Brown Gods

"I was grateful for her company, even though my river was too brown for her liking. 'You can imagine all that's been dumped into it'" (Nooteboom 32).

"I do not know much about gods; but I think that the river is a strong brown god . . . reminder of what men choose to forget" (Eliot 35).

Initially I did not understand why (aside from geographical reasons) the river was a strong brown god. Yes, waters are strong; waters are god-like and extremely powerful in the form of a river; but why brown? Like I said, I realize rivers are muddied from the earth. But I like this new way of looking at a river as the gauge of how well one has muddied one's own life. It's good to get dirty.

Bedroom Inventory Upon Waking

When I wake up, there always lingers a moment of blurry consciousness—an in between state when my senses turn on but I don't quite have the presence of mind to open my eyes quite yet. Then, once I do have that presence of mind, I choose not to open them, but pull the comforters in close. This is my favorite time of day (unless of course I did not go to bed early enough.) At this point, my senses all begin to register stimuli. Usually a pair of warm arms encircles me to say good morning. I suddenly realize the dim light on my brown bedside chest. After that, the alarm's chimes, which are too soft to actually wake you up) become audible. Reid's sister gave us this alarm clock for Christmas, and it simulates sunrise. The light begins to gradually fade into the room about 30 minutes prior to the time for which I actually set the alarm. It's really wonderful. Back to the waking senses: I hear a very high-pitched meow from the crevice at the bottom of our door. It is Gosu, our kitty. And then a more standard meow hits the air from the mouth of Thizzle. Then, depending on the day, one or both flying cats bellyflop against the door voraciously. I laugh, and emotions become part of my day. I slip out of Reid's warmth to shower. The white sheets slide off of me and the cold air hits me with a barrage of goosebumps. The grey carpet pile is deep and brushes between my toes. And then, all I hear and see is water until breakfast. Breakfast happens to be the same every morning. Bagel sandwiches with 2 eggs and 2 pieces of bacon. As Reid says, it's about everything you could ever want all in one little package. It is SO good. Especially with coffee. I get extraordinarily excited about it.

Rewind a little.
If, in fact, I did not go to bed at a reasonable hour (which happens more than I would prefer) then the first thing I really see, feel, hear, taste, smell is water, just water everywhere. I hear the gush of noise pour through the pipes and then the dispersing funnels of the showerhead whisper at me. The air smells thick. I see shimmers light the air. And the world is humid and wet, and somehow it feels as if little grains of sand spatter my skin.
Then, of course, clothes, kitty snuggles, the news, and breakfast (same as above.)

p.s.
this is Gosu. with nabokov in the corner.






and this is Thizzle. literally hanging out in the window

I have found this helpful:

A General Vocabulary of Latin

Operoar

this book is selling for $220.16 on amazon. of course there are used versions for $10, but still . . . yikes

Joyce's Grand OPEROAR

written by Matthew J. C. Hodgart & Ruth Bauerle

How much tie me deux yeux halve on urines? Our ye avsolootingly in seine?

Page 222

Ugh . . . I was hoping there would be an index. Below lays my page, and below that, a very basic and remedial beginning in an attempt to understand just the first few sentences.


ment in the pit. Accidental music providentially arranged by L'Archet and laccorde. Melodiotiosities in purefusion by the score. To start with in the beginning, we need hirtly bemark, a community prayer, everyone for himself, and to conclude with as an exodus, we think it well to add, a chorale in canon, good for us all for us all us all all. Songs betune the acts by the ambiamphions of Annapolis, Joan Mock-Comic, male soprano, and Jean Souslevin, bass noble, respectively: O, Mester Sogermon, ef thes es whot ye deux, then I'm not surpleased ye want that bottle of Sauvequipeu and Oh Off Nunch Der Rasche Ver Lasse Mitsch Nitscht. Till the summit scenes of climbacks castastrophear, The Bearded Mountain (Polymop Baretherootsch), and The River Romps to Nursery (Maidykins in Undiform). The whole thugogmagog, including the portions understood to be oddmitted as the results of the respective titulars neglecting to produce themselves, to be wound up for an afterenactment by a Magnificent Transformation Scene showing the Radium Wedding of Neid and Moorning and the Dawn of Peace, Pure, Perfect and Perpetual, Waking the Weary of the World.
An argument follows.
Chuffy was a nangel then and his soard fleshed light like likening. Fools top! Singty, sangty, meekly loose, defendy nous from prowlabouts. Make a shine on the curst. Emen.
But the duvlin sulph was in Glugger, that lost-to-lurning. Punct. He was sbuffing and sputing, tussing like anisine, whipping his eyesoult and gnatsching his teats over the brividies from existers and the outher liubbocks of life. He halth kelchy chosen a clayblade and makes prayses to his three of clubs. To part from these, my corsets, is into overlusting fear. Acts of feet, hoof, and jarrety: athletes longfoot. Djowl, uphere!
Aminxt that nombre of evelings, but how pierceful in their sojestiveness were those first girly stirs, with zitterings of flight released and twinglings of twitchbells in rondel after, with waverings that made shimmershake rather naightily all the duskcended airs and shylit beaconings from shehind hims back. Sammy, call

