Final Post-a touch of reduncancy

Final thoughts, final thoughts....my mind is blank. I'll ask Lillith what she has to say...ah inspiration. I convinced my sister to name her cat after the succubus Lillith. I think names directly affect attitudes--she is a total demon.

Little Gidding: Fire

Now the hedgerow
Is blanched for an hour with transitory blossom
Of snow, a bloom more sudden
Than that of summer, neither budding nor fading,
Not in the scheme of generation.
Where is the summer, the unimaginable
Zero summer?

When snow falls on barren trees, it does not change the anatomy or composition of the plant. The chemical makeup of the tree or bush or flower doesn't shift. The plant remains dormant, seemingly unaffected by the fallen snow. It doesn't change. Right? I guess that could be similar to what I thought at the beginning of the semester last year, before Emergent Literature. Then we read T.S. Eliot....and James Joyce....and Cees Nooteboom. Then, this semester, I took Mythologies alongside Bible as Literature. Perception change much? I have gone through so many stages of apocalypse I feel like a whirlwind.....Snow changes trees. I see a white blossom upon every plant in the field. It falls but is replenished. It melts but it remains in vapor or water or ice upon trodden paths. It changes states but is still snow, water, ice and vapor, all at the same time. Temperature changes alter its state just like life changes alter mine. I have gone from Winifred to Miles City to Bozeman. I have gone from a reader to obsessor to making a career out of my obsession. My states have changed, my perception has been altered. Just like the trees. Their chemical composition remains just as I am still made of water, organs and skin but their states change. In winter they are white; in summer they are full of color and life. In the unimaginable zero summer they are clean or white with leprousy, depending on how you view them and what state you are in. It is a time of transition. For the tree and for the one looking upon its white, barren new lifelessness. Transition, rebirth, renewal, begin again, end again. Finnegan.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Myrrah, Daphne, Dryope, Heliades and many more....here's to your snow covered branches and your zero summer.

Shall we talk about car accidents?

Well, well, well, Sally. I can't believe the audacity. Should we recount all of the times you wrecked Christine (same car) or perhaps the red pickup? Ok, I think we will. For the sake of the class, we will, from this point, refer to Sally as Phaethon.

#1: First day of school. Phaethon 14 (bad driver), Sarah 13 (young and innocent and-soon-to-be terrified). It was a very exciting day and, in fact, I'm almost positive there's a picture of us in our first-day-of-school dresses (yes, we wore dresses for the first day of school) in front of our fairly unblemished cadillac (shortlived, of course). There are five miles of gravel roads between our house and our bus stop and you will soon find out that nearly every one of these miles has experienced a wreck at the hands of Phaethon the marauder of fences and occupant of ditches. This was the first time our parents had let Phaethon drive the caddi and she was very excited. Too excited. She hit the corner by our mailbox, which is about a 90, at, hmmm, 40 miles per hour, hit loose gravel, made some pretty distinct tracks for awhile, then corked us in the ditch. No fence marauding this time.

#2: The fence marauding begins. Phaethon, me and Jordan, the neighbor boy in the back seat and, of course, Christine. We were driving to school that day, not riding the bus. Now, I don't know if any of you have had to drive on 23 miles of gravel roads every day to make it to school, but we have. There are these things called "pot holes". Pot holes=Phaethon's enemy. We had made it about three miles. A pot hole loomed ahead and I was certain that Phaethon would dodge but, alas, she did not. I think, at one point we were completely sideways skidding down the road--it was very much like the power slides people try to make their cars perform but it wasn't intentional. Then out of sideways skid, through the fence, into the freshly worked field. Oh, and it had rained the night before so the field was VERY muddy. Somehow Christine managed to work her way out of it though and we didn't get stuck. I had to get out and open the gate while Phaethon sat there with an astonished look. I grew about three inches with all the mud stuck to the bottom of my shoes. So, through the fence, into the field, back out through the gate and we had completely forgotten about poor Jordan in the back. We turned around and looked at him and he was frozen with a half-petrified, half-awed look on his face. Phaethon threatened him: "Don't tell anyone or I'll be in so much trouble." He nodded. Phaethon can be very intimidating.

#3: Can Phaethon find a hole the size of a 1990 Caddilac? Yes she can. We were driving away from Winifred this time and it was snowing like crazy. It was New Year's Eve and we were missing a huge party because we were in basketball so, blah. Rounding a corner, or trying to round a corner, Phaethon lost control of the chariot and we slid into a fairly unobtrusive ditch. Since she was very familiar with ditches in general, she wasn't phased in the least. Pulling out of her minor plunder, she headed for the road but Damn!! A coulvert hole...foiled again. She corked Christine in that coulvert hole like the thing had been dug especially for our car. Phaethon was freaking out and I, younger but very used to being the passenger in such situations, was pretty calm. We opened the trunk and put to use our "just in case you crash and it's cold outside" kit (good thing our parents anticipated Phaethon's driving ability). We walked to the nearest neighbors, Jack and Lorainne Bergum, and knocked at their door (at 2:00 in the morning). They took us in and fed us hot chocolate and cookies until we could contact our parents (who were at the bar in Winifred so this whole issue of contacting them was a real test of human persistence). The next day we had to drag Christine out of the ditch with our feed pickup, Old Blue. This resulted in a dislodged bumper and some other, minor, damage.

#4 and #5: Phaethon has something against the red pickup. So, the red pickup my sister mentioned in her blog? Yeah, she wrecked it.....twice. The first time she was following my dad through a huge field. He was in the semi and he was going to leave it in the field, catch a ride back from Phaethon, then take the tractor out so he could pick up hay bales. I repeat, a huge field. Probably somewhere around 600 acres, plenty of places to drive in and not crash. Evidently she lost concentration for a bit. This resulted in a piece of angle iron, which is attached to the back of the semi trailer, screeching its way up the hood and through the windshield of the pickup. Yes, a hole in the windshield and a trench up the middle of the hood. Dad was angry. He was even angrier when, a week later, Phaethon backed into the same semi with the same pickup, completely destroying the tale-gate. We like to call this one killing two birds with one stone since she hit a vehicle with another vehicle. Note: the semi is gynourmous and bright yellow-hard to miss.

