Hopkins and the Kingfisher

All right so I think my world is coming together--a little, like this blog. Lately when I've been reading, and simply paying attention to life, there is something to do with a bird, or specifically a kingfisher. Not all my encounters with birds in the recent past has been about the kingfisher, but after reading The 4 Quartetes I find myself surrounded by kingfishers. And then like a little epiphany I opened my British Literature II anthology to Gerard Manley Hopkins section, and right there third poem in, is his poem, that was meant to find me, "As Kingfishers Catch Fire" I mean really, is this happening to me? I read the poem and am not sure exactly what it's about. In the first stanza he mentions objects, colors, feelings, and then in the second stanza it changes to a religious tone, with refrences to humans. His inner poet is mixing with his inner priest...

"As Kingfishers Catch Fire"

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.

Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

~L.

A Moment with Birds

Life has not been experiencd until you are on your surfboard out beyond the break, floating amilessly in the open ocean through a school of macrals. Sea birds all around you, flying above you, dropping poo around and even sometimes on you. One bird dives and re-emerges from below the surface of the water with a shinny fish it its mouth, then the next one dives and re-emerges with another fish, it keeps happening, all around you. You can hear the air rushing past the birds feathers as it dive bombs from its place high above. Every time one emerges the next one falls, and every time that one emerges a sprinkling of the ocean's salt water christens your already drenched body with little specks of glistening wonder rolling off of one species and hitting you directly, at times passing life andthe meaning and reason for life on to you. The birds are all around you, diving and catching, splashing and singing to one another out of pure joy. And as the birds fly away with a fish in their mouth sprinkling salt water on to you, you realize that there is no way to catch these creatures, they are up in the air, high above you, closer to the divine than we can ever be. Looking down on us constantly, seeing our world and creating epiphanies for us. Birds are the connection to heaven, the connection to epiphaphanic moments, the connection to what life is--the freedom to sing out of joy and feel from experience. And after you have drifted with the school and been part of the action, maybe even brushed by a wing, the birds leave you, at last to be with yourself, your thoughts, your imagination, and simply to swim with the fish.

~L.

Just Do It.

Lately I've been feeling overwhelmed with thoughts. My mind races, and I can't seem to catch up. It's as if my legs were moving much faster than my body, and i am running at a backwards slant, almost falling over, almost losing control, almost wanting to give up and just lie back and enjoy ignorance. So I had a talk with Dr. Sexson to find out how to get more out of my blogging experience and out of the class in general.

We cannot look for the connections, because like that one perfect man we all want, they never revel themselves until we aren't looking, and then we miss them and end up right where we are now, confused and calloused. I sit here now blogging and am still confused as to how to make those connections. Adam, in his blog, talks about senioritis and the overwhelming desire to do nothing, I might have this problem sometimes, but right now it feels as if I have the desire to do all, and yet can't focus myself to make anything happen. It's the inversion of senioritis. I want so much and cannot preform. I think they call this Performance Anxiety.

Eliot discusses the idea that we do not learn from experience, and that every moment is a new beginning, but to get to that beginning we must come to an end, and in order to come to an end we must learn something. So how can we know nothing now, and yet have known something just seconds before this new beginning we call the present? AHHH I'm lost in my mind, my own personal labyrinth of thought of possessions, of anxiety, and of humor. I am lost in the translation that my mind makes from the information I am told to the information that I retain, or want to retain.

I want that epiphany so bad, I can't even taste it. But in order to taste we must not taste? In order to see we must be blind, in order to understand we must be confused. This mind gripping thought of binary oppositions is almost obsessive. Oh no! Am I too becoming obsessed with something that will take me into the dark? Have I found what I was never looking for and yet looking for the entire time? I guess all I can know is that we must push on, through the muck, the rain, the blizzards, the blazing heat, and the thicket of the forest and "Just Do It!"

Let myself become entrapped with the unknown. Let myself wrap my brain around the thought of "no experience necessary." After all, when we are looking for jobs, how many times do we wish the job did not require experience, it makes obtaining that position much easier, for we do not need to rely on our past to help create a better future, in order for the present to work now. We simply have to be who we are now, not a second ago, not 5 years ago, because those people are not the same people we are right now.

~L.

