The Book Is Ending

Before The Dawn

I realized on seeing Mary’s photo of the dawn breaking over the bay right outside her home, that I somehow needed to write the last chapter of the book as I have written the first one. It attaches a destination to our journey, to the leg of our Imramma* that we fortuitously gather together on. Any book starts somewhere and ends somewhere. It is a snapshot(well a video clip?) of part of a story, because the story has no beginning and no end. So between the covers of the book opens a portal through which the reader and the travelers have a conversation. Like an accordion fanning out its bellows and pouring forth a melody that we dance to.

After a vigorous start, the book has been teasing me since the stars uncannily brought the wrong end of both our countries(the ones involved in the storyline) together in a Dance Macabre in November 2016. Morning Pages wound themselves down and fizzled out and so did the momentum on writing A Night’s Tale evaporate with a groan of sorts. Fortunately the winter just past has been unusually enriching and eventful. The fruits I gathered are crushed against one another in an overfull basket. They demand that I spill them out and serve them up as salads and juices and rich fruit cakes. And I am so tired all I’ve been able to do is stuff them, basket and all into the fridge and stare at them with weary longing.

So here’s where Mary’s picture helps. It is a snapshot of a journey completed. A culmination as dawn breaks. And a homecoming. The culmination enfolds within it all the pages of that travelogue. And Mary’s picture conveys it with a sense of revelation and peace. Each of the guests around the hearth-fire that night weave their tales together. Each of the guests has arrived from somewhere as the evening commences. As we stare in wonder at the dawn that Kim and Leon call us out to see and save in our memories before the moment passes into a different moment, we each experience a personal homecoming. We each have traveled “home“ a little altered. And we are lucky to share that moment, transcending the barriers of space and time. Because the special place we shared in that cozy room over hot chocolate and fellowship has no limits of time and space. We have come that much closer to finding ourselves and finding one another and we celebrate that moment with our shared salutation to the dawn.

And the fruits crushed against one another in the chill confines of the fridge are asking to be released. The offering will be nothing like I planned. Perhaps closer to mulled wine. Perhaps worth the winter’s hibernation as I serve it up a day or two shy of spring?

PS The picture belongs to Kim’s daughter Mary. Please refrain (no I don’t need to say this) from posting it anywhere. This vision was shared by parents and daughter and it feels like nature painted the moment and Mary preserved it just for my inspiration and delight. The picture captures everything the book wants to express. Bless you and thank you Mary. maybe the characters in the book decide to fall in a heap and sleep in celebration rather than get on their vehicles and head back to where they came from?

*It is said that crossing deep waters, on a spiritual pilgrimage, is a  journey of the soul back to ones divine self.  The ancient Celtics identified this as an Imramma.  When one stands at the edge of the sea where land and waters joins together the  boundaries of two worlds align and one can slip through the mystical doorway that eludes most humans.* Footnote: this was written in Jan' 2017 and is being shared three and a half years later on this space. My Maine connection was fortuitous and triggered the completion and writing of another book - The Quadrant by Kim Ridenour Raikes - that had been 34 years in the making finally found its channel and poured itself out to the world. Maybe I'm not doing that badly, maybe that's the way time moves when the locale is Maine. I'm also pretty sure that the moment I finish it I will find myself physically in Maine - if Maine and I are still around.