The Journeys of a Captain

Wed, 09 Aug 2006 17:47:43 GMT

Oh, hmm, have been neglecting livejournal. I don't know what there is to say. Life continues in circles, doors open and doors shut, but Eden remains. Emergencies arise and are overcome, struggles change the faces of men, but God remains consistant. Learning to take loneliness and turn it into hospitality is still a struggle. Spring turned to summer, now summer lengthens, and darkens, and ripens, and soon it shall redden into the apple of autumn. My little paradise continues to try and rebuild the gap between the world and the divine.

How different, now, looking back. I hadly feel I am the same person I was then, those dark days, when I came, when I fought, when life was maps and soldiers and swords and death and tragedy. I have needed peace, peace I have found. God gives me peace. I try to show others the way, the road, the path of God and help people understand, he took me down a lonely road, but he may take you anywhere.

I have agreed to play in a game, to be myself, to be myself as I was. To be the captain-general, the commander, the hero, the soldier, the charismatic. To be the Captain. To lead. Perhaps, to die. I do not know how I feel about this. God has given me a measure of peace about the past but I cannot stop missing Tirith, missing Gondor, no matter how beautiful Eden is. I want to go home, it is good to think I will see her again. My beautiful city. And there are people I have wished to resume long neglected business with. Maybe it will work. Maybe it won't. Either way, it will be.

I find God is gradually diminishing the old urge to have a lover that came after I came here and realized I could have a life outside of swords. I would rather love, now, and stop discriminating and stop demanding and just give what I can as each has need. It seems ages and ages since I was just Captain, who had a smile for each soldier and a good word for every man, but I was that man, and I know I ought to be him again. God willing. I'm growing.

It is hard to want to talk of the disasters we have seen; kidnappings, betrayals, murders, terrible stories of broken trust and lies, the loss of love, of faith. It is hard to look into the face of someone I had thought I hated, and see his fear and innocence, know he was a victim as much as the rest of us, and find myself pitying him. Working beside him in the kitchen at the monastery, one can see the psychological scars that will not heal until a long time from now, and how he is afraid of the lothing and uncertainty his name now conjures. The scars of murder and imprisonment are so clear to me, he needs help more than a psychiatrist can ever give him, he needs to believe God loves him again, that we will accept him and not harm him.

And yet there are those who grow through their tragedy. Galahad took to Eden for refuge from his confusion and guilt - he has learned to smile. To see him push Emilio down the halls, or watch Galahad help Emilio to and from his chair unafraid, to watch him laugh at jokes and speak with animation... that is a gift from God. He is coming out. He is waking up. To behold the two of them sitting in the grass outside, and looking at the sky, and to listen to them talk about life, and God, and true stories... that is a gift God has given him, a thing of change for the better. They grow.

We are safe, here on Eden, bad things do not reach us. But we work to reach those who suffer. We have everything, and more, in abundance, and that is from God. But how can I be unaffected by suffering and fear? Francis and I try to minister, to aid, we work with Laurie in Egypt, we work with Fingon in his travels through Africa, and there is always something else to be done in the Sarikari. How can we not? God said to love the poor, the afflicted, diseased, the lost. Our brothers, and ourselves.

Despite everything, I am content. Come what may, I will trust God. Even if all experience says I cannot trust the people around me, I will try. And when decisions must be made I will make the hard choices, those are the only ones I know. For is it not right that brothers live together in peace?

Things I've Learned From Monks.

Sun, 21 May 2006 22:38:46 GMT

Just because it doesn't look useful doesn't mean it isn't. Silence and reflection included.

If you can learn a lesson from a rock or a twig, that is excellent. If you can learn one from a brother, that is even better.

It is easy to mock other people's flaws. It's a lot harder to change your own.

The grass is always greener on the other side, no matter how often you water it. This does not mean anything is wrong with your sprinkler.

Pride and envy are often alike. It is insecurity and a defeated spirit that seldom are the same.

Do not ask what "kind" of love it is, ask how you can best pass the love along to those around you. One question is afraid and closed, the other is open and brave.

The only sin of ignorance is allowing someone else to stay in the dark.

No one likes to be corrected, but it is worse to make the same mistake over and over than to suffer brief embaressment.

Don't be afraid to talk about the good things that happen in life. Just because everyone else around you is negative does not mean only bad things happen.

Nobody comes to a man of religion for the man himself; it is to see what his God looks like.

The only way to love a person is to know who and what they are. If you know who and what the stranger truly is in the kingdom of God, you can love them too.

Wisdom does not come from esoteric reflection alone in a cell; wisdom comes from standing in the kitchen and watching other people cut themselves on accident.

Do not assume God cannot use you as you are and where you are at; the only condition God is looking for is willingness.

Self-reflection is useful in limited amounts - do too much of it and you shall become self-focused.

If you water it enough, even a desert will grow flowers.

The human mind is like a ruined city. You will find flowers growing among the stones, and also people who just want their old city back.

Most people do not realize they are drowning until they can't breathe. That doesn't mean they're not drowning, nor that you shouldn't try and save them.

The only thing funnier than a bad pun is the groans of the people who are afraid to admit they thought it was funny.

Talking about God is like growing a tree from the seed. You usually are not around to see the results, but that doesn't mean nothing is happening.

[For Elphaba] Waiting.

Tue, 05 Jul 2005 04:56:43 GMT

Boromir waited with patience, standing before the door which Elphaba must pass through to return to the main parts of the house, waiting for her to emerge from her confrontation with Dorothy, arms folded patiently in the darkness. In the silence he felt her drawing near, waiting to catch her hand or eye and reassure her. It would take time. He had time.

...days upon days upon days.

Wed, 01 Jun 2005 19:52:17 GMT

I don't even know what to talk about, what to say. Life has been... hectic. I have been out more, due to the need of those around me for a voice of peace, but sometimes I wonder if that's enough. I used to find myself straining against my commitments and my promises, but I find that I am no longer bothered the way I used to be by the restraints I have put in my life for the good of others.

I wanted to serve God, and He has opened the doorway to such service. I wanted to have nothing stand in my way of putting my full focus on Him, and He has surely has granted my request. I used to miss Elphaba, wish her constant nearness, but I am beginning to realize, she is near even when I cannot see her. She is near me, for her words linger, and when I feel lonely, the thought of her will bring me a feeling of peace. I asked God to reconcile a distraction - however sweet - with my calling, and it has been done. I love her no less, but I am able to let her be her own person, without fear of losing her.

Theodred has come. My very own Rohirric prince, surely from my world as Faramir is from home. I have missed him, I missed him and did not realize I missed him, I missed the long conversations over a glass of wine, I missed his ability to relate to me so perfectly, because of the similarity of our lives and mindsets. I missed him, yes, and he is here. There is nothing like being with an old friend, to bring a sense of contentedness to my living. A little gift, small, compared to the storms that ravage us, but a little gift can reap great rewards. He has needed my help in adjusting, as much as I have needed his practical wisdom and light handed humor to help me focus on what is important. He has chosen Ewan McGregor icons, as a proof of his long-lastingness, and they call him "Ewanodred"; and it suits him, quite well.

