Susan Sontag paraphrasing Immanuel Kant
Time exists in order that everything doesn't happen at once. And Space exists so that it all doesn't happen to you.
The Phoenix is an Egyptian bird that is made of brightly glowing fire. It is a symbol of divinity and immortality and fire. They are quick to regenerate and are practically immortal. These long-lived birds have a life span that ranges from 500 years to 1461, depending on your sources.
These birds are only practically immortal for they do die. At the end of their given life cycle, the Phoenix makes a nest of cinnamon twigs and then, ignites his nest, with the bird lying with in until they are both consumed by the fire. The Phoenix is reduced to mere ash. In 3 days time, the Phoenix rises again.
Some say that the Phoenix gathers the ashes of its former self, forms it into an egg made of myrrh and then brings this to the Egyptian city of Heliopolis.
Sometimes, one can find themselves lost or confused. Once in a while, we lose our way. Life is a long, long journey to somewhere. That somewhere is decided upon by you. And because it is decided upon by you, you can change that destination anytime on the way.
I find myself burning my former selves in a nest of cinnamon twigs. The other day, I had burned old letters that I have found. I kept them, I don't know why. I read through my old journals and found myself seething at the old me. It's re-invention. It's the act of removing the old skin and then leaving it behind. Snakes do it. Some insects create a chrysalis where they metamorphose into something else... something better, maybe?
We all have the capacity to change; whether it be violent and destructive or just discreetly, subtly and silently. I've heard it said several times before: one must change or die. Without the capacity to adapt, to improve, to develop and grow, they are removed from existence. Change or die.
The Phoenix does both and lives immortal.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Kali, the Black Mother of Death
Roisin Murphy from Sinking Feeling (written by Roisin Murphy and Matthew Herbert)
Happy people don't give into that sinking feeling
The Indian pantheon is separated into two -- the monstrous devils, the Asuras and the divine, but often inhuman Devas. They were in constant battle ever since the Devas had out-witted them from taking of the magical Amrita that gave the Devas immortality. While the Devas were more powerful than the Asuras, they were still bound by certain laws which some clever Asuras had been able to use to their advantage.
One of these Asuras, the demon Raktavira studied the scriptures to appease Brahma, the creator. He prayed and fasted and was more devout than any holy man in India. This level of piety, Brahma cannot reward, even if he was a Devas. He held back his desire to reward this sacrifice the Asura was making but even Brahma must follow the rules and he gave in and asked Raktavira what he desired. Raktavira's response was a simple one: every drop of Raktavira's blood that spilled on the ground would be transformed into a thousand demons. Horrified, but unable to do anything, Brahma acquiesced.
With his new gift, Raktavira began attacking the mortal denizens of India. Town after town, city after city, Raktavira attacked without mercy or fear. Everytime someone tried to fight back, Raktavira's blood would spill into the ground and thousands and thousands of demons would come to his defense, and later, fought by his side.
The Devas could do nothing for fear of giving Raktavira an army that could not be opposed. The goddess Parvati, a beautiful and peaceful goddess, wife of Siva or Shiva, the destroyer, could not sleep as she could hear the cries of her worshippers slain one by one by Raktavira and his horde. She begged Brahma to take back his gift but Brahma shamefully shook his head. Even Brahma cannot take back his gifts once given. He is the creator, not the destroyer. But even Siva himself was afraid to use his powerful spear, the Pashupata, against Raktavira, fearing a much larger horde to follow.
Night after night, Parvati grew anxious as she could hear more and more of her worshippers calling for her aid and mercy. A feeling crept within her, one she had never felt before, anger and rage and it grew in her breast until she could no longer bare it. She gripped her breast and threw away her form to reveal another underneath. This was Kali, the Black Mother of Death, black-skinned, four armed and a long slithering tongue. On her forehead, like her husband the destroyer, she had a third eye. Preparing for battle, she wore a garland of skulls around her neck, and a skirt made of human arms. She wore no armor for she would dance into battle naked. She brought with her a sword and a dagger. That was all that she would need.
She quickly descended from her home at Mount Kailasa and faced Raktavira. She called out his name and told him he would pay for his transgressions. The Asura laughed, undaunted by this new, vile form before him. He was unafraid. He warned her of Brahma's gift but she neither flinched nor moved. The two began to battle. Quickly, Kali had begun to cut Raktavira again and again with her sword and dagger. Raktavira began to laugh as the blood began to drip from his wounds. Kali then leapt and landed on his chest, forcing the Asura to the ground. And then her long, slithering tongue escaped from her lips and began to lick the blood before it spilt to the ground. Raktavira was horrified. No demons would come from these wounds. He tried to stand up, to get away but Kali was stronger. On top of him, she began to thrust with her blades while her tongue drank every drop of blood before it fell to the ground. In his last breath, Raktavira commanded his army to kill her.
Kali looked with her three menacing eyes at the multitude of demons before her and smiled. She began to dance and threw herself into battle. The demons were no match for her random movements, her quickly moving blades. It did not take long before the battlefield was empty except for the dancing figure of Kali, the Black Mother of Death. Her tongue began to slither to drink the blood of the demons, even if they were not magickal and no new army of demons would have sprung forth.
Siva, happy that the terror of the Asura was finished, approached Kali, the living duality of her wife and asked her to return to Parvati but Kali was insatiable. She jerked his hand away and continued her dance and drink. Siva watched as she danced and danced and drank her fill. He saw himself mirrored in Kali's dark demeanor but knew that the task of death and destruction was his to bear and wanted Parvati back, the opposite of his own nature. He then lay down amongst the bodies and closed his eyes.
Soon, Kali, dancing atop the slain, landed on Siva's body and saw him there, almost dead-like and she regained her senses. She took off her garland of heads and arms, put down her weapons and in one move, took off the form of Kali and returned as Parvati. Siva stood up and the married couple kissed and returned to Mount Kailasa.
I think we all have dual sides. We are always known as we always are but I believe that we can be who we are not, if pushed to it. Louis Stevenson (I think it was him) wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and the version I read was that when Dr. Jekyll first transformed to his opposite, Mr. Hyde was a tiny, tiny man because Dr. Jekyll was a good man; his evil side was still small and insignificant. But the more and more Dr. Jekyll allowed Mr. Hyde to explore his maliciousness, Mr. Hyde grew and grew becoming taller, stronger and Dr. Jekyll got weaker and thin and frail.
Last night, some of my friends witnessed another side of me they had never seen before. It was the exact opposite of my nature. I always try to be funny; I'm always making fun of things and not being serious. I allow people to make fun of me and I try to make light of things, even things that shouldn't be made light of. I am open, always willing to share any intimate detail of myself to people and you can tell me anything and it wouldn't change anything at all.
When things are not going my way, to a really bad degree, when I feel my whole world falling apart, I withdraw into myself. I don't let anyone reach me. I hate myself that way. I retreat into a world into myself and no one can reach me. No one can get there. I am unresponsive and closed; the exact opposite of who I am.
