There’s a Ray Bradbury story—I can’t recall the title, but with the Internet that’s just a lame excuse—where explorers on Venus are being driven insane by the constant tapping of rain on their helmets.They try to concentrate on discovery, but the distraction becomes too much for them.Living in Pennsylvania has been a bit like that.I grew up in the state and I knew it rained a lot.Here in the eastern end we’ve hardly since the sun since March.And when you’ve got a leak in your roof that only compounds the problem.If I were weathering the Psalms, mine would be a lament, I’m afraid.You see, the ground’s squishy around here.Mud all over the place.Rivers have been running so high that they’re thinking about changing their courses.And still it rains.
There’s a lesson to be taken away from all this.The fact that we use water for our own ends sometimes masks the fact that it’s extremely powerful.Not tame.The persistence of water to reach the lowest point contributes to erosion of mountains and valleys.Its ease of transport which defines fluidity means that slowly, over time, all obstacles can be erased.It’s a lesson in which we could stand to be schooled from time to time.Rain is an artist, even if it’s making its way through the poorly done roofing job previous occupants put into place.Would we want to live in a world without valleys and pleasant streams?And even raging rivers?
There’s no denying that some of us are impacted by too much cloudiness.When denied the sun it becomes easy to understand why so many ancient people worshipped it.Around here the temperatures have plummeted with this current nor-easter and the heat kicked back on.Still, it’s good to be reminded that mother nature’s in control.Our high officials have decided global warming’s just alright with them, and we’re warned that things will grow much more erratic than this.As I hear the rain tapping on my roof all day long, for days at a time, I think of Bradbury’s Venus.Okay, so the story’s appropriately called “The Long Rain” (I looked it up).Meanwhile tectonic forces beneath our feet are creating new mountains to add to the scene.Nature is indeed an artist, whether or not our species is here to appreciate it.If it is, it might help to bring an umbrella this time around.
Maybe it’s just a sign of passing years, but spring seems much more sudden to me now.One day I’m wearing multiple layers and shivering in the mornings and the next day I need to take a machete to the lawn for its first mowing.Those weeds along the fence, which weren’t there a day ago—I swear!—are now two feet tall and aching for an appointment with the weed whacker.I mean, the snow shovel’s still on the porch.When did this happen?How did we go from brown grass to sprouting trees of heaven just overnight?I haven’t had time to build up my calluses yet for pushing the lawn mower (we have the environmentally friendly kind, powered by naught but human effort).Morpheus was right, I guess.
This past week was so unexpectedly busy that I haven’t had time to stop and muse over some important happenings.My current project, Nightmares with the Bible, involves trying to sort out The Conjuring universe, and I wanted to reflect on the passing of Lorraine Warren.Her obituary in the New York Timesby Neil Genzlinger was surprisingly respectful.Whether or not she was really onto something, people in general seem to believe she and Ed were sincere in their convictions.There are those who claim they were charlatans, but those who perpetrate hoaxes tend to leave telltale signs.Those who claim they couldn’t have experienced the paranormal because there’s no supernatural to experience are entitled to their opinions, of course.Being tolerant of those who see differently, however, has never been more important.
The natural cycles of the earth never fail to surprise me.Supernatural or not, the explosion of life following one warm, wet week is nothing shy of astounding.I walked around to the seldom visited north side of the house to find a veritable jungle that wasn’t there just the week before.Staring at the flowers and weeds, I can’t help but think of the hackneyed phrase “pushing up daisies.”Much happened this past week.The mower was oiled up and played the grim reaper to the grasses and other plants of my neglected yard.Life, as Jurassic Park (which my lawn resembles) teaches, is persistent.I never met or in any way corresponded with the Warrens, but I feel that in some sense I have gotten to know them.And just yesterday it still felt like winter.
It’s encouraging and disheartening all at the same time.And seldom has the evil of money been so obvious.Last night I attended an environmental panel discussion at a local church.It was encouraging to see so many people out on a rainy, chilly night in Bethlehem, a city famous for its might steel mill.Everyone there knew the problem and agreed that something had to be done.As the speakers gave their presentations it became clear just how corrupt politicians are.Corruption is bipartisan, of course.In the name of “economic growth” we allow the fracking rape of our state despite the known and proven environmental hazards.Despite the fact that Pennsylvania has a green amendment in its state constitution.Money, as Cyndi reminds us, changes everything.
