Month: November 2007

Nice Weekend!

Saw Rowan in his play at his school, ‘The Dark Of The Moon’… he played a spirit- Conjure Man, and adopted the role of the blind Magus for it. Excellent on all counts, best staging I have seen, and a production with excellent acting, music and blocking. The students helped shape it, and Rowan also did stage management, fight choreography, and set construction. Jane Ferguson, the theatre teacher has worked with Rowan off an on for over 7 years. She is a real treasure!
Leana & Richard stopped by today to pick up a couple of prints, we had a nice afternoon hanging out and talking about Portland…
Lyterphotos (you may have seen his article in The Invisible College) came by just as Leana & Richard were leaving. He hung for an hour or so, and we talked about art, metaphysics and kids. Funny how that works…
The Invisible College Magazine went off to LuLu.com finally. Will have a print edition soon, so stay tuned! It looks pretty good, but I have to make sure before I let it out of the bag…
I was working on this edition, and the title popped up in my head. Angelic Beings have been recorded long before Christianity, or Judaism emerged for that matter. They are represented all over the world. Persia, East Asia, Greece, Egypt, the Americas, all had ancient images of winged beings… I am fascinated by the image… Why do we portray beings in this way? What is behind it, is there a memory that travels from the past, and from society to society?
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm

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On The Menu:

Petes’ Picks – Shukar Collective – Malademna

No Nukes Is Good Nukes

Pete’s Picks – Shukar Collective – Gypsy Blooz

Daoist Poetry

Art: The Angelic Collective…

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Shukar Collective – Malademna

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No Nukes Is Good Nukes

An interview with longtime anti-nuclear activist Helen Caldicott (2005)

