| All original songs, writing and real-time performances BY ANGELO M. BRUSCAS III Copyright 2009, Real News Network and AMBIII Publishing ADRIFT ON THE WIND She spread her wings over the valley of souls Raven hair, talons glittered with gold She spread her wings to fly into the unknown The night she came with two hearts dying The day she left without even crying The pain she felt with no fear of flying Adrift on the wind, Adrift on the wind She shed her skin in the mirror of life, Fourteen years as the reflective wife She shed her soul for whoever paid the price The night she came with two men flying The day she awoke without even trying The times she could never stop riding Adrift on the wind, Adrift on the wind She cast her soul into the raging fire Spread too thin in the heat of desire She cast her love on the sacrificial spire The moment she came simply by kissing The way she never put up any resistance The time she vanished with one man missing Adrift on the wind, Adrift on the wind. HONOR Yes, your honor, I swear to tell the whole truth, Nothing but the truth, so help me God. Yes, your honor, I plead guilty, Sometimes love is a crime. I was speeding, I cut through the freeway Like the laws didn’t apply. I shot the straightaway I screamed those long curves I bought the ticket to Hell. No, your honor, I didn’t see him coming. He just appeared in my path. I didn’t slow down I didn’t know how. I never saw the signals change, Never knew we were set to collide. Bright lights, white heat I was going a blue streak. Yes your honor, love is a crime. And isn't it fine? -- By Cecilia Angelique in a poem given to Mario, 1988 |
| Song of Cecilia is a literary journey of love and a lyrical joyride into the triumphs and depths of marriage and divorce through these ever-shifting sands of economic, moral and social turmoil – a novel about the mythic and mystical music two lovers create when they begin to believe and then shatter the myths they adopt for their lives. The contemporary mystery-romance storyline of 112,000 words unwinds as a modern twist on “The Divine Comedy” with obvious similarities to “The Great Gatsby” -- told through the eyes of a writer in the maze of a major life transformation; the spiraling economy has put an end to his newspaper, sparking a renewed search for personal redemption and reconnection with the lost love and the lost music of his life. His lost love has taken on the myth of St. Cecilia, martyred for the love of God, sacrificed for the music of angels. The central theme is the universality of love, the endurance of the love of friends and family, even the love of God, through the love of writing or rediscovering the love songs within us all: That joyful noise of life. The story is highlighted by the “language of love” crafted by the central characters, Mario and Cecilia, in letters, songs, poetry, factual experience and fictional expression, assuming and then consuming their namesakes in the myth of an angel and the myth of the patron saint of music . |
Song of Cecilia
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
| The cork is popped on the bottle of wine. I have a light, dry high, just like the wine. And then I read your letters again. They gave me rushes of pleasure and I vow to store up all my sexual energy, desire and intensity until the time I see you next. It excites me to know what you think about and how you are aroused by the passions of love. -- Cecilia in a 1992 letter to Mario SONG OF CECILIA: The Eleventh Commandment Dear Cecilia, July 3, 2009 It is late on what used to be our anniversary and I have the book complete to the point I am letting Paul and Dennis, two friends visiting from Seattle this weekend, read what already has been written. You know Paul, and Dennis is equally erudite, both with ample experiences of their own with women, marriages and divorces, heartbreak and triumph, sensuality and sensibility, each literary and literal men in their own right. As we consumed a half-gallon bottle of Glen Ellen Merlot, the conversation turned to something like the great Mike Nichols’ movie, “Carnal Knowledge,” with the Jack Nicholson character recounting all the women he’d “balled” over his life. “She was a real ball buster,” was his famous line in the movie when referring to his former wife, played by the beautiful Ann Margaret. So as I tried to explain what my Song of Cecilia was all about, the boys began recalling their favorite lovers. Paul said he even once had a fling with Camus’ daughter (an existentialist experience in its own write), and we all had our dalliances with no-strings attached and no-emotions detached flings of minor consequence but major regret. The conversation for me, however, got boring, and I’m sure bored the others with my answers when we started comparing encounters with our penises, as all men are prone to do: So who was the absolute best in bed? “Without question, it would have to be Cecilia,” I said without hesitation or even having to ponder the question. So who was the best-looking, the most perfect body and face, the entire package? “No doubt it was Cecilia.” Who was the most daring, who was the best kisser, who gave the best . . .? Using my head here, I understand that you get the point. The point I also repeated over and over to them is that you were the most brilliant, the most caring, the most patient, the most loving, the best writer of all, too. And as the morning begins to dawn, I have uncovered proof of that in