I don't even want to begin writing about poor Stella, Phaethon's new car.

I feel like I forgot about a wreck but I suppose I can close this one out. Now, what have we learned?

Don't let Phaethon drive the chariot.

The Whitness of the Bull

The hue of white...what to make of it. Jove manifests himself as a bull of the purest white, Ahab is obsessed with a whale who radiates with whiteness, Ahab, king of Israel, lives within a castle made of ivory, kings and queens and noble warriors ride upon white horses, white is the color of a dove, the bird to be sacrificed to the God of the Old Testament, angels are depicted as being shrouded in white...this could go on forever. White is purity. It is the return to innocence, the plundering of all darkness or evil.

Whiteness is also oblivion...when I think of death, I don't think of a black abyss, I think of endless white nothing. White everywhere; all color blotted out. Jove takes Europa into oblivion; he carries her into the endless expanse of sea, away from her family and country. It is almost as if she dies or is at least reborn. The whiteness of the bull seems to represent her passing from one state to another: from Europa, the daughter of Hesiod to Europa, queen of Crete. Her end may not have been terrible but the obliviated whiteness of the passage was undoubtedly petrifying.

Whiteness does not represent innocence in the story of Ahab, Naboth and Jezebel. In this Biblical tale, Ahab and Jezebel live within a castle made of ivory. Within those walls of unblemished whiteness, countless forms of corruption and evil reside. Jezebel, who later, in the book of Revelation, is considered the whore of Babylon, commits countless crimes of homicide. She slaughters 500 prophets and has Naboth put to death. She worships the false idol, Baal. These walls of ivory do not protect thier inhabitants from corruption just as a garment of white will not redeem the person beneath the folds.

Whiteness is not only innocence and redemption. The Bible is not only stories of good people performing good deeds. Things are not what they seem until you look into them further; don't judge a book by what others have taken it to be; don't consider something to be holy if you haven't questioned what lies beneath its cover of whiteness.

Bible as Lit. Paper

We have talked about story telling alot in this class. I wrote a story, or at least finished a story, for my Bible as Literature final paper. In 1 Kings there is a story about King Ahab of the Israelites, Naboth, a man who owns a vineyard, and Jezebel. We learned a word: lacuna and this means the parts of the story that are left out. When you read the Bible you will find that it is half lacuna, half story so you can imagine the possibilities when filling in the gaps. Here is my paper:


Ahab, king of Israel, was a very greedy man. He did not walk in the ways of the Lord. Rather, he chose to worship the false idol Baal; this idol was considered one of the demons of hell. Now, Ahab decided that he wanted to own the vineyard of a certain man named Naboth. This man was holy and he walked in the ways of the Lord; he was an altogether good man. This is the story of Naboth, Jezebel, and Ahab and this is the version wherein the lacuna is revealed.

One day Ahab was strolling through his kingdom, surrounded by fifty servants and numerous guards. He was walking, enjoying the scenery and the prosperity of his kingdom when he came upon an especially attractive vineyard. He stood in awe of its great abundance of fruit and admired its broad expanse of flourishing beauty. “Eden”, he thought to himself; “I must meet the man responsible for this.”

Menagerie in tow, Ahab proceeded to the house of Naboth, the owner of the vineyard. Immediately he began conversation with this man, asking him of his methods.

Naboth replied, “I am but a humble man, I ask of the Lord and he giveth.”
Ahab snickered at this and upon first instinct decided to tease the pious man.

“Who is your Lord compared to Baal? I have worshipped Baal-zebub through years of prosperity and kingship and look at me today. I rule over the land of Israel and reside within a castle constructed of the finest ivory. I own hundreds of vineyards compared to your one. Ask me, where has the Lord taken thee? I will answer, ‘Nowhere for I am under the watchful eye of Baal and he has served me well.’”

Naboth took no offense; he simply stood by his convictions and believed in the Lord he knew to be just. His prosperity for one single man was great and he did not wish to reside in an ivory castle or to rule over thousands of people. He had found the needful thing; to live under the laws of the Lord and to worship accordingly. This was enough and the prosperity he found was within the joy of his family and the care of his vineyard. For Ahab, though, this answer, these convictions, were simply not enough.

Confounded he said, “Naboth, I will make thee an exceeding wealthy man if you agree to sell me this vineyard. I will pay you tenfold what it is worth or I will give you a larger vineyard in return and you will have no more earthly concerns for the rest of your days.”

Naboth smiled and politely refused. The Lord had forbidden him to sell the land of his ancestors and he intended to follow this command. He would not forsake the Lord; he would not sell his vineyard. Ahab was furious. He stormed home to his castle and threw a tantrum of epic proportions. The castle of ivory shook with his rage until he gave into sullen fasting and laid upon his bed in despair. He would not eat nor did drink and every servant that came unto him would soon exit his chamber in fear.

He lay still thinking. His thoughts reeled through his greedy mind, the center of their monomania a flourishing vineyard on the outskirts of his ivory castle enclosure. Why can this not be mine? Everything within the kingdom is mine. I am lord over these lands and my god has not refused me this luxury. Lord…who is this lord but a peasant’s idol? Absurd, I want this vineyard; I own this kingdom; I should be certain to have what I want.

Lying in his bed, these pestilential thoughts reeling around the lofty room of his despair, Ahab festered. Anger, indignation, overcame him and he wept as a child would weep for the loss of a favorite toy. Absurd he may say to his inability to procure this piece of land but absurd his servants say to his reaction to so small a disallowance. They wondered in awe without his chamber, believing that their master had truly crossed the threshold into insanity. Never having been wealthy or with an abundance of material possessions, these servants were unable to understand the grief stricken moans emitted from the casement of their lord’s tortured being. Finally, unable to stand the tension consuming the house, a servant called upon Jezebel, the wife of Ahab. She loved him, it is true, but behind her love one could see the lingering corruption of ages and wealth. Her love was for his kingdom; for his way of life and for this she appreciated her husband.

