The Three Swords of Stavanger (QM2 Journal)

Excerpt from Queen Mary 2 Journal: Stavanger, Norway

There is a certain point in an illness, when it is particularly severe, where reality retreats and one feels almost as though one were under the influence of an hallucinogenic drug.  Strange thoughts intrude and bizarre fancies become a part of the fabric of plans half-conceived for the day.  For example, I thought that the Chinese had put into execution a new economic programme to make clothes with seams that would fall to pieces within hours.  The logic for this was impeccable in my fevered state. 

I experienced three days of this during the period when we were en route to Norway and indeed in Stavanger.  One day, I neither was able to eat nor drink because of a sore throat that was excruciatingly painful.  Every swallow was torture.

Yesterday, however, I returned to formal dining for the first time.  In the afternoon, I had a most magical experience on the balcony of our stateroom.

It was the first sunny day we had experienced for a start.  Winds had created whitecaps, extraordinarily beautiful.  The sunlight shimmered on the water and the spume thrown up was caught by the light in such a way that small rainbows appeared in more than one place on the surface of the sea, almost as though part of a tapestry pattern.

At first I thought that the specks of brilliant white light that hovered, dived and flew up from the waters somehow were a trick or illusion created by the winds, much like the whitecaps.  I then realised that they were living creatures, hundreds of tiny white birds who soared, dove and then flew up from the waves again and again.  I never have seen anything like it.  We were somewhere in the channel that divides Norway from Denmark but no land was in sight and yet hundreds of tiny birds were frolicing in the air and water.

I tried to capture even one in a photograph but was not successful.  They were too tiny and moved far too rapidly.  In my photographs, they became nothing more than brilliant specks of light. 

Part of the magic of this encounter was the way that the white feathers actually reflected the sunlight, making them flash and shimmer with light.  It was a veritable symphony of light, comprised of delicate rainbows and the flash of sunlight both on the waters and on the wings of the tiny birds.

That had to have been one of the most magical experiences I have had on the high seas.  As far as the land and ports are concerned, with respect to this particular voyage, one of the highlights was the 'Three Swords in Mountain'

Outside Stavanger, there is a remarkable sculpture or monument in the form of three gigantic swords thrust into a rocky finger of land near a bay.  It is a sort of public park now, I believe.  Beautiful white swans float in the little bay to the right of the small hillock where the monument was created.

It is the scene of an ancient battle, although the actual battle took place in the water and not on the land at all.  Most of the fallen sank below the waves from the weight of their armour and weapons.  I will research it more when I have better access to the internet.  Even the Cunard programme on Stavanger gave absolutely no facts about the monument, but at least alerted me to its existence.  I think I never would have forgiven myself had I not made a pilgrimage to the 'Sverd i fjell'.

It is very frustrating to be without funds, mobility, good health or time and in Stavanger, I was painfully conscious of all these restrictions.   There is a local 'hop on, hop off' coach in Stavanger for visitors and locals, but it does not make a stop at the Swords in the Mountain.   One had to go via taxi.   As the monument is not in the city, it was a fair drive and unfortunately, the taxi driver was Turkish and knew very little English and very little about the history of Norway. 

My sole souvenir from Norway is a chip of flint stone from the hillock where the 'Sverd i fjell' are located.  Had I sufficient funds, I would have purchased one of the gorgeous cardigans from 'Dale of Norway', something I always wanted but knew in my heart was out of my reach economically.   I did visit the Dale of Norway shop in Stavanger and saw the cardigan of my dreams.  Even have a photograph of it and did wear it for a brief moment.  Sometimes, miracles are possible.  I do have the email address of the shop.

Reality of Pain

Never published, written in 2016

No one can judge another person's pain or decide what amount of pain can be endured.  I read about Palestinian women who, after having a limb torn off by a bomb during the Invasion, kept walking, searching for a lost child, actually refusing any medical attention.  Here I am, with all my limbs, albeit only 30% of the original bone, and I am finding the pain completely unendurable.

One reads about people who pass out from pain... In 'Gone with the Wind', when Scarlett and Rhett take Melanie and her baby on the road from Atlanta and Scarlett asks about Melanie, she is told that she passed out from the pain.

