Who was Cassandra?
In the Iliad, she is described as the loveliest of the daughters
of Priam (King of Troy), and gifted with prophecy. The god Apollo
loved her, but she spurned him. As a punishment, he decreed
that no one would ever believe her. So when she told her fellow
Trojans that the Greeks were hiding inside the wooden horse...well,
you know what happened.
the cassandra pages
words, pictures, and a life
Saturday, January 10, 2004 26 BELOW
Back at home, it was 26 degrees below zero last night. We’re far away, so all we can do is worry about the pipes. Even when we’re home, leaving fans and heaters running and getting up in the night to check, a dip that low can cause the heating pipes to freeze; it happens pretty quickly. If you find the spot fast enough, you can use a hair dryer to warm up the pipes and start the water flowing again. If not – it’s plumbers with electrodes, and the potential for broken pipes and expensive repairs. All you in warmer climes can be happy you don’t have to deal with these aspects of winter!
But from this cozy spot inside my parents’ house, the day outside couldn’t be more beautiful (here, considerably south of my home, it’s only 15 below at 9:30 am). The sun is brilliant on the white surface of the frozen lake, and closer by, the snow covering the lawn sparkles as if with diamond dust. Nuthatches and chickadees fly eager forays to and from the feeder, and on the huge maple beyond the porch, a red-bellied woodpecker scrambles up and down the tree, searching for what must be frozen bugs or grubs beneath the bark.
If it warms up a little, I’ll put on all the clothes I brought and try to take a few pictures. In the meantime, here are a few from yesterday.
It's very cold here; minus 4.7 degrees F when I last looked. We just ate a homemade pizza, courtesy of J., and now I'm going to do some laundry and pack in preparation for our trip tomorrow to central New York to see my parents. In the background of my consciousness, the dishwasher is running, and also the furnace.
The discussion of consumerism in the comments has taken on a life of its own, and I think I will leave it there for the time being. Several readers have talked about this topic further on their own blogs; you might check out what Dave and Lorianne had to say in the past couple of days. And for a more data-oriented look at consumerism in Europe and the U.S., read "Richer, Stouter, and No Happier" in the science section of today's BBC World News:
The US has more private vehicles on the road than people licensed to drive them. New houses in the US were 38% bigger in 2000 than in 1975, although average household size had fallen.
Yet only about a third of Americans described themselves as "very happy", the same share as in 1957 when US citizens were just half as wealthy.
Odds and Ends: This week I finished both The Winter Queen by Boris Akunin, and The Cave of Jose Saramago; more about those next week. I'm anxious to write something about the Saramago, it was a terrific book. And I also got a blogger-package: a bottle of homemade walnut ink from Pica of Feathers of Hope. Drawings or calligraphy to come, I hope, from all who received these precious bottles from Pica!
We'll be away through the weekend, but will probably post some pics at least from there. We're going to go to a country antiques auction - God forbid that I should get the urge to buy something!!
7:23 PM
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I decided to take a break from our current discussion to observe that today is Epiphany, the 12th day of Christmas, and the day on which the Eastern Orthodox still celebrate that feast. At dinner tonight we lit a big array of candles; tomorrow the decorations will come down.
The word epiphany comes from the Greek epiphaneia, which means appearance, or manifestation, and it in turn comes from epiphainein: coming to light or appearing. The feast of Epiphany was introduced in the West much later than Christmas, probably in the fourth century. It seems, actually, that all of the events surrounding Jesus’s birth may have originally been celebrated on January 6th, and then separated into two celebrations: the nativity on Dec. 25th, and the visitation of the Magi twelve days later.
According to the New Advent Catholic Encyclopedia, a good source for esoteric historical Christian information, an “unknown Syrian annotator of Barsalibi” wrote:
"The Lord was born in the month of January on the same day on which we celebrate the Epiphany; for of old the feasts of the Nativity and Epiphany were kept on one and the same day, because on the same day He was born and baptized. The reason why our fathers changed the solemnity celebrated on 6 January, and transferred it to 25 December follows: it was the custom of the heathens to celebrate the birthday of the sun on this very day, 25 December, and on it they lit lights on account of the feast. In these solemnities and festivities the Christians too participated. When, therefore, the teachers observed that the Christians were inclined to this festival, they took counsel and decided that the true birth-feast be kept on this day, and on 6 Jan., the feast of the Epiphanies. Simultaneously, therefore, with this appointment the custom prevailed of burning lights until the sixth day."
