{"id":16194,"date":"2014-12-12T12:46:08","date_gmt":"2014-12-12T17:46:08","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=16194"},"modified":"2014-12-12T12:46:08","modified_gmt":"2014-12-12T17:46:08","slug":"the-unimaginable-in-person","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2014\/12\/the-unimaginable-in-person\/","title":{"rendered":"The Unimaginable, in Person"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: “Mystery Creature,” by user iamthebestartist (Jessamyn West) on Flickr<\/a>. Used under a Creative Commons license. Apparently, the creature in question is an albino porcupine<\/a>. Who knew?!?]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

When you’re dealing with these forces or powers in a philosophic and scientific way, contemplating them from an armchair, that rationalistic approach is useful. It is quite profitable then to regard the gods and goddesses and demons as projections of the human mind or as unconscious aspects of ourselves. But every truth is a truth only for one place and one time, and that’s a truth, as I said, for the armchair. When you’re actually dealing with these figures, the only safe, pragmatic and operational approach is to treat them as having a being, a will, and a purpose entirely apart from the humans who evoke them. If the Sorcerer’s Apprentice had understood that, he wouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Robert Shea\/Robert Anton Wilson [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a> (italicized lines):<\/p>\n

Our Valley<\/strong><\/p>\n

We don’t see the ocean, not ever, but in July and August
\nwhen the worst heat seems to rise from the hard clay
\nof this valley, you could be walking through a fig orchard
\nwhen suddenly the wind cools and for a moment
\nyou get a whiff of salt, and in that moment you can almost
\nbelieve something is waiting beyond the Pacheco Pass,
\nsomething massive, irrational, and so powerful even
\nthe mountains that rise east of here have no word for it.<\/p>\n

You probably think I’m nuts saying the mountains<\/em>
\nhave no word for ocean, but if you live here<\/em>
\nyou begin to believe they know everything.<\/em>
\nThey maintain that huge silence we think of as divine,<\/em>
\na silence that grows in autumn when snow falls<\/em>
\nslowly between the pines and the wind dies<\/em>
\nto less than a whisper and you can barely catch<\/em>
\nyour breath because you’re thrilled and terrified.<\/em><\/p>\n

You have to remember this isn’t your land.
\nIt belongs to no one, like the sea you once lived beside
\nand thought was yours. Remember the small boats
\nthat bobbed out as the waves rode in, and the men
\nwho carved a living from it only to find themselves
\ncarved down to nothing. Now you say this is home,
\nso go ahead, worship the mountains as they dissolve in dust,
\nwait on the wind, catch a scent of salt, call it our life.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Philip Levine, Our Valley [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

Litany<\/strong><\/p>\n

O you gods, you long-limbed animals, you
\nastride the sea and you unhammocked
\nin the cyprus grove and you with your hair
\nfull of horses, please. My thoughts have turned
\nfrom the savor of plums to the merits
\nof pity—touch and interrupt me,
\nchasten me with waking, humble me
\nfor wonder again. Seed god and husk god,
\ngod of the open palm, you know me, you
\nknow my mettle. See, my wrists are small.
\nO you, with glass-colored wind at your call
\nand you, whose voice is soft as a turned page,
\nwhose voice unrolls paper, whose voice returns
\nair to its forms, send me a word for faith
\nthat also means his thrum, his coax and surge
\nand her soft hollow, please—friend gods, lend me
\na word that means what I would ask him for
\nso when he says: You give it all away,
\nI can say: I am not sorry. I sing.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

I believe in the baby Jesus, and I believe he is handsome and lives in the sky with his pet cow. I believe that it is essential the cow like you, and if you pet the cow with your mind, it will lick your hand and give you cash. But if you make the cow angry, it will turn away from you, forget you exist, and your life will fall into shambles. I believe that as long as the cow likes you, you can get what you want.<\/p>\n

In order to keep the cow’s favor, you need to “let go and let God,” meaning you can’t obsess about controlling every little thing. You have to let things unfold naturally, and not try to change things you cannot change. On the other hand, I believe that if you’ve made the cow happy by living this way, you\u2019re allowed to ask for favors.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

…and:<\/p>\n

One night I dreamed I was writing a play and in it my students were looking up at me with the blurry eyes of young sheep and\/or addicts of sex and drugs. Behind me there was a large mountain with flags blowing there. And horses stood ready to climb… no, not just to climb, but to race to the top, driven by each one of the students who wanted to be first to touch a flag. We couldn’t tell which flag was closest, because of the distance, but three set forth with charging ambition.<\/p>\n

One held the horse too tight, another too loose, and a third found herself on a horse that could not climb. The first was bucked off. The second was taken on a wild ride. The third found herself seated on a sitting horse. Up above the flags were flapping in streaks of hard wind.<\/p>\n

And two more students volunteered to climb on foot. They reached the top, and somehow I was there beside them, but the flags had blown away and so there was no way to know who was a winner, who was not.<\/p>\n

Around us lay heaps and humps of mountain ranges, brown and white, and streaked with rock-like plants. The wind still whirled around our faces. All their work had no meaning, without markers and prizes. Not just their work. Their lives seemed futile. Our lineaments were transparent and so were our skins.<\/p>\n

The two students had what they called “panic attacks” and begged me to tell them: what is life worth living for? Unfortunately I woke up in my sheets and could not send my message back to the world of dreams. My poor students! What could I have told them too late? I stared into the pallid milk of dawn and the words came out aloud: “To see and to be.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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

[Image: “Mystery Creature,” by user iamthebestartist (Jessamyn West) on Flickr. Used under a Creative Commons license. Apparently, the creature in question is an albino porcupine. Who knew?!?] From whiskey river: When you’re dealing with these forces or powers in a philosophic and scientific way, contemplating them from an armchair, that rationalistic approach is useful. It […]<\/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":[247,1393,5,50,251],"tags":[2513,3061,3936,3937,3938,3939,3940],"class_list":{"0":"post-16194","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-06_writing","9":"category-language-writing_cat","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"tag-philip-levine","12":"tag-robert-anton-wilson","13":"tag-robert-shea","14":"tag-rebecca-lindenberg","15":"tag-augusten-burroughs","16":"tag-fanny-howe","17":"tag-the-gods","18":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-4dc","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16194","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=16194"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16194\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16197,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16194\/revisions\/16197"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16194"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16194"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16194"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}