Heiwa ni suru! "Go in peace yall"

Yataa! Watashitachi wa owarimasu! We are just about done. Everyone still has one more trial left for this class, but it's in the bag. I feel like maybe I didn't try hard enough in this class strictly because I had so much fun! Typically I try really hard to reap the fruits of my effort only to be smacked around and brought down a couple of notches. In this class, though, there were no fruits to be reaped, only shared insights of inscape, mysticism, and exploration. I like this. I like the fact that I can take what I have learned and make it my own.

What do we do now that we are so close to being done? This is the ultimate question that is constantly slapping us in the face. Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I am going to get drunk, refill my beer with contradicting tears of joy and sorrow, and then fare forward. As we step out into the chaos, we must remember that we are not alone in this heterogeneous world. We are poets, philosophers, victims of knowledge, and most importantly the warriors of the future. Our innocence may be lost, but at least we know where we can find it. Tucked away in the depths of our metaphorical garden, we can escape when we need to and dip back into the our sea of youth. Actually, I think that finding our youth was the whole point of this class. To revisit our past, relate it to our present, and apply it to our future. I appreciate being required to put all three of these points of time into one conscious moment. Thank you all for listening, reading, and talking to me throughout my English experience. I must go now and ditch this sentimental scene for something less depressing and more lively. PEACE!

Inspired by Taylor to once again kick-ass and chew bubble gum!

Taylor's paper has definitely been my most favorite so far. When I was reading her paper I kept having to stop because I was constantly reminded of my own childhood. Fond memories flooded through my mind as I read the fond memories of someone else. I think that is possibly the most fantastic element of Taylor's paper-producing from the depths of my dusty memories a reborn sense of youth. After a while of reading, though, I noticed a transition in my own thoughts that was in tandem with hers (of course since I was under the spell-binding influence of her paper). I kept asking myself where do I go now that I can no longer disappear into the depths of my own imagination. I remember being able to kick imaginary ass for hours by myself. I can't even fathom how many hours of my childhood was spent playing ninjas! And if I tried to do that now, well, it just couldn't happen...But there is hope! My favorite lines in Taylor's paper:

Because it is here, in the still point of the turning world, where the dead return to life and the past’s words are spoken again with a living tongue, where I am a child-woman, where this or that have no secure foothold, and falling deeper down is half of the fun. It is the place for soul’s stillness, the darkness of God coming with a “hollow rumble of wings” (Eliot 115)…it is the garden of Eliot, the lighthouse of Woolf, the darkness of Dillard, the set of Shakespeare, the resting place of Pan and a song echoing in a stairway...it is the waking world and the sleeping dreamer.

Just as I read these lines I realized that my dreams were the place of my own childhood habits where I once again kick ass and chew bubble gum. Taylor helped show me the direct link to my own garden of imagination. Even after reading all the things we did, I still needed her paper to show me the way to the lighthouse, hole in the hedge, the path through the darkness, my own globe, and the resting place to which I will return.

Wonderfully-thoughtful-life-altering blogs and papers

So I have just finished reading some really wonderfully-thoughtful-life-altering blogs/papers. I feel as if we are all on the same illuminating pages that capture the essence of how to view the majestic of every-day-life in a most beautiful and insightful way. I am however, not so concerned with the flowery wording through with we are all trying to use to relate such profound knowledge, but instead the "truth" of what each individual has to contribute to further my own understandings of existence. For instance, Joan's paper illustrates a very intriguing point saying, "Gods do not have to choose, angels and demons cannot choose, man must choose." There was no way that I would have ever thought of the relationship between man and the divine in such a profound manner. I love knowing that I not only have a choice, but must make a choice. And after reading Joan's paper, that thought is even more cemented in my mind now. Everything that I have just read has put me in the most peculiar of a mood. I can't describe this mood very well due to feeling the ineffable effects of reading such statements as, "Let us embark on the project of stilling our souls, minds, and selves in order to know the still point in ourselves from which we can dance our own unique dance," from Jennie's paper. Damn! I just love this class! I look forward to the last few days of class knowing that the light will only get brighter and brighter!

What I took away from Bri and Sam's papers

Well I am slowly working my way through some of the papers and am loving every second of it! Bri's paper was very thoughtful and I absolutely loved the connection between future-time and anxiety, along with past-time and doubt. The part where she talks about our faulty memories, but truthful past experiences got me thinking about the connection between epiphanies and the senses in a more profound manner. If personal history was only left to our memories, well then our histories would merely be imagination. Thank goodness we have our sense's to rely on for a more truthful link to history. For instance, I finally visited the town where I grew up and was able to perfectly recall everything in my childhood because of seeing, smelling, and hearing the mountainous setting of York Montana. I had forgotten so much until that day. I must also put down my favorite sentence(s) from Bri's paper, "Hamlet’s father only asked that his son remember him. This allows Hamlet’s father, a ghost, to forever remain present with Hamlet in the form of a different ghost." A ghost of life, and a ghost of memory. Brilliant!

I also read Sam's blog and was blown away. One could dig around in that paper for a long time and discuss everything that she was talking about and how she was talking about it. When I read fellow student's papers my goal is to always pick out a favorite sentence and to tell the truth, I had a hard time doing so with Sam's paper because I liked so many of them. I did finally choose this one, " And by connecting both literature and life, discovering the never ending cross reference of the world, I think an apocalypse, an awakening, an unexpected Epiphany can erupt." I can't stop thinking about what I know and how interrelated all my thoughts and actions really are. It doesn't take much to transcend from literature to reality and reality to literature. After reading Sam's paper I will always remember that connection.

Typical paper posting

So here is the typical paper posting, and yes I know there are no commas after any of the he said she said quotes. I screwed up ok, get off my back about it. Anyway, I had a lot of fun doing this and hope it is at least some what entertaining to read.

In My End Is Your Beginning

My name is Elysian James Eidolon and I don’t know how much time I have left. I am forgetting things about myself-things which any other person would have no trouble remembering. My family, friends, and acquaintances are slipping from my mind and the sorrow is unbearable. Doctors say that I am suffering from some kind of memory loss like Alzheimer’s, but I know it isn’t true. I can remember things that seem so mundane, like: “I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secrete of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality that you and I will share, my Lolita”. I can’t remember who Lolita is. She might have been an ex-girlfriend or relative, maybe even a teacher, but I’m positive she changed my life somehow.
So much time has gone by that the events of my life spin together like a cobweb. Even when gazing at a photograph, I feel as if I am peeking into a portal linked to a nostalgic other world or lifetime, possibly not even be mine. Also, I have been having these very strange dreams as of late and they leave me a token of remembrance every time I wake up. These dreams are more like nightmares, though, because I am always paralyzed by my emotions and my tongue feels like it’s cemented to the top of my pallet. I believe that these dreams are the cause of my memory loss as well. If only there was more time for me, then maybe I could act on the wisdom imparted to me. Each time I have a dream I am always accompanied by someone with some ridiculous name. I believe that the names mean something, but what, I don’t really know. The following accounts are of what goes on in my dreams. Please whoever finds these
confessions, burn them. I do not want you to suffer from the same agony I am experiencing now. If you do find these accounts, then I did not succeed in transcending out of my insanity and approaching death, and therefore, couldn’t burn them myself. I only write these happenings down out of some hope that by writing such crazy Jung-Freudian-bibble-babble, I might understand what is happening to me.