Alas, the appreciation was mutual; the love of the corrupt and black of heart was shared between the two and now her love was in need of her assistance; she would go to him. She pondered the situation and alighted upon a decision with ease. She knew that her husband was the weakest of the pair as the kingdom had always been run to her accordance. Now, Jezebel sought her husband within his bed chamber and inquired as to his ailment.

“I am wrought with despair. Such impertinence I have endured and now my mind lets me not beyond the thoughts of Naboth.”

“Please, my love, what is it that has caused you such torment?” she said with false ignorance.

“A garden of herbs is all I wished to attain, for you, my lovely wife and now Naboth has refused me this request. His vineyard for ample recompense and he denies me access.”

As indignation flooded the face of Ahab, Jezebel remained eerily calm. Her plan had already been decided upon; she simply needed to convey it to her husband in such a way that would appeal to his vanity. This would not be difficult; her husband’s vanity was her puppet master’s tool of choice and she had, after all, ran a kingdom under cover of matrimony.

“Listen to me,” Jezebel whispered, “Your are the king and sole master of this land, are you not? None other rules above you, so why is it that this simple wish is unattainable? Leave this problem to me and you will have your vineyard; your garden of herbs, before the week has ended.”

How could this plea not appeal to a tormented mind? His greedy lust for what he could not possess drove him to the edges of frustrated agony and now a solution presented itself. Of course, he consented, thinking only of the vineyard of which he had been refused ownership. Such an obsession he had endured. The time of endurance may have been short but the time within his chamber, spent in torment, had felt like ages tossed upon a stormy sea. Ahab’s fingers longed to touch the earth of this vineyard; his feet longed to walk upon its soft, fertile soil. This land, this land, he thought, must not be withheld from my grasp; it is now mine, my Jezebel will see to this.

Meanwhile, Naboth tended to his vineyard. Disturbed by the occurrence the previous day, he kept a watchful eye on the castle. His wife and children were inside his small home, preparing for the evening meal. The rows of grapes instilled a quiet upon the land; a quiet that only allowed the noises of nature to penetrate. He loved his vineyard and appreciated the gifts the Lord had given him but he knew, somehow, that these gifts weren’t likely to last. The king had expressed his desire to purchase this land and upon Naboth’s refusal had become wrought with rage. He sighed. The Lord will make all things right, he thought to himself as he snipped a wilting vine from an otherwise healthy bush.

Entering his home, Naboth felt a heightened sense and noticed all of the details he had before taken for granted. He saw his wife and the familiar curve of her face. He saw his children but they were somehow different, somehow new. The low ceiling of his cottage, which before seemed restrictive now seemed safe and encompassing. He knew that he had to protect his family, his cottage and his vineyard but he knew not how. Naboth felt that his fate was sealed. He could not forsake the Lord and sell his land so he sat down next to his wife and children and let their presence fill him. This is the last, he thought, this is everything.

Naboth was correct in his convictions for Jezebel was busy, within her house of ivory, scheming against the innocent peasant. Letters were sent to elders across the town and they were instructed to gather for a meeting concerning Naboth. Two servants had attested to his blasphemy of God and the king. Under rancor, Jezebel had waxed false and presented these two men with the words they were to speak. They, in fear for their lives, consented without option. Naboth was to be tried.

The next day saw the elders of the town and the king and queen of Israel present in the city square. Naboth’s wife and children were within their cottage; the mother knowing of her husband’s fate; the children inquiring as to their father’s whereabouts. No answer was to be spoken for the mother was sunk in fearful despair. The trial began and the men spoke against Naboth, falsely accusing him of blasphemy. He who the king had taunted and teased and who had held firmly to his belief in the Lord. However, he did not curse God at this point nearing the end of his existence. He was filled with emotion unlike any other he had ever felt. Aware of his fate; aware of the inevitability of his untimely death, Naboth felt only serenity and a sureness of spirit. He was to find the kingdom of heaven. His wife and children were his only concern.

As Naboth’s sentence was secured he pleaded upon his knees, begging for mercy not for himself but for his family he was to leave behind. With a disdainful brow, Ahab reluctantly agreed.

“Now, remove him from the town and carry out his sentence,” said Ahab from atop the planks of his throne.

Stones in hand, the executioners prepared themselves. Naboth watched with wonder as he saw amusement and anticipation flit across the brows of the gathering crowd. One man was smiling, toothless, tossing his stone to and fro between deft hands.

One word: “Proceed.”

One thought: “My family.”

One stone to begin the barrage. Naboth could see the blood behind his eyes but he still managed to stand erect. Stone after stone was hurled and the frenzy built; crowd members joining with disgusting glee. A stone to the knee, Naboth fell. A stone to the back, Naboth moved no more. A stone to the temple, his spirit fled. Blood crashed against the stones like the rising tide and the crowd jeered.

After the end, the king of Israel immediately seized upon the vineyard. At the one last request of Naboth, the wife and children were given lodging within the city. This was the only act of decency Jezebel and Ahab would incur upon the doomed family. They were otherwise left to fend for themselves.

God spoke unto Elijah. “Arise, go down to meet Ahab king of Israel, which is in Samaria: behold he is in the vineyard of Naboth, whither he is gone down to possess it. And thou shalt speak unto him saying, ‘Thus saith the Lord, ‘In the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth shall dogs lick thy blood, even thine’”’ (1 Kings 21 18-19).

Final Paper

Henderson the Rain King is about a man in search of fulfillment. The main character, Henderson, constantly hears “I want, I want” and finds no cure for this ailment while in the United States. His journey to Africa enlightens him, showing him the path he must follow. This is taught to him, indirectly, by Dafhu, the king of the Wariri tribe. Although he says, near the end of the book “He [Dahfu] thought he could change me. But I met him too late in life, Romilayu. I was too gross. Too far gone”, it is apparent that he is changed (Bellow 314). This change is apocalyptic; a change that he fails to see at first, but is manifest through his actions. Through travelling to Africa, encountering the Arnewi then the Wariri tribes, meeting new, intensely interesting and revealing people, Henderson’s perception of the world is unveiled.

