The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 5

Don't you love fairy tales?

There's something about opening a book that's filled with mystery, and trials, and the promise of a happy ending that invigorates me. I've slowly amassed a collection of favorite books - illustrated by Gennady Spirin or K. Y. Craft or the inimitable Trina Schart Hyman. These tales radiate with lovely characters and lovely storylines and leave daydreams in your heart.

Like the story of Cupid and Psyche, particularly applicable on a weekend like this.

It's all about how love changes us, and our love changes others, but also about how love conquers all.

If you want the poetic version, go grab Charlotte Craft's rendition (as illustrated by KY Craft). But here's a synopsis of the love of Love:

There once was a king with three beautiful daughters, but the youngest was the fairest, (as is to be expected in stories like these). This youngest and fairest was named Psyche, and she was so lovely that the people of the kingdom began to neglect their worship of Aphrodite.

Now everyone knows that Aphrodite, for all her beauty, is a jealous goddess. And so she sends her mischievous son, Cupid, to prick the delicate princess with his wicked little arrow, and make her fall in love with a hideous monster. But when Cupid arrives to complete his task, he is surprised by the beauty of the maid, and in his surprise, he pricks himself with his own arrow and falls in love.

At the behest of the oracles, Psyche is left on a mountaintop, from whence she is spirited away to a magnificent palace in the skies. There, her every need is met, her every wish granted, except that she is forbidden to see the man who comes to her every night (for he is no mere man, he is a god, and the god of Love, at that). And though she thinks she loves this man, her heart grows troubled. Now, when she pleads to have her sisters come visit, she gets just what she asked for. But upon discovering the lavish life of Psyche, these sisters (as sisters are apt to do in stories like these) are consumed by, well, cupidity. They incite concern in Psyche's mind. They tell her that her lover is no doubt a monster, which is why he hides his face.

That evening, the foolish girl takes a candle to bed and lights it to see the face of her benevolent captor. And he is beautiful. And she loves him.

But the wax falls from the candle and burns his skin. The god awakes, and vanishes into the air.

Distraught, Psyche seeks out Aphrodite, goddess of Love, mother of her lover, and asks her for her help in regaining Cupid's love. Aphrodite, never one to pity, sets forth impossible tasks for Psyche to complete, which she manages, because the very forces of nature, the ants, the river, the winds, decide to help her (as often happens in stories like these.)

Psyche's final task is to venture to the underworld and bring back a coffer of Beauty from Persephone. (Obviously, it's wintertime). After helpful advice on the safest way to cross Styx without dying, Psyche obtains the coffer.

And here is where she shows weakness. Whether it be greed, or doubt, or discontent, she decides to take just a little bit of Beauty for herself, that she may please her lover. But when she opens the coffer, she's overcome with an unwakeable Sleep (as sometimes heightens the suspense in stories like these.)

Serendipitously, Cupid comes upon the sleeping Psyche, and his tears prove to his mother that he loves her.

Psyche is saved, and in her union with Cupid, is granted demi-god status, that they may, indeed, live happily ever after (as always happens in stories like these.)

So, you see, we must not question love. And when we do, we must work to regain it. And when all hope is lost, love will come through. And it will change us, if only so that it will never leave us.

Photos: untitled by Lauren Withrow from flicker, AmorVincitOmnia illuminated, witch from Snow White by Trina Schart Hyman, Cupid from Cupid and Psyche by KY Craft, East of the Sun West of the Moon illustration by PJ Lynch, KY Craft image from Cupid and Psyche, girl running from weheartit.com, Psyche returns from the Underworld, Psyche Revived by Love's Kiss photographed by Siggito 2005, Cupid and Psyche by Francois Pascal Simon Gerard

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 4

The world's poetic hearts are bracing to quote Shakespeare.

And my heart resounds with the same bard, but with a different angle altogether.

