Crescent Moon in the Window, Crescent Moon in the Sky

Sometimes it feels like something is about to happen, but nothing happens. I wonder if I missed it, made the wrong move at the wrong time. Perhaps something did happen, but it's too subtle to register in my dim understanding. Maybe I stepped across the line into another dimension, which is so like the previous one it's impossible to tell. Maybe I'm like the foolish protagonist of The Beast in the Jungle by Henry James, who comes to believe that the extraordinary thing that was going to happen to him would be that nothing happens to him (spoiler alert - he was wrong). 

On nights like these, I go outside and look at the sky, hoping for insight to descend. It is out there, waiting, but I can't reach it - there is something in the way.

Sometimes, twilight clouds hang heavy over the house. The cat hides under my bed at the sound of thunder. Sometimes, the wind from the lake batters my west window like a ghost demanding entrance. Erie/eerie. 

One night in the dead of winter, my housemate and I were lying on my bedroom floor, drawing. Far above in the icy sky, we heard the sound of a plane. "I'd hate to be up there on a night like this" he said, and for a moment our imaginations drifted along with the pilot, mapping the edge of the atmosphere. 

Last Thursday I went to a lecture at the planetarium. I felt dizzy as the projected sky spun around and around. The astronomer pointed out what the astrologers call fixed stars. I remembered watching the sky night after night from my altar rock, and later, when the world was very different, standing by the gate and gazing between Aldebaran and Pleiades.

My own past words come back to me, here in her future. "The word on the astral is things will never be the same. You may not notice, though. They've always already been forever changed."

Dreaming in the real

Our first order of business for October will be fudging just a wee bit by posting this video snippet from the very end of September, as I watched the butterflies migrate down union street in the late afternoon.

The next order of business is to virtually drift through other lands with faraway friends, putting my own spin on dreaming in the real.  

Haunted Echoes/ Secret of the light, by the Mothwing Collective

Unheard music, Mothwing style

Bright pause at the monastery gates, inspired by seeing my compatriot's Zettelkasten entry on my metaphysical maunderings regarding my time living near a Poor Clare Monastery

If you are looking for a sign, here it is. 

When Venus whispers into the ear of the sun.

The lovely thing about art is that it can be like dreaming out loud. 

The Word On The Astral

Since last February, I've spent many nights beside my altar rock with my eyes on the sky. Not that this was at all unusual previous to that, but as it was more and more clear that the grasp on consensus reality was becoming wobbly, my inclination for observation and note-keeping took hold. 

After all, what is the sky but (to paraphrase Yoko Ono) an old friend who is always there for you? If nothing else, you can depend on the positions of the stars. 

 

When you spend so many hours in silent vigil, you notice things. Changes in air temperature. Small errant breezes. The patterns of clouds as they gather and disperse. These are things detectable with the 5 senses. Next come the things that are disputable by those means. That whisper - was it a faint voice or the sound of leaves? Those flitting shadows, the mysterious shapes in the smoke from your fire? Do these things have significance in themselves or only in our interpretation? Here we emerge into the territory of the witch and the mystic, and as strange as it is, I am comfortable here. 

Then there is the third level, where the realm of the astral merges with the conscious mind. While just about everything that occurs here is up for debate to the rationalist, the mystic must trust that her experience is true. 

So what comes of these nights spent with the stars and my maps and conversations with ghosts? 

The word on the astral is that things will never be the same.

You may not notice, though. They've always already been forever changed. 

The Edge Of Autumn

Just days before the equinox and blazing hot. Autumn merely a celestial notion.

I'd been expecting a package and news had reached my ears that it had been delivered that very afternoon. Fantastic. With hope in my heart, I walked down the road. 

It was the same walk I'd dreamed of once long ago, and though now I was wide awake in the sun, a subtle hallucinatory quality had  nevertheless begun to steal across the land. 