By Gregory Dicum

Q: There’s a concerted effort right now to rehabilitate the image of nuclear power. Proponents argue that fossil fuels are more damaging to the environment, as well as being in short supply, and that nuclear is the [best option going forward]. What’s going on here?
A:The people saying these things are not biologists, they’re not geneticists, they’re not physicians. In other words, they don’t know what they’re talking about. And that makes me very annoyed. First of all, every reactor produces about [20 to 30] tons of highly radioactive waste a year. The majority of it is very long-lived and will have to be isolated from the ecosphere for hundreds of thousands of years … As it leaks into the environment, it will bio-concentrate by orders of magnitude at each step of the food chain: algae, crustaceans, little fish, big fish, us.
It takes a single mutation in a single gene in a single cell to kill you. [The most common plutonium isotope] has a half-life of 24,400 years. Every male in the Northern Hemisphere has a small load of plutonium in his gonads. What that means to future generations God only knows — and we’re not the only species with testicles. What we’re doing is degrading evolution, and not many people understand that.
Q:Yet as society begins to recognize that we do have to get away from the petroleum economy, there’s a lot of enthusiasm amongst environmentalists for hydrogen — enthusiasm that’s shared by the nuclear industry.
A: Well, of course, they’ll do anything. I’ve been dealing with them for 30 years and they lie — they frighten me. I can debate with generals about nuclear war and feel much more comfortable because they know that what I’m talking about is true. The nuclear industry just lies its way through the whole thing.
They say nuclear power is the answer to global warming. Well … the [Department of Energy] and the EPA [will tell you] that, at the moment, the process of uranium enrichment for fuel for nuclear power releases huge quantities of CO2. And that does not include releases from decommissioning of the reactor and transportation and long-term storage of the waste.
Meanwhile, the enrichment of uranium is responsible for [over 90 percent] of the CFC-114 gas released into the air in the U.S. Now, CFC is banned internationally under the Montreal Protocol because it destroys the ozone layer, one. Two, CFC gas is 10,000 to 20,000 times more potent as a global warmer and heat trapper than CO2. So the nuclear industry is lying. And advocates for nuclear power have fallen for the nuclear industry’s lies. Not propaganda, but lies.
Of course we’ve got to stop burning oil and coal. Those grotesque vehicles that get 10 miles to the gallon should be banned! Americans have no idea about conservation. Europeans have the same standard of living as you and they use 50 percent less energy because they turn their lights off and they conserve. We are actively killing the earth by the way we live.
Q:But some European countries derive more of their power from nuclear energy than the U.S.
A:Many countries in Europe are starting to realize that what they’ve done with nuclear power is ridiculous and immoral. Belgium, Germany, and Sweden have now passed laws to close down the reactors. So they’re learning, but a little too late. Where are they going to put the waste?
Q:Meanwhile, here in the U.S., we’re going in the other direction, talking about new nuclear plants and even new nuclear weapons. Why now?
A:Because the nuclear scientists in the labs keep pushing and pushing. They like building and testing their nuclear weapons. They get a lot of money for it, and they’re addicted to it.
The generals like their missiles too. One general basically said, “If you threaten our missiles and our early-warning systems, baby, that’s threatening the family jewels.” Got it? That’s the reason they’re still there. Missiles are an extension of their sexuality. There’s a deep psychosexual pathology inherent in the brains of these men. “Missile erections,” “deep penetrations” — even the language they use is sexual. I’ve thought, in my more light-hearted times, that maybe they should all be given Viagra, and then they wouldn’t need their missiles.
Q:Although women have also led nuclear-equipped countries, and very aggressively.
A:Margaret Thatcher, Indira Gandhi, and Golda Meir. But you’re picking three women out of millions of men. Some women — very few — emulate male behavior. Condoleezza Rice is one. The magic number is 30 percent [according to a U.N. report]. Below 30 percent representation [in government], women tend to please the men and vote for missiles. Above 30 percent, they say, “No, you’re not getting your missiles — we’re voting for milk for children.” So women need to support each other in order to do what they know is correct behavior, and express their nurturing instincts. It’s got nothing to do with politics.
Q:Most of the nuclear-policy focus lately has been on the various dangerous, unpredictable regimes that are busily acquiring nuclear weapons. Why does yours continue to be on the United States?
A:The most dangerous regime in the world at the moment is this regime. The country with the largest number of weapons of mass destruction is America. Of the nearly 30,000 nuclear weapons in the world, Russia and America own 95 percent. No one else can destroy all life on earth except Russia and America. The two rogue nations in the world are Russia and America, holding the world at nuclear ransom. Period.
We got to within 10 seconds of nuclear war in 1995 when Yeltsin made a mistake. On 9/11, America was on the second- or third-highest state of nuclear alert, ready to launch. Weapons are still on hair-trigger alert. They go off, Putin and Bush get minutes to decide whether or not to press their buttons, the nuclear “exchange” is over in an hour, and that’s the end of most life on earth.
And to look at North Korea, who may have two or eight bombs, or none — that’s a form of displacement activity. If you put rats in a cage and threaten them with a lethal situation, they run around doing something irrelevant to that which threatens them. That’s what people are doing by looking at North Korea and not looking at the main issue at hand, which is about to blow us all up. I mean, the whole thing’s insane.
Q:It’s interesting that you have a lot of inroads with military people. And a lot of the people who have come out for nuclear disarmament in the last decade have military backgrounds. Why do you think that is?
A:Well, because they know how dangerous it is. They’re scared.
Q:And yet you’d think they are also in a position to do something about it.
A:Well, you know, they wait till they’re retired. That’s typical of these men. It’s not that they have an epiphany — they know all along. So, in a way, they’re acting as evil people by allowing it to happen during their watch and only coming out when they retire. And I use that word “evil” in a fairly careful way. They are participating in plans to blow up the planet. I can’t think of any other word that’s more appropriate to describe that than “evil.”
Q:Yet today, in spite of this well-documented danger, the issue’s not at the forefront of many people’s awareness. There’s a great deal of complacency.
A:Well, ignorance. I don’t think anyone’s shocking people into facing reality right now. I’m trying and it’s not so easy because I don’t get access to the media. It’s hard to get on a lot of stupid shows and talk the truth. They don’t want the truth. They want theater.
I founded NPRI as a way to get this access. So that I, and others, c
an get on to debate these awful right-wing characters from the Heritage Foundation and the Cato Institute and American Enterprise Institute. We need equal time, and that’s difficult to come by. But it’s starting to happen where we’re developing a fair bit of credibility.
In mid-May, we’re having a symposium called “Full Spectrum Dominance.” It will be a retreat for 40 of the nation’s top journalists with some pro-nuclear people, anti-, and people in the middle — the top thinkers in the country. Many people say to me, “This is urgent — we need media education because no one’s writing about it.” The media is determining the fate of the earth.
Q:You met with Ronald Reagan when he was president — in an interview with Amy Goodman you described an oddly touching scene of holding his hand to comfort him — but you came away devastated by the feeling that there was nothing to be done. Have you tried to meet with George W. Bush?
A:No. I think Reagan had a heart; he was basically a nice fellow. I don’t think this fellow has a lot of heart. And I also don’t think he’s very bright. Reagan was intelligent in an intuitive way. There was someone at home there you could actually connect with. I’d certainly see George Bush and try to talk to him, but I wouldn’t want any of his neo-conservative people around him. I’d have to work pretty hard, I think, to get to his core.
Q:Do you think there’s anybody else — some other avenue into the administration?
A:No, I don’t think there’s anyone there at the moment who is really worth talking to. I think they’re terribly blocked and terribly dangerous. They practice psychic numbing — that’s the medical terminology — to block out what they’re doing. They’re doing evil and not looking at it. But I tell you what: I treated a lot of these fellows on their deathbeds, or when their children were dying, and when they’re in that very emotionally vulnerable situation they recant. They look at themselves and look inside their souls and realize what they’ve done, and they’re terribly sorry. But it’s too late then.
Q:In the film Helen’s War, there’s a sense that you’ve come out of retirement to go back into the fray. This has been your mission since 1971, and yet here we are, almost 35 years later –
A:I know, and it’s worse. I often feel like I’ve wasted my life doing this work for no good reason, because I love medicine. I gave it up to do this work. People have been saying that I might have helped prevent a nuclear war in the 1980s, but who knows?
I was compelled to do it. I couldn’t stop myself. But am I glad I did it? If we had gotten rid of the bombs I’d be very glad, and die fulfilled. I think, though, we’ve got a chance now to get the revolution going again — to build it again and complete the work. All doctors have to be optimists.
Q:Looking back, what stands out as your greatest success?
A:Of my whole life? The biggest thing I ever did was give birth to my three babies. That’s why we’re here, to reproduce — biologically speaking. Next to that, I guess it was the end of the Cold War, but in truth, when that occurred, my husband had just left me. So I was deeply depressed and I hardly knew the Berlin Wall came down, which was sort of ironic.
Q:You’ve done an incredible thing; you’ve completely dedicated your life to what you believe in. Not everyone can do that.
A:Why not? Not everyone wants to do it, but everyone can do it. It’s a decision you make. I’ve seen so many people die unfulfilled. And those who’ve dedicated their lives to great causes of service to the environment and to the human race have died totally fulfilled.
I think people have to examine why they were conceived, why they were born. It’s our responsibility in this particular generation, when life on earth — probably the only life in the universe — is so threatened.
Everyone can be extraordinarily effective, they just have to not be self-indulgent or narcissistic or greedy, and work for other people and other things. In that action lie the germs of true happiness. You’ll never be happy trying to make yourself happy. It doesn’t work.
Q:So if someone reads this interview, and they get to the end of it, and now they have the knowledge –
A:Then they have to act. Read The New Nuclear Danger: George W. Bush’s Military-Industrial Complex — there’s enough information in that so you could debate Rumsfeld at any time and beat him on television. And at the back of that book there’s a huge list of anti-nuclear groups all around the country and the world, and you can look up all the people making the weapons and where they live and how you can contact them. The CEOs of Lockheed Martin and Boeing and the like. It’s got a huge list of things you can do and places you can go and actions you can take. Knowledge is ammunition, but you have to work out what you’re going to do with your life to save the planet.