In the middle, not only in the middle of the way
But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,
On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,
And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,
Risking enchantment—T.S. Elliot, East Coker

April 27, 1986
I had the strangest dream last night. The kind of dream that feels vivid enough to change one’s self. I was alone at first, wandering through a forest of aspen trees. I felt scared and the hairs on the back of my neck were prickling with the sense of being watched. With every step that I took something shifted in the dark and stepped with me. Picking up my pace, I began to jog through the trees, hoping that maybe I could put a little distance between me and whatever was stocking me. The forest was illuminated by the moon in such a way that the aspen trees looked like ghost figures covered in ash. When I looked down, I nearly passed out from terror. Under my feet and all around me were human bones… And occasionally there were little glittering objects, which I soon recognized to be jewels and pieces of gold capturing the pale fire of the moon. Trying to get the better of my hunter, I burst out of my jog and into a run. After a few moments of running as swiftly as possible, I spun around to face my opponent…only, when I turned around, there was nothing there. Not even my footsteps were visible. It was as if I too were just a ghost hovering over crackling bones. Peering into the eerie grey light I thought I saw a black figure moving from tree to tree. I tried to call out, but my mouth was dry as sand and not a single sound came out. Deciding to submit to my phantom pursuer, I knelt down amongst the bones and precious pearls and prepared for the worst. From out of the shadows came a figure covered in midnight black fur. Its eyes were gold like a cat’s, and its body was a large mass of muscle. As for what it actually was I cannot recall. It looked like me, but in an animal form. Breathing heavily, it slowly inched its way towards me. When I looked at its hands I noticed the flesh-peeling claws and that its feet also left no track. About an arm’s reach away, the beast stopped and also crouched down, meeting my gaze.
“What are you doing in my forest?” it growled. I tried to speak again and found my voice cracking with fear, “What are you doing in my dream?” A gurgle of what must have been laughter spilled from the animal’s throat.”You think this is a dream? I could kill you here and now, and free myself from this ashen world.” A slow tingle began to drift down my spine. I looked at the beast and decided it was probably right. The more I looked at the black figure the more I felt as if I were looking into a mirror. “Who are you?” I asked. The beast inched itself a little closer and said, “I am Boris Alters Mejomo, and I am a part of you. Do you not recognize me? I am the violence, lust, and desire within you. I take what I want without hesitation or afterthought. I am your embodiment of action.” At first I wanted to deny the beast. After all how could this grotesque creature, with spittle dripping from his lips be a part of me? And what did it mean when it said that it could kill me and be free of this world? The tingling feeling in my spine began to increase and a sense of nausea crashed into my stomach. I responded, “If you are a part of me then why would you kill me? What would you gain from my death? Wouldn’t you die too?” At this the beast shifted its weight into a more aggressive stance. Somehow I knew that what I said was not going to be true and felt as if I might give in to its predatory gaze. I felt as if a part of my soul was in danger of being ripped out of me. I tried to regain control over my quivering hands by clenching them into fists, but my shoulders shook instead. A slow smile crept onto the wicked face staring at me and the beast said, “Elysian, I am going to kill you now. There is nothing more you can do to prevent my escape; for if you die then I will no longer be the demon of your soul. The bones that you see around you are the bones of many generations. Those who were greedy and worldly dwell here, only to be slaughtered by me and my greed. The jewels are my prize, but jewels cannot speak. I am lonely and will be free of my worldly torment. I will kill you and bring an end to this terribly dark and cold place. ” With that said the beast let out a howl and swiped one of its nasty claws at my face causing me to fall backward. Then I woke up.
When I opened my eyes a warm liquid spilled into my right eye and I raced to the bathroom. When I looked into the mirror there was a deep gash across my right eyebrow. I felt as if my soul was tainted with the poison of fear. I vomited into the sink at the sight of so much blood and knew that the beast was more than just a dream. It had escaped from its world and now resided totally in mine. As soon as that thought formed in my mind, I felt a sudden surge of aggression course through my body, the same kind of violence that accompanies a feeling of helplessness. For the rest of the day I was stuck in a mental state of vulgarity and sin. No one spoke to me today, and everyone seemed to be avoiding my gaze. I am afraid to sleep tonight for fear of losing another part of myself to some dark place within my own mind.

We, content at the last
If our temporal reversion nourish
(Not too far from the yew-tree)
The life of significant soil—T.S. Elliot, Dry Salvages

April 28, 1986
Finally fell asleep last night around two A.M. My dream wasn’t so violent this time. Instead, I found myself sitting next to a bubbling stream. It must have been some sort of a botanical garden because everything was manicured perfectly. There was a statue, which at first glimpse looked like the beast I had faced last night, but more human than I remember. There were no claws or cat-like eyes, but the size and the position of the statue fit the profile of my beast from where I was sitting. I closed my eyes enjoying the serenity of my surroundings, and when I opened them the statue was now only a few feet from me and animated. Chiseled to look like a perfect human being, the statue resembled a Greek god. I looked a little closer and saw that the statue seemed to be, yet again, somehow a part of me. Unlike with the beast, I felt only intimidated by the sheer beauty of this figure, that is, until I heard it talk.
It spoke with a kind of nervous jabber. Like some overly self-conscious person, unable to sit still, it chattered, “Have you seen it? The beast I mean?” For some reason I still hadn’t gotten over the shock of a walking, talking, neurotic statue that seemed to resemble me, and so I wasn’t able to respond. “I know you have because you have its mark over you right eye “chided the statue. “Who are you?” I replied. “And how do you know about the beast?” The statue actually stood still for a moment, as if it were shocked by my question. Then it exclaimed, “Why I’m Bartolome Moirjes! And I am a part of you of course. Not the looks obviously, but I am the rational and meticulous part of you. I try to reason out everything and therefore am constantly in motion and always changing my mind. As for how I know the beast, well, he’s comes to terrorize my beautiful garden you see around you. Usually I can shame him away, but yesterday he was too much for me to handle and destroyed almost everything. I didn’t get done finishing the clean up until just before you arrived.” I took another look around and was sure that nothing had ever actually happened. When I turned my attention back again to the statue, he was off in the distance trimming the branches off of a tree. I got up and walked over to him, and during my walk the surroundings seemed to change with every few paces. Entire seasons went by and the flowers, grass, and trees blossomed and died over and over again. When I finally got to the statue figure, I stopped and looked at my hands. They were a wrinkly mess and the skin felt loose on my body. “What’s happening to me?” I asked. The statue merely glimpsed at me and told me I was aging. Feeling a little faint I sat down again and realized for the first time just how stiff my joints were. That was when I noticed that the tree he was trimming was no ordinary tree. Faces were carved into its bark. I didn’t recognize any of them, but felt subtle resemblance to all of them.
The statue looked down at me and gave this long but rapid speech saying, “This here is your Yew tree. In it are the faces of your ancestors and the knowledge of many lifetimes. Nothing is ever forgotten, you see, it is just tucked away in this tree for safe keeping. Whenever you decide to move toward action, a new branch or leaf stems from the specific ancestor whose past experience influenced you to act in such a way you see. As you can see here I am pruning away the branches that have deadened from lack of use. In this case, I just cut away a branch belonging to one of your more passive family members due to your outrageous behavior’s yesterday. And if you look over here, you can see where some are growing out of your more aggressive ancestor who fought in a war long ago. Everyday new branches grow and die and so as you can see I am always very busy. So if you don’t mind I have lots of work to do and you must be getting back to “reality” before you grow too old and die here.” Before I left, though, he ripped off a piece of bark and touched my cheek and told me that when I did wake up, all I would have to do is look into a mirror and I would remember all that had happened there.
When I got up, and went to the bathroom, I noticed that there was a brown mole where he had touched my cheek and a flood of ineffable images skirted across my mind; A headache swarmed over my brain, and I doubled over from the pain; just as that happened, I felt the essence of time affect my body and new that something else had changed about me.