I've become so used to being funny and happy and giving people the opportunity to have fun at my expense. It's nothing to me. I can take it. But when I'm not in that mood and I'm in a very bad, I don't want anybody to see me that way. I refuse. And then I become this thing that nobody knows, this thing that no one recognizes.
If I suddenly disappear. If I suddenly become unreachable; that's probably the reason. The dark side of myself that is capable of so many things -- so many scary things.
I don't want to think about it too much. It's scary. I almost did something that might have gotten me very hurt last night. It is very frightening, that place and I don't want to go back there. Because once you say something or do something, most of the time, you can never take it back.
Happy people don't give into that sinking feeling
The Indian pantheon is separated into two -- the monstrous devils, the Asuras and the divine, but often inhuman Devas. They were in constant battle ever since the Devas had out-witted them from taking of the magical Amrita that gave the Devas immortality. While the Devas were more powerful than the Asuras, they were still bound by certain laws which some clever Asuras had been able to use to their advantage.
One of these Asuras, the demon Raktavira studied the scriptures to appease Brahma, the creator. He prayed and fasted and was more devout than any holy man in India. This level of piety, Brahma cannot reward, even if he was a Devas. He held back his desire to reward this sacrifice the Asura was making but even Brahma must follow the rules and he gave in and asked Raktavira what he desired. Raktavira's response was a simple one: every drop of Raktavira's blood that spilled on the ground would be transformed into a thousand demons. Horrified, but unable to do anything, Brahma acquiesced.
With his new gift, Raktavira began attacking the mortal denizens of India. Town after town, city after city, Raktavira attacked without mercy or fear. Everytime someone tried to fight back, Raktavira's blood would spill into the ground and thousands and thousands of demons would come to his defense, and later, fought by his side.
The Devas could do nothing for fear of giving Raktavira an army that could not be opposed. The goddess Parvati, a beautiful and peaceful goddess, wife of Siva or Shiva, the destroyer, could not sleep as she could hear the cries of her worshippers slain one by one by Raktavira and his horde. She begged Brahma to take back his gift but Brahma shamefully shook his head. Even Brahma cannot take back his gifts once given. He is the creator, not the destroyer. But even Siva himself was afraid to use his powerful spear, the Pashupata, against Raktavira, fearing a much larger horde to follow.
Night after night, Parvati grew anxious as she could hear more and more of her worshippers calling for her aid and mercy. A feeling crept within her, one she had never felt before, anger and rage and it grew in her breast until she could no longer bare it. She gripped her breast and threw away her form to reveal another underneath. This was Kali, the Black Mother of Death, black-skinned, four armed and a long slithering tongue. On her forehead, like her husband the destroyer, she had a third eye. Preparing for battle, she wore a garland of skulls around her neck, and a skirt made of human arms. She wore no armor for she would dance into battle naked. She brought with her a sword and a dagger. That was all that she would need.
She quickly descended from her home at Mount Kailasa and faced Raktavira. She called out his name and told him he would pay for his transgressions. The Asura laughed, undaunted by this new, vile form before him. He was unafraid. He warned her of Brahma's gift but she neither flinched nor moved. The two began to battle. Quickly, Kali had begun to cut Raktavira again and again with her sword and dagger. Raktavira began to laugh as the blood began to drip from his wounds. Kali then leapt and landed on his chest, forcing the Asura to the ground. And then her long, slithering tongue escaped from her lips and began to lick the blood before it spilt to the ground. Raktavira was horrified. No demons would come from these wounds. He tried to stand up, to get away but Kali was stronger. On top of him, she began to thrust with her blades while her tongue drank every drop of blood before it fell to the ground. In his last breath, Raktavira commanded his army to kill her.
Kali looked with her three menacing eyes at the multitude of demons before her and smiled. She began to dance and threw herself into battle. The demons were no match for her random movements, her quickly moving blades. It did not take long before the battlefield was empty except for the dancing figure of Kali, the Black Mother of Death. Her tongue began to slither to drink the blood of the demons, even if they were not magickal and no new army of demons would have sprung forth.
Siva, happy that the terror of the Asura was finished, approached Kali, the living duality of her wife and asked her to return to Parvati but Kali was insatiable. She jerked his hand away and continued her dance and drink. Siva watched as she danced and danced and drank her fill. He saw himself mirrored in Kali's dark demeanor but knew that the task of death and destruction was his to bear and wanted Parvati back, the opposite of his own nature. He then lay down amongst the bodies and closed his eyes.
Soon, Kali, dancing atop the slain, landed on Siva's body and saw him there, almost dead-like and she regained her senses. She took off her garland of heads and arms, put down her weapons and in one move, took off the form of Kali and returned as Parvati. Siva stood up and the married couple kissed and returned to Mount Kailasa.
I think we all have dual sides. We are always known as we always are but I believe that we can be who we are not, if pushed to it. Louis Stevenson (I think it was him) wrote Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and the version I read was that when Dr. Jekyll first transformed to his opposite, Mr. Hyde was a tiny, tiny man because Dr. Jekyll was a good man; his evil side was still small and insignificant. But the more and more Dr. Jekyll allowed Mr. Hyde to explore his maliciousness, Mr. Hyde grew and grew becoming taller, stronger and Dr. Jekyll got weaker and thin and frail.
Last night, some of my friends witnessed another side of me they had never seen before. It was the exact opposite of my nature. I always try to be funny; I'm always making fun of things and not being serious. I allow people to make fun of me and I try to make light of things, even things that shouldn't be made light of. I am open, always willing to share any intimate detail of myself to people and you can tell me anything and it wouldn't change anything at all.
When things are not going my way, to a really bad degree, when I feel my whole world falling apart, I withdraw into myself. I don't let anyone reach me. I hate myself that way. I retreat into a world into myself and no one can reach me. No one can get there. I am unresponsive and closed; the exact opposite of who I am.
I've become so used to being funny and happy and giving people the opportunity to have fun at my expense. It's nothing to me. I can take it. But when I'm not in that mood and I'm in a very bad, I don't want anybody to see me that way. I refuse. And then I become this thing that nobody knows, this thing that no one recognizes.
If I suddenly disappear. If I suddenly become unreachable; that's probably the reason. The dark side of myself that is capable of so many things -- so many scary things.
I don't want to think about it too much. It's scary. I almost did something that might have gotten me very hurt last night. It is very frightening, that place and I don't want to go back there. Because once you say something or do something, most of the time, you can never take it back.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Anger's Bitter Throwing Hand
Robert Kincaid
Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away.
The Aesir gods of the Scandinavians, the Norse gods of Asgard were fierce warriors. They lived for war. Every diety of the Norse gods were capable swordsmen, even the women. Those that died in battle were allowed to ascend with them in the great halls of Asgard. Those who didn't descended into Niflheim, the land of the dead.
Of all the Asgardian dieties, Balder (or Baldur) was the most beloved. The son of Odin, the head god of the Asgardians known for his thirst for knowledge and wisdom. He was brother to Thor and in some legends and stories, half-brother to the mischievous and malicious Loki, the shape-shifting trickster whom the Asgardian gods had kept because as long as he was in their midst, they did not have to stain their hands with dishonest or ignoble acts. They tolerated him for he could do the things they were not wont do. Loki, they thought, might be half-giant but whatever his lineage may be, son to Odin or not, he was needed and thus accepted into their ranks.
