the ambrosian singing books - gordon christy-stefanik

8/4/2019 The Ambrosian Singing Books - Gordon Christy-Stefanik

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Royal Seal on an Ambrosian Singing Book


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[from a journal entry, April 4, 1993]

Today was a very long, somewhat exhausting day. Followed by an interminable evening of grading

papers, many futile attempts at putting together words and ideas, or so it seemed during the red-pen

process. Though still not finished I stopped at around eleven oclock and decided to relax for an hour

before retiring. One possibility was joining Emiliano for bit of television since I could hear the mutedsound coming from the living room, but decided to read instead. Strange, to stop reading student

papers and decide to relax by reading. But this was different since I could enjoy the even flow oflanguage and thought. Especially the ideas, since Jorge Luis Borges was to be my guide and host into

his marvelous world of fantasy, replete with delicious sentences containing exquisite vocabulary, honed

to perfection by a master.

I had decided on El Jardn de Senderos que se Bifurcan (The Garden of Forking Paths), a

labyrinthine romp through reality and the impact of language on literature, philosophy, metaphysics

and theology. It was a collection of short stories since, like all of Borges work, he had eschewed the

novel for inscrutable personal reasons, and devoted his skill to producing works in miniature. The timepassed all too quickly as I became immersed in the sprawling Borgesian mazes with their seductive

illusions to a system of seemingly liquid time and space.

Went to bed shortly after midnight but not before checking the alarm to make certain that I would berousted at 6:30 am, and have sufficient time to arrive at my eight oclock class. As I drifted off to sleep

I was distantly aware of the slight clamminess in the air, and the possibility of rain. Much needed rain

since we had had no rain in nearly a month. A mini-drought in here this mountainous tropical region.

All too rapidly it was morning. I threw back the covers, and soon I was once again entering the

campus and heading for the first class of the day, which was in one of the new buildings. I entered and

checked the console for this weeks teaching module with the attendant images, charts, illustrations and

specific reading selections that would compliment our discussion of the work at hand. The list ofpossible teaching aids was quite long, and we would be discussing J.L. Borges Estratagemas

(Artifices), some of his most inventive tales. Then I noticed at the bottom of the list, in brilliant blue

letters, a note that Borges would be visiting the class. How could I possibly have forgotten this detail?It was almost as if Jehovah himself were making a personal appearance. Oh shit! How could I have

forgotten? My heart was racing. Had I put on a tie? I remembered that HE always wore a tie. Within

seconds my normally calm composure had degenerated into complete chaos. The students began tocasually enter the room and take their seats. Not a single one was wearing a tie which I could borrow. .

. . .

I woke up and looked at the clock since the alarm had not yet sounded. Decided to stay in bed a bit

longer and watch some news before getting up. The alarm clocks digital dial soon changed to a smallscreen and produced a BBC broadcast of world news, which was rather boring, in fact I had trouble

understanding what it was about, so I instead switched to my email account. Scrolled the long list of

messages, but there was nothing that demanded an immediate reply in that there were no red flagsattached. Soon I was once again entering the campus and heading for the first class of the day, which


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was in one of the new buildings. I had the strange sensation that it was a dj vu experience. It seemed

that it had all happened before, and in almost exactly the same fashion. The feeling passed as I walked

into the class and then entered the crystalline plastic teaching bubble. Seated in the comfortable chair I

pulled out the control panel and tested both microphone and the mobility of the bubble. It floatedeffortlessly from one side of the large semicircular room to the other. I checked the video panel and

quickly reviewed the notes for todays lecture. Momentary confusion. Which class was this?

Oh yes, suddenly it all came back to me, the survey course on Literature Of The Known Universe.As evidenced in my now scrolling notes on the video screen, today we would be discussing the

Singing Books of the Ambrose. The class soon filled with students and the musical notes in the

background proclaimed the beginning of the class session. The teaching bubble rose and I began by

explaining to the two hundred or so students that the Ambrose culture, many light years of galacticdistance from the Earth, had developed one of the most unique methods of literature, writing and

retrieval.

