Cenizo (Leucophyllum
frutescens), also known as purple sage (even though it is not related to true
sage (the Salvia genus) or sagebrush (members of the Artemisia genus), is a
shrub with ash green leaves, and flowers in different shades of purple. It is widely cultivated as an ornamental and grows
wild in the southwestern U.S. (Especially Texas) and northern Mexico. Because
it is believed to flower before a rainstorm, it is also called the barometer
bush. This ability to predict rain may have to do with its ability to perceive changes
in humidity. It is very drought-hardy and can tolerate poor and alkaline soils. Although it is ubiquitous in gardens of the Southwest, it is less
known as an herbal medicine, even though its widespread use as a cold remedy and
mild sedative goes back centuries. The small, silvery-blue-green leaves can be
used as a tea, which is said to help with congestion, cough, fever, and chills
of the common cold. I can say from experience that it has very little taste,
and for colds, it is usually sweetened with honey. There have been a few
studies that suggest cenizo may be hepatoprotective, but this has not been verified
in humans and continues to be studied. I have also not heard of any side
effects when it is consumed as a tea in reasonable quantities, but as always,
people in special risk groups should consult a medical professional with any
questions or concerns before consuming it.
Das allgemeine Brouillon
Die Geisterwelt ist uns in der Tat schon aufgeschlossen, sie ist immer offenbar --Novalis
Wednesday, September 11, 2024
Cenizo
Tuesday, August 20, 2024
Sunday, July 28, 2024
Inspiration
Dichter und Priester waren im Anfang Eins. Und nur spätere Zeiten haben sie getrennt. Der echte Dichter ist aber immer Priester, so wie der echte Priester immer Dichter geblieben. Und sollte nicht die Zukunft den alten Zustand der Dinge wieder herbeiführen?
--Novalis, Fragmente I
Whether or not Novalis is correct in his assertion, there is an element of mystery in all true poetry. The poet not only asserts what he or she knows, but also what the act of creating poetry itself reveals. The poet not only predicates what is known, but also what is not known and yet can still be expressed. This is one of the great powers of poetry. The poem itself influences the way that the poet creates. Novalis states that:
There are certain poems within us that seem to have a completely different character from the others, for they are accompanied by a feeling of necessity, and yet there is absolutely no external reason for them. It seems to the human being that he is engaged in a conversation, and that some unknown spiritual being is causing him in a wonderful way to develop the most obvious thoughts. This must be a higher being, because it relates to one in a way that is not possible for any being bound to appearances. It must be a homogeneous being, because it treats him like a spiritual being and only rarely asks him to be self-active. This ego of a higher kind relates to humanity as a human does to nature or a wise person to a child. (Novalis, Fragmente I)
Call it intuition or inspiration, poetry can be a means of revealing much more than the poet knows or intends—the expression of a wisdom that transcends even the poet’s own limited personal experience or knowledge.
Monday, July 8, 2024
"I acknowledge my transgressions"
The Return of the Prodigal Son, Rembrandt |
“I acknowledge my
transgression,” says David. If I admit my fault, then you will pardon it. Let
us never assume that if we live good lives we will be without sin; our lives
should be praised only when we continue to beg for pardon. But people are
hopeless creatures, and the less they concentrate on their own sins, the more
interested they become in the sins of others. They seek to criticize, not to
correct. Unable to excuse themselves, they are ready to accuse others. This was
not the way that David showed us how to pray and make amends to God, when he
said: “I acknowledge my transgression, and my sin is ever before me.” He did
not concentrate on others’ sins; he turned his thoughts on himself. He did not
merely stroke the surface, but he plunged inside and went deep down within
himself. He did not spare himself, and therefore was not impudent in asking to
be spared.
--from a sermon by St. Augustine
Monday, May 20, 2024
Wednesday, April 17, 2024
Poetry
Poetry is an attempt to convey a reality that the poet has in some way experienced by attempting to capture its totality through metaphor. In such an endeavor, metaphorical language demonstrates superiority over mere descriptive language by incorporating both meaning and ambiguity (allowing for the poet to communicate the perceived and the intuited, the “seen” and “unseen” of reality). Novalis said, "Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason." The holistic experience of reality that metaphor engenders gives a poem its special texture, sometimes referred to as “mood,” that unique combination of sign and feeling. But feeling in this case refers to more than what is ordinarily understood as “feelings”; it is a kind of intuitional intersubjectivity and remains on the boundary of the expressed and the inexpressible by its very nature. That is why a poem will be understood in a number of different ways, depending on the mindset of the reader. The poet and the reader will inevitably have distinct experiences of the poem as well. But this does not mean that either experience is invalid. This “tension between congruence and incongruence” (Paul Ricoeur, The Metaphorical Process as Cognition, Imagination, and Feeling) is at the heart of metaphor, as it is at the heart of our conscious perception of totality. All art entails perceptual distortion by both artist and aesthete. But the metaphor, by its allusiveness and ambiguity, goes beyond this distortion to create in the reader a combination of experience and insight. All this has been expressed better and more clearly by others, but it is very much at the heart of my interest in poetry.
Saturday, March 2, 2024
Grace
When the
indivisible Trinity willed eternally and undividedly the existence of beings
able to receive God, to have part in his delight, gladness, peace, joy, then
the Trinity created from nothing the rational mind made in God’s image. The
very fact of creation from nothing, the truth of—as I’ve already
mentioned—God’s perfectly gratuitous generosity makes nonsense of the notion
that some have had of a certain compulsion inherent in his nature that could
not be put to rest. Creation certainly is an effect of his natural goodness,
but only because he wills it. Blessed, no less, the Being that demands doing
good. Does not he who is compelled to do the good deeds demanded by the
goodness of his own nature do them gratuitously and freely?
By recognizing the gratuitousness of our coming into existence, we can we understand the fullness of God’s creative love. By knowing that our existence is a totally free and gratuitous act of God, we can begin to appreciate that we are complete only in God; that we are destined only for God; that we need nothing but God.