From the angle of the witty woman, the one who disdains the man who cannot outwit her, and the man who can. The one who leaves Aphrodite well enough alone, and has made her peace with Cupid and his pesky arrows. She subscribes to the creed of, "know thyself," as best she can, and "love thyself," with great fervor. And until and unless she finds a man with as much wit as wisdom, she finds great joy in the love of others, and in the sanctity of her own ideals. Be it God's will, she'll die single and happy, and the devil will shun her for her purity, and St. Peter will recognize her joy in banter, and her eternity will be just as happy and clever as her earthly life. For she sees herself as man's equal, and will not compromise.

This is the same Beatrice who's duel of wit and words with Benedick comes to a brilliant climax, for she would be happy with no mean boy, nor any illustrious man, but seeks a balance of both. And it all ends with a Hey Nonny Nonny.

excerpt from Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 1:

BEATRICE: He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man; and he that is more than a youth is not for me, and he that is less than a man, I am not for him. Therefore, I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-herd and lead his apes into hell.

LEONATO: Well then, go you into hell?

BEATRICE: No, but to the gate, and there will the devil make me and like an old cuckold with horns on his head, and say, "Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven. Here's no place for you maids." So deliver I up my apes, and away to Saint Peter. For the heavens, he shows me where the bachelors sit, and there live we as merry as the day is long.

ANTONIO [to Hero] Well, niece, I trust you will be ruled by your father.

BEATRICE: Yes, faith. It is my cousin's duty to make curtsy and say, "Father, as it pleases you." But yet for all that, cousin, let him be a handsome fellow, or else make another curtsy, and say, "Father, as it please me."

LEONATO: Well, niece, I hope to see you one day fitted with a husband.

BEATRICE: Not till God make men of some other metal than earth. Would it not grieve a woman to be over-mastered with a piece of valiant dust? To make an account of her life to a clod of wayward marl? No, uncle, I'll none. Adam's sons are my brethren, and truly I hold it a sin to match in my kindred.

photos: www.stumbleupon.com, girl from weheartit.com, Much Ado About Nothing still

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 3

So. Acknowledging that Valentinian festivities are an ever-evolving amalgam of tradition and objective, here's my thought:

Let's use the day to celebrate the things we love.

Like Secret Gardens on Sunny Days,

And the sound of poliphony bouncing off the marble and wood of a church.

Like philosophy, and wit.

Like songs that make you hear stars and look to the heavens.

Like well-timed solitude,

and 99 red balloons (preferably sung, loud, with many friends).

Like things of beauty; joys forever,

and tulle, in any way, shape, or form.

Like frolicking in green fields,

or lounging in green glory.

Like MUSIC,

and carnival tricks.

Like happy accidents,

and letting your hair down.

What do you love?

Tami by LillyLouse.com, St. Thomas of Villanova Chapel, quote image from Danilo Corci, musical staff stars from tumblr, miss you ps from vi.sualize.us, red balloons from MadCap1, happy, happy! by Traci French, tulle/tree from (floatingintheblue), DSC_0136 Nick Bartoletti, Green Room from Vogue photo shoot by Corine Day at CorrineDay.co.uk, On the Radio by ~irr at flickr, Annie Leibovitz photo, 500px by Evelinnn, 3 years by ~D4D1 on deviantART

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 2

Consider the Source.

Saint Valentine's Day. That's right, the day for lovin' your honey takes it's name from a Christian martyr (actually, several of them).

And just like other internationally celebrated over-commercialized holidays (see Halloween, Christmas), it represents a strange cross-cultivation of Catholic beliefs with indigenous (read: pagan, often Roman) celebration.

Here's a synopsis.

The Catholic church loves its martyrs. And why wouldn't they? They represent a level of faith, belief, determination, and courage that is enviable in today's fickle world. They also have cool names (Valentine. Felicity. Perpetua. Sebastian. I mean, really. With names like these, they were destined to do something that landed them in the history books.)

There were several St. Valentines, most of them martyrs. But for the sake of brevity, I'll just recount some major events in a Valentinian life (according to the ancient church tradition of the Saints, which, major points notwithstanding, is sometimes a tiny bit fabricated...but makes for awesome morals). So here we have Valentine, a Catholic priest during the reign of Emperor Claudius (about the time Catholics and criminals ended up as lion-bait in the bowels of the Colosseum).

Despite the edict against practicing, St. Valentine continued to preside at marriage ceremonies for young lovers.

