Writing by candle light each night has become so very natural to me. I’ve chosen the living room to record this entry, much as I did my first hurricane entry. Two white candles lie on the coffee table before me and two sets of three orange candles are to my right and left, giving light from the kitchen table and window sill respectively. It lends a strong, warm and subtle light to this communal space I now hold alone.
Nathan is at his mother’s place and Greg is working a twelve hour security shift so I have the apartment to myself for the night. It’s surprisingly calming and comforting to have this time alone. Despite the still constant beeping of the security system I am gaining peace.
I had to take leave of the apartment again for much of the day, not just to relieve boredom, but to experience more of this city I consider to be my home. Even in this damaged state it is still so beautiful. I’ve written of the spirit of Halifax before, and I can feel her weeping with me over all this destruction. She’s been battered again, but she’ll keep walking and sharing these streets with what are left of her trees. We mourn the many we’ve lost in this past week, and hold that life sacred. However, we will grow from this, and great roots of life will hold tighter to our soil, and to the foundation of stones.
Stones are precisely what I have been reading about lately, or rather, they are a central theme of the book, A Stone’s Throw by Ross A. Laird. It has been a source of enlightenment during the outage, or my time in the “power-free zone,” as one rather positive man deemed it today. The book is a facinating look at universal myths and how they connect all our lives. I’ve learned so much about central myths of the Hebrews and Kem that I surely would not have discovered elsewhere. The linking threads of all stories are so profound when you take the time to reflect on them. Life Truly is circular, and as long as we deny that we can’t progress and better our lives in meaningful ways. We are all forming myths, or reforming them, but we can color them with individuality and true compassion. The value of any story transcends any one life, nation or culture.
One remarkable link of most stories of origin is the existance of a foundation stone. Is it our link to primal earth or something much more? What about stones makes them so vital to the human spirit? Do they truly contain healing and spiritual powers?
I made some investments on my first escape today. The previously mentioned candles, which were well worth the three dollars they cost, were joined by a Clié (a PDA that runs Palm OS 4) and a keyboard. It may seem to be a frivilous purchase on the surfacem and I did examine that, but I believe it will be a very useful tool in several aspects of my life. Primarily, it is to serve as a more portable way to write on the go. I can keep it in my pocket at all times to be sure my muse can always sing and be recorded. Secondly, it willl aid in my minimalization by permitting me to take ebooks, and various texts with me in a small space, while also conserving paper (enough trees died this week without man-made waste, and I have shed my share of tears for them). Thirdly, though not last, as I will surely find many uses for the device, I will use it to manage scheduling, correspondence, and other mundane activities while not here in the cave.
My second excursion was more elaborate than the first, but certainly less financially costly.I took a lengthy walk through the less wealthy sections of the city and then made my way down town to wander some more before visiting a book store. There I spent a long time among the aged and well-loved volumes, taking in the sweet scent of old pages. I spentmore time than I would have in the past, exploring the religious section. In the past months I’ve had an unexpected spiritual awakening that has lead me to seek literary wisdom outside my usual genre of fantasy, and I believe that is a sign of deepening character. It’s a noble thought, at least.
In the end I chose an uncorrected proof copy of Nick Sagan’s Idlewild, a novel that was released to the public just this past August. The premise seemed quite interesting, though I admit to choosing the author because of comparisons to Mark Z. Danielewski, Orson Scott Card and Neil Gaiman, three authors I respect highly. That was aided by the great near-new condition of the book, and thus it was an easy choice to add to my library.
After leaving the book store I moved on to Park Lant. I stopped at a stand specializing in Chinese goods. There I purchased an ornamental bookmark with chinese lettering above a painting of ducks and flowers, a small red statue of Buddah wearing a sack on his back, and a bracelette made with grey-lined white stones, apparantly intended for a sagittarious like myself.
After that I chose to go to the theatre to see Cold Creek Manor instead of returning to the darkness here. It was an enjoyable movie, and the suspense and riviting characters really brought it together into a cohisive whole, despite a few typical suspense and horror cliches.
During my trek home I called Ashley’s parents’ house to talk with her, but her father accidentally hung up. Ashley called back soon after that and we talked for a long while during the walk and once I returned home. I’ve been writing this since then, and I do believe it is time for some slumber.