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In Thrall (Margaret Atwood, 'The Blind Assassin')

2009-07-08T03:47:54Z

She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.

In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. How they’d loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?

Sometimes she wants to put a match to him, have done with him; finish with that endless, useless longing. At the very least, daily time and the entropy of her own body should take care of it—wear her threadbare, wear her out, erase that place in her brain. But no exorcism has been enough, nor has she tried very hard at it. Exorcism is not what she wants. She wants that terrified bliss, like falling out of an airplane by mistake. She wants his famished look.

The last time she’d seen him, when they’d gone back to his room—it was like drowning: everything darkened and roared, but at the same time it was very silvery, and slow, and clear.

This is what it means, to be in thrall.

[Margaret Atwood, ‘The Blind Assassin’]

Weak Knees (Margaret Atwood, 'The Blind Assassin')

2009-05-30T02:41:21Z

[I’m enraged] at this bad turn my body has done me. After having imposed itself on us like the egomaniac it is, clamouring about its own needs, foisting upon us its own sordid and perilous desires, the body’s final trick is simply to absent itself. Just when you need it, just when you could use an arm or a leg, suddenly the body has other things to do. It falters, it buckles under you; it melts away as if made of snow, leaving nothing much. Two lumps of coal, an old hat, a grin made of pebbles. The bones dry sticks, easily broken.

It’s an affront, all of that. Weak knees, arthritic knuckles, varicose veins, infirmities, indignities – they aren’t ours, we never wanted or claimed them. Inside our heads we carry ourselves perfected – ourselves at the best age, and in the best light as well: never caught awkwardly, one leg out of a car, one still in, or picking our teeth, or slouching, or scratching our noses or bums. If naked, seen gracefully reclining through a gauzy mist, which is where movie stars come in: they assume such poses for us. They are our younger selves as they recede from us, glow, turn mythical.

As a child, Laura would say: In Heaven, what age will I be?

[Margaret Atwood, ‘The Blind Assassin’]

Break Your Ties (Yoshida Kenkō, 'Essays in Idleness')

2009-05-10T04:19:00Z

I wonder what inspires a man to complain of “having nothing to do.” I am happiest when I have nothing to distract me and I am completely alone.

If a man conforms to society, his mind will be captured by the filth of the outside world, and he is easily led astray; if he mingles in society, he must be careful that his words do not offend others, and what he says will not at all be what he feels in his heart. He will joke with others only to quarrel with them, now resentful, now happy, his feelings in constant turmoil. Calculations of advantage will wantonly intrude, and not a moment will be free from considerations of profit and loss. Intoxication is added to delusion, and in a state of inebriation the man dreams. People are all alike: they spend their days running about frantically, oblivious to their insanity.

Even if a man has not yet discovered the path of enlightenment, as long as he removes himself from his worldly ties, leads a quiet life, and maintains his peace of mind by avoiding entanglements, he may be said to be happy, at least for the time being.

It is written in Maka Shikan, “Break your ties with your worldly activities, with personal affairs, with your arts, and with learning.”

[Yoshida Kenkō, ‘Essays in Idleness’]

Deluded (Yoshida Kenkō, 'Essays in Idleness')

2009-04-13T06:31:17Z

They flock together like ants, hurry east and west, run north and south. Some are mighty, some humble. Some aged, some young. They have places to go, houses to return to. At night they sleep, in the morning get up. But what does all this activity mean? There is no ending to their greed for long life, their grasping for profit. What expectations have they that they take such good care of themselves? All that awaits them is old age and death, whose coming is swift and does not falter for one instant. What joy can there be while waiting for this end? The man who is deluded by fame and profit does not fear the approach of old age and death because he is so intoxicated by worldly cravings that he never stops to consider how near he is to his destination. The foolish man for his part, grieves because he desires everlasting life and is ignorant of the law of universal change.