After leaving his friend, choosing to sojourn solely with Romilayu his guide, Henderson is first guided to the Arnewi tribe, wherein he meets Itelo, the prince of the tribe and Willatale, the queen of the tribe. These people greet him with a great sadness: their cattle are dying of thirst. When Henderson realizes the reason for these deaths, he is compelled to fix the problem or rid the cistern of frogs. He wants to fix these people’s problems through what he knows; the use of explosives. This instance is the very first step of his personal change. While in the village, he begins his journey towards enlightenment. Willatale finds Henderson to be very interesting and decides to instill in him the knowledge of the grun-tu-molani: a man’s want to live. This begins to answer his nagging inner voice saying I want, I want. He realizes that yes, he does want to live, he just hasn’t found the proper way to do so; he hasn’t found the proper path to follow. He says, “Yes, yes, yes! Molani. Me molani…God will reward her, tell her, for saying that to me. I’ll reward her myself” (Bellow 85). At this point, Henderson realizes he wants to live; wants to make a difference in the world but he doesn’t see that he must realize himself before being able to do this.

After growing close to these people Henderson destroys their sole means of water and his spirit is completely pillaged. Never before feeling such remorse, he says, “‘Stab me, don’t ask me. Stab, I say. Use my knife if you haven’t got your own. It’s all the same and don’t forgive me. I couldn’t stand it. I’d rather be dead’” (Bellow 109). Saying that he would rather die than face their forgiveness, Henderson is showing absolute repentance. He wants Itelo to kill him; he wants Itelo to take his life into his hands. Although it would seem that he is transformed at this point, major changes are yet to be made. It is obvious that he feels terrible and that he is at the lowest point in his life but he still doesn’t quite understand the significance of his actions. Not only has he caused upheaval in the community, he has disappointed a people that trusted him entirely. In asking them to kill him though, he is asking them to take responsibility for what he has done. He must suffer and he must find in himself the reason for his suffering. Henderson will not find the answers through Willatale’s wisdom and he will not find happiness when desperately trying to fix other’s problems. He must fix himself before he can fix others and after his soul is crushed from the immensity of his remorse, he is primed for Dahfu.

After losing himself in the depths of the African desert landscape, wandering feverishly behind his Moses-like guide, Romilayu, Henderson finds himself in the hands of a violent tribe called the Wariri. At first, he is repelled by their actions and considers them barbaric and uncivilized. This initial perception is changed upon Henderson’s introduction to the king of the tribe, Dahfu. He finds himself fascinated by the king’s intelligence and wisdom, and once again tries to glean wisdom directly from Dahfu’s conversation. He wants to know what the king knows, but does not realize that wisdom is procured through personal experience, not through rhetoric. Soon, Dahfu leads Henderson to the basement of the castle and introduces him to the lioness, Atti. He is utterly terrified. This terror he feels represents Henderson’s fear of change; his fear of something that may lead him to actual realization. He does not want to experience the lioness in the flesh but he wants Dahfu to tell him why the lion is so important. Once again, he tries to procure wisdom through simply asking the king; he does not want to take the risk and try to experience something personal. He does not want to go “by a way wherein there is no ecstasy” (Eliot EC 137).

The path Henderson must follow to gain wisdom is not a simple one and T.S. Eliot describes this path best in The Four Quartets. He says, “In order to arrive at what you do not know/ You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance./ In order to possess what you do not possess/ You must go by the way of dispossession./ In order to arrive at what you are not/ You must go through the way in which you are not./ And what you do not know is the only thing you know/ And what own is what you do not own/ And where you are is where you are not” (Eliot EC 139-146). Henderson is ignorant to Dahfu’s intentions but his thinking is flawed in that he believes that the wisdom he seeks may be gained easily. There is no ecstasy on his path and this is why he has suffered so much throughout his lifetime. He does not possess the faculties to deal with this suffering and the voice saying “I want, I want” has pushed him to seek answers or at least solace. Although he is constantly fumbling and making colossal mistakes, he manages to find answers through sheer ignorance; through going by a way in which he knows nothing. He is unfamiliar with the landscape and the people of Africa, he is unfamiliar with the landscape of his soul, but through going “through a way in which he is not”, Henderson discovers himself.

Dahfu encourages him to take on properties of the lioness, to become acquainted with her on a deeply personal level. When the king first introduces Henderson to Atti he demonstrates his connection with her: “As he hung from her, smiling upside down into my face, with his high-swelled lips, I realized I had never even had a clue” (Bellow 227). At this point, Henderson recognizes his ignorance and in doing so, reveals to himself the truth. He does not know, and this is the ultimate realization. Once he has accepted his ignorance, Dahfu then begins to encourage him to accept the lion and allow her to change him. During one of their visits to the lioness’s den, an understanding is reached: “‘You ask, what can she do for you? Many things. First she is unavoidable. […] And this is what you need, as you are an avoider. […] She has many things to teach you.’ ‘Teach? You really mean that she might change me.’ ‘Excellent. Precisely. Change. […] Oh do not be surprised by such a recognition’” (Bellow 260). When Henderson realizes that Dahfu intends to change him through the medium of the lion, he is genuinely surprised. Once again, he is ignorant to the path he must follow and through a revelation he is able to go by a way in which he is unfamiliar; through a way in which he is not. He is not a lion; he even claims that he is a pig but the only way he can change is to tread upon an unfamiliar path. Since he believes that he possesses no properties of the lion, he must “go by a way of dispossession”.

Henderson’s enlightenment is slow and painful but he does eventually realize his journey’s significance. After Dahfu dies, he flees with the lion cub that is supposed to intercept the soul of the dead king. This is significant because the cub represents Henderson’s new perception of the world; it represents his unveiled reality. The cub is new and young, just as its new owner’s reality is new and young. Lying in the hut, waiting to die, Henderson has an epiphany. Suddenly he realizes how badly he wants to live, how he must honor the king that had taught him so much and changed him so significantly. The voice saying “I want, I want” is gone and he must carry his new beginning to his old life. He must live abundantly and “arrive where he started and know the place for the first time” (Eliot LG 241-242).

