Contents
of this page: Diary Entries from MM, 'The Field Where I Died' poem, letter
in relation to TFWID.
~~~
.
.
The writing
here (especially in regard to that from 'Memento Mori', 4X15) remains the
property of Chris Carter and the X-Files production team etc. It
is meant for easy find reasons as well as being a recognition of some of
the most beautiful writing to come from this show.
*
* *
Scully's
Journal entries to Mulder in
'Memento
Mori'
(Remember
That You Must Die)
.
.
For the first time, I feel time like a heartbeat,
the seconds, pumping in my breasts like a reckoning. The numinous
mysteries that once seemed so distant and unreal, threatening clarity in
the presence of a truth entertained not in youth, but only in its passage.
I feel these words as if their meaning were weight being lifted from me.
Knowing that you will read them and share my burden as I have come to trust
no other. That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the
memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort now
as I feel the tethers loose and the prospects darken for the continuance
of a journey that began not so long ago and which began again with a faith
shaken and strengthened by your convictions. If not for which, I might
never have been so strong now as I cross to face you, and look at you,
incomplete, hoping that you will forgive me for not making the rest
of the journey with you.
In med school I learned that cancer arrives
in the body unannounced. A dark stranger who takes up residence, turning
its new home against itself. This is the evil of cancer. That it starts
as an invader but soon becomes one with the invaded forcing you to destroy
it but only at the risk of destroying yourself. It is science's demon possession.
By treatment, science's attempt at exorcism. Mulder, I that hope in these
terms you might know it and know me. And accept a stranger someone you
recognize
but cannot ever completely cast out. And
if the darkness should have swallowed me as you read this, you must never
think there was the possibility of some secret intervention, something
you might have done, and though we've traveled far together. This last
distance must necessarily be traveled alone.
The closed-captioning
version:
Cancer, they taught us in med school, never
leaves a calling card. It's unbeckoned like a dark, sleepless stranger
who comes with not a bid or a summons but with a haunting promise and a
declaration of imminent domain. This is the great mystery, the ever insoluble
-- science's unexplained demon possession. My treatments, science's attempt
at exorcism. And if the darkness swallows me, you must never think there
was a possibility of some secret intervention -- something you might have
done. And though we've travelled far together,
this is fate's parting, and this last distance must necessarily be travelled
alone.
I have not written to you in the last twenty-four
hours because the treatment has weakened my spirit as well as my body.
Mulder, it's difficult to describe to you the fear of facing an enemy which
I can neither conquer nor escape. Penny Northern has taken a downturn.
I now look at her with a respect that can only come from one who is about
to walk the same dark path. Seeing her I can't help but see myself in a
month or a year. I pray that I have her courage to face this journey. Mulder,
I feel you
close though I know you are now pursuing
your own path. For that I am grateful. More than I could ever express.
I need to know you're out there if I am ever to see through this.
(The last passage
is what Mulder sees when he sneaks a look at Scully's journal.)
This is what the
closed-captioning viewers saw:
I have not written to you in the last 24 hours
out of an optimism that riding on the treatment which is now wracking my
body. The clarity I claimed has been dulled now by the cellular offensive
that is being launched on me. Dr. Scanlon is now attacking a gene known
as p53, which he believes has mutated and caused my cancer. Mulder, I am
certain you are pursuing your own path, even though I
am sick and blind with pain. I hope that
you will recognize the futility and go no further. I need to know you're
out there if I'm ever to see through this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
.
.
.
Poem
used in
'The
Field Where I Died'
.
.
For
me, I estimate their works and them
So
rightly, that at times I almost dream
I
too have spent a life the sages' way.
And
tread once more familiar paths. Perchance
I
perished in an arrogant self-reliance
Ages
ago; and in that act, a prayer
For
one more chance went up so earnest, so
Instinct
with better light led in by death,
That
life was blotted out--not so completely
But
scattered wrecks enough of it remain,
Dim
memories, as now, when once more seems
The
goal in sight again. All which, indeed,
Is
foolish, and only means--the flesh I wear,
The
earth I tread, are not more clear to me
Than
my belief, explained to you or no.
From
"Paracelsus" by Robert Browning
.
.
Below
is the transcript of a letter from the movie 'The Civil War' which seemed
to be inspiration for the Sarah Kavanagh/Sullivan Biddle thread in 'The
Field Where I Died'. The letter was written to Sarah from Sullivan
Balloo (sp?) who was a soldier
in 'The Civil War'.
The audio version
of this letter may be found on the soundtrack of the movie.
Copyright belongs
to the Production team, Writers of this piece etc. in relation to the aforementioned
movie. It has been published here as an appreciation of one of the
most beautiful love letters ever written.
.
.
July 14,
1861
Washington,
D.C.
.
Dear
Sarah,
The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days, perhaps
tomorrow, and lest I should not be able to write you again I feel impelled
to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I am no more.
I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which
I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how
American civilization now leans upon the triumph of the government
and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood
and suffering of The Revolution, and I am willing, perfectly willing, to
lay down all my joys in this life to help maintain this government and
to pay that debt.
Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with mighty cables
that nothing but Omnipotence can break. And yet my love of country
comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistible with all those
chains to the battlefield. The memory of all the blissful moments
I have enjoyed with you come crowding over me and I feel most deeply grateful
to God and you that I have enjoyed them for so long. And how hard
it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes and future years
when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and see
our boys grown up to honorable manhood around us.
If I do not return, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I loved you, nor
that when my last breath escapes me in the battle field, it will whisper
your name. Forgive my many faults and the many pains I have caused
you. How thoughtless, how foolish I have sometimes been! But,
oh, Sarah - if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around
those they love, I shall always be with you in the brightest day and the
darkest night - always, always. And when the soft breeze fans your
cheek, it shall be my breath - with the cool air your throbbing temple,
it shall be my spirit passing by. Sarah, do not mourn me dead, think
I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again.
.
(One
week later, Major Sullivan Balloo was killed in the first battle of Bull
Run)
.
.
.
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