Written on 10 Feb 2005.

When cassette tapes slowly fell out of style, there was no question as to what would replace them. The Compact Disc, or CD, had already begun to infiltrate the market. Walkman, a combination AM/FM radio and cassette tape player, was a device made by Sony so that anyone could take their music with them. Being on top of their market, Sony released the Discman. Some came with belt clips, but most were meant for stationary use. Some were even mounted in cars on shock-absorbing devices to prevent the dreaded CD-skip. Even as their technology advanced – electronic skip protection, bass boost, ability to re-charge batteries while plugged in, ability to read CD-RW’s, and now the ability to read data CD’s with music files on them – their shape and design remained essentially the same.

Sony, as well as its competitors, seem to have completely abandoned the tried and true design. The straight back, holding the hinge for the top cover panel. The straight sides from back to front. The curved front panel with its central LCD layout, surrounded by all of the buttons and dials necessary for all of the unit’s functions. The panel to access the batteries on the bottom. No matter the brand, your portable CD player essentially looked like everybody else’s, despite stickers or painting. Until now.

I am amazed, as I see people studying, riding the bus, walking to class, when they pull out their CD players. It seems that there are as many designs, from the ground up, as there are people that own them. I admit that I’ve been out of the market, as my Methuselah Discman circa June 1997 still works beautifully. But, as I began to notice the changes wrought in those years, I began to smile. Apart from the custom airbrush paint job, my Discman is becoming as unique as the new designs. As the old models fail, it may truly become one of a kind, even before the next medium eclipses CD’s.

Some thoughts on deity.

When you make a pledge, an oath, to a deity, and you break it, how do you expect to deal with the repercussions? Do you expect any at all? So many students send their pleas to the heavens! “Please, God, if I can only pass this exam, I’ll never drink that much beer again!” “Please, God, if you could make this pregnancy test negative, I swear I’ll use a condom from now on.” How many pleas and prayers are answered, only to have these oath-breakers back doing the same things a few weeks later. On a small level, I envy these people for their forgiving and inattentive god.

I, on the other hand, do not have that luxury. My goddess makes certain that I understand the gravity of the promises that I have made. For instance, January’s New Moon came and went without a day of silence from me. My pledge was made in earnest, and sealed in blood. Shortly after the day passed, I became sick with a chest and throat cold. Over two days, my voice declined from normal, into a croak, and then left me completely. For three days, I could not speak above a whisper.

Many modern Christians bemoan the mysterious, hidden nature of their god. Here, the old adage fits. Be careful what you wish for.

This was an unassigned essay. I wrote it to set some events in order about Yule and a new oath.

Today, the moon is dark. According to my science-for-non-science-majors class, this is because the moon now rests between the Earth and the sun. According to my religious views, this is because the Goddess is dark, and this is the time for unraveling and un-making. I see no discrepancy in these views.

There was a time, recently, in which I was neglecting the gods. You could say that I wasn’t holding up to my part of our little bargain. You could say that life in a cubicle had over-inflated the secular, causing the sacred to fade away. You could say that my gods were pretty damn pissed off. You’d be right in all of this.

I knew that change was coming. I had signed up for classes in September, and immediately applied for financial aid. I had bought a house, and would close on it in two days. My last day at work was set. I had enacted change, and for the first time in a long time, it was working out beautifully. But, as Guns ‘N Roses said, every rose has its thorn.

December 21, 2004: After ending my shift at 9 PM, I headed to a friends’ place to pick up my wife. She had completed a ritual celebrating Yule, and the re-birth of the god. It was about 9:40 when I parked and turned off the car. Thoughts about my own spirituality flooded my mind and held my attention. I began to walk across the parking lot, setting my mind to the task of righting the wrong of my indifference. A few steps later, I had it.

Every month, for a year, I would make a pledge. I would be silent, undoing the force of naming and storytelling that I am gifted with. The New Moon was the perfect time to celebrate this un-making. It would honor Tiamat, she who craves the silence of the universe. I would be forgiven. I made this oath, giving it voice in my head.

I didn’t see the patch of ice. I began to slip, instantly afraid of my bad knees. I flailed at the carport pole to my left and the truck on my right. Neither gave me purchase, and my ankle violently twisted. I felt something crack, or snap, or pop. I fell forward, landing on my forearms, elbows, and knees. My ankle was a fireball of pain. I silently thanked the gods that both of my kneecaps were exactly where they were supposed to be.

I used the carport pole to pull myself up. My ankle supported my weight, if barely, so I figured it wasn’t broken. I assessed the rest of the damage as I limped to the apartment building’s door. Slacks scuffed at the knees. Trench coat scuffed at the elbows. Left palm cut open, with a side of gravel, and plenty of blood. I smirked, then. My oath to Tiamat had been sealed with pain and blood.