Freud's concept of the death drive had been on my mind a lot lately. In this time when the spirit of Thanatos is slashing its way across the land, too many good people are being taken down by it. Perhaps it's the combination of stress and lack of support that is causing even the young and strong to succumb. Perhaps it's hopelessness, or the sense that this enemy is too big to fight. Whatever the case, I'm losing count of the people who have died or developed a serious illness in the last few months. It doesn't take a genius to see that something is terribly wrong.
This morning, my cousin by marriage, Jeff - the dearest, sweetest person imaginable - was the latest casualty. He'd managed to fight against illness his whole life, even against seemingly insurmountable odds, but as his hope began to dwindle, so did his strength, and the rising tide of health problems overcame him.
All this, sadly, is no surprise. It's well known that just about anyone who must deal with a destructive environment suffers because of it. And right now, these destructive elements seek to pervade every corner of our lives. Even throwing all my witchcraft at the problem had hardly made a dent.
I was thinking about this as I went out today. I was testing my new Polaroid camera (and of course carrying my digital one). Not that going around taking endless pictures necessarily helps matters, but it can take your mind off your troubles for a moment. The challenge of capturing the ephemeral is not nothing, Not for me, at least.
In town, the signs of inevitable change were everywhere. The parking lot at the
movie theater where I used to roam is now paid parking. In the street, I realized that tourist season was now year round. Numbers of well-heeled visitors sneered as they walked by. I had to wonder why they had come. To look down on the country folk? To get away from it all, only to find it lacking? A few people walked by, preening with all their might. I wanted to tell them that their preening was no good here; there was no one much to notice them. But they were too busy preening to notice me at all.
Of course, I was no different, lurking in the alley with my camera. All of us looking for distractions. Perhaps from different things, but having told my share of fortunes, I know very well that all human concerns fall, basically, into matters of love, spirituality, health and wealth. Or, to put it more broadly, life and death, and the accoutrements of both.
Such a belief may seem too dualistic to some; after all, aren't creation and destruction just part of the same process? This may be true in the great scheme of things, but facing the day-to-day struggle to get by tends to narrow one's focus a bit.
It was an uneasy feeling as I wandered the streets, waiting for my pictures to develop. Always wanting more - peace, grace or just simple acceptance, even - but not being able to get it. The hard and judgmental eyes upon me triggered the same feeling it always did - the need to please, to be suitable, to be what others wanted, even though I knew it was impossible.
I sighed and followed the pointing hand of the faded Diamond Disc sign down the alleyway. At least it would be quiet back there. Indeed, there was no one in sight. Just the usual cracked pavement and interweavings of light and shadow. A small whirlwind kicked up the fallen leaves and traveled playfully across the lot. Naturally, I followed. Among the gravel, a bright shimmer of blue caught my eye. A lone sequin, like a tiny piece of sky. Lost from who-knows-where. Suddenly I understood. It was not only a sequin. It was a gift.
If this whimsical thought is not enough to alert you, I was beginning to feel a bit....not strange, "strange" is the wrong word. Nor weird, either, although it could be truthfully stated the feeling was both of these things. No, it was that light, bubbly sense of a joyful presence that I tend to call magic, though that word has some unfortunate connotations. Of course, magic comes in many flavors. This one was my favorite, a sort of mystic champagne.
The bland grey lot by then had become unaccountably beautiful. The cracks in the pavement seemed like intricately crafted designs. The wind had developed a personality all its own, skidding along gutters and hiding under bushes. Oh, I can hear the skeptics now, saying that I'd anthropomorphized the environment or some such thing, but never mind. These moments come along rarely, and one doesn't ask questions, unless one intends to kill it dead.
Having taken enough photos behind the alleyway, I followed the wind out to Mill street. I have a lot of childhood memories associated with this street, not all of them good. Now, however, I was charmed by the cozy houses, the colors, the perfectly aligned edges of the picket fence.
I stepped over the place where the sidewalk always cracks, no matter how often they pave over it. The shadows of the scattered leaves had assumed a depth and vibrancy that seemed hyper-real, as if the leaves were floating just above the surface. Such a little thing to cause so much wonder.
Near the railroad crossing was the thing I'd been expecting with some trepidation - a set of 3 steps leading up a hill. The trauma steps, I said out loud. My mother had led me down them many a time on the way to see her boyfriend-that-I wasn't-supposed-to-know-was-a-boyfriend. She would always pretend we were going somewhere else, but when we reached these steps on the way to his workplace, that was the moment I knew we were really going to see him instead. It was a queasy memory at the best of times.
Even so, I aimed my camera at the spot and looked through the viewfinder. What appeared there made me smile. A lens flare had created two spectral shapes on the steps, one larger, one small. I laughed outright, relieved somehow. Between the steps and the sun and my camera, my memory seemed to be acknowledged, despite the passage of time.
By then, I had used up all my polaroids and the sun was sinking, so I began to make my way back to the car. It was so quiet as I approached the corner or Mill and Bridge, just the sound of wind in the trees. Everything felt sealed off, secret, contained. Even the two elderly men chatting outside of the vine-covered cottage seemed to be in on it. The back gate at the Dollie's old house swung open slowly as I walked past, then shut itself again. The wind, of course. Yet, it all seemed part of the enchantment.
I was nearly to the car when I saw something distinctly unusual, and it took me by surprise. It looked almost like a long shadow stretching to an arrow-like point in front of me, but brilliant gold and shimmering. I checked the sunlight, but the angle was all wrong for it to be a sunbeam. I checked for reflections, as it looked for all the world like a reflection of gold foil. I moved about, but the light - while it seemed to move with me - continuously pointed to the northwest.
Getting my bearings, I realized that when a golden arrow shows up out of nowhere on a day like this, you probably ought to follow it. I passed my car and kept going. When I saw the marvelous vine covered ravine ahead, and the looming figure with the sun shining through, I suddenly understood. The bubbly, joyous presence was Jeff, finally free from his tormented body, and he had brought me to here to this realm of old gods.
Oh, of course it's pareidolia, I hear you skeptics say. Just a tall, spindly vine-covered tree in the evening sun. That you see a towering feminine figure with the light of the world inside of her is purely a quirk of the human brain. And it is, of course. But I also know that it was much more than that. The thing about being a witch is that you can know that both things are true.
I examined the fantastical shapes of the trees and hollows, the elaborate weaving of branches, I felt the power than emanated from this place, this piece of wasteland, disregarded by all. I watched the tall reeds as they swayed, and understood that this was where the spirits of this place could reside, unmolested. The tall regal figure watched over them all.
I also understood her meaning. That the only thing that can fight the terrible drive toward destruction is the life instinct itself. No distraction or displacement or even spiritual power can touch it unless it's rooted within that force we carry like an inner sun. Strike the match inside of you. Light the lamp. Send it out into the darkness that hangs over us. Only then will Thanatos fall.
These were the things that the old gods taught me, on the sad and strange and wonderous day that Jeff Michael died.