And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of Emotion—T.S. Elliot, East Coker

April 29, 1986
I’m changing faster now. My dreams are happening even during the day. Just yesterday as I tried to go out for a brief walk hoping to calm the chaos that was lingering on in my mind. I was thinking about the relations between the two obscure dreams, when I suddenly began to drift into another world. My surroundings were speeding by and changes were happening so fast that I could only make out certain scenes: a baptism, a funeral, a wedding, and a war. And then, as I was speeding past these events, I looked over and found a young boy sitting next to me and everything became still and there was a very bright light, which veiled everything from sight. “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I’m here to let you in on a little secret. Do you know the nature of cowardly action?” Again I felt unable to speak and just sat there, and looked away. “No” I said after a few moments of silence. He looked at me and smiled saying, “We are all cowards. Especially you Elysian, and me as well, because we are under the spell of distraction. Engrossed by emotion, people surrender their actions to desire, anger, love, and joy. We are all cowards because it is easier to be distracted from the important experiences happening in everyday-life. We are all so complex that we can’t see how wonderfully simple life can be. Caught up in the turmoil of war, a civilian feels forsaken and condemned to torment; a person lost in love, surrenders too much to the act of devotion and they lose sight of everything going on around them. We are all cowards because of our lack of discipline.” After hearing this, I felt stuck, unable to act. After a few more minutes went by, I finally asked, “What is the solution to all our problems? How can we detach ourselves from the world so that we can be free in living?” He looked at me and said, “Detachment is not necessarily the answer. It is only a part of the process. We must all find a way of restraining ourselves to become aware and sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of others. This kind of mentality is what allows us to make the right choices, free from distraction. Someone once told me as I am telling you: ‘proper emotions are how we can control our environment.’ Or in other words, proper emotions allow us to be detached enough to make the best choices.” Knowing that our conversation was about to end I asked the boy his name. He said, “Jase Lorimer Toombs”. After that he faded away and once again I saw a flash of “reality”.
When I finally realized that I had just been standing right outside my house, staring at nothing and talking to myself this whole time, I felt a stinging sensation on my right arm and had to stop and see what it was. When I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, I found a kanji scribed into my shoulder, and instantly I knew what it meant. Marked with the symbol for “warrior” I realized the significance of what the boy was trying to tell me. We are all warriors of life and our path is one of discipline, everything around us is distracting us from our pious path of heroism. We are always going to be cowards until we can conquer emotion and fare forward into right action. Why now though? With death coming I feel that I am not ready to face the responsibilities of being a hero.

Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush?—T.S. Elliot, Burnt Norton

April 30, 1986
It happened again today. I was sitting in my comfy chair imagining my college days, when the room got very dark. A host of shades surrounded me, sitting absolutely still. Petrified at the sight of what must have been my peers- who had shared so many classes with me that they could all be relatives-turning into ghosts, I stood up and walked over to one of them and reached out to touch it, but my hand merely passed through, as if it were only smoke. When I turned towards the door I saw a lady standing on the other side looking in at me through the window. I walked up to the door and jiggled the handle, but it didn’t open and the lady just shook her head. Then she began to talk: “Don’t bother trying to open the door. I am the gate-keeper, Lolita Morbesor Jems, and you are not yet ready to leave this room. There are still a few more things for you to learn before you are ready.” Again this feeling of paralysis struck me and it took some time before I could say anything. When I did finally say something it just barely slipped out of my throat. “Ready for what?” I asked. Once again the lady just shook her head. She seemed so familiar, but I could not quite place why. She then said, “You are not ready to face the truth. People are always ignoring the truth, which is why deceit is so strong within our minds. We are always seeing what we want to see and not what is. People are the creators of meaning, but we are never creating the proper meaning for genuinely constructive purposes. Corrupted by the bitter apple of lies, we merely flounder in misunderstanding as well as miscommunication. Too often, do we see only through our own eyes and not through other’s. This one-sided train of thought stems from our ego and the anxiety of influence-not just from someone else’s achievements, but also of our own. We are so concerned about differences and similarities, that we are unable to step back and view things as a whole monad of existence. Encouraged by superficial notions of ‘reality’, we are plagued with the poisons of misdirection and become oppressed by our own lies and excuses. We must approach everything with caution and open our eye-of-knowledge to the infinite possibilities of not just understanding, but also accepting the existence of things as they already are. Let go of the truth of things, Elysian, and pay more attention to the truth of life.” Nodding to her, I realized that none of what she said was actually said. Only believed by me to be said and therefore I understood what she was saying. I am the embodiment of truth. Only I can decide what I believe and what is “real”.
The hairs pickled on my skin as I recall this now. I looked around to see if there was a new marking, but there was none. I feel as if I am going crazy, yet, at the same time I feel as if I am being liberated from some strange illusion… I can’t describe it properly, but I know that I am changing. My brain feels as if thousands of butterflies are beating their wings trying to escape from a cocoon.

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation—T.S. Elliot, Burnt Norton

May 1, 1986
This is my last journal entry. I am exactly 86 years old today, and am breathing my final breaths. My name is Elysian James Eidolon, and I am fading away into nothing more than a memory now. I don’t even have enough energy to build a fire to burn these ramblings of an old man. I don’t really feel as if I am dying though, instead, I seem to be moving beyond time. I realize now that these dreams are the realizations of an old man with many regrets. Looking back at these strange occurrences and the new markings on my old body, I am reminded of my youthful chapters in life. I know that only my bones will die here. The truth of my life right now is change. I must die to change. If I am born again, I only hope that these profound realizations come sooner so that I can create myself through them better. Mr. Grimm is almost here I can hear his footsteps approaching. I feel calm atculaly. Lkie mbye tihs ins’t teh end…

In my beginning is my end—T.S. Elliot, East Coker

April 15, 2010
My name is Robert James Loomis and I am 23 years old. I was born in May 2, 1986. When I was conceived, I was easy to recognize in a room of mundy babies because I have a mark over my right eye and a mole on my left cheek. For some reason when I was eighteen I mistakenly tattooed myself with the kanji “warrior”, and have been having these strange dreams ever since. I have decided to keep a dream journal now, due to so many “coincidentally” related dreams. In all of them there is an unusual tree. At first it had no leaves and seemed to be dead. There are also many shapes in the bark similar to faces. As time progresses, though, the leaves and branches seem to be flourishing. The last dream I had, I was in a well kept garden and could have sworn that there was a beast sitting next to a statue. A name was whispered in the wind, and it sounded like “Elysian”. When I tried to walk over to the statue I began to age very quickly and before I got there I woke up…

A small glimpse of my story

For my capstone paper I am going to write a short story, and to be honest I am super scared about it. I haven't ever done something like this in earnest before (I don't think the stories for Keeler count). There is so much that I would love to inject into my story, which will be about what I have noticed and experienced during my life-journey thus far. I think the best way to do this is through a series of journal entries of confessions from the main character. I am still toying with some other methods of storytelling as well, so I will just have to see what happens. So with no further ado here is a little look at what my story will be like:


It happens more often now. I feel a shiver run through my spine and then I am gone. Where I go I can not say, but every time this happens I feel a brief moment of panic, quickly followed by terror and then all is calm. It used to only happen in my dreams, but now I might be walking down the sidewalk, sitting in class, or silently surveying my surroundings. There is always someone with me when I disappear too. Nothing ever remains still enough for me to truly make out the surroundings, but the other person remains steadfast and true to my eyes. I don't know how long I stay in these "other worlds", but when I snap back to "reality" maybe only a few minutes have gone by. I always know the people I meet and they vary from kindness to total brutality. When I confront either my tongue feels swollen and my body stiff. Never-the-less, words are spoken and the events carry on. Last time I met my father and he talked to me about the nature of being a coward. Another time I faced myself-or at least a part of my "self" and came back with a new scar. After every encounter my awareness shifts and I feel an uncanny sense of being pulled away from the world I know, and being displaced in another world. I am Elysian James Eidolon and I think I am losing my mind.

