Tomorrow . . .

Tomorrow, a leader who is open about his authoritarian and fascist tendencies assumes power in this country. Even though there is much to criticize in the democrats and plenty of reasons not to want to vote for most of their candidates, the choice of a leader who has no respect for the rule of law is the worst decision voters could have made. And why did they make that choice? One word: inflation. Instead of blaming the billionaires who are actually responsible for inflation (as labor leader Humberto Selix used to say: “Inflation is rich people inflating their pockets with poor peoples’ wages”), voters elected a billionaire who is beholden to his billionaire cronies. America has truly sold its birthright for a bowl of soup! A bowl of soup that is only going to get more out of reach. Hopefully, future buyer’s remorse will be enough to wake people up to the terrible choice that they have made. But will it be too late? And will it be enough to drive people to call for change in a system that has been making America more and more unequal, and life harder for the poor and middle class for a whole generation?

The Poetry of Novalis

Einst da ich bittre Tränen vergoß, da in Schmerz aufgelöst meine Hoffnung zerrann, und ich einsam stand am dürren Hügel, der in engen, dunkeln Raum die Gestalt meines Lebens barg – einsam, wie noch kein Einsamer war, von unsäglicher Angst getrieben – kraftlos, nur ein Gedanken des Elends noch. – Wie ich da nach Hülfe umherschaute, vorwärts nicht konnte und rückwärts nicht, und am fliehenden, verlöschten Leben mit unendlicher Sehnsucht hing: – da kam aus blauen Fernen – von den Höhen meiner alten Seligkeit ein Dämmerungsschauer – und mit einem Male riß das Band der Geburt – des Lichtes Fessel.

                                                                               --Novalis, Hymnen an die Nacht, 3

Once when I shed bitter tears, when my hope dissolved in pain and I stood alone on the barren hill that concealed the shape of my life in a narrow, dark space—as alone as no lonely person had ever been, driven by unspeakable fear—powerless, only an idea of misery. As I looked around for help, unable to go forward or back, and clinging with endless longing to the fleeing, extinguished life; there came from the blue distance—from the heights of my old bliss—a twilight shiver, and suddenly the bond of birth—the fetters of light—were broken.

Novalis, in his prose writing, especially his fragments, is an explorer: observing, pondering, developing half-formed, tentative ideas. His prose work is insightful but contingent.

     But in his poetry, he is a prophet: intuitive, confident, wise. His fragments are speculative, but his poetry (which sometimes, as with the above fragment, takes the form of what is commonly called “prose poetry”) is consummate, imperative, visionary, sure.

December 12, Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe

 

Las ondas del mar, la tierra entera,

todo pueblo y nación era mi dominio.

Entre todas estas cosas buscaba reposo,

una heredad en que instalarme.

                        --Eclesiástico 24: 6-7

Over waves of the sea, over all the land,

over every people and nation, I held sway.

Among all these I sought a resting place.

In whose inheritance should I abide?

                --Sirach 24:6-7

"The poet's sayings have a magical power"

 

Wir haben uns freilich nie um die Geheimnisse der Dichter bekümmert, wenn wir gleich mit Vergnügen ihrem Gesange zugehört. Es mag wohl wahr sein, daß eine besondere Gestirnung dazu gehört, wenn ein Dichter zur Welt kommen soll; denn es ist gewiß eine recht wunderbare Sache mit dieser Kunst. Auch sind die andern Künste gar sehr davon unterschieden, und lassen sich weit eher begreifen. Bei den Malern und Tonkünstlern kann man leicht einsehn, wie es zugeht, und mit Fleiß und Geduld läßt sich beides lernen. Die Töne liegen schon in den Saiten, und es gehört nur eine Fertigkeit dazu, diese zu bewegen, um jene in einer reizenden Folge aufzuwecken. Bei den Bildern ist die Natur die herrlichste Lehrmeisterin. Sie erzeugt unzählige schöne und wunderliche Figuren, gibt die Farben, das Licht und den Schatten, und so kann eine geübte Hand, ein richtiges Auge, und die Kenntnis von der Bereitung und Vermischung der Farben, die Natur auf das vollkommenste nachahmen. Wie natürlich ist daher auch die Wirkung dieser Künste, das Wohlgefallen an ihren Werken, zu begreifen. Der Gesang der Nachtigall, das Sausen des Windes, und die herrlichen Lichter, Farben und Gestalten gefallen uns, weil sie unsere Sinne angenehm beschäftigen; und da unsere Sinne dazu von der Natur, die auch jenes hervorbringt, so eingerichtet sind, so muß uns auch die künstliche Nachahmung der Natur gefallen. Die Natur will selbst auch einen Genuß von ihrer großen Künstlichkeit haben, und darum hat sie sich in Menschen verwandelt, wo sie nun selber sich über ihre Herrlichkeit freut, das Angenehme und Liebliche von den Dingen absondert, und es auf solche Art allein hervorbringt, daß sie es auf mannigfaltigere Weise, und zu allen Zeiten und allen Orten haben und genießen kann. Dagegen ist von der Dichtkunst sonst nirgends äußerlich etwas anzutreffen. Auch schafft sie nichts mit Werkzeugen und Händen; das Auge und das Ohr vernehmen nichts davon: denn das bloße Hören der Worte ist nicht die eigentliche Wirkung dieser geheimen Kunst. Es ist alles innerlich, und wie jene Künstler die äußern Sinne mit angenehmen Empfindungen erfüllen, so erfüllt der Dichter das inwendige Heiligtum des Gemüts mit neuen, wunderbaren und gefälligen Gedanken. Er weiß jene geheimen Kräfte in uns nach Belieben zu erregen, und gibt uns durch Worte eine unbekannte herrliche Welt zu vernehmen. Wie aus tiefen Höhlen steigen alte und künftige Zeiten, unzählige Menschen, wunderbare Gegenden, und die seltsamsten Begebenheiten in uns herauf, und entreißen uns der bekannten Gegenwart. Man hört fremde Worte und weiß doch, was sie bedeuten sollen. Eine magische Gewalt üben die Sprüche des Dichters aus; auch die gewöhnlichen Worte kommen in reizenden Klängen vor, und berauschen die festgebannten Zuhörer.