There is trouble for Karigan again. It is hard to think of the words to explain that she has not done so herself, in hells_rider, her journal, so I suppose I will not bother. Yet, as upset and distraught as she has been, I find the rider who used to be ever-close to my side, returning to me again for help, which I have been so long dying to give her. Another old friend returns, perhaps, but what words can be said of my own errand-rider, that when she feels weak and afraid, I am the one she goes to, to find strength and defense? I have missed her, and though she is certainly not the girl I found near Pelargir anymore, or even the rider who faithfully was at my side through most battles, she is not so different that I do not know which words to say to quiet the fear in her eyes. Not so different than all that, that when the rest of the world upsets her, she cannot still come sit with me, and rest her head against my shoulder while we wait the night out of its darkness.

There's trouble enough for the whole world wrapped up in Karigan's cares, maybe, but God is good and will see us all through this madness. There are no end of things to pray for these days, I fear, but faith will see us to the ending of even these lasting terrors. No trouble is eternal, and maybe Karigan will return in confidence of her security to her husband tonight. Fear, it is said, is made out of imperfect love, but I have another theory of fear. Fear comes from uncertainty about God's ability to turn the worst case scenario for good. But faith can carry us through uncertainty, listening for the voice of God can provide direction, and the slow process of trust can find fear diminishing.

Spiritual journeys are the hardest, because it is hard to see the path we are taking leading anywhere. Sometimes the path seems to lead us around in circles, and we wonder, is anything worth this frustration, this pain, this anger, this lostness, this confusion we feel?

...yes, Karigan, many things are worth it. Your safety is worth it.

...I remember

Sat, 26 Feb 2005 20:14:41 GMT

...I died today. I do not know how this is supposed to make me feel. I know that some people get emotional or upset when they remember dying, and certianly, they have a place. I don't know if I can feel upset, anymore. It's been three years, since I died, in my world, and I don't know, what am I supposed feel?

I talked a bit about it yesterday, and I don't really know why I did. I didn't really talk about in detail, not really, just... the vague, fleeting impressions of so much glory that fell like stars reeling in the sky and tumbled down, to fall into the burning sea. Some people will not want to think about my being dead; some people forget I am dead, because I have resolved to live again even though it has a cost. But I am dead, though my hands still stretch and strain with the pull and tear of years, and there are new scars and hurts. My heart beats in my chest; I can hear it, I can hear the faint rush of blood, and I feel pain; my eyes close, and they open, and I can see. I can feel, I can breathe, I must eat to sustain myself... I live here, yet I am dead.

You can see the weight of my death in scars. I counted, once, and only once. Seventeen arrow wounds. Kari has always said it was close to twenty, and yes, she is right. It is close to twenty. It does not matter, now, if it is seventeen or twenty, not really. I know I removed a good many of them; I only died with three or four in my body. I think that comforts her. I feel as if she is the one who needs comforting today, not me. After all, I'm the one who saw the face of God, for a moment or two, and she has never been comforted.

...I could talk about how I died, the pain, but there's not really a point in that. My death was prolonged a very rediculous amount of time. I look at the time that elapsed, everything that happened, and part of me believes it was not physically possible. Not that it changes the fact it happened as it did. Sometimes, logic does not have to apply.

It was late afternoon, between four and five. Let us be clear on something; the fellowship was broken, and because of things I said. Many of you will believe that I tried to take Isildur's Bane. I never had that chance, the halfling Frodo cloaked himself in its shadow and fled, even before I had finished asking him if it could not save Gondor, if Gondor was not important in the quest, if it could not save Gondor, then be destroyed. That is a point, you understand, that would somewhat affect my behavior afterwards.

I do not know when I realized we were under attack. I know that suddenly there was something more important than Gondor in my mind, as I heard, from far along the long, slow path I had been making to return to the camp, to tell them I had to go, and they had to go on without me because I could not be trusted. I could hear one of the other halflings cry out, some sort of shout, and I heard the sound of orcs.

I ran, and flung myself in front of Meriadoc and Peregrin, shouting at them to flee, flee for the shore, and get in a boat and drift out where they would be safe until someone could help them. They did not listen. Time lost its meaning, as I battled orcs alone, keeping them from nearing my companions. I began to be overwhelmed, and blew the horn of Vorondil. The orcs paused, shrinking back, fearing the noise, and I bought bare seconds, trying to usher the halflings towards the river.

A storm blew in, sudden and fast, wet and cold. As it began to rain, the orcish archers worked up their courage, and began to fire at me. There were not very many, only two or so, and each time after they fired, they had to fumble with their ill-made strings. At first, I was able to dodge them, until an arrow seemed to be heading straight for Merry. I got in the way, and it hit me, though it hurt, I wrenched it out and continued to fight those who had begun to work up their courage to attempt to fight me hand to hand once more...

...the rain made it cold, and perhaps it was this numbness that kept me going; I became so engrossed in fighting off the orcs that crowded near, that I was shot, again. And again. And again. I could feel the wounds, I knew the hurt, but I couldn't stop. I didn't dare stop. We pushed back along towards the river, as I threw arrow after arrow in my wake, bleeding into the wet grass.

Eventually, several arrows pierced me, before I could throw them aside, and the rain stopped. The ground was slick and wet, and the sun came back out as the storm rolled south, and I fell beneath a tree. I could not get up, and the orcs left a path around my body as they swept the halflings up into their grasp. I could hear their cries, but I could not move. It was all I could do to keep breathing.

I could see the sun through the trees; it was late afternoon now, the sun was readying herself to set. Time had passed. The sky was blue, icy, cold, and bright, and the sun seemed to burn in my eyes, flaming with the light of a thousand lamps. Bands of color began to form on the cloudless horizon, and I looked towards the west as I lay dying.

Aragorn found me, eventually. There was fear in his eyes as he looked at me, and he swore. It was inconsiquential. He withdrew a knife, perhaps out of pity, realizing I was slowly dying, and had been slowly dying for some time, but I began to laugh. The laughter ached with the emptiness of my coldness, and I felt as if I was suffocating, choking on the pain. He meant to kill me, I think, but his hand slipped, and he struck me in the leg, far short of a merciful blow.

It made me laugh harder, and I almost choked to death until water from the branches above splashed on my face and made me aware how cold I was. I thought I might catch my breath, and began to talk to him with what was left of my voice. I said nothing of consiquence; I told him he had to go, in my stead, to alert Gondor of the great dangers, to rally the captains and prepare for the last defense. I told him he must be my messenger, must tell them of my death, and prepare my brother for the task he would have to complete as I could not, heirship to the stewardship, did Gondor live.

...he said nothing, crouched a bit away from me, eyes full of pity and fear, and as I felt the coldness overwhelming me, and I realized I was about to die, I looked again to the setting sun, dying on the horizon in all her glory, and asked, "tell Gondor I loved her". My eyes shut as the last light of the day washed over me, and I knew no more.

...and now I am here, and it does not matter so much as I thought it would.

ardent for some desperate glory

Fri, 17 Dec 2004 20:15:28 GMT

You believe in doing the right thing, but aren't
always sure what that is.

What is Your Shakespearian Tragic Flaw?
brought to you by Quizilla

...dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, after all. I would know. I would know, exactly what it is like to die for one's country. It is very cold, 'mori', and 'dulce et decorum' has a bitter taste to it, like cold tea seeped too long, unsweetened, though 'pro patria', I would do anything...

