beautyinthedarkness

People living their lives

for you on TV

They say they're

better than you

and you agree

He says hold

my calls from

behind those cold

brick walls

Says come here, boy

there ain't nothing

for free

another doctors bill

another lawyer's bill

Another cute cheap thrill

You know you love him

if you put him in your will, but

Who will save your soul

when it comes to the flowers now?

Who will save your soul

after all the lies that you told, boy?

And who will save your soul

if you won't save your own?

We try to hustle them

try to bustle them

try to cuss them

The cops want someone busted down on Orleans Avenue

Another day, another dollar another war, another tower

Went up where

the homeless had their homes

So, we pray

to as many different God's

as there are flowers

But we call religion our friend

We're so worried about

saving our souls

Afraid that God will take His toll

That we forget to begin, but

Who will save your soul

when it comes to the bearers now?

Who will save your soul

after all the lies that you told, boy?

And who will save your soul

if you won't save your own?

Some are walking

some are talking

some are stalking

their kill

You got social security

but that doesn't

pay your bills

There are addictions to feed

and there are mouths to pay

So you bargain with the Devil

say you're okay

for today,

Say that you love them

take their money and run

Say, it's been swell, sweetheart

but it was just...

one of those things

those flings

those strings

you've got to cut

so get out on the streets girls

and bust your butts

And who will save your soul

when it comes to the flowers now?

Who will save your soul

after all the lies that you told, boy?

And who will save your soul

if you won't save your own?

Jewel ~ Pieces of You

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11-FEB-2002 22:16: The Beauty in the Darkness

Gallagher was seated at the table, a textbook splayed open before him when Tess called out from the kitchen, "This soup is nearly ready. Why don't you put that away?" She glanced Gallagher's way but he continued to read, oblivious to the concern on her face. She dished the colorful broth into two bowls and brought them to the table.

"Hey," she said. "You've been at that all day. Put it away. Soup's on."

Gallagher slid a marker in to hold his spot and placed the book upon a nearby stack with a heavy sigh.

"Did you find anything out in those things?" Tess asked.

"A few things," he said as he bent his head forward to spoon some broth into his mouth.

Tess left the table and returned a moment later with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. As she filled the glasses she said, "I want you to do something -- or rather, something more for me, Gallagher."

"Yes?"

"If you figure something out before I do, don't tell me, okay?" She placed a glass of wine before him and took her seat once more. "I have to make my own discoveries. Don't take that away from me. You won't be helping me then. I'm the only one who can save my soul. Just me. You're just here to help me figure out how to do that."

Gallagher nodded. "Okay." He sucked a drop of soup off his bottom lip. "This is good," he said, and he dipped his spoon into the bowl once more. "But," he added, as he help up one finger, "I have some concerns of my own."

"Such as?"

"Madame . . ."

"Tess," she corrected.

"Tess, I still have some misgivings. I know you think I'm the man for this job, but I don't feel confident I'm the man. That's what the books are for." He gestured toward the stack with his chin. "To help me, help you. But there's no guarantee that I can do that. What if I fail?"

"What would failing mean?"

"What if I can't help you Tess? Have you considered that? I don't know what sort of timeline you're on . . ."

"A week or two would be nice," Tess interjected.

Gallagher stopped mid-bite to stare at her with upraised brows. "Ha!"

"I know, I know," Tess grumbled. "It's going to take longer than that, but I want it to take sooner. I do have another life I have to get back to, you know. Besides, now that it's all begun I just want it done. My head feels so heavy now. So full of thoughts. Almost as if I can hardly hold it up. As if it's going to fall right off."

Gallagher sipped thoughtfully at his wine. "You've had the weight of the world on your shoulders, my dear. I'm not surprised that you're feeling weary with it. However, you still didn't answer my question. What if I fail?"

"You can't fail me Gallagher and I don't mean that as a bid of desperation! I mean it as a sign of faith. It's going to happen. I'm going to get better. I know that now. The only bad thing that might happen between here and there is we might get stuck a few times. If we get stuck we'll get some help, okay?

"Do you know where to go for help if you really need it?"

"Yes," Tess said. "I can think of at least three -- no -- four people that could help me if I get stuck. Skadi, for one. I still have Skadi. Did I tell you that?"

Gallagher shook his head, no.

"Yes, Skadi's a friend too, a very good one. She might even be the capital-F kind. I'm lucky that I've been able to keep her. She helped make it real. All those things that happened back there. She was there. She remembers. She said to me once, It's just you, me, and the Devil." Tess shuddered. "She was right."

Gallagher shot her a look of concern as he toyed with the stem of his glass. "Promise me you'll get help if my help isn't enough, Tess."

"I will," she said. "Pinky swear," and she held up one hand to crook her little finger at him. "I wouldn't do that to you, Gallagher. You've been so kind to me already and there's probably a lot more kindness I'm going to wring out of you. How do we know you're going to be okay?"

