Jon Orsi- in response to Kari's Blog

Kari has- now and for as long as I can recall- always been a great source of knowledge, inspiration and interpretation. Often I call to Kari the muse, and always am I fulfilled. Her most recent blog on Eliade's chapter 7 I found to be very well put and well distilled. A little note she made really illuminated my day (well night- its 9:30) -

"we still retain a tiny spark of Divine Reality within us, which we can recapture when we do "remember" and awaken."


The idea that, in the act of remembrance we attain a passage or (re)connection to divine reality, really suits me well and it makes me smile. Because I believe this. I truly do, I just often forget and then fail to see the inter-web of ceaseless connections, but moments of remembrance not only reassure my beliefs, but they are in effect a practice of them.


- as a side note, that is somewhat related (or entirely related, for all things are) I was just turned on to this comedian Bill Hicks and i realized(remembered) how hilarious he actually is.
Though the subject matter is "off key" for class i suppose, the realization he talks about is in a way very mythological- you just have to see it all the way through to the end.
For such a long time when I heard the name mentioned I always assumed that people were referencing one of those dummies from the "blue collar comedy tour" but its not, dont worry.

Jon Orsi. A Small Thing

It has been hard this year to get in the blogging spirit, especially when look around at some of the other blogs that are setting that bar -Nay, Dustin, Ashley, Rio (the usual suspects) and pretty much every one else as well- But these blogs have inspired me to meet that bar and hopefully exceed it.

-That will have to wait until next time however. because for this blog I just want to talk about something. A small thing, but it has blossomed.

It started out with this assignment we've all been given- to find a myth and present it to the class. I was initially overcome with dread and distaste for the assignment. I created a list of personal reasons why I didn't really want to do this, and essentially planned on simply not doing it. Problem solved.

Coming to my senses and admitting to myself that my "personal reasons" were nothing more than a thesaurused list of "personal procrastinations". Problem resolved.

One thing in my life has forever been a small thing- a part of my ancestry that I cannot, through any living bloodline trace, and that I know virtually nothing about: A small drop of naive blood, but even small things have their place.
Many of the french who first came to that -Nova Scotia/ quebec --area had,  if not good, at least civil relationships with the native population and eventually became interwoven into the community- adoptions, and many trappers married squaw wives. As it turns out  my fathers great-grandmother (mothers side) was one of them.
So, climbing blindly backwards through mauslin layers of cobwebs and things forgotten, I trace a small drop of Abenaki blood into my own.
This fact has forever-in my prospective- been forgotten. But even forgotten things have their remembrance.

So, after this fall backward four generations, I arrive once more: here.
At this assignment, I had once thought to be a drag.
What happened next, threw me further back to where I once began, before time recollected.
I started looking into Abenaki mythologies and I found this amazing website.

Actually, hold on. As i am writing i realize that that's not how this all happenstancially fell into place.
What initially happened was the following story:
I see Tristan in the library as I am working. He asks me a question about this assignment, which sparks my unveiling of obligations suppressed.
I start thinking about how getting up in front of the class is kind of like being a stand up comedian of sorts.
I realize I already have a mythology memorized that is both the creation of namesake of my home town and the river it is named for.
This is quickly dubbed when I realize how offensive this story is, and how completely esoteric it is as well.
But the story has to do with the Abenaki and thence, I lapse into the story ascribed above.

so back-forward, again to where I was, again to where I am: here. -trying to start this assignment as it were.

...and i found this amazing website... On which it details the major characters of Abenaki mythology, and their mythologies.

reading here, I realize the importance of passing these stories on. I realize I have been largely if not completely void of this honor, I never knew my great great mother, i never knew these stories.
But re-touching something, even a small thing resonates within me with a powerful acoustic.

Despite my distance, and my diluted blood line, I feel- at least i would like to feel- that though this familiarity is faded from long years of absence, one movement of remembrance can revive and restore an apparition of rapture.

so anywho. this is one of the many stories published on this website, I dislike that it came to me through the medium of the internet- yet, so be it. but i would like to think that this story had come down from a time forgotten, and will continue to do so to times unknown.

The Great Spirit, in a time not known to us looked about and saw nothing. No colors, no beauty. Time was silent in darkness. There was no sound. Nothing could be seen or felt. The Great Spirit decided to fill this space with light and life.
From his great power he commanded the sparks of creation. He ordered Tôlba, the Great Turtle to come from the waters and become the land. The Great Spirit molded the mountains and the valleys on turtle's back. He put white clouds into the blue skies. He was very happy.He said, "Everything is ready now. I will fill this place with the happy movement of life."He thought and thought about what kind of creatures he would make.

Where would they live? What would they do? What would their purpose be? He wanted a perfect plan. He thought so hard that he became very tired and fell asleep.
His sleep was filled with dreams of his creation. He saw strange things in his dream. He saw animals crawling on four legs, some on two. Some creatures flew with wings, some swam with fins. There were plants of all colors, covering the ground everywhere. Insects buzzed around, dogs barked, birds sang, and human beings called to each other. Everything seemed out of place. The Great Spirit thought he was having a bad dream. He thought, nothing could be this imperfect.
When the Great Spirit awakened, he saw a beaver nibbling on a branch. He realized the world of his dream became his creation. Everything he dreamed about came true. When he saw the beaver make his home, and a dam to provide a pond for his family to swim in, he then knew every thing has it's place, and purpose in the time to come.
It has been told among our people from generation to generation. We must not question our dreams. They are our creation.

-isn't that something. A small thing perhaps, but all things have their place.