Balder was the most beautiful and the brightest of gods. Even the mortals that lived in Midgard (Earth) praised him and gave him honour. They said that he was a sun god, others say he was the god of beauty; but whatever the case maybe, should Odin fall, it was Balder who would reign over the Asgardian gods and not Thor who was more a warrior than a leader. No one would ever think of harming Balder except every night, Balder would wake up, haunted by gruesome nightmares.
This troubled Odin and his wife, Balder's mother Frigg, patroness of motherhood and marriage and fertility. So in order to protect Balder, the two gods met all the other gods in a council and it came to agreement that everyone should take an oath to never hurt the beloved god. All the gods agreed to this and then soon, all things -- plants, animals, objects, the elements were given voice and language for a day in order to join the oath. Snakes were made to swear that their fangs, scale and poison would not harm Balder. Fire was made to promise their heat would never scorch his skin. Steel, wood, stone made the same promise as did poisonous plants, water and the like. Any thing in the world that would cause lethal harm to Balder was made to take the oath and they all accepted and made the pledge.
Relieved, a new game was made in the halls of Asgard. During drink, and in the name of fun and amusement, Balder would stand up and all the gods would throw things at him -- arrows, spears, knives, axe, sword and they would all laugh at it as it would bounce off his body, Balder laughing, unharmed. Of everyone in the halls of Asgard, two people were not amused. One of them was Loki who despised Balder's virtues and envied his invulnerability.
One day, Frigg was approached by a young, kindly faced woman who introduced herself as a new mother. The young mother asked the goddess how she too could protect her child as Frigg had done Balder and Frigg's heart had melted in sympathy and told her of the great oath-taking. Frigg even admitted that there was one that had not committed the pledge. It was the mistletoe, a slender shoot growing out of an oak tree. It was so young and fragile that she did not think it would be able to bring Balder to harm. The young mother thanked Frigg profusely and left. Far away from Asgard, the young mother turned immediately into Loki in one motion.
On Midsummer's Eve, once again the hall of Asgard was over-flowing with drink and the gods were once again throwing dangerous weapons at Balder. The other diety who did not partake of this game was Balder's own brother Hoder, who was blind. Loki arrived late this night, for he was shafting a spear made from the mistletoe that had escaped the pledge for Balder's safety. Immediately he walked up to Hoder and asked him why he was so sad and not up to the merriment of Asgard. He mentioned each god and dwelt mostly on Nanna, Balder's wife and the reason of Hoder's blindness.
It was a sore point for Hoder. After all, both brothers had wanted her and fought for her and Balder won and in the process left Hoder blind. Loki played on this until he convinced Hoder that he should play along. He would guide Hoder's hand and he too should join in the merriment. Hoder acquiesced and with Loki's guiding hand and an expert ear, threw the spear and it struck Balder squarely on the chest.
There was stillness as all the gods watched as Balder keeled over and fell dead. Hoder was struck dumb with grief. He had killed his own brother and knew not how or why. Loki even feigned surprise even though his whole body shook with amusement and joy and happiness. But he was a trickster, the best of all in Asgard and Midgard and in the lands of the dwarves and the giants. He hid it well and no one knew it was all his doing that their most beloved god had fallen by his brother's unwitting hand, led by the lord of all mischief.
Family. It's a weird thing. You grow up knowing nothing else. Everything about you is shaped by them -- by what you are exposed to. Especially if you are the youngest, I remember always being brought along to this and being forced to listen to that and having to play their games. Because of that, I've always felt like a side-kick. I was Sancho Panza, Robin, Watson and every other foil to every hero's story.
I didn't mind, it has made me a very open-minded person. I've a very strong personality but that's really mine, but I'm also extremely willing and capable of taking a subordinate position to anybody else around me. I've had good practice. Like I told some people many times, "I'm never going to be nominated for a Best Actor award, but hell, I've been nominated for Best Supporting Actor plenty of times. I've even won a few!"
But I'm older now and it's time for me to get on with my life and sometimes, the closeness of some members of my family has caused much grief for me. One brother had already caused me much grief 3 or 4 years ago. I'm still reeling from the effects of his wake. He's far, far away now but I look around me and things aren't the same. I was never old enough to know what I could take advantage of from my family and now it's gone and I have to make my own way.
Thank God, people always tell me, I have what it takes to carve out my own future. I'm a survivor, they've said. If only I knew the comforts they have known. I wouldn't be so resentful of them.
And then now, another brother has come to take his place. And I'm very angry and I have no knowledge of how to convey this. Of all my brothers, he was the one who needed the hero position and place more than any of them. I was his side-kick and at one point, when all things were falling apart for him, I was the one he held on to the hardest. I know he loves me, but he's choking me and I want to be as far from him as I can be.
Family. It's a funny thing. There's so much love there but there's too much familiarity and when you grow older, as you start shaping who you are now, sometimes, they try to keep you to the way they know you. And they try to stifle that which you want to be in order for things to be the same.
I wonder how it is for the older ones, the ones who have to watch out for the younger ones? I wonder how they feel? Because right now, I'm resentful and angry and bitter and I just want to go away and not see him for a long while.
I have the ways, I have the means, I have the gumption. I can do it if I wanted to. I can be Loki because I'm sure I'm no Hoder. I'm not some victim, sitting down and moping and wondering what could have been and then slowly using my anger to accidentally cause the fatal blow. But I can be Loki, who can weave and go through the webs and fashion a scheme. I can get out if I want to.
To do so without hurting anybody is the question. Can I do it without ruffling feathers?
Or maybe the true question is, do I want to keep things okay?
Analysis destroys wholes. Some things, magic things, are meant to stay whole. If you look at their pieces, they go away.
The Aesir gods of the Scandinavians, the Norse gods of Asgard were fierce warriors. They lived for war. Every diety of the Norse gods were capable swordsmen, even the women. Those that died in battle were allowed to ascend with them in the great halls of Asgard. Those who didn't descended into Niflheim, the land of the dead.
Of all the Asgardian dieties, Balder (or Baldur) was the most beloved. The son of Odin, the head god of the Asgardians known for his thirst for knowledge and wisdom. He was brother to Thor and in some legends and stories, half-brother to the mischievous and malicious Loki, the shape-shifting trickster whom the Asgardian gods had kept because as long as he was in their midst, they did not have to stain their hands with dishonest or ignoble acts. They tolerated him for he could do the things they were not wont do. Loki, they thought, might be half-giant but whatever his lineage may be, son to Odin or not, he was needed and thus accepted into their ranks.
Balder was the most beautiful and the brightest of gods. Even the mortals that lived in Midgard (Earth) praised him and gave him honour. They said that he was a sun god, others say he was the god of beauty; but whatever the case maybe, should Odin fall, it was Balder who would reign over the Asgardian gods and not Thor who was more a warrior than a leader. No one would ever think of harming Balder except every night, Balder would wake up, haunted by gruesome nightmares.