Mythological Happenings

So I went to a wedding this weekend. Interesting. I know this is a pretty basic observance but haven't people always married, in some sense, eaten food in celebration, then drank copious amounts of alcohol in accompaniment to dancing and general merriment? I know for sure that the dancing portion is very traditional, especially the ceremonial dancing (dollar dance, bride and her father dance, bride and groom, the hoky poky). People have danced around in circles in celebration of a wedded couple since the beginning and I think it's really telling that this is something people still do. I mean, it is a really good time. Actually, now that I think about it, the key traditions that have hung around are the ones that are really, really fun. Examples: weddings, dancing, telling stories, banquets, bonfires, baby showers, etc. I digress, there are some traditions that have withheld that are perhaps less fun, but several happenings from in illo tempore that are still being practiced are a seriously good time. There is definitely a reason for this just as there is a reason for people not sacrificially slaughtering animals anymore. Some things are just easier to keep around than others. I don't know about you, but I definitely don't find it difficult to celebrate a friend's wedding while drinking free alcohol and dancing.

Tuesday Groups

Group #1
The first group was definitely entertaining. It was really refreshing to sit back and play a game. This is something I haven't done since high school when our History teacher would design a jeapardy game for the end of each unit. I thought it also really helped to recapitulate the year and all the questions that were raised throughout. Also, I think it is really fitting to represent our modern culture with a game show. People love to test their knowledge with trivia and putting the information in game format immediately engaged the class. Great job Group #1!

Group #2
Group number two also did a game show format, but they put their own twist on it. Incorporating skits and videos, they made the show to represent several themes present in our society today. Also, the pictures that were flashed on the screen really adhere to the way our generation has been trained to learn. With internet, video, and digital cameras, we have been trained to intercept and retain information from pictures and flashes of understanding. Thier method was really effective and enjoyable at the same time.

Group #3
Well....hmmm. I had no idea my sister had a thing for snow. I'm going to have to tell Simon, there's no way around it. This group was hilarious. The narration was entirely modern and the connection to Pygmalion was hysterical. I really liked the John Madden bit. The skit followed the model of the story of Pygmalion perfectly and the narration and acting showed how this myth has survived until today. I'm not sure people fall in love with snowmen, but people do have deep affections for inanimate objects, so great job guys!

Dream Time

I think having two Sexson classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays is messing with my brain. Yes, I had a dream about Dr. Sexson. I was at my home, in north-central Montana, and him and Rio (can't have a dream about Dr. Sexson and not have Rio in it) showed up in a huge Winnebego-like vehicle (its crazy how much that picture looks like the vehicle from my dream...maybe me subconcious secretly stores all images it sees of Winnebegos). It was all decked out with gear and they were dressed, very stereotypically as explorers...ie those funky hats, khaki shorts, binoculars, etc...you get the picture. They told me that they had come to explore our ranch and that they expected to find great things. After parking his explorer-vehicle in the swamp-like pond next to my grandma's house, Dr. Sexson, Rio and I began to walk up the road...I'm sure many great adventures succeeded this but sadly this is where the story ends. Also, Dr. Sexson had brown hair without a trace of white-otherwise he looked exactly the same. Wierdness...I guess that could connect to my new-found expert knowledge of Medea. She performed sorcery that caused Jason's father, Aeson, to regain his youth and return to his prime.

Henderson the Rain King

I'll use this quote again, but with more meaning this time......

"The man-god must be killed as soon as he shows symptoms that his powers are beginning to fail, and his soul must be transferred to a vigorous successor before it has been seriously impaired by the threatened decay." Frazer, The Golden Bough pg. 309

I finally finished this book. I don't want to be the negative nelly in the group, but what? I do not understand the draw it has for people. I just didn't like it. It is that simple. I suppose I finally grew weary of lines such as "I am the type of guy who couldn't survive without disfigurement. Life has worked me over. It wasn't just the war, either...I got a bad wound, you know. But the shots of life..." I gave myself a bang on the breast. "Right here! You know what I mean, King?" etc. and he goes on to talk about himself for about 150 more pages. Plus, I felt that every time he said "king", a person could easily replace it with "dude" and get the same effect. Henderson is a self-centered meat head, in my opinion, who reminds me painfully of Steven Seagal. I can understand, though the importance of this book in relation to mythology. It is littered with ceremonies and rituals that have been practiced by the Wariri and the Arnewi from the beginning (in illo tempore).

I also think that the concept dealing with the transmigration of kings' souls into lions is a definite focus in this book. This actually lead me to read more about lions in mythology and I immediately came upon the story of the sphinx. I have heard of these mythological creatures, but have never taken the time to learn about them, so when I read the story little light bulbs abounded. The sphinx is a being with the head of a human and the body of a lion. This hybrid, in Greek mythology, is a riddler who has positioned itself by a rock that evidently must be passed. Upon answering the riddle incorrectly, the solver is STRANGLED. In Henderson the Rain King, if you have not read it, the king is to be strangled when he loses his youthful power. It seems that people, in the book and in mythology in general, are obsessed with the idea of lion-humans. It also seems that people are put to death by strangulation very often. Maybe the idea of loss of breath bears more significance than physical death. (I didn't even mean to rhyme) Also, as has been mentioned in class, the central theme of the Golden Bough is the ritualistic killing of the king. Although this is very barbaric, not matter the context, it seems that the killing has nothing to do with physical harm. The king is strangled, which would undoubtedly be terrifying and painful, but the people doing it are not killing him because they want to harm him. In fact, it seems to be just the opposite. In order to preserve him in his youthful state, they feel the need to preserve his soul. This can only be done by not allowing him to age. When his soul is transmigrated to a lion, the lion is only a cub.