Becoming a black-belt at life

Ah yes the pattern of life. Today Taylor mentioned something that really got me thinking about what enlightenment really means. She said that we all lose ourselves in the pattern of life. With all the distractions and attachments it is hard not to be lost, but Sexon told us that detachment is the key to an elightened self. Here is what I have to say in addition to these two thoughts.

The pattern of life is really all encompassing. In the Robert Jordan fantasy series, The Wheel of Time, the pattern is everything: time and people, good and evil, reality and dreams. There is no stepping outside of the pattern-even if you are an enlightened one. Taylor made it clear that there is no way to live outside the pattern and Sexon affirmed this when he said we should live in the world, not of the world. Obviously no living person can truly ascend to becoming a god while still living in this current plain of existence. However, we can be aware of all the elements of life that we know, and connect the known to the unknown so it becomes our own. And now, here is the ultimate question: "What do we do with our knowledge and skills? Even if we do pay attention to all the struggles and blessings in life, what is to come of it?" I understand the need to move towards action, but I can't seem to grasp what action I am to commit myself to. I feel that "just being" is supposed to be enough...but it isn't and here is why. Teachers command things from you and if you don't complete them to their standards enough you fail; friends expect time from you but if you are busy you fail; parents expect certain kinds of behavior from you and if you get reckless you fail. To learn of detachment now is exactly what we as students need to hear, but we can't really move into detachment until we can simply just "be".

I am always being told in martial arts that the "real" practice doesn't begin until we reach black-belt status. I think that this saying can go beyond martial arts and apply itself to life as well. We go through our innocence of childhood working to become an adult, and then when we finally get to be an adult the real journey begins. The journey is purely personal and "we are the creatures who create meaning", thus only we can decide how to handle our adult lives after we feel we are learned enough to go off to the battle. So what am I going to do? Finish my amature practice, and become a black-belt at life (assuming I survive the battles of real life).

Some ramblings about Tai's blog and the duality of man

I don't know if I am interpreting this correctly but here is what I think about the duality of man in response to Tai's blog.
Tai makes it known that every man has a dilemma. Duality. A separation of self that happens naturally. In fact it may even start as soon as we begin to develop a detailed personality. People are walking contradictions, not necessarily because we choose to be, but because it is so difficult not to be. The duality of self is what prevents us from obtaining "oneness", which is the problem in both Hamlet and Bhagavad-Gita. What are we to do then? Tai demonstrates Jung's concepts of anima/animus, shadow, and self and how recognition of these internal elements can provide a kind of realization about one's self, but what is the conclusion of understanding anything about one's self? Does it make us wiser or a "better" person? Not really. We observe and repeat and observe and repeat, only sometimes do we actually apply discipline to ourselves. Sacrifice, is the true answer. In class, Doug was talking about not having a choice and being pushed into action/war. Tai also used war and being pushed into action to demonstrate the problem of confronting our various "selfs". But, we all get to choose whether or not we sacrifice our morals for action or inaction. Arjuna made a sacrifice; those soldiers made a sacrifice. The power of devotion is a strong element, but under the wrong guise it could be very harmful. Terrorism for instance is a total devotion to a cause, to an action. Is it okay? No. Is Arjuna making a positive moral choice? No. So what the hell? How do we decide what to do when there is no right answer? Jung might tell us to listen to the self, work with the animus, and conquer the shadow. I believe this to be a way in which people can use their duality of morals/identity to create a better self. I'm just not too sure how many times I will have to do this...infinity maybe?

The Mind's Eye

In act one scene two, Hamlet is speaking with Horatio and says, "Thrift, thrift, Horatio, the funeral bak'd-meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven or ever I had seen that day, Horatio! My father--methinks I see my father." After asked where, Hamlet says: "In my mind's eye, Horatio." I believe this to be relateable to the "gods" eye the Krishna endows to Arjuna. We mentioned in class the importance of the line "remember me" as a kind of "dharma" to a higher power, and in order for the divine to truly convince their loved disciples they give the gift of knowledge. Both Arjuna and Hamlet are told of "life after death", but differently. Arjuna's belief is that of re-incarnation and Hamlet is informed that hell does exist as well as heaven. They are also both charged with completing a violent task. The mind's eye then, is the convincing power to remain steadfast and follow through with their task at hand no matter how morally difficult it may be.

Moving on to the realm of epiphanies one could understand the mind's eye as a means of remembrance. In the Wind and the Willows, when something epiphanic happens the characters have a hard time remembering the divine or "eye-opening" experience, but they can almost picture it or hear it lingering in their heads. This vague ability to recall these ineffable moments is T.S. Elliot is getting at when he says "we had the experience, but missed the meaning". Like something we saw but can't quite recall until we have a 'similar experience to revive the meaning'. The power of this majestic "third eye"though, whether through practice of memory or with the divine help of God, might be how people are able to understand and be true to their dharma.

Some thoughts about the days

Sometimes being aware of what's going on is just a little too much. Catching never-ending connections is enough to make one go insane. This morning I was talking with my girlfriend about my capstone paper and our conversation included elements of the "ego", fathers, and most importantly understanding that the individual is the only one who can say what he or she is here for. Then going to class and having all of these elements thrown back at me was just crazy! This kind of thing always happens in my Japanese class as well. We will be talking about dark epiphanies and spine tingles and then I will go to my Japanese class and we will talk about things like the term "uncanny", which also appeared today in a vague reference to dark epiphanies existing in obscurity. Obscurities of the things we know should always produce a kind of uncanny feeling...'your hair bristling on your flesh' as described in Bhagavad-Gita.

Let's not forget of course, Hamlet's "remember me" dharma. In the Bhagavad-Gita this appears on page 79 when Krishna says, "A man who dies remembering me at the time of death enters my being." So don't worry Taylor, you would have been okay. Plus 'those who die win heaven and those who live win earth' (37). I absolutely love and respect those kinds of mentalities. I'm sure Tai would agree that they help assuage the angst of life's constant challenges and scary moments (for example our final papers!).

I also appreciated the use of Dharma as a sacred duty aka our papers. I know that this is partly a jest and mostly an exaggerated truth, but using the word dharma in that way made me understand that our dharma is always changing with us. As we move through life we "change and smile; but the agony abides" (Elliot quote). Our agony is our dharma. Even though dharma will have positive moments there will always be future trials of our faith in ourselves and those around us. Thank the kindness of our teachers who are willing to help guide us through our life's dharma. I only can hope that one day I might get to be one of those teachers.

