Crosses on the road

I saw this all the time in rural Kansas. A small cross on the side of the road, embellished with a bouquet of waterproofed flowers and other ornaments. It seemed like another part of the scenery, so sometimes I forget exactly what they represent.

When I see them in urban areas, I'm surprised into remembering. I saw one on the median of the highway I take to tennis tonight.

They make death real for me. I don't know why. I think about who put it there, and why, and the ornaments make me think about a real person who took her last breath on that very spot.

It's morbid. But I love the memorials. I like knowing people still remember the ones they loved, and keep a piece of them alive for others to know. I like the ritual and thought that goes into the little altars.

The spirit world

Steady rain falling outside the bedroom window is becoming my usual night music. Last night it was accompanied by a storm. Tim came home, his eyes on fire with excitement. "The veil between the two worlds is thin tonight," he said. This one and the spirit world, he meant. The latter was making its presence known last night. He put out food and drink for the spirits. Then he told me stories about his encounters with spirits.

I never know what to think. Most of the time, I am a little scared.

After we moved in here, Fergus was having trouble adjusting. Eventually I attributed that to a UTI and moving issues, but one night, he was particularly skittish. The whole evening just felt off in an undefineable way to me. Of course--at that point, I was worried about Fergus. When Tim came home, we talked about it. Was it because I could sense something wrong, or did I work myself into a panic by the power of suggestion? I'll never be able to distinguish. We held hands as we talked, and I was scared to take my eyes off him, because I thought if I did, he'd morph into another being while my gaze was away. (Why? Why why why? I can't put into any rational words why I'd think my love and protector would become something sinister.) He had me secure the house, shut the doors and windows, turn on the alarm sytem. Then he performed a protection spell. I don't know what that was like--I played the piano to keep my mind occupied, and to give him privacy for it. In the end, the part I participated in was burning sage to cleanse each room. Tim instructed me how to do it, the direction to wave the sage stick, the pattern to walk each room--the details of which I don't remember now.

Afterwards, I felt better. Safer. But was it the act of the ritual, or did we really secure our apartment and protect it? The next day, Tim made cryptic comments about there actually being malevolent spirits in the house the previous night, and that our spells had worked.

Last night, when he told me about his experiences, I could only be scared. But this morning--still dark, still stormy--I'm so curious about it all.

Evil

Someone recommended a book about Satan manifested on earth to me. I didn't have the heart to tell her the book looked like a trashy pulp novel published by a vanity press, and instead asked about it. It was written by an M.D. whose husband got . . . what's the word? infiltrated? overcome? inhabited? by the devil.

This woman (who recommended the book) had her own personal story about--aha! there's the word--demon possession. In her church, a man turned to evil ways (like drinking) when something hard happened to him (losing a loved one, I think). That probably happened over some time, but when she was with him, his countenance suddenly changed. He started glaring and talking with a deep voice.

She started praying with him, holding his hands. He struggled with her, and tried to rip his hands from her grip. She asked who he was, and he answered with a name that was not the man's human name. (She told me what he said, and it wasn't a name that corresponded to any nickname of Satan's I had ever heard. It sounded very sci-fi, though.) More praying, more "devil, I command you to leave this man," and this woman got out her holy oil. She threw it on the man. He started screaming and tore his shirt off like the oil caught it on fire. At that point, his body lifted up in the air and flew against a wall. This woman said he left a backprint in the wall that still remains as a witness to what happened. (Not clear if it was an indentation due to the force with which he hit the wall, or a stain from the oil.)

At any rate, if I read that as a story, I'm not sure I'd believe it. But I respect the woman who had the experience, and I can't not believe her. In general, I believe people who believe. I believe it for them.

I don't know what to think. It's so far removed from what I believe. It makes me even wonder what I believe, since I've never bothered to hammer out the details of my beliefs. Tim calls me a "deist," and I like the sound of it: someone who believes in a higher power or god but adheres to no dogma, and believes ritual exists to comfort people, not to praise that power.

But honestly, I am in awe of Tim's connection to the spiritual world, so I bob along aimlessly, agreeing with any label he gives me. Not until he calls me, say, a Satanist, would I probably stop and say, "hey wait a minute--those aren't my beliefs." And I am envious of the strength of his beliefs, but it doesn't necessarily spur me on to articulate my own.

But going back to the demon possession. My view of the world doesn't include a physical manifestion of Satan. I don't even think I believe that there is a devil. To me, evil is human. Evil is weakness. But because weakness is part of humanity, I think it's all ultimately forgiveable. Sad, tragic, but in the end, understandable and forgiveable.

Night out

We went to the second best Thai restaurant for dinner last night. I don't know if my standards are falling because of having to make do with what there is here, but the Pad See Ew was so good, and the waitress so helpful, I'm moving it up to the number one slot.

It was just so good to have Thai food again.

Afterwards, we went next door to an Asian market. What? Yes. An Asian market. I couldn't believe it. It was so amazing to find this little world in the middle of Strip-Mall City. I got tapioca pearls and joss paper.

I never knew what joss paper was. My first encounter with it was in San Francisco, 1998, spring break senior year of college. Hannah and I were walking up one of the hills, and suddenly the wind picked up and we were rained on by little sheets of rice paper with a metallic square on each. We were both enchanted by the squares of paper, and collected as many as we could. Through the years, I used them sparingly, not knowing where to find more, or how to make them. I mostly put them on candles. The orange and gold squares looked beautiful against red or blue ones.

So I was really excited to find them at the market, and I asked the woman running the store what they were used for. She said the papers were burned at the New Year. I hope she wasn't offended that I bought them without knowing what they were. Now that I know their religious significance, they're even more special to me. I like that I had such a strong connection to them from the beginning and then discovered that they had an even greater spiritual significance than I originally knew.

I feel like if I had any rituals that I felt comfortable performing, I'd want the joss papers to figure into them. But since I am not comfortable with ritual, I think I'll instead give them quiet respect and reflection.