I do believe, in 'pro patria mori'... there are other things worth dying for too.

you will be the death of me

Fri, 17 Dec 2004 18:34:59 GMT

Night-eyes is lying quiet in her bed... but I can't believe we found her. Jehanne found her, really, sensed a "presense" behind the door... I don't know how she did it, and I hardly know what happened to Night-eyes... laying so very still against the bed, so very quiet and so very... cold. The cough is worse today, I can feel my insides ripping to shreds, but Night-eyes needed the help to sleep quiet and dreamless. I don't regret it, though my body does...

I know what it is like to be cold.

Her wings are... gone. I do not know where they have gone. It looked... as if someone had ripped them out. And done worse. I don't know. Night-eyes, Night-eyes, why have you been sitting in the dark, dark room? How long?

Halls of the Forgotten. Sounds so... ominous. I never thought we'd find a truly forgotten there... everyone thought Night-eyes was gone... but not Jehanne. Leave it to a saint of God and a captain of Gondor to find a winged fruit-bat child of distant lands, her only joy wrested and ripped away. I don't know why.

Amrothos was shaken to hear... entanglement with an enemy? Self-mutilation? I told him Night-eyes is too proud for that... Imrahil dropped fun and games and gaped stupidly, shaken by the revelation, and Elboron turned pale and asked if he could see her. Jehanne has not left her side, and if I were Night-eyes, I would find it comforting, but I am not so sure.

What a world. What a world. This is not how the story goes. This is not how the story goes! Where's my damn happily ever after? What else can be done to me? Are there any more tricks up your sleeve, cruel fate? Are you going to drive a knife into my chest worse than this cough?

Just what I wanted; Elphaba's ire, the world's irritation at my sickness, ~~internal bleeding from the damn portal I opened that is taking all my strength to heal~~ a sickening cough, a warzone hanging over the soulspace, playing traffic monitor to Kari's bonding, and six bloody days to the birth of Christ.

Spirit of the season? I think my spirit is being asfixiated.

...I feel a headache coming on.

Sun, 05 Dec 2004 06:23:50 GMT

We have another guest... this one is not welcome. Following is violent, and maybe disturbing. PG-13 if you really need a rating for the rigors of war.