Later, after releasing the cub back in to the wild, the new king is supposed to capture him and keep him at the palace. This is so important because it brings about the idea of closeness among family members but not in the physical sense. The kings don't lose their fathers, they just release them into the wild for a period, then bring them back into their homes when the time is right. I think it is now important to try to think past the conventional view of family and fatherly companionship. To these people the most important part of their king was his soul; just as the most important part of the prince's father, to him, was his soul. Mere physical presence was not required in order to be "with" the king or father. So when they killed him, they didn't actually kill him at all. He was there, in the forest, as a lion and his soul lived on in the most divine form; the form that that particular tribe worshipped. It's as if he finally became, not to sound cheesy, "one with the lion". It was basically a honor to be killed, then.

Giving lions human attributes is central to this culture and the reverse is also essential: the human must attain lion characteristics. The lion-human significance is in the soul. The soul of the human is altered when they become like the lion and the lion's soul is altered when the transmigration occurs. The alteration of the soul is sought because people are always seeking the state of perfection. I do not know whether this is attainable or not, but obviously people have sought to accomplish it forever. It is still being done, just in less barbaric ways.

Modest Mouse...Bring it on Sally

So I think that the perfect song by Modest Mouse that depicts suffering is "Cowboy Dan". Sally I am terribly sorry but I will have to go ahead and prove you wrong. Here is the link. This song is prior to Job not snapping...this is the version where Job snaps and loses his mind utterly. He wages war on God..."He goes to the desert, fires his rifle at the sky and says, "God if I have to die you will have to die." Then the intensity of the song picks up and desperation creeps in... "He can't do it not even if sober. Can't get that engine turned over." This is just like the moment when Job can't bring himself to rise up from that dung heap, the moment beyond zero...Then comes solitude, a slowing of the music, a revelation, an epiphany..."Standing in the tall grass, thinking nothing, You know, we need oxygen to breathe, oxygen to breathe. Every time you think you're walking you're just moving the ground. Every time talking you're just moving your mouth. Every time you think you're looking, you're just looking down." This solace, this epiphanic moment comes in the realization that nothing is changeable, all is nothing. The man is finally accepting of his fate in oblivion; his fate in the world of the suffering. Trying to move, breathe, speak, he finds himself inadequate. No worse than inadequate, meaningless. But that is simply not enough. He comes back from the solitude and wages war yet again. The suffering and desperation is too great. This is a man who can not rationalize theodicy. This is a man who breaks for the suffering is too great. So how, after listening to the suffering put to music, reading suffering in the form of the book of Job, and experiencing suffering on a daily basis are we supposed to handle it? What is the proper way and why in the hell? I think blaming it on Satan is a cop out and I will continue to try to find an answer, but there is no way I can possibly answer a question of that magnitude at this point. One thing I must say, though, is that music helps. As Sexson was talking about in class today, "I sang because if I hadn't I surely would have died." I cry and laugh simultaneously because there is nothing else...there is only the laughter and the tears and the raw human emotion that makes everything real and saves us from the nothing. And now on sublimity...

Bad Bad Days

"The man-god must be killed as soon as he shows symptoms that his powers are beginning to fail, and his soul must be transferred to a vigourous successor before it has been seriously impaired by the threatened decay." James G. Frazer p. 309

I think that king's day, when his people deem him unfit to rule, would be much worse than anything I can bring to the table, but I suppose I'll give it a whirl. This is just one of those irritating things... I finally bought a car of my own. A white Buick Park Avenue, and I paid for it myself, with money I had worked really hard to earn. I had owned this car one week, I repeat one week. Driving to a town in which I was working, at 5:30 in the morning, a deer decided to komikaze out in front of me and sacrifice itself for the sake of beginning my a terrible day. It completely destroyed my grill guard and knocked one of my headlights out. I also did not have washer fluid at the time and...this is where it gets graphic...the deer had been scattered across my windshield, to put it gently. I had to drive the rest of the way with deer smear across my window and barely no visibility...luckily no more deer were up for sacrifice that day. When I finally reached my destination, I had to go directly to work. The horse I was riding bucked with me twice, and I had to deal with him being chargy all day. When I finally was done, I came back to where I was staying and discovered that my employer's horses had escaped, ran directly to my car, and chewed ALL of the weather stripping from around the windows. So much for a new car...

My Mythological Life

"In the preceding chapters we saw that in atiquity the civilised nations of Western Asian and Egypt pictured to themselves the changes of the seasons, and particularly the annual growth and decay of vegetation, as episodes in the life of gods, whose mournful death and happy resurrection they celebrated with dramatic rites of alternate lamentation and rejoicing." James G. Frazer p. 448

Hint #1:

My family grows crops, vegetation as above mentioned, and are truly joyful when it yeilds large amounts. Not that we are celebrating for the sake of the gods, but we do thank God when a hail storm doesn't wipe out our entire crop. We are definitely distraught when our yeild is poor and it is a tense situation around the house, as I imagine it would be around the village in Western Asia and/or Egypt. I believe that the desire for crops to grow and be healthy has been a constant throughout history. Although agriculture came somewhat later, it is important to note that people have always lived from the land and animals which inhabit it. If the earth yielded nothing, people died. If our crops are poor, we have to live modestly. Mythologically speaking, it is interesting how we rely on the rain and sometimes even pray and curse the heavens when it is withholding its necessary presence. When it does come we say, "Thank God for that." It is notable how humans naturally seek to attribute forces of nature to God or the gods.

"At Eisenach on the fourth Sunday in Lent young people used to fasten a straw-man, representing Death, to a wheel, which they trundled to the top of a hill. Then setting fire to the figure they allowed it and the wheel to roll down the slope." James G. Frazer p. 362

Hint #2:

In my home town we have a hill on which we used to party called "The Knob". This is where the young people gather and burn whatever happens to be handy. We have burned straw in the form of a wicker chair, but most often it is pallets that light the beacon. I am not sure we have burned a dummy in representation of Death, per say, but we have burned pallets in direct defiance of our local co-op owner. I think that any instance of people gathering to stand around a fire is somewhat mythological. I have done this since I can remember whether it be while camping, drinking with friends on a hill, having a barbeque in my front yard, etc. It has forever been ritualistic to stand around a fire in order to conjure a spiritual situation or to call upon dieties in times of need or celebration and I think it is equally mythological to gather around fire to "socialize".