Most of the time, it's not so obvious that this place is on the edge of the desert. In the brutal last days summer, though, with no soft greenery to cushion it. a barren moonscape reveals itself. Layers of memory (it seemed to me) had become exposed like rocks jutting above the surface, the bleached and jagged bones of the earth. 

I remembered my father, my siblings and the neighbors we'd had, and the games we'd played, among the limestone outcroppings that had their own names and the dry creeks and river bed. The agave, a huge, old towering thing, reached its spiky leaves to the sky. The needly hooked tooth edges snagged my attention, the way things do when the world goes strange.

Yes, the landscape was feeling restive, and really, who could blame it? It had been a relentless season

I was halfway down the road and the wind was picking up. Shades of the old dream again, but this time the wind was scorching, hot enough to distort the air. It rattled and hissed and shook the trees. Soon, like the dream, it began to howl. 

No sooner had I reached the place where the two roads met than I felt it, that mysterious, indescribable sense of another reality overlapping my own. I stood there for a while, half-hypnotized by the spinning vents on top of old Mrs. Kirtchner's house, wondering what it was that I felt, and how to even talk about it. But all I could articulate to myself was that I was standing at the edge of Autumn.

Well, hang around a crossroad long enough and you are bound to discover something.

My package was in the mailbox. What was in it? Eh, just stuff. A red herring, as red as my dress in the equinoctial wind.

I walked back home, once again full of knowledge that was beyond me to explain

My Prophecy

 Mount Nemrut, Turkey

[Note::This is a repost from another site: I wrote it some time ago, but it still feels relevant now]

I've hesitated to write this for many years because it's so strange, but feel it's time to get this out there for posterity. Make of it what you will. Maybe it's nonsense, maybe it's not, but it's the only time I've had what seemed to be a "Biblical" type prophecy. Perhaps some will find it interesting, at least.

On August 31, 2005, I had stopped at a convenience store to buy a few gallons of gas. I'd parked my car at the pump and was about to head inside to pay. I looked up at the sign to double check the price and...something happened.

The sign above the gas station seemed to be wreathed in smoke. There were distant screams and an odd burning smell. The thought came to me, "they're burning the olive trees, they're burning the olive trees." This thought was horrifying, while at the same time I realized that there were no olive trees in the area and I had never smelled one burning before.The smoke was then replaced by what I can only call a "vision" - my eyes were open, but a disturbing mental picture blotted out reality.

I saw the face of an ancient god, who was the Earth. That is to say, God was the Earth and the Earth was God. The face was carved out of stone (which was the planet itself) and the size and age of it was impossible to comprehend. Just trying to contemplate the size and age made me feel helpless and insignificant, as if I simply did not have enough brain to understand.

The god/carving/planet unhinged its jaw with a ghastly roar. It seemed the whole planet would come apart. From the mouth, two demonic or devilish creatures - one red and one green - emerged and flew away. A Biblical-sounding phrase had come into my mind at the same time - "God opened his mouth and roared/And released two devils upon the surface of the Earth." A voice boomed the words "seven years". Then the vision faded and the sound of traffic returned, leaving me in the parking lot wondering what the heck just happened.

The overwhelming feeling from this vision was that God was enraged, he had given us human beings plenty of chances and now we'd done it, we'd really messed up this time. Now we would have these devils to contend with, and it was all our own fault. The Biblical overtones of this vision indicated something religious in nature, or at least having to do with the Middle East. Since there was a war on, this didn't seem too far-fetched.

After paying for the gas I rushed home. I wanted to check the news - I felt certain that something had happened in the Middle East. I also pondered the meaning of "seven years". I knew very well that the Tribulation was supposed to last seven years, but having gone to a Fundamentalist Christian school that predicted the Rapture daily, I was inclined to withhold judgment on that one. Instead, my feeling was that something had been set in motion, and we'd have no more than seven years to correct it.

At home, I turned on the news, and indeed, something had just happened. The Al-Aaimmah bridge in Baghdad had collapsed, killing hundreds of people. There had been a stampede because someone had thrown a bomb at the bridge. It was not due to military forces but IIRC the perpetrator was thought to be from another Muslim faction.

