Friday, December 02, 2011

Who says miracles are big and meaningful?

A few winters ago, the power - ability - whatever you care to name it - to turn off street lamps as I passed them came upon me.

No, please, I am serious. A particular street lamp in particular, as will become obvious to you, my esteemed Reader, if you bear with me awhile.

I wanted to and even tried to write about it at the time, but just couldn't find the words to describe it. It started quite innocently, but simultaneously, it felt at once poignant yet for-real spooky. I had noted that a street lamp along a footpath very close to my home was leaning to one side, just slightly, and once, while walking with my dog at night, that it had gone out. Whilst I remained aware of the fact that this surely – if one keeps hold of the scientific world-view one really ought to keep hold of, should one wish to ward off the nice men in white coats only too happy to bring you a nice coat of your very own: the one with the funny sleeves – yes, surely, must be a figment of my own imagination, a fragment of my own dalliance with the possibility of a benign lunacy of a personal kind, yes, well, against the background of all this: to be brief, it developed into something both innocent and spooky, poignant and personally meaningful. And totally removed from all sense and scientific world-view.

Please note, though, that although I say, "while walking with my dog at night", it could have, of course, been most any time of the day, really, given that there is very little daylight to be had in these latitudes at this time of the year. There was, however, snow on the ground, that I remember.

So we walked past the dark street lamp and I noted it had gone dark, and something made me turn back to look at it having walked some twenty metres further. Under my gaze, it flickered bluely, buzzed visibly and lo, switched itself on again.

Ha, I thought to myself, clever little lamp, you waited for me to look at you, didn't you.

Now that's one thing, a lamp - quite clearly one sort of slightly out of order, and, as I said, visibly leaning to one side so it must have had a bad connection - flickering and lighting up again. But that was by no means the end of it, no.

It began as a sort of a game. I would walk past the lamp, and depending on whether it was lit or dark, I would stare at it – playing with the impossibility of ha-ha, let's see if I can make it do it again.

Trouble was, I could. Every time. Without failure. Sometimes it would tease me - it wouldn't light, it wouldn't go out, no matter how I stared. See, I said to myself, told you it is impossible. I would give up and walk on – and it would flicker and light up again. Or go dark. Sometimes it would light up at the mere sight of me, before I had a chance of walking all the way to it and subjecting it to my penetrating stare. And with time, it started to wait until I had stared at it as part of the game, thought of giving up but continued to stare, until my stare would stop being a game and I actually, for real, without any scientific-world-view thought process, just willed it to light again, with the power in these eyes.

That's when I started to find it really weird. Poignant. I told one person. I said, I think that lamp is Jesus, and I think we're having a sort of a love affair.

Thing was, the person I told was Jesus, and we were having a sort of a love affair. They listened to my tale and agreed with me: the lamp was Jesus, in one of his unusual incarnations.

Troublingly, the power - ability - call it what you will - seemed to follow me now. Other lamps along other footpaths started to flicker and switch off, flirting with me, trying to lead me astray. There was one in particular, a tall one, with the orangey glare I dislike, at a crossroads in the nearby woods. Watch it, you, I replied to it sternly more than once. I am not anybody's, just because I can do it. You are not Jesus, I can just tell.

Spring and summer and natural light for most of any given twenty-four hour period of any given day put things on hold between me and Jesus-in-the-lamp. Also I was mostly away for the summer. When the dark times came again, this strange affair had moved into the past, somehow. I still look at the lamp sometimes and wonder whether it could all be rekindled.

Funniest thing is I can't remember how many years ago this was exactly…


Reading the Signs said...

I am going to suggest something that surely must have crossed your mind before now: what if it isn't the lamp that is Jesus, but you? It all fits, if you ask me. You haven't asked me but I say it anyway. I mean, it was you who healed the lamp, not the other way round. Now look, don't do anything silly like running out into the street telling everyone. They might mistake you for a loony rather than the real thing and bring the men in white coats. We can keep this between us - for now.

The other thing worth considering (have you watched Misfits - do they show that in Igloo-land?) is that you might have a Superpower. Think about it, Schwes. The power to ignite ailing street lamps is something.

Oh, and - I totally believe you. Things like this (but not in a Jesusly way) have happened to me too.

Anna MR said...

Oh. My. God.