I only have been experiencing this recently myself.  I actually have moments when the pain beomes so severe that I lose consciousness briefly.  It is terrifying.  I don't want this reality.  It is beyond my control completely... not a question of whether or not to take medication at this point even, but whether it is safe for me to stand, to walk across the floor even with a walker.  In the middle of the night, I sit on the edge of my bed and the tears flow silently down my cheeks.    As Theoden asked in the 'Two Towers', 'How did it come to this?'

I know there are plenty of individuals whose situations are far worse than mine.  There are people who are dying... but then, is dying worse than THIS life?  For many, many years, since becoming disabled in fact, I have perceived death as a release, as the promise of Peace at the end of a long struggle.  I do not want to die, but I don't want a life that is no life either.

So, three weeks to go before the first operation, if I only can survive it.  Each day when I take care of my cats, I promise them that I will not surrender to despair, that I will come through to the other side of this dark tunnel.  They need me and for that, I take those excruciatingly painful steps down the stair every day, although I admit my patience when Cupid attempts to eat yet another plastic bag is not what it once was. 

There are those who think of my Cats as an ordeal I shouldn't suffer, as something that makes my life more difficult now, but in fact, I don't know how I would survive this without them.  It is their love and their need for me that keeps me going, day by day, that makes me determined not to surrender.  The loneliness of my current existence would be unendurable with them.  I have no social life at this point and no affection apart from theirs.  I never expected this sort of life, never expected a situation this alienated from human affection.

I have discovered that many people are afraid of disability and of pain.  They retreat from it for whatever reason.   It is not even that it is boring or tedious, which it is.  It terrifies them, so they avert their gaze and choose to ignore it.   Love is not always positive.  I have learned that people can love you and that can make them crueler than they would be if they felt indifference or dislike.  Love can be the most positive influence in a person's life but the wrong kind of love can be utterly destructive.

Samrat Upadhyay and the Obsession with Sons

Recently, in the midst of my very real isolation and lack of mobility, a door from my past suddenly beckoned and, having kept it firmly latched for years, I was able to enter and find renewed interest in a period from my childhood that had caused me so much agony and pain that I never had been able to think about it without suffering.

It was the period I spent in Nepal that I could not revisit but now, with renewed interest, I am finding a veritable treasure trove of memories and new experiences.  One of these is my interest in items from Nepal, mostly of a semi-religious nature that are unique to that culture.  It has been a source of great joy and a thrill to rediscover the Madhal Drum, the Kurawa waterpot, Lord Shiva's Trisul (beloved of sadhus) and the Sukunda lamp, inter alia.

The language of the past, which I had forgotten returns little by little.  It never was pure Nepali but an odd mixture of Newari (Nepal Bhasa) and Nepali, given the fact that I lived mainly among Newars.  The alphabet returns slowly, very slowly but more readily, certain words become familiar to me once more.

With this interest came a desire to read novels, not only about Nepal but about India as well.  After all, Nepal and Northern India in particular, share many cultural traditions.  I read all the books I could find by Qurratulain Hyder and from there, Neel Mukherjee's novels.  Both are extraordinary scholars as well as fine writers.  It shames me actually as a Northern European with a somewhat classical background to find that, if I compare my knowledge and learning with theirs, I will be found lacking... for apart from their extensive knowledge of European history, literature and civilisations, they have a magnificent knowledge of Indian, Arab and Persian literature, history and culture where mine is poor, even if better than many Europeans.
dhyay.
Actually, it was my daughter Freya who handed me her copy of 'Fireflies in the Mist', a book that was required reading at her University.  She said, 'Here, Mum, I think you will appreciate this more than any one.'  It sat on my bed for awhile, but one day I picked it up and did not put it down again until I had finished it.  From there, I went on to read her 'River of Fire'.  In a conversation with some friends who visit Nepal regularly, I happened to recommend her and was asked in return if I had read 'The Lives of Others' by Mukherjee.  I was familiar with his reputation but had not read anything by him, so that was my next project.

From there, I became curious about contemporary Nepalese fiction and read 'The City Son' by Samrat Upadhyay.  I now am reading his 'Buddha's Orphans'.