I figured this loss of life had somehow registered on my psyche, and years later I saw on the Global Consciousness Project website that there had been a significant spike on their devices that concurred with this event. I reasoned that I had picked up something, along with a lot of other people, and combined with high heat and feeling ill from traffic exhaust fumes had caused this crazy vision.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder about the seven years. Or the burning olive trees. Every so often I'd search Google for news of burning olives and see that Israeli forces would make incursions into Palestinian territory and burn their olive trees - so such things did happen, but nothing that specifically meshed with the date of my vision. Perhaps it was a metaphor, meaning there was no more hope for peace. Who knew? But I couldn't help but keep track of the time.

On August 31, 2012, the seven years were up. The day before, Mitt Romney had been nominated as the Republican candidate for president, but even I didn't think a sign of the apocalypse would be that dorky. Nothing else on my radar at that moment seemed especially meaningful as far as the vision was concerned. It wasn't until some months later that Islamic State began to make the news. As it happened, it was between July and September of 2012 that a series of jailbreaks occurred that allowed IS to become a terrifying force in the Middle East - right on the seven year mark.

I'm unsure if it's ever been confirmed, but the faction that bombed the Al-Aaimmah bridge might have been part of the faction that later called themselves IS.

Could this be the meaning of one of the forces in the vision?

What of the other devil "released upon the surface of the Earth"?

I can't be sure, but have my ideas. Looking at the state of the US and much of the world right now, it's more than a little worrying.

Hopefully, my "prophecy" really was no more than the result of toxic exhaust fumes. Regardless, I thought it was time to write it down anyway.
...

Notes:
I had written this last November and posted it to another site, but since things have continued to worsen since then, I felt I should post it here as well.

To be clear, despite my joke about the Apocalypse, the vision was not explicitly an "end of the world" scenario, but a punishment for our sins if we could not fix the harm we'd done within 7 years.

The photo of the statue on Mount Nemrut is the closest approximation to the god figure I saw in the vision.

The Threshold of Summer

May the Liminal Dieties bless us all.

Dream Dogs

Every May, as the school year begins to wind down, a memory of a dream comes to me. I don't know why it remains after all this time; perhaps because I've never really understood it. The mind does love a mystery.

It was near the end of fifth grade and I was eleven years old. God, what a wretched year. The teacher was a snob. there were preppies everywhere and when you are the tallest girl in class (again!) there is no way to hide. It was the definition of awkward, and I was glad to see the back of it.

This is where the young adult novel usually begins, I think.

Anyway, it was May, it seems like a Wednesday. It was the day before the class skating party, which would not have been held at the rink on a crowded Friday, and it wasn't piano lesson day, which would have been a Thursday. What I'd been doing after coming home from school is unknown - probably drinking Tropicana orange juice and playing with my hamster. Or scrawling in my notebook and reading Nancy Drew. On my bedside table was a small radio, playing insipid pop, this I know for sure. I wasn't that keen on insipid pop, but I was nervous of FM because every time I flipped the dial, the stations were playing Pink Floyd. There's only so much prog rock an eleven year old can take.

I didn't normally take naps after school (or ever, for that matter) so the very fact I'd fallen asleep was unusual. But it was a mild evening, my window was open and there was a fresh spring breeze.The radio was probably playing something by Paul Davis, as KTSA was wont to do. It was about 6 PM. I slept.

Now, the neighborhood where we lived was an oval shape, crossing a number of undulating hills. It wasn't terribly big, but back then I hadn't been allowed to wander to the far edges, and the hill on the southernmost curve of the oval was too steep for a bike anyway. That sharp curve, looming high over the town, seemed a place of unfathomable mystery to me, and in my dream, I suddenly found myself standing there.

It was dark night, pitch black, as the full moon began to rise. I could feel something about to happen. Dogs were barking in the distance.