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Shukar Collective – Gypsy Blooz

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Daoist Poetry

Lily Magnolia

There is an end to the remotest corner of the earth, while

There is an endlessness to the yearning between lovers

– Yan Shu

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Memories in Early Winter
…I remember my home, but the Xiang River’s curves

Are walled by the clouds of this southern country,

I go forward, I weep till my tears are spent

I see a sail in the far sky,

Where is the ferry? Will somebody tell me?

It’s growing rough, it’s growing dark.

–Meng Haoran

—
Under the yellow dust, and the three Mountains,

A thousand years passed like a gallop;

Watching the whole Earth and land

Seawater pouring from a cup.

–Li He

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A Ballad of Heaven
The River of Heaven wheels round at night

Drifting the circling stars,

At Silver Bank, the floating clouds

Mimic the murmur of water.

By the Palace of Jade the cassia blossoms

Have not yet fallen,

Fairy maidens gather their fragrance

For their dangling girdle-sachets.
The Princess from Ch’in rolls up her blinds,

Dawn at the north casement.

In front of the window, a planted kola nut

Dwarfs the blue phoenix.

The King’s son plays his pipes

Long as goose quills,

Summoning dragons to plough the mist

And plant Jade Grass.
Sashes of pink as clouds at dawn

Skirts of lotus-root silk,

They walk on Blue Island, gathering

Fresh orchids in spring.
She points to Hsi Ho in the east

Deftly urging his steeds,

While land begins to rise from the sea

And stone hills wear away.

–Li He

—
The south wind blows at the mountain

And makes it flat land,

Heaven’s Emperor orders the sea to move;

The Heavenly Mother’s peach blossoms a thousand times

How many times did Peng Zuwuxian die?
–Li He

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The Buddhas and Zen masters of all times and places have emerged only on account of search for truth. Present day seekers are also in search of truth. Only when you attain truth will you be done; until you have attained it, you will repeat your former ways.

– Lin Chi (d 867?)

Meant to get this out yesterday… but added a couple of items. Rowan’s last night at his play is tonight, followed by the cast party… Then he is off to Outdoor School as a Cabin Counselor for a week.
We attended Doris Gunn’s Wake last night. So many great stories, and laughter, and some tears. Truly an amazing woman. She ran as vice-Governor of Oklahoma back years ago, and had her finger in so many different movements. Her sense of engagement was breath-taking when you heard the stories. A good part of the family was there and many friends. They are having a second one tonight. More people, and more stories I am sure.
My Art show has been extended for 4 weeks, and I am putting up a series of different images this next week… so stay tuned!
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
On The Menu:

The call of Cthulhu

Zen Quotes…

Pure Land Teachings of Master Chu-hung

Poems Of Li Bai

Art: Pure Land Mandalas
Enjoy!

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The call of Cthulhu

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More Here….. At last, the stars are finally right…

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Zen Quotes:
In the still night by the vacant window,

Wrapped in monk’s robe I sit in meditation.

Navel and nostrils lines up straight;

Ears paired to the slope of the shoulders.

Window whitens – the moon comes up;

Rain’s stopped, but drops go on dripping.

Wonderful – the moon of this moment,

Distant, vast.
– Ryokan (1758–1831)
—

She is like white clouds rising from the mountains,

No-mind from the start.

She is like the roosting bird who feels no longing

For the woods of home.

