{"id":13522,"date":"2013-05-10T13:23:07","date_gmt":"2013-05-10T17:23:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=13522"},"modified":"2013-05-10T13:27:51","modified_gmt":"2013-05-10T17:27:51","slug":"a-mansion-like-no-other","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2013\/05\/a-mansion-like-no-other\/","title":{"rendered":"A Mansion Like No Other"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Sea-Ty:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: artist’s rendering of “Sea-Ty,” a bowl-shaped floating-but-underwater city, open to the sky. The page where I found this<\/a> image says that it “resembles a traditional hillside town with a network of stairs connecting the various levels.” Each of those little box-type things, apparently, is a house or other building.]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>\u00a0(italicized portion):<\/p>\n

Every human being\u00a0is intended to have a character of his own;\u00a0to be what no others are,\u00a0and to do what no other can do<\/em>.\u00a0Our common nature is to be unfolded in unbounded diversities. It is rich enough for infinite manifestations. It is to wear innumerable forms of beauty and glory.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(William Ellery Channing [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Sometimes, When the Light<\/strong><\/p>\n

Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles
\nand pulls you back into childhood<\/p>\n

and you are passing a crumbling mansion
\ncompletely hidden behind old willows<\/p>\n

or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks
\nand giant firs standing hip to hip,<\/p>\n

you know again that behind that wall,
\nunder the uncut hair of the willows<\/p>\n

something secret is going on,
\nso marvelous and dangerous<\/p>\n

that if you crawled through and saw,
\nyou would die, or be happy forever.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

The Night, the Porch<\/strong><\/p>\n

To stare at nothing is to learn by heart
\nWhat all of us will be swept into, and baring oneself
\nTo the wind is feeling the ungraspable somewhere close by.
\nTrees can sway or be still. Day or night can be what they wish.
\nWhat we desire, more than a season or weather, is the comfort
\nOf being strangers, at least to ourselves. This is the crux
\nOf the matter, which is why even now we seem to be waiting
\nFor something whose appearance would be its vanishing—
\nThe sound, say, of a few leaves falling, or just one leaf,
\nOr less. There is no end to what we can learn. The book out there
\nTells us as much, and was never written with us in mind.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

<\/p>\n

Not from\u00a0whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Do you suffer from what a French paleontologist called “the distress that makes human wills founder daily under the crushing number of living things and stars”? For the world is as glorious as ever, and exalting, but for credibility’s sake let’s start with the bad news.<\/p>\n

An infant is a pucker of the earth’s thin skin; so are we. We arise like budding years and break off; we forget our beginnings. A mammal swells and circles and lays him down. You and I have finished swelling; our circling periods are playing out, but we can still leave footprints in a trail whose end we do not know.<\/p>\n

Buddhism notes that it is always a mistake to think your soul can go it alone.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Annie Dillard\u00a0[source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

There are 1,198,500,000 people alive now in China. To get a feel for what this means, simply take yourself — in all your singularity, importance, complexity, and love — and multiply by 1,198,500,000. See? Nothing to it.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Dillard,\u00a0ibid<\/em><\/a>.)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

It is a weakening and discoloring idea, that rustic people knew God permanently once upon a time — or even knew selflessness or courage or literature — but that it is too late for us. In fact, the absolute is available to everyone in every age. There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less.<\/p>\n

There is no less holiness at this time — as you are reading this — than there was the day the Red Sea parted, or that day in the thirtieth year, in the fourth month, on the fifth day of the month, as Ezekiel was a captive by the river Chebar, when the heavens opened and he saw visions of God. There is no whit less enlightenment under the tree by your street than there was under the Buddha’s bo tree. There is no whit less might in heaven or on earth than there was the day Jesus said, “Maid, arise” to the centurion’s daughter, or the day Peter walked on water, or the night Mohammed flew to heaven on a horse. In any instant the sacred might wipe you with its finger. In any instant the bush may flare, your feet\u00a0may<\/em> rise, or you\u00a0may<\/em> see a bunch of souls in a tree. In any instant you\u00a0may<\/em> avail yourself of the power to love your enemies; to accept failure, slander, or the grief of loss; or to endure torture.<\/p>\n

Purity’s time is always now.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Dillard, ibid<\/em><\/a>.)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

If Feeling Isn’t In It<\/strong><\/p>\n

You can take it away, as far as I’m concerned — I’d rather spend the afternoon with a nice dog. I’m not kidding. Dogs have what a lot of poems lack: excitements and responses, a sense of play the ability to impart warmth, elation…
\nHoward Moss<\/span><\/p>\n

Dogs will also lick your face if you let them.
\nTheir bodies will shiver with happiness.
\nA simple walk in the park is just about
\nthe height of contentment for them, followed
\nby a bowl of food, a bowl of water,
\na place to curl up and sleep. Someone
\nto scratch them where they can’t reach
\nand smooth their foreheads and talk to them.
\nDogs also have a natural dislike of mailmen
\nand other bringers of bad news and will
\nbite them on your behalf. Dogs can smell
\nfear and also love with perfect accuracy.
\nThere is no use pretending with them.
\nNor do they pretend. If a dog is happy
\nor sad or nervous or bored or ashamed
\nor sunk in contemplation, everybody knows it.
\nThey make no secret of themselves.
\nYou can even tell what they’re dreaming about
\nby the way their legs jerk and try to run
\non the slippery ground of sleep.
\nNor are they given to pretentious self-importance.
\nThey don’t try to impress you with how serious
\nor sensitive they are. They just feel everything
\nfull blast. Everything is off the charts
\nwith them. More than once I’ve seen a dog
\nwaiting for its owner outside a caf\u00e9
\npractically implode with worry. “Oh, God,
\nwhat if she doesn’t come back this time?
\nWhat will I do? Who will take care of me?
\nI loved her so much and now she’s gone
\nand I’m tied to a post surrounded by people
\nwho don’t look or smell or sound like her at all.”
\nAnd when she does come, what a flurry
\nof commotion, what a chorus of yelping
\nand cooing and leaps straight up into the air!
\nIt’s almost unbearable, this sudden
\nfullness after such total loss, to see
\nthe world made whole again by a hand
\non the shoulder and a voice like no other.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(John Brehm [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: artist’s rendering of “Sea-Ty,” a bowl-shaped floating-but-underwater city, open to the sky. The page where I found this image says that it “resembles a traditional hillside town with a network of stairs connecting the various levels.” Each of those little box-type things, apparently, is a house or other building.] From whiskey river\u00a0(italicized portion): Every […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,5,36,251],"tags":[295,442,684,2314,2460,3467,3468],"class_list":{"0":"post-13522","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-art","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-reading","11":"category-poetry-writing_cat","12":"tag-annie-dillard","13":"tag-dogs","14":"tag-mark-strand","15":"tag-lisel-mueller","16":"tag-john-brehm","17":"tag-sea-ty","18":"tag-william-ellery-channing","19":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-3w6","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13522","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13522"}],"version-history":[{"count":23,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13522\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":13546,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13522\/revisions\/13546"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13522"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13522"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13522"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}