Promenade

Stately, the ladies and the men, not all, but most. Like ships scattering with hidden and precious cargos to the sixteen points of the wind, they will turn into the ways of the sea, and they might not meet again. But for tonight, stately. Each one carries a history and a promise of destiny. Each one is young, but will someday be older, wiser, stronger, for good or for ill, for richer or poorer, with a spiritual heritage of some sort forever and ever.

And I feel like a retired sea-captain – one who occasionally takes his little boat out for a spin – who sees the proud sails billowing, the white wakes spuming with foam, and rejoices that the young sailors are so swift and strong and bright and beautiful. And that sea-captain wishes them all the best, and at the worst, at least that they shall be able to retire like him.

Nine Hours

In nine hours' time, it will be over.

Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be:
The last of life for which the first was made.
Our times are in His hands
Who saith, "A whole I planned –
Youth shows but half; trust God, see all, nor be afraid!"

Those lines from Robert Browning's Rabbi ben Ezra are peculiarly apt as we bring the curtain down on the inaugural, premier, gala, all-entertainment, highly dramatic show that some think of as a circus, an carnival, an extravaganza nonpareil. It was the First, and as with other firsts, it is the only such; there is none other and never will be again.

Tonight, I am honoured and humbled to have many services to perform at the ending of this marvelous run. In the words of John Wesley, though, there are "...many services to be done. Some are more easy and honourable, others more difficult and lacking in grace: some are suitable to our inclinations and interests, others are contrary to both." But I have known them all, and in the end, I acquiesce and turn my face toward the end.

It would not be right to leave the First without a word from our eternal and almighty Sponsor, He who justifies and establishes the works of our hands. And it would not be right to spend too much time at the party proselytizing while the grace of heaven goes cold on our plates. So here are things which must be said to those who would be scholars, leaders and global citizens:

This is what the LORD says: "Let not the wise man boast of his wisdom or the strong man boast of his strength or the rich man boast of his riches, but let him who boasts boast about this: that he understands and knows me, that I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight, declares the LORD." Jeremiah 9:23-24

For it is my hope, my frequent prayer, that our scholars will gain knowledge touched with wisdom and kindness; that our leaders will gain strength tempered with discipline and justice; and that our global citizens will gain wealth and experience to be used in righteous service. This is not a lofty and distant ideal, but a practical (though grand) endeavour. The First can do it: I have seen you in your work and at your play; in your unguarded and silly moments, and in the height of your disciplined and intelligent excellence. Where will and power are one, so let it be; we can ask no more than this.

And in nine hours' time, we are sundered and you are cast forth into the world as salt.