No, that possibility has never struck me. Now that you've said it - oh no no no, it is quite laughable, it just cannot be. But - congratulations - thou hast sown the seed of yet another potential personal lunacy.

I mean, you know? Would he know if he were the second coming, like? I mean I am female (last time I looked) and waaaaaaaay older than the last one was at point of death, but you know.

No no no no no. No. Don't worry, this is loony enough for me not to go and tell anyone. I can feel on my cheek the consoling breath of the nice-man-in-white-coat.

We shall say no more about it. But Misfits? No, my igloo has not received that. But a Superpower - I could maybe handle that. Just. And, you know. Fact is I did have one, for a while. The one here described.

I've been out drinking red wine all day, Schwesterlein. This means, of course, that the night shalt be busily spent catching up with lost time, writing That Bloody Thing - although it would have been anyway, as night time is the right time for Scientifically Creative Things to emerge from the (very murky) depths of my brain. And as the sad fact is I have not a drop of red wine in the house, being out all day at my favourite uncle's, drinking his sizable cellar dry, only means I have truly oiled my synapses (if that's what they're called - and they are now) so as I can start working as the darkness deepens and deepens…having stopped working at 3AM this morning and found sleep at 6AM, I am becoming quite a dab-hand at this vampirical science-stuff.


Lovely to see you at all these locations, my dear. I shall resurface to reply to you in all of them - in a bit, k?

Mwah mwah mwah und mwah


(No wait - things like these, but not in a Jesusly way? Clearly, we need details. All the details. Here is as good a place as any…)

trousers said...

Hei, Ms MR, and many thanks for dropping by the other week - I'm replying later than intended, but things are constantly later than I intended in terms of blogging these days. All the more welcome to hear from you, then.

Yes I'm ok, thanks - have had some respite from the many dramas and concerns that seemed to be a constant feature of life over the last couple of years. There's always a slight taste there, in one way or another: hints and possibilities of what might come to pass sooner or later... but really I've had a welcome break from it all. The ups and downs are much more everyday, and therefore less of a problem. All this despite the current crazy situation that our continent seems to be wallowing in.

I was pleased that you like those pictures - really - not that it would have been easy to take a bad picture under such conditions. As I may have mentioned, this was up in Edale in the Peak District (High Peak? I may have that wrong), North Derbyshire, on an extended walk in the vicinity of Mam Tor.

So, I hope things are well with you? May I apologise for not visiting and reading despite noticing that you have indeed been producing writings from time to time on this here blog of yours. I did take your sage advice, I must say, and decided not to close my own blog down when I was wondering about doing so, but like you I post as and when I feel like it - no more, no less.

Sending all manner of good friendshippy stuff your way in turn.


Anna MR said...

Hei young housut. I'm replying later than intended, too, but you see, that's only to make you feel less bad and awkward about the lateness of your reply, right? Because that's the sort of thoughtful bloggista I am. Verily.

Right. Hei. Very glad to see you and hear you and to hear that things have been less violently dramatic lately. It is a strange thing, life tends to pile everything up to happen all at once, doesn't it? When one starts to get it on the nose then it all has to happen, all the trouble and strife awaken and prick up their wee trouble-ears and seem to say "oh-oh, shit seems to be hitting the fan over there at housut house/the house of future and past/wherever, better get a move on and shuffle woefully over there double quick". Never one thing at a time. Trouble gets lonely easily, perhaps? (Okay, now I don't know what the devil I'm going on about anymore.) It's a good thing that you're getting a well-deserved respite from it all.

Blogging's a funny old thing, no? There were times when it was daily, almost continuous, for me - and then something happens, or some things happen, or whatever, and it starts to feel less like home than it used to. But, given time, it may feel pretty good again and I hope this is the case for you - because even if our contact is infrequent, I've always enjoyed your writing, my dear legweary friend, and I know I'm not the only one. And perhaps these blog places do have a place in our lives, even if it is an irregular place.

We have snow on the ground and snow in the air, too, although the sun is shining, and this makes the air kind of glisten and dance, like specks of dust only bigger and sparklier. Nice. Cold, mind, but nice.

Very, very many good happy things of truth and eudaimonic wellbeing (my latest interest, right - eudamonia). Be seeing you, young housut, be seeing you.