Hey! So…it’s been a moment since I published anything at all, and as such, I wanted to check in, to let you know where I am at, what to expect for the next few weeks, and what it all means, if anything. Usually, the first half of the year is quieter for the blog anyway, but by May/June, I’ve often started warming up in earnest, as it were. And, quite frankly, that’s unlikely to be the case this year. I’m anticipating that this will be my quietest year in a while — at least, for a couple more months. But…
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I shouldn’t really be writing about this, of course, much less sharing it. But I’m at such a loss as to understanding this particular case, I feel I have no choice but to make my problem – and, I suppose, the problem of my patient – known to at least one confidante, and my trust in your discretion is exceedingly high. However, in the interest of professional integrity, I must assure you that at least the name of my client has been altered, as have some minor details, and with any luck, his identity will thus remain anonymous. My client! …
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I’ve always loved the drama of Holy Week. The hollow triumph and fleeting glory of Palm Sunday, that passes from earthly and impermanent celebration into passion and betrayal and loss. The uncomfortable weight and rising tension that builds through Monday to Wednesday. The almost painful intimacy of Maundy Thursday, as the New Covenant supersedes the Old and the great sacrifice commences. The dreadful grief and highest sorrow of Good Friday. And then, of course, the stillness and deathly rest of Holy Saturday, that in turn (as the sun sets and the world is cast anew into shadow) sees light burn…
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But the “consolation” of fairy-tales has another aspect than the imaginative satisfaction of ancient desires. Far more important is the Consolation of the Happy Ending. Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have it. At least I would say that Tragedy is the true form of Drama, its highest function; but the opposite is true of Fairy-story. Since we do not appear to possess a word that expresses this opposite—I will call it Eucatastrophe. The eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function. The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy…
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Crisp and clean flecked the fresh-falling flakes in the pale wavering light of the feeble rising sun, its own mist-hazed rays rendered vain by the cold and bright-gleaming snow that heaped all about. The whiteclad streets were quiet, as if they too slumbered in content reverence following the now-passed feastday, and they were untroubled by the presence of man or woman at this early hour. Nay. Not wholly untroubled, perhaps. For, passing swift over the fresh-fallen snow that lay undisturbed by her light tread was a simply clad woman, walking silent and unobserved down the quiet street. Her name was…
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