Tuesday, January 06, 2004
Today, in the context of our mall discussion, Joerg makes the point that not only should our non-hatred and compassion extend to everyone there, regardless of whether they push our aesthetic, political, or social buttons, but also to the people who are pushing the goods, running the offshore sweatshops, cramming plastic into the landfills, and raking in the profits. This is a far greater challenge for most of us, I suspect, than loving Jane or Joe Consumer. And yet it's real - whether it's a case of "God forgive them, for they know not what they do", or "they know damn well what they're doing, and I'm still called to try to dredge up some compassion for them as fellow human beings." (We've grappled with that tough point before in discussions on this blog - see also the posts and comments around Oct. 17 2003.)
But beyond the call to love one another, don't we have a responsibility to act in the interest of the world, or of our fellow humans, rather than simply trying to "not judge"? Lorianne mentions a famous passage from Merton where he confronted his own judgmentalism and the dualism of sacred and secular, and realized that one purpose of his solitude was to recognize his call to "love the world". What happened after that was that he wrote "Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander", in which he talked about the interplay between action and contemplation so central to his personal struggle as a cloistered monk living in a world supposedly separate from the secular, but still deeply affected by WWII and the Holocaust, the civil rights struggle, and the nuclear arms race. Merton never managed to remain silent; he spoke out, not only against what he felt was wrong in the world but against the silence and complicity of the Church hierarchy, and helped to inspire and give voice to a new generation of activists, including religious activists committed to reform of the institutions as well as peace and social justice. I'm profoundly grateful for his example.
1:41 PM
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Monday, January 05, 2004
You know, I've really missed those of you who've been away. Finding new posts on a lot of blogs today made me really happy.
So many excellent comments on yesterday's post - thank you! Joerg said he thought the mall was a good place to practice "infinite respect" and he is right. That's what I was trying to do, even if my sharp observations about surface appearance obscured that.
It is a complex and demanding practice to consciously attempt to love everyone. And yet I think we are called to do this. Why? Because we are all very much the same. We all have more in common than in opposition, even though it is often hard to see and feel unless we quiet down and really look, really feel the other beyond their surface.
We are all animated with the same spark, our lives are profoundly interconnected, we share a common origen, common dreams and dreads, a common end. Lorianne commented that the girls in their outfits, and the young couple, and the young women in prison are probably all similar. I'd go farther, and add myself in as well. We all, as Lorianne says, want to be noticed; we want, ultimately, to be loved. Isn't that part of my purpose in writing here? In a different incarnation, Cassandra's carefully considered words and visual aesthetic might well be tartan miniskirt and fishnet stockings.
Sitting in the food court, I watched and pondered the grandmothers holding babies, the fathers in their baseball hats and work clothes, an animated little girl eating her ice cream cone with great delight and dramatic swoops of an arm designed to keep her entire family in rapt attention. I am an individual, I am special, please love me.
At the same time, I thought about the volume of plastic, paper, and styrofoam this one locus of eating must produce in the space of a single day. I thought about the cheap plastic toys, the shoddily-made sweaters, the unnecessary knicknacks that were being offered and bought. I thought about the cycle of desire, momentary satisfaction, use, boredom, discarding, and renewed desire that is so successfully taught by advertising and consumerism, and its incredible power over human beings. The toll it takes. The happiness it seldom creates. The burden on our planet. The ever-growing divide between rich and poor. And I thought about the difference between people who see this, and those who don't, and that line in Isaiah about "setting the captives free".
I have no answers, but I know eventually this enslavement has to end. I sound judgmental of the consumers, perhaps, but that isn't what I meant. What I feel is compassion for people who are caught up in something they don't understand and cannot transcend, and righteous anger against the rampant greed of those who want to keep them ignorant, while addicting more and more. Every one of us who is free enough to step outside the bonds of this system has an obligation, I think, to do so.
Yesterday we drove through freezing rain to Concord, New Hampshire, to hear Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson talk about "Re-imagining the Diocese". During the morning gathering at a conference center, Gene gave a re-cap of his episcopate so far, telling stories of meeting supporters and detractors alike. One of his favorite ministries is at the New Hampshire Women's Prison, where he has quite a group of dedicated fans. He baptised one woman there on Christmas Eve, and talked of an eighteen-year-old inmate, who told him that his election meant so much to her because it gave her hope, for the first time in her life, that there might be a community of people somewhere "who could love her in spite of what she had done."
