[Image: photograph of a massive (115″ x 53″) jigsaw puzzle, by Clementoni, of Titian’s Sacred and Profane Love (also known as Venus and the Bride, but subject to various other interpretations as well). The puzzle contains over 13,000 pieces. I almost used this image instead, for no other reason than (a) the title and (b) its depiction, at the lower right, of the Polish Saint Maximilian Kolbe, canonized in 1982 as the patron saint of drug addicts, political prisoners, families, journalists, prisoners, the pro-life movement, and in general — get this — “Our Difficult Century.”]
From whiskey river:
The beauty of the world is the mouth of a labyrinth. The unwary individual who on entering takes a few steps is soon unable to find the opening. Worn out, with nothing to eat or drink, in the dark, separated from his dear ones, and from everything he loves and is accustomed to, he walks on without knowing anything or hoping anything, incapable even of discovering whether he is really going forward or merely turning round on the same spot. But this affliction is as nothing compared with the danger threatening him. For if he does not lose courage, if he goes on walking, it is absolutely certain that he will finally arrive at the center of the labyrinth. And there God is waiting to eat him. Later he will go out again, but he will be changed, he will have become different, after being eaten and digested by God. Afterward he will stay near the entrance so that he can gently push all those who come near into the opening.
(Simone Weil [source])
…and:
Transience is the most general phenomenon of the cosmos. Change is the only changeless reality. Seasons, livelihoods, personal relationships — all of these will change. Our experiences in life are transient and relative. Only death is certain, completing the cycle of life that begins with birth. By meditating upon this truth, we recognize that we, too, are manifestations of transience.
When we understand this teaching deeply, we become humble and sincere. We treasure each moment and endeavor to do our best. We feel less stress and become more accepting of the diverse phenomena of life. If something good happens we can feel the joy and be thankful. But we know that the conditions for the situation will not last forever, and we do not become attached to the feeling.
We will simply consider every moment and every experience as a blessing.
(Ilchi Lee [source])
…and:
I asked the river
About its destination
And came out lucky:
It babbled about nothing
And never came to a point
(Gyosen [source])
Not from whiskey river:
The God of Inattention
After the trumpets, after the incense
There were nights insomnia fathered gods
I then rejected as too angry or distracted,
Or whose appetite for submission revealed
Their own lack of faith. Say our names,
All synonyms for trust. Others spoke
In sugared paradox: To know is to know
All. To not know all is not to know. To know
All requires that you know very little,
But to know that little you have to know
All. And for a while, it’s true,
I burned in the dark fires of ambivalence,
My attention consumed like oxygen.
I’d wake up tired, as I had with the married man
Whose strictures and caprice begat,
And begat, and begat, and begat
My love for him, harvesting the same
Silence from my bed. Who listens
To my penitential tune? Who accepts
My petitions for convenient parking,
For spring, for the self illuminated
Across a kitchen table, for… for
Fortitude? I’ve heard a voice, I’m sure,
Advising me to drop this sentimental farce.
Only to hold the smoke of their names
Again in my mouth I’d resurrect
The dead, or adopt the gods orphaned
By atheists, except the gods they’ve made
From disbelief no one’s faith could tolerate.
Refusing to make the same mistake
Just once, I’ve cried out to the dark
Many names, most given up as routinely
As the secrets of friends. If you’re a cup
Will my lips profane your own? If a comb
Will I feel your teeth against my neck?
If a wall I will be darker than your shadow.
And if a door I will unlatch you, letting in
All the little foxes from the vineyard.
(Averill Curdy [source])
…and:
Tandy. (Approaches Puerto Rican Attendant who has reentered with the laundry basket and crossed to the sink, putting the basket down on the chair.) Say, fella…
P.R. Attendant. (Turning to him.) You addressing I?
Tandy. That’s right. What’s the deal around here? The Oldtimer says you’re God.
P.R. Attendant. Some people call me that. (Takes bucket from floor and fills it in sink.)
Tandy. But that’s ridiculous… a Puerto Rican…
P.R. Attendant. The Puerto Ricans go back hundreds of years. Millions. There were Puerto Ricans in Greece, Rome. Diogenes — very big, very strong Puerto Rican. Too many people make fun of the Puerto Ricans. Very fine people. Lot of class. We got José Torres, Mario Procaccino… (Takes soap from shelf and puts it in bucket.)
Tandy. All right. I’ll go along with you for a second. You’re God. Why would you be sweeping up, a lowly job like that?
P.R. Attendant. I like it. It’s therapeutic. It’s easy on the nerves.
Tandy. (Moving l. above the shower.) God… a Puerto Rican steambath attendant. That’ll be the day.
P.R. Attendant. (Crossing to r. pillar with bucket and sponge.) Look, I’ll tell you what, fella. You say I’m not God. All right. You got it. I’m not God. Fabulous. You got what you want. (Pointing to Bieberman on U.l. tier.) He’s God.
Oldtimer: He ain’t God. He’s a slob.
[…]P.R. Attendant. Mister, just don’t bug me. All right? I got a lot on my mind.
Tandy. There’s another one. God talking slang. How can I go along with that?
P.R. Attendant. (Moving to l. side of pillar and wiping it down.) I talk any way I want, man. The Lord speaks in funny ways. Remember that. You want to discuss the relativity of mass, the Lorentz Transformation, galactic intelligence, I’ll give you that, too. Just don’t bug me. All right? Don’t be no wise ass.
(Bruce Jay Friedman, Steambath [source])
…and:
A Workman to the Gods
Once Phidias stood, with hammer in his hand,
Carving Minerva from the breathing stone,
Tracing with love the winding of a hair,
A single hair upon her head, whereon
A youth of Athens cried, “O Phidias,
Why do you dally on a hidden hair?
When she is lifted to the lofty front
Of the Parthenon, no human eye will see.”
And Phidias thundered on him: “Silence, slave:
Men will not see, but the Immortals will!”
(Edwin Markham [source])
Jayne says
Oh, jeez, that Weil excerpt. Made me laugh, reminding me of how a friend of mine used to to constantly get after me for not having children (in my early to mid thirties). They joys of children! she’d proclaim. Yeah, and I’d remind her of how misery loves company. As you know, I couldn’t resist the lure of the labyrinth. And boy, Weil is dead on about not coming out the same.
Curdy’s poem: I shall print it out and post it on the cork board, or paste it in my notebook. In all of them.
Ah, the gods we tend to (and the ones we don’t). I like the River best. ;)
cynth says
I didn’t get around to seeing this until today…I’ve been kind of preoccupied. I liked your selections. I really liked the God of Inattention. It’s the way I’ve looked at various incantations of the Lord for a long time. I like the Steambath thing too. I can just hear certain members of the family muttering under their breath, “God as a Puerto Rican? I don’t think so.”
Thanks for the brain prodder. I definitely could use it.
marta says
I read the God-as-a-Puerto Rican right after I read an article on NPR about an atheist rally in DC, and so I was wondering about when if ever I’d have the courage to come-out-of-the-religion closet with my in-laws and make it clear that I’m not a believer.
But I would believe God is a Puerto Rican steambath attendant. And I would certainly prefer a God who finds sweeping relaxing.