Shortly after even Mitch McConnell admitted climate change is real, at the state level climate deniers are running things.It brought to mind the frightening and omnipresent teachings of my Fundamentalist youth: the sooner we can destroy this planet the sooner we’ll make Jesus come again.Convinced of the absolute certainty of that second coming, there is almost a mandate to ruin, pillage, and plunder natural resources because the Good Book ensures us that, upon a white horse the savior will come in the nick of time.Politicians, elected officials believe this.They also believe in mammon.If you’re gonna go down, you might as well do it in style.Like John Jacob Astor on the Titanic.It’s the way of the aristocrat.Rising seas drown rich and poor alike.
It was a miserable night to be out.The weather has been freakishly off for some time now, and all the science—real science, that is—predicts it’s only going to get worse.How the government became the enemy of the planet that gave it birth would be a fascinating story if only it were fiction.The truth is we’ve elected people that can be bought.And bought easily.Laws are passed that violate the constitution of this commonwealth and meetings are held behind closed doors.Local activists are very active while most of us struggle to keep ourselves employed, heads, as it were, above water.We need to pause now and again to consider what a wonder this planet is.We must learn that the only power money has is that which we freely give it.Rain was pouring down.Brontide was actual thunder as the state legislature drew up chairs for the last supper.
“Storms are the embodiment of Mother Nature’s flair for the dramatic, and the words that we use to write about them are infused with that drama,”—the words aren’t mine, but they express something I often acknowledge.The quote comes from a Verbomania post about the word “brontide”—a noun for things that sound like distant thunder.Weather-related words are indeed part of the religious vocabulary as well.I wasn’t quite daring enough to suggest it in Weathering the Psalms, but it seems that thunder may be behind most basic religious beliefs.Well, that and bad luck.Think about it—most cultures have a very powerful storm-deity.That power is expressed in thunder.Even in the twenty-first century a sudden clap can made the sophisticated duck and cover.
We don’t know as much about ancient Mesopotamian culture as we’d like to, but it’s pretty clear that storm deities commanded major of respect.Eventually in the city-state of Ugarit, in what is now northern Syria, a god named Hadad (aka “thunderer”) became the patron of the city and was known mainly by his title “lord” (Baal).There may have been more than one lord, but the one in charge of day-to-day affairs was the one who controlled storms.We’ve entered another rainy season around here (something you tend to notice when the roof leaks), and my thoughts often turn to how very much the weather controls us.Interestingly, thunder hasn’t been much in the picture.We’ve lived in our house coming up on a year and I have been awoken by thunder (something that still scares me as much as when I was a kid) only once.Thunder is the approach of gods.
There’s drama about the weather.In fact, fiction writers have long known that one of the most effective ways to suggest the mood of a story is the meteorological method.Weather sets the scene.The sound of distant thunder has a naturally ominous, almost predatory quality.The growling, low and loud bursts from the sky sound so like human expressions of rage that it is only natural that they should be interpreted this way.Since the sky is (or used to be) out of the reach of humans, the sounds from above were from the realm of the divine.When gods approach the mood is threatening.We dare not meet them.That mythology has long informed our perceptions of meteorological phenomenon, acknowledged or not.Brontide is an underused word that brings the drama of both nature and the divine together. It could be a psalm word.
So how much time is there?I mean all together.I suppose there’s no way to know that because we have no idea what came before the Big Bang.Those who invent technology, however, seem not to have received the memo.New tech requires more time and most of us don’t have enough seconds as it is.Perhaps in the height of folly (for if you read me you know I admit to that possibility) I’ve begun uploading material to my YouTube channel (I hope I got that link right!). These are cut-rate productions; when you’re a single-person operation you can’t fire the help.I figured if those who don’t like reading prefer watching perhaps I could generate a little interest in Holy Horror visually.(I like my other books too, but I know they’re not likely to sell.)
The question, as always, is where to find the time for this.My nights are generally less than eight hours, but work is generally more.What else is necessary in life, since there are still, averaged out, eight more left?Writing has its reserved slot daily.And reading.Then there are the things you must do: pay taxes, get physical exercise, perhaps prepare a meal or two.Soon, mow the lawn.It may be foolishness to enter into yet another form of social media when I can’t keep up with those I already have.What you have to do to drive interest in books these days!I think of it as taking one for the tribe.Readers trying to get the attention of watchers.