This troubled Odin and his wife, Balder's mother Frigg, patroness of motherhood and marriage and fertility. So in order to protect Balder, the two gods met all the other gods in a council and it came to agreement that everyone should take an oath to never hurt the beloved god. All the gods agreed to this and then soon, all things -- plants, animals, objects, the elements were given voice and language for a day in order to join the oath. Snakes were made to swear that their fangs, scale and poison would not harm Balder. Fire was made to promise their heat would never scorch his skin. Steel, wood, stone made the same promise as did poisonous plants, water and the like. Any thing in the world that would cause lethal harm to Balder was made to take the oath and they all accepted and made the pledge.
Relieved, a new game was made in the halls of Asgard. During drink, and in the name of fun and amusement, Balder would stand up and all the gods would throw things at him -- arrows, spears, knives, axe, sword and they would all laugh at it as it would bounce off his body, Balder laughing, unharmed. Of everyone in the halls of Asgard, two people were not amused. One of them was Loki who despised Balder's virtues and envied his invulnerability.
One day, Frigg was approached by a young, kindly faced woman who introduced herself as a new mother. The young mother asked the goddess how she too could protect her child as Frigg had done Balder and Frigg's heart had melted in sympathy and told her of the great oath-taking. Frigg even admitted that there was one that had not committed the pledge. It was the mistletoe, a slender shoot growing out of an oak tree. It was so young and fragile that she did not think it would be able to bring Balder to harm. The young mother thanked Frigg profusely and left. Far away from Asgard, the young mother turned immediately into Loki in one motion.
On Midsummer's Eve, once again the hall of Asgard was over-flowing with drink and the gods were once again throwing dangerous weapons at Balder. The other diety who did not partake of this game was Balder's own brother Hoder, who was blind. Loki arrived late this night, for he was shafting a spear made from the mistletoe that had escaped the pledge for Balder's safety. Immediately he walked up to Hoder and asked him why he was so sad and not up to the merriment of Asgard. He mentioned each god and dwelt mostly on Nanna, Balder's wife and the reason of Hoder's blindness.
It was a sore point for Hoder. After all, both brothers had wanted her and fought for her and Balder won and in the process left Hoder blind. Loki played on this until he convinced Hoder that he should play along. He would guide Hoder's hand and he too should join in the merriment. Hoder acquiesced and with Loki's guiding hand and an expert ear, threw the spear and it struck Balder squarely on the chest.
There was stillness as all the gods watched as Balder keeled over and fell dead. Hoder was struck dumb with grief. He had killed his own brother and knew not how or why. Loki even feigned surprise even though his whole body shook with amusement and joy and happiness. But he was a trickster, the best of all in Asgard and Midgard and in the lands of the dwarves and the giants. He hid it well and no one knew it was all his doing that their most beloved god had fallen by his brother's unwitting hand, led by the lord of all mischief.
Family. It's a weird thing. You grow up knowing nothing else. Everything about you is shaped by them -- by what you are exposed to. Especially if you are the youngest, I remember always being brought along to this and being forced to listen to that and having to play their games. Because of that, I've always felt like a side-kick. I was Sancho Panza, Robin, Watson and every other foil to every hero's story.
I didn't mind, it has made me a very open-minded person. I've a very strong personality but that's really mine, but I'm also extremely willing and capable of taking a subordinate position to anybody else around me. I've had good practice. Like I told some people many times, "I'm never going to be nominated for a Best Actor award, but hell, I've been nominated for Best Supporting Actor plenty of times. I've even won a few!"
But I'm older now and it's time for me to get on with my life and sometimes, the closeness of some members of my family has caused much grief for me. One brother had already caused me much grief 3 or 4 years ago. I'm still reeling from the effects of his wake. He's far, far away now but I look around me and things aren't the same. I was never old enough to know what I could take advantage of from my family and now it's gone and I have to make my own way.
Thank God, people always tell me, I have what it takes to carve out my own future. I'm a survivor, they've said. If only I knew the comforts they have known. I wouldn't be so resentful of them.
And then now, another brother has come to take his place. And I'm very angry and I have no knowledge of how to convey this. Of all my brothers, he was the one who needed the hero position and place more than any of them. I was his side-kick and at one point, when all things were falling apart for him, I was the one he held on to the hardest. I know he loves me, but he's choking me and I want to be as far from him as I can be.
Family. It's a funny thing. There's so much love there but there's too much familiarity and when you grow older, as you start shaping who you are now, sometimes, they try to keep you to the way they know you. And they try to stifle that which you want to be in order for things to be the same.
I wonder how it is for the older ones, the ones who have to watch out for the younger ones? I wonder how they feel? Because right now, I'm resentful and angry and bitter and I just want to go away and not see him for a long while.
I have the ways, I have the means, I have the gumption. I can do it if I wanted to. I can be Loki because I'm sure I'm no Hoder. I'm not some victim, sitting down and moping and wondering what could have been and then slowly using my anger to accidentally cause the fatal blow. But I can be Loki, who can weave and go through the webs and fashion a scheme. I can get out if I want to.
To do so without hurting anybody is the question. Can I do it without ruffling feathers?
Or maybe the true question is, do I want to keep things okay?
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The Seven Gods of Fortune
Moby
I had an epiphany a few years ago at a celebrity party and it suddenly dawned on me that I had yet to meet a celebrity as smart and as interesting as my friends.
In Japan, there is a ship called Takarabune where the Seven Gods of Fortune are depicted. Here, Ebisu, god of luck, Daikoku, god of wealth, Bishamonten, god of warriors, Benzaiten, goddess of knowledge, art and beauty, Fukurokuju, god of happiness and wealth, Hotei, the portly god of abundance and good health and Juroujin, the god of longevity talk and drink tea. They write poems, sometimes engaged in lengthy renga passing the time until the New Year.
It is said that on New Year's day, the Takarabune arrives at the dock and the Seven Lucky Gods will disembark from their ship and walk amongst men, giving those who are worthy the gifts with which they are allowed to bestow.
At the end of the New Year, the Seven Gods of Fortune return to their ship to pass the time away again until the following New Year.
Somewhere along the way, I've lost someone who is very, very special to me. When one says "best friend" then there is no question who it refers to in my life. I lost my best friend and then, on the day of a marriage of a common friend, we met up again. 2 years had passed and gone and we haven't heard from each other since then. It has been months since that time and we have caught up with lost time. The bond that we share is stronger than ever now with a renewed promise that this time, nothing will get in the way of our friendship. And this is something I will keep.
It's strange how every 2 years or so I connect very strongly to a new group of people who are moving in the same direction that I am now moving into. It's the strangeness of the way I live my life. Giving so much into something and then, after 2 years, I find myself exhausting all I can into it and then I want to make a radical change. 2 years will pass and I find myself joining a new group of people.
