Dante's Prayer has been my favourite song since I was a child. It is an absolutely exquisite piece of music by Canadian artist Loreena McKennitt. Listen:
I realise now that the words are most likely addressed to God: "you came to me in the night" not the gesture of a lover, but of a spiritual saviour. It's a song about God's ever-presence, about his unbroken love for the soul of the singer, always providing hope despite trials and lapses in faith.
But I appreciate it precisely because all of those virtues exist in a world of mortals. Human love is this powerful. Human hope is this powerful. And the human memory is the place that loved ones are kept and treasured long after their passing.
And on a different note completely, one of my favourite blog posts ever is Housewife by Erin O'Brien. It's about being a housewife. O'Brien takes great pride in her home. She has her favourite products and her favourite appliances:
How many other fuckers you know have a Poly Perk coffee pot? You fuckers come over here and I'll put up a pot of coffee in this mother fucker.
Why? Why do I love it? Because five years ago it made me realise that homemaking is a real thing that real, awesome women do. Yeah, it's a comedy post. Yeah, she's pretty much just talking about the contents of her kitchen and swearing about it. But she's no cornered woman. She's built a life that includes a husband, kids, domestic responsibilities, and a writing career. And to me five years ago, that was revolutionary - I was still convinced of the idea that domesticity was a trap women fell into, a dull and directionless path of "providing support for your man" and "keeping everything nice".
I know better now. This one blog post actually convinced me I'd be willing to consider working part-time or arranging some kind of distribution of labour with whoever I finally shacked up with. It's not weak - it's a way of meeting your own needs and your partner's, if your needs include, say, financial support while you write badass prose poems about detergent and shelving paper. I started to realise that a new era of women's choice didn't mean we should all choose the same thing.
These aren't new ideas to any of you reading this, but that's what this stupid poem meant to me.
Hope you like it too.