In Memoriam: Arthur Turbyfill (with poem, "To Arthur")

Last week, a recent but great friend of mine passed away. Arthur Turbyfill, Jr., was one of the most fascinating people I have ever met; this much was apparent even from having only met him in person twice, at pagan circle meetings. A Druid, a poet, a scholar, and a friend, he is already missed by many. When I was looking to join said church, it was he who offered to meet with me over coffee and discuss the different pagan paths and his church.... I really wish we'd had the chance. When I asked him questions, it became clear that his inquisitive nature rivaled even my own, as he could expound like no other. The instance that comes to mind here was my wondering what a particular religious symbol meant. Arthur was uncertain - it was an obscure one - but he knew several others, which could have blossomed into hours of erudite conversation had we the time. And I wish we had.

Today, I attended Arthur's funerary service. The turn-up of friends and family was large but unsurprising, as he was such a well-liked man with such a burning thirst for knowledge. But what's more, he was a friend and mentor to many, with a gentle disposition and open mind. The speakers at the service said he was great at listening with sympathy to others, and that he had even helped to guide young people whose lives had been less than fortunate. From what I saw of him, I definitely believe it. To top it all off, he was known to be an avid reader, and would evidently quote Gandalf from time to time.

My thoughts and prayers go out to the other members of our affiliation, as well as his family, coworkers, and other friends. Much love to his spirit, wherever it may be now. May your journey be fun and fascinating.

Before I close here, I'd like to share my poem "To Arthur" with whatever readers I may have:

------

To Arthur, whom I had the pleasure of meeting twice.

A true Renaissance man,

His thirst for knowledge, for wisdom,

Was insatiable.

To Arthur, named for the noblest of kings,

Yet humble despite his intelligence

And selfless kindheartedness.

Every discussion would leave me

With more questions than answers--

Just the way I prefer them,

For what good would it be

To conclude our quest for enlightenment?

I saw the ice's tip, but the bulk of the berg is now lost.

As true a wizard as any,

Your passing impacts us all.

The world has lost you,

But your friends have not;

Everyone is a bit wiser

For having spoken with you.

And I am grateful.

The Element Encyclopedia Series: A Shoutout

I enjoy many things of which the average Joe has no knowledge. Music by Medwyn Goodall or by Herb Moore, art by Brian Froud, and much obscure literature from thrift stores or annual library blowout sales. Exotic dishes, studies of foreign martial arts. Pagan religions, both in practice and as an educational or historical discipline. Forgotten sciences.

Some of the best books, both for reading and for aethetically inspiring paintings, are often found in Barnes & Noble's bargain rack. While I'm glad for their relatively cheap prices, I cannot help wondering why they ended up on sale, or in some cases, out of print. Myth and Magic by John Howe was among these when I purchased it.

Also waiting on the cheap shelves are any number of the Element Encyclopedia series. They're so vastly informative that I can thumb through one all day and still not know all that there is to know about a particular topic. These include the psychic world, magical creatures, vampires, spells, magical herbs and roots, secret societies, the significances of birthdays, Celts, Native Americans, ghosts and hauntings, and the interpretation of dreams. All of the entries I have read have been fascinating, and many subjects are still largely unknown in the world.

For instance, who knows of the jidra? the guivre? cherufes, lampaluguas, the Lambton worm? (All of these are mythical or mystical organisms, by the way.) Has anyone heard of the Bell Witch, aeromancy, oneiromancy? I believe I might be capable of the last one: dream divination.

Occasionally something will make its way into mainstream culture, such as a black shuck (A.K.A. the Churchyard Grim, a massive shaggy dog used in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). I was pleased to read about a malevolent spirit from Native American mythology known as the Wendigo, which was used as an antagonist in Stephen King's novel and screenplay Pet Sematary.

John and Caitlin Matthews wrote some of these encyclopedias, and Theresa Cheung did other ones. I believe there are other contributors, but I really do wish to give a shoutout to anyone who reads this blog: these books are amazing. Were they to disappear from print, I would consider it a great loss.

A word of caution, though: the big, heavy versions tend to be poorly bound, and pages detach quite easily from the spines. The smaller, more compact paperback ones are the way to go...although the fragile ones are more likely to contain indexes.

Revived Post from 28 Apr. 2013: "Rain"

Right about now it is sprinkling a bit outside. Not a storm, mind, but the wood of the deck is being peppered with water droplets, becoming dappled like a cheetah's pelt. Many use the phrase "rainy day" as if such denotes something negative; why do they say that sort of thing? I, for one, love wet weather. Warm, cold, or otherwise (depending on my mood), I enjoy dimness and shade. I sometimes even relish the plain-out dark. Perhaps the northern part of England would suit me well, or perhaps Canada's Rain Coast.