We have certainly never troubled ourselves about the secrets of poets, although we have listened to their songs with pleasure. It may well be true that a special constellation is required for a poet to be born; for this art is certainly a truly wonderful thing. The other arts are very different from it and are much easier to understand. With painters and musicians one can easily understand their faculties, and with diligence and patience one can learn both. The notes are already in the strings, and only skill is required to move the latter and awaken them in a charming sequence. When it comes to pictures, nature is the most wonderful teacher. She creates innumerable beautiful and strange forms, provides the colors, the light and the shadow, and so, a practiced hand, a good eye, and knowledge of the preparation and mixing of colors is necessary to imitate nature most perfectly. How easy, then, are the effects of these arts and the pleasure they impart, to understand. The song of the nightingale, the rushing of the wind, and the magnificent lights, colors, and shapes please us because they pleasantly occupy our senses; and since our senses are so equipped for this by nature, which produces these things, we must also like the artificial imitation of nature. Nature itself wants to enjoy its great artificiality, and therefore it has transformed itself into human beings, where it now rejoices in its own glory, separates the pleasant and lovely from all things, and produces it in such a way that we can have and enjoy it in more diverse ways, and at all times and in all places. On the other hand, nothing of poetry can be found externally anywhere else. Nor does it create anything with tools or hands; the eye and ear perceive nothing of it, for merely hearing the words is not the real effect of this secret art. It is all internal, and just as those other artists fill the external senses with pleasant sensations, so the poet fills the inner sanctuary of the mind with new, wonderful, and pleasant thoughts. He knows how to arouse those secret powers in us at will and allows us to perceive an unknown, magnificent world through words. As if emanating from deep caves, ancient and future times, countless people, wonderful regions, and the strangest events rise up within us and tear us away from the familiar present. One hears strange language and yet grasps what it means. The poet's sayings have a magical power; even the ordinary words appear as charming sounds and intoxicate the spellbound listeners.

                                                                                         --Novalis, Heinrich von Ofterdingen

 

Poetry is able to accomplish the “magical” in the way Novalis describes because of the almost infinite elasticity of language. Words can summon up the unknown and make it manifest because of their ability to bridge the outside world and inner consciousness. And words are easily understood (at least their superficial meanings) and instantly comprehended, drawing forth a response from the reader or listener that needs no background understanding (such background understanding can enrich--but can also obscure--the reader’s experience of a poem). On the other hand, the impalpability of poetry means that it lacks the full visual impact of painting, sculpture, or architecture, and the full auditory impression of music (even though, in the art of song, poetry and music are combined). I remember that a prominent poet once said to me he had taken up jewelry-making as a hobby, “. . . because words are so intangible.” The lapidary arts allowed him to express himself in a more material way than words and ideas would allow. But he didn’t give up on poetry, and he continues to write hundreds of poems on every subject, real or ideal, under the sun.  

Idolatry

The worst form of idolatry must be the desire to make God in our own image. Or even worse, in the image of someone as troubled and deluded as Donald Trump. That temptation to see God as vengeful, cruel, exclusive, and indifferent, infects us and causes us to lose our humanity, our status as children of God. But the God that Jesus reveals is the opposite; He is the healer of our humanity: all-merciful, unconditionally loving, the friend of the poor, the hungry, the homeless, the stranger, the sinner. A God who abolishes fear, slavery, hatred, and arrogance—who is truly the way, the truth, and the life.

Cenizo

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.

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