Boromir: *suddenly, as if it's just struck him* ...it's like we're in the shadow of a tidal wave
Adrienne: *watches him throughtfully* What's happening? *soft* What do you see?
Boromir: ...*closing his eyes, hands reaching out to either side* ...it's in the north wing of the house. *opening his eyes* ...where is Elphaba, Adrienne?
Adrienne: *looks up, through the ceiling* Elphaba is in the study, experimenting with the journal.
Boromir: *continuing with the description* Male consciousness. Age thirty-five. It feels like he brought an army... and he's... he's not in the house, he's outside of it. In the air.
Adrienne: *slight gulp* Oh! Ah... *blink* Male... 35... outside? Shall I--
Elphaba; *appears in the doorway, dark gown rustling, eyes upon Boromir* What's happened? I heard you call me...*softly, urgently*
Boromir: ...someone is trying to get in without my permission. *eyes very dark* ...male. thirty-five. dark hair. using mechanical wings, coming from the north. We need to be in the tallest tower in the northern sector... *closing his eyes, moving them all to the frigid, freezing rooftop, circling high above; the sky is dark with clouds and it is hard to see* ...right now.
Adrienne: *gasps, hugging herself tightly at the sudden cold*
Elphaba; *waves a hand, conjuring Adrienne a coat and wraps her own cape around her tightly, eyes raised to the sky, her hat now cocked on her head*...Mechanical wings, Boromir? *bewildered* His intents, are they clear to you?
Boromir: ...unclear. *holding a hand to his forehead, eyes shutting again* ...take to the telescope, Adrienne, point it towards the mountains. You are looking for a dark mark against the sky. I know. Hard. I'm sorry. *still closing his eyes* ...I... he's looking for someone.
Elphaba: *begins to move, her arms arching and swaying, turning over and upon each other, twisting, conjuring, summoning; no words come from her lips yet, she is merely summoning the power*
Adrienne: *nodding, swivels the great telescope upwards and searches* ...looking....
Boromir: ...Roman armor, the mechanical wings are crafted out of hollow wood and thin leather stretched over the frame and feathered. I have no idea how he managed to fly... he has to manually flap.
Adrienne: THERE! I see him! *pointing helplessly, trying to keep the scope upon him* Barely! There! *points again*
Elphaba; Should we call Halcyon? *severely, squinting up into the gale above*
Boromir: *eyes jerking open, rushing towards her, trying to bend and see without pushing her out of the way* ...yes, call Halcyon!
Halcyon: *appears in a flash of blue lightning, her gauzy blues and indigoes swirling about her in the wind* What the devil's going on up here? *eyes on the sky*
Elphaba; *is very still, staring up, hands spread, just in case*
Boromir: Invader. From the mountains. Male, thirty-five, Roman breastplate, mechanical wings.
Adrienne: See? There....what the hell?! *murmuring in amazement*
Halcyon: *blink, stare, squint* Good gracious. Interesting, to say the least. *merrily grim* Well, what shall we do? Speak to him? Cut him down and then ask questions? Trap him somewhere?
Boromir: ...he's hostile, Halcyon.
Halcyon: Are you certain? *frown*
Kari: Boromir: *staring through the telescope* ...good... holy... mother... of... cheetos.
Boromir: *looks as if he's very pale*
Adrienne: What? What? *frantic*
Elphaba; *silent, cold, steely*
Boromir: ...I know that man. *simply* don't do anything.
Boromir: *backing away from the telescope* ...I have to think.
Adrienne: *blink, looks worriedly from face to face*
Halcyon: *at his side, a hand on his shoulder, not pressing, just resting there* Boromir, what's going on? *gently*
Boromir: ...I'm going out to meet him. *not answering the question* ...everyone stay here.
Halycon: Boromir, wait, explain this a little please...
Adrienne: Are you sure?
Elphaba; *swallows, just staring at him*
Boromir: ...I can't explain it. There's no explaining it. I'm going out to meet him. *walking towards the edge of the tower*
Elphaba; Let me go with you. *sharply, wavering*
Boromir: ...Elphaba... *tiredly, but doesn't contest it, as the others will be satisfied with her going and he won't have to take a party* ...all right. *rising onto the wall of the tower*
Halcyon: How will you go? *folding her arms stoically*
Boromir: *calmly* walk. *Take a step off the wall, standing in the middle of the thin, cold night air*
Elphaba: No. Boromir. *picking something up off the ground, something wavering in her voice; she holds a somewhat aged, long-handled, old-fashioned straw broom; she stares at it for a moment, then looks at him. She holds it firmly in both hands, running forwards and leaping off the wall onto the broom, which supports her, dartin up and circling with ease; she faces him, looking stunned, jaw set tightly* Get on! *reaches for him as thunder rolls*
Boromir: *takes her hand, pulling himself aboard, surprised by the turn of events, shouting over the thunder* ...I know who it is, Elphaba!
Elphaba; *pulls and twists her hands on the handle; there is liberal amounts of room for the both of them; she pulls them upwards, wind slashing at their faces and clothing* Who is it? *she shouts back, fiercely* What's going on?
Adrienne: *goes to Halcyon* Will they be all right? What's happening?
Kari: Boromir: ...he's an inventor, he built siege weapons! *shouting louder* ...I killed him, Elphaba, that's why he's here and not so happy...
Halcyon: *wraps her arms around her* If they need us, they'll tell us, and we'll go up to them. *firmly* We must watch for them.
Amrothos: *clattering up the stairs to the northern tower, running, breathless, sick with an ache in his chest as he bursts to the top of the tower, flinging himself at the wall, catching himself on it and gasping for breath as he stares out* ...DAMMIT! *quite loudly*
Elphaba: ...should we kill him again? *shouts, watching the figure flapping away above them, making careful patterns through the wind with the broom*
Halcyon: *jumps slightly* Amrothos. *grimly amused* Good evening sir.
Boromir: ...I don't know! He's not armed! It would be better to ground him, if we can!
Amrothos: *trying to catch his breath, and lean on his good arm* ...stupid... hero... *looking at Halcyon and Adrienne* ......he's flying right into danger, Halcyon.
Elphaba: Then that's what we'll do! *decidedly; she tenses* Hold on! *she twists, manipulating the broom as she remembers how to use it, her heart pounding*
Halcyon: What/ What's going on? He wouldn't explain anything to us...
Adrienne; *runs to the telescope*
Boromir: *holding on, to the broom with one hand, the other circled around Elphaba's waist unobtrusively but securely*
Amrothos: *trying to talk and catch his breath* ...the man's a mechanic, he's here to kill Boromir!
Halcyon: A mechanic? *eyebrow sharply raises* Who is he and why is he going to try to kill Boromir?
Amrothos: ...his name... is... is... not that important... *swallowing back pain* ...he was a specialist in siege weapons... and switched sides... *leaning heaving, sides aching, flinching* ...so Boro gutted him.
Halcyon: *wince* Ah, lovely. What shall we do? *rubs hands together*
Adrienne: ...they're coming up on him...from behind! They're going to try and drive him down!
Boromir: *reaching his hand out and sending a rain of hail down at the winged form, one hand gripping the broom*
Elphaba: *continues to 'drive' as it were, focusing herself, finding her strength and concentration*
Danirion: *trying desperately to keep flying, can't, and folds his wings before they're torn, plummeting down towards the ground*
Boromir: *struggling to slow the fall, as he wants Danirion alive* ...dive with him, Elphaba!
Elphaba; *nods sharply and twists them; they begin to corkscew on a sharp slant, following him, and she stops the spinning to save their focus but continues to dive, violently fast*
Adrienne: They're diving! *shriek* He's falling, they're diving after him!
Halcyon: Ah. *anxioulsy watching without a telescope* We should meet them where they land. *swiftly*
Amrothos: *struggling upright* ...by all means, Hal.
Danirion: *slowing, then become suspended, as Boromir controls his raging gifts*
Boromir: *holding Danirion about six feet off the ground, hands cupped in the air as if he has made a cushion - or a prison*
Halcyon: *sweeps an arm past Amrothos, Adrienne; they are now out on the plain, looking up as the two spots fall, coming into focus as the intruder and Boromir and Elphaba*
Elphaba; *sweeps low, circling and slowing the momentum, leaning close to the broomstick, watching carefully as their prey is suspended*
Halcyon: *folds her arms, shimmering with power in the storm, staring at the captive*
Adrienne: *stands behind Halcyon, slightly offset, staring, not really knowing what she could do to help*
Danirion: *is as Boromir described him; a Gondorian man with dark hair, aged about thirty-five. The fashion of his death is very visible, as he has a white scar running across his face from temple to chin diagonally; Boromir split his face open before he killed him, it seems. He shouts* ...I'm unarmed! I'm unarmed! let me down!
Boromir: *shouting* ...I'm going to drop you then! *hoping he'll break bones*
Adrienne: *watches in terror, seeing the manner in which the man must have been killed; her stomach lurches and her heart races weakly to think that Boromir did it; she wonders why*
Halcyon: *stonefaced*
Elphaba; *her gown skims the grass they are so low, slowly circling the man with false wings, she straightens, still in control of the broom, and narrows her eyes upon him; lightning flashes in the sky overhead, and the air is almost sour*
Boromir: *lets the man drop*
Danirion: *plummets like a stone the six feet, landing with a resounding SMACK as if he'd been higher up, and very still underneath his contrapition of wings and wood*
Adrienne: *jumps slightly in surprise*
Halcyon: *looks at Boromir thoughtfully, then stares at the contraption*
Elphaba; *silent, she halts the broom so Boromir can step off if he wants*
Amothos: *withdrawing his sword*
Boromir: *slides off, shakily, and takes Amrothos' sword as he offers it. He moved towards the pile, and, with a resounding kick, knocks Danirion on his back with one single motion*
Danirion: *GASPS in pain as several ribs are broken, lays there, very ugly in the light*
Boromir: *points the sword at Danirion's chest* ...what. the. HELL.
Danirion: *swallows very heavily* ...captain. *as his mouth moves, it's obviously Boromir's slice-up job scarred him worse than anticipated; his mouth is uneven, his nose is out of alignment, and the right eye is blind*
Boromir: ...*stills, stops, even* ...if you are here for what I think you are here for...
Danirion: ...no good... *gasping* ...fuck you broke ribs...
Halcyon: *her stoic expression hardens as she observes all this*
Adrienne; *stands tall, though scared, and watches silently*
Boromir: *coldly* ...right. A cell. *seems anothr man, colder, harsher, uglier* ...we'll deal with this later. *his eyes are hard, cold points of stone, and the ease with which he handles the borrowed sword is different from the ease of fencing; it's one accustomed to killing*
Danirion: *stares as a metal cage seems to appear out of the sky and slam down around him, Boromir stepping out of the way just barely in time*
Boromir: ...*seeming aware of Halcyon, Elphaba, Adrienne for the first time* ...I'll take him back to the house and deal with it there.
Halcyon: *doesn't flinch, but with a flick of her left hand they are in a wide, stone room with a cold draft, somewhere in the northern wing of the third floor of the house; there is only one window, in the ceiling, twenty feet up; the cage is in the center, still holding their prisoner, and they are all placed like chessmen about the cage, Boromir in front of it, herself on the other side, Elphaba on a diagonal, Adrienne on the corner, opposite Amrothos.*
Danirion: *gaping* ...I... *passes out from shock and pain*
LostStoryweavr: Halcyon: *slight sigh, disappointed, and looks at Boromir through the bars*
Boromir: *trembling realizes he must become human again* ...leave him till morning. We can talk now.
Halcyon: *nods*
Adrienne: *terribly anxious* Boromir....are you all right? *firmly, refusing to let her fear out of her voice*
Elphaba; *stares at the thing next to the man in the cage*
Boromir: ...yes. *lying, but hopes they can't notice* Yes I'm fine... *moving around to give Amrothos his sword back*
Amrothos: *staring at the prone form* ..what kind of madman...
Boromir: ...let it go. *extending the hilt*
Amrothos: *blinking, takes his sword, sheaths it*
Adrienne: A mechanic? *confused, looks at him, shivers, looks back at Boromir* Maybe we all need some tea now? *timidly*
Boromir: ...yes... *moving all of them outside the cage into the kitchen; now arranged at the table, and there's already a kettle on the stove* ...yes.
Halcyon: *doesn't sit, arms still folded, but looks at the kettle as if contemplating it*
Elphaba: *doesn't sit either, looking down at the broom clasped in her hands, astonished by the fact that it has come back to her after all this time; she never thought she'd fly again*
Adrienne; *glances around, sits precariously*
Boromir: ...please... *earnestly* ...sit.
Halcyon: *sits very slowly, not liking the situation to be left unexplained and so messily*
Elphaba; *engulfed in her thoughts, doesn't hear, staring at her hands on the handle, as if they never left it*
Boromir: *slowly, calmly walking around and coming to face Elphaba, putting a hand on the broom, angling himself so that if she looks up at all, she must see his eyes. They are frighteningly cold, the soldier's eyes, but even the man he was Before cannot mask his concern now* ...Elphaba. *whispered, and it is his voice, beneath the stone cold soldier* ...please.
Elphaba: *stares at his hand, then looks up slowly, understanding there is a crisis at hand, and nods slightly; she makes no sound, no reaction to his change, accepts it and steps aside, taking the broom with her as if it is now permanently attached to her hands; she sits and lays it across her lap, holding it there; she looks at the others from the brim of her hat*
Halcyon: Boromir? Are you going to speak to us about this? *soberly*
Boromir: ...yes. Yes I am. As soon as I make the water is hot.
Amrothos: *already handling the kettle, deftly for a one-armed man, taking it off the stove and bringing it over to the table, securing mugs for each of them, findnig Boromir's calming tea bags, sticking each one in a white mug, pouring steaming water*
Boromir: *deep breath* ...well. *softly* ...where shall I begin?