Out of the woods beyond the hill the dogs came bounding. First one  - an English sheepdog, if I remember correctly -  then more and more of all kinds, dobermans and St. Bernards and Afghan hounds and golden retrievers. They were all barking and baying as they came over the hill.

I knew - the way one does in dreams - that what I was seeing was a secret ritual, that the dogs had come to gather here under the moon. I knew the ritual occurred only at certain times, for reasons unknown and unknowable to any human. The weight and importance of this secret filled the dream, and I was amazed that I'd been able to witness it, even if I didn't understand.

I woke slowly as the sound of the neighborhood dogs barking merged with my dream. Through the window I could see the lavender twilight sky and the full moon above the ash trees. I knew it must have been the barking dogs that had inspired this mysterious dream, and I felt an uncharacteristic delight. It gave it the ring of truth.

The next day was the class skating party, and then the long memorial day weekend, and sometime during that weekend is when I emerged, imago-like, from my awkward phase of puberty at last.

Perhaps this is what the dream was about, albeit in an oblique way. The secrets and hidden rituals of adolescence. The awkward, plain girl who fell asleep that evening might have been a dog in schoolyard parlance, but perhaps the message was that dogs can be fascinating, mysterious creatures as well. Or something like that. Whatever the case, I will always treasure the dream.

And this is the point where the young adult novel usually ends.


Notes: 
1. I was correct about the day, and the phase of the moon. Am patting self on back, as this was an appallingly long time ago.
2. Despite the variety of dogs in the dream, I have only rendered one type in my drawing, This is  because I'm terrible at drawing dogs.

Spirit Of The Water

When it's been raining for a while, the sides of the road fill with water, like little flood-meadows.One morning after a particularly wet few days, I dreamt that I went to look at one of these puddles, and saw a golden koi rise to the surface.

I didn't know what it meant, but it felt lucky somehow. After all, what else could a golden koi mean?

The next day, I happened to be next to a murky pond. I didn't imagine there was any living thing there, but suddenly a golden koi rose to the surface, much like the dream.

It's not clear if that week was any luckier than usual, but I felt an uncommon peace surround me.

I suppose luck is in the eye of the beholder.

Crow Moon Rising

On the night of the crow moon, I came out after sunset. It was later than expected and there were eerie, red-rimmed clouds in the west.

As I stepped onto the lawn, a small dark shape streaked past, low to the ground. Cat, rabbit, fox? It seemed the wrong size to be any of these. I looked back only to see it dissolve into nothing. Strange.

My teenage son comes up the path and says, mother, there's some odd stuff happening out here. Like what, I ask. He says, well there's owls hooting in the trees, and weird creaking sounds, and a rock just came out of nowhere and hit me on the shoulder.

He showed me the rock. It was light, but big as the palm of his hand. I said, well, squirrels will pelt people with objects, maybe owls do, too. I didn't mention the dissolving dark shape - no reason to add to any flights of fancy.

I sat down near the oleanders to watch the rising moon. On the road I saw someone walking, though in the blue dusk I could see little more than a man-shape. I peered into the road, wondering if it was someone I knew, but as I looked it also dissolved into nothing.

Two dissolving shadows, I noted privately. Uh-huh. You should never trust your eyes at twilight, it's notorious for playing tricks. The eerie sky and night noises might be causing our imaginations to play up. Of course. But when you're a born witch (or a viewer of Twin Peaks) you know that owls, or anything else for that matter, may not be what they seem.

I didn't feel anything was too awry, though, nothing I couldn't handle, so I went back to watching the moon.

Teen son sat down beside me to watch, too. The crow moon rose, in a lovely silvery light.

We sat and talked about cheerful things to dispel any unease. I took some photos. It really was a nice night, breezy and warm. Suddenly, son jumped up. He said, mother, come in the house with me now, please.  I asked, what's wrong. and son says, mother, come in the house with me now.

