of Angels and Men in the Snow

There was magic everywhere. I simply do not have any other description for the experience. Mark and I, with some determination, because we are still not used to the cold, and the slippery conditions made the possibility of a fall and a secondary back injury all the more likely; nevertheless, we went only forward. Leaving the car parked on Fifth Avenue we ventured across the snow-plowed streets and into the Park. The Park. Central Park. It, I suppose, carries many hundreds of thousands of stories in it's memories; but today it was building new ones for me and for Mark.

There was some disagreement, Mark wanting to stick to what he saw was a cleared path, but which limited severely what we'd be able to see, to take in, and I do mean 'take in', because it quickly became about bringing the beauty of the snow covered lawns and buildings into our spiritual beings.

Mark and I climbed a short walk from the car drive near 72ndStreet and came across a great snow covered lawn. Off to one side stood a lovely old red brick building, it's slate roof steeply pitched and bereft of snow at all but the edges, its painted white wooden door and window frames gleaming, providing in the quintessential New England picture. We trudged forward across the new snow, leaving our unfortunate foot marks to spoil the smooth even coat of powdery white crystal ice. And then, for me, it happened. Joy! Just incredible joy! I laughed out loud for the first time, I think, in years, with utter and complete elation; and throwing my arms in the air I ran to Mark and swung my arms about him and gave him a big smacker, right on the mouth! "Darling, this is wonderful!" And waving my arms about, rather like the silly robot on 'Lost in Space' I imagine, I ran forward, snapping pictures, and truly happy, left all cares behind me, at least for a little time..



Ahead of us was the dome of a lovely building. Rising from lower ground than where we stood, it was the dome of the building which we saw best, rising above a long wooden arbor, covered with the twisted, dark trunks of winter's sleeping wisteria. How lovely, the deep dark mysterious branches against the purity of the fallen dusty snow.

Mark called me from the far right end of the arbor, where he had found for us a descent upon ice and snow covered stairs. We both, stepping sideways, and holdingthe old iron and wood rail, managed our way down. No falls! At the bottom we found that our domed building was in fact the back of the Concert Shell, and we paused to take in it's Beaux Arts Neo-classical beauty - then off I ran after Mark, who was cold, and wanting to keep moving, had trotted onwards towards the Bethesda Terrace. Mark had already reached the bottom of the staircase there, and was wandering through the passage, looking upwards all the while, at the newly restored Minton Tile ceiling, when at last I reached him again.

The bright and garish colored tiles are set against the somber brown stone of the terrace's walls and arches. But, as we walkedthrough the dark covered passage, one lost interest in the tiles as the excitement rose, from my heart to my head, pounding, it rose; for as you came to the second set of arches you sucked in your breath as the great water-works came into view, with the mighty angel, Bethesda, crowning the top of the lofty fountain. One could only pause, if one had any sense of beauty, and stare. She, Bethesda, let you know she was waiting there - for you.

The huge bronze and blue stone fountain stands some twenty odd feet or better above you, and Bethesda, herself, stands, wings spread wide as if just that very second she'd alighted, upon the top, holding her staff of lilies; and with a most gentle gesture of her other open hand she beckons us forward. So, forward we came. Where we had stood shoulder to shoulder and arm in arm beneath the brownstone arch, we let slip slowly our grasp, like rolled sleeves loosed and falling, down to our hands and then, gently, fingers parted as we both were drawn without hesitation to our Angel.

She is our angel, you know; she may have once been here to beckon the survivors of the Civil War of this Country, calling those battle weary and broken souls to her healing waters. She surely beckoned those lonely men toward her then as gently and surely as she now, today, calls to me and to my Mark. She is ours now; she is now, for this time, the Angel of AIDS, the Angel of Hope. Hope pushing through the despair, as Tony Kushner wrote: "This disease will be the end of many of us, but not nearly all, and the dead will be commemorated and will struggle on with the living." And, I knew at that moment we were far from alone on the icy cold snow covered plaza, me with my dearest Mark. No, with us all about us were the hundreds of thousands of the lost, all gathered again, hand in hand with us, looking to Bethesda for comfort and for news of God... and it was a moment of utter peace, joy, despair, tears, abandonment and longing. Every emotion I've ever felt in my dark lonely trip with my companion spectre, AIDS, was suddenly filling me, and it was then, without doubt, that Bethesda turned to me and smiling, said, LIVE! I couldn't hear her, and I did not see her lips move, but I was sure of understanding: I felt deeply in my soul the Word. I knew, it was a call to life, a CALL to LIVE. To go on, and to BE GLAD, really glad, for each and every day I, we, still have to swallow cold snowy air in this great hapless city, hanging to the edge of a continent spinning around in space on this little planet, Earth.

And, so, I shook and loosed my grasp of my spectre, and I loosed the grasp of all my brothers who had gone before, and that was hard to do and it hurt, to lose them again; and as the great plaza cleared of the ghosts of the past I stood again presently and present with, Mark, and a few others tha were there hapenstance with us, bundled in brightly colored wraps. And Mark, who was feeling deeply the cold was suddenly hurrying away. My heart was torn, I wanted to stay, to call back my friends, my brothers lost to AIDS who were going, and weeping, tell my story of pain; but Bethesda, well, she laughed. I heard a clear strong bell, pealing out, like laughter. I know I did. Looking up Bethesda smiled, it seemed, to me, and in my heart I heard her: "Love! Love, now! Love him, Love Mark. Don't linger, Donnie, amongst the shadows here...."

I took a huge deep breath of crisp frozen air and scaning the hillside with my damp eyes, saw him, saw my Mark, climbing the path to the hill top. He was cold and alone and I wanted to be with him, to hold him and warm him. After him I chased, my camera still snapping photos along the way; but at last I reached him, sitting in the running car, old George we call it, trying to warm his hands. I took his hands, his beautiful hands, which have touched me for so many years, and I gently rubbed them to make the circulation warm him. And I remembered his hands, his hands of years, his hands which touch my body in intimate places when we make love. Touch me to scratch the unreachable itches!. Touch me, as his hands and arms embrace me when I'm filled with sorrow and cry. And, in a moment I saw how important and beautiful Mark's hands are, the hands he's given to me, to hold, to carry his ring, to grasp when we marry; and all that I have ever dreamed of having I suddenly knew I possessed now already. Completely! My great dear handsome Lover, Husband, Friend and the dearest Man ever there was, frail and full of strength, the Man who has given himself to me.

I promised Bethesda, sitting in that car, rubbing his cold fingers, that I will not forget the gift of our snowy day; that I will hold it in my heart always, and more, I will make it an act each day to care for and bless these his hands, this union, this bond, this marriage of Man and Man, of Mark and Me.

"You are fabulous creatures. and I bless you: MORE LIFE!

The great work does indeed begin, now, again, with each one of us. With mark and with Me. Blessings, Bethesda!