...and that brings us to the portion where I have to explain things. We had a conference, out of munsight, the full of which I don't need to recall for you, but the most pertinant part was the history...

I had been captain-general for four years. We were starting a progressive program to train field engineers on the field... particularly, throwing wrenches in siege towers. They were a real problem. The damn things were coming up and settling outside of our southern cities, and being slapped together faster than we could get to them... so we brought the brightest down into the osuth to try and figure out what was being done, and how we could stop it. Danirion was... the brightest. An incredibly smart man. He grasped concepts faster than anyone I'd ever met.

He slipped into the enemy camp, disguised, and watched them raise a siege tower, then helped us destroy it before it could attack anything. He gave us plans that were... amazingly detailed. We wondered how he'd done it. He did it by selling out, and giving them our plans for our northern sweep up.

I thought at first it was horrible luck; we couldn't seem to find the Haradrim though our sweeps were thorough... and then it struck someone. Looking at Danirion's plans for the hastily constructed siege towers, they realized the plans didn't match common knowledge, that they couldn't have been stolen... because they were wrong. Their weakest point wasn't weak on the real towers. Sending men out there to destroy the towers with those plans would have been suicide of our bravest engineers. I approached Danirion to tell him he was wrong and figure out how to fix his strange error.

He slit my arm open with a pen sharpener, *pointing to a scar along the underside of his arm* and ran like hell. The army chased him across southern Ithilien, into Harondor, and down much farther than we'd ever been.

I caught him personally making plans for better, stronger siege towers, trebuchets that fired farther, and other nameless, darker weapons... meant to use against Gondor. We fought. He tried to use a poisoned dagger on me but I spliced his face open from temple to chin then gutted him. *quietly* ...he bled all ovetr his desk and all but a few of his designs were lost.

...so now he's lying in a cell, he and his bizzare flying machine... he's here to kill me, I think, but that sort of fell through... so I have no idea what he is here for. Let's just say it doesn't make me happy. I killed the man... I wish he'd have stayed dead. I didn't want to think about these things... I don't want to see his twisted, ugly face, which I so morbidly destroyed.

...I feel like a monster.

...I took a walk in the mountains

Fri, 03 Dec 2004 22:28:38 GMT

The clouds were rolled back like scrolls, and snow fell as I walked. The mountains were blue and white with frost and glory, and I laughed like a boy, and snow fell in my hair and caught on my jacket shoulders. Magic tasted in the air, for the lyric flower twined around the trees and blossomed in the pale light, and tangled around my feet, lighting the path no mortal man had ever before trod. A good sign, a good sign, always, the lyric is a good sign, and the earth was sweet with snow and the sweet scent of my white flower.

There was a flash of red, the twining of something stranger and sweeter still, and the golden creep of Avalonia, circling towards a clearing in the wood. I stopped upon the ground, and stared, and watched lights spinning, around, and around, as the golden flowers of the reel scattered up in the falling snow. There was a shape, a woman, spinning around and around.

When the faerie lights faded, I found my way back...

Luck always has it that at the moments of perfection, there's not a camera in sight.

or am I lost?

Fri, 03 Dec 2004 07:41:28 GMT

I have no idea where I dredged this up.

you fade away like ice on a window pane
the numbing cold seeps through every vein
so finally it's coming to this
the freezing of death's kiss
you will never understand
the journey into eden's land

The night air by the mountains is very cold in Eden this time of year. I can taste the snow up on the heights. I forgot my jacket, and I can feel the starlight on my sleeves. It is very alone. I won't stay here long. Mir will be wanting me. He's the only one who will. I don't mind. I think it's better that way.

The cathedral is very cold, and because the leaves have fallen up in the mountain, and the earth is wet with frost, I can see the lyric flower and the wild reel and all the stars I named. It's extremely cold. If I don't go back soon, I'll fall back to where I was.

I don't want to share this, the coldness, the aloneness, the stars. This is mine. No one has ever been here except God and me. And I think maybe that's how it should be. No one will ever appreciate this. This is the deepest reflection, and it is very, very cold and strangely dark, and I find it too untamed to be a good gift. I must go back before I fall into the cold that was. The stars kiss me goodnight, and frost clings to the knees of my pants, but goodbye is only until tomorrow... God does not say goodnight, He goes with me everywhere... He is the only one who wants this strange, cold reflection.

I should always take my own advice. No one wants my gifts.

ARRGHH!!

Fri, 03 Dec 2004 07:03:43 GMT

The ~~fucking bastard~~ rude person left a bloody corpse, and we told him to release himself from the body all he had to do was try. That is so unamusing. It's like staging your own death. If he wanted to test us he could have picked a way that didn't involve staining my ~~damn~~ poor carpet.

~~The fucking fucked up fuckwad of a fucktard!~~

...I feel better.

The arrangement is as ideal as it can possibly be. He's finally got what he wanted all the long; a place to have the time and reflection to ask forgiveness for everything he did wrong, and then to go back to his heaven if that's still what he wants. It was still inconsiderate of him to leave a corpse.

I don't like it when the right thing is hard and does not feel like the right thing and is extremely subjective and gray.