"As might have been expected, the superstitions of the savage cluster thick about the subject of food; and he abstains from eating many animals and plants, wholesome enough in themselves, which for one reason or another he fancies would prove dangerous or fatal to the eater." James G. Frazer pg. 277

Hint #3:

I realize that in some cultures, it is OK to eat horse, but I absolutely refuse, no matter how wholesome it may be. I have had horses as companions for entirely too long to find it acceptable to use them for culinary purposes. The same goes for dogs, I feel my guilt would be too much to handle. Although my reasons for not eating these animals are moral and not out of fear of divine retribution, I beleive similarites may be drawn from my experiences and those of the savages. I am somewhat superstitious, I have to admit. If I were to eat a horse or a dog, I just know that every other animal of that species I met with would detest me. I have always heard that both of these animals are sensitive to human emotions and my disgust at my own actions would be undoubtedly detectable.

How terrible would you feel? Just look at them.

Book II Sentences

A conflagration of pride and disdain for fatherly pleas, plummeting into the depths of Po, Phaethon lies beneath waves shone upon with sorrow.

Sisters of sorrow are left to be leaved in the sight of thier brother so thoroughly bereaved.

Poor Callisto, tricked by a likeness of her trusted ward, ravaged and left to inevitable abandonment by none other than the one she prized over the almighty opportunist.

The raven, once pallid, is changed to a pitch of black.

Whiteness, again, shows beauty and innocence, but this bull of ivory hue soon repeals his lot, reveals his truth, regains his status as general in the war on purity.

Sentenced to a Life of Sentences

Riddle me this: Deucalion and Pyrrah, the chosen ones, and why?

Metallic man, depleting through the ages, of less lustre, of more lust.

Evil Cupid, casting his spell, the one blunt arrow, defies the other so well.

What but a heifer; she is beautiful and fair, but lows in mourning of her human form.

Drown them all, they deserve not to tread on the sodden ground from whence they came.

Talking Snakes and The Crazies

I had a dream... or I should definitely say I had a nightmare. I decided, in my infinite wisdom, to watch the movie The Crazies the other night. Knowing myself as a nightmare victim, especially after watching scary-ass movies, I should have refrained from this form of cheap entertainment, but, as always, my curiosity got the best of me. It took about two nights, but this horrific movie manifested itself in my dreamscape.

It begins with the distorted, abstract version of Sally, and I walking through a curious house. This house has several rooms, each of which is dimly lit, a suffocating shade of green, and has stairs within, leading to loft areas. As we are climbing one of these sets of stairs, I happen to look towards the door, just to see one of those demented crazy people staring at me with burning eyes; eyes that are intent on killing. He just stands there, dead still, staring, relishing the thought of a victim. I begin to scramble up the stairs, but as in all my dreams, quickly begin to stumble and am unable to move any faster than the speed of cold molasses. I am terrified, probably thrashing around in my bed, not that I know this, and can feel and hear my heart pounding. As soon as I reach the top the room transforms into a rocky, cactus-infested hillside; one that you would see in the breaks. Sally and I are barefoot, so the going is rough, but at least the crazy person is gone right? Wrong. The murderous wretch has actually transformed into a snake and is curled up in a cave, sleeping. As quietly as we can, we sneak down the hillside, avoiding the cave and the countless cactus plants. This is not enough, though. As soon as I take a step, the rocks begin to slide, rumbling the hillside, waking up the snake. He hisses his murderous decree, flying towards us with astonishing speed, those same burning eyes boring into me. Once again, terrified, I try to run away; all in vain. I am struck in the leg and I watch as my sister is killed (sparagmos). It is graphic, terrifying and somewhat scarring. I, of course, wake up before the venom sets in and actually kills me. This dream is a pretty basic paradigm for what happens to my dream land after watching scary movies. Maybe someday I will learn...

James the Rat's Blog

James the Rat finding a beautiful passage in The Golden Bough; I'm certain the world has seen stranger things...kidding James, I'm sure you are very sensitive... Anywho, I enjoyed this blog immensly and am certain that I would have been equally drawn by the poignancy of these lines set down by Frazer. I think it is also really important to realize the full extent of indoctrination among these tribes which set their children to the task of parlaying their ideals and ensuring their deliverance from a harsh winter. These lines are powerful in that they homologize the act of Summer and Winter and summer and winter themselves. I suppose this is the aim of homeopathic magic, but it seems so affective when set to verse and performed by children.

The Metamorphoses of Narcissus

This painting by Dali is such an apt portrayal of the story of Narcissus. It absolutely blows my mind and is stunning in its dream-like quality. The combination of dream and myth is fascinating. Being so interconnected, dream and myth should be explicitly brought together and this image does this perfectly. It also contains the element of the egg, which, as we have learned, is included in countless creation myths. Element after detailed element, this painting is chaotic yet directed, beautiful but grotesque, just like an especially vivid dream that is fading in and out of your conciousness. Parts make sense, other parts terrify and fascinate but blur under your scrutiny.

The Fate of Blogs

"For a like reason in Bilaspore, a district of India, when the chief men of a village meet in council, no one present should twirl a spindle; for they think that if such a thing were to happen, the discussion, like the spindle, would move in a circle and never be wound up." Sir James G. Frazer pg. 23 The Golden Bough

I think that moving in a circle is a perfectly sufficient way of having a conversation, so no offense to the symbolic twirling spindles that are Dr. Sexson's lectures.

"The recuprative power manifested by such a tree would in due course be communicated through the fire to the food, and so to the prince, who ate the food which was cooked on the fire which was fed with the wood which grew out of the tree." Sir James G. Frazer pg. 34 The Golden Bough

Does this remind anyone else of a song they might know?

