And tomorrow, the first Monday in October.  Will have to tune in to see what shenanigans the current politics are prompting at 1 First St.  Spittoons being flung, newbie (US for 'puisne')  justices fleeing into the curtains.

The back of the Scotus building is very unheimlich.  You have the chambers windows on the upper floors, but they look out onto a sort of suburban, run-of-the-mill Americana street, as opposed to the usual urban landscape.  Very, very uncanny. 

One thing would be certain, though.  I would stay a million miles from the domestic politics.  If I happened upon a figuration of the current conflicts, I would simply take a wide arc around it, as if it were a movie set.  Which wouldn't be far from the truth.

 If I were to head back states-side, I suppose the salto mortale to the mountaintop would be to land in NYC or LA in a position to reinvigorate myself by actually doing theatre, but the cost of living, and the fact that both places are dominated by the same professional networks that I hit a bit of a brick wall with before the JD likely mean that those doors would be closed, at least to start with.  The second scenario would be either a law job or a survival job near a large research library that I had access to, so I could continue the present work on some level.  The third scenario, largely recognizing the difficulties of the first two, would be very humble quarters in the far upper Midwest: Dakotas, Minnesota, etc. near modest libraries to which I had access.  (Minnesota might be good for that, as their public system has interlibrary rights within the state universities.)

To be clear, all of these plans would involve some real difficulty, thanks to certain specific headwinds.  The choice is probably whether the difficulty is to be characterized by the salto mortale to what is likely a rigged game, but still proximate to the art -- or the long, difficult journey to humble winter quarters and a supply of books that, while it might not be optimal, would at least be sufficient.   

On the other hand, something interesting might appear in the interval.  

"Events, dear boy, events..." 

sunday morning -- latin mass on youtube

The church is of the world.  And does the work of the world, and has a comportment to things in the world as an already-understood part of the world.  But in its worldly relations, there is also sacrament, which has one meaning for those in the world, and perhaps another for an unworldly passerby.

Fear not to enter his courts in the slenderness
Of the poor wealth thou wouldst reckon as thine
Truth in its beauty, and love in its tenderness,
These are the offerings to lay on his shrine.

These, though we bring them in trembling and fearfulness.
He will accept for the name that is dear
Mornings of joy give for evenings of tearfulness,
Trust for our trembling, and hope for our fear

"Beauty of Holiness" (Munsell) 

Pulaski Day

Pulaski day Mass and parade in the city.  I recall, before setting out on the present peregrination, going over to the altar of Częstochowa at St. Pat's, also with the icon of Kolbe to the side.  I envisioned a trip to the ancestral homelands, meditating with the icons in the churches in the afternoon, working and reading in the mornings and evenings.  And a peregrination did, or perhaps has, come to pass.  But circumstances took me much further south, in the contested regions, with peoples very different than my country and my ancestral background.  The circumstances have not always been idyllic, but I'd like to think that I've made as much use of the circumstances as I could.  Instead of the country churches, kefir above the market while reading philosophy on the Kindle.  Instead of the chandeliers of the theatres of northern Europe, rooms in which a different sort of work was going on.  

But destinations, and this is very important, have the character of being a different sort of experience.  You must expect a transposition of things when you arrive.  The truths and places in which you began will seem to be at a distance, and a different vision will be set before you.  Enter upon  the event. 

Some years, especially before the high-security pens arrived, I would find a place opposite the cathedral for the Pulaski parade.  I would watch the faces of the marchers as they arrived at the cathedral, with the prelates arrayed in front and flags waving.  The expressions on their faces were quite remarkable.