First of all, as a writer his work is in a completely different style and genre from Qurratulain Hyder and Neel Mukherjee.  The latter both act as historians, literary repositories of their own culture and religion.  Although Hyder was a Muslim, all of the religious traditions of India and later, Pakistan, formed an important part of her work.  Both Mukherjee and Hyder address politics as a fundamental influence in all walks of life and every class.

They both tend to be fearless as well in delving into the human psyche, whether within the family unit, the village, universities or among the ruling class.  Mukherjee is more graphic in some of his writing but Hyder does not shrink from the less admirable motivations and acts both of men and women.

It was Samrat Upadhyay, however, whom I wished to discuss here.  He is one of the best known Nepalese writers internationally and indeed teaches creative writing at the Univeristy of Indiana in the States.  Does he deserve the extraordinary praise I have seen in some reviews that compare him to James Joyce on one hand and the Russian masters on the other?

Personally, I would not go quite that far although he is a fine writer in a very different way from the two other novelists I mentioned.  His style is simple and direct.  There are a few literary allusions, mainly to Western literature, but his works are not steeped in references like the others.  It is his characters, primarily, that give his books the incredible power they possess.  They are unforgettable.  I do find there appears to be a sort of leitmotif operating through his work in the form of the young boy who becomes the focus of obsession between more than one 'mother' figure.   I shall have to read another novel by him before I can judge if his motifs permeate everything he writes, but in both 'The City Son' and 'Buddha's Orphans' there is a woman whose descent into madness is caused by the loss of a man.  In the one, she is widowed and in the other, her husband is recovered by his first wife, making her an outsider.   In the one, the child is an orphan and in the other, the child of the second wife who becomes mad, leaving him to the obsession of the first wife.  In both cases, however, he is a 'beautiful boy' who becomes the focus of an intense power struggle between two women.  The loser inevitably is almost destroyed by the loss of the child.

The plots are very compelling, of course, and the theme is a potent one, but what motivates his return to it?  Is it some kind of wishful thinking, some desire as a man, once a boy, to be loved to that extent, if you can consider obsession love?  In a land where there are so many orphans who are utterly unwanted, is it some kind of political statement?  I think somehow it is something deep in the author's own psyche that gives him some kind of satisfaction to explore.  In 'The City Son' the relationship is scandalous, even wicked by the srtandards of most cultures, even his own and it ultimately works to destroy more than one life.   The first wife, originally a victim, becomes a force of destruction.  Is she evil?  Well, that is a matter of opinion but certainly her acts become evil in their far-reaching dimensions.

'Buddha's Orphans' is a very different novel from 'City Son', however, in that it is a poignant love story as well as a dramatic record of the political climate in Nepal in the period after Mahendra's rule.

I personally particularly enjoy Upadhyay's work because it brings back memories of my childhood.  Even while enjoying his descriptions of Nepal and his use of Nepali in dialogue, both are a source of two of my greatest criticisms of his books.

First of all, I believe that, although he caters primarily to an English-speaking audience, he cheats that audience by frequent use of Nepali dialogue without any translation.  I do not know if he is motivated by some odd political or social agenda that asserts through this, 'Although my nation is one of the smallest in the world, why shouldn't you be familiar with MY language?'  It is counterproductive, however.  Why should there not be at least a glossary at the end of his books giving translations of the Nepali words and phrases?  How can a reader LEARN anything or enjoy dialogues he/she cannot understand?

Second of all, his books would benefit greatly from a map or two.  He describes the various areas of Kathmandu in wonderful detail but again, readers who never visited Nepal would enjoy the books much more if they could look at a little map showing where the temples and schools and other interesting landmarks are located.

There is a characteristic that all three of the novelists I have mentioned share and that is a fearless and extraordinary willingness to explore the dark areas of the human soul, whether sexual, religious, political or cultural.  I seldom have encountered anything quite like it in Western literature.  Oh yes, Western writers are keen to shock and use sex as a tool to gain readers but it seldom is anything profound or unforgettably disturbing.