this chapter of letters from you to me that explains what happened in our story of love better than just about anything else I could ever possibly hope to say in the remainder of our lifetime. The third letter is one you actually wrote into my journal when I was raising questions about our love and your past loves and husbands. To paraphrase what will follow, the letters start in 1988 when you first realize how much I truly love you and you truly love me, penned after an amazingly passionate night of lovemaking. The next is a more thoughtful discussion of how our love could go forward despite my lingering doubts at the time that we could make a marriage work. The letters from you then turn to directions in love that you left me during our marriage, letters written in my own notebooks that you gave me, and then finally the ultimate “letter” – the absurdly worded divorce decree that tells all anyone needs to know about why our marriage fell apart 15 years down the road from its inception. May 10, 1988: “Mario, this house is filled with the afternoon sultriness of you – left behind to keep my spirits high. I never expected to be 36 and sought after. I must have had some naïve and youthful notion that after, what 25 (?), that I’d have no sex appeal or that male attention would be non-existent. I think I believed I peaked at 17 and it was downhill from there. I wasn’t amazed at 25 to be the belle of the town, it only amazes me now. Thank you for making me feel beautiful and 16 again, for making me feel like something is possible, for letting me experience everything I’ve dreamed possible to come true. Harmony, peace and the ultimate beauty – understanding, connection, greater love, wonder and awe. I love you with the fullness of my nature and I know you love me the same way, Best of love, C.” Monday, 11-20-88: “My Dearly beloved, Mario. “Over the course of the last six months or so, several times you’ve asked me to tell you what I want – out of life, out of our relationship, out of everything. “It’s been difficult for me to respond fully to your requests for a number of reasons. Some of the reasons have to do with your feelings, others with mine, as well as practical concerns. “I’ve been concerned with your feelings as far as waiting to see that enough time has passed for you to work though the things that haven’t been resolved so that you can feel that your decisions are the best for you, whatever they might be. This is the operating principle of enlightened self-interest. “Sufficient time is needed to be able to turn back and view events in perspective. It’s important to be able to tell yourself that you’ve learned things about yourself and your needs so you can serve them better in the future. In such a complex relationship as a marriage, you probably can break down to a few basic reasons how and why you got there, and how and why you left it. But then being so complex with a relationship, you’ ll probably go on for years having realizations and making discoveries about those dynamics and understandings, and coming to grips with the things you reveal to yourself. “From a selfish point of view, I want our coming together to be as whole as possible. Describing wholeness is a difficult task because it encompasses so much, and in terms that are discrete and difficult to define. I assume you know much of what I mean by using that description. “The obvious qualities are respect of each other’s personhood, and open acceptance of the full individual – weaknesses as much as strengths – a recognition that one’s will, however strong, cannot make another person over into the image or ideal of the ‘right’ or ‘perfect’ person. What you see is what you get and if it lacks in any vital area, wishing it were otherwise isn’t going to make it any different. Total acceptance is at the heart of wholeness. “As we discussed before, we have an abhorrence of being in a spot where social pressure dictated the outcome of events, where some sense of obligation projects you along a path or to an end you’re not fully committed to reaching. I want your full desire, not just some parts of it, because I’m convinced that is integral to achieving what I want and you want from that kind of bonding. I want to know that I can count on your support for whatever purposes I undertake as necessary to feel creative, alive and vital. I want to offer that willingness to support you in return. I don’t know what kind of constraints the fulfillment of these shadowy needs of the future will require – from me or from you. But I do believe there is enough understanding and allowance available to help me see those dreams through. Are you intact enough to offer real support and risk meeting those unseen or yet unrealized needs? “Up to now, I’ve been comfortable to let the future be pretty wide open, even vague (maybe not totally comfortable, but for argument’s sake, let’s say that’s so). I said before that I felt we didn’t have to make any decisions. There’s nothing we have to decide right now because circumstances don’t require a lot of decision-making. I understood from you that you want to make some choices, develop goals, and make plans to get on with life. You need to hear from me to evaluate these things. “I’ve spent a lot of time over the last month thinking about what to tell you. There’s a lot to say, a lot to consider. Maybe this is the first installment in a series!” Undated journal entry, 1991: “I’m sorry your friends are so small-minded