I don't want to live that way anymore. I'm very, very happy with the friends I've got now. The best friend I have lost and found again and the new group of friends whose common love for the art of poi dancing has put us together but we are all different enough to keep things interesting. And of course, there are the individuals who I keep in touch with, the ones I wish to keep.
The storm Milenyo hit and it hit us rather hard. Electricity was down and there was no access to the internet. The world seemed bleak to me; a sudden darkness just hung over the sky and everything was dreary. I got an invite by my best friend to go to his place and just hang out. We were joined by 2 other friends. We passed the time of dreariness together. So off I went to his place and spent the next 5 days there, just killing time. We watched DVDs and listened to music. We had food delivered and just sat around and waited while the city fixed itself. We talked and talked and hung out and just enjoyed each other's company. There was nothing else in our minds but the moment and the sharing and the comfort and security that each one's presence gave to each other.
There was nothing to do on Monday and we brought it to its close on Tuesday morning when the city was fixed and there was a life to return to. One by one, as each one's schedule began to unfold, we left the comforts of that room. I was the first to go with the earliest start of the day.
I know I will find myself back in that room again, surrounded once again by their company. On another day, I will have a lively one-on-one talk with another of my friends. A different time will call upon a big party of my friends, the poi dancers. And other times, I will be with my family. But I want to be forever on these boats and no more. I don't want this to change. This is my last circle of friends.
I like it here.
I had an epiphany a few years ago at a celebrity party and it suddenly dawned on me that I had yet to meet a celebrity as smart and as interesting as my friends.
In Japan, there is a ship called Takarabune where the Seven Gods of Fortune are depicted. Here, Ebisu, god of luck, Daikoku, god of wealth, Bishamonten, god of warriors, Benzaiten, goddess of knowledge, art and beauty, Fukurokuju, god of happiness and wealth, Hotei, the portly god of abundance and good health and Juroujin, the god of longevity talk and drink tea. They write poems, sometimes engaged in lengthy renga passing the time until the New Year.
It is said that on New Year's day, the Takarabune arrives at the dock and the Seven Lucky Gods will disembark from their ship and walk amongst men, giving those who are worthy the gifts with which they are allowed to bestow.
At the end of the New Year, the Seven Gods of Fortune return to their ship to pass the time away again until the following New Year.
Somewhere along the way, I've lost someone who is very, very special to me. When one says "best friend" then there is no question who it refers to in my life. I lost my best friend and then, on the day of a marriage of a common friend, we met up again. 2 years had passed and gone and we haven't heard from each other since then. It has been months since that time and we have caught up with lost time. The bond that we share is stronger than ever now with a renewed promise that this time, nothing will get in the way of our friendship. And this is something I will keep.
It's strange how every 2 years or so I connect very strongly to a new group of people who are moving in the same direction that I am now moving into. It's the strangeness of the way I live my life. Giving so much into something and then, after 2 years, I find myself exhausting all I can into it and then I want to make a radical change. 2 years will pass and I find myself joining a new group of people.
I don't want to live that way anymore. I'm very, very happy with the friends I've got now. The best friend I have lost and found again and the new group of friends whose common love for the art of poi dancing has put us together but we are all different enough to keep things interesting. And of course, there are the individuals who I keep in touch with, the ones I wish to keep.
The storm Milenyo hit and it hit us rather hard. Electricity was down and there was no access to the internet. The world seemed bleak to me; a sudden darkness just hung over the sky and everything was dreary. I got an invite by my best friend to go to his place and just hang out. We were joined by 2 other friends. We passed the time of dreariness together. So off I went to his place and spent the next 5 days there, just killing time. We watched DVDs and listened to music. We had food delivered and just sat around and waited while the city fixed itself. We talked and talked and hung out and just enjoyed each other's company. There was nothing else in our minds but the moment and the sharing and the comfort and security that each one's presence gave to each other.
There was nothing to do on Monday and we brought it to its close on Tuesday morning when the city was fixed and there was a life to return to. One by one, as each one's schedule began to unfold, we left the comforts of that room. I was the first to go with the earliest start of the day.
I know I will find myself back in that room again, surrounded once again by their company. On another day, I will have a lively one-on-one talk with another of my friends. A different time will call upon a big party of my friends, the poi dancers. And other times, I will be with my family. But I want to be forever on these boats and no more. I don't want this to change. This is my last circle of friends.
I like it here.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Why the Laurel Tree is Sacred
as texted to me by my Dad
The most difficult lesson to learn is which bridge to use and which bridge to break.
The dryad daughter of Peneus, Daphne, was just minding her own business. She was probably just cavorting in the fields with her friends. They were probably doing things that dryads normally would do. It was a lovely day in Greece.
And then, the sun grew hotter and began to shine much brighter. And then Apollo was there and he wanted to speak to Daphne. The other dryads rushed away in fear. They all are aware of Apollo Helios' temperament. At one moment he could be kind and charming and amiable and other times he can be harsh and cruel and brash.
Alone, Apollo professed his love for Daphne, as the gods of Greece are wont to do. Daphne looked at the god straight in the eyes and suddenly she felt a seething pain. No. She does not love him back. She refuses the god's profession of love. Apollo is angered. He will take what is not freely given. Daphne runs and the sun god follows after her. The chase would be swift. No dryad or any nymph for that matter has escaped the advances of the gods.
As she neared the river, she called upon her father, the river god Peneus and asked for protection. Tearfully, Peneus was forced to protect his daughter the only way that had struck him at that moment. He turned her into a tree. Daphne, meaning 'Laurel' had become a Laurel tree, as was named by Apollo and has been made sacred by his official decree.
What actually transpired was that Apollo had been played a fool. Eros was angered by the sun god who had made light of his archery skills. The god of the sun, who was also the god of singing, prophecy, archery and the sun had offended the son of Aphrodite. And so he shot him with an arrow of love at the nymph, Daphne. In turn, he had shot Daphne with an arrow of hate. Other scholars claimed that Eros was also irritated by Apollo's constant singing in the halls of Olympus. Daphne was just a victim of the god's cruelty. But then again, so was Apollo.
I've made a pretty good number of bad choices this year. It's been building up, really, and I've been seriously thinking of whether I really want to be in the industry I want to be in. I've been to other countries and read about other countries and see it on television and movies. It seems that it is not that hard out there as it is here. I have this strange feeling, sometimes, that with the way I think and the way I look at life and how I choose to present it, I'd be more accepted somewhere else. People have said it to me constantly. Wanggo, you'd so make it big abroad! I'm wondering whether if this industry, here in my own country, really wants me. I can't bring myself to make a movie based on a popular love song title. I could and try to make it something good or something I'd watch but, at the same time, I keep asking myself, how much compromises is acceptable, at the end of the day? I don't want to see myself as one of those people who don't compromise -- those artists who forces people to take it or leave it. For them, there is no in-between. I believe you can still keep your artistic integrity but still bend a bit to make it commercial or if not commercial, to be flexible to allow the producers to have their say as well. It is their money after all. It's not your product, entirely.
