Update: March 27th, 2020
Grace to the housebound.
Like everybody, we’ve had to postpone what we were bound for in the spring. We’ve disappointment, and we’ve tea leaf reading to do in our spare time. Respectful of the various governments’ best efforts to manage what they can, we bow to the general wisdom about staying indoors and counting the blessings. So we’ll do our best to reschedule everything up to 12 May inclusive, probably in the fall.
First: Thank you for your inquiries about the Nights of Grief & Mystery Rough Gods Tour. With everything else you have to think about and care about and decide upon, we are honoured that you’ve included something we love in those long lists of yours.
Second: We’re coming to your town, or somewhere close by. Maybe it’s in the fall instead of the spring, we’ll see. But we’re coming. Who knows?: Maybe we’ll end up with a longer list of dates than we started with. Maybe, finally, Nights of Grief & Mystery will start to sound like something familiar, or worth considering, instead of a freak show. Sometimes it takes a crisis, some forced confinement, to bring the psychic landscape into high relief. We have patience, and we have a sense of urgency about all this.
Third: We’ve been working on a double record since early February. It’ll likely be ready sometime in May, maybe early June. There’ll be some live pieces there, recorded on the North American tour late last year, and some new studio things.
We’ve been thinking about whether we have anything a time like this deserves, might require, might be able to use. We’re going with, ‘Yes. We do.’
We’ll see you down the road a bit.
Update: March 23rd, 2020
Right in these days, the countries we were meaning to tour this spring and early summer are entering into the hardest, most disruptive phase of coping and planning and reacting and advising. Patterns are starting to emerge. The epidemiological flight path of the virus is becoming clearer. The wild card isn’t the virus. It’s the local and regional reaction to the news.
It isn’t unreasonable now to imagine that late April/early May will see the worst of it come and go – depending on what people do now.
We’re doing what you’re probably doing: being lucky, being grateful, being edgy, staying away from the news for the most part, trying to let our daily lives be overhauled by what this might yet mean.
And we’re meaning to keep as much of the tour schedule in tact as we can, perhaps moving some of the canceled shows from the spring to early fall. That’ll be a feat, rescheduling will. The good news is that we’re a little act, with a bit of overhead and a sense that a Night of Grief & Mystery might belong to these times.
So we’ll continue to do what you’ll continue to do: Stay alert, listen for the ‘all clear’, whatever that might mean, ready ourselves for what these times might ask of us.
And then, Gods willing, see you on the road.
Update: March 15th, 2020
Swept away by the next thing, and then the next thing: That’s the weather now. Your rudder’s a plank from the scrap pile again. For the moment, the sail’s a bedsheet again. The rigging is clothes’ line.
I hear that people are coming to this site to find out what I’m going to do about the School, about the Grief & Mystery tours, about the Apprenticeship and the Die Wise session, and the plague, and other things. The online opinionfest is under full sail. I’ve nothing to add, and no inclination to add. And yet, people are asking, are worried, are up against what they can’t change, can’t decide upon. I’ve had this Orphan Wisdom sign hanging out in the wind for years now, and I can’t deny that puts me in the place of responding.
So, how to do that? How to do it without adding to the cinders and the dust, the fog of opinion, all the posturing about new moral codes and social distancing and the rest?
Let me try.
Freud was pretty sure that our civility was miles wide and a millimeter deep. So was William Golding, who wrote Lord of the Flies, and Albert Camus, who wrote The Plague. I’d agree with those Europeans on this much, at least: In crunch time, you find out what you believe. Not what you believe you believe. You certainly find out what you mean when you use the word ‘human’, and why we have the word ‘humane’ as a variant.
I’m in an odd place at the moment, compared with urban people and plugged in people. I’ve been working on a new record away out in a dry-season countryside, and was nose to the grindstone for the whole early wave of this thing. The sense of peril and of imminent demise and of the naked mandate of self preservation taking hold was unknown to me, and then quite far away. In one way I’ve had the grace of a bit of quiet and distance and not knowing. That ended fiercely and utterly about a week ago, as I was swallowed into a mad vortex of real and pretend decision making about the entire year’s plans, plans that affect scores of people directly and thousands indirectly. Now there’s a different kind of grace: I get to choose what is important, and what should stand, and why I’ve been doing this Orphan Wisdom work for the last fifteen or twenty years, and whether any of it matters.
In too many ways it’s now like the disaster movies we’ve been treated to for a few decades. We get to watch the peeling back of Dorian Grey’s civilized visage in real time. We get to watch welders sealing Chinese people inside their apartments in the name of obtaining a healthy society. And for a consumer culture, there are few scenes so chilling as drastic footage of empty shelves.
I’ve had to decide again what ‘Orphan’ means, what ‘Wisdom’ means, what ‘Grief ‘ is and what ‘Mystery’ is, what ‘Rough Gods’ are and where the world is, what a storyteller owes to the world that granted him his stories, what we owe each other in kindredness. All of this is a matter of deciding, not knowing. It’s a time for learning the touch of a Rough God, and the proper limit of personal safety. We are apprentices to limit, finally. Indeed:
You start off in the light. And you end up in wisdom, if the Gods are prevailing.
I’ve had to decide what some pestilence-bent assembly of the willing might look like, might do. I’ve had to decide what art in a time of trouble should do. I’m steering the Orphan Wisdom raft into the teeth of the tempest. I’ve no idea who’s on board. But there’ll be Orphan Wisdom School, there’ll be Nights of Grief and Mystery, and there’ll be learning after Rough Gods. In 2020, C.E.
Where, and when, and who, I’m not four square and sure. I don’t have to be sure, not now. Patient, though, and ready, and listening for the wind’s keen and direction. We’ll see what another week or ten days brings.
Note: Please monitor this post for current news and changes to upcoming events as we respond to unfolding COVID-19 developments.