The Dodd Head

Mine is not the most entertaining by far, but hey, it made the list. :)

http://www.indecision2008.com/blog.jhtml?c=ts&loc=post&searchType=tag&term=blog_tag_caption_challenge

Perpetual Perishing

"Urizen in Prayer" -- by William Blake
(Like saying "God in Prayer," except more complicated)

A dark meditation~

The problem is that the void isn't looking back.

If it were, that would imply some sort of sentience. But the consciousness seems one-sided. I could deal with a thinking emptiness, but a total vacuum with no memory, desire, or hope eradicates every fiber of our humanity. It's that mirror that terrifies; the abyss isn't looking or listening. You're on your own.

Some day the universe will reach its arch and curve back in on itself, or it will spin forever into the expanding darkness, until even atoms decay. Nothing will be remembered. Nihil. Lethe will wash our bodies away and swallow herself. Dark matter, dark energy, keep flinging us away from each other. We wanted to clump together; we sought out each other, and we cling to each other. That’s gravity; that’s love. But no. Our universe's mass isn't great enough to be reborn. That love wasn't strong enough.

Stars will be birthed and destroyed, eons and eons, until the void takes us all. We’ll all go join Satan and his legions in the outer darkness… of nonentity, the deepest hell.

But then, when we’re all there… with our decayed particles that once meant something, when they all mean nothing, and there is no more strife, no more good, no more evil -- the entire universe will be at rest, fallen into the void of itself. No more joy, no more love, no more sickness or killing or murder. No more anything. No more words. But all together in our nothingness.

No child will be remembered, no sacrifice, no creature. God will finally decide that the memories of trillions and trillions of years are enough, that God’s own purpose is fulfilled and it’s time to die. And it will be the end. God will reunite with Satan-- all will be forgiven. Maybe it's heaven. No one will matter more than anyone else. It will be equality in the abyss.
Except we won’t be anything.

There’s a certain beauty in nonentity. Now as an entity, I can predict my own nothingness. Someday, long before the universe's own death, I will be absolutely meaningless. No one will remember me. No one will have the slightest idea that I ever existed. Nothing I love or loved will remain either. But it does not change that I love.

If our fate is already written, and we still choose to think and feel and struggle for the small slice of eternity we’re given, we were something in the face of the void.

I had a cell phone for an hour today

Today there were concerts in the Loop. When I went to get a smoothie and hear some of the music around 6:00, they stopped playing. Typical. On the way home I found a cell phone on the sidewalk. I waited around for the owner for about 5 minutes, but then just went home, since it was next door. I figured they would call or I would find someway to call them or one of their friends.

When I opened the phone to find a name or number, the text messages popped up. I snooped through them only to discover that I'm amazed by certain personalities. For example, why would a person send this text message to a friend: "I’m ready whenevs but I have to shower and shit." What sort of person writes that? Who cares if you need a bathroom break; do you really have to let your friend know that sort of detail about your personal bodily functions? It was a female, and she loved to send text messages, that much I discerned. She would send messages every couple of minutes. I'm pretty sure her friend, the recipient of these charming notes, didn't really care if she was eating ice cream with Ian or waiting in line for the lady's room. There was another girl who wrote: "I had sex 3 times tonight." Classy. And there were the typical statements about partying: "I’m not sure that I can get alcohol anymore tho cuz parents are around right now."

Now, just imagine teaching these individuals critical thinking skills and to appreciate language that does not include "whenevs" "cuz" or "tho"-- the challenge is clearly defined.

The owner did call her phone and all was returned with no problem. I know I shouldn't have read the messages, but sometimes I'm curious about life on the wild side.

Lightman lectures

"Is it possible for a person to love without wanting love back? Is anything so pure? Or is love, by its nature, a reciprocity, like oceans and clouds, an evaporating of seawater and a replenishing by rain?" (Reunion)

Alan Lightman was on campus giving an Assembly Series lecture on Einstein. He's a novelist and physics professor at MIT. I went to all three of his events. The first was Tuesday night when he read from his novels Diagnosis and Ghost. I'm looking forward to reading Ghost when it comes out October 23, for Halloween I suppose, although it's not that kind of "ghost story." The main character David experiences something supernatural, but he struggles to rationalize the event. It's a book about the nature of both science and religion. Lightman described himself as an "idea" writer, like Kafka. It's a very apt comparison, especially when one considers the other book he read from, Diagnosis, is about a man who suddenly forgets who he is... sort of like suddenly waking up one morning and discovering you're a giant bug.