I've been hitting walls for the past 2 years, 3 years and I'm wondering whether how badly do I want to be here? I feel that people are telling me that I shouldn't aim so high; that what I have to offer won't sell, at all, in this country. It's sad. It really is. I want to make movies like Million Dollar Baby and Crash and Magnolia. But at the same time, I also want to make movies about Filipinos in the Philippines. I get so conflicted at times. I get so confused.
I'm at a stage where it's all or nothing now, you know? I'm getting too old to have an easy time going to other countries and starting from scratch. If I want to make it abroad I have to go now or soon. But I might have to give up the stories I want to tell about my country and that's important to me. But what if I stay and things don't get better here? What if they will never let me make a movie that I want to make?
I feel like Apollo, hit by an arrow of love and that thing which I love was shot with an arrow of hate. I chase it and it becomes something else, something I can't have. Will I just end up kneeling before it in tears, declaring some sacred and holy thing and walk away from it forever? Sometimes I find myself wondering why I was made with these thoughts in my head and a desire to express them but be placed in a country that doesn't want it?
I don't believe in fate or destiny. I also believe that the trials and hardships are given to us because we can overcome them. It won't be easy, it never is but we have to perservere. The question I'm trying to find an answer to is, here or there or somewhere else?
Is this a test of some sort? Well, it is, really. A test of how much I love my country and how much I want this. It's a test of how well I can think of a middle ground, a solution that solves both problems. It's a test of my willingness and what I'm willing to give up for that which I love.
At least, in that way, there is something to learn here. Apollo didn't even have that at the end of that day. He was just a victim, as was Daphne and Peneus. It was Eros who had come out with something from that occurrence. He had discovered he was an asshole. That his spite and his anger would cost a life.
The most difficult lesson to learn is which bridge to use and which bridge to break.
The dryad daughter of Peneus, Daphne, was just minding her own business. She was probably just cavorting in the fields with her friends. They were probably doing things that dryads normally would do. It was a lovely day in Greece.
And then, the sun grew hotter and began to shine much brighter. And then Apollo was there and he wanted to speak to Daphne. The other dryads rushed away in fear. They all are aware of Apollo Helios' temperament. At one moment he could be kind and charming and amiable and other times he can be harsh and cruel and brash.
Alone, Apollo professed his love for Daphne, as the gods of Greece are wont to do. Daphne looked at the god straight in the eyes and suddenly she felt a seething pain. No. She does not love him back. She refuses the god's profession of love. Apollo is angered. He will take what is not freely given. Daphne runs and the sun god follows after her. The chase would be swift. No dryad or any nymph for that matter has escaped the advances of the gods.
As she neared the river, she called upon her father, the river god Peneus and asked for protection. Tearfully, Peneus was forced to protect his daughter the only way that had struck him at that moment. He turned her into a tree. Daphne, meaning 'Laurel' had become a Laurel tree, as was named by Apollo and has been made sacred by his official decree.
What actually transpired was that Apollo had been played a fool. Eros was angered by the sun god who had made light of his archery skills. The god of the sun, who was also the god of singing, prophecy, archery and the sun had offended the son of Aphrodite. And so he shot him with an arrow of love at the nymph, Daphne. In turn, he had shot Daphne with an arrow of hate. Other scholars claimed that Eros was also irritated by Apollo's constant singing in the halls of Olympus. Daphne was just a victim of the god's cruelty. But then again, so was Apollo.
I've made a pretty good number of bad choices this year. It's been building up, really, and I've been seriously thinking of whether I really want to be in the industry I want to be in. I've been to other countries and read about other countries and see it on television and movies. It seems that it is not that hard out there as it is here. I have this strange feeling, sometimes, that with the way I think and the way I look at life and how I choose to present it, I'd be more accepted somewhere else. People have said it to me constantly. Wanggo, you'd so make it big abroad! I'm wondering whether if this industry, here in my own country, really wants me. I can't bring myself to make a movie based on a popular love song title. I could and try to make it something good or something I'd watch but, at the same time, I keep asking myself, how much compromises is acceptable, at the end of the day? I don't want to see myself as one of those people who don't compromise -- those artists who forces people to take it or leave it. For them, there is no in-between. I believe you can still keep your artistic integrity but still bend a bit to make it commercial or if not commercial, to be flexible to allow the producers to have their say as well. It is their money after all. It's not your product, entirely.
I've been hitting walls for the past 2 years, 3 years and I'm wondering whether how badly do I want to be here? I feel that people are telling me that I shouldn't aim so high; that what I have to offer won't sell, at all, in this country. It's sad. It really is. I want to make movies like Million Dollar Baby and Crash and Magnolia. But at the same time, I also want to make movies about Filipinos in the Philippines. I get so conflicted at times. I get so confused.
I'm at a stage where it's all or nothing now, you know? I'm getting too old to have an easy time going to other countries and starting from scratch. If I want to make it abroad I have to go now or soon. But I might have to give up the stories I want to tell about my country and that's important to me. But what if I stay and things don't get better here? What if they will never let me make a movie that I want to make?
I feel like Apollo, hit by an arrow of love and that thing which I love was shot with an arrow of hate. I chase it and it becomes something else, something I can't have. Will I just end up kneeling before it in tears, declaring some sacred and holy thing and walk away from it forever? Sometimes I find myself wondering why I was made with these thoughts in my head and a desire to express them but be placed in a country that doesn't want it?
I don't believe in fate or destiny. I also believe that the trials and hardships are given to us because we can overcome them. It won't be easy, it never is but we have to perservere. The question I'm trying to find an answer to is, here or there or somewhere else?
Is this a test of some sort? Well, it is, really. A test of how much I love my country and how much I want this. It's a test of how well I can think of a middle ground, a solution that solves both problems. It's a test of my willingness and what I'm willing to give up for that which I love.
At least, in that way, there is something to learn here. Apollo didn't even have that at the end of that day. He was just a victim, as was Daphne and Peneus. It was Eros who had come out with something from that occurrence. He had discovered he was an asshole. That his spite and his anger would cost a life.
Friday, September 15, 2006
For the Price of an Eye
Voltaire
Doubt is not a pleasant mental state but certainty is a ridiculous one.
Odin, the All-Father of the Norse gods had a thirst for knowledge like no other. The lengths to which he would go for information, for wisdom was insatiable. Some say that he knew an unbelievable amount except he still searched, explored and uncovered. For, in truth, the stories and the story-tellers say, that what he was really looking for, more than anything else, was for the signs of the coming of Ragnarok, the Scandinavian end of days. Odin the All-Father wanted to be ready, prepared for the final battle that was to commence. He knew it would come. He knew that there, he and his kind would die. But he didn't know when.