Of course, sex was recognised and accepted as one of the great powers in life in India and Nepal when it was being stuffed into wardrobes and hidden at any cost in Europe and the States.   The worship of the Lingam and the graphic nature of temple drawings, even if one were not Hindu oneself, had to play a role in every individual's upbringing to some extent.    Even Muslim writers like Hyder do not have the peculiar crippling disability that Western writers must labour often to overcome in this respect.  Yes, we write now freely about Sado-Masochism and the taboo subjects but we do so almost in an artificial fashion.

Hyder is not like the other two in the style in which she addresses the topic.  She is from a different generation and is not graphic in the way she deals with human relationships, whether physical, emotional or spiritual.  She is far more a 'reader's writer' than the other two as well.  You have to have patience and determination to plumb the depths of her works but the effort is entirely rewarding.  Her books truly are national treasures.  What nation?  Well, that could be a source of confusion as well and I think this is one of the themes of her works, how India suffered through the Partition that divided families and a nation.  Mukherjee deals with the Partition a little as well but not to the same extent, although his books are very political.

What I see, though, in all three writers, is an essential emotional honesty and integrity that is willing to lay bare the soul for the edification of others as well as themselves.  All three are very powerful writers and one does not emerge from their books unscathed.

Cybercrime and Immorality

With Russia in the news now again, vilified in the conflict with the Ukraine, I personally feel compassion for both sides, but have some firsthand knowledge of the eqse with which Russian experts can infiltrate and commit fraud and identity theft.  There are plenty of Ukrainians with similar skills, of course.  I simply happen to have suffered personally.

I could tell you a tale that would make your hair stand on end about greed, money laundering, cybercrime, and basically common theft and blackmail.

I will write this as fiction, even though it is fact.  I will not name names, even though I could.  I want to be left in peace.  

As we begin with the tale that rivals anything Dickens could have concocted:

'The relationship between Willy Greenfrond and Viktoria Uberfarmer was based on mutual contempt, a common thirst for wealth, and a sense of elitism that simply threw the Ten Commandments out of the window where any crime they committed was concerned.

Among documented crimes they had committed, together or separately were theft, blackmail, fraud, and at the top of this whitewashed pyramid of accomplishments, murder.

Viktoria actually had a sister who was her elder, but she had been rewriting history for decades to portray herself as an only child born of the barren union of her mother and her stepfather.  Somehow she hoped to be able to create a canvas locally that completely ignored the real family, wherein her father and mother had two children and one granddaughter from each. In an interview for a local paper, she spoke of three generations that consisted only of her stepfather and mother, herself, and her polyamorous daughter.  Other family members read the article, but the other dqughter and granddaughter really were unfazed.  It was par for the course from the mouth of an egocentric sociopath.

The day the worlds of Viktoria and Albie collided was auspicious for both of them.  He, a Jewish man from New York who had gained nothing after the death of his local wife, was trawling a Catholic Grief Group for a rich widow, and obtained a two for one deal.

Viktoria acquired a flunkie, a man who lied to her initially about his status and assets, but ultimately proved more useful and pliable as a penniless scoundrel. 

The family reacted like a flock of silly geese.  'Viktoria is in love!' they cried.  'Finally there is some one to take her off our hands!'

They had grown weary over the years of Viktoria's manipulations.  She would order up a driver in the form of an aunt or uncle as though they were her personal unpaid Uber fleet.  She would ask to be taken to the supermarket where she would complete a huge shopping and then, when she reached the cashier, with mock surprise claim she had forgotten her handbag.  Her aunt would be forced to pay for the lot and then chaffeur V. back home.  

As the story goes, Auntie finally lost patience and insisted Viktoria go home to fetch her money to pay for the goods herself.

The entire family must carry some of the responsibility for creating two generations of monsters.  They pandered to these two manipulative women endlessly.  Indeed, one of the reasons Viktoria refused to speak to her sister for about a decade was because she refused an outrageous demand.

Viktoria essentially summoned her sister and her family to meet them at an aeroport for half an hour rather like a meeting with an inferior on a royal tour.  The fact rhat other family members had agreed to these brief uncomfortable and highly inconvenient meetings had calcified Viktoria's sense that this was normal procedure.  It would be a three hour drive each way.  Her sister said plainly that the plan was absurd.  She suggested a real visit instead, either at her home or in the City.

That was the last she ever heard from Viktoria until their mother threatened to cut her out of the inheritance unless she made peace with her sister.  

