Another blog post about a Relic and a Saint.

As soon as I read an article in today’s paper I could feel another blog post coming over me, not just about a relic but about a heart relic none the less.

                        The article in question writes about the theft of the heart of St Laurence.

He doesn't look too happy here, but then neither would you if your heart had been encased inside this metal cage for the remains of known time..

 ...and then stolen by relic collectors.

My first thought about who St Laurence might be, led my mind wandering to the excellent  movie “Laurence of Arabia” which was a true story. Until I realised the spelling is different. His name is spelled Lawrence.

The weird coincidence here is that St Laurence’s surname was O’Toole.  Anyone in the know will know that Peter O’Toole  a pipe smoking Irishman) played the part of Lawrence. 

 It is actually a coincidence because the film is about a man called T. E Laurence who was, I don’t know, some kind of Colonel in the British army. 

It was very clever of them to find a subject for a movie who looked so much like the actor playing them.

                 Not to be confused with Laurence Olivier who was NOT a pipe-smoking Irishman.

Right, so to get back to the Laurence in question. I discovered he is a 3^rd century Christian martyr who was barbequed on this grill here. This may be mirrored in his grim portrait expression. 

Yes, it's an unpleasant thought. Utterly disagreeable. In fact so horrendous it will be easier for me to write about it than it will be for you to read about it, because at least I am doing something to keep myself busy. If you want to get rid of those shivers I have just sent down your spine, get up and jog around the room a bit, that always works for me.

I also found a picture of him actually being grilled on a barbeque but I didn’t want to share it, because I think you are already going through enough trauma simply imagining it.

Moving on swiftly.

St Laurence was the guy whose job it was to look after the infamous Holy Grail, which may or may not have looked something like this:

Quite an important goblet.

And an important job for any martyr to undertake.

Mind you, what I can't understand is this

Wouldn't his heart have been, well, barbequeued?

Were they the ashes of his heart, or....?

Anyhow Christchurch Cathedral Dublin is now down one heart.

I will see your two of clubs and raise you an ace of diamonds.

Oops that's poker, a different game.

Hope you enjoyed

all the best

Fiocle.

Copper

I went down town to post a letter
then went on to talk to my friend in the art shop
and we had a laugh about my boiler
nearly blowing me to smithereens
as I was passing the Angel shop
my phone rang, It was my aunt
Copper had died.
I would hope my godmother
is with God now.

Always a smiling face
and never complained
she once apologised
for not being a very good godmother,
I answered with I wasn't a very good goddaughter
we hugged and we knew we'd never see each other again
that was on my father's seventy fifth birthday.
We were good friends.

I wish she could have read this.

RIP Copper
with love
Fiona

The cause of all the chocolate and hearts revealed.

I promised no one in particular that I would reveal a few little known facts, about St Valentine himself.
And once again I will prove that Ireland is the center of the universe.

(Photo not taken by me.)  This is a likeness of the man himself. Though, I am not sure how like him it actually is, and I guess that is one thing we will never know. That is, unless somebody clones him by using some of  his alleged blood which sits in a vial under the shrine in a church in Whitefriar Street in Dublin. Ok, perish that last thought, stomp on at and wash the squashed remnants into the gutter where it rightfully belongs.

I look at the statue and I think of the commercialism by which my mind has been raped. I am not going to further assault your senses with more pictures of giant red love hearts and the same shaped chocolates. There are plenty of others out there doing that already. Each to their own. Really, I don't begrudge anyone their right to be in love. It's just the paraphernalia surrounding it that is grating on me. Perhaps there is also a little of, 'what's it got to do with a cynical romantic like me anyway', involved too. I don't need an excuse to eat chocolate, and if I want a big red heart I can always paint one on my wall, or something...(nah). Anyway roses grow in my garden all year round. So I still don't get it.

So enough about all that and onwards into the past we go to see what else can be dug up, I mean, discovered about our (safe to say) old, yet barely known friend, St Val.

To answer the question: "Why is he associated with love and lovers?", I discovered that there is a semi-true, semi-legend, that he went against the laws of Rome and married young men (I am assuming with young women, since that wasn't stated), who were heading off to war. For this he was put to death, and subsequently martyred. Hardly something a person wants to think about while gazing lovingly into their chosen one's bounteous eyes on a romantic evening under the starlit sky (or while chuggin beer watching a game while the good-woman opens you another pack of pretzels, guys). I guess it all depends on who you are.

That is one theory but I prefer the pagan festival one about fertility and youngsters dancing around with flowers in their hair, possibly even naked, choosing their partners.

Maybe something like this Matisse painting except prettier and with flowers.

So I have travelled from a statue of a saint to an impressionist artist, to try and discover the origins of love- day. All I can say is it is silly because it should be love day every day - but it isn't. 

And with that I shall love you and leave you with the best I can do for a poem.

I am not trying to win your heart with a love song

what would i do with it anyway?

I need to write it to ease the longing welling in my chest

I've tried to walk away to turn my back

but when I turn around as I must

the fragments all became magnets 

and the birds make kissing noises in the trees

beside the heart shaped leaves

and I can trace the wind back to cupid's lips.

and my head says please don't do this to me 

not again, not after the last insanity.

the little things

Coincidence or synchronance

makes little difference

it's the feeling they give

these little miracles.

and even though I hardly ever heed them

the angels feed them anyway 

just when I think I need them

indiscriminately

least expectedly, timely

or are they imps,

teasing me with a glimpse

to raise the consciousness

but why?

Am I so ungodly, so shy, 

that I would not even try

to make something of it? 

Has my mind been deceived

eyes opened in disbelief

lids tightened in grief?

Doesn't matter, when I deal it,

synchronicity or coincidence

are left sitting on the fence.

Day 5 or some time..

I think probably the most difficult thing about giving up smoking, are the fears. The fear that you are going to morph into someone unrecognisible. The fear that you have been defined as a smoker for almost ever, and that you will lose your identity, or at least a large part of it. There is the fear of judging others by your own new standards of behaviour. The fear of losing the cool unexpectedly, in a situation where otherwise you would stand back to ponder while lighting a cigarette. The idea that smoking is a crutch used to get through situations, that other people would face head on, using some other more healthy psychological tool to work it through.
These are things I want to be aware of as I go through this withdrawal. It is not as simple as physically withdrawing from nicotine. There are the psychological aspects and how long a person has been smoking also has to be taken into account. For me it is a long time, and I admit to being scared of being a non-smoker. It is a different world for sure. But I need to do this. For me.