they cannot see the triumph in having working relationships with past husbands or wives. Believe me, it did not come easy. It took years of work to reach that point. But, then time was an incentive to become that way. I really don’t give a fuck what other people think. If they believe active hate and bitterness are a resolution, they can reap what they sow. “Where are the deeds that make the dream real? “Is it too much to expect consistency of purpose and action – to live the love in a purposeful and constructive way? Is it unreasonable to think that your obligations to our house and life should come before others? “Why should I support you when you act like what I do means nothing? How is it that I deserve your contempt, for I can’t believe it could be anything else? Am I only this dark presence, a shadow with no substance, human emotions, so it doesn’t matter to you? ‘I didn’t know we had rules.’ Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Sounds Karmic to me. “This may not be satisfactory to you since is it those questions that are thrown down on paper. One last question: How am I supposed to believe you love me when your actions don’t seem to support your words? “It may not be possible to live a perfect love in an imperfect world. If we choose to try, we’ll surely fail sometimes, but it’s not the end of the world. Isn’t the lesson to learn from our mistakes? I think it is. Love, C.” Back in the present, the next two letters seem unreal in their paradox -- the first welcoming me home to your infinite love, even pledging -- yes, you made the vow willingly to me, your words, not mine -- your love to me for all time. Then the words you used in your divorce decree, the document that would lead to the breaking of every vow ever made to me in the letter that precedes it. How can you reconcile this for me, Cecilia? This is the point, this is the mystery neither I nor anyone else on earth will ever understand. That was your Karma!!! That IS your karma now. Just take a look at the next letter from you here. I recall it was written to me after I was in just the same sort of situation you are in now -- unsure if I should choose you as my lifelong partner or continue to try to make my first marriage work. I recall coming over to your home to talk things out one final time and drinking a last bottle of wine and smashing the wine glasses into the fireplace and then making passionate love all night on the living room floor. I spent the night and never left, and you welcomed me home and went on to marry me, no more questions asked. Here are the final words you would ever write in my journal from that era of our love: Jan. 28, 1992: “Welcome home. I thank the spirits that guided you when there was nothing more I could will. I thank the Universe, which listened to my prayer. I said maybe I should be a nun, maybe I’m not meant to have a partner, maybe I’m damaged beyond repair, maybe I need a psychiatrist, maybe I need a psychic, maybe I’ll become a life-long celibate and ascetic. And then I decided not to deny myself anything, but wait and see what the Universe would provide. And then you came home. “Mario – my boy and man, silver-penned devil. You amaze me with your many gifts. Where do I start to thank you? The flowers look great up on the mantle. The mirror reflects the blooms back and a pretty red illusion is created. Particularly when the flowers complement my grandmother’s cranberry colored glass, not to mention the friendship wreath you once gave me. “The cork is popped on the bottle of wine. I have a light, dry high, just like the wine. And then I read your letters again. They gave me rushes of pleasure and I vowed to store up all my sexual energy, desire and intensity until the time I see you next. It excites me to know what you think about and how you are aroused by the passions of love. “This is a prime example of practicing power and power becomes pleasure and a force for beauty and truth. And that’s how life should be – in its small moments and its greatest ones. I love you and I want our energy to be good for the world. Small ways count big, too. I was thinking earlier tonight about statistics I’ve read on the average family and how much time each member spends communicating with each other. The average married couple spends something like 15 minutes a day talking to each other. I submit that life is busy, but that’s what I mean about being starved. How can you really get something out of life – and love – for 15 minutes a day? “I know we’ve been through the ultra-romantic phase of our relationship, but even look at the time we spend really being together. What’s more, I think we’ll get more time together as time goes by, even if not as frequent as in the past. Things will always be changing. We’re promised never to have a dull moment. Of that, I’m sure. “Tonight, my hysteria is subsiding – it’s turning to feelings of peace and joy. Mario, I am perfect for you. You are perfect for me. We will always bring so many beautiful things to each other – it’s phenomenal. I pledge that one part of my life will always be loved just to please you – and I mean that much more than just sex. Love. C” Of course, jump ahead 11 years, and the “hysteria” returned like something no one could ever have imagined or predicted. I don’t blame you or me here anymore. As you said earlier, what is just IS. But, I do ask that you read what your actual divorce decree said to me and realize how that hurt me like