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Revelations
Mar. 24th, 2009 08:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alt_bellatrixI can think of no better way to celebrate the spring equinox than with a unicorn hunt. The show of faith between the creature and the young maiden is a symbol of the people's pure and enduring faith in our Lord and Protector. The brightness of the creature's coat turns the snows grey by comparison, and its auspicious appearance ushers in the season of warmth and bounty.
I know that, for some, the season of warmth and bounty may seem a bit far off. Make no mistake: it takes time to construct a paradise out of ashes, but with patience and hard work from all, all will be rewarded. Our Lord is nothing less than the Saviour of our world, the Creator of this paradise, and yet there remain those poor, misguided souls who would thwart His efforts and have us return to the darkness.
For those who have doubted their own reward, or who have had their faith tested, consider the wondrous gift of a life not lived in darkness. Take time to remember what it was like to live in the darkness, and if you are so young as to have never lived there, I will gladly inform you of the miseries you have been spared.
When I speak of darkness I speak only partially in metaphor. I grew up in the country, where most wizarding folk chose to live, keeping themselves hidden by a disguise of rubble. My Aunt and Uncle had the city house in Old London, which was unplottable yet sandwiched between muggle dwellings; no doubt it was built by some defiant ancestor who refused to lay low in the country. For all the heavy magic that was built into that house, the nearness of the muggles was always a concern. Auntie Walburga cautioned my sisters and I to never go out the front door - her sister had done that, once, and had been struck and killed by an auto. So even though Kings Cross was in walking distance, we always went there by floo, using a fireplace in an old hotel behind the station, and dressing ourselves so that we wouldn't be noticed.
Yes, back in those days it was rare to go to London and see the out of doors. Not that you would have liked to have seen what was out there. The noise and the clamour was enough to shake even the steadiest nerves, and there were smells so foul that I can scarcely describe them, most coming from rubbish that had been tossed on the pavement, with no regard for beauty or hygiene.
But what I describe isn't misery - not yet. It is merely inconvenience. It did not bother me muchly then, for I knew I would soon be at Hogwarts with my own kind, in my own world.
Yet it was at Hogwarts, of course, that I learned that my world, our world, did not exist in its own right, and that it was being corrupted from within, like a pristine apple, going brown beneath the rosy surface.
But that's another story for another day. Food for thought, I find, is best when served by the fork-full.
I know that, for some, the season of warmth and bounty may seem a bit far off. Make no mistake: it takes time to construct a paradise out of ashes, but with patience and hard work from all, all will be rewarded. Our Lord is nothing less than the Saviour of our world, the Creator of this paradise, and yet there remain those poor, misguided souls who would thwart His efforts and have us return to the darkness.
For those who have doubted their own reward, or who have had their faith tested, consider the wondrous gift of a life not lived in darkness. Take time to remember what it was like to live in the darkness, and if you are so young as to have never lived there, I will gladly inform you of the miseries you have been spared.
When I speak of darkness I speak only partially in metaphor. I grew up in the country, where most wizarding folk chose to live, keeping themselves hidden by a disguise of rubble. My Aunt and Uncle had the city house in Old London, which was unplottable yet sandwiched between muggle dwellings; no doubt it was built by some defiant ancestor who refused to lay low in the country. For all the heavy magic that was built into that house, the nearness of the muggles was always a concern. Auntie Walburga cautioned my sisters and I to never go out the front door - her sister had done that, once, and had been struck and killed by an auto. So even though Kings Cross was in walking distance, we always went there by floo, using a fireplace in an old hotel behind the station, and dressing ourselves so that we wouldn't be noticed.
Yes, back in those days it was rare to go to London and see the out of doors. Not that you would have liked to have seen what was out there. The noise and the clamour was enough to shake even the steadiest nerves, and there were smells so foul that I can scarcely describe them, most coming from rubbish that had been tossed on the pavement, with no regard for beauty or hygiene.
But what I describe isn't misery - not yet. It is merely inconvenience. It did not bother me muchly then, for I knew I would soon be at Hogwarts with my own kind, in my own world.
Yet it was at Hogwarts, of course, that I learned that my world, our world, did not exist in its own right, and that it was being corrupted from within, like a pristine apple, going brown beneath the rosy surface.
But that's another story for another day. Food for thought, I find, is best when served by the fork-full.