Bhagavad-Gita and the meaning of life

It is hard to even begin to put my thoughts about The Bhagavad-Gita together after reading it. Just when I think I have found some kind of meaning or understanding it slips through some crack that is connected to my own habits needing to questioning everything. The most predominant question that comes to mind is that of killing. Is it okay? Sure it is, but only if one is in the proper mind-frame that allows one to view the situation without any feelings of attachment. This thought is just begging for me to ask how one can even think about taking life without forming some sort of connection or passion? After all, if one feels compelled to kill then there has to be some passion involved right? Even if you didn't expect any "fruits" from your actions, you would still be acting to make a difference. Certainly the prey would feel like there was some reason for being hunted or condemned to death. Couldn't death be a kind of change, and change be a kind of fruit in itself then? I don't really know what I think; at this point in my life I just don't see how one could live in today's world except "passionately". I feel that most of us exist on the passionate/desire level of understanding life. I do however feel that I could transcend to a more pious plain of existence by trying to stick to a kind of awareness and detachment. These two concepts are not very natural to us because of our emotions, but this story does provide some helpful practices to keep in mind while seeking out our own notion of a devoted "self". Yoga, dharma, Karma, jnana, and bhakti are interlinked to create an enlightened individual. I do of course have a problem with both dharma, and bhakti. I am not sure what my "dharma/duty" is, for I have not concluded what my calling is to be. So where and how can we discover this? Who knows, maybe it does just happen. As for "Bhakti/devotion", how can we be devoted to anything without a kind of attachment? Renouncing the world to claim our faith in God is rather cynical. I mean isn't the whole world God's creation? Yes, according to this book it is. So...what the hell?

Just as I finished with that last line a kind of light went on in my broken and beer soaked brain. Assuming that we are in fact all re-incarnations of a sort, wouldn't it be fair to say that if in fact we are truly tired of living various lives over and over again, the only way to step outside of time would require a renunciation of the world? Our souls finally getting tired of the same old routine, seeking out a timeless and peaceful existence. Makes me feel as though I am truly punishing myself by wanting to remain in this body...with this face. T.S. Eliot popping in my head and saying to me, "we had the experience, but missed the meaning". But what if we didn't miss the meaning? Instead we accepted the kind of reality we see and live in to be okay and worth doing again. What if living outside of time sucks? What then? I don't feel as though I have missed the meaning, I simply would just like to do it again, thus "an approach to the meaning restores the experience", the very wonderful and challenging experience of life.

Boss Neptune Ramsay

On page 97 during the dinner, Mrs. Ramsay is reminded of Neptune's banquet. Which, in a literal sense is a festival held in Italy on July 23 called Neptunalia, so it is only natural for her to want to link this period of grandeur feasting to her own experience. But there is much more to than that to Woolf choosing Neptune rather than any other god. Neptune, God of water, is a perfect match for this book since the setting is based around the sea. And because she is often referred to as a "queen" her husband could be Neptune and she, Salacia. In an article about Neptune I found, it says, "Ovid describes Neptune with a sullen look, whereas Virgil expressly tells us that he has a mild face, even where he is representing him in a passion. Even at the time that he is provoked, and might be expected to have appeared disturbed, and in a passion, there is serenity and majesty in his face" (after looking at many pictures I would agree with these comments). I think this description fits perfectly with Mr. Ramsay on page 83 when he is "sitting down, all in a heap, frowning". Thus he is now to be called "Boss Neptune Ramsay". Even when Augustus requests more food, Mrs. Ramsay notes his majesty's furrowing brow and popping vessels, but that is all that that happens. Furthermore there is the worshiping by Mr. Tansley for Boss "Neptune" Ramsay. On page 95 Mrs. Ramsay is noting how Boss "Neptune" Ramsay cares about fishermen and their wages. And to put a cap on everything, the words "triumph" and "assert" are used multiple times in this section to describe the desires and feelings in which all these people are playing catch with at the dinner. This book in fact, is a Roman myth with a King and Queen, their council members, and of course their massive amounts of offspring.

Are we not divine?

Thus far in my reading of To the Light house the most awe-inspiring thoughts pertain to the concepts of time and place. Virginia Wolf shows us just what it is like to exist in thought. Keeping all our little secrets locked away for only our own pleasure or pain. The place that is most important in this book (if not in life) would be in our own heads then. Imagine a world where anyone could read your thoughts. What identity would we have? Could we have any relationships at all? Would we think about God in the same way as we do now? for wouldn't we have the power of a God? Reading this book gives us this power through which no thought goes unseen. Even though we are given this capability I still can not apprehend the affect of such power. "Was it wisdom? Was it knowledge? Was it, once more, the deceptiveness of beauty, so that all one's perceptions, half-way to truth, were tangled in a golden mesh?" (To the Light House, 50). These questions are at the very center of epiphanies, and at the same time kind of provide a guide of questions for us while we read. As participants in this story, Are we Gods? There is one more element that might make this question a little more one sided, and that is the element of "Time".

Time in this novel is very whimsical. Past, present, and a dreamy future are crumbled together throughout the pages. Tumbling everywhere, the reader is popping in and out of various notions of perceived time. Can this be seen as godly? Is this what it feels like to be a god? I don't really ever feel lost, but sometimes I must reflect back on what I read just to be sure that I'm in the relative character's mind-frame in that moment. Due to the unimportance of whether or not we are in the now, re-visiting the past, or creating a future, we (both the character and the reader) are stepping outside of time using our inner thoughts, while at the same moment we are still existing in "real" time. We are time-travelers. Isn't that godly? A shaman once told me that I could in fact be a divine being if I could only remember my way back to the "beginning". I think this is true, but I also now know that remembrance is only one step. I must now use my Art of Memory to proceed into my future divinity. Constructing and projecting my thoughts into others as I receive theirs, thus slowly I am becoming knowledgeable, wise, and half-way approaching a moment wrapped in golden mesh. My birth.

Percival, inscape, instress, and the Grail

So I googled Fisher King and got a story about a King who was wounded so badly that the wound wouldn't ever heal. So, being a crippled king he spent most of his time fishing, but, in the midst of the stories summarization there appeared a gem. The "Holy Grail" which is supposedly the cup that Jesus drank out of at the Last Supper. It is believed that the grail contains mystical powers, that for instance may be able to heal un-healable wounds... So naturally I looked up the holy grail and found an even better story about a man in search of the holy cup. And no it wasn't Indiana Jones, or Monty Python, but instead it was a story about Percival.

He was a innocent boy who was raised in the forest and didn't come into contact with any other people until he was fifteen which is when he saw knights for the first time. In short he became a knight and went in search for the holy grail. Now, what is so important then about that? Well, on the untrustable wikipidia there was a description of his story that goes, "Percival's immaturity prevents him from fulfilling his destiny when he first encounters the Grail, and he must grow spiritually and mentally before he can locate it again. In later telling the Grail is a symbol of God's grace, available to all but only fully realized by those who prepare themselves spiritually, like the saintly Galahad".

The most important part here is the fact that Percival must grow spiritually and mentally to obtain the grace of god. This makes the grail just like the Bible in that they both are trying to persuade people to adhere to the teachings of Jesus. In other words it doesn't matter if the grail is or is not real because it is the pious quest that really matters. Percival's story is kind of like trying to discover our own inscape and his journey would then be his process of instress guiding him to saintly status. Just as we are all trying to find our own way, being as good as we can be (probably not so hot anymore with all these distractions), we might one day find it; but i'm guessing it isn't a holy cup.

Thoughts about Tintern Abbey

A brief moment out of the darkness is so nice. The positive purity of Wordsworth's poem "Tintern Abbey" is like a cleansing drink of holy water rather than the burning awareness of dark epiphanies. After reading the poem a couple of times and reading some notes about it, I feel that "Tintern Abbey" is a concentrated focus on the innocence of youth and the beauty that is still linked to nature after the loss of innocence that comes with age. When I first started reading this poem a part of Eliot's quartets popped into my head that goes, "We had the experience but missed the meaning, and approach to the meaning restores the experience in a different form, beyond any meaning we can assign to happiness". I feel that this part of Eliot's poem is perfect for what Wordsworth was doing when he created "Tintern Abbey". A memory that shows both similarities as well as changes in one's character. In the beginning Wordsworth is telling us what he sees with his "old eyes"...

Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

In his youth these cliffs could have symbolized something very different than seclusion. And using the words secluded scenes really relates to the feeling that people have as soon as they realize just how big the world is, and how insignificant they are. In this case though, I would stress that this feeling in relation to the cliffs is reflecting on the peace that comes with seclusion. Furthermore, he later writes exactly how nature possesses us and "with an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things". Joy is referred to earlier on as a "sublime" and "blessed mood" which turns into a kind of nirvana, which we now know comes hand-in-hand with epiphanies.
Wordsworth then combines the notions of time into one moment of reflection, pleasurable presence, and hopeful a hopeful future saying,

"While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years...That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures".

This moment leads into a grand epiphany that could come only through personal experience (take that Eliot!) which emphasizes the loss of innocence and the gaining of knowledge.

"For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused"

It doesn't get much more epiphanic than that.

To the LIght House-a paradox between terror and beauty

Since we have been dealing with the "dark epiphany" so much, I selected one of the many E's in V.W's story that is, shall I say, a mortal one. It begins on page 15 when Mrs. Ramsay is sitting in the window listening to all the sounds surrounding her when SUDDENLY she no longer hears her children gabbing or her husband chatting, and (again)--
"SUDDENLY and unexpectedly, especially when her mind raised itself slightly from the task actually in hand, had no such kindly meaning, but like a ghostly roll of drums remorselessly beat the measure of life, made one think of destruction of the island...that it was all ephemeral as a rainbow--this sound which had been obscured and concealed under the other sounds SUDDENLY thundered hollow in her ears and made her look up with an impulse of terror" (16).
     Suddenly, suddenly, suddenly, it all stopped and only the sound of our mortality was left to beat like an echo that will eventually fade away. Mrs. Ramsay momentarally became aware of life that exists in another plane of "real time". Her epiphanic moment of mortality is in fact pointing to the mortal's diseas, which is "awareness". Here and now Mrs. Ramsay is feeling the "finite pulses" that exist within the terror of living in the moment with a inevitable future of death. As Kevin showed us in his blog and told us today, "we are DOOMED TO ENJOY dark epiphanies". However, there is a brief recognition of beauty amongst all this negativity.
     The rainbow, which stands out like a beacon of light (maybe a lighthouse). Mrs. Ramsay slips this fleeting image of peace and calm that comes after a storm and in (in this case) the middle of a storm, which is quite paradoxical...Maybe the rainbow is in the middle because the real terror is still yet to come? I keep thinking of hurricane Katrina and the power, awe and terror it caused. It must have been a moment without words, only fear and awe, and then after it was all done there was the realization of the terror that just occured. But I also bet that there were some rainbows afterwards (lol). I guess my point is that even in the darkest of moments, if we could be the "one whom nothing is lost" we might see these connections between terror and beauty all within the same moment. If we can do that, then we all could be "Aesthetic Heroes" of our time.

Walter Pator does Mona Lisa producing epiphany

Thus far I have not been able to find what I am looking for concerning Walter Pater and epiphanic realizations. I did however find some readings about his critique of the Renaissance painting of Mona Lisa that sheds some light on how he perceived notions of "Awe" within the famous painting:

"She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, SHE HAS BEEN DEAD MANY TIMES, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants; and, as Leda, was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and flutes, and lives only in the delicacy with which it has moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands. THE FANCY OF A PERPETUAL LIFE, SWEEPING TOGETHER TEN THOUSAND EXPERIENCES, is an old one; and modern philosophy has conceived the idea of humanity as wrought upon by, and summing up in itself, all modes of thought and life. Certainly Lady Lisa might stand as the embodiment of the old fancy, the symbol of the modern idea".

In this paragraph, Pater uses words that further produce a feeling of mysticism in the painting of a long since dead woman, which rework what I think is a boring painting into a much more significant symbol of perfection. When he says that "she has been dead many times" I understood that this painting has been created and re-created many times thus allowing Lady Lisa to be reborn in our minds as an icon of perfection or (for some) maybe a rather insignificant portrait of a rather odd looking woman. What I understand though, is that this painting is majestic because people have maintained a steady stream of re-invention that now has a undertone of immortality. This is in fact a perfect representation of how an epic epiphany should haunt those afflicted by its indescribable power, as Walter was. I believe that Pater actually makes this painting much more epiphanic than it originally was with his description. He is able to imprint a deeper sense of the mysticism by pointing out that the Mona Lisa is "the fancy of perpetual life, sweeping together ten thousand experiences", which is once again demonstrating the everlasting quality of the painting itself, except this time it is directly playing on the audience's awareness of their own "experiences" and feelings toward the painting itself. If you were to go to the place where the Mona Lisa is currently on display, the energy in the room might equal that of an epiphanic moment because everyone would be eye-goggling this strange wonder together adding to the atmosphere of Awe within the room. If Walter Pater were present at such a moment I think he would blurt out, "How shall we pass most swiftly from point to point, and be present always at the focus where the greatest number of vital forces unite in their purest energy? To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life". "Pure energy" would equal that of the atmosphere in the room and the "gem-like" flame would be what everyone would be afflicted with when they leave. Truly this would be a wonderful moment of ecstasy!

Cherish the innocent, be mindful of despair, and forever maintain hope

I was trying to understand why cycles are a part of the Four Quartets with the feeling that cycles are only illusions, and there can only be a path forward continuing on into infinity. I was wrong. The notion of a cycle in life is helpful to understand concepts of Dejavu or recurring emotions. We assume too often that people are here on earth to achieve the "meaning of life" and understanding what we experience. However, group 4 demonstrated today that understanding is not what we are here to do, instead we should be concerned less with capturing the meaning of something and more focused on achieving an AWARENESS of life and death. In other words, one might suggest that people are being conscious of what feels similar and different until both the notions of "same" and "different" can be handled with one focused and conscious action/reaction. Interestingly, in Aikido the students are repeating the same motions over and over again until there is no more thought needed than a direct action towards the "right choice". This is similar to how we respond to daily life, where we are constantly being tested and re-tested with multitudes of interactions and experiences and are honing our ability to choose the proper action and fare forward. The actions then, contain a kind of habitual manner of handling situations without having to do much thinking. The forming of such habits though, must not be the real objective, but instead one should be trying to be aware of their habits and always re-inventing those repetitive actions to fit into new or even similar situations. For instance if you come across a large hole in the ground there are many ways in which you can get across: run and jump over it, build something over it, walk around it and so on and so forth. Each time you try something to solve the puzzle you can gain an awareness that you were not previously aware of. This simple metaphor for life is meant to merely open your eyes for future trials in which one can continue to create new means of working with and not against obstructions. If we are lucky though, we will meet older generations who will enlighten us about the many paths of adaptation and awareness without us having to personally fall down or step into the fog that is soon to become the present.

Nabokov was terrified by sleep because it meant giving up one's consciousness and existing in a subconscious dream-like "reality". If we were to interpret death like sleep and life as being awake then there would be no "life" after death, but because both life and death are part of the layered spiral we will in fact experience them multiple times; always moving forward with new awareness. Maintaining consciousness is in fact more of a way to fight against the unknown, and therefore should be re-evaluated. What is more important is how we as living human beings can patiently await what is to come (which is death)in a way that is both thoughtful and positive. Despair is everywhere, and hope is our salvation. We will approach life again not in the same exact way, but with a new awareness and a heavy heart. Cherish the innocent, be mindful of the despair, and forever maintain hope.