More of this later.  Most of the scullduggery belongs to the era after the death of the mother.

I consider the world of finance to be a marshland of immorality.  Not too long ago, I tried to help a family member find 'a man with good hair' on a dating app.  As I had no experience with dating apps myself, I was fascinated with the concept of simply swiping left or right to accept or condemn to oblivion.  It made me feel like I was a Roman who had the power to deliver thumbs up or down.  It quickly became a little tiresome.

One of the more educational moments was when almost immediately, I was accosted by a man who was rather handsome, purported to be an Irish Catholic, and had some measure of personal charm.  Rather quickly, I discovered he was trawling for elderly women of means to persuade them to invest through him in cryptocurrency.

He was a babe in the woods though compared to my childhood sweetheart who systematically lied, stole, and comprehensively hacked all of my accounts shortly after my mum died.

After seeing the Irish bloke had three entirely different profiles on social media, and absurdly claimed to own a private jet, small yacht and vacation home in Hawaii, as he lamently occasionally the fact that all he wanted in life was a home of his own, I completely closed all avenues of communication.  I never introduced him to the actual object of his desires.  I was kinder to him than she would have been.  Absurdly I had wished to protect her a little from the sexual and financial predators, when in fact she can speak quite plainly and effectively.

So back to Russian grift.  What a tale that is!  I should have understood from the start that a man who alternately insults and then romances you has no feelings whatsoever for you or is emotionally stunted.  Either situation does not promote happiness.

I was weak emotionally as I had just endured both cancer, my mother's death and great treachery and cruelty at the hands of some members of my family and their agents. 

I since have discovered that many people suffer the most grievous losses and hurt at the hands of their own siblings, but wishful thinking dominated my soul at that point in time.

Looking back, I feel my childhood 'friend' probably was one of her agents as well, even though she always declared she had nothing but contempt for him.  If he really had cared about me even as a friend, he eould have contacted me sooner and not looked to profit for it.  

'Business as usual' he called all of the deceit, hacking, stealing, as well as attempts to create false details for the purpose of blackmail.  I was set up to look like a less than competent woman.  My mistake was that I always am too polite to tell some one he or she is a liar.

Death in the News

I basically try to avoid the 'News' as much as possible except where events that have international or wide implications are concerned.  In other words, tales of random killings usually would be something I would avoid.  Today, however, I was pulled into the arena of such 'news' by Facebook in two separate stories.

One was a sports figure who was serving a life sentence for murder but had been acquitted of OTHER murders recently.  He was found hanged in his cell in prison.  I initially clicked on the story because the headlines made it appear that an innocent man had committed suicide.  In fact, he was a murderer and whether his death were suicide or killing by another person is one of those things that might fascinate a mystery writer but is neither here nor there where justice is concerned.

Moving on... the second tale was of a man who was labelled the 'Facebook killer'.  Not having followed the story, I kind of assumed that there was a real connection to Facebook, but that was not the case either.  He simply made an announcement of his intent to kill some one, any one apparently, on Facebook, then randomly killed an elderly man and posted the event to Facebook.  I am not certain that Facebook should be given any culpability for this... it is the internet in general that would have to be blamed, if any one, for giving mad people an outlet for spurious fame based on some horrible act, whether murder, rape or anything else that titillates the public.

So there are the two stories I read today, neither of them particularly important in the general pattern of the universe... and yet they evidently catch the eye and attention of the media and the general public more than the murders by drone committed by the American government over the past decade and now, the apparent determination of Trump to start a third World War.   To be fair, Obama was as guilty as Trump of sending drones to destinations inhabited by civilians and the blood of many children, women and other non-combatants are on the hands of every single President with the drone technology.  Somehow, it is easier to kill at a distance, especially when the target is a pinpoint on a map in another country.

Political philosophy aside, it appears to me that Trump really does not understand the widespread consequences of ANY nuclear explosion.  After all, Chernobyl was nothing more than an accident. No one was targeted... it was not supposed to happen!  And yet, the fallout from that disaster poisoned wide swathes of Europe for years and who even knows how many cases of cancer and other disease throughout Europe were caused by radiation poisoning from this fairly isolated location.

