Musings.17: Barbara

ven as I write this I am amazed and excited to share quite an interesting development regarding illuminated Christian texts in the Western world, such as the "Book of Kells" in Ireland, that is appearing in this work.

The story until recently has been that of "ragged scribes in a lonely struggle to preserve Christian culture from the forces of darkness." One's imagination shifts into overdrive picturing Irish monks perched at tall desks in the scriptoriums of monasteries at the edge of Western civilization, the Dark Ages rolling inexorably toward the island. One hears the sea through the slit windows, crashing against the rocks and shore.

As related in a recent story in the magazine The Economist, scholars are studying religious texts from the library at the monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai "whose foundation in the mid-sixth century roughly coincides with the spread of Christianity, and hence Latin writing, from Ireland to Scotland - whence it later shifted to the north of England."

"...the Sinai collection is vast and diverse. Along with over 6,000 early printed books, there are 3,300 manuscripts in a dozen languages, mainly Greek, Georgian, Slavonic and three Semitic tongues - Arabic, Syriac and Aramaic."

Put simply, as Christianity was spreading from Ireland to Scotland roughly 1,400 years ago, the monastery of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai and its library of Christian manuscripts was being founded. Christians in the East were preserving texts at the same time the monks in Ireland were copying and preserving such texts.

Michelle Brown, professor of medieval manuscript studies at the University of London, and paleographer and art historian, has extensive experience studying and describing northern European manuscripts held by the British Library. She "believes that scribes from the British Isles may have worked on the slopes of Mount Sinai, writing in Latin." The Irish monks may not have been as isolated as previously thought.

Beyond the use of ornate capitals at strategic points of a manuscript (or the opening of blog posts), how does this story relate to Melissa's latest dream? The answer is - Utah. A companion piece to this article discusses efforts to digitize ancient manuscripts from various sources. The data and images are secured in repositories under the mountains of Utah.

I was happily surprised when I realized Melissa's dream was alluding to this story in The Economist. While I have no idea where in the mountains of Utah these repositories might be I needed moonlight and a body of water in the mountains. Consulting my atlas I found Moon Lake, east of Salt Lake City, near the Uinta Mountains, the High Uintas Wilderness Area, and the Uinta and Ouray Indian Reservation.

Now I must propose a more startling question: Why is all of this pointing to a link between Melissa and William Shakespeare's 'Juliet'? This blog, as I hope you recall, is to explore the character 'Melissa' as it develops. I promise you I did not see this coming!

The first hint of Juliet I find in this, oddly enough, is at the end of the dream when the crow and the swan appear together with the 'J' - shaped dagger that Melissa carries away in flight. My mind flashed to the instrument of Juliet's 'death', then I recalled Benvolio's boast that he would make Romeo "think thy swan a crow." (I.iii.94) That triggered the realization that Romeo leapt the orchard wall after the ball to try to get a further glimpse of Juliet. So, I saw a correspondence to the opening of this dream - Melissa standing in an orchard.

The strongest connection I see, however, is found in Juliet's musing there on her balcony: "Deny thy father and refuse thy name." (II.ii.37) We saw evidence that Melissa may be doing just that when she discovered the abandoned St. Clair Shores. The message from her father is rather clear, I would say, but Melissa appears to be ignoring it.

Irish monks. Monks at Saint Catherine's on Mount Sinai. Illuminated Christian manuscripts. Mountains in Utah. The crow and the swan. The dagger.

Some questions answered, others proposed.

[[Bibliography: "Illuminating a dark age." The Economist 18 December 2010: 149-151]]

[[Photo: Apothecary shop in Hendersonville, NC; June 27, 2011; Barbara Butler McCoy]]

Never: "Melissa"

ever, never, ever! - would I have guessed that someone could look at me and smile like that! I remind myself over and over that it was just a dream, but it still rocks me. I feel like I've been hit by lightning. And the blinding smile isn't even all of it! I think I'd better begin at the beginning.

In this dream I was wandering around somewhere, I don't know where, but

it looked like a park of some sort. There was an air of expectation, I thought, and I looked around to see if something was happening. There were people walking into a ruined building - I think it was an old church or temple or something. So I followed them.