(...for those of you who have no idea what I am talking about; we had an unwilling visitor sucked in from his afterlife who was a ghost, made a lot of problems, then borrowed a body, then to get out of here, stabbed himself with a knife to release his spirit from the body and escaped into aether. I did not like having the guest here and wish he had never come as he complicated things and just complicated them further by "dying". Actually all he did was add another scar to a recyclable body [yes we have those here, bodies are concepts] and left blood stains on my library carpet. Idiot.)

eta I'm having temperment issues and my language has been absolutely unacceptable, especially as I ragged on Kari today about her use of very negative words directed at her mother's retreating back... and have edited the post accordingly.

home, home, where i wanted to go...

Wed, 01 Dec 2004 17:58:02 GMT

There are so many people who are willing to talk to me. This somehow surprises me. Stupidly I forgot to log all the names, so if you are a person I contacted yesterday, and you noticed I haven't IMed you, it's probably because I don't have your screen name, so IM me again.

...my head is in a whirl. I don't know what I'm thinking today. I don't even know how I'm feeling. I think I should allow Kari to make me new icons... and maybe a layout that isn't black. It's so dark looking... Speaking of dark looking things, I was reading through my journal and found an entry that struck a note with me.

I think I am burning out. I have no where to belong, nothing to do, no where to go... I keep no hope for myself. I am fighting a disease with no cure, and I can only treat its symptoms. I've lost interest in curing myself; it is only for Faramir and Dred I now care - well yes, and Erchi, but I have little place in my cousin's life now....

The circle of names is bigger now, particularly the names I no longer have a place in... yet I don't really think I want to cure myself the way I used to. It reminds me of Clocks by Coldplay. Am I a part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?

...I think maybe I'm afraid I'm the disease.

Emma, don't worry about it.

thoughts without purpose

Tue, 30 Nov 2004 18:54:40 GMT

I had a lovely weekend with the mun and with Faramir on the coast. It felt very right, suitably fitting, as we all walked together along the beach, digging cold feet into the damp sand and letting frigid water wash over our feet. It was right. It was comforting. I am glad I went.

Kari's younger brother watched Band of Brothers one night while we were there, and I watched for a little while. It made me think about my battlefields, the cost of war, the tragedy of loss. I have seen real blood, of course, but I hadn't expected the televised gore to bother me as much as it did. I suppose it's only the nearness to the real thing, which is something that no one who hasn't stood upon a field and watched the red sun rise, and look about them and see only bodies and red grass mingling with black blood can really comprehend.

I do not wish to be morbid. But honestly? Honestly? I can't forget those things. I never will. I try not to think about them too much. But I can't forget, not when I see friends, gone forever, fading into eternity, and knowing that it could have been me, it maybe should have been me, except that I heard a voice call in the darkness.

I don't remember how I came here. Not really. I remember stars, and the face of light. I remember a hand shutting my eyes, and the whisper of God; by his stripes you will be healed. Heal. I remember warmth, and cold, and stars, brighter in the darkness than any sun close to earth, penetrating the silken black of space.

And I remember a girl. Seeing her. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching her, wondering. Wondering, I don't know what, but wondering. Watching her cry uncontrollably, seated on the floor. I remember a girl, I remember thinking she should not be so sad.

I don't really remember much else until I found Mir. I just don't remember how I got here. But I wouldn't trade being here for anything. I'm glad I'm here. Here is a place where I can make things right, and that's the most important thing for me to do these days.

...to the kind, nameless friend who left me a comment, I extend my thanks, and hope they are not too shy to one day give me their name.

i think our lives have just begun

Fri, 26 Nov 2004 18:35:03 GMT

I have a new screen name on AIM if anyone who sees this would ever like to talk to me. I am not particularly differential between hosts or their bonds, I could just use some good conversation, to be frank. artist of worlds is where you can find me now.

Everything is all right with Elphaba. We are of an accordance, and I think I finally understand what happened between her and I. It's taken a lot of time, but that, at least, feels right. Emma seems uncomfortable, which worries me, but she has her reasons, I suppose. I'm nearly done with Halcyon's wall. I feel...

I don't know how I feel. Relieved. Tired. As if the constant cycle of yes and no and high and low and joy and bittersweetness, art and company, healing and recovering, music and paint and Eden... is finally coming to a place where I can see it sweetly to sleep, and live quietly, a hundred days of art and company and a hundred nights curled by the fire in an oversized chair with Mir.

...I'd like a life like that.

Wed, 24 Nov 2004 16:17:02 GMT

Halcyon will love her mural. I find there is magic in these paints, as I can put whatever temporary pain I feel into art, and watch it disappear from the emptiness inside. She loves the sea, and so, I am painting her the sea. I'm bitter and raw and inexcusably angered, today... but oh, what pretty art. It is a bit of a challenge, this wall, but it feels so constructive to paint it, to find something to paint when I want to go sleep forever.

This is temporary, of course. I went and visited Mir, and he felt warm with his head against my chest, curled up with me in an armchair, staring into the fireplace. It felt very right, to have Mir cuddled up into my skin again, and he made me laugh, and it was very comforting. I miss him, yes, even at this very moment, and almost wish I could spend all my hours curled up in an armchair, awkwardly sipping coffee from our position, talking about inanities. I love him so very much.

Emma is distraught, but I do not think she wants me to go to her. I have been told to seek out Johnathan if I am in want of anything, but I am in want of many things, and neither he nor anyone else can give them to me. I want to see Elphaba. I want Emma's Severus to stay dead, as I don't like him at all (and we thought my dislike of Fiyero was interesting. It's at least excusable. Severus Snape the first is... such a nasty, unpleasant person, even Professor Severus Snape doesn't like his great-granduncle.) and I want my heart back, damn it.

The part of my heart that felt rejected and scorned and bitter and bruised went into the ballroom painting. And thus, in the picture, you see the part of me that is rejected and scorned and bitter and bruised, as it were. I don't know what I'm putting into this stormy sea in which Halcyon stands upon the prow of her Abaddon as if she is the captain, while the crew strains beyond... I suppose this senseless, wasteful anger, bitter rage and tired frustration, is what I'm putting into it.

...I think I understand how the paintings work though. Because they are exactly what I am, infused with so much of what I am, it shall keep that part of me I cannot stand to have inside under the cliche of 'art', until some magic number of people have seen, and understood, and then the pain in the beauty will be discharged, and I can have back the sweetness, the bitterness spent. I seem to have no problem retrieving back so many trivial trifles of my heart; the ability to laugh - but I have not painted that, have I? - and the ability to sing and smile and pray and feel pleased...

Kari was worried for me, but I feel so much better than I did around 3 this morning, wallowing (pointlessly) in the fact that so soon, I'll be relegated to back burner, and feel too out of touch with the world to want to write in this journal. I am thinking about asking for my own screen name again, to give to people, so I can talk to people who do not belong to either the Sarikari or The House. I do not tire of their company, but simply want for someone to understand. Still. I am better, what more can I ask for? American Thanksgiving tomorrow, and that is what will gratify me, that I feel a great improvement in my spirits.

I took a trip to Eden, and trapsiezed around for a few hours. I took pictures of the mist and the fog and the dew, and drenched my hair in rain by praying in the chapel of trees - the trees still have their leaves, bless them, and won't lose them, as the temperature won't get cold enough - before I came back.

It felt very, very good to go home and do something normal.

making the same mistakes again

Wed, 24 Nov 2004 07:53:25 GMT

Nothing in life is mine. Why does everything cost so much? I did not expect this. I really didn't. I was... very unprepared. So soon. This is only to remind me that nothing is mine. I must not be posessive of people. I must not think to myself how dear they are. I must not think I know how to make people happy...

