“They have no need to look up to the firmament and to read so as to know your word. They ever ‘see your face’ and there, without syllables requiring time to pronounce, they read what your eternal will intends. They read, they choose, they love. They ever read, and what they read never passes away. By choosing and loving they read the immutability of your design. Their codex is never closed, nor is their book ever folded shut. For you yourself are a book to them and you are ‘for eternity.’—Saint Augustine, Confessions XIII xv (18)
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Stirred from a sleep in spirit, Annie woke to surrounding of nighttime room, James by her side, breathing slow in a peaceful ease, still save the swell and fall of chest with breath, dark of the walls and light of the window, moonlight through open pane letting free the night cool and nature-songs of the almost autumn. Wind stirred, blowing faint the opaque linen curtains framing open pane, and thou she had no need to look, she gazed to the light of moon through faint cloud of the firmament, glowed as surrounding halo cast.
Quietly she rose, body washed in silver light becoming as stars and moon, a celestial body taking living place amonst the heavens, enchanting in soft illuminations. Her skin was cool and her heart was warm, and spirit was in peace as she stood open and free in the night air and glow; her skin pale and fair and shaded in cast of freckled shadow.
Toward the window, she moved, and by its open pane, a chair and side table rested, candle and book upon its face. From book of matches also on table face, she drew and struck its phosphorescent head, sound of scratch and rush of taking flame as she cradled its fire and light, guiding it to wick of candle that softened base in fire’s melt then took as wick absorbed both candle and the flame.
She moved for the chair, and in glow of the candle, blue silver skin warmed in an amber cast, wick and candle’s flame steady as it burned in protected heart of candle’s form. Soft heat of the flame touched her, but she desired more and covered herself in blanket folded over back of chair.
She settled in, warming, immersed in peace of night and silence as the candle burned and she stared again to halo of silver moon as songs of the night played through air of the open pane.
She reached for the book, his, studying its cover and contemplating again on what, from it, he’d shared. There were multiple bookmarks, dog-eared pages and passages underlined in black and permanent ink.
What he made from the pages and passages saved, she did not yet fully know, but she desired to learn, one day, however that she would.
She opened and turned to a page with ear marked corner and read the marked lines.
“I bring my heart to you, Light that teaches truth. Let not my heart tell vain fantasies. Disperse its darkness…”[i]
A shadow and cool sensed beside her, but still she read, finding next:
“To whom can I expound, and with what words can I express, the weight of cupidity pulling us downward into the precipitous abyss and the lifting of love given by your Spirit who was ‘borne above the waters’? To whom can I communicate this? How can I speak about it? For it is not about literal places where we sink down and rise up. This symbolic language contains a resemblance, but also a difference. It means our feelings and our loves. The impurity of our spirit flows downward because of our love of anxieties, and the holiness which is yours draws us upwards in a love of freedom from anxiety…
…The angel fell, the human fell, and thereby showed that the abyss would have held the entire spiritual creation in deep darkness unless from the beginning you had said ‘Let there be light and light was created’…By the wretched restlessness of fallen spirits, manifesting their darkness as they are stripped naked of the garments of your light, you show how great a thing is the rational creature you have made…For you our God ‘will lighten our darkness.’ From you comes our clothing and our darkness will become as midday…”[ii]
She contemplated the words, love, declension and rise of spirit and soul; the course of her own in life thus far lived. She stared at the moon and it seemed its halo grew, and beyond the faint veil of cloud across moon, all heaven was cleared, glimmering in stars and Creation’s infinite cast.
She thought of her own heart, restlessness in periods and places in life; contrast the total peace she felt—right then—in silver of night and soft candle-flame, breathing full and deep scents of the outside world as songs played to her ears; James still asleep, still and in peace, a purity of presence too illumed in moon’s halo cast and faint gold of the candle flame.
He had brought his heart to her. Learning and lusts and exchanges of spirit, in all their ways and means, and she contemplated: in the heart of night, there was not a darkness. Their world was a silver dream, not vain fantasy, but a truth found in openness and discernment of souls.
Next page spoke more:
“In your gift we find our rest. There are you our joy. Our rest is our peace.
Love lifts us up there and ‘your good Spirit’ exalts ‘our humble estate’…In a good will is our peace. A body by its weight tends to move towards its proper place…Things which are not in their intended position are restless. Once they are in their ordered position, they are at rest.
My weight is my love. Wherever I am carried, my love is carrying me. By your gift we are set on fire and carried upwards: we grow red hot and ascend. We climb ‘the ascents in our heart’ and sing ‘the song of steps.’ Lit by your fire, your good fire, we grow red-hot and ascend, as we move upwards ‘to the peace of Jerusalem.’[iii]
Her heart lit in flutter as a change in wind caught and stirred in candle’s own, flutter of light in dance upon her body in rest and about the walls and fall of linen curtains.
Was that the feeling? Was that the effect, her source of peace in the stillness and abating of a restlessness that so long stirred and drove in draw and desire for new—new places, people, experiences, anything but her every day.
And here she was, peace in a soul-found still.
Warmed, warmed in affection and love and desire only to greater be and rise in flame of taking and keeping spirit.
She stared into heart of candle at her side, its reach of light climbing as melt and greater take of lighting source fed the drawing wick; tall, thin, fine flame expanding in its energy; just as she felt her own.
Flame and taking of a love that raised.
Aflame, she turned the pages and came to another marked page.
“They read, they choose, they love. They ever read, and what they read never passes away. By choosing and loving they read the immutability of your design. Their codex is never closed, nor is their book ever folded shut. For you yourself are a book to them and you are ‘for eternity.’[iv]
They read, they choose, they love.
This was them.
She had always dreamed of a love that lived as a book, a romance eternal in continuity, always there, when need for gift and effect upon a spirit. She had always dreamed, and in halo of the moon, she believed.
She believed in the romance, the possibility for all to be not of fantasy but spirit-truth when revealed and gifted to open and prepared soul.
A romance, love, book never folded shut. She believed it all.
Still in contemplations, Annie stared to James still resting in his peace. She desired him then, to wake and live the love and spirit that raised, red-hot and upward into Jerusalem’s peace.
Her spirit was alive, lit and risen as flame of candle by her side. She gazed once more upon its light, smiling, then blew it soft to still, smoke wisp where light had been; and again as heaven body illumed in silver light, she returned to James, stirring and waking, still with peace, and loved him as a dream.
[i][i] Saint Augustine, Confessions XIII vi (7)
[ii] Ibid vii, viii (8-9)
[iii] Ibid (10)
[iv] Ibid XIII xv (18)