Because this person of the Way happens to enjoy

The mountains and streams,

She wanders among them unconcerned about how deep

Into the lakeside mountain peaks she goes.

She has gone to the empty cliffs to pay respect to

The hundred thousand forms of the Buddha.
– Su Dongpo (1037–1101)
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It is the one who is without obsession who is noble. Just do not act in a contrived manner; simply be normal. When you go searching elsewhere outside yourself, your whole approach is already mistaken. You just try to seek buddhahood, but buddhahood is just a name, an expression. Do you know the one who is doing the searching?
– Lin Chi (d 867?)
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Natural mind like the Autumn moon

Reflected on a clear jade lake.

Nothing like it

How to explain it?
– Han Shan (627–649)
—

To be able to be unhurried when hurried;

To be able not to slack off

When relaxed; to be able not to be

Frightened and at a loss for what to

Do when frightened and at a loss;

This is the learning that returns us

To our natural state and

Transforms our lives.
– Liu Wenmin (early 16th cent)
—

Holding my sweater and

Facing the fragrant peony,

I sense how different our viewpoints are.

Someday our hair will turn gray,

Yet the flowers will be this red each year;

Following the morning dew,

Each blooms gorgeously

Then their sweet scent is

Chased by the evening winds.

Why wail till they have withered and fallen

To understand such emptiness?
– Fa Yen (885–958)

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Pure Land Teachings of Master Chu-hung
Master Chu-hung (1535-1615)

Break Through Delusion
This is the way people are in the world. When they encounter pleasing situations, they feel happy and content. When they encounter situations that go against them, they feel worried and endangered.
Nevertheless, pleasing things should not be considered lucky, and adversity should not be considered unlucky. If you are sunk in things that your conceptual mind considers convenient, the intention of transcending the world will never arise. If you are sad and do not get what you aim for, then you will grow weary of the fetters of the world of physical existence, and therefore seek to transcend the world.
Thus, when myriad sufferings extend before you, just contemplate them with correct wisdom.
Ask yourself: Where does the suffering come from? It is born from physical existence. Where does physical existence come from? From karma. Where does karma come from? It is born from delusion. On the basis of delusion, you create karma. On the basis of karma, physical existence forms. On the basis of physical existence, you incur suffering. Just manage to break through delusion, and all of this is empty and still.
You may venture to ask, “What is the method for breaking through delusion?”
Just go to the fundamental meditation point and understand: Who is reciting the buddha-name? Who is mindful of the buddha?
Take hold of your doubts over this, take hold and defeat them: then all delusion will be smashed. Think this over! Don’t neglect it!
Pure Land and Zen Methods
There are many ways to enter the Path, but for directness and simplicity, none matches reciting the buddha-name.

The method of buddha-remembrance through reciting the buddha-name brings salvation to those of the most excellent capacities, and reaches down to the most stupid and dull. In sum, it is the Path that reaches from high to low. Do not be shaken or confused by vulgar views that Pure Land is only for those of lesser abilities.
Since ancient times, the venerable adepts of the Zen school have taught people to contemplate meditation topics (koans), to arouse the feeling of doubt, and thus to proceed to great awakening. Some contemplate the word “No.” Some contemplate “The myriad things return to the one: what does the one return to?” The meditation topics are quite diverse, and there are quite enough of them.
Now I will try to compare Zen and Pure Land methods.
Take for example the koan “The myriad things return to one: what does the one return to?” This is very similar to the koan “ Who is the one reciting the buddha-name?” If you can break through at this “Who?” then you will not have to ask anyone else what the one returns to: you will spontaneously comprehend.
This was precisely what the ancients meant when they said that those who recite the buddha-name and wish to study Zen should not concentrate on any other meditation topic but this.
Recite the buddha-name several times, turn the light around and observe yourself: who is the one reciting the buddha-name? If you employ your mind like this without forgetting, without any other help, after a long time you are sure to have insight.
If you cannot do this, it is also alright simply to recite the buddha-name. Keep your mindfulness from leaving buddha, and buddha from leaving your mindfulness. When your mindfulness of buddha peaks, your mind empties: you will get a response and link up with the Path, and buddha will appear before you. According to the inner pattern, it must be so.
Master Chu-hung (1535-1615)

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Poems Of Li Bai

Endless Yearning (I)
I am endlessly yearning

To be in Changan,

Insects hum of autumn by the gold brim of the well

A thin frost glistens like little mirrors on my cold mat,

The high lantern flickers, and deeper grows my longing

I lift the shade and, with many a sigh, gaze upon the moon,

Single as a flower, centered from the clouds

Above, I see the blueness and deepness of the sky

Below, I see the greenness and the restlessness of water…

Heaven is high, Earth wide, bitter between them flies my sorrows

Can I dream through the gateway, over the mountain?

Endless longing

Breaks my heart.

—
Endless Yearning (II)
The sun has set, and a mist is in the flowers

And the moon grows very white and people sad and sleepless,

A Zhao harp has just been laid mute on its phoenix holder

And a Shu lute begins to sound its mandarin-duck strings…

Since nobody can bear to you the burden of my song

Would that it might follow the spirit wind to Yanran Mountain,

I think of you far away, beyond the blue sky

And my eyes that once were sparkling, are now a well of tears,

Oh, if ever you should doubt this aching of my heart

Here in my bright mirror come back and look at me!