--------------------------------

L'archet - bow (as in that which one uses to play the violin)
laccorde - tune one's instrument
Melodiotiosities - just a beautiful word for melody, maybe implying some nuances
by the score - dual meaning
hirtly - firstly
bemark - remark
amphi - round about
amphion - constructed walls of Thebes with his twin brother Zethus
Annapolis - capital of Maryland
Joan Mock-Comic - ?
male soprano - tenor
Jean Souslevin - Jean Underlightning - underlining
O, Mester Sogermon - Oh, Mister So German
ef thes es whot ye deux - if this is what you do
surpleased - so pleased, or surprised
Sauvequipeu - save who you can
Oh Off Nunch Der Rasche Ver Lasse Mitsch Nitscht - ?

222

I'm at work and I should not be blogging, but I just had a moment(small 'oh') in which I decided I would do page 222 of Finnegans Wake. I don't have the book with me, but I think this is the page for me (and I know that I will not have the self-control to choose randomly if I do have the book in front of me.) So, I suppose I'll see what this page has in store for me. Why 222? Because I like the number 2. So much that when I set my alarm every night I set it for +2. Meaning if I want to wake up at 6, I set it for 6:02. And if I want to wake up at 8:20, I set it for 8:22. Weird, I know - but true.

p.s. Are Goopy and Bagha pisces?

the Mudra

Several years ago I took 'Religions of Asia' from Professor Jarow. His full name is E.H. Rick Jarow. I always wondered what the E.H. stood for, but I never asked him. I mention him firstly because he taught me about mudras and secondly because Dr. Sexson reminds me very much of him. Both possess a certain sincerity in the offering up of knowledge.

Regarding the course, I remember the first day when Professor Jarow entered (he is inordinately tall and possesses a booming voice.) For some reason the administration had assigned our small class to a large peachy-pink hall that seated likely 500 people in tiered theatre chairs. Basically we were in a very tall and large echo-room, and we only filled a few of the seats in the front two rows. Prof. Jarow seemed briefly humored and slightly miffed about the room, but then off he went taking us on a semester-long journey.

I remember he asked us over the course of the semester to make an effort to be completely present while walking to class — not in the blurs of the past or the future, but in what we were doing currently. I tried to to do this multiple times and found myself incapable, inept. I, apparently, had no control over my own mind. It's actually very humorous to reflect on now. I remember trying to pay attention to my feet as they touched the ground, trying desperately to concentrate on what I was doing and how I was feeling, and then suddenly without warning, I would realize that I was staring blankly at my feet as I walked into the classroom, having completely missed out on my walk to class. Somehow, every time I tried this, I would unconsciously (despite the fact I consciously attempted not to) disappear into my thoughts about possibly the superfluous squirrels or soccer practice that evening. Very frustrating.
My point is, it's very hard to be in the present. Of course, we are always in the present physically, but it seems that the mind hardly ever is. The mind loves to hearken backwards or ahead.

"Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now." (Burnt Norton 144-9)

Eliot discusses how to find the present, how to recognize that everything points to now. He writes, "Ridiculous the waste sad time / Stretching before and after" (174-5).

So why then does the mind possess memory? Why do we hearken forwards and backwards in an unconscious avoidance of the present. Well, according to Eliot, the bird said, "human kind / Cannot bear very much reality" (Burnt Norton 42-3).


So... about the mudra. I learned it as a sort of spiritual gesture or physical fulfillment or realization of a mantra. A simple mudra, and I would imagine the most commonly recognized is OM.



Of course there are all sorts of mudras. Different symbols that are representative rather than vocal.

Just like the mudra, Mudra in Haroun's story also speaks in the language of symbols rather than that of speech.

And I've already quoted this, but I absolutely love the moment when Haroun discovers via Mudra "that silence ha[s] its own grace and beauty (just as speech [can] be graceless and ugly)" (125).

Tibetan thangkas portray various deities who (to my knowledge) always have their hands in mudras. Below is the White Tara which I actually have in my room. (My dad studies Buddhism and he brought it back for me from Tibet in 1999.)

Here's a photograph my dad took of the Potala Palace in Lhasa.


Here's what the White Tara thangkha looks like.

Notice her hands (the lotus emerging from her left hand.) Click on the image to look at the full size, and look carefully; you'll see all sorts of wild details that one might not readily notice.

Also I googled to see what her mudras are, and found the following explanation on religionfacts.com:

"White Tara (Sanskrit: Sitatara; Tibetan: Sgrol-dkar) is sometimes called the Mother of all Buddhas and she represents the motherly aspect of compassion. Her white color signifies purity, wisdom and truth.