The Train

Dry Salvages: Music Spheres and Epiphanies

Towards the ending of Dry Salvages the hint towards a musical epiphany jumps out of the page with silence: 

"For most of us, there is only the unattended

Moment, the moment in and out of time,

The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,

The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning

Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply

That it is not heard at all, but you are the music

While the music lasts."  (lines 206-212)

We've all heard the phrase "the music is inside you" and "feel the music."  Music does not have to have sound to it, you can feel it in your body, making emotions change, taking us to places far away, places we've never been, places that we have been, even places that do not exist. Music is around us daily, because we make music inside ourself. Humans are made up of rhythm. We walk to a certain pace, and talk fluidly (or at least try) with others. Listen to yourself one day, and the sounds around, the sounds of literally, Life. The cars, the train, doors, turning pages, footsteps, the click of the keyboard, the tick of the clock, or even a few carrots and a stick or two of celery. It all could be and has many times been turned into music.  

If we look further on down in the poem, it says:

Here the impossible union

Of spheres of existence is actual,

Here the past and future (lines 216-218)

When I read it i see sphere's floating around us, like the echos from Burnt Norton that Kevin mentioned in class and on his blog. They are there waiting for us to find, to jump into the bubble of inner music, the music that we are, "while the music lasts." It reminds me of this Rhapsody commercial

Music is epiphany, it is divine, it is spiritual, and connects people across the world.  Music has the power to heal, and to cause a reaction. Animals of all different species use their own music to communicate. Birds are the most obvious singers of the animal kingdom, singing the morning into existence, and singing the world to sleep, singing to warn each other, and singing to attract mates, sometimes it seems like birds sing just for the pure enjoyment of it. Then there are the whales underneath the sea, singing songs to others just like birds do. Frogs, and toads calling to one another in a rhythmic pattern, music is all around us. The first form of music was not from an instrument, no it was from deep within our soul, our voices made the first music. Rocks our percussion, a reed our flute... we simply need to listen just a little closer to what we actually are hearing...

Music runs through our veins, standing on top a mountain, looking over the world a peaceful or perhaps triumphant song echos in our mind from times past, and possibly times in the future. 

I see Music as a great connector of all 4 Quartets. And I hear my own tune as well.

~L. 

Halcyone Days and the Kingfisher

Alcyone, the Kingfisher

"Alcyone or Halcyon, daughter of Aeolus, wed King Ceyx of Trachis. It was a blissful marriage, as the two were deeply in love. In fact, they were so happy together that they jokingly addressed each other as Hera and Zeus. Of course, this infuriated the mighty gods, who decided to punish the disrespectful mortals.

A short while later, Ceyx needed to consult the oracle of Apollo, at Delphi, regarding various state matters. He debated about travelling by land, but decided against it, as the roads were infested with brigands at the time. So, he chose to sail.

He promptly announced his decision to Alcyone, who, being afraid of the sea, pleaded with him to reconsider. But Ceyx wouldn't hear a word. Knowing she couldn't dissuade her husband Alcyone asked him to take her along. However, he summarily dismissed the idea. The poor maiden, wept and wept, but Ceyx was determined, so she finally yielded and let him go alone.

Her premonition proved to be true. Not far from the coast, Ceyx's vessel encountered an unprecedented storm and, despite the sailors' frantic efforts, it perished. Ceyx struggled against the fierce waves for hours, until he tired. Sensing he was about to drown, he prayed to Poseidon, asking the sea god to bear his body into his wife's arms.

Meanwhile, Alcyone, unaware of her husband's fate, prayed to Hera for his safety. The powerful goddess pitied her and dispatched Iris to Hypnos, ordering him to inform Alcyone of Ceyx's death. So, Hypnos instructed Morpheus to appear in Alcyone's sleep and relate to her the day's tragic events. That same night, Morpheus, disguised as Ceyx, stood naked before the beautiful girl and told her what had transpired.

Bewildered, Alcyone got out of bed and ran frenziedly to the coast, where she found her revered husband's body among the shipwreck's debris. In distress, she tore her cheeks, hair and garments, and leaped into the dark, frothy waves.

But, before she hit the surf, the gods, admiring her love, devotion and courage, turned her into a beautiful seabird, the Kingfisher. And, as an added bonus, they brought Ceyx to life again, transformed into the same bird.

However, believe it or not, the couple's worries weren't over yet. For Zeus decreed that Alcyone, unlike most birds, would lay her eggs during the winter. But, as Alceone's nest was near the shore, not far from where she had discovered Ceyx's remains, the huge, wintry waves would continuously sweep her eggs and hatchlings into the sea.

