A Fan Still

This is the longest I have waited to see a new Harry Potter movie. Three and a half days. This is the first movie release since the last book, Deathly Hallows, and I wondered if I would be as keen about it as I have been in the past. I no longer check the Leaky Cauldron daily; nor do I listen to every PotterCast as soon as it comes out. I decided I was okay with the idea of just being calm and grown-up about the whole scenario after years of serious fan behavior. Ms. Rowling had moved on. So could I. Surely
Nevertheless, when Wednesday of opening week arrived, I detected euphoric-like feelings occurring off-and-on throughout the day. Did this have anything to do with my having finally got my car repaired so that I was no longer embarrassed to drive it and no longer worried sick that it might quit on me at any time? Or, was it simply because we were relatively smoothly meeting our monthly deadline at work? OR, could it have something to do with the Half-Blood Prince being in theatres across the country and beyond? Perhaps it was a combination of several factors that caused my heart to lighten and my transformation into a slightly bubbly, albeit what some would describe "middle-aged", person. It's a mystery.
I saw the latest installment of the HP movies yesterday afternoon with a good friend (who is, thankfully, quite a fan). I had not been able to refrain from reading reviews, checking box office estimates daily, and listening three times to the latest PotterCast episode in which the faithful podcasters expounded enthusiastically on the great merits of the movie they had just witnessed. So. My Harry Potter inner fan was fully awake and functioning, although I tried to be subtle about it. There are after all so few people in my daily sphere who would understand.

I thoroughly enjoyed the sixth movie and intend to see it again as soon as may be. For now, I think one of the best parts was the vulnerable Dumbledore drinking the potion scene; not as heart-wrenching as the scene in the book, but revealing at last a different side of the Movie-Dumbledore.

As the credits rolled, and we were rising to leave, I looked around the half-full auditorium. In that moment, I really wished I had been able to go to a post-midnight opening. The energy is exhilaratingly cozy, and the air is swirling with anticipatory vibes at those shows. Ah, well. A special effort will likely be made by yours truly to attend those first showings for Deathly Hallows. One and Two.
I really love the Harry Potter story. A fan I am still.


Third Sunrise this Week

A fin. Just one. But I think it's a dolphin, the way it arcs the middle part of it's body over and into the water. Can't see the head or the tail. I hope it is a dolphin because it's not very far out. It's probably partaking of the fish we see jumping up and plopping into the water about the same distance out.
I was thinking of staying in and watching the sunrise from my bed/couch, but the urge to come out here was too strong. The ocean. It's alive.
I think of those who lived near the sea in the times before we thought we knew so much.
I've heard they would sing to the Great Orb to greet its return each day. To sing with the accompaniment of the waves would be better even than to swelling, overlapping Om's. Singing to the Oneness we are all a part of. That's what it is, I suppose, if language must be applied to the experience.

Before I see the sun, I see the light showing up in colors I won't even try to put names to. Will I be watching in that second the topmost arc emerges from the misty horizon? Will I hear a song?

To know that we are the ones moving toward you,
Does it really matter?
You come to us --
We come to you --
In the end it is the same.
We see you appear.
We feel your rays, alive.

I see it. I watch it rise.
I should have counted, but it took only about a minute for it to be fully risen. I looked at it long enough for my pencil lead to look fuchsia instead of graphite as I'm trying to write with it. Psychedelic-like.
The song came from you, perhaps, and they heard it and sang it back to you.

The moment it was appearing was intense.
The music was a swelling succession of sustained notes as if by many voices or instruments. A lot like the waves, except rising in intensity and pitch, probably because my eyes and heart were transfixed. It looks so large in the moment. A ship passed across it in that moment. I could see the levels outlined as the orange leaked through the openings in the structure of the ship.
On the way back to the house, I noticed a dead stingray that had washed up during the night. The pretty white birds were having a free meal along with a large black crow which must have caught the scent from who knows how far away. Fortunately, I could not smell it. Eyes open. Kite shape. Just lying there. Ah. Isn't that life, though? Beauty and naked death in one big gulp.