nothing else ever hurt in life before, even the horrible night that preceded this statement when I had to keep my daughter from being committed and banished to Idaho and needed only to talk to you so badly that I couldn’t hold my anger back any longer. Like you do now, your only response was to turn and walk out on me. You responded to my greatest need for communication with total silence, your personal self-righteous style of karma, and then this: “REGARDING FRIDAY, OCTOBER, 24, 2003: I am sorry that my husband’s actions have pushed me to this step, particularly since he is struggling with serious family crises. Based on his actions, I have no choice but to request the dissolution of our marriage and temporary orders. “The morning of Friday, October 24, 2003, is the culmination of a long pattern of verbal abuse. I have long slept in a spare bedroom in our house as a result of my husband’s snoring problems. He was unwilling to deal with his snoring and left me no alternative but to leave him the master bedroom and move into what was once my son’s room. I start work at 5:30 a.m. and had to go into the master bedroom to obtain my clothes for work. My husband, who had just had a miserable night dealing with his daughter’s attempted suicide, was awake and apparently ready to discuss what he had been through the prior night. I informed him that I was late for work and would have to talk to him later when I got home. This did not sit well with him and he became angry and verbally abusive as he regularly did when his anger flared. I changed clothes and started for the door when my husband attempted to block my going to work. He has always used his size and anger to intimidate. I went through the house in a different direction to get around him. He continued to verbally harass me and as I was going downstairs to the garage, he threw a pile of papers from the landing onto me. Even when I was in the garage, I heard his screaming and slamming through the house. When I returned home on Friday afternoon, my husband was gone. I had the locks on our doors changed and changed my phone number as I did not want him harassing me by phone. I heard nothing from my husband all weekend.” Oh, Cecilia, You and I now fully realize how big of a mistake that morning was and how that tainted everything that followed, even my feeble attempts to continue our love through your next battle with breast cancer and my spiraling attempts to continue to prove my manhood. It left you tainted by the same sort of guilt and shame as in that poem you wrote, “The Raven,” and it left me tainted by anger and hostility, jealousy and spite. It produced nothing but sorrow, pain and recrimination, something you must still carry with you to this very day, as do I even in the writing here. I know of only one way to end it -- by beginning our love anew, something I think I do now every single day I live. Dear Cecilia, July 4, 2003 Happy Independence Day!!! Re-reading your earliest letters to me here this morning as the sun also rises, I realize that I am fully justified, validated, due, even permitted to write this book and these letters to you. It is not just my calling from God, it is my right that you gave me as well as all the other gifts of your love that I still have. You implored me, even told me to demand that I take what I wanted and needed, and all that I could ever find in love from the garden of your beauty, the music of your soul. These are the “deeds that make the dream real.” This is the “validation of our earthly existence.” I want your full desire, not just some parts of it, because I’m convinced that is integral to achieving what I want and you want from that kind of bonding. I want to know that I can count on your support for whatever purposes I undertake as necessary to feel creative, alive and vital. I want to offer that willingness to support you in return. I don’t know what kind of constraints the fulfillment of these shadowy needs of the future will require – from me or from you. But I do believe there is enough understanding and allowance available to help me see those dreams through. Okay, it’s time to see this dream through, my love, and I have the full understanding and allowance now to make that possible, not just for a few days or years, but for all time eternally. You are in exactly the space I was in during another time in another place. You called to me in letters like I call out to you right now. You challenged my love like I challenge your love now. You gave me an open path for life ahead and I chose it at all costs to the love I had with Lori, even above the love I had for my family and my children. In fact, I know I risked and gave up far more than what you would have to give up to return to our love, the fully sanctioned love you gave me and the now fully realized love I have for you and for God. I had to give up my pride then just like you would have to give it up, too. I sacrificed another love for something I knew in my heart and soul was far, far better; something I knew was the soul of my existence, something that spoke to me in letters of boundless love and limitless possibility; a promise of love eternally, not just from your lips, my love, but from the very pen in your very hand. Words that last for all time, our legacy of love, or “litany of love,” or “Song of Cecilia.” I would give it all up again just for you!!! I give you back your words now with far greater understanding for what you were saying