Thoughts on October 7th, Slightly Delayed

Autumn is upon us here in the North. A week ago I headed South, fulfilling my duties to my brother, my friend, acting as the Best Man in his nuptials. It was an honour. I could not be happier for both him, and my new sister, Dora. I truly hope that their union will be blessed with passion and joy, as I am sure it will be.
When I returned to the North, however, great changes had occurred. The foliage was aflame with colour, a veritable symphony proclaiming the Earth’s need for rest and slumber was fast approaching. The birch glow like liquid gold, Tolkien’s Malorn Trees of Lorien indeed. When they rustle in the sun, they stir up feelings deep within you. When doused with rain, they shimmer like moonbeams lighting the soul. I could lie down under their boughs and dream of days gone by, and days yet to be born. As ever, this season of Sammhein, or all Hallows Eve, seems to transport my imagination away to distant lands. I see in the long afternoon shadows memories of the mythical, the Fey, the Wild Hunt – whatever you wish to call the spirits of the forgotten. When I breathe deeply, taking in that delightful odour of mild decay, I can almost taste the coming frost. To say I love it is an understatement to say the least. Cider sweet on my lips, cold numbing the ears and nose, and other joys abound. No other season has such power to lift the soul.
Autumn will always hold such power over me; I am both proud and afraid to say. It is ever the Season of my Return. As the world settles into sleep, I always came home. In 2003 it was October 6th, and in 2006 it was November 16th. When the shadows lengthen, it seems to me that it is time to move on, either forward or back. Standing still is truly a burden. I am getting tired of living in someone else’s basement, just as I am tired of tending someone else’s classroom. I am no longer sure that I am meant to be a teacher. It is not that I feel I am ill suited for the work, indeed, I am good at it, but rather that it bores me – I lack the passion. I know now that my passion exists elsewhere, in other things, in other places. At times I strongly suspect that I have left little pieces of my soul scattered all over the globe, and that they call to me, so that I might return and reclaim them once more. The Chimaera’s fire burned deep on that mountains dark shoulder, claiming a part of me for Olympos. Foggy tor’s and heather covered barrows stole more in Dartmoor. The blue of the Aegean captured its fair share. Oh so many places, oh so many memories, the creation of which has been my life’s great joy. It has been far too long. The road is calling….when can I answer that call?
In the meantime, the interim period between my voyages abroad, I wait, looking for signs I might follow for direction. Money, of course, is a factor, God Damn that filthy lucre! I read to pass the time, to fuel my desire. Books are vehicles to any place we might wish to go, and so I drive them as far as I can possibly go. What joy there is in finding a new locale, new horizon, within a book. There are no boundaries, no barriers. We go where we can, where the author transports us. Time and place are nothing. It was this that drew me to the great Egyptian writer, Naguib Mahfouz, and his Cairo Trilogy. What a journey I have embarked on, walking the streets of that ancient city as the nation awoke from the shackles of imperialism in the late 1910’s and early 1920’s. I know the places and the people as if they were my own. It is Naguib’s gift to the world, for certain, that we might get to know the place that inspired him to the Nobel Prize.
Of course, there is a great deal of wisdom held within the pages as well, jewels we can unearth if we have the mind to do so. “A career as a bureaucrat is slavery disguised as earning a living…I want to live as a tourist in the world. I’ll read, see, hear, and think, moving from the mountains to the plains and back again.” (Palace of Desire, 147). Amen, Husayn Shaddad, Amen indeed. The question, or course, is how to do it…yes, that is the question.
Another pearl of wisdom: “How wretched life is when it’s devoted solely to earning a living.” (Palace of Desire, 186). It may be simple arrogance on my part, a sign that I live in the privileged West, that I can afford to have such thoughts and dreams, that I might look beyond simply providing necessities, but the soul must have sustenance as well if it is to grow and thrive! How I would love to reclaim the scattered parts of my soul, to travel again and find them, and to leave new parts in their stead in other places that stir me to dream, but that may be some time away from the present. For now I must be content to wait and suck the marrow from memory. “We appeal to the sun and moon for help in escaping from time’s straight line when we wish to circle back and regain our lost memories, but nothing ever returns.” (Palace of desire, 346) Heaven forefend. Without those sweet memories I could be a wayward soul indeed.