The interior of this ruined temple had been transformed into a theatre and up on the stage I could see the twelve dancing princesses. The set was made to look like their bedroom on the morning after they'd been dancing. They were lounging around drinking tea from their dancing slippers! How funny. The scene was witty and kind and thoughtful, and enchanting. They seemed so sweet. It would be so much fun to know women like that.

I was smiling on the inside and the outside by the end of the play so I wandered into the gift shop to see what I could find to take home with me. The Richard-the-Lionhearted puppet was there as were some adorable papier mache slippers like the ones the princesses used to serve tea to one another. I laughed out loud when I saw those. There were fools' caps, too, like the one in the office at St. Clair Shores, and each had a scepter to match - a scepter with bells.

Then I saw rows and rows of a book of poetry. The covers caught my attention because they were like the photos and pictures in the "Harry Potter" stories - the people moved and spoke. There was a woman in a Renaissance gown standing in a garden of some sort. She was stroking the brow of a unicorn and speaking with a young girl who also wore a dress of the Renaissance period. In the background I saw a lion, like the one on the Richard-the-Lionhearted puppet.

In a flowing script across the top, with flowers and vines interlaced among the letters was the title, "Sonnets to Ophelia." I remember thinking while I was dreaming that "Sonnets to Ophelia"sounded very intriguing. I turned the book to see if there would be a photo of the poet - and had the shock of my life.

As soon as I saw that dark, dark hair and the blood-stained white shirt I knew he was my 'Dark Man' from the warehouse - but I still could not see his face. His back was turned to me. I must have cried out or something (I was so frustrated!) because he turned very slowly and looked at me. He smiled. He smiled that smile that blinded me. I felt - still do feel - like I'd been struck by lightning. A cliche, I know, but ... Can you feel everything stop inside you in a dream? You must, because that's what if felt like, everything just stopped. I never knew anyone could smile like that. I never knew anyone could smile like that at me! And everything just stopped. I can feel it all stopping, and shifting, inside even as I write this.

By the time I gathered my wit (not wits, only one wit) it was too late. He'd turned away again. I wanted to cry, but decided to buy the book, and the little shoes, instead. As I was paying for them I heard someone who sounded like a cantor singing back in the theatre: "I saw water flowing from the right side of the temple." I looked to my right and, yes, there was a window and, yes, I could see a river flowing past.

I don't know how long I spent sketching his face from memory, but I'm glad I did it. I had to. Since I sketched the tableau of the women in the garden I find myself thinking it feels familiar to me, but I can't say why. It is strange, too, to realize that the girl's face reminds me a lot of my face - I saw that as I turned it over in my mind while I sketched. Strange.

I do not understand this. Why is a girl who looks like me wearing Renaissance period clothing depicted on the cover of a book of poetry, written by my 'Dark Man,' with the title "Sonnets to Ophelia"?

'Statues Crumble for Me': "Melissa"

verywhere I go statues crumble for me ... who knows how long I've loved you?" I heard that over and over in my dream last night; it sounded like part of a song. Maybe it is. I don't know. All I know is that I dreamt I was back in that office at St. Clair Shores staring in fascination at a mirror someone had hung on the wall. I was startled, to say the least, because it was the same mirror those demon cats held in that dream from a long time ago - the one with Medusa.

Before I could figure out just why the mirror would be in my St. Clair Shores office I saw Medusa herself appear in the mirror and stand with her back to me, looking into an identical mirror. A mirror within a mirror. Medusa asked the mirror, "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the foulest of them all?" All I could think was that this was certainly not the way I learned the "Snow White" story when I was little. My mouth dropped open - I must have looked like some landed fish! - when the mirror told her a name just before she stepped into the mirror and walked between two rows of beds in some amazing room in a gothic church or castle of stone. It reminded me of the children's story "Madeline" ... twelve little girls in two straight lines. I counted them as I watched.

She was utterly silent and wasted no time singling out one of the sleeping forms on one of the twelve beds. A pair of worn out shoes with battered soles lay at the foot of each bed and each princess - for I recognized the twelve dancing princesses asleep on those beds - had dropped on top of the bed covers in her ball gown.

