{"id":10213,"date":"2012-03-16T10:58:51","date_gmt":"2012-03-16T14:58:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=10213"},"modified":"2012-03-16T11:15:58","modified_gmt":"2012-03-16T15:15:58","slug":"conversations-sacred-and-profane","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2012\/03\/conversations-sacred-and-profane\/","title":{"rendered":"Conversations, Sacred and Profane"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: photograph of a massive (115″ x 53″) jigsaw puzzle, by Clementoni<\/a>, of Titian’s <\/em>Sacred and Profane Love\u00a0(also known as <\/em>Venus and the Bride, but subject to various other interpretations<\/a>\u00a0as well). The puzzle contains over 13,000 pieces. I almost used this image<\/a> 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\u00a0— get this — “Our Difficult Century.”]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/a><\/em>:<\/p>\n

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.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Simone Weil [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

We will simply consider every moment and every experience as a blessing.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Ilchi Lee [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

I asked the river
\nAbout its destination
\nAnd came out lucky:
\nIt babbled about nothing
\nAnd never came to a point<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Gyosen [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

The God of Inattention<\/strong><\/p>\n

After the trumpets, after the incense
\nThere were nights insomnia fathered gods
\nI then rejected as too angry or distracted,
\nOr whose appetite for submission revealed
\nTheir own lack of faith. Say our names,<\/em>
\n All synonyms for trust<\/em>. Others spoke
\nIn sugared paradox: To know is to know<\/em>
\n All. To not know all is not to know. To know<\/em>
\n All requires that you know very little,<\/em>
\n But to know that little you have to know<\/em>
\n All.<\/em> And for a while, it’s true,
\nI burned in the dark fires of ambivalence,
\nMy attention consumed like oxygen.
\nI’d wake up tired, as I had with the married man
\nWhose strictures and caprice begat,
\nAnd begat, and begat, and begat
\nMy love for him, harvesting the same
\nSilence from my bed. Who listens
\nTo my penitential tune? Who accepts
\nMy petitions for convenient parking,
\nFor spring, for the self illuminated
\nAcross a kitchen table, for… for
\nFortitude? I’ve heard a voice, I’m sure,
\nAdvising me to drop this sentimental farce.
\nOnly to hold the smoke of their names
\nAgain in my mouth I’d resurrect
\nThe dead, or adopt the gods orphaned
\nBy atheists, except the gods they’ve made
\nFrom disbelief no one’s faith could tolerate.
\nRefusing to make the same mistake
\nJust once, I’ve cried out to the dark
\nMany names, most given up as routinely
\nAs the secrets of friends. If you’re a cup
\nWill my lips profane your own? If a comb
\nWill I feel your teeth against my neck?
\nIf a wall I will be darker than your shadow.
\nAnd if a door I will unlatch you, letting in
\nAll the little foxes from the vineyard.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Averill Curdy [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Tandy.<\/span> (Approaches <\/em>Puerto Rican Attendant<\/span> who has reentered with the laundry basket and crossed to the sink, putting the basket down on the chair.)<\/em> Say, fella…<\/p>\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> (Turning to him.)<\/em> You addressing I?<\/p>\n

Tandy.<\/span> That’s right. What’s the deal around here? The Oldtimer says you’re God.<\/p>\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> Some people call me that. (Takes bucket from floor and fills it in sink.)<\/em><\/p>\n

Tandy.<\/span> But that’s ridiculous… a Puerto Rican…<\/p>\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> 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 Jos\u00e9 Torres, Mario Procaccino… (Takes soap from shelf and puts it in bucket.)<\/em><\/p>\n

Tandy.<\/span> 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>\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> I like it. It’s therapeutic. It’s easy on the nerves.<\/p>\n

Tandy.<\/span> (Moving <\/em>l.<\/span> above the shower.)<\/em> God… a Puerto Rican steambath attendant. That’ll be the day.<\/p>\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> (Crossing to <\/em>r.<\/span> pillar with bucket and sponge.)<\/em> 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<\/span> on <\/em>U.l.<\/span> tier.)<\/em> He’s<\/em> God.<\/p>\n

Oldtimer<\/span>: He ain’t God. He’s a slob.<\/p>\n[…]\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> Mister, just don’t bug me. All right? I got a lot on my mind.<\/p>\n

Tandy.<\/span> There’s another one. God talking slang. How can I go along with that?<\/p>\n

P.R. Attendant.<\/span> (Moving to <\/em>l.<\/span> side of pillar and wiping it down.)<\/em> 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.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Bruce Jay Friedman, Steambath<\/em>\u00a0[source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

A Workman to the Gods<\/strong><\/p>\n

Once Phidias stood, with hammer in his hand,
\nCarving Minerva from the breathing stone,
\nTracing with love the winding of a hair,
\nA single hair upon her head, whereon
\nA youth of Athens cried, “O Phidias,
\nWhy do you dally on a hidden hair?
\nWhen she is lifted to the lofty front
\nOf the Parthenon, no human eye will see.”
\nAnd Phidias thundered on him: “Silence, slave:
\nMen will not see, but the Immortals will!”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Edwin Markham [source<\/a><\/em>])<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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