...I was so happy yesterday, too... things felt so much better after all this to hardly have a heart that can bleed... Emma gave me the most personal gift I've ever recieved, her violin and the chapel and the music... and for her to see... unspeakable joys... and she was so happy to have danced...

I am so tired of losing everything right when I finally have it.

Letter to Elphaba

Sat, 06 Nov 2004 04:19:23 GMT

Dear Elphaba -
You need not worry. I am never going anywhere away from Kari and Faramir and the people who need me. I suppose in the hour which you find there is still some use for me, I will be there, I always am, when someone needs me.

I am here if you need me. I will always be here if you need me. Do not concern yourself over me; what distress I felt to find I had created a conflict for you is past, and I will, as I always do, grow and endure through every experience life has thrown at me.

I am only sorry for the trouble I inadvertantly caused you and Fiyero and any feelings of distress that were burdened upon your chest. I assure you there is no burden or sorrow on my part related to this scenario that cannot be drowned out by fasting and prayer. I hope you take this opportunity, and live, and live and live and live and feel no anxiety or unhappiness in a time of what should be great joy for you. You have what you wanted. I am only glad you found it, even if I couldn't give it to you.

Take care of what I have given you; blood is the gift of life in Gondor, and we who shed it, shed it for what we love. You may find it has unusual properties, if used in conjunction with magic; the blood of the strong, they say, shed in love, lends the attributes of he or she who spilled it for those whom it was spilled for.

- Boromir

did you leave me frozen?

Fri, 05 Nov 2004 15:32:03 GMT

Standing at the edge of this place, the air is cold.
Everywhere I look all I see is the silence of my heart.
In these thirty seconds, I've grown old.
My heart is being ripped apart.

I pause on the brink, and look at the world.
It's too late to go back to where I came from.
Your ships are sailing, your flags are unfurled.
I'm standing on the edge of what I've become.

Wind in your sails, you've got what you need.
And I stand broken, the pieces falling apart.
The flowers are turning back into seed.
This is what remains of my meaningless heart.

Shattered like the pieces of glass,
Nothing is as final as this moment.
I knew in my heart this would not last.
And frozen, this is my torment.

Shutters click, the voyuerists dream
Rolls on and on and on and on.
This is exactly what it would seem
I am my father's son.

Poised, the brink of existance
A moment captured, forever timeless
Do I turn, or do I advance?
Do I halt, or do I progress?

Step over the divide, and fall away
The shutters whir in symphony.
Eternity reaches up to end the ballet
You never heard my plea.

The only real question is whether I'm the man, or the camera film. I'm so numb today, I can't tell. I'll see her, to say goodbye. She has all she ever wanted now. She, like everyone else, will find her way out of my life. Here is her window to do it with grace.

Fri, 05 Nov 2004 06:19:11 GMT

She doesn't love me.

She never did.

I knew she didn't, but I pretended she did, because I wanted her to love me so much.

Damn you, Fiyero, make her happy or I will make you wish you'd never been reborn.

Thu, 30 Sep 2004 04:08:10 GMT

....twice in a row I have been very close to saying something important only to miss the opportunity. It won't be three times. Maybe all I want to say is how much I want...

...to spin around in circles when I think about her amd fall asleep dizzy.

Thoughts on the days

Mon, 27 Sep 2004 15:52:31 GMT

...everything is the way I wanted it. She smiles - I wanted that - and she looks ... happy. She laughs, even when she tries not to, and there are moments when I suddenly... nevermind. She stands nearer, as if she trusts me more, and it's so strange and beautiful, I wish I could capture it, because she's closer, warmer, as if the wall they said could never be broken down is quietly breaking down, and she doesn't mind. She accepts the gifts, gracious with a smile and some praise I know is meant, and it lingers in my mind, even when she's gone, like the dusky scent of her lingers in her favorite window-seat.

The rest of the world spins on. The ache heals slowly. I still brush my fingers through Dred's hair and we laugh and we don't talk much; Mir still curls into my back with his head on my shoulder, and we whisper thoughtfully; Viggo still waxes enthusiastically at me over his latest hobby I've showed interest in; Erchi still pries into things she shouldn't at exactly the wrong moment; and Rivers still surprises us with something clever when everyone else almost forgot he was there...

I make pretty things, always so pretty, and somehow they wind up belonging to someone else. I don't mind; I have no use or need for ribbons or rings or jewelry, no place to hang a painting, and what good are words if they go unspoken? I build Eden, explore, and when I can't seem to manage how slowly the ache heals, I sit on the top of Elphaba's Hollow, and stare out over the land and the distant-rolling sea, and read the words of David out loud, and God comes down to sit with me in His invisible grace, and the ache passes.

And then I'm all right.

Older chests reveal themselves
Like a crack in a wall
Starting small, and grow in time
And we always seem to need the help
Of someone else
To mend that shelf
Too many books
Read me your favourite line

Papa went to other lands
And he found someone who understands
The ticking, and the western man's need to cry
He came back the other day, you know
Some things in life may change
And some things
They stay the same

Like time, there's always time
On my mind
So pass me by, I'll be fine
Just give me time

...well...

Fri, 24 Sep 2004 04:03:04 GMT

...it's all all right. I love her, she knows, because I told her. I didn't know... I didn't know until I saw, and the moment I realized it, was the scene in Dillamond's classroom when he was being taken... she shouted his name and suddenly I realized I loved her. Just... just that's all, I do, differently than I've loved anyone else, yet it's just the same, nothing changes, really, if we're always this way, if we never touch, if we never talk about anything related again... I'm fine. I'm so tired, so drained, but I'm fine.

I was so nervous, and then when I just said it everything was fine. It's not that I'm delusional, it's not that I think this changes anything, I just... it's everything I was afraid it would be; I'm on my own, again, and realizing she's the one person I could spend my life with...

Makes me so glad we've shared this much. I was afraid I'd love an image, a ghost, a dream, and not her, but I do. I do love her. It's the damnable self-sacrificing love that means I don't need anything to keep on loving her, and I'll just quietly do it till the day I stop breathing. And it's fine this way. I don't mind. I'm so USED to it. It doesn't hurt the way it used to.

I've lost nothing. She still will talk to me. She's still Elphaba, I'm still Boromir. She's still taught me more than anyone else if she disappeared tomorrow. I've gained this strange sad fullness, as if my cup is overflowing and I can't help but smile and ask the world if it would like some of the tea in my saucer.

I need to rest, though.

The ravings of a man who is probably somewhat psychotic

Thu, 23 Sep 2004 13:53:42 GMT

There's no better way to explain it than I wasn't ready; I wasn't ready to see the bigger picture, wasn't prepared for how much of it was going to be painful, and I almost kicked and screamed to realize why she reveals me in all my lies; she's like me, if she was championing quiet causes in the past; she's like me, if aloneness has it's cost; the pride, the passion, the the persistance, I see it all and I cringe, inwardly, seeing so much of the crusading captain. You'd think I'd sympathize with Glinda; people followed me around like a dog, but no... I saw her scorning and seethed, angered... how do you treat her that way? How can you be so shallow? She's different, but it's not the color of her skin, it's the strength of her passion for what is right.