Indoors, he said he'd felt something cold touch the back of his neck and a female voice had spoken right into his ear, "Go back inside."

He was really spooked, but I told him there's no reason to worry, no reason to assume it was anything nasty. Maybe it was just nerves, maybe it was his intuition that he happened to perceive as a voice. Of course, if your gut - one way or another - is telling you to get the heck out of Dodge, then it's generally the wise thing to do.

And anyway if something sees fit to pelt you with rocks, whether it's squirrels or Sasquatch or vengeful revenants, it's always best to move along.

I felt a bit bad, though. I should have been more alert. My mistake was in thinking I could dispel anything by distracting with cheerful talk. All I did was distract myself.

Later that night, when there were no more sinister shadows or a sense of unease, what my dad always called a buttermilk sky appeared.

We went out and lay on the ground to look up at it while the cats studied us, wondering what the silly humans were up to. All was at peace now. The luminous sky had become a shelter, and all was well as the crow moon shone through the clouds.

Stella Maris

In last night's dream, I asked the aether for the name of a goddess. An answer came back: Stella Maris.

I'm sure I must have heard this name before, outside of the Einstürzende Neubauten song, but could not remember. After waking, I immediately looked it up. It's Latin for Mary, Star of The Sea.

While most Christians would object to describing any variation of Mary as a goddess, it's clear to me that Mary fulfills this role in her aspects of both maiden and mother. She's the divine feminine in spirit, and in this case, a guiding star.

I was pondering this while driving the morning rounds. Having pressing issues in my life, I decided the name must have come to me for a reason.

"O Stella Maris", I said "I'm not a sailor, but I could use your guidance."

No sooner had I said it than the sound of a boatswain's call pierced the air, what they call "piping the side," when a dignitary comes aboard.

No, I wasn't hallucinating; There was a story about sailors on the radio, but the volume had been too low to hear. The boatswain's call, however, was so loud and shrill it couldn't be missed.

Rational explanation, sure. but...when you call upon a Deity and they answer, you would be a fool to dismiss it. And, frankly, I'm tired of being a fool.

Welcome aboard, Stella Maris.

The Enchanted World

If three mystical references to 1987 weren't enough already, tonight I give you The Enchanted World.

I don't know for sure when these books first began to be published (even wikipedia dates them to a vague "the 80's") but for me they figure importantly in my memories of that year.

The Enchanted World series was only available through mail-order, and - having always been one to burn the midnight oil - I recall seeing the rather intriguing commercials in the wee hours of the night. There were several, but this was my favorite:

They were beautiful books which (alas) did not fit into our budget, but my cousin Anna's parents were more indulgent. The books were sent one per month, and by the the time I arrived at Anna's house that Summer, she had several. Wizards and Witches, Fairies and Elves, Ghosts, Night Creatures, Dragons, and Water Spirits, I think she had by then. They were Anna's prized possession, and of course I dove right into them.

They were utterly fascinating, not the least because they were chock full of art.

So much of this, to me, blended with the atmosphere of Anna's house, and of course the mysterious aura of Anna herself. We'd burn incense - Gonesh #6 Perfumes From Ancient Times (mine, bought from the hippie record shop*) or violet Spiritual Sky (hers, bought at the renaissance faire). In fact, the combined scents from all the incense we had stored in Anna's room made the entire hallway smell like a temple. Add in Anna's lace tablecloth cloak, her glowing-eyed anthropomorphic tree and Stevie Nicks' Blue Lamp  and you may start to get a clear picture of what things were like that Summer, down near the ocean where ghosts drift close at hand.

I don't know how many volumes of The Enchanted World Anna eventually collected. It was maybe 14 or so before she stopped. I was never able to order a set of my own, but happily, years later, my mother-in-law gave me her old set. All the favorites are there, with the exception of Night Creatures. It pays to marry into a family of bookworms.

Lacking Night Creatures, It's one of my hopes this year to procure a copy. Then one day I'll pass the books on to my own children.

Not quite yet, though.

