All Saints

 November 1, 2020

All Saints.

Morning dream: I’m exploring an ancient Italian city. I get too close to a wall, which crumbles, and I fall into an electric aqua river. The river is barely chest level, and warm, and beautiful, and I know it flows past my digs, so I decide to walk in the river till I get home. I worry about my leather jacket, but even in the dream I figure that, it being a dream, all will be well. Everyone is there to congratulate me when I climb out of the river. 

Sang my first virtual service this morning. My fear that I was oversinging was not borne out by the videotape. Neither was my fear that I’d be caught digging at and readjusting my mask all the time. We men of the choir actually sounded pretty good. John’s sermon suggesting that the “blessed are”’s in the Beatitudes indicates “you are the apple of God’s eye because of this” was helpful. Cold, brilliant day. The anxiety in the pit of my stomach is, now that I plumb it, probably the election, not only the most consequential of my lifetime, but consequential in ways never before imagined. I’d always considered the contest between parties as a slight–sometimes less slight– disagreement about proper application of generally agreed-upon principles. Not this time. Democracy itself hangs in the balance, the rule of law, the simple survival of civility. Except for the mitigating truth that the bigger the gun the bigger the coward, there’s a real chance of armed insurrection. The Great Rat has allowed all the little rats to snivel out of the woodwork, where they had been held in check by real men. I know which side I’m on, but I’m not clear precisely how to make a difference at the vital moment. I suppose I could stand in the street and chant Morley or the Russian liturgy. Who knows what will avail in the end?