In iconography, White Tara often has seven eyes – in addition to the usual two, she has a third eye on her forehead and one on each of her hands and feet. This symbolizes her vigilance and ability to see all the suffering in the world. The "Tara of Seven Eyes" is the form of the goddess especially popular in Mongolia.

White Tara wears silk robes and scarves that leave her slender torso and rounded breasts uncovered in the manner of ancient India. Like Green Tara, she is richly adorned with jewels.

White Tara is seated in the diamond lotus position, with the soles of her feet pointed upward. Her posture is one of grace and calm. Her right hand makes the boon-granting gesture and her left hand is in the protective mudra. In her left hand, White Tara holds an elaborate lotus flower that contains three blooms. The first is in seed and represents the past Buddha Kashyapa; the second is in full bloom and symbolizes the present Buddha Shakyamuni; the third is ready to bloom and signifies the future Buddha Maitreya. These three blooms symbolize that Tara is the essence of the three Buddhas.

In religious practice, White Tara is believed to help her followers overcome obstacles, espeically those that inhibit the practice of religion. She is also associated with longevity."

The Wine-Dark (Snotgreen) Sea of Stories

I read Haroun & the Sea of Stories on Saturday.

I loved the swift reference to the musical "The Fantasticks" (52). At least I assume that's what the reference was to. Snooty Buttoo says, "Admit, at the very least, that it is all Super-Marvelloso, Incredibable, and wholly Fantastick." (And he even italicizes stick so that the spelling stands out.)

"The Fantasticks" is all about following and remembering a story. The players draw the audience into a sort of dream world and ask them to share a story with them and remember their own stories.

"The Fantasticks" begins with a song. Here is one verse:

Try to remember when life was so tender
That no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender
That love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow, follow.

And as I mentioned, they ask you to follow. This musical is such a wonderful story, and it's riddled with references just as is Joyce's Finnegan's Wake (though far far far less complex and numerous.)

In one encounter between Luisa and Matt over "the wall," Matt expostulates,

I don't what to call her!
She's too vibrant for a name!
Should I call her...Juliet!

Luisa replies, "Yes, dear!"

Helena!

Yes, dear!

And Cassandra, and Cleopatra, and Beatrice
And also Guenevere.

All of these women in about 8 lines.

------------
In general, the play is about a boy and a girl who are in love. Their parents put up a wall between their houses as some sort of a reverse psychological tactic to make sure that their kids do fall in love. The fathers' famous last words, "Make sure you just say no."

Why did the kids pour jam on the cat?
Raspberry jam all over the cat?
Why should the kids do something like that,
When all that we said was no?

I don't think Rashid ever directly says 'no' to Haroun in order to induce the opposite results, but I still find the storytelling element and fantastical telling of tales in the Fantasticks to match up quite wonderfully with Haroun's story. Both stories are poetical and simple with deeper themes woven in. The lines in both are lyrical and melodic.

In Haroun & the Sea of Stories, I loved the lilty, thesaurus-like voice that Rushdie assumes quite often. He writes, "Outsize, super-colossal, big" (151). It really fits, just as do Luisa's words, "Perhaps I'm bad, or wild, or mad."

I also enjoyed how Haroun discovers "that silence ha[s] its own grace and beauty (just as speech [can] be graceless and ugly)" (125). Matt and Luisa also reach a similar discovery when they find out that the romanticized world they left each other for is not quite so grand as they expected.

When the dance was done,
When I went my way,
When I tried to find rainbows far away,
All the lovely lights
Seemed to fade from view:
They were you.
They were you.
They were you.

to emerge

The verb: to emerge.

I began thinking of emergent literature as merely the "latest." BRAND NEW. Then re-reading Eliot's Quartets I imagined emergence as the lotus that emerges from the dry pool. Below the lotus emerges from water.




When one emerges, does one simply shake off the water from one's leaves?
Does one shift from bud to flower? It seems that the answer for the lotus is yes, but for emergent literature? Really? Is low-brow emergent literature the flowery offspring of high-brow literature? At first glance I would say Hardly! Secondly, I must remind myself that one of my favorite books is Matilda.
So I must rescind my rash reply and agree with Christina: "Who is to say that any truth or beauty contained in a "lesser" work is any less valid or any less moving than truth contained in masterpieces."



Oh the butterfly. . . the soul. . . the psyche.
When the butterfly emerges from its cocoon and stretches it's wings, it flashes a very different (and one might argue more beautiful) costume than it's previous caterpillar self. And yet, it is still the same being shifted shapes.

Professor Leubner talked about Proteus the shape-shifter today.

According to the Index of Homer's The Odyssey
"PROTEUS (proh'-tyoos): the Old Man of the Sea, servant of Poseidon and father of Eidothea, 4.408."



Proteus never loses any piece of himself in the process of shape-shifting. Similarly, if we consider emergent literature as stories or truths that are merely retold in a new shell, then the "latest" literature is not lesser than the literature of "intellects", but is rather just housed in a more aesthetic form.