to me back then. "In terms of love relationships, I have felt like a destroyer of things, instead of a life giver. Guilt at its ugliest. "The difference you make is wanting to contribute to my freedom. To me, love has always meant a price to pay. And that’s because no one has ever loved me the way I need to be loved. "You’ve come the closest." I understand your love now, even if I had to pay the ultimate price and a price far higher than you in this “love relationship.” I even realize how you loved me like I am a part of the sea and the sky and the wind and the mountains and the myths of history. "There is something about your love that moves me inexplicably, draws me away from hunger or pain, or animal exhaustion to that world of total concentration. I love to be taken by surprise by your sudden funneling of energy and concentration, and am drawn back to that place and surrender happily to it. "Sometimes, I see these moments and imagine it is sculpture – my marble Adonis, smooth and silky and polished. Your outline so solid and weightless, defying nature and yet so much a part of nature." Only now, my love, am I able to love you with the same natural grace, the same conviction, the same courage, the same insight, even with the same writing ability as you had back in the beginning of our love. Isn’t it time we really began writing great things again? Isn’t it now time to truly begin our love and not just dream about it, pray about it, try to deny it or carry around regrets about it? I offer you exactly what you offered me once upon a time: a happy home in a place where you can feel you truly belong, just like the feeling you had in the peace of the deer’s gaze on the Olympic Peninsula when you were 16 years old; a vision and a dream and a real home of beauty, peace, nature, joy, music, books, wisdom, compassion, understanding, forgiveness, knowledge, strength, courage, conviction, insight, adventure, exploration, sensuality, spirituality, hope, faith, and pure love as pure as the air that comes in every day off the sea. I offer you something better than what we had and something far better than you will ever have with anyone else on earth, and you know it in your pure heart and soul. "It sure is important to feel free in your own home. I have really loved living in my house. It does make me feel incomplete not to have you over to my house, not to be able to pick up a phone to be able to call you. The drama does have a ways to go – so many changes to come." That’s why I am alone now and love my life more than I have ever known. I know I am here for you, to wait for you, to write for you, to love you like you once loved me. To accept you back like you once accepted me back into your home, into your unending love that you pledged to me for all time like I pledge mine to you now; to write greater things than I even realized I was capable of writing. To realize a love that is the greatest love I have ever known and one that runs through me in notes that sing out to every song in your heart. With love and hope toward a truly new start to a better ending, with words that go back to the very beginning of our love, Mario Sufficient time is needed to be able to turn back and view events in perspective. It’s important to be able to tell yourself that you’ve learned things about yourself and your needs so you can serve them better in the future. In such a complex relationship as a marriage, you probably can break down to a few basic reasons how and why you got there, and how and why you left it. But then being so complex with a relationship, you’ll probably go on for years having realizations and making discoveries about those dynamics and understandings, and coming to grips with the things you reveal to yourself. POSTSCRIPT: Sufficient time has now passed and I am truly ready to complete this book if you are ready to do the same with our love. I have learned great things about myself and about your love, the love of my grandmother, the love of my family, the love of life, the love of writing. Those years of “coming to grips with the things you reveal to yourself” are over now, and I now know how to serve these needs in the future, not as an angry journalist of no consequence, but as a true, pure, joyous lover of the woman who is as much a part of my soul as God -- even should you chose to never accept our true calling and true love again in this lifetime. No other man will ever lay claim to your love like I do now, and no other man will ever understand it like I do now. You gave me this right and I take it. It is time to live up to our promises, all our vows, all our words, past, present and future. It is time to validate our earthly existence and rise up into the heavens toward the final destination where we know we are bound. Forevermore. As I write toward a completion of the book, I hope you will get this last part in the mail in the context in which it was and IS written. This chapter I send to you last for reasons that should become obvious as you read it, hopefully aloud when it comes to the poetry of your own great writing here. It actually serves as the third-to-last part of the book and sets up the ending you have already seen. The offer of pure love, my love, our love, our home, our true peace and harmony and understanding and joy, will always be here on my table and in my hands and in my songs for you. I hope and pray you can come and join me some day. I pray also that you will read these words