"I'll be okay," Gallagher said as he stood and removed their bowls from the table.

Tess followed him into the kitchen. "Yes, but what if you're not going to be okay? Will you be able to walk away if you have to?"

"What will happen to you if I walk away?" he asked.

Tess gulped. "I'll go to god."

"I'll be okay," he assured her. "Come on, let's go out to the garden so you can have one of your damnable after-dinner cigarettes."

Tess grinned. "Now you're talking!" She grabbed the wine in one hand, the glasses in the other, and followed Gallagher outdoors. She placed them on the table, settled herself on a seat, lit a smoke, inhaled deeply, and then tilted her head back as she exhaled. "It's always midnight at the Cloud Cuckoo Land Motel," she said thoughtfully. "Look at that sky, Gallagher. Isn't it gorgeous?"

Gallagher lifted his gaze to the stars. "It surely is."

Tess pointed with her finger. "That's my favorite one, right there. Polaris -- the north star."

"That's the one the slaves followed to freedom."

"Exactly, Gallagher. Maybe that's why it calls to me. Maybe that's why it grabs my eyes." She took another drag off her cigarette. "Do you ever wonder what's out there?" she asked. "Other planes? Other existences? Other worlds?

"All the time," he said. "I just haven't gotten any answers yet."

Tess laughed. "I once asked the Universe if there was ever beauty to be found in the darkness."

"Did you get an answer?" Gallagher asked.

"Yes," she said. "I got my answer the day before my mother died. Then, after she did, I read it so many times that I memorized it. I think it was a gift from her. Do you want to hear it?"

Gallagher nodded.

"Someone asked, do you believe in fate? That's what started it. And I said . . ." I do believe (somewhat) in fate, and I do believe in a higher divine power (that some would call God), but I don't believe the two of them got together over cosmic coffee, checked your balance sheet of good against bad, and then scripted one shit storm after another as a form of karmic debt.

In my own life, I've had periods of relative, happy calm followed by shakedowns which utterly challenged my every resource, turned my world upside down, and forced me to re-examine my place in the universe. There is no way to reconcile these events with logic or justice. There is no way to say to yourself, 'Well, this is fair.' It is neither fair nor just. It just is. So you slog it out because there's nothing else to do - the only way out is through. And you allow yourself -- for a moment -- to ponder the nature of falling into weakness, and wonder if there is ever beauty to be found in the darkness.

. . . And the Universe shifts.
The gifts of such times are found when you emerge at last, transformed by the gritty dust of the darkness. You are stronger, more capable, with a greater capacity to feel love, joy, compassion, empathy. Who said it, Mary Chapin Carpenter? "There's more room in a broken heart." It is our vulnerability which lends us our greatest strength.

The human spirit is not a smooth, unbroken landscape. We are all Grand Canyons -- worn smooth by the gentle flow of love and understanding in some places; torn asunder, ravaged, craggy precipices in others. But when the light shines upon us in our totality, then . . .

We are Majestic.

And then we understand.

There is always beauty to be found in the darkness.

"You wrote that?" Gallagher said. "That's very nice."

"Thank you. Those were dark days," she said. "Then the lights went out and they got much darker. It's a good thing my mother gave me that before she left. I leaned on it a lot." She sighed heavily, sipped her wine and retreated into silence.

"Listen," she said suddenly.

Gallagher strained to hear. "It's the wind," he said, "Rushing through the trees."

"Those are no ordinary trees, Gallagher."

"No?"

"Uh-uh," Tess said. "Listen again. Angels. All. That's why I'm safe here."

Gallagher said nothing, just nodded his head. "Have you always written?" he asked.

"No, not really," she replied. "I wrote a bit before my father died, and then not for a long time after. Then I met my AC and he and I both liked to write so I got back into it. But after the war, after I lost Limh, I couldn't write at all anymore. That's why I couldn't do my schoolwork. I would sit down and nothing would come out. I was frozen, as if I was empty inside. If I tried really hard, I could write a bit, but it didn't flow. It was exhausting. And that's pretty much the way it stayed until you came along and I found out I could talk to you."

Gallagher leaned his back up against the railing and crossed one leg in front of the other. "That poem you wrote, the one about the turquoise crone, do you have any others like that? Anything else from back there that might shed some light on what's happening now?"

Tess adopted a pensive expression. "I don't know. Maybe. There might be one. It was my first story -- one of those ones that fell into my head, and it's not very good. It's been on my mind though so maybe it's important."

"Why don't you find that one," Gallagher said. "And we'll take a look at it. In fact, why don't you go do that while I do the dishes."

"Gee, Gallagher," Tess teased, "Keep on doing my dishes and I might have to start thinking you're a god instead of just another angel. But okay, you wash and I'll . . . go look for that story."

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