—
A Visit to Sky-Mother Mountain in a Dream
So, longing in my dreams for Wu and Yue

One night I flew over Mirror Lake under the moon,

The moon cast my shadow on the water

And traveled with me all the way to Shanxi,

The lodge of Lord Xie still remained

Where green waters swirled and the cry of apes was shrill,

Donning the shoes of Xie

I climbed the dark ladder of clouds,

Midway, I saw the sun rise from the sea

Heard the Cock of Heaven crow,

And my path twisted through a thousand crags

Enchanted by flowers I leaned against a rock

And suddenly all was dark,

Growls of bears and snarls of dragons echoed

Among the rocks and streams,

The deep forest appalled me, I shrank from the lowering cliffs,

Dark were the clouds, heavy with rain

Waters boiled into misty spray,

Lightening flashed, thunder roared

Peaks tottered, boulders crashed,

And the stone gate of a great cavern

Yawned open,

Below me, a bottomless void of blue

Sun and moon gleaming on terraces of silver and gold,

With rainbows for garments, and winds for horses

The lords of the clouds descended, a mighty host,

Phoenixes circled the chariots, tigers played zithers

As the immortals went by, rank upon rank.

—
On the Way Back to the Old Residence

Traveling to Heaven in dreams

There is another space and dimension in the kettle

Overlook the human Earth,

That is easily withered and rotten.

—
Ling Xu Mountain
Leaving the human world

Going toward the path to Heaven;

Upon Consummation through cultivation,

Then follow the clouds to Heaven,

Caves hidden under pine trees,

Deep and unseen among the peach blossoms…

In Northern Europe, Samhain (the Celtic term for Halloween, pronounced sow-in as in ‘sour’) was the time when the cattle were moved from the summer pastures to winter shelter. It was the end of the growing season, the end of harvest, a time of thanksgiving, when the ancestors and the spirits of the beloved dead would return home to share in the feast. Death did not sever one’s connections with the community. People would leave offerings of food and drink for their loved ones, and set out candles to light their way home. Those traditions gave us many of our present day customs. Now we set out jack-o-lanterns and give offerings of candy to children – who are, after all, the ancestors returning in new forms.” – Starhawk, On Faith

Samhain… and the parting of the doors. Saw a few goblins, elves, musketeers, gypsies and the like today. Perfect Autumn day, somber though with news locally and from afar. We have two candles burning on the mantle tonight for those who have chosen this time for the transition…
A favourite time of year, the beauty, and the lingering days that are now darkening. Such beauty.
On The Menu:

Doris Gunn

White Goddess

Chapter Nine – from Petronius’ “Satyricon”: The Werewolf Story told by Niceros

Poetry: John Keats
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Doris Gunn

Got a call on the 30th from our good friend Julie. She was over at John Gunn’s home, and his mother, Doris, who we have known and loved for many years, died in her sleep… Doris had been ill with cancer for 2 or so years, and was a real fighter until the end. Luckily, Johns’ sister was there as well, visiting from Alaska.
Doris was originally from the Carolinas’. She spent a good deal of her life in the cause of the future. Doris did jail time for fighting the nuclear industry, and may well have been in for other causes but I cannot recall at this time. She was always organizing, and the photocopier was her tool of choice…
She was a frequent caller into KBOO, our local Leftie/Pacifica type of Radio Station… She would come on, and land an excellent point. All the commentators knew her.
Doris had a huge heart, mixed with true southern mannerisms and a wonderful sense of inclusiveness. She was the epitome of The Yellow Dog Democrat… We will miss you Doris, you chose a good time to go. Thanks for the laughs, the stories, and of course… The Photocopies!
Blessings,
Gwyllm

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White Goddess

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Chapter Nine – from Petronius’ “Satyricon”: The Werewolf Story told by Niceros