*Sundance Records In San Marcos, when they were in the little shop downtown. Where I'd once bumped awkwardly into Stevie Ray Vaughan (I didn't recognize him at first because he wasn't dressed like a pimp.)

Wicks And Sticks

Cyphre...first name Lou, I presume

Continuing with the theme of 1987, I have occasion to ponder this little oddity named Cyphre, for that is the year I brought him home.

The first time I'd gone with cousin Anna to the mall in Lake Jackson, she'd made straight for a candle shop called Wicks 'n Sticks. She was deep into her Stevie Nicks phase at this point, so she was drawn there like (forgive me) a moth to a flame.

It was a neat little store, and the neatest thing was a collection of glass-eyed candle holders. Some were faces, like Cyphre here, or animals, or spooky anthropomorphic trees of different shapes and sizes. The eyes would change depending on the color of votive glass, so the display models flickered eerily in otherworldy hues.

Back then I was going through my Steely Dan-Voodoo-Breakfast At Tiffany's phase, but even so I found these enchanting. Eventually Anna talked her mother into buying one of the medium-sized trees. Myself, I'd have to wait. I never did have any spending money.

The trip to Anna's came to an end, but my interest in creepy candle holders did not. The next time I was in San Antonio, I discovered a branch of Wicks 'n Sticks at North Star Mall. Alas, my mother's generosity did not extend to a $30 anthropomorphic tree, but I could swing $15, and Cyphre was on sale.

I was a bit worried, though. My mother thought he looked like Michael Jackson, but being the sort of kid I was, I knew Mephistopheles when I saw him. Even if I hadn't been obsessed with the movie Angel Heart (watched surreptitiously on a friend's cable) I would have got the hint in his name.

Did I really want a representation of a demon in my bedroom? Was it not just asking for trouble? I was going to a Fundamentalist school at the time and was being warned of such things daily. No doubt this helped make my decision. I gleefully bought him and carried him home. As a hedge against bad luck, I declared he was a genie instead.

It's something I learned early on. We all fight demons in our own way.

The Visitation, Part 2

Photo of the Andromeda Galaxy, 1899

In last night's post, I wrote about the way my great-aunt Nina paid a visit at the moment of her death. In the ensuing years, Nina would turn up again, often in dreams, but at least once or twice, I believe, in a more physical way.

Usually, Nina's appearances in dreams were urging me to check up on her husband. Nina's husband was by then nearly blind and mostly deaf, but with an oldster's peculiar bursts of energy, he still found the wherewithal to embark on some harebrained schemes. Sure enough, when we'd check up on him, he'd be heading full tilt toward the verge of disaster. Nina and her husband were very devoted to each other in life, so it was not surprising she would have kept an eye on him in death, even if she had to prod her sister's wacky grandaughter to do it.

A more personal message came in 1996, not long after I was married. I was sound asleep when the doorbell rang. I got up to answer, not noticing I was in my mother's house, far away from where I'd actually gone to sleep. I opened the door to find great-aunt Nina standing there, looking as vibrant and healthy as she ever had. Behind her, the dark sky was filled with a glorious array of stars and galaxies.

"Nina!" I said, now realizing this must be a dream,"Oh my gosh, how are you?" "Oh, wonderful. Just look at this" she said, gesturing at the expanse of stars. "I haven't been this happy since 1944." (1944 being the year of her own wedding.)

I told her I was glad to hear it. She replied, meaningfully "yes, but this is your day." I knew she meant that the living should embrace the pleasures of the living. She said she wanted to tell me that my new husband was a nice boy. "and he has beautiful hair. Tell him I said that, he'll appreciate it."

So I did and he did.

Things went quiet for some years, especially after Nina's husband passed away. But then on the night of January 14, 2015, there was this (text copied from another site where I'd written it down):

(Note: earlier in the night, I had asked whatever compassionate diety might be listening if they could help me out with some advice. I was hopeful, but not necessarily expecting anything.)