There was an old lady who swallowed a dog./ What a hog! To swallow a dog!/ She swallowed the dog to catch the cat.../ She swallowed the cat to catch to bird.../ She swallowed the bird to catch the spider/ That wiggled and wiggled and tickled insider her./ She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.......and it goes on and on forever...I think you probably get the point. Want a creepy rendition by a man with a huge beard? Click here

My first memory

My first memories come in and out of focus like black strips on a film reel. I see something, then its gone and its nothing but a notion. I've been sitting here for about five minutes and I guess all I've come up with is bunnies. Two bunnies, black and white, that my parents bought for us for Easter. I named mine flower ( I was very inventive) and Sally named hers pepper. They were wonderful. There are pictures of Sally and I leading our bunnies around in harnesses. I also remember when we let the bunnies go into the wild. In retrospect, it wasn't the best plan, considering they were a screaming black and white when all the rest of the bunnies were a color very similar to browned grass... I'm guessing the coyotes looked at eachother and went "Really? It can't be that easy." Just as the calf, though, our parents would tell us that they had seen the bunnies often, and that they were doing very well and thriving, despite their obvious adversity. Santa Clause, bunnies and bum calves...my life has been a lie. Oh well, makes for good memories.
As William Faulkner said "Memory believes before knowing remembers, believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders."

Sacrificial Calf

Thanks to Corrin's blog, I have now found a part of my life that could be considered very mythological. During calving season, at least one pair of twins is bound to be born, and the mother almost never accepts both of them. This results in what we call a bum calf. Sally and I have always been in charge of taking care of this calf: feeding it, keeping its pen clean, and always taming it. Our parents, just as they used to tell us that Santa Clause was real, would tell us, when this calf was gone, that it had gone to green feilds where it ate all day and was cared for by wonderful people who loved it. Sadly, just as we found out that Santa wasn't real, we soon found out that this business about the mysterious disappearance of our bum calf was also a blatant lie. One day, sitting at the dinner table, my dad, evidently thinking we were old enough to accept the truth, piped up and said "Do you girls know what actually happens to your bum calves?" Us: "Of course, they are eating green grass, being loved by wonderful people. (I mean duh...you told us that)." Dad: "Actually, this is Thebes we are eating right now." Absolute devastation. I, of course, am no vegetarian, but it was hard to eat the meat that came out of our freezer for awhile, but just as children quickly learn to accept the gifts under the tree anyway, I learned to accept the fact that our bum calves were doomed to be sacrificed to the freezer gods. Also, my dad liked to give our calves names that were very mysterious to us when we were young, but as I read, I find them scattered throughout the millions of pages of literature my dad has read.

Interestingly, just as I had done in the beginning, I still let myself become attached to the bum calf. This might just be my soft heart, but according to the theory of myths, it is because it is the way it was done in the beginning, so naturally, it must continue. All I know is that I have trained myself not to think about what (or who) I'm eating. Mysterious mental maneuvers abound.

Who knew it would be so damned funny?

The chapter entitled Sympathetic Magic is hilarious. An obviously sceptical Frazer sorts through the various aims of magic, sarcastically recounting every instance in which magic was deemed infallible. "The ancients held that if a person suffering from jaundice looked sharply at a stone-curlew, and the bird looked steadily at him, he was cured of the disease... So well recognised among bird-fanciers was this valuable property of the stone curlew that when they had one of these birds for sale they kept it carefully covered, lest a jaundiced person should look at it and be cured for nothing." (Frazer 18) The entire paragraph preceding and succeeding this line racked me with laughter. I had no idea this book would be funny and I am pleasantly surprised...thank you Frazer for entertaining me in the midst of your undeniably dense capitulation of Greek mythology.

Another laughter-inspiring passage: "One of the great merits of homeopathic magic is that it enables the cure to be performed on the person of the doctor instead of on that of his victim, who is thus relieved of all the trouble and inconvenience, while he sees his medical man writhe in anguish before him." I can just see the patient watching, holding his chin between his fingers, cringing (laughing inwardly) and saying "So...do you think its working?", while he watches this ridiculous farce unfold. Its no wonder people were sick and seeking the help of magicians. I, personally, would love it if my sicknesses were cured by another person releiving me of the less pleasant parts of recovery. Also, if the patient were of a mind to procure some dark entertainment, to spiritually cleanse them during their sickness, a few laughs, watching their neighborhood physician fling himself on the ground and writhe around, would probably suffice. It's a win-win really.

Cop Outs

It seems that between Bible as Lit. and Mythologies, I can definitely identify one constant: the use of cop outs. Although Frazer is obviously not enthusiastic about the practical merits of magic, I find this line hysterical and very representative of the culture that used Sympathetic Magic: "In order that blood may not be on your head, you should say: 'It is not I who am burying him, It is Gabriel who is burying him.' Thus the guilt of the murder will be laid on the shoulders of the archangel Gabriel..." (Frazer 15). In reference to the use of voodoo dolls, this line is a screamingly obvious copout which makes me cringe and laugh simultaneously. I mean really? Who in their right mind can justify the burial of a likeness of a fellow man, with the full intent of killing him, then, by saying a few forgiving words, expect to not be held responsible if their little charm has its desired effect? That, I beleive, is the height of immorality and the perfect paradigm for the ever-popular copout.

"These hapless lovers were probably not always mere myths, and the legends which traced their split blood in the purple bloom of the violet, the scarlet stain of the anemone, or the crimson flush of the rose were no idle poetic emblems of youth and beauty fleeting as the summer flowers." (Frazer 8)

This line is beautiful but so sad. It speaks of youth in love but cut down for being in such a state. There is so much jealousy that is so evident in every account that speaks of gods. Whether it be Greek gods, Roman gods, or the Lord himself, thier anger and envy are the controlling factor of every story gone awry. If a human dies, it is the will of a god and a testament of their jealousy when faced with the will of man. They greedily guard their power and strike when they feel threatened or undermined, which is the case in regard to the poor humans who dare to return the love of gods and godesses, who, incidentally, are formed in such a way that inspires nothing less.