There’s an old academic trick I tried a time or two: double-dipping.It works like this: you write an article, and another one, and another one.Then you make them into a book.I did pre-publish one chapter of a book once, but getting permission to republish convinced me that all my work should be original.That applies to reviews on Goodreads—they’re never the same as my reviews on this blog—as well as to my YouTube videos.There’ll be some overlap, sure.But the content is new each time around.So you can see why I’m wondering about time.Who has some to spare?Brother, can you spare some time?I’ve been shooting footage (which really involves only electrons instead of actual linear imperial measures) for some time now.I’ve got three pieces posted and more are planned to follow.If only I can find the time.
Tom Petty must’ve been a commuter.On a winter’s morning after switching to Daylight Saving Time, waiting is the indeed the hardest part.For a bus, that is.In the dark.The saving grace is that humans are rule-makers.Before I even began commuting into New York I’d been instructed in the etiquette.Those who get there first leave some kind of avatar—a briefcase, an umbrella, a lunch box—in their place in line and then sit in their cars.Being the paranoid sort, and also thinking myself tough, I’ve always just stood at my place as the chill wind finds its way down my collar and then buffets me almost off of my feet.With the time-change, however, I decided to do like the commuters do.I walked out to the line of objects to find one widely separated from the others.Being a law-abider, I put my lunch down after the errant water bottle.
“Hey,” a stranger called me on my way back to my car.“Somebody just left that water bottle—you should move your bag up next to the backpack.”Thanking him, I did so.Not only was this person I didn’t know watching me in the dark, but he was also keeping the rules.Indeed, when the bus crested the hill and commuters lined up next to their possessions, the water bottle remained unclaimed.It was still there fourteen hours later when I got off the returning bus.Now, I’m not a big fan of anarchy, but this incident demonstrates just how inclined we are toward civil behavior.There’s no bus stop police force to ensure nobody jumps line.Even at the Port Authority waiting in the queue at the end of the day the rules are mostly self-governing.Those who don’t obey are scolded by their peers and generally comply.
There’s a natural sort of ethic among those who catch the bus before 5 a.m.We’ve all been awake earlier than nature would seem to dictate.We’re in a dark, isolated location outside town.We look out for one another, realizing that any one of us might easily lose our place in line should the rules break down.I was struck by the kindness of this caliginous stranger.Or perhaps it was just his love of order.Had my representation been out of place, other commuters might’ve grown confused.The system might’ve broken down.The last thing anyone wants is chaos before cock-crow.I decided to interpret it as kindness, however, as I made my way back to my car to put on Tom Petty to face the hardest part.
Weather affects more than the Psalms, of course.With all the hype of the latest winter storm things were closed or delayed before any accumulation even started.Now I’ll admit up front that I’m a fan of snow days; we dutifully trudge to our desk jobs as if we’re doing something vital when many of us are really just trying to make money for the man.A snow day’s a little unplanned levity in our lives when staying off the roads seems like a good idea.It’s one of life’s guilty pleasures.Of course, the dreaded delayed opening brings its own set of issues.You can’t sleep in unless it’s announced the night before, and once you’re up your mind heads to work anyway.Working remotely, alas, means you have no excuse, no matter what the weather.
Snow is a great symbol.I don’t mean its whiteness and purity—there are plenty of white things that aren’t pure.No, I mean it’s a great symbol in its ability to control people.We don’t like rain, although we understand its necessity.Snow, however, fills us with a childlike wonder.Anticipation.Unlike a winter rain, it can be fun to play in.It covers everything.The suggestion of a blanket ironically makes us feel warm, even as the temperature dips below freezing.But for me the most potent symbol is light.I awake early, even on snow days.As I make my way downstairs in the dark, it’s immediately evident when snow covers everything because the sky is lighter than it should be this time of day.Whatever light’s trapped below the clouds reflects off the snow creating a luminosity that’s almost otherworldly in its calm.It doesn’t last too long for the sun is rising earlier, at least it is until our pointless time change, but for a few hours we’re in the midst of an unnatural light.
Darkness is far too prevalent.We know that someday even our mighty sun will use up all its fuel.We crave the light for it’s limited.Days are noticeably longer now than they were at the start of December.Those few moments of serenity before the sun comes up, when the snow produces what seems like its own light, are among the most tranquil of life.Before the plows begin scraping metal against asphalt, hoping for a snow day while wrapped in a fleece throw, face clouding the chilly window before it.Yes, it’s a powerful symbol.Even if the internet means work awaits just as usual.