Their books consisted of thin sheets, the composition of which was still unknown, embedded with

symbols which, when their fingers passed over the metallic symbols, produced a chanted, almostsinging rendition of the passage. Ambrosian books also consisted of a complementary musical

background. I was on the point of explaining that this type of book had been envisioned by. I

noticed a red student recognition button blinking and pressed it in order that someone might add to theinformation. A student high on the seventh or eighth tier stood and mentioned that the American writer

Ray Bradbury had anticipated this development in one of his stories back during the twentieth century.

Handsome, bright appearing, lad that I had never noticed before. He was still speaking in his ratherprecise manner and describing the story in detail. The screen showed that he was Tier 8, seat 12. I

pressed his identification number into my electronic notebook so he would receive credit, and then as

he finished, decided it would be an apt time to show a film clip of one of the Ambrosian books. Myplastic bubble quickly slid over to one side, the lights dimmed, and the wall behind me came to life

with a narrated film clip.

The thin, bronzed Ambrosian was seated with a book in his lap, shimmering golden eyes looking off

into space as his extremely long fingers began to pass over the metallic embossed symbols. The soundwas a bit eerie, but somehow most pleasant. There was a somewhat nasal, liquid quality to the sound

that reminded me of French, but I couldnt understand anything without reading the English translation

at the bottom of the screen. It concerned the Ambrosian story of creation. The Divine had divided histhoughts into many separate bits, and like a farmer, sown these 'thoughts' around the planet of

Ambrose. With the passage of time, the thoughts had come to life. I couldnt help but think that it was

certainly more creative than the Hebraic story of Genesis. The singing narration continued. My eyes

began to close, but because of the dim interior, the students probably wouldnt notice. Then, although Iattempted to do so, I couldnt seem to open my eyes.

I woke up to the sound of rain. At last it had arrived, after more than a month of warm, dry weather.

Looked at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock. Only 5:30 so I still had time for a bit more sleep.Remembered the two dreams I had experienced. Wow, really bizarre stuff. As I began to doze once

again, I knew that there was nothing more pleasant than sleeping during the rain.


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I slowly opened my eyes and realized that it was light outside. Too light. Quickly rolled over and

looked at the clock. Oh shit! It was already 7:15 and I would have to race like hell to get to my 8:00

class on time. Somehow I must have turned off the alarm and immediately gone back to sleep. Once

again when I finally got to the campus, it was difficult to determine what had happened betweenwaking up and actually arriving there. Dreams and reality were all squished together. And I know

that in writing down those two dreams I have left out innumerable details. There was yet another

dream which I cannot remember at all. Nothing more than the fact that it existed and was in progresswhen I woke up at 7:15. As for the Ambrosians now wasnt that a clever mental trick to put

together singing books and St. Ambrose of Milan, a 5th century composer of choral music . . . . .

I have had the strangest sensation, all day, that the dreams were too real, almost as if I had truly

entered different probable realities.

[from the journal entry dated October 20, 1995]

What can best be described as an interface with the Ambrosians has been a near nightly feature sincethat primary encounter some six months ago. In fact I have indeed become, at least mentally, an

Ambrosian. At present I seem to be functioning within two differing dimensions. During the daylight

hours I continue with my duties as a professor at the university in the Mexican city of Crdoba, as Ihave for several years. And yet once I close my eyes at night I am transported that other probable

reality where I spend my time in the composition of Ambrosian Singing Books, weaving images and

ethereal music into a synthesis of beauty and form. A unique, and constant, feeling of personal

satisfaction within the creative expression. A sensation of vitality and aliveness.

I feel that soon I may well decide on . . .

That was the last entry that Professor Stefanik made in his daily journal. Within minutes of his

disappearance several students, who were seated inside the classroom, related to the Rector of theUniversity that Professor Stefanik was in the process of entering the their class when he suddenly, and

inexplicably disappeared.

the ambrosian singing books - gordon christy-stefanik

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