Twelve times Medusa questioned the mirror and twelve times she went into that vast room on the other side of it, to touch a princess and turn her to stone. I have no idea why she asked her question of the mirror repeatedly, but she did. I remember it vividly.

I stood there staring at the sight of those twelve immobilized princesses lying there in that vast space - effigies, it seemed, atop their tombs. Answers, I wanted answers, but I wasn't sure where to begin. I did receive a happy answer, of sorts. My Crow arrived just then, along with young Ham and his buddy, Sam. They flew in on a pig, the pig from the 'Lost and Found' bin, right behind my Crow.

Ham called out to me that we had to go break the spell on the princesses. I started to climb onto my Crow's back, but suddenly remembered something. I shouted "Wait!" and ran out of the room. The next thing I knew I was digging through the 'Lost and Found' bin, pulling out shoes, their tongues flapping. I shoved the shoes into a bag and climbed on my Crow's back, then we flew - boy, girl, and woman, pig and Crow - through the mirror into the princesses' sleeping chamber.

Ham leapt from his pig and ran from bed to bed, kissing each statue as I ran from bed to bed leaving shoes for them. I could not hear what Ham said to the princesses because the sound of crumbling and falling stone became a bit loud, and we hurried away because the Crow said it was time to go, time to leave.

Back at St. Clair Shores Ham, Sam and I snacked on animal crackers and cocoa in the office. The Crow joined us after flying around a bit, and he gave me a puppet he found somewhere. The puppet was LOVELY - a medieval king in beautiful robes with a crown on his head. His robe was embroidered with a myriad of stars among shields decorated with a gold lion of the coat-of-arms of King Richard I, King Richard the Lion-Hearted.

I slid my hand into the puppet then picked up my pen. I wielded it like a sword and tapped Ham first on one shoulder, then the other. "In the name of King Richard the Lion-Hearted I knight thee Sir Ham, for your courageous and loving service to the Order of the Heart. I hereby knight your loyal and steadfast steed also. Rise, Sir Ham."

"Lost and Found": "Melissa"

nock, knock, they're here! I sent them," said the voice at the window, a lovely sprite smiling at me as I sat in the office of St. Clair Shores. I'd been researching some mythology when a shadow fell across the desk and I looked up to see her enchanting face peeking in through the foliage of the tree. "I didn't send that woman, though." A battle-axe of a woman marched down the hall past the office declaring loudly and definitively that, "This place is filthy!"

I know it was a dream, and therefore not bound by 'logic,' but these appearances totally baffled me. I leapt up from the desk chair to forestall the woman stomping down the hall. My attention was diverted, however, by the sight of a number of women and children gathered out on the lawn, between the water and the front entrance, looking longingly toward the inn. When I turned back to the window, hoping for information from the sprite, she was gone.

Before I could stop the battle-axe and ask who she was or why she was there she marched back out the door. I was baffled. There was nothing filthy whatsoever about the inn and I wanted to argue that point with her but decided I'd better turn my attention to the women and children on the lawn. They seemed hesitant to speak, but I was patient with them and eventually learned that they had nowhere to call home. 'Home' was a blessing lost to them. So I invited them into the inn - there was plenty of room.

I urged them to make good use of the toiletries and robes and linens in the rooms. When they had wandered slowly away I realized that there were two little ones, a boy and a girl, standing alone in the lobby. Unlike the other children, who were there with their mothers, this boy and girl were alone. They were not even siblings, but friends who'd met during their wanderings. The little boy spoke for both of them and informed me, "My name is Ham and her name is Sam." They stood there, small, hungry, dirty - thoroughly vulnerable.

The only thing I could do was to lead them to one of the rooms and move between entertaining one and bathing the other. Eventually the pair were clean and wrapped in those over-sized, but very warm, terry robes. I led them downstairs to the office and snuggled them in the chair at the desk with some pencils and paper. I told them I would go to the kitchen to find some food and hot chocolate and be back as quickly as I could. While the milk came to a simmer on the stove, and some of the women shyly entered the kitchen, I searched a box of items labeled "Lost and Found" to see if there were anything for Ham and Sam.