and that they will be worthy of your spirit and soul and of your love, more than anything else on earth. I know you have given that now to someone else, and that doesn’t surprise or faze or bother me in the least, neither does it change the essential truth about our story of love or the essential truth about who you are and why you love and what your life is all about. You and I both know this is why we “fell” in love in the first place – because we saw the essential truth in love, the love of God, within each other and we would never settle for something less. If you have that now, so be it. If not, it’s here for you always. I pray you will reads these words and accept back what was always yours to begin with, here in this amazing saga of true love. I will end this chapter soon with the poem you gave to me in your so elegant and eloquent handwriting, a poem I once melded with my hurtful and bitter “East of Eden” song about the ending of our marriage. I think the poem is much better in the context that you wrote it and I apologize for my version even if I have included it here in the book for context, too. Truly, I believe the poem is not something I should take liberties with in the least. I admit that I often read it aloud now in my context, as if I am the bride standing at the altar with flowers in my hand, waiting here for my love, who keeps denying me like Saint Peter, as the ghosts of past, present and future haunt me like a “goddess, whore and saint.” However, I also look at it in the context of your life now, too -- your perspective as it might be here in the present. That to leave your life now for my love again would be another sacrifice and another resurrection, a rebirth that would leave you another “heart breaker, home breaker, goddess of vice.” Yes, and I am the runner in the poem who stumbled and falls from grace. It was that white heat of mine fired by “lies and deceit” that left scars that time cannot erase. So you repeat the Eleventh Commandment, to stay away, to light the flame, to live the myth of The Raven. I write you now to free us both by freeing this poem from your soul. I was once lost, too, my love. And now I am sound. One thing is certain, a Raven can still fly. And the flowers can blossom again as long as you don’t dig them up by the roots. Plus, I’m pretty sure there is no eleventh commandment when it comes to love. I really think the only commandment that truly applies here, since we already fudged on the adultery thing before, is the very first commandment of all: “Thou shall have no other gods before me.” Even the Bible acknowledges that God is a “jealous God” (Deuteronomy 9:5). And even a Raven can become an Angel in God’s eyes when God’s name is not taken in vain or in vanity. In that case, we are guiltless and free to love and have everlasting life, becoming anything and everything God wants us to become. We are validated in God’s love, on earth as it is in heaven. You know how naturally perfect our true love truly was. Here’s even more proof, straight from you: “From out of the shadows springs a new day with gentle haziness and a soft, warm welcome. This is the day you explore the Olympic Peninsula and Lake Quinault. Like yesterday, this day awakens the urge to travel – not by plane or train, but in a manner where one can smell the trees, feel the air, and soak up the heat. This is a day to run into, not run from. . . . I just might imagine that I’m sitting next to you, sun and shadow flashing across our faces while the car steers itself down the empty highway. Maybe you’ll turn to say something to me, or put out your hand only to remember that physically I’m not there.” -- Cecilia, in a letter to Mario, June 1988 while he was staying at the ocean on a newspaper assignment to write a special section on the 100th anniversary of Olympic National Park. Maybe God still wants us to be the true lovers we were. Maybe God wants me to write this book and you to live out your life repeating a commandment that doesn’t exist. Only God knows that fact, too. All I know is this book exists now and so should our love for all time. Just like the love of God, it’s here for your taking, even the fruits of knowledge and wisdom, all abundantly here and free for the picking in my garden paradise. Please take another bite, and another, and another, my love; I know it’s fully sanctioned by God this time and I’m writing as naked as can be and loving you forever into the future from the love written in the past. Let your words now fly free with the angels on their own accord. THE RAVEN I stood by the altar, flowers in my hand I waited for you, arms wide for my man Silver bullets, wooden stake Night walker, night stalker Three times the cock cried its warning For the ghosts of past, present and future Goddess, whore and saint. I know what lies ahead Sacrificial maiden for my father, For my sons For our sins, for life eternal Resurrection reigns And in the dying, I’m reborn like the raven, Never more Home breaker, heart breaker, Goddess of vice, the altar is empty, The flowers have died Fuel for my fire, food for my fury White heat fired by lies and deceit. Things fall into place, Runners stumble, fall from grace Leave scars that time can’t erase. White lace, white wedding gown, I was lost and now I’m sound. Honor and obey The eleventh commandment To stay away I set the flame, Goddess, whore and saint -- Poem by Cecilia Angelique |
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