Let's go back in time....

three hundred eighty seven years back....what was happening in this area on this day? The Baron de Montlaur was being held for ransom along with a number of his family and retainers in the fortress in Sommieres, a protestant stronghold. Suffice it to say they did not have access to wine, let alone good stuff... let's take a peak...

June 19, 1622

Something scuttled away in the darkness. It was enough though to rouse the Baron. Sleeping on stone floors for the past two months had not quite matched the comfort he had become accustomed to. The slightest noise would wrench him back to the reality he now shared with twenty-two of his loyal retainers. Another fourteen, the Baroness, her attendants and assorted wives, daughters, sisters and children were ensconced somewhere else in the complex, most probably in Sommieres. He had not seen them since the day after the Chateau had fallen.

“Chateau” was a kind word for it, he thought. It was a fortress really, had been for more than half a millennia, first against the incessant incursions of the Moors and then, as a stronghold to exact the tribute that kept his domain running. And that required a lot of tribute. And lately, beset at every turn by these upstart Protestants, it had become harder than ever to administer the will of the king.

He rolled over to try to find some comfort in a different curve of stone. His chains jangled softly in the darkness eliciting a groan from another quarter of the dungeon, and a few muffled coughs. Surely the King was negotiating for their release even as they lay tormented in this foul dungeon. He was now fully awake and considered again their plight, for what seemed like the millionth time.

He remembered vividly the attack on the Chateau. How could he forget the masses of the Protestant Army stretched across the plain in their thousands. He could see the Duke de Rohan, on his charger, ordering the placement of cannon and the various sappers who would form the initial assault on the Chateau, trying to undermine the defenses. Once the battle was joined he could feel the rumble of the cannon as they belched their black smoke and hurled death across a mile of divide. The smell had drifted on the breeze across the ramparts, acrid and burning in the nostrils, and every volley ripped away what had taken centuries to put in place. And yet they had stood resolute. A conviction, once accepted, is more enduring even than stone.

They were eighty-five. Eighty-five against thousands but God was surely on their side. And they had stood bravely for three days. Three days of relentless pounding. Three days of vigilance and sallying to the point of attack. Three days of little sleep and little appetite. Sheltering not only his family but a dozen of God’s servants, priests who had been caught out on the road and who had sought shelter as the Protestant army had borne down on them. He’d rather a handful of the King’s swordsmen than the sycophantic men of religion that had crowded through the gates just before they were closed, but fate was a tough master.

Still it had been his duty to see to their safety. He had not even thought twice about it. It was not his way to ponder the perplexities of life. He was a soldier, a noble and his duty was clear. Honour the King and the Lord his God as proclaimed by the Catholic Church. No further discussion was necessary. He had done what he could, none other could ask him for more. A fitful sleep reclaimed him.

(Fast forward to the present)

June 19, 2009

Travel…getting ready….stress….it seems that I am perpetually getting ready to do the next thing. Whatever that is! When I got home in April it seemed that June 19th was so far away, that so much could be accomplished in that gaping void of time between now and then. And yet here I am! Frantically packing at the last minute, cutting the grass (because I swore that I would even though its raining), giving last minute directions to the friends that I know will take care of things when I am gone (thanks Big Rich and Glenn).

Strangely though, it is the very practice of travel that opens up new voids of time. Oh you can certainly fill the spaces with newspapers, the latest new paperback by your favourite author, or whatever movie the airline sees fit to play during your passing. But regardless of that there always seems to be some time were the mind is left to ponder the inanities of life. Perhaps it is the nature of this type of time that it asks more of us than we’re used to giving. It asks that we think, that we ponder the why’s and wherefore’s of what we’re doing. A mind left to its own devices is a scary thing.

I can attest to this by the fact that I pondered, not without some sense of joy, the many ways in which that mother could quiet her screaming (and I mean top of the lungs) infant. And I admit to indulging myself in more than several minutes of fantasy about what the gentleman next to me could do with his selfish elbows….am I wrong here in believing that we’re each entitled to half of the armrest?

But of course there were moments of reverie. I am, after all, on my way to the south of France. The beautiful south of France, vineyards stretching as far as the eye can see, quaint villages having festivals in honour of some dead saint or pagan rite of passage, wine flowing in rivers, bread, cheese…all the things that matter a whit in life. And of course my favourite thing, I get to build some more…spin out of nothing, something beautiful, something profound.

Creation…it is not a mystery why we have creation myths. We are projecting. To shape something with your own hands…even for a moment, the blink of an eye, there it is. I did that. No matter that that wind will erase it, or the sun will beat it unmercifully into dust. Rain will wash over it for a thousand years but it will always be mine. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only change its form. This is what we are, agents of change, in a universe of energy. How do you want to make your change? I will make mine here.