He didn't like to talk about his "intentions" in his work, or any real details, although he was very polite. He wants the reader to create his or her own meaning. So I didn't ask him about the apocalyptic episode of time we wondered about Catherine. (I'm sorry). When people tried to ask about specific parts of the text, he avoided giving any direct answers and quoted Rilke: 'learn to love the questions themselves.' The most he really said about Einstein's Dreams was that it is a "human behavior book." The depiction of time is "the behavior of time at the psychological level," and he relies on the notion that "all readers have experienced all levels of time" in their lives.

I did ask him about his choice to begin the visionary chapter in Ghost by referencing a "prism of light" on the casket (the scene takes place in a funeral parlor). All he acknowledged was that it was a very deliberate choice. And he told me "thank you." Light is the key to both religious and scientific exploration; the nature of light is one of the great unanswerable questions. Light is time. Einstein was studying light when he developed his theory of relativity. Light is the symbol of good and life. Light is the source. Light ~ particle or wave, or both? It is one of our sacred mysteries.

What I'm "Reading"

I open Precipitations: Contemporary American Poetry as Occult Practice and my nose is hit by the scent of laundry. I read "Our sense of the situation we are in determines how we interpret things" and the rising smell of dryer sheets invades and permeates my thinking. I only read this book when J.D. and I do laundry--and now-- it has soaked in the smell of detergent, bleach, warm cotton socks spinning in dryers. Now I can read "intelligence requires a Heideggerian 'being in the world,'" but all I think about is 7 loads of clothes: darks, lights, delicates, reds. It's the smell of midnight and "20 minutes to go." The pages have been assaulted by those dryer sheet molecules--sinking into the fabric of the text with ink and paper. Downy "water lily and jasmine" or is it "vanilla and lavender" -- it doesn't matter, they smell the same -- merges with the smell of words: positions, capability, doubt, and composition.

Does one word smell more than another? I press my face into my book. Yes. "Descartes" on page 16 smells less than "world" on page 17. "Learning" smells pungent. "Uncertainties" is close enough to the binding so it still smells mostly vague, like paper. "School" in the top right corner smells like my fingers holding the book-- sliced cheese -- lunch. I put my whole face into the book-- pushing my cheeks up against "ecology" and "influenced" on both sides and smell-- nothing, just air, just the binding, maybe glue. I like that smell best.

Now I reflect that smelling my book instead of reading it, here in my office, must seem a little strange. My office mates are politely trying to ignore me. Maybe they're afraid next time I'll try drinking a book or chewing the book -- to test if "famous" tastes more salty than "Robert Duncan"-- probably not. Maybe "anthology" is sweet -- maybe "commitment" bitter? The truth is that I like inhaling words, tasting them too. Although, next time I'll find a book that hasn't soaked in the Delmar Laundromat.

Old Books

Yesterday one of my neighbors had a book sale, with a lot of novelty books. I bought 4 books for $2.75 and a full recipe catalogue for $2.00.

The books:
World Enough and Time
The OED of New Words
A Rage to Nosh
Bed and Bored

The illustration of the lovely young wife asking her husband for a "spring outfit" was from Bed and Bored. It's a 1945 text with jokes, tips on drawing cartoons, and puzzles. It's clearly written for men, with buxom women on almost every page. I believe it's targeted at military men who were probably injured in the war:

Perhaps it's just a product of it's time, with the war looming large in an America that was actually asked to make sacrifices for the good of the country. In the introduction it notes "This book is produced in full compliance with the government's regulations for conserving paper and other essential materials." Although, there is certainly some commentary on the republic's insatiable desire for commodities and goods:



The book also makes a statement about race, but it was too offensive to post. It's also interesting that every female depiction is either labeled a "seductive wench" (99) or a "little lady" (75). Anyway, it's an important "cultural text" that a Special Collections library in Oregon has among its WWII materials.

The other fascinating book was a 1966 cookbook called A Rage to Nosh that begins with this line: "If the American culture ever becomes extinct, it won't be due to the atom bomb; it will probably be because of overeating" (vii). A strange statement for a cookbook that then goes on to glorify "nibbling" and "noshing" by linking its recipes to famous figures, mostly the mothers or wives of prominent men. They even instruct the reader to "use this book with abandon and eat! eat! eat!" (viii).

