126. My Space

My new office is pleasant. With the little student desk now moved from Sparky’s old office to the Night Chapel, there is a palpable sense of power as I sit in the colorful light of St. Lucy’s window. I am anything but powerful, but I like the feel of it anyway. The pew, bought second hand from the new owner of a deserted Methodist church, together with the splash of greens and pinks and blues from St. Lucy’s window yields the aura of a cathedral in what is really the old overnight shithouse.

I have finally admitted to myself that I lied to Sparky years ago when I told him St. Lucy’s window was on sale. It was indeed so expensive that when I found it in the catalog and knew I would buy it I had to make considerable deletions to my original construction plan and budget.  St. Lucy’s window is why there is only one pew and the altar is home made. No, no, it wasn’t her neck line that most attracted me. It was the colors … the pinks and blues and greens of a most glorious sunset. 

Yes, I know where that comes from. You’re talking to a Jungian here. St. Lucy in her presence on glass takes the harsh daylight of reality and filters it into the gorgeous colors shed on my space. Yes, my space, Goddammit. I built it. With my mother’s money. It’s true I am a monk and own nothing. But I can possess this wonderful space, a room in the attic where no one ever comes.  They used to, right after I built it, but not any more.  It’s far from everywhere else in the monastery. Besides,  you can still smell the offal after all these years. It’s in the wood. And everyone in the house knows this is my space. Or was until Sparky told me to stay away from here for my own good. That’s why I wound up in the cellar, you see.  But now I’m the Abbot.  I go where I want.