Gene than handed out the passages in Isaiah about "giving hope to the poor, binding up the brokenhearted, and setting the captive free" and the passage form the Gospel of Luke where Jesus reads these texts in the synagogue at an early point in his ministry. For that he was nearly run off a cliff, because he used them to preach that God's grace and healing power were not exclusively available to members of the "in" group, the Pharisees, but were given to complete outsiders to the "chosen" community. Gene asked us to break into groups, first with members of our own parishes, and then with random people who we didn't know, to discuss what our parishes, our diocese, our state and our world might look like if we really took these texts seriously. "The world is going to be watching how we do here in New Hampshire," he said. "And I want to challenge us to do our very best with the opportunity we've been given, to show that we can work together and accomplish much, despite our differences."
At the end of the morning, he returned to the podium to talk about two concepts that he hoped would guide our work and thinking: "Infinite Respect" toward one another and ourselves, and "Radical Hospitality" toward others. he asked us, in particular, to think about how the church might continue and expand its role as a moral voice, speaking out in the state against state-funded lotteries and gambling, for better mental health facilities and prisons, and for equality in education funding - a big issue in New Hampshire.
Gene, small and unimposing in his new purple shirt, has a speaking style that is warm, engaging, humble, and extremely compelling. He can be quite folksy, favoring the personal anecdote over the poetic quotations and highly stylized rhetoric of some of the more Ivy-League-type bishops in our denomination - a recent (and excellent) sermon by the outgoing Bishop, for example, made extensive use of T.S. Eliot's poetry - and this honest, personal, non-aggressive approach probably accounts for his popularity with wide cross-sections of the population, and the difficulty people have hating him once they've heard him speak or met him in person. That doesn't mean he doesn't have an agenda: he wants to use whatever bubble of celebrity he has been given to draw attention to the issues that have always motivated him: food for the hungry, justice for the oppressed, fairness for those who are subject to discrimination, and a redrawing of the boundaries of the church to welcome and include everyone. It's ambitious, and inspiring.
In the afternoon we stopped at a local mall to get something fast to eat and do a few errands. I don't go to big malls often, so when I do my receptors are always quivering, usually with shock and sensory overload. This was a rather downscale mall, too, so it was exceedingly noisy and crowded, particularly in the food court where we ate a fast Chinese lunch. It seemed that entire families had come to the mall to spend their Saturday, and groups of teenagers had obviously dressed especially for the occasion. Two girls, in particular caught my eye; they were both on the heavy side, but dressed in tight miniskirts with black fishnet stockings, garters that showed below the skirts, lace-up leather boots, and tight black jackets. What on earth were they doing, besides chowing down handfuls of French fries and talking animatedly with their friends? They looked...ridiculous, a caricature of both fourteen-year-old-self consciousness, and whatever punk or goth creatures they thought they were emulating. Next to me was a young couple, fresh out of high school, he apparently a gas station attendant in his Shell shirt and jacket, and she with a cheerful, ruddy farm-girl complexion, feeding their toddler, in his stroller, fried-somethings dipped in some sort of melted, fluorescent cheese food. The husband was tired, she was being sweet to him; all I could think was how young they were and how hard a time they were probably going to have. I peeked into the stroller, hoping they hadn't bought much. No, only a few plastic toys. The girl looked at me as she stood up and moved the stroller, and the baby screamed. "Nap time," she said, smiling. "He gets real tired."
"He'll recover," I said, and smiled back. "Good luck with your life," I wanted to say. "Don't max out your credit cards. Don't buy lottery tickets. Don't settle for a life of beer and chips in front of the TV", but instead I just watched as the little family disappeared into the crowd.
I walked up to the far end of the central aisle of the mall and back while J. bought a pair of shoes, and drank a cup of coffee. There was nothing I was tempted to buy, even though there were some better stores mingled among those with cheap, poorly-made clothing and the kiosks and carts selling cellphone service, trinkets, stuffed animals, sunglasses and knock-off watches. Meanwhile, the Victoria's Secret girls, already selling Valentine's Day, lounged provocatively in the larger-than-lifesize window posters. "How old is a girl like that?" I wondered, studying one brunette with her perfect body and black lace thong. "Does she actually know anything about sex? Does she like it? What are these young girls walking up and down the mall thinking when they see her? What does it mean to them to "look sexy?" Do they like sex? Or are they trying to get a husband who they hope will support their mall habit so they can keep buying the things they think they want to wear and use because somebody they saw in an ad or a movie or on TV wears them and uses them too?"
It's not good to go shopping in this kind of a mood.
J. met me in front of the cell phone accessory kiosk when he had said he would. "Are you done?" he asked.
"Yep." I said. We pushed open the big glass doors and walked out into the parking lot. I looked back at the glass pyramid-shaped towers that crowned each corner of the mall. "A slightly different temple than this morning's, wouldn't you say?"