I wasn't ready to take it all in. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. Shiz seems painful to me; she's so clearly herself, and yet she's so different. I see how the road of good intentions got her here. It hurts, it burns, it stings, and I deny myself catagorizing the burning, the stinging, the pain, this horrible feeling that I'm seeing a parody where Elphaba isn't herself, but Elphaba is part of me, and all this is like a slap in my face...

They're telling me I'm in love. But if it were so, it would be so superficial love; love of an image, of a percieved idea; love of a shadow of what was a woman; love without love's staying quality, love of idealized romance that takes the heart and spirit out of the woman and leaves a perception; this I could never do, not to her, not knowing that it is such image-judgement - be it love or hate - that has brought her here, not when despite the strength of her heart to bear what she must and fight what she can, my heart still cracks around the edges in spite of my best intentions to hold it together with this dissolvable glue, and if there is one more crushing blow to this fragile vessel of mine, blue shards will become a pile of powder...

Let then, it not be love as romance, let then it not be love of an idea, idealized love; let it be deeper then that will ever go, to the true heart of her; loyalty, yes, faithfulness, yes, kinship, yes, understanding... I want it, I want to understand her, but I don't know if I can, or if I can't, or if I'm going to perish on the way. Let me be true to what is real in all things, for her honesty breaks me apart and puts me back together and rips away the veil to reveal the great Oz is nothing but smoke and mirrors. If it's wrong, if I'm wrong, if this isn't true at all... dear God, then open my eyes, since you do it so often these days anyway, I might as well know.

I wonder what people would say if they saw this. I wonder what people want to say to me, when they see I'm building my life around work, creation, and ripping my heart into pieces for it's own good; what do they think when I find myself desiring not only to give gifts to those I love, but finding instead of emptying me out it is filling me up; I'm being put back together as I establish people's places in my heart, deciding how they'll circle, how I'll come and go, deciding instead of letting it be decided for me...

I feel full, even now, full but strange, full but bittersweet, full but tired, as if the cup of tea is almost overflowing, but I'm in want of sugar to make the bitter brew acceptable an offering.

x_X

Thu, 16 Sep 2004 14:46:04 GMT

I thought a letter would clear my mind but it hasn't. Done the opposite in fact. Viggo is getting on my case about "green is better" and finds it horribly amusing to quote things I said out of context, such as I wanted all my friendships to grow deeper, and I think if Viggo and I grow any closer I shall have to file a restraining order in order to save my sanity, nevermind my clothes.

He's laughing at me even now, saying I've got a girl on my mind and won't rest till I've taken that Billy Joel song to heart ("tell her about it/tell her everything you feel/give her every reason to accept that you're for real") but I HAVE for the sake of Peter! I have nothing left to - all right so that's not true, but I am aware Viggo is just trying to get on my nerves for pleasure and profit, as it were.

I have such nice friends. I could kill them all. Most of them. Must. Clear. Head.

...besides, Elphaba doesn't even remotely resemble the girl in "Tell Her About It".

Yet more of this letter-writing

Thu, 16 Sep 2004 14:28:23 GMT

Giddy as a schoolboy, the saying goes. Now that I've met Glinda I think it should be "giddy as a good witch", because she's quietly grating on my nerves with her gleefully cheery pronouncements of how a new ship is sailing the waters of pairing, and it will sail into my heart. Oh, indeed, Glinda, I've been lying to you about Elphaba. Her nosy prying sort of manner is painfully endearing, in a way, and I'll tolerate it, and it doesn't hurt that I have been asked to, by someone I am willing to make small sacrifices (like my sanity... dear God, I miss sanity, please send it back, I'll be waiting for it away from Glinda...) for, and I can't do things in half-measures, I genuinely have tried a few times and failed spectacularly.

For those who read this journal the change must seem dramatic; I wrote not at all over the summer, and now I am writing almost daily to "include letters to a girl", as the mun so oddly put it, which I suppose to some may seem a change of heart or intention, but this is the best place to keep a letter, it would seem to me...

Dear Elphaba -
Cryptic, you say, yet I have tried for my part to write honestly, as honestly a man with three or four people hanging over his shoulder looking for hidden meanings can write; I would hope you do not write simply to humor me, to keep in policy, but because you have something you wish to say, even if that is merely a greeting. I suspect my meaning will be clear to you, even if others twist it out of it's content, and that is a very encouraging thought, to be understood.

You ask me what you did for me, citing your states of distance and coldness, as if these are things which trouble me. I admit the coldness, that level of you so apart and yes, untouchable, was a difficult change to a world where I have been greeted with great warmth since my arrival on the other side of death, yet I have come to reveal what it says, not only about you, but about myself. Responding, yes, at first, was hard, yet I see now you have taught me something, by design or chance, about my own tendancy to lie to myself to keep up illusions I have about who I am and never really let people know what's going on until I can't keep my troubles inside and must articulate them, in some vague, cryptic way that doesn't even mean anything.

You gave me understanding, Elphaba, you made me realize that all my life I have been a man who thinks too much and speaks my heart only the greatest agitation and worry for what others will do, a man primarily concerned with his effect on other's around him, lost at sea because he can hardly identify himself beyond that he loves people, many people, in many ways, and their variating loves give him meaning, as a brother or a lover, the moral compass or a gentleman, or even mutual stranger, looking for meaning. I have thought myself a fair man, a good man, a just man, hasty to love without definition, swift to carry the burdens of others, if a little quick to assume the worst, a little superstitious, troubled by things no one else should ever have to see... but meeting you, and our conversations, and even our letters, make me question that estimation. I find I am not superstitious after all, I'm afraid of what is so foriegn I cannot see justice and goodness in it... but I am no afraid of you, Elphaba, for I saw those things in you, the day we met. And in a way, perhaps, it is neccisary for me to realize I cannot be Atlas, I cannot carry the world, I cannot carry you, even if I can carry my brother or Dred or even Adrienne.

You speak of gifts as if they trouble me to give them, as if I do not like giving them, but truly, I do not know how else to tell someone I care. By now you can tell I am not the most eloquent of men, and when I want to say something, it's lost in fierce rhetoric. I do not wish to trouble you, if you feel there is some debt in giving; it is only that company, company that teaches me something, company I enjoy, is dear to me, and for the pain of tolerating a man too nosy, almost blindly compassionate, whether or it is needed or desired or no, a man who touches upon conversations he should not. I shall try not to gift you, though it is my instinct, to bring whatever I think will amuse or please to the shores of those I am fond of. But perhaps when I know you - if I know you - I shall have ways of showing you how glad I am you thus far have tolerated my company without troubling you in the display.

As for Oz, I could arrange such things, on the condition that you would be willing to talk to me so I could make sure I was watching the right events. I have ways, simply said, to go to Oz, both in the past, and at its present, and perhaps, in a way, even its future. You will find I am a man of many strange gifts, and strange magics, strange even to me, though I am the one entrusted with them. You, yourself, could, I suppose, have a window, that is, I could open a doorway of vision from Oz here, or anywhere, even as I did with my island in Eden.

But that, of course, would depend on tomorrow, as the day for such things is not today.

Love, Boromir