I guess you'll have to come to J.D.'s and my next party, where we'll be serving "Picasso Party Mix" or "Mrs. De Sade's Smashed Smoked Sable Shmear" (OK, maybe not that one). How about "Macaroni Marco Polo" or "Mrs. Wilde's Saucy Artichokes" (I think they missed the boat there). In addition, there's a lovely recipe for "Stuffed Eggs Mrs. Darwin," and for fun, you can fight windmills after consuming "Mama Quixote's Wine Cooler." Although, here perhaps is the gem of the bunch:



Did you notice the syntax? At first I thought maybe they'd sampled Mama Quixote's recipe beforehand. Actually, now I think it's the voice of the immigrant grandmother they bullied for these recipes: "We convinced Grandma it would be selfish to keep these unusual recipes to herself... and selfish, Grandma never was. So with gray hair neatly in place, a clean apron around her long vanished waistline and rimless spectacles mid-nose, she began to tell us how to prepare noshes 'so delicious, the diet you can start tomorrow'" (viii).

Finally, there's the "American" recipe catalogue I bought for $2.00. Now I'll always be ready for any random County Fair, should I suddenly find myself in the midst of one. An entire section is devoted to that purpose:



Hmmm.... think I'll start with the pink one.

Figaro

Thinking of Figaro

A gorgeous day

"There are years that ask questions and years that answer."

--Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God, chapter 3, page 21.

Maybe this is a fruitful year. Maybe this is an answer year. If it is, it's not an answer with any detail. Just a solid "yes"-- which would be enough.

Today was a really good day. J.D. and I went at 6:45 a.m. to a presentation put on by the Alumni Association about buying a house. We found some helpful information and enjoyed bagels. I also love an excuse to drink coffee early in the morning, although I don't like making it myself. We discussed our "must haves" together.

Tammy's Must Haves:

Lots of windows, natural light

A washer

A dryer

A big yard, room for a garden

J.D.'s Must Haves:

A roof

Four walls

A door

Electricity

J.D. doesn't even need windows; he'd be happy living underground like a mole, as long as he had lots of other lighting. J.D. certainly doesn't have a lot of "musts." I do want someplace nice, not perfect or anything, but nice. Later today I taught class, and went to lift weights at the gym. Then I downloaded music from itunes and walked to the park nearby with the fish on the bicycle statue, where we took Olivia to play. I watched some ducks swim in circles and decided to swing, even if there were other people there. It was really, really beautiful outside today. It was the sort of day that one feels lucky to just be alive. My euphoria days are pretty lacking in the city, and I haven't really felt that way in years, but today was like a release because I experienced a little of the old ecstatic energy. Divinely lovely day.

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P.S.

One of the new songs I downloaded and now really like is by

The Wailin' Jennys-- "Heaven When We're Home":

Don't know what time it is,

I've been up for way too long and I'm too tired to sleep

I call my mother on the phone,

she wasn't home, and now I'm wondering the street

I've been a fool, I've been cruel to myself

I've been hanging onto nothing

when nothing could be worse than hanging on

And something tells me there must be something better than all this

I've fallen many times in love

and every time it's been with the wrong man*

Still I'm out there living one day at a time and doing the best I can

Cuz we've all made mistakes that seem to lead us astray

But every time they helped to get us where we are today

And that's a good a place as any

and it's probably where we're best off anyway

It's a long and rugged road and we don't now where it's headed

But we know it's going to get us where we're going

And when we find what we're looking for

we'll drop these bags and search no more

'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home

It's going to feel like heaven when we're home.

There's no such thing as perfect,

and if there is we'll fnd it when we're good and dead

Trust me I've been looking

but tonight I think I'll go and take a bath instead

And then maybe I'll walk a while and feel the earth beneath me

They say if you stop looking it doesn't matter if you find it

And whose to say that even if I did it's what I'm really looking for

It's a long and rugged road and we don't now where it's headed

But we know it's going to get us where we're going

And when we find what we're looking for we'll drop

these bags and search no more

'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home.

* The one line that doesn't apply

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Someday we'll be "home," it will probably have four walls, a roof, a door or two, and even electricity. Most of all, it will be home with J.D., and I'm sure it will feel like heaven.

Buddy

I'm sorry about Buddy; he was a good dog. Love you Mom.

Childhood Memory

That title is deceptive. Why do we automatically think it will be a pleasant memory?

I've recently been able to articulate how my memory works: I remember thoughts in conjunction with places. Sometimes when I'm in a specific space, I'll remember exactly what I thought about in that place. This happens all the time when I'm walking different routes to school.

For example, I remember the day I learned everyone would die, including me. I was probably 5 or 6. I was looking at our toaster oven in the kitchen. Mom was getting something ready for dinner. I asked her about death, and she said "Everyone dies," and for the first time I realized that meant me too.

I remember understanding this, while looking at my reflection in the toaster. It felt so unfair, not me. Surely, I was different. It had never occurred to me before that I would die. I think there's something powerful in that memory for me because it was the beginning of consciousness, but I also remember the feeling of shock that accompanied this new knowledge, and I remember, ever so slightly, the impression of immortality that I had as a child before I said to myself that I too would die.