And was imprisoned for his crimes.

While in the clink, however, he healed the jailer's child of blindness, and, legend has it, continued to preach the Christian Gospel by way of tiny letters sent out the window of his cell via the birds that perched there.

And thus began the correlation between Valentine, lovers, and tiny little notes of love... though St. Valentine's notes would have been concerned with a more divine Love....

Meanwhile, the Romans were celebrating Lupercalia, an Ides of February celebration that incorporated the Romulus and Remus mythology (La Cita Eterna's founders, suckled by a mother wolf in infancy),

and some good old-fashioned "let's run through the streets wearing nothing but a wolf hide and carrying thongs of animal skin." The women of Rome would line the streets with hands outstretched, hoping to have their palms whipped by the thongs of the Lupercalians; it meant a healthy birth if you were pregnant, or fertility if you weren't.

Hundreds of years later, along about 1380, Geoffrey Chaucer wrote The Parliament of Fowles, which included a rhyme from which sprang a tradition:

For this was on Seynt Valentynes day,

When every foul cometh theere to chese his make [mate]...".

It wasn't a long stretch to move from each bird finding its mate in the ruddy rush of pending springtime to, well, this:

which, quite frankly, makes me want to find a white toga and a woodland swing and someone to frolic with during the rites of Spring.

Yet I'd be just as happy with this:

which I'll explain later....

photos: St. Valentine Baptizing St. Lucilla by Jacopo Bassano circa 1575, Detail of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema's Spring, Illuminated Manuscript of the death of St. Sebastian, The Christian Martyrs Last Prayer by Leon Gerome, Stained-glass window of St. Valentine presiding over the marriage of two lovers, Love Jail by Don Moyer, Bound To You in Vintage Colors by Jessica Rose from flickr, Beccafumi Lupercalia, Fragment Romulus et Remus, The Women of Amphissus by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Angel of the Birds... by Tonya Van Gieson, Spring by Pierre Auguste Cot 1873, Emma Thompson as Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing.

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 1

It is February 8, 2010.

We're a week away from Valentine's Day (and incidentally, also my birthday).

And so I am dedicating this week to an important initiative:

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day.

Because, oh Hallmarkian Commercialism, you have compromised my day for too long. You have convoluted its meaning and you have monopolized its celebration, reserving it as a day for candlelight lovers and Godiva romances,

belittling the fervency of those of us who Love Life.

But no longer.

Since I reside, emotionally, somewhere in between the right-wing dozen-roses-and-box-of-chocolates-and-lose-all-points-for-originality traditionalism, and the left-wing this-holiday-is-ridiculous cynicism, I'm going to preach a little about Valentine's Day.

And I can. Because it's my birthday.

And I've watched this day be compromised for way too long. I'm liberating the day from the chains of exclusivity. Because everyone deserves to celebrate, and be celebrated, on a day reserved for Love.

photos: birdcage girl - Nature by Holunder at deviantart.com, heart glitter - randompictures from community.livejournal, hands and hearts - Nita McGraw from flickr, bike and baloons -Olivia Bolles, clothespin heart -Matters of the Heart from Papernstitch, dancing love -imgfave.com Melissa, cake - RoyalMilkTea, carnival couple- Thayer Photo, reblogged from absolutelybeautifulthings.blogspot.com (my fave!!)

Snow and Sunlight.

Honestly. Despite craving a mad, torrential downpour of epic spring-thunderstorm proportions, I cannot deny the loveliness that's lurking in the Rockies. After all those years living in Philly, this sunshine is simply...well...glorious.

And so is the Night.

Night

Stars over snow,

And in the west a planet

Swinging below a star---

Look for a lovely thing and you will find it,

It is not far---

It never will be far.

--Sara Teasdale

Dream a Little Dream

Good Lord. I've been remiss about my updates, haven't I? I'm sorry, I've been busier than a bee in springtime and have so much to record. But right now, I really must go eat something. Then I'll try to dream up some Gloriosities.

And while I'll be dreaming in my own little corner in my own little room, I will be wishing I was dreaming in an Anthropologie bedroom...

or maybe not a bedroom at all...