Jon Orsi, Ovid words of beauty

Despite the main themes running though The Metamorphoses are usually rape and death. There is an unmistakable beauty radiating from this text. As I come across those passages that are particularly rich, I will try and share them.

"Either the Architect of All, the author of the universe, in order to beget a better world created man from seed divine." -Book I page 5-6

"In those times, upon its natie mountain heights, the pine still stood unfelled; no wood had yet been yhauled down to the limpid waves, that it might sail to foreign countries; and the only coasts that mortals knew in that age were their own." -Book I page 6

"Four times the moon had linked it's cresent tips"- Book II page 50

"How often is she chased along the rocks by barking dogs, for she who was a hunter has become the hunted one-a frightened fugitive. When beasts draw near, she hides, forgetting how she now appears; although she is a she-bear, she still fears the sight of bears along the mountain slopes and shudders when the wolves approach."
Book II page 56

"Europa now is terrified; she claps one horn with her right hand; meanwhile the left rests on the bull's great croup. She turns to glance back at the shore, so distant now. Her robes are fluttering --they swell in the sea breeze."--Book II 73


-though it is discussing rape. The rape of Europa is probably one of the most elegant and stunning depictions of the act itself. The effect is chilling, the power of words, the imageistic nature of the scene is undeniably adept.

jon orsi.pop-mythology right quick.

tiny note- reading the blogs I came across Michelle Storouds. And she mentioned how on the show 30 rock there is a peacock named Argus. clearly the shows writers know there studies. It reminded me of an episode of the simpson- which I love(d)- and whos writers clearly were studious english majors as well...

I've found this script from the episode I recalled. it still makes me laugh.

At Itchy & Scratchy, Intl., Meyers has called a meeting of the writers (who look strikingly similar to the real Simpsons writers) along with Krusty and a female network executive.

MEYERS
I have figured out how to rejuvenate the show. It's so simple, you egghead writers would've never thought of it! What we need is... a new character! One that today's kids can relate to!

The writers look at each other, uncertain.

OAKLEY
Are you absolutely sure that's wise, sir? I mean, I don't want to sound pretentious here, but Itchy and Scratchy comprise a dramaturgical dyad.

KRUSTY
Hey, this ain't art, it's business! (to Meyers) Whaddya got in mind? Sexy broad? Gangster octopus?

MEYERS
No, no. The animal chain of command goes mouse, cat, dog. (to the writers) D-O-G.

WEINSTEIN (a writer)
Uh, a dog? Isn't that a tad predictable?

EXECUTIVE
In your dreams. We're talking the original dog from hell.

OAKLEY (a writer)
You mean Cerberus?

orsi -Opening and unleashing The Golden Bough

I realize that one of the most difficult aspects of "blogging" is knowing where and when to stop. Blogs seem to service as a converted canvas of the mind, ideas are expressed freely.This is both the beauty and the tribulation of blogging. Images associated with these ideas are presented, countless links and cross references branch off and root. Often I am unable to keep this entanglement of ideas ordered. There is just so much to be said, so many stemming thoughts, and I am not really versed enough in any of them to keep the chaos contained.
That being said, I almost laughed when I really started reading more of the Golden Bough passage. It broke the stagnant pool of my mind like a rock, spiking jets of water up and outward, a wake of ripples extending in all directions. Now I'm going to try and keep these waves contained and fluid, for in my mind they fractaled in a picturesque pattern. But when i try to convey them it is often splintered fragments of the full mindscape. so bare with me.

This passage is nearly perfect for this class, foreverything. It just takes a little reading into- it's one of those transparent things.
" Further, when the name of the deceased happens to be that of some common object, such as an animal, or plant, or fire, or water, it is sometimes considered necessary to drop that word in ordinary speech and replace it by another. A custom of this sort, it is plain, may easily be a potent agent of change in language; for where it prevails to any considerable extent many words must constantly become obsolete and new ones spring up" page 306

So, as is custom with the Nicrobarese tribe, when someone dies who is named "monkey" for example, the word dies along with the person. So actual monkeys are no longer referred to as such they become "yeknoms" ...or something-not important.
What is important is the concept at play. And here is where that old mysterious mental maneuver is enacted. The importance of this practice is, essentially the essence of this class. What is dealt with here is "image death" or "label death". When the "monkey" dies, no monkey actually dies. Just the word by which we call the thing itself. The label is merely a vehicle for the "object" (and i use this word with some hesitation) to ride. Just as the body is a vehicle for the soul. Just as the story, its characters and setting are a vehicle for the mythos.
When 'death' occurs it can take away the image of the being, it can take away the name, but it does not take away the being itself.
Long years I have contemplated a single sentence from Ovid. Longer years still, have others before, and will others after me move with these words. Even those who have never read them.

"For all things change, but no thing dies. The spirit wanders: here and there, at will, the soul can journey from an animal into a human body, and fro us to beasts; it occupies a body but it never perishes." Pythagoras (book XV page 519)

This is a reading, not of the above but its still great. it only has 27 views. I feel like it should have a lot more.

also, I started reading up a bit more on Pythagoras and I found this amazing article about it--and so many other things-- J Stor Pythagoras

and then reading this, I remembered a story by Jorge Luis Borges (thank you Dustin for turning me on to him) that fits the metempsychosis or "trans migration of souls, or... reincarnation.
""I have been Homer; soon, like Ulysses, I shall be Nobody; soon, I shall be all men--I shall be dead"

To anyone who hasn't yet read Borges, i'd say: do so. It'll twist yo cap back.