Almost 4:00 am

I always liked staying up late; it's so quiet, and you can do whatever you want. Never much of a morning person. I like being the last one awake. The last one to bed. The last one out of bed. I used to sneak out of bed by slinking out the bottom when I was a kid. I used to tip-toe to watch t.v. with Dad. I don't remember how I ever got back to bed. Maybe Mom came out and found me. Maybe Dad put me back in bed so Mom would never know his part. Maybe I just wandered back when I wanted to.

Shakti

A black undead horse
with mist rising from
her mane --rearing up.
Seeing my own heart cut
in surgery and my chest
open. Waking up as Durga,
with many breasts.

Labor Day

Gangs of roving cyclists descended upon the Loop.

It was the annual Labor Day U-City bicycle race that goes right down our street. So I had a picnic and graded papers while watching the races.

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Lately I also went to a lecture given by Alison Jagger on the "Feminization of Global Poverty." Her premise was that global economies depend on cheap labor by women and perpetuate a structure that only further disadvantages women. Her point was that the problem is systematic, predictable, and alterable. In addition, she discussed how biological difference and local politics cannot explain it. She had a statistic from a UN study in the 1980s:

Women are half the world's population.

Women do two-thirds of the world's work.

Women earn 10% of the world's income.

She didn't really address the dated nature of her statistics, other than saying that the issue has been largely ignored and data isn't really available.

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Now for something completely different ... and hilarious. Today my students turned in their research paper proposals. Some want to write about fine art or literature. Some want to write about pop culture, race, or social issues.

One wants to write about "Pirates vs. Ninjas."

I'm not kidding. Important questions to ask include "who would win in a fight." (And believe me there's no sense of irony or social commentary).

I've been laughing all day.

Welcome to college! Pirates vs. Ninjas.

Missouri Zen

Last night we went to the candlelight walk through the Japanese garden. It's designed for quietude and meditation, with little nooks you can duck into and stone paths that lead away from the main walkway. But it was impossible to find a quiet place last night. Everyone was walking the path yelling. Groups of adults spoke loudly, as they measured the distance with their feet and mouths; children cried and screamed, and one little boy was afraid of dragons in the bushes; teenagers shouted at each other, pointed at people, and laughed self-consciously. Daddies reassured babies that it was "only a half-mile to the carp," and I even heard one woman say to her husband: "Get the kids, let's go over there, there's more zen." There was general commotion and hubbub. Everyone kept walking the circular path, making noise all the way.

Here was the world, moving along, making a great din, going nowhere, but intent upon finding some destination. Here were families grouped together, reassuring each other in the dark, telling each other there was some purpose for this walk, that they were "almost there," searching out a more desirable place. Everyone needed to make some sound to been "seen" in the dark, where individuality could melt away, leaving us a single procession of bodies. Whether it's one life or a thousand lives lived in the same manner, this was Samsara: suffering, needing, wanting. Everyone keeps walking around the circle because everyone else is, and we cry to be heard because we're not so terrified by the darkness as by the silence.

And there I was, at first annoyed by their noise and ignorance, then listening to them, paying attention to their conversations, playing my role as the onlooker. I was just as unquiet, although I made no sound.

Finally we just stopped walking. We stopped caring if everyone seeking zen around us kept talking about Branson or dragons in the bushes. We smelled the warm September garden. We saw the candles and lanterns wavering on the water. J.D. pointed out the North Star. We wandered over a rock pathway to a bench by a little waterfall and sat with our foreheads touching, like at our wedding. We both thought about our wedding but didn't say it at the time. We just were.

I'm not a Buddhist, and I don't pretend to understand zen, except I'm pretty sure you can't locate it, quantify it, or buy it as a spray-on in the gift shop (damn). While, I believe in reassuring each other in the general darkness around us, sometimes we most need to just be comfortable with not saying anything. Often the most beautiful place is not a "where"; it's just stopping to be with your companion. If others choose to hurry, screaming through the garden, that's fine; we'll sit and wait; we'll look at the moon.

Friendship

"My only sketch of Heaven is a large blue sky,

and in it are my friends -- every one of them."

-Emily Dickinson

Japanese Festival

Today we attended the Missouri Botanical Garden Japanese Festival. We couldn't stay long, but we did get to see the smashing of the Kagamawari, a barrel of sake, to be shared by everyone. We also saw the Bonsai and Ikebana displays, the pulling of a small dashi, and the Omikoshi Procession, carrying the rice god.

Ikebana Display

Japanese floral design. J.D.'s favorite was the simple daisy.