Or perhaps a warmer region would be interesting, at least to visit? I have often wondered what a tropical rainforest is like, apart from the vampiric insects. There are many such areas on Earth, but my eyes are currently set on South and Central Americas. The other humid forests of the world would be nice too, but I would likely have to research which areas are safer than others.

That is not to say that nature's showers here are not lovely. I enjoy walking and dancing in the rain; watching it from the kitchen, with or without a window as a barrier; and opening my bedroom window and just lying there on my bed or floor, listening to the wet patter of falling orbs of wet.

Rain also makes me feel creatively inspired. It is great for drawing, writing, and playing musical instruments. Without precipitation, where would we be? Even apart from the matter of plant life, drinking water, and mushroom growth, life would definitely be less interesting. Though I would make the best of it. I would not even know what I was missing, come to think of it...yet rain is a beautiful thing, as it were. Whether anticipated or spontaneous, I relish the damp. And once I am away from a "traditional" neighborhood, I intend to purchase a bit of land to start an organic, self-sustaining farm. I like my neighbors, so my love of solitude is not a personal matter. The simple truth is that I am an introvert. How I look forward to practicing swordplay or archery in a quiet, secluded field, the greatest sound being the drops striking the grass-blades and packed dirt! Or perhaps sheltering with my chickens and goats, or tending to horses while the heavens pour? In any case, it will be beautiful.

Urban areas, of course, can also be pretty to observe as the streets gleam with reflected cafe lights and the slick street-lamps illuminating falling raindrops, and the bookshop windows slick from a deluge. It all sounds lovely, but I would prefer rural, given the choice.

The trees in the forest, with moisture-darkened trunks and lichen, are where I feel I belong. It's only a matter of time, I suppose.

Revived Post from 2 Jan. 2013: "A Post Before School"

I was terribly ill last night, but at least it has granted me an extra day of relative freedom. I was in Chicago and other bits of northern Illinois and some of Wisconsin for about a week, which was nice at parts. My paternal grandparents live in what one might call a pigsty; most of the dishes are filthy, people drink directly from milk cartons, and so forth. They are also generally clueless about the concept of privacy: almost none of the doors are fully capable of staying shut, but they don't bother to fix it. They'll just waltz on in without knocking, or in some cases, they'll knock and then barge through without waiting for a reply. But my maternal grandmother is a lot more sensible when it comes to these things. Her husband died when I was three or so, so I only have her as a maternal grandparent, but she's pretty great for the most part. This post is not meant to say I don't love my paternal family. I just don't like staying with them, which I am forced to do year after year after year - sometimes twice a year - by my father, who seems to know something's wrong but appears to be unwilling to admit it. Which brings me to another point:

I sometimes get loads of reading and writing done over the winter, but this time (although it was partly my own negligence), my dad had us do stuff pretty much every day in order to "enjoy" ourselves. I will admit that the Art Institute and the Museum of Science and Industry both had some interesting stuff...but there was never much time to relax. And in the past he's had a tendency to verbally put down anyone who doesn't want to run all over the place with him. Perhaps it was nice to get some air away from that filthy household, but to me holidays are, at least in part, a chance to rest a bit, which is hard with people barging in every three seconds and dragging you around the big loud city. I appreciate what the guy tried to do, but I don't think that enjoyment ought to be forced. Kind of sucks the whole purpose out of it, just like education.

On another note, I'm reading a really amazing novel by Rachel Neumeier, titled The City in the Lake. The prose is just beautiful and the story fascinates me. I'd recommend it to friends, definitely.

Revived Post from 21 Nov. 2012: "The Last of the Rhinos"

Today, as a follow-up to our San Diego Zoo visit, we experienced the zoo's Safari Park. It focused primarily upon African wildlife. Among the animals we saw were many antelopes - gazelles, gerenuks, impalas, Nile lechwes, blesboks, wildebeests, and bongos, to name but a few - and several African elephants. There was at least one tiger, but we could not spot it (or them). We rode a tram through the African-based deserts and grasslands and saw Rothschild's giraffes and greater flamingos. About halfway through the tour, my heart was broken as I heard about the predicament of the Northern white rhinoceros. There are only eight of them left in captivity and they are believed to be extinct in the wild. Eight.

And this is not due to natural selection or drought: poachers are responsible. This makes me want to weep. Are there horns really that valuable? Rhinos are such beautiful animals in my opinion, and to harm one would be unthinkable. And to murder one simply for its horn! Such a waste, like cutting off the top fin of a blue shark and throwing the fish back.

I dearly hope this sort of tragedy does not happen again, but I doubt that that will be the case.