Ukiyo=floating world

The word "ukiyo" is a Japanese word that I think effectively illustrates what T.S. Elliot is exploring in the Four Quartets. Ukiyo means "floating world" and is used in reference to fleeting aesthetics, death, and time/spacial relations. As we have learned thus far in class, Eliot is working with complex notions of living life and experiencing all it has to offer. His words often times are confusing and contradictory and present a paradoxical display of "eye-opener" thoughts. But that is the way of the world, an "ukiyo-world". People are suspended in a moment of time that feels as if it has a purpose or a place to go, but in a broad perspective our time is not much more than blip. In this class we are learning to heighten our awareness of pretty much everything, and interestingly enough what is happening to me is that I feel as if time is slowing down. If I can notice the little changes and concentrate on each days events, I begin to understand time as only a series of events. There is no need to have my day exactly scheduled. It is very strange to me that people would want to have such order and structure to their lives that they might have only 5 minute poop-breaks or can only eat at this and this time. If we destroyed clocked time would we be happier? Would we be as motivated? I would like to think so, but then again having everyone in tune with each other is kinda cool too. Time works within the notion of Ukiyo to secure the past, present, and future all into individual moments of existence. Modern-time makes us pay attention to each moment as if that moment was all that mattered, but doesn't allow us to dottle away in the moment because we have a rigid system that slaps us in the face when we forget to look at our clocks. The beauty of a term like "Ukiyo" is how time is kept as a persistant thought, but floating right now in the suspended moment of emotion lasts as long as it can and that is all that matters. If Eliot knew about this term, I am sure he would have played with it in his poem.

I am the God of Bones

Listen up son! I am the God of Bones, your bones that is. I am here to ask you if you can hear the soundless wailing? The wailing of your bones. We are all floating down the Styx River to our death. Why fear me? Cause I am death? Maybe so, but I am here to tell you that the end is near and not to fear. If I could condemn your souls I would, but I am only the God of Bones and your journey will go on...must go on. I thought I was the only one with the Soothsayer power, admittedly though, I am not. You are your own fortune teller. You know your future (death) you know your past, and you live in the present. Even though you walk the path of the living dead, you are special. Generations have given you their wisdom. Don't let it pass you by. Pay attention to your experiences and notice their connection and relevance to now. We all feel sadness, joy, hate, greed, and vanity. None-the-less, we live through them all and emerge as a whole entity of life and understanding. You have witnessed history both first and second hand, and though the passing of time is often referred to as "evolution", you know better. Evolution is only a superficial step to understanding what is and hypothetical notions of current existence; but existence is the now and you are the now. "There is no better time than now for shit to happen" (Charismatic Kari). A wise man named Tautological Tai once said, "Tequila turns man into wisdomless animals", and that is the Truth of today. Do not let this happen to you. Fare forward, not fare well, for death is what you know awaits. Look over your shoulder for assistance and remember the terror, but never fear, for "death is only a majestic meditation" (Doug). We are hear to learn. That is all.

Falling through the universe

After reading "my" brief essay about "The Dead" in the book that Dr. Sexson loaned out to me I am proud to say that our class is very badass. While the professional Loomis decifered very important aspects of the story, we found and highlighted many more important "daimonds" than he did and without too much repitition as well; however, I would like to take a moment to include just one more thought from Loomis's essay that will bring together much of what we are talking about into one symbolic image: The Snowflake. Dr. Sexson mentioned in class the notion of a wheel(or a "whirlpool" as C.C. Loomis puts it) and how all the spokes lead to one central point. To our benefit an upside-down Freudian iceberg was illustrated to show us the progression to epiphanies. Cleverly enough, Joyce decided to stay away from such presumptuous psycoanalytic babble and use a beautiful snowflake instead. As you can see the snowflake is close to that of a wheel with spokes and a point of still-connection, and is arguably the prettiest aesthetic symbol in the entire story. As such, the snowflake had many symbolic functions one of which has to do with creation. In order for a snowflake to form, lots of water molecules must be frozen together. Being frozen in "Ah" is one way in which we described the experience of an epiphanic moment. Also, many thoughts and emotions must come together to create our frozen moment, thus we have the molecules of the snowflake. Next, there is the idea that of Eliot's description of "faring forward, not farewell". Gabrial is not faring well in his precarious evening of egotism, but he is faring forward (I will explain further on Friday about this particular thought). Most importantly though, is the concept of impermance that resonates with a snowflake. So much can be experienced so quickly and just as soon as we have our epiphany... it has faded into the background. Just like a snowflake blows away or explodes on our windshields leaving only dripping water, the beauty itself is gone. What's more is the connection between the snowflake and Gretta's emotions are both fleeting moments in time, and yet, both are able to cause such dramatic changes in Gabrial (and through Gabrial on to the reader). Loomis points out the grand relationship that both man and snowflake share, which is: a "vision [that] progressess toward the ultimate image of the snow falling through the universe".                 

Foot in mouth

I found the speech to be kind of ironic by the end of the story. Gabriel-a conceited man-begins to talk about the dead as a kind of memorial for hospitality, traditions and change, thus unknowingly bringing about an inevitably "unlucky" night with his wife. Don't get me wrong, he was doomed well before the speech after the not-so-friendly conversation with Lily left him gloomy. Then there was the issue of being labeled a "West Brit" thanks to his lack of Irish pride as Miss Ivors so blatantly spit at him in a loud whisper. I can't really blame her though, Gabriel is a man making a whole host of poor word choices all night. When he finally gets to the speech, he ends up rekindling his wife's love for a dead man after a spouting a dose of reminiscing over "the past, of youth, of changes, of absent faces that we miss here to-night". For how aware he was of the music and his wife's desire, respect and emotion for her own blood and tradition, he really misses the big cues of her sarcastic remark to Mrs. Malins, and distant behavior after hearing his speech and most importantly the Irish song. Quite frankly, he wasn't remembering shit about the past when giving his speech and I can't believe that he didn't know about his own wife's past. I wouldn't think too much of needing to know something like that about someone close to me, but it is rather obvious that she is still "paralyzed" in thoughts concerning the "lost love" of her life. Gabriel is definitely no charmer, and yet, he did finally produce a kind of lovely Ah of a moment after his emotions had settled down into the clarity needed for an epiphany. Kinda funny how easy it is to say the wrong things, and how hard it is to find a way to reconcile for our rash words.

my diamond

It's all a little too much, ya know? As an epiphany should be I guess... I would first like to briefly say that I misunderstood what an epiphany "should" be with what it "can" be. I wanted to believe that an epiphany always had to include some notion of divinity, but I now realize-as has been pointed out specifically in class and again in "without a care" Nick's blog-that an epiphany really is a moment of a paradox, and later (hopefully) clarity and maybe even change.

After reading "The Dead" I can only hope that I can use the right words to point towards my moment of reflective clarity. The moment when Gabriel refuses to go back to west Ireland is the exact time that I felt a change in his character. He had an unknown bitterness to a place that he really had no perceived reason to dread. But, as you find out in the end his wife's first true love lived there. Now, I may sound a little crazy, but when something brings about an unusual response from someone close to you only a naive fool would fail to recognize the change. Gabriel's adamant refusal to visit the place was a "real" emotion even though he didn't know why, but he must have known something more when his wife wished to visit the hometown so eagerly. Her response to his rough refusal should have been clue enough. From that point on, the story mainly revolved around music, and as such, I think the music is my diamond of an "Oh" that contributes to the "Ah".