Trump obviously does not think that a nuclear explosion will affect any one apart from the intended target or, if he is aware of this, simply does not care.  Any attack on North Korea will affect South Korea and possibly a larger portion of Asia...

I think that, as far as non-nuclear aggression is concerned, Trump wants to be a one-man Isis of his own persuasion, bigger and better than Isis ever could be... he often speaks of Putin and his desire to be a LARGER figure of the same sort.  World domination, after total domination of Twitter, is apparently on HIS bucket list... for a Third World War might take him out of the picture, along with the rest of us, leaving a planet where, if the rest of the flora and fauna can adapt to the poisons, might be able to recover in a hundred years or so, minus the human race.

So, if any one reads this, and I doubt any one will... please do not think that I carry a brief for either of the two major political parties in the States.  I simply feel that the scientific facts should be addressed before any President embarks upon the use of nuclear warfare as a purported solution to ANYTHING.  There have been a number of very graphic films about the effects of a nuclear attack on the world.  It may be old now, but a film called 'Threads' was a real eye-opener in its time.  Mr. Trump, please watch this film before you move further down that destructive path.  I appeal to you as a fellow human being... or to make it even more general and applicable, as a living, breathing entity who would like to see this Planet continue to struggle along without being totally devastated.

Archaeological remains on the shore of Lake Baikal

Archaeologists in Siberia have made an interesting discovery when they unearthed a Bronze Age grave containing remains of a male and female.  Buried for over five millenia, the couple were found still holding hands. Rings made of white jade and other ornaments decorated the corpses.  One item had been placed in the male’s eye socket.  

The bodies were discovered in an old grave overlooking the famous Lake Baikal in Siberia. The researchers believed the remains belong to an ancient dignitary and his younger wife or perhaps his concubine or favourite slave.

According to the researchers, the remains belong to high-born dignitaries of the Glazkov Culture who lived around the Baikal Lake,  considered the oldest and the deepest lake in the world.

Dmitry Kichigin, an archaeologist at Irkutsk National Research Technical University, explained that valuable artifacts found in this ancient grave are considered by experts to be an offering of a religious nature, made to facilitate the dead in the afterlife.  The rings found in this grave may have had a particular significance.

Dr Kichigin went on to state that the remains were discovered laying on their backs, with their heads facing West, the direction of the land of the dead.  The skeletons were found holding hands.  He added that researchers are currently working to establish the real purpose of jade knives found near the female body.   Kichigin said that the knives are a new development in the discovery of Glazkov culture’s grave sites.    He remarked that the male skeleton is relatively in a better condition than the female’s remains as the upper half of the female skeleton had been eaten away by rodents or predators.

The burial site is located in a religiously significant location.   The region near the lake is long believed to have possessed immense religious significance for the ancient people. The site is also the home of a number of Neolithic remains discovered in the past by archaeologists.

The authorities have taken strict measures to keep the location of the discoveries hidden in order to avoid any ransacking of the sites by treasure hunters. While speaking to The Siberian Times, the archaeologists working at the site have made it clear that their excavation of the site is expected to reveal more hidden facts about the ancient people who inhabited the region thousands of years ago.

The Sacred Prayers of Ash Wednesday according to Ancient Traditions in Latin

Ash Wednesday in Latin
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The Blessing of the Ashes:

Omnipotens sempiterna Deus, parce poentientibus, propitare supplicantibus : et mittere digneris sanctum Angelum tuum de caelis, qui benedicat, et sanctificet hos cineras, ut sint remedium salubre omnibus nomen sanctum tuum humiliter implorantibus, ac semetipsos pro conscientia delictorum suorum accusantibus, ante conspectum divinae clementiae tuae facinora sua deplorantibus, vel serenissimam pietatem tuam suppliciter obnixeque flagitantibus : et praesta per invocationem sanctissimi nominis tui : ut quicumque per eos asperse fuerint, pro redemptione peccatorum suorum corporis sanitatem, et animae tutelam percipiant. Per Christum Dominium nostrum. Amen.