[LVII] But Ascyltos, lost to all self-control, threw his arms up in the air, and turning the whole proceedings into ridicule, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. At this once of the freedmen among the guests, the same who occupied the place next above me, lost his temper and shouted:
“What are you laughing at, muttonhead? Isn’t my master’s elegant hospitality to your taste? You’re a mighty fine gentleman, I suppose, and used to better entertainment. So help me the guardian spirits of this house, but I would have made him baa to some purpose, had I been next him. A pretty sprig indeed, to laugh at other people! a vagabond from who knows where, a night-raker, that’s not worth his own piddle! Just let me piss round him, and he would not know how to save his life! By the powers, I’m not as a rule quick to take offense, but there! worms are bred in soft flesh. He’s laughing; what’s he got to laugh at? Did his father buy the brat for money? You’re a Roman knight: and I’m a king’s son. ‘Why did you serve as a slave then?’ Why! because I chose to, and thought it better to be a Roman citizen than a tributary king. And henceforth I hope to live a life beyond the reach of any one’s ridicule. I am a man now among men; I can walk about with my nose in the air. I owe nobody a brass farthing; I’ve never made composition; no one ever stopped me in the forum with a ‘Pay me that thou owest!’ I’ve bought some bits of land, put by a trifle of tin; I keep twenty folks in victuals, to say nothing of the dog; I’ve purchased my bedfellow’s freedom, that no man should wipe his hands on her bosom; I paid a thousand denars to redeem her; I was made a sevir, free gratis for nothing; I trust I may die and have no cause to blush in my grave.
“But you, are you so busy you can’t so much as look behind you? You can spy a louse on a neighbor’s back, and never see the great tick on your own. You’re the only man to find us ridiculous; there’s your master and your elder, he likes us well enough, I warrant. You! with your mammy’s milk scarce dry on your lips, you can’t say boo! to a goose; you crock, you limp scrap of soaked leather, you may be supple, but you’re no good. Are you richer than other folk? then dine twice over, and sup twice! For myself I value my credit far above millions. Did any man ever dun me twice? I served forty years, but nobody knows whether I was slave or free. I was a long-haired lad when first I came to this town; the basilica was not built yet. But I took pains to please my master, a great, grand gentleman and a dignified, whose nail-parings were worth more than your whole body. And I had enemies in the house, let me tell you, quite ready to trip me up on occasion; but–thanks to his kind nature–I swam the rapids. That’s the real struggle; for to be born a gentleman is as easy as ‘Come here.’ Whatever are you gaping at now, like a buck-goat in a field of bitter vetch?”
[LVIII ] At this harangue Giton, who was standing at my feet, could no longer contain himself, but burst into a most indecorous peal of merriment. When Ascyltos’ adversary noticed the fact, he turned his abuse upon the lad, screaming, “You’re laughing too, are you, you curled onion? Ho! for the Saturnalia, is it December, pray? When did you stump up your twentieth? What’s he at now, the crow’s meat gallows-bird? I’ll take care God’s anger falls on you, you and your master who does not keep you in better order. As I hope to live by bread. I only keep my hands off you out of respect for my fellow freedmen; else would I have paid you off this instant minute. We’re right enough, but your folks are good for nothing, who don’t keep you to heel. Verily, like master like man. I can scarce hold myself, and I’m not a hot-headed man naturally; but if I once begin, I don’t care twopence for my own mother. All right, I shall come across you yet in the open street, you rat, you mushroom, you! I’ll never stir up nor down, if I don’t drive your master into a wretched hole, and show you what’s what, though you call upon Olympian Jove himself to help you! I’ll be the ruin of your rubbishy ringlets and your twopenny master into the bargain. All right, see if I don’t get my teeth into you; either I don’t know myself, or you shall laugh on the wrong side of your face, even if you have a beard of gold. I’ll see that Minerva’s down on you, and the man that first trained you to be what you are.
“I never learned Geometry and Criticism and such like nonsensical screeds, but I do understand the lapidaries’ marks, and I can subdivide to the hundredth part when it comes to questions of mass, and weight and mintage. Well and good! if you have a mind, we’ll have a little wager, you and I; come now, here I clap down the tin. You’ll soon see your father wasted his money on you, though you do know Rhetoric. Now:
‘Which of us?–I come long, I come wide:

now guess me.’
“I’ll tell you which of us runs, yet never stirs from the spot; which of us grows, and gets less all the while. How you skip and fidget and fuss, like a mouse in a chamber-pot! So either hold your tongue altogether, or don’t attack a better man than yourself, who hardly knows of your existence,–unless perhaps you think I’m troubled by your yellow ringlets, that you stole from your doxy. God helps the man that helps himself! Let’s away to the forum to borrow money; you’ll soon see this bit of iron commands some credit. Aha! a fine sight, a fox in a sweat! As I hope to thrive and make such a good end the people will all be swearing at my death, hang me if I don’t chivy you up hill and down dale till you drop! A fine sight too, the fellow that taught you so,–a muff I call him, not a master! We learned something else in my time; the master used to say, ‘Are your things safe? go straight home; don’t stop staring about, and don’t be impertinent to your elders.’ Now it’s all trash; they turn out nobody worth twopence. That I am what I am, I owe to my own wits, and I thank God for it!”
[LIX] Ascyltos was just beginning to answer his abuse; but Trimalchio, charmed with his fellow-freedman’s eloquence, stopped him, saying, “Come, come! leave your bickerings on one side. Better be good-natured; and do you Hermeros, spare the young man. His blood is up; so be reasonable. To yield is always to win in these matters. You were a young cockerel yourself once, and then coco coco you went, and never a grain of sense in you! So take my advice, let’s start afresh and be jolly, while we enjoy the Homerists.”
Immediately there filed in an armed band, and clashed spears on shields. Trimalchio himself sat in state on his cushion, and when the Homerists began a dialogue in Greek verse, as is their unmannerly manner, read out a Latin text in a clear, loud voice. Presently in an interval of silence, “You know,” says he, “what the tale is they are giving us? Diomed and Ganymede were two brothers. Their sister was Helen of Troy. Agamemnon carried her off and palmed a doe on Diana in her stead. So Homer relates how the Trojans and Parentines fought each other. He got the best of it, it seems, and gave his daughter Iphigenia in marriage to Achilles. This drove Ajax mad, who will presently make it all plain to you.” No sooner had Trimalchio finished speaking than the Homerists raised a shout, and with the servants bustling in all directions, a boiled calf was borne in on a silver dish weighing two hundred pounds, and actually wearing a helmet. Then came Ajax, and rushing at it like a madman slashed it to bits with his naked sword, and making passes now up and down, collected the pieces on his point and so distributed the flesh among the astonished guests.
[LX ] We had little time however to admire these elegant surprises; for all of a sudden the ceiling began to rattle and the whole room trembled. I sprang up in consternation, fearing some tumbler was going to fall through the roof. The other guests were no less astounded, and gazed aloft, wondering what new prodigy they were to expect now from the skies. Then lo and behold! the ceiling opened and a huge hoop, evidently stripped from an enormous cask, was let down, all round which hung suspended golden wreaths and caskets containing precious ungents. These we were invited to take home with us as mementos.
Then looking again at the table, I saw that a tray of cakes had been placed on it, with a figure of Priapus, the handiwork of the pastry-cook, standing in the middle, represented in the conventional way as carrying in his capacious bosom grapes and all sorts of fruits. Eagerly we reached out after these dainties, when instantly a new trick set us laughing afresh. For each cake and each fruit was full of saffron, which spurted out into our faces at the slightest touch, giving us an unpleasant drenching. So conceiving there must be something specially holy about this dish, scented as it was in this ceremonial fashion, we rose to our feet, crying, “All hail, Augustus, Father of his Country!” But seeing the others still helping themselves to the dessert, even after this act of piety, we also filled our napkins,–myself among the foremost, as I thought no gift good enough to pour into my beloved Giton’s bosom. Meantime three slaves entered wearing short white jackets. Two of them set on the table images of the Lares with amulets round their necks, while the third carried round a goblet of wine, crying, “The gods be favorable! the gods be favorable!” Trimalchio told us they were named respectively Cerdo, Felicio and Lucrio. Then came a faithful likeness of Trimalchio in marble, and as everybody else kissed it, we were ashamed not to do likewise.
[LXI ] Then after we had all wished one another good health of mind and body, Trimalchio turned to Niceros and said, “You used to be better company; what makes you so dull and silent today? I beg you, if you wish to oblige me, tell us that adventure of yours.” Niceros, delighted at his friend’s affability, replied, “May I never make profit more, if I’m not ready to burst with satisfaction to see you so well disposed, Trimalchio. So ho! for a pleasant hour,–though I very much fear these learned chaps will laugh at me. Well! let ‘em. I’ll say my say for all that! What does it hurt me, if a man does grin? Better they should laugh with me than at me.” “These words the hero spake,” and so began the following strange story:
“When I was still a slave, we lived in a narrow street; the house is Gavilla’s now. There, as the gods would have it, I fell in love with Terentius, the tavern-keeper’s wife; you all knew Melissa from Tarentum, the prettiest of pretty wenches! Not that I courted her carnally or for venery, but more because she was such a good sort. Nothing I asked did she ever refuse; if she made a penny, I got a halfpenny; whatever I saved, I put in her purse, and she never choused me. Well! her husband died when they were at a country house. So I moved heaven and earth to get to her; true friends, you know, are proved in adversity.
[LXII “It so happened my master had gone to Capua, to attend to various trifles of business. So seizing the opportunity, I persuade our lodger to accompany me as far as the fifth milestone. He was a soldier, as bold as Hell. We got under way about first cockcrow, with the moon shining as bright as day. We arrive at the tombs; my man lingers behind among the gravestones, whilst I sit down singing, and start counting the gravestones. Presently I looked back for my comrade; he had stripped off all his clothes and laid them down by the wayside. My heart was in my mouth; and there I stood feeling like a dead man. Then he made water all round the clothes, and in an instant changed into a wolf. Don’t imagine I’m joking; I would not tell a lie for the finest fortune ever man had.
“However, as I was telling you, directly he was turned into a wolf, he set up a howl, and away to the woods. At first I didn’t know where I was, but presently I went forward to gather up his clothes; but lo and behold! they were turned into stone. If ever a man was like to die of terror, I was that man! Still I drew my sword and let out at every shadow on the road till I arrived at my sweetheart’s house. I rushed in looking like a ghost, soul and body barely sticking together. The sweat was pouring down between my legs, my eyes were set, my wits gone almost past recovery. Melissa was astounded at my plight, wondering why ever I was abroad so late. ‘Had you come a little sooner,’ she said, ‘you might have given us a hand; a wolf broke into the farm and has slaughtered all the cattle, just as if a butcher had bled them. Still he didn’t altogether have the laugh on us, though he did escape; for one of the laborers ran him through the neck with a pike.’