Poor Alcyone cried her heart out, and pleaded the father of all mortals and gods for forgiveness. Zeus finally felt sorry for her and gave her 14 days of good weather, in the midst of winter, to incubate her eggs. To date, this spell of fair winter weather is widely known as the "halcyon days," after good old Alcyone or Halcyon. And the Greek people still pay tribute to her sacrifice, by naming the Kingfisher, Alcedo atthis, Alcyone."

This is the link to where I got the above story. Who knew the kingfisher was so mystical?
http://www.e-pelion.com/myths_alcyone.html

Horses Can Wear Diamonds Too

So my diamond is completely different than everyone else. I found the short story about the horse Johnny to be reminiscent of Groundhog Day. The horse is stuck in the mill, walking round and round hopeless, not knowing anything more than that of a circle. Finally he is brought out into the world, but what happens? He see King Billy's statue and does the only thing he knows how to do, make circles. The repetition of everyday life, and everyday events monotonously taking over this pour pathetic horse Johnny, it's poetic, and yet tragic. Perhaps Joyce put this in his story for nothing but to move his story along, and have one entertaining part for the readers. Or perhaps it is a reference to the title The Dead. And pointing out that we are dead even in life, because of the everyday routine. We don't think we just do. I feel for Johnny, more than any other depressing character in the story. I feel sorry because, it was not his choice to be turned into a circle. He had no understanding of squares, triangles, trapezoids, and even squiggles. He simply lived his life one day at a time, one circle after the other, falling deeper into living death.

~L.

I read, I swear, I'm not a Meathead

So honestly I cannot think of any book that I couldn't put down. I know there are books that peeked my interest and that I wanted to continue reading later on, but nothing that made me sit in one position for a number of hours taking me off into some other realm of utter bliss. Books such as To Kill a Mockingbird, Reservation Blues, I'm already having a hard time thinking of books so entertaining...oh wait! Epiphany in motion! I remember 2 yes 2 and only 2 books that kept my interest to the point that I read them almost straight through The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys and The Virgin Suicides. These two books I picked up on my own, and read through not in one day, but through in a weekend for sure. (And the movie for The Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys, is a joke. And the new covers for the book are a joke too, the original over was solid red with nothing but the title on it. Best book cover I've ever seen hands down. It is unique and hard to find. So if you do see it I'd suggest buying it. The Virgin Suicides is a great movie, but yet again the book trumps the movie.)

I know my problem to sit still and read stems from my inability to stay focused on something not physically demanding. I do not have ADD, well that's what I'm told, and I can sit in one place for many many many hours. What I can't do, is read a book and stay involved because my eyes get bored. Yes my eyes get bored. I didn't learn to read truly until I was in the 7th grade. I couldn't pick up a book and read it, I had a hell of a time sounding out words, and putting them together to form sentences was out of the question. I focused my world on other more important things at them time: sports. I have the ability to pick up any sporting device and know what to do with it. I lived for sports, I ate, drank, peed and pooped sports when I was younger. This is why I was unable to read, well it's at least my theory of this whole situation.

My mom, bless her heart, would try to get me interested in the written word through soccer practice. Every Friday she would pick me up from practice at Verdugo Park in Glendale, CA with a Berenstain Bear's book in hand. It was a treat specially for me, not my brothers, not my friends, just me! And yet, her push to get me to read fell short because I would not read the words, I would read the illustrations. This is what I did for my elementary school years, reading pictures is so much easier than reading symbols. And in the end, my mother would read the stories of Brother, Sister, Mama, and Papa bear to me.

Now, I read but still find myself losing interest in the word, and focusing more on the picture in my head of the text. I get through the reading by forcing myself. Many times I read a chapter, then go play with my main buddy, Slinky (she's a dog). Then I head back inside read another chapter or two, put the book down and literally run up and down my stairs to work off some of the pent up energy I get from reading. My mind cannot work alone, I work best when I'm physically doing something, and my mind is engaged. I swear, I"M NOT A MEATHEAD! My body holds so much energy that my internal temperature is a degree above normal. 99.5...think about it. My desire to read is great, but my body won't let me without some way of releasing that energy/steam from my system.

I have yet to find a book worth suppressing my energy for a whole day, but I know there's one out there. I'm just waiting for the encounter. It's an epiphany that hasn't happened yet, but that I know will happen. Or at least I hope it happens. Any suggestions?

~L.