He had walked all over Midgard, what they would call Earth and travel through the mountains of the dwarves and giants and read every script he would find. He walked all the way to Ygdrassil, the World Tree and ate from its bark. He hung himself on a tree and remained dead for a fortnight in order to know what the dead know. He took the severed head of Mimir, an advisor of his and dipped this in the well of knowledge and Mimir's head came to life. He would whisper secrets to the All-Father yet still, Odin did not know when Ragnarok would come. He would keep Mimir's severed head in a leather bag and bring it with him always, to consult, to wait for the whispers, that maybe, at one point, it would be said. The secret revealed. Yet it did not come. Odin ripped out his right eye and threw this into the heavens as payment for knowledge and knowledge he did receive but still he did not know when Ragnarok would come. Later, he would travel to the lands of the dead and speak to the Cybil. It was then she gave her frightening retelling of what has yet to come and when. And when the oracle did, Odin had discovered it was too late. He had already set in motion events that would bring the coming of Ragnarok.
The end of days for the gods of Asgard were near.
I marvel at athletes. At such a young age, some of them knew that this was what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives: playing the game, challenging themselves, working hard day in and day out to be the best. The sport, that is their whole life, there is nothing else. They wake up early and train. They eat lunch and then go back to training. Sometimes they watch other sportmen and learn from them. They go out and have fun with their friends, maybe, sometimes, not very often. But at the end of the day, the last thought before they go to sleep is the game, the sport, the challenge. Their whole life is spent being the best they can be at that specific thing. There is nothing else.
I marvel at people who can do the corporate life. Not marvel, maybe, but there is a great deal of respect and admiration that I have for people who can do that, day-in and day-out. Wake up at a particular time and go to work and be there early. Wear a sort of uniform: leather shoes, collared-shirt, slacks. Work the whole day inside an office, talk shop with your colleagues during your cigarette break. Leave at a particular time and get home and then the rest of your life transpires. It begins at the setting of the sun. The challenge is there, from 9 to 5. You have that challenge to be the best you can be within those 8 hours. And then it is done.
I can't do that. I don't have discipline. I don't have that sort of patience. I get itchy feet. I get claustraphobic and I feel cramped and I feel like I can't breathe. I have to keep moving around. I have to know that I can leave whenever I want. I can't ever feel bonded to one thing. I have to keep traveling.
And to do the same thing over and over for years on end. I can't do that. I feel great respect and admiration for people who retire and they receive their gold, extremely expensive watch from the company for having given 25 years, 30 years, 40 years to the company. I can't do that. I cannot do that. I have to keep jumping, finding something new. It's always got to be a new experience. If anything starts to feel routine, I get bored, I get stifled. I feel like I need to escape.
Of course, that means there is nothing stable in my life. Nothing. There are moments when there are a lot of projects and I'm busy with work and I have money to burn and I have lots of new experiences. And then there are moments when there is no work and I'm scrambling for money and I get depressed because I'm not working and yet, I rest, I relax and I try to enjoy the time given to me. I get to have new experiences on my terms and not because it was determined by my job.
There's this need to continue to gather as much experiences as I can, to learn and to grow; to have this complete full life and to be able to say that I did as much as I could during my time in life. I'm trying to cram in as many fulfilled lifetimes in the only one I've been given.
But sometimes, I wonder if it is all worth it, like now, with projects not coming through, things feel like they are crumbling around me. I wonder if I only kept at it, at a regular job, I wouldn't be having the problems I have now. I'd have this sense of stability. I'd be okay. I'd get by. But I don't think I could be happy. But I'm not all that happy now. My life is my own, but I also owe things now. It's not easy.
I feel like I'm standing on a cliff, right at this moment, looking at my hand. Do I have what it takes to fully commit to who I am? Do I have what it takes to make this bohemian lifestyle work for me? Do I have what it takes to reach in and pluck out one eye and throw it away to be able to see the whole world?
Doubt is not a pleasant mental state but certainty is a ridiculous one.
Odin, the All-Father of the Norse gods had a thirst for knowledge like no other. The lengths to which he would go for information, for wisdom was insatiable. Some say that he knew an unbelievable amount except he still searched, explored and uncovered. For, in truth, the stories and the story-tellers say, that what he was really looking for, more than anything else, was for the signs of the coming of Ragnarok, the Scandinavian end of days. Odin the All-Father wanted to be ready, prepared for the final battle that was to commence. He knew it would come. He knew that there, he and his kind would die. But he didn't know when.
He had walked all over Midgard, what they would call Earth and travel through the mountains of the dwarves and giants and read every script he would find. He walked all the way to Ygdrassil, the World Tree and ate from its bark. He hung himself on a tree and remained dead for a fortnight in order to know what the dead know. He took the severed head of Mimir, an advisor of his and dipped this in the well of knowledge and Mimir's head came to life. He would whisper secrets to the All-Father yet still, Odin did not know when Ragnarok would come. He would keep Mimir's severed head in a leather bag and bring it with him always, to consult, to wait for the whispers, that maybe, at one point, it would be said. The secret revealed. Yet it did not come. Odin ripped out his right eye and threw this into the heavens as payment for knowledge and knowledge he did receive but still he did not know when Ragnarok would come. Later, he would travel to the lands of the dead and speak to the Cybil. It was then she gave her frightening retelling of what has yet to come and when. And when the oracle did, Odin had discovered it was too late. He had already set in motion events that would bring the coming of Ragnarok.
The end of days for the gods of Asgard were near.
I marvel at athletes. At such a young age, some of them knew that this was what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives: playing the game, challenging themselves, working hard day in and day out to be the best. The sport, that is their whole life, there is nothing else. They wake up early and train. They eat lunch and then go back to training. Sometimes they watch other sportmen and learn from them. They go out and have fun with their friends, maybe, sometimes, not very often. But at the end of the day, the last thought before they go to sleep is the game, the sport, the challenge. Their whole life is spent being the best they can be at that specific thing. There is nothing else.
I marvel at people who can do the corporate life. Not marvel, maybe, but there is a great deal of respect and admiration that I have for people who can do that, day-in and day-out. Wake up at a particular time and go to work and be there early. Wear a sort of uniform: leather shoes, collared-shirt, slacks. Work the whole day inside an office, talk shop with your colleagues during your cigarette break. Leave at a particular time and get home and then the rest of your life transpires. It begins at the setting of the sun. The challenge is there, from 9 to 5. You have that challenge to be the best you can be within those 8 hours. And then it is done.
I can't do that. I don't have discipline. I don't have that sort of patience. I get itchy feet. I get claustraphobic and I feel cramped and I feel like I can't breathe. I have to keep moving around. I have to know that I can leave whenever I want. I can't ever feel bonded to one thing. I have to keep traveling.
And to do the same thing over and over for years on end. I can't do that. I feel great respect and admiration for people who retire and they receive their gold, extremely expensive watch from the company for having given 25 years, 30 years, 40 years to the company. I can't do that. I cannot do that. I have to keep jumping, finding something new. It's always got to be a new experience. If anything starts to feel routine, I get bored, I get stifled. I feel like I need to escape.
Of course, that means there is nothing stable in my life. Nothing. There are moments when there are a lot of projects and I'm busy with work and I have money to burn and I have lots of new experiences. And then there are moments when there is no work and I'm scrambling for money and I get depressed because I'm not working and yet, I rest, I relax and I try to enjoy the time given to me. I get to have new experiences on my terms and not because it was determined by my job.