There are many moments when Gabriel takes notice to the music that fills the atmosphere of the dance hall and refreshment room. However, the most obvious instance of importance is the pride he felt when he saw how his wife reacted to the old Irish song, "The Lass of Augrhim". (Here is a link to listen to this beautiful song originally by Frank Patterson, and here is sung by Susan McKeown http://www.last.fm/music/Susan+McKeown/_/The+Lass+of+Aughrim) His pride and desire smashed together and became almost violent. Just as his emotions should be (confused that is) when going through an unexplainably intense experience, and it only gets more intense from then on. An abundant amount of emotions flood through his and our bodies and minds at this moment of the story, and that my friends is how you know when an epiphany is truly at work. His previously inexplicable desires, and later on shamefulness are at odds after the difficult history, and come together to provide an awareness. And at last there is a kind of clarity at the end with the sound of the snow falling through the universe over the living and the dead, who both share the same sound at that very instance; a music if you will, that exists for shades and life alike.

A moment of oblivion

Lying awake, calculating the future,
Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel
And piece together the past and the future,
Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception,
The future futureless, before the morning watch
When time stops and time is never ending;

Within this section of The Dry Salvages lies all that Joyce was working with and through in his Araby story. These two pieces of literature go hand so well together due to the fact that they are both experiencing the agony of time through the emotion of anxiety. Joyce explores the emotion(s) that are experienced through the inability to control time, or better yet our personal time during an age of dependence and lack of authority. The boy's only wish is to demonstrate his feelings for the girl, and yet he feels that money and gifts are needed to do so. His realization concerning this fact causes him to feel vain and angry. Both are relatable to the passage above due to the specific language that is used in the poem. Words like "calculate", "deception", and "futureless" resonate with undertones of anxiety and a bitterness from lack of control. Just as Erin points out in one of her blogs, Nabokov might be pissed that I am trying to read into things that are not really there; never-the-less I agree with what she says about Joyce's call for the necessity of interpretation of underlying meanings behind words. One might refer to this hidden language as the emotional response of reader. So, yes, I am projecting myslef into Eliot's poem, because that is how I get something out of it.

As for when the boy recognizes the emotions that he is feeling in the end of the story, it is as if time itself-even if for only a split second-stops. This moment is the moment "when time stops and time is never ending". As we all know time really doesn't stop, but our emotions can deceive us into believing that time isn't real. A fight for instance, can have this effect. The same goes for epiphanies as well. In Nick's blog, he gives a wonderful definition of epiphany which begins with "a slow change in one's consciousness", and to me this is the moment without time. A moment of oblivion, very similar to the experience of important realizations, like that of the boy's feelings.

Epiphanies are not to be taken lightly, and not to be forgotten!

This blog is going to be a debate of sorts because there are a few things that I disagree with in relation to Wind and the Willows, and maybe somebody will be kind enough to help me sort them out... or agree with them.

First, I think that there can only be an AH! epiphany. To allow such petty things like -oh- to be allowed to be an epiphany sounds much more like a minor moment of realization or recollection of a temporarily forgotten something or other (of these there seem to be tons in the book for class). I was having a fun debate about the definition of epiphanies, and not surprisingly what came up was the show "House". At first thought we both agreed that this asshole doctor was having an epiphany every time that he "magically" saved the day. But that really made me question what the significance of using the term "epiphany" would be if we allowed thoughts of realizations from rational deduction or induction to be included? It is just like Dr. Sexon said about the word "awesome"; or for instance using the word "genius" to describe something like a pooper scooper or ice cube trays. I understand that the term "epiphany" has come to encompass many things, and despite how I feel about it, I know things won't change. So if we continue to use House as an example, yes I do think that he has really important realizations, but I would not call them epiphanies because there isn't really an magic to his obtainment of knowledge, just trial and error. Thus, reasoning should always come after the experience.

Second, after talking with Tai about this, we feel that the epiphany which was deemed the most important in Wind and the Willows is not in chapter 7 because they DO forget their experience. I think that Kevin would agree with us on this because I doubt he will ever forget his epiphanic experience on that mountain. If anything, people should be changed due to such experiences (doesn't have to be a big change mind you, just an awareness that may have not been as important as before). Personally I feel that Mole's first journey into the woods was the most important epiphany in the story because of how his awareness of the woods brought out a change in his behavior. In other words I feel that epiphanies are learning experiences that induce an acute awareness of thoughts and emotions that are strengthened by the magical and divine presence within that special moment of life, and most certainly not to be forgotten. So when Mole went into the woods all willy-nilly, he experienced the truth of life in its most naked and truthful form...scary, and yet, beautiful.

what do I know anyway?

I was embarking on a journey. I knew where and thought I knew why, but things change of course. I left my world and was transported to a different one that unfortunately lacked the comforts of home. So strange how all it takes is a little push and some comforting words to change one's world forever. I found myself plunging into the depths of chaos and knowledge, linked together by levels of awareness.

Ah, chaos, the beauty of my new world's tainted clutter seized me by the wrists and ensnared my mind into its state of barbaric behavior. There was plenty of drink and distorting substances for everyone in this madhouse of a society. Slipping into my own rabbit hole I watched as myself and those around me floundered in this mental whirlpool until IT happened. I was sitting in a class of fellow swimmers, debating about the controversies of things like morals and standards, when all of a sudden I realized that I cared about how people responded to these unconscious helping hands of human nature. Some were dominated by standards, others morals, but that was just the beginning. I soon found a whole island of people who were trying to find a balance between the two. In big letters the island was labeled "LITERATURE".

Quickly after coming ashore I was introduced to the land of knowledge and its relationship with the chaos that enshrouds the world. I was taught how to recognize the difference between poisonous mental foods and the edible ones. I also learned how to dance on the fine lines between insanity and epiphany only to realize that they are one in the same-it all just depends on the person's faith in what they experienced. So here I am, sitting in my room, writing about personal matters to only really two people (myself being one of them), smoking electronic cigarettes and saying I know how to "dance one the thin line between insanity and epiphany". HA!

A mandala garden and imagination/divinity

T.S. Eliot (for some of us we might know him as the "Toilest") plays on the idea of a mandala on page 14. He demonstrates how the wonderer and the guests move in a "formal pattern, along the empty alley, into the box cirlcle, to look down into the drained pool." I believe that by using the idea of a mandala T.S. Eliot is trying to project a sense of trying to grasp an unbelievable "essence", in this case a lotos rose conjured up from mystical sunlight. A wonderful thing about this idea is that the flower could be said to be a divine essence or in less magical terms, imagination. Either way you look at it both terms are able to exist outside of time. There is no telling how much time really passes when we are in the realm of imagination. Of course we could use clocks, but who is to say that our sense of time is correct or at least couldn't be bent to fit into a concept of unreality. An example of this thought can be found in our dreams that last for what feels like hours, and yet when we wake up only ten minutes has passed by. If we could step outside of time I believe that we would be in that dream like state of endlessness. And it seems to me that Eliot believs that this space that exists in this illusive form is what we call the "present"; where past and future (essentially time itself) is all wrapped up into a single moment. 

Back to the idea of the mandala, (got a little side-tracked there) one could imagine this garden shaped into this intricate maze that is essentially a mandala or boarishly noted to be a "box circle". The idea of a mandala is most commonly associated with Buddhist practice. So here is a link to a site that provides quality information about the mandala and its place in Buddhism => http://www.religionfacts.com/buddhism/things/mandalas.htm Please check this site out!