O almighty and eternal God, spare those who are penitent, be merciful to those who supplicate Thee; and vouchsafe to send Thy holy Angel from heaven, to bless and sanctify these ashes, that they may be a wholesome remedy to all who humbly implore Thy holy name, and accuse themselves as a result of the consciousness of their sins, deploring their crimes before Thy divine clemency, or humbly and earnestly beseeching Thy sovereign mercy : and grant through the invocation of Thy most holy name that all who may be sprinkled with them for the remission of their sins may receive health of body and safety of soul. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Another Blessing of the Ashes:

Deus, Qui non mortem, sed poenitentiam desideras peccatorum : fragilitatem conditionis humanae benignissime respece; et hos cineres, quos causa proferendae humilitatis, atque promerendae veniae, capitibus nostris imponi decernimus, benedicere pro tua pietate dignare : ut, qui nos cinerem esse, et ob pravitatis nostrae demeritum, in pulverem reversuros cognoscimus; peccatorum ommium veniam, et praemia poentientibus repromissa, misericorditer consequi mereamur. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.

O God, who desirest not the death of sinners, but rather their repentance, look down most graciously upon the frailty of human nature, and in Thy goodness vouchsafe to bless these ashes which we intend to put upon our heads in token of humility and that we may obtain pardon; that we who know that we are dust, and for the penalty of our guilt must return unto dust, may deserve to obtain of Thy mercy the pardon of all sins, and the rewards promised to penitents. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Prayer before giving the Sign of the Cross in the Ashes:

Deus, Qui humiliatione flecteris, et satisfactione placaris: aurem tuae pietatis inclina precibus nostris ; et capitibus servorum tuorum, horum cinerum aspersione contactis, effunde propitius gratiam tuae benedictionis : ut eos et spiritu compunctinis repleas, et quae juste postulaverint, efficaciter tribuas; et concessa perpetuo stabilita, et intacta manere decernas. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.
O God, who are moved by humiliation, and appeased by satisfaction : incline the ear of Thy goodness to our prayers, and favourably pour forth upon the heads of Thy servants sprinkled with these ashes the grace of Thy blessing, that Thou mayest both fill them with the spirit of compunction, and effectually grant what they have justly prayed for : and ordain that what Thou hast granted may be permanently established and remain inviolate. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Another Prayer:

Omnipotens sempiterna Deus, qui Ninivitis in cinere et cilicio poentientibus, indulgentiae tuae remedia, praestitisti ; concede propitius ; ut sic eos imitemur habitu, quatenus veniae prospequajur obtentu. Per Dominum. Amen.

Almighty and eternal God, who didst grant the remedy of Thy pardon to the Ninivites doing penance in ashes and sackcloth, mercifully grant that we may so imitate them in our attitude that like them we may obtain forgiveness. Through our Lord. Amen.

Homily:

Ash Wednesday is from a liturgical point of view one of the most important days of the year. In the first place this day opens the liturgical season of Lent, which formerly began with the First Sunday and comprised only thirty-six days. The addition of Wednesday and the three following days brought the number to forty, which is that of Our Lord's fast in the desert.

   In the Old Law ashes were generally a symbolic expression of grief, mourning, or repentance. In the Early Church the use of ashes had a like signification and with sackcloth formed part of the public penance. The blessing of the ashes is one of the great liturgical rites of the year. It was originally instituted for public penitents, but is now intended for all Christians, as Lent should be a time of penance for all. The ashes used this day are obtained by burning the palms of the previous year. Four ancient prayers are used in blessing them, and, having been sprinkled with holy water and incensed, the priest puts them on the foreheads of the faithful with the words: 'Remember, man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shall return.' The ancient prayers of the blessing suggest suitable thoughts for the opening of Lent. They are summarised here:

'Almighty and everlasting God, spare the penitent; ¦bless these ashes, that they may be a remedy to all who invoke Thy Name.  O God, Who desirest not the death but the conversion of sinners, look kindly upon our human frailty and bless these ashes, so that we, who know ourselves to be but ashes and that we must return to dust, may deserve to obtain pardon and the rewards offered to the penitent.'

Before Mass ashes are blessed made from palms blessed in the previous year. The forms used in this blessing date from about the eighth century. After 'None' has been said, the priest, vested in alb and violet stole, with or without a violet cope, with deacon and subdeacon in vestments of the same colour, goes up to the altar and the choir begin by singing the Blessing of the Ashes.