There's this need to continue to gather as much experiences as I can, to learn and to grow; to have this complete full life and to be able to say that I did as much as I could during my time in life. I'm trying to cram in as many fulfilled lifetimes in the only one I've been given.
But sometimes, I wonder if it is all worth it, like now, with projects not coming through, things feel like they are crumbling around me. I wonder if I only kept at it, at a regular job, I wouldn't be having the problems I have now. I'd have this sense of stability. I'd be okay. I'd get by. But I don't think I could be happy. But I'm not all that happy now. My life is my own, but I also owe things now. It's not easy.
I feel like I'm standing on a cliff, right at this moment, looking at my hand. Do I have what it takes to fully commit to who I am? Do I have what it takes to make this bohemian lifestyle work for me? Do I have what it takes to reach in and pluck out one eye and throw it away to be able to see the whole world?
Monday, September 11, 2006
The Ambition of Isis
Albert Einstein
The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.
Isis, the Nile goddess of fertility and magic and secrets, had an ambition. Ra, her father, was the sun god and ruled over the lands of Egypt. It is his radiance that makes the land of the Nile an unforgiving place that only the industrious and the persistent thrive. But it was time for a new ruler and Isis had a plan. As Ra grew older, Isis, guised as a loving daughter, wiped away his sweat and the spittle that dripped from his mouth. She tended his every need. Unknowingly, in her solitude, Isis would squeeze the cloth in which she had gathered every spittle, every drop of sweat and formulated a potion. With her own magick, she turned the potion into a snake with venom made potent from greatest diety of the Nile. Apep, king of the serpents was born. Apep slithered beside Ra while he was alone and bit him and the poison rushed through the diety's bloodstream and he was paralyzed. Doomed to die, he whimpered out for his other children to come to his side and only Isis came. In return for the antidote, she claimed, he must give her his secret name.
There was hush in the Nile. For one moment, the great river stood still. As the whispered secret name passed from Ra's lips to Isis' ears, the balance of power has shifted. She administered the antidote and Ra, no longer the most powerful diety of the Nile, took his barge Matet and flew into the heavens to simply handle his responsibility, the sun. Isis then gave the seat of power to her husband, Osiris, lord of agriculture and all growing things in the Nile. And together, became the new rulers of Egypt.
We step through our lives everyday and without knowing, we are gathering experiences and moments with which we become wiser. When we dispense advice, where does it come from? It comes from our own personal experiences or the personal experience of others. Someone has been through it and learned the hard way. From that, we are given the chance to not make the same mistake.
Wisdom, I guess, is the application of things we learned from mistakes that we have made or mistakes of others which we have imbibed into ourselves. One can be wise without being smart and the opposite is just as true.
But as a writer, as a gatherer of stories, wisdom is also the ending of every story. What do we take with us from that experience? Tell it in a more interesting way, and you've got yourself a story that people will look for and would want to hear again. The trick is in the telling. Tell it well and they'll want to hear it again. Tell it well and they will learn. Tell it well and they wouldn't have to go through what you did to know that what you say is true.
Everything that happens in my life is used for a story that is just waiting to be written. Why keep all that wisdom for myself? And there's only so much human experience I can take. That's why we are all here. So that we can share it. I've never been to the Antartic but maybe someone who has has not been to Palawan. Come sit by me. Let's talk awhile.
What I'm trying to decide is whether what Isis did was mean or cruel? In the realm of man, it probably is, but in the realm of gods and goddesses, when it is time to move on, it is time to move on. And Isis was the goddess of secrets, she probably knew it was time for a change and maybe Ra didn't know it. Maybe he wouldn't have ever let it go. Maybe that is her justification for it.
When I use something that happened to me as a story, I feel a little like rapist at times. I violate the others who are part of that story as well. But that's where fiction comes in, a chance to play around with what really happened, to hide and disguise the others that were there. To hide and disguise my true role in the story. It allows us our dignity. That's all I can offer in recompense.
For the ambition of Isis, already, I offer my apologies.
The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources.
Isis, the Nile goddess of fertility and magic and secrets, had an ambition. Ra, her father, was the sun god and ruled over the lands of Egypt. It is his radiance that makes the land of the Nile an unforgiving place that only the industrious and the persistent thrive. But it was time for a new ruler and Isis had a plan. As Ra grew older, Isis, guised as a loving daughter, wiped away his sweat and the spittle that dripped from his mouth. She tended his every need. Unknowingly, in her solitude, Isis would squeeze the cloth in which she had gathered every spittle, every drop of sweat and formulated a potion. With her own magick, she turned the potion into a snake with venom made potent from greatest diety of the Nile. Apep, king of the serpents was born. Apep slithered beside Ra while he was alone and bit him and the poison rushed through the diety's bloodstream and he was paralyzed. Doomed to die, he whimpered out for his other children to come to his side and only Isis came. In return for the antidote, she claimed, he must give her his secret name.
There was hush in the Nile. For one moment, the great river stood still. As the whispered secret name passed from Ra's lips to Isis' ears, the balance of power has shifted. She administered the antidote and Ra, no longer the most powerful diety of the Nile, took his barge Matet and flew into the heavens to simply handle his responsibility, the sun. Isis then gave the seat of power to her husband, Osiris, lord of agriculture and all growing things in the Nile. And together, became the new rulers of Egypt.
We step through our lives everyday and without knowing, we are gathering experiences and moments with which we become wiser. When we dispense advice, where does it come from? It comes from our own personal experiences or the personal experience of others. Someone has been through it and learned the hard way. From that, we are given the chance to not make the same mistake.
Wisdom, I guess, is the application of things we learned from mistakes that we have made or mistakes of others which we have imbibed into ourselves. One can be wise without being smart and the opposite is just as true.
But as a writer, as a gatherer of stories, wisdom is also the ending of every story. What do we take with us from that experience? Tell it in a more interesting way, and you've got yourself a story that people will look for and would want to hear again. The trick is in the telling. Tell it well and they'll want to hear it again. Tell it well and they will learn. Tell it well and they wouldn't have to go through what you did to know that what you say is true.
Everything that happens in my life is used for a story that is just waiting to be written. Why keep all that wisdom for myself? And there's only so much human experience I can take. That's why we are all here. So that we can share it. I've never been to the Antartic but maybe someone who has has not been to Palawan. Come sit by me. Let's talk awhile.
What I'm trying to decide is whether what Isis did was mean or cruel? In the realm of man, it probably is, but in the realm of gods and goddesses, when it is time to move on, it is time to move on. And Isis was the goddess of secrets, she probably knew it was time for a change and maybe Ra didn't know it. Maybe he wouldn't have ever let it go. Maybe that is her justification for it.
When I use something that happened to me as a story, I feel a little like rapist at times. I violate the others who are part of that story as well. But that's where fiction comes in, a chance to play around with what really happened, to hide and disguise the others that were there. To hide and disguise my true role in the story. It allows us our dignity. That's all I can offer in recompense.
For the ambition of Isis, already, I offer my apologies.
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