I also have to work on a revision of a Christmas essay this weekend. An editor has asked for a few revisions, and, when I get those revisions done, he'll publish it. So, while I'm at my daughter's dance classes tomorrow and Sunday, I'll be rewriting like crazy.
Tomorrow, I will be spending most of the day in dance classes with my daughter. We're at the Wisconsin Dells for a dance convention. Hundreds of teenage girls and boys taking classes in ballet, tap, modern, jazz, and hip hop. It's one of my favorite weekends of the year. I love watching my daughter dance, even if she gets a little cranky after eight hours.
Tonight, I have a Christmas poem from Madeleine L'Engle for you guys.
Just put a little Bing Crosby on your iPod, and hum along with Saint Marty.
Bearer of Love
by: Madeleine L'Engle
The great swan's wings were wild as he flew down;
Leda was almost smothered in his embrace.
His crimson beak slashed fiercely at her gown--
lust deepened by the terror on her face.
Semele saw her lover as a god.
Her rash desire was blatant, undenied.
He showed himself, thunder and lightning shod.
Her human eyes were blasted and she died.
And Mary sat, unknowing, unaware.
The angel's wings were wilder than the swan
as God broke through the shining, waiting air,
gave her the lily's sword thrust and was gone.
The swans, the old gods fall in consternation
at the fierce coming of the wild wind's thrust
entering Mary in pure penetration.
The old gods die now, crumbled stone and rust.
Young Mary, moved by Gabriel, acquiesced,
asked nothing for herself in lowliness,
accepted, too, the pain, and then, most blest,
became the bearer of all holiness.
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| Fa la la la la, la la la la |
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