Pillars of Sand (Viva la Vida)

I used to rule the world

Seas would rise when I gave the word

Now in the morning I sweep alone

Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice

Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes

Listen as the crowd would sing:"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key

Next the walls were closed on me

And I discovered that my castles stand

Upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand

-Coldplay

If I were a monarch, it would have to be a king, or preferably, an emperor. Either Arthur or Charlemagne. Actually, in the olden times, I would have liked to be Pope. Complete spiritual and temporal dominion.

Being a Queen would not quite cut it. I like The Empress and all, don't get me wrong, but I like the old-fashioned kind of power. Direct, undisputed, king power. Queens have a different kind of power, which is fine, and being Queen would definitely be better than being, say, the Head Janitor, but, if I could choose, I would be King.

There are so many ways to have power. Money. Beauty. Youth. Connections. Physical strength. Love.

I had it all, I lost it all, and I never knew what I had until I lost it. That sounds dramatic. Pluto in Capricorn is dramatic. And it's sad. Endings are always sad, even if they're inevitable, and expected, and far overdue. Who doesn't feel sad at a breakup, or a move, or one of those big life changes?

As to those, I detested puberty. I can barely stand to think of it even now. One day, I was running around without a care in the world, and then, bam. Blood and gore and brassieres and cellulite, and strange men standing too close in museum lines, and a lot of shit that I did not understand or want to. And that book, "Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret" which they forced us at gunpoint to read, just made me sick. The bitch didn't know when she had it good.

I haven't hit menopause yet, but I'm sure that will be sad too. My friends who are there already, or almost, are in denial, and I suppose I will be too, especially since I never had kids. I never had a particularly strong desire to, but I always thought that it would happen, somehow, in extremis, and it didn't. At least, not in this lifetime. I'm sure I've had plenty of kids in other lifetimes and maybe this lifetime is just a time-out. I've always avoided the step-parent thing too. It seems fraught with difficulties.

I was sad when I got married, sad when I got divorced, sad every time I left one country or one man for the next, but I did it, because there's only one way to go in this life, and that is forward. This year, I got sick, and ended up leaving everything in California. I didn't have the strength to deal with it, but there was also some weird streak of illumination that was telling me that the losses were the whole point.

For what profiteth a man if he gain the whole world and loseth his own soul?

I had the whole world in my hands, but I had gotten lost, somehow, down one of those rabbit holes it used to amuse me to explore, always so sure of my own power, of God's protective presence, but in one of those rabbit holes I encountered the void, and I got lost, like Carlos Castaneda in his dreams.

I didn't know up from down, or light from dark, and I was even getting used to living down there, away from the light, and the air.

Evil exists, is the point, although not necessarily in the way you imagine it. In fact, it's almost never the way you imagine it, because then you would recognize it and avoid it. Evil always looks exactly like good, except better. So you keep messing with it, sure that the good must be there, just below the surface, and it isn't. Somebody described eating Domino's pizza as eating more and more of it to try and find the flavor you know must be there, but isn't, and in the end you have a bellyful of pizza and a feeling of deep dissatisfaction. That's kind of the deal with evil. And evil isn't so much an active kind of wickedness as it is a lack of, well, good.

So God, like any indulgent but responsible parent, yanked me out of the rabbit hole and grounded me indefinitely, and here I am.

And I've said these things before, more or less, and it's not like I want to flog a dead horse, but what am I supposed to do if Chris Martin always puts the way I feel into words? Well, not always, there are a few songs on the new CD that I skip, but on their other CD's, each song brings an immediate memory of a person or an event in my life.

My pillars of sand have crumbled, but maybe I can use the rubble to fill the potholes in the castle driveway, so all is not lost.

Viva la vida!

Hello You Wacky Sagittarians

Needless to say, I scared myself to death the other night with my attempt at ghostly fiction. Luckily, God has blessed me with an almost complete lack of imagination, so I am not often tempted to invent spooky tales of wolf-people, or woof-people, as my stepfather pronounced the word.

Which leads me to today's subject: Sagittarians. We are now smack dab in the middle of Sajj and I have a message for all the Sajjes of the world--relax. Breathe. Calm down. Look before you leap. Count to ten. Don't fly off the handle. Don't make a scene. Don't get married again, at least until you've finished counting to ten. Then, walk around the block. Is your potential mate in bankruptcy court? Is he or she still married to somebody else? Don't do it, Sajj, you'll be sorry in about five minutes.

Don't fire your secretary. Don't fall in love with your secretary. Pretend like you don't even have a secretary, unless you want to dictate a letter, and then, you know what? Just type it yourself.

If you're bored, Sajj, and I know you are, throw a party. You're good at that. Go dancing. You like to dance. Go to Madagascar. I bet you've never been to Madagascar. Wouldn't you like to see how they harvest cloves? Sure you would. You could fly through Amsterdam. Amsterdam is lots of fun and they have amazing chocolate.

Or, you could join a cult. I believe that I might just have an opening as a "Follower", but apply now, the slots are filling quickly!

The thing to remember, Sajj, is don't go with your gut instinct. Your gut instinct is wrong. Your gut instinct has gotten you into trouble in the past, hasn't it? You thought you were going to pull a fast one but it backfired, didn't it? So don't do it, whatever it is. Action is overrated. Thought is nice too, Sajj--you can do a lot of fun things in your head without getting yourself into big trouble.

So just relax, have another glass of champagne, and handcuff yourself to something heavy until that funny little itch in your stomach passes, the one you always get before you do or say something really unforgiveable.

We all love you, Sajj, but the Law of Karma is real. Once you get that ball rolling, it's not going to stop until it comes back and flattens you. Remember Wile E. Coyote? He was a Sajj. So if it's a good deed you have in mind, or a kind word, or some homemade lasagna, then go for it. Pull out all the stops. But if you feel like making trouble, just remember the Wheel of Karma, and order out for pizza instead.

On a Night Such as This

All around was stillness, the language of winter. The wind whirled and drove the snow like daggers into the soft belly of the night. There were no stars, no moon, just the faraway hint of a dirty mauve sky. And then, out of the darkness, a knock came on the door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Are you scared yet? I am. I am scaring myself. This is that kind of winter night, blustery and eerie, a night for haints to walk, which I sincerely hope they don't. At least, not here. If I see any haints, I will direct them to the nearest shopping center for some mall-walking. At this point in the story, a mysterious, lean figure with a cape shielding his face would appear at the farmhouse door.

He would warm himself by the fire, if he were willing to go out to the woodshed and schlep wood, and deal with a possible rodent living in the fireplace, and then he would tell a mysterious tale of a maiden's death yet to be avenged, or some other wrong still unrighted. And then he would ask to borrow the toenail clippers--I am still working this part out--and only upon his leaving would the unsuspecting farmer's wife discover a wolf's claw stuck in the nail scissors!!

I know that the "mysterious stranger is really a wolf" thing has already been done in Ladyhawke but I feel it has rich and as yet untapped dramatic potential.

But wait, what was that? Could it have been....a knock on the door?