When I returned to the office, tray of goodies and a 'found' item in hand, I nearly cried out to see their shining tousled heads nestled close together as they whispered to one another. I felt sweetness, unutterable unbearable sweetness pierce me - a bolt of lightning - when I introduced Ham to the small cuddly stuffed piglet I'd found in that box. "I think he's been waiting in that box just for you, Ham," I whispered. My throat choked and my eyes filled with tears when he offered Sam the chance to hold the piglet while he finished his drawing.

Twelve Dancing Princesses: 'Melissa'

dreamt I fell asleep over the story I was writing at the desk in the office of St. Clair Shores. (It is not a good sign when my own writing puts me to sleep!) Some snatches of music, drifting in from somewhere on the property, and a solitary giggle woke me. While I sat, blinking, I heard the giggle again, then again, and left the desk and my soporific story to investigate.

Out of the inn and across the lawn I stumbled to stand on the rock strewn shore, shivering and wondering what I was seeing. At first I saw only swaying lights - I counted a dozen - but I soon realized that the lights were mounted on small boats. I cannot say if the boats departed from the same place or not, nor can I say whether they had departed from the island I could so clearly see. All I know is that a dozen boats came over the water to settle on St. Clair Shores.

One by one each of the twelve princesses stepped from her boat to stand before me as if for inspection. I noted that while each princess was dressed in her own individual style all of the boats were swan boats. I was rather awed by the princesses and I probably stared too pointedly for too long, but they were kind and patient, thankfully.

When I found my voice I was horrified to hear myself, well, shriek in a horrid and unpleasant manner. I thought of just running away and when I turned to go I heard a swishing noise behind me. The river rocks felt different under my feet and when I looked down I discovered I had the legs and feet of a bird! I confess, I panicked. After some frenzied dancing and jerking, which amused the princesses enough to make them giggle, I figured out I had become a peacock! The swishing sound had been the wind through those magnificent tail feathers.

For whatever reason, once I had discerned my 'fowl' identity I marched off in the direction of the music, calling loudly as I did, the princesses in a line behind me. I watched them dance and dance, and when it was time I led them, each carrying her tattered shoes, back to their swan boats.

I do not know how everything shifted (I never do in these dreams), but I suddenly found myself outside the warehouse. The princesses arrived at the door, each in her own time, each pressing her thumb to that labyrinth symbol to gain entrance. When the door closed behind the last princess I stole up the spiral ladder and hid behind the roses to see what I might of the princesses. What I saw, however, was all those tattered soles lying amid discarded carousel horses.

I wonder what it means, if anything, that the horses were all either black or white? Hmmm ... This is intriguing. It seems almost as if the dream is a message to wake up from what I was trying to write and ... what? ... escort twelve dancing princesses to the ball, as a peacock? Can a woman even become a peacock - the ones with the gorgeous, magnificent tails are the males, aren't they?

Cats: "Melissa"

ats - big, huge cats, and the little black cat from my previous dreams, were in my dream last night. Baby elephants made an appearance as well.

The little black cat was with me in the building at St. Clair Shores and she was pacing between me and the door in the kitchen leading out to a deck. Back and forth she paced tail held high, a little curl in it at the tip, purring quite loudly. So, I let her out onto the deck.

I froze, however, when I realized there were two tigers in two cages made of bamboo, stacked one atop the other, in a corner of the deck. I tried to maintain my presence of mind because I knew I was dreaming, but I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen. All I knew was that the little black cat was but a morsel compared to those two caged tigers.

I know there were two tigers, but the one in the top cage seemed to be the alpha cat (if there is such a hierarchy) and it seemed to be very controlled, very focused. Here's the thing - and I am still stunned that I did this - I released those tigers from their cages!

I didn't feel I was being stalked or threatened. I felt there was a tremendous intelligence in that alpha tiger, an intellectual strength that at least matched if not surpassed its physical strength. I felt as if I was being noted and measured, weighed, but this did not feel unkind or menacing.

Then I asked the tigers if they were hungry, and I may have made a gesture towards the lawn because the next thing I knew I was standing on the lawn with those tigers and my cat as two very small elephants - babies? - approached, their trunks up-curled ceremoniously, bringing Hot Pockets, of all things!