Jan 25, 2013

A Secret Ode to the Dung Beetle (And Breaking Out of a Rut)

"Silence like a cancer grows." — Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel

I'm stuck. It happens. So I couldn't come up with a decent story prompt today. Were my labors guided by the Milky Way! It seems to work for dung beetles. Were I a pigeon, I'd simply follow main roads and highways.

"Already Watt preferred to have his back to his destination." — Samuel Beckett

But finding one's guiding light is similar to carving the Elgin Marbles in the dark. Or unlocking the front door with five pints of Kilkenny percolating inside you. Yet the sculptor knows she will be done sometime; the front door swings inward to admit you, or you pass out on your doorstep* and wake up at the crack of dawn.

But at least dawn came.

I didn't set out to write a blog post about nothing in particular, and yet here it is. Pull up a chair and have a cold one, because we're going to waste some serious time here. Jack taught me it's OK to chew your cud from time to time.

*Never happened to me.

"Tropes then are necessary errors about language" — Harold Bloom

Kilkenny is a city in southern Ireland, named after Cainnech of Aghaboe, a 6th-century saint. (Cill Chainnigh: Church of Cainnech.) A troparion calls him "lover of the desert." One might wonder where deserts can be found in Ireland, what with the average rainfall on the Emerald Isle.

No, this is no physical desert we're talking about, but the inner landscape of the ascetic which, all things considered, approaches the Buddhist void, be the supplicant Christian, Confucianist, Agnostic, Discordian or just a plain old confusionist like myself. Deep down all religions and philosophies interrogate the same fear that the world is made out of nothing and exists for nothing.

So the desert is the place where you go to find yourself; in the absence of prefabricated answers, something is bound to emerge. Up out of the unified field perhaps. Are thoughts made of particles?

John Collier's

"Diana was the first created before all creation; in her were all things; out of herself, the first darkness, she divided herself; into darkness and light she was divided. Lucifer, her brother and son, herself and her other half, was the light." — Charles Godfrey Leland, retelling one of the creation myths of Tuscan witchcraft

"As the female was the first to open and divide into two, so darkness preceded light in the sense that it was the noumenal, the negative state of being, from which existence, the positive state, issued forth." — Kenneth Grant

Venus and Lucifer are one and the same: Evening, and Morning Star. Lucifer, light-bearer, was the Roman Prometheus. To the Tuscan witches he represented Apollo/Helios/Endymion.

Night and day, well, they don't exist. It's always midnight somewhere. Time is an illusion that used to live in your wristwatch. Then the place began to fall apart, the landlord was too cheap to renovate, so Time moved to your cell phone, where it gets to play with sophisticated electronics.

This is how you become unstuck: Find a thread, any thread, and start pulling.

It's turtles all the way down.

Photo by Pelf

"Les sons d'une musique énervante et câline,/Semblable au cri lointan de l'humaine douleur" — Charles Baudelaire

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