[Yoshida Kenkō, ‘Essays in Idleness’]

Part of the Tale (John Crowley, 'Little, Big')

2009-03-21T06:44:41Z

But when she sat on the edge of her bed, still faintly hearing the high accents of the music below, which seemed to be endlessly repeating tin-cup, top-hat, she saw that she knew what advice she would get if she went to get it: it would only be made clear to her again what she already knew, what only grew dim or clouded now and again by daily life, by useless hopes and by despairs equally useless—that if this were indeed a Tale, and she in it, then no gesture she or any of them could make was not a part of it, no rising up to dance or sitting down to eat and drink, no blessing or curse, no joy, no longing, no error; if they fled the Tale or struggled against it, well, that too was part of the Tale.

[John Crowley, ‘Little, Big’]

Empathy (Confucius, 'The Analects')

2009-03-10T14:23:41Z

Ziyong asked, Is there one word that can be practiced for the whole of one’s life? The Master said, That would be “empathy” perhaps: what you do not wish yourself do not do unto others.

[Confucius, ‘The Analects’]

Affirmation of the Unexpected (Frederick Sommer)

2009-03-01T09:43:26Z

I have five pebbles, not too different in size and weight, yet a randomness about them. If I drop them on the carpet they will scatter. Now we could run an experiment and we would find that we cannot put these pebbles in shapes that would be as elegant and as nicely related and with as great a variety as every time they fall. It is better than anything we could do. I have great respect for the way I find things. Every time something falls I look. I cannot believe the relationships. The intricacy. You hear a noise and you say ‘What is that?’ Respect for the affirmation of the unexpected.

[Frederick Sommer]

Self-Cultivation (Zisi, 'Maintaining Perfect Balance')

2009-02-17T11:36:59Z

Next is he who cultivates the shoots of goodness. The shoots being cultivated he is able to attain to truthfulness. Truthfulness then takes on form; with form it becomes apparent; apparent it becomes bright; bright it moves others; moving others it changes them; changing them, it brings about their transformation. Only he who is perfectly truthful is able to bring about transformation.

[Attributed to Zisi, ‘Maintaining Perfect Balance’]

The Way (Zisi, 'Maintaining Perfect Balance')

2009-02-08T07:47:56Z

“To be true is the Way of heaven. To make oneself true is the Way of man. He who is true [i.e., whose virtue is naturally in accord with heavenly principle] maintains perfect balance without effort and apprehends without thinking; he is centred naturally and comfortably in the Way. Such is the sage! He who makes himself true chooses the good and holds to it firmly.”

“Study it widely, inquire into it thoroughly, ponder it carefully, sift it clearly, practice it diligently.”

“Some things he [the superior man] may not study; when he does study he does not desist until he understands it. Some things he may not inquire about; when he does inquire he does not desist until he knows the answer. Some things he may not ponder; when he does ponder he does not desist until he gets it. Some things he may not sift; when he does sift he does not desist until he is clear. Some things he may not practice; when he does practice he does not desist until his practice is diligent. What a person can do in one try, he will dedicate a hundred tries to; what a person can do in ten tries, he will dedicate a thousand tries to.”

“If truly capable of pursuing this path, even the dullard is certain to gain clear understanding, and even the weak is certain to grow strong.”

[Attributed to Zisi, ‘Maintaining Perfect Balance’]

Cuttin' Fence (Edward Abbey, 'The Monkey Wrench Gang')

2009-02-01T05:51:00Z

“You can’t never go wrong cuttin’ fence,” Smith would say. “Especially sheep fence.” (Clunk!) “But cow fence too. Any fence.”

“Who invented barbed wire anyhow?” Hayduke asked. (Plunk!)

“It was a man named J. F. Glidden done it; took out his patent back in 1874.”

An immediate success, that barbwire. Now the antelope die by the thousands, the bighorn sheep perish by the hundreds every winter from Alberta down to Arizona, because fencing cuts off their escape from blizzard and drought. And coyotes too, and golden eagles, and peasant soldiers on the coils of concertina wire, victims of the same fat evil the wide world over, hung dead on the barbed and tetanous steel.

“You can’t never go wrong cuttin’ fence,” repeated Smith, warming to the task. (Pling!) “Always cut fence. That’s the law west of the hundredth meridian. East of that don’t matter none. Back there it’s all lost anyhow. But west, cut fence.” (Plang!)

[Edward Abbey, ‘The Monkey Wrench Gang’]