YOC: It was a dark and stormy night

It was a dark and stormy night…

The house was silent as Vivienne made her way down the secret stairs. The sounds of the old wooden steps, rotting and forgotten at the back of the house, were lost in the sounds of the rain. Her heart beat faster as she passed by her parents room. Through the wall she thought she could hear them stir, and she tried to listen for the even sound of her parents breathing. They had never heard her in the space between their wall and the outer ramparts where the old escape was secreted away, and Vivienne doubted they would now but the fear of being discovered made her cautious. She had brought enough grief to her parents, and she did not want to injure them further.

The house was as silent as a tomb where only the dead reside as Vivienne reached the bottom of the stair. Covering her head to protect from the rain she made her way to the ancient cathedral in the woods outside of the town. Guided only by her memory she made her way through the cedar and cypress groves, breathing in the heavy scent of the forest as it was renewed with the spring storm.

Vivienne knew where she was going; even in the darkness without any form of guide she followed the light inside of her that was leading her heart to its destination. She knew where he would be waiting. He would continue to wait and even in the darkness and the storm he would be there.

The cathedral was old, no one remember when it has been built or what it had originally been used for. It had long ago fallen into disrepair and was slowly being reclaimed by the forest. In her mind Vivienne could see the broken windows, the crumbling masonry and the graveyard beyond the ruined structure. As the last tears from the sky cease their song, Vivienne slowly opened the wrought iron gate, the last simple barrier that stood between her and her beloved.

He was waiting, as he always did, under the spreading branches of an ancient cedar that stood in the middle of the marble garden. Even in the darkness Vivienne could see his eyes, bright and glowing with unspoken emotions. As she walked towards him she could hear his heartbeat in her mind and thought for a moment that his living heart beat within her chest. In the darkness she whispered his name Cris.

As they embraced one another their tears mixed with those from the sky. A brief wind blew the scent of clean earth and night flowers about them as they become one beneath the cedar bows.

Vivienne lay with her head on Cris chest as the sun slowly rose over the clean earth. In the half light before morning Cris looked into her eyes with tears or rain glistening on his face and he heard the soft whisper I will always love you flutter against his heart.

As the sun arose Cris gently brushed the last drops of rain from his face. He stood, gathering the light about him as he brushed the dirt and grass from his wet clothing. He looked at the place where his beloved lay and felt that his heart would break. Cris knelt and kissed the marble stone that marked where she would continue to sleep for all eternity. As the wind blew the soft scent of cedar from the tree above him, he turned and walked home through the lilies that had taken over the cemetery in the ten years she had been gone from his world.

In my mind I have the images for this story – it is actually a music video to go with Loreena McKennitt’s version of “Dark Night of the Soul.” Since I first heard her music I have had it in my head and heart constantly. My high school Classical English teacher played my class “Dante’s Prayer” as we read The inferno and I still remember that moment, the feeling her music and voice touched in my soul.

As I do not have the skills to fully make the short film I have in my head, I wrote the story. Some day however I would like the make the “music video” of this story as I believe it would be beautiful.

Loreena wrote in the CD booklet about this song (something which I love about her CDs):

May, 1993 – Stratford … have been reading through the poetry of 15th century Spain, and I find myself drawn to one by the mystic writer and visionary St. John of the Cross; the untitled work is an exquisite, richly metaphoric love poem between himself and his god. It could pass as a love poem between any two at any time … His approach seems more akin to early Islamic or Judaic works in its more direct route to communication to his god … I have gone over three different translations of the poem, and am struck by how much a translation can alter our interpretation. Am reminded that most holy scriptures come to us in translation, resulting in a diversity of views.

Music by Loreena McKennitt
Lyrics by St. John of the Cross (San Juan de la Cruz), arr. and adapted by Loreena McKennitt
From: The Mask and Mirror