Archive for July, 2008

the search for meaning

Saturday, July 26th, 2008

First Saturday of summer vacation. Monsoon season in Seoul. Wide cobblestone sidewalks wet, in some places submerged, with two or three days of rain. Dark overhanging trees dripping, not-so distant mountains completely obscured by mist and heavy clouds. Tangled cityscape of tall stone and glass and concrete buildings: narrow alleys, awnings, power lines. A labyrinth of asphalt and sidewalks and colorful signs. A few early-morning umbrella people going about their business. One hardcore hiker, heavy-duty boots and no sign of slowing, maybe on his way down from the mountain trails. Some drunken foreigners, nightclub clothes in disarray and dark circles under their eyes, making their way to McDonald’s for coffee and greasy breakfast sandwiches. 0600 and this is bedtime. Personally, I woke up too early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Humid air and no breeze; only the motion of the falling rain. And the sounds of the city waking itself up.

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ARAS The Archive for Research in Archetypal Symbolism … ”Contains about 17,000 photographic images, each cross-indexed, individually mounted, and accompanied by scholarly commentary.  The commentary includes a description of the image with a cultural history that serves to place it in its unique historical and geographical setting.  Often it also includes an archetypal commentary that brings the image into focus for its modern psychological and symbolic meaning, as well as a bibliography for related reading and a glossary of technical terms.”

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Parabola Magazine: Tradition, Myth, and the Search for Meaning … “The Society for the Study of Myth and Tradition is a not-for-profit organization devoted to the dissemination and exploration of materials relating to the myths, symbols, rituals, and art of the world’s religious and cultural traditions.”

William Butler Yeats

Sunday, July 13th, 2008

I arrived yesterday in Seoul, South Korea. I’ll try to post some news and/or pictures very soon…

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I believe that when I am in the mood that all nature is full of people whom we cannot see, and that some of these are ugly or grotesque, and some wicked or foolish, but very many beautiful beyond any one we have ever seen, and that these are not far away when we are walking in pleasant and quiet places. Even when I was a boy I could never walk in a wood without feeling that at any moment I might find before me somebody or something I had long looked for without knowing what I looked for. And now I will at times explore every little nook of some poor coppice with almost anxious footsteps, so deep a hold has this imagination upon me. …If beauty is not a gateway out of the net we were taken in at our birth, it will not long be beauty, and we will find it better to sit at home by the fire and fatten a lazy body or to run hither and thither in some foolish sport than to look at the finest show that light and shadow ever made among green leaves (54-55). 

Well known as one of the 20th century’s greatest poets, W.B. Yeats (1865 – 1939) was also a prolific folklorist. He traveled extensively in his home country of Ireland, recording the songs, poems and tales of scholars and peasants alike. These are fairy-tales, and ghost-stories, and much more. Set against the background of the green and misty Irish landscape, and woven together from the mystical imaginations of countless generations of poets and seers, these are first-person accounts of magical happenings, inexplicable danger, and indescribable beauty.

Yeats, W.B. The Celtic Twilight: Myth, Fantasy and Folklore. Dorset: Prism Press, 1990 (first published 1893).

Blue Highways – the book

Wednesday, July 9th, 2008

With a nearly desperate sense of isolation and a growing suspicion that I lived in an alien land, I took to the open road in search of places where change did not mean ruin and where time and men and deeds connected (5).

Before I ever got my hands on it, my copy of William Least Heat-Moon’s Blue Highways already had its own history. A “not for sale in Canada” U.K. edition with a distinctive dark blue cover. The guy selling it to the used bookstore where I worked had bought it while traveling in India; between the pages were shiny labels peeled from Indian beer bottles, ticket stubs, and other travel mementos.

I was low. The loneliness of the long distance traveler. Try to forget it. Look at the land; it too is medicine (233).

I won’t attempt to write any kind of proper book review; many others have already done that better than I could. And I won’t attempt comparisons to On the Road or Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – although all these books do have at least some important things in common. (Here is an interesting essay on the “myth of the road,” for example.) Blue Highways is travel writing in the best sense of the word, I think: it seeks to document both the author’s physical and inner journeys. Travel for its own sake, and travel as metaphor.

The highway, oh, the highway. No place, in theory, is boring of itself. Boredom lies only with the traveler’s limited perception and his failure to explore deeply enough (273). 

Least Heat-Moon, William. Blue Highways: A Journey Into America. London: Pan Books, 1984.

quiet, and still, and solitary

Monday, July 7th, 2008

The Okanagan Valley, with its ponderosa pine air. Only a few more days left in Canada! So much to do; not much time for anything more than hurried pocket-notebook scribblings and, occasionally, sleep. Regardless, here are some thoughts on creativity - on being human – with thanks and appreciation to my Edmonton friend Mark.

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Remain sitting at your table and listen. You need not even listen – simply wait. You need not even wait, just learn to be quiet, and still, and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked. It has no choice; it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

- Franz Kafka

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The mind that tries to shape tomorrow beyond its capacities will find no rest. Be kind to yourself – to our innocent follies.
Forget any sounds or touch you knew that did not help you dance. You will come to see that all evolves us.

- Rumi