“After hea
ring this, I could not close an eye, but directly it was broad daylight, I started off for our good Gaius’s house, like a peddler whose pack’s been stolen; and coming to the spot where the clothes had been turned into stone, I found nothing whatever but a pool of blood. When eventually I got home, there lay my soldier a-bed like a great ox, while a surgeon was dressing his neck. I saw at once he was a werewolf and I could never afterwards eat bread with him, no! not if you’d killed me. Other people may think what they please; but as for me, if I’m telling you a lie, may your guardian spirits confound me!”
[LXIII ] We were all struck dumb with amazement, till Trimalchio broke the silence, saying, “Far be it from me to doubt your story; if you’ll believe me, my hair stood on end, for I know Niceros is not the man to repeat idle fables; he’s perfectly trustworthy and anything but a babbler. Now! I’ll tell you a horrible tale myself, as much out of the common as an ass on the tiles!
“I was still but a long-haired lad (for I led a Chian life from a boy) when our master’s minion died,–a pearl, by heaven! a paragon of perfection at all points. Well! as his poor mother was mourning him, and several of us besides condoling with her, all of a sudden the witches set up their hullabaloo, for all the world like a hound in full cry after a hare. At that time we had a Cappadocian in the household, a tall fellow, and a high-spirited, and strong enough to lift a mad bull off its feet. This man gallantly drawing his sword, dashed out in front of the house door, first winding his cloak carefully round his left arm, and lunging out, as it might be there–no harm to what I touch–ran a woman clean through. We heard a groan, but the actual witches (I’m very particular to tell the exact truth) we did not see. Coming in again, our champion threw himself down on a bed and his body was black and blue all over, just as if he had been scourged with whips, for it seems an evil hand had touched him. We barred the door and turned back afresh to our lamentations, but when his mother threw her arms round her boy and touched his dead body, she found nothing but a wisp of straw. It had neither heart, nor entrails, nor anything else; for the witches had whipped away the lad and left a changeling of straw in his place. Now I ask you, can you help after this believing there are wise women, and hags that fly by night. But our tall bully, after what happened, never got back his color, in fact a few days afterward he died raving mad!”
[LXIV We listened with wonder and credulity in equal proportions, and kissing the table, besought the Night-hags to keep in quarters, while we were returning home.
And indeed by this time the lights seemed to burn double and I thought the whole room looked changed, when Trimalchio exclaimed, “I call on you, Plocamus; have you nothing to tell us? no diversion for us? And you used to be such good company, with your amusing dialogues and the comic songs you interspersed. Heigho! all gone, ye toothsome titbits, all gone?” “Alas! my racing days are over, since I got the gout,” replied the other; “but when I was a young man, I very nearly sang myself into a consumption. Dancing? dialogues? buffoonery? when did I ever find my match, eh?–always excepting Appelles.” And clapping his hand to his mouth, he spit out some horrid stuff that sounded like whistling, and which he told us afterwards was Greek.
Moreover Trimalchio himself gave an imitation of a horn-blower, and presently turned to his minion whom he called Croesus. This was a lad with sore eyes and filthy teeth: he was playing with a little black bitch, disgustingly fat, twisting a green scarf round her, putting half a loaf of bread on the couch, and on the animal’s refusing to eat it, being already overfed, cramming it down her throat. This reminding Trimalchio of a duty omitted, he ordered Scylax to be brought in, “the guardian of my house and home.” Next moment a huge watchdog was led in on a large chain and took up a position in front of the table. Then Trimalchio tossed him a lump of white bread, observing, “There’s no one in the house loves me better.” The boy was enraged at hearing Scylax so lavishly praised, and setting his bitch down on the floor, cheered her on to attack the monster. Scylax, as was his nature to, filled the room with savage barking, and almost tore Croesus’s little “Pearl” into bits. Nor did this fight end the trouble; but a chandelier was upset over the table, smashing all the crystal, and scalding some of the guests with oil.
Trimalchio, not to appear disconcerted at the damage done, kissed the lad and told him to get up on his back. The latter mounted a-cockhorse without a moment’s hesitation, and repeatedly slapping him on the shoulders with his open hand, laughingly shouted, “Buck! buck! how many fingers do I hold up?” After thus submitting for a while to be made a horse of, Trimalchio ordered them to prepare a capacious bowl of wine for all the slaves sitting at our feet, but on this condition, he added, “If any one won’t take his whack, souse it over his head! Business in the daytime, now for jollity!”

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Poetry: John Keats

Ode To Autumn
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;

To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cell.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,

Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

—

O SLEEP
Soft embalmer of the still midnight!

Shutting with careful fingers and benign

Our gloom-pleased eyes, embower’d from the light,

Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;

O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,

In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,

Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws

Around my bed its lulling charities;

Then save me, or the passèd day will shine

Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;

Save me from curious conscience, that still lords

Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;

Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,

And seal the hushèd casket of my soul.

—-
WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE
WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,

Before high-pilèd books, in charact’ry,

Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;

When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that I may never live to trace,

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love;–then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,

Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

_____________
“The veils are thin this time of year, they say. The veils are thin between the worlds seen and unseen, but they are also thin within us. Something in us opens and reaches out into the dark. Something in us reaches into the darkness held deeply in secret, too. Something in us longs for the warming fire. Our veils are thin, our personality parts fight for dominance, and our psychic centers know that there is more. Our hearts do, too. The unseen reaches for us, and we reach for the unseen. There is no difference between the two.” – T. Thorn Coyle