The dream begins in the parking lot of a place I used to live. There is a woman there whom I don't know, but we are talking. She says, "I lost 20 dollars in this parking lot once." I replied, "well, lets look around, maybe another one will appear." Sure enough, there is a $20 bill lying on the pavement. I pick it up and hand it to her. We talk about how amazing it is, the way things just seem to materialize in that parking lot. I say "I wonder how it happens? What is the rational explanation?"

Suddenly, our conversation is interrupted by my great-aunt marching into the scene. Great-aunt died in 1991, but she looks as sturdy and practical as ever. She cheerfully waves a finger at me. "You!" she says. "You! Always wanting a rational explanation! Things materialize. Things fall from the sky. Fish. Frogs. Horsemeat in Kentucky. What's the rational explanation? Let me tell you" - she waves her hand to indicate the heavens, or the world around us - "there isn't any rational explanation!"

She then makes a joke about hoping the ingredients for oatmeal cookies would appear so I could do some baking (great-aunt loved baking cookies) and moved off back where she came from. The next thing in the dream, I was looking in my handbag and found a very strange sheet of paper with a poem on it (which I won't repeat here, as it seemed meant to be private) but which I suspect was the advice I'd asked for earlier in the night. 

When I woke that morning, the first thing I thought was "well, if I hear about oatmeal and raisins appearing from nowhere, I'll know once and for all this is true." I was only half joking.

A couple of days later, my youngest child was watching a TV program called The Odd Squad, a sort of humorous X-files for kids. I was going about my business, when I was brought up short, in shock. The clip playing on television described exactly that.

The clip is here

In the way of the Cosmic Joker, and messages from beyond, no one ever specified the event couldn't be fictional. I was struck just the same.

What's more, the events surrounding the strange dream poem have since come true, and continue to come true.

What's the rational explanation? According to the shade of great-aunt Nina, there isn't one, so don't even bother asking. Just bake some cookies and be at peace with this irrational universe.

Ritual Of The Black Snake

I've been so slow about blogging...fatigue again...but I did want to post this before July is entirely over.

On the fourth, we went out to buy fireworks from the stand at the edge of town. We bought a small collection of sparkly whizzy things for the older boys, but I also bought a handful of black snakes. Partly this was so the youngest would have something non-noisy to enjoy, but also because I have fond memories of them myself. They were maybe 12 for a dollar, anyway.

Early in the evening, about 7 0'clock, I snuck outside to light one by myself. I suppose my inner child wanted a little privacy, the secret glee of creating fire and smoke. I put it down on the driveway, lit the punk stick and lit the black snake. 

As I was kneeling over the flames watching the snake unfurl, the neighbors drove by. So much for privacy. But the looks on their faces was priceless. They clearly thought I must be partaking of a strange and arcane ritual there on the dusty gravel. They looked intrigued and slightly alarmed at the same time. 

But the funny thing was, I had begun to feel the same way myself. It was unexpected, but I swear I suddenly felt a Presence. It was a friendly Presence, but a Presence (disembodied, non-corporeal, possibly holy) nonetheless.

Maybe this kind of thing has happened to you, maybe it hasn't, but in this case, it was special kind of coziness, a tranquility in the evening air. It was what they call the golden hour, so maybe this helped, but the world around me took on a luminescence, and I was sure I was no longer alone. 

After the black snake had burnt itself out, I stuck the end of the punk stick in the gravel and watched it glow. The feeling stayed with me for a while. I thought about the fire deities and elemental spirits throughout many ages and cultures. I wondered if one of them had kindly paid me a visit. 

When it was over, I put out the smoldering stick and went to enjoy the holiday with the rest of the family. It was nice to see them having such fun. But for me, that small moment in the driveway is so far my favorite memory of the Summer. 

A little transcendence will liven up any holiday.

Note: I seriously doubt it was fumes from the firework causing me to hallucinate or anything like that, as we used up the rest of the black snakes without any additional weirdness.