Eisley Is Hungry
She has arrived. Everybody run.
[Nice job, Sam & Rosie]
downstream slowly: a division of peterschrock.com
She has arrived. Everybody run.
[Nice job, Sam & Rosie]
In case you've ever wondered, these are called "la sal y la pimienta" in spanish. i learned that once.
Sometimes it feels as if the whole world is holding its breath, as if not even the ocean and the rocks and the sky can contain all the wonder. In times like that it feels as if something is just about to break.
Then there are the times when no one and nothing seems to be holding its breath, except for you, and everything zooms by, while you sit still, trying not to disturb the balance of the universe, feeling the urge to fall to pieces.
And somewhere along right about here comes this: "If still persevering in our love, we fall to the point where the soul cannot keep back the cry 'My God, why has thou forsaken me?' if we remain at this point without ceasing to love, we end by touching something that is not affliction, not joy, something that is the central essence, necessary and pure, something not of the senses, common to joy and sorrow: the very love of God." (Simone Weil)
Now in the thirty-first year of my dark pilgrimmage on this earth and knowing less than I ever knew before, having learned only to recognize merde when I see it, having inherited no more from my father than a good nose for merde, for every species of shit that flies -- my only talent -- smelling merde from every quarter, living in fact in the very century of merde, the great shithouse of scientific humanism where needs are satisfied, everyone becomes an anyone, a warm creative person, and prospers like a dung beetle, and one hundred percent of people are humanists and ninety-eight percent believe in God, and men are dead, dead, dead; and the malaise has settled like a fall-out and what people really fear is not that the bomb will fall but that the bomb will not fall -- on this my thirtieth birthday, I know nothing and there is nothing to do but fall prey to desire.
-- Walker Percy in The Moviegoer
-- Spent some good time on the phone with a friend this evening. We were talking about the big storm in New Orleans and how we felt about it. A confessional: I don't think I'm a racist, but I am concerned about some of my feelings about the whole event. I don't think of myself as prejudiced against the poor, but I have to confess I'm embarrassed about some of the thoughts that have popped into my head. Where do these things come from? It's like a sickness, I think. What can I do to get better?
-- I finished The Moviegoer tonight. There's something in the above piece that sounds familiar. Those pictures of "looters" on the news from New Orleans last week were pictures from a script, everyone becoming anyone. The You becoming the It. As if the story was written in advance. Here, they informed me, is how it must be interpreted.
-- The bomb fell last week and I was glued to the screen, like everyone else, watching the morality play work itself out. And somehow, I think, we were happy to see it because it rattled our windows and made us feel awake. It gave us a reason to get riled up and to write fat checks the Red Cross and to feel good.
-- I think there are better ways to feel good.
-- I'm wondering a little (but trying not to think about it too much) about the poor black families who were already living in the shelters in my town. Not nearly as interesting, are they? So what's the difference? So what's my problem? Why do I need the big production? How come it doesn't feel real unless there's a big movie theme playing in the background?
-- I don't know much what to do about this, but the merde is definitely stinking up the place.
-- I confess I know something about falling prey to desire.
-- So how to get out of this mess? I need something bigger than myself. I need roots. I need place and the stories of real people. I need a God who isn't constantly being reinvented by pop culture and I need faith. I need the opposite of dead, dead, dead. I need all that and the company of friends. That's what I need.
Beauty is a key to the mystery and a call to transcendence.
-- John Paul II in Letter To Artists, 1999
It's been a long time since we've had an installment in our Cool Bug series. I'm sure you're probably just fine with that. But in order to maintain our diversity quotas, we are forced to do this. If it bothers you, please don't blame us, blame Bush, or the founding fathers, or Starbucks.
To the rest of you, this is also a cry for help: can anyone enlighten us as to the real name of this monster? Last night it lumbered across the pavement toward our feet as we sat quietly reading, scaring the beejeebers out of us. What you are looking at in the above photo is apparently what it thinks to be its most frightening aspect. The reason we think this is because this is what it does when it is poked with little sticks. To all of us here at Zippy, the pose struck us as comical and a little sad. But don't tell the monster. It knows where we live.
Anyway, if you know what it is, feel free to give a shout out...
Yes, that's right, it's Thomas Merton week here at Zippy, Inc. We can't help it. He said a couple really good things, that Trappist guy did. For example, this little bit (which I plan to print up at somewhere around the size of a football field and hang in front of the Pat Robertson headquarters):
The job of the Christian is to try to give an example of sanity, independence, human integrity, against all establishments and all mass movements and all current fashions which are merely mindless and hysterical.
-- Thomas Merton in a letter to Daniel Berrigan
In the end, it comes down to the old story that we are sinners, but that this is our hope because sinners are the ones who attract to themselves the infinite compassion of God. To be a sinner, to want to be pure, to remain in patient expectiation of the divine mercy and above all, to forgive and love others, as best we can, this is what makes us Christians.
- Thomas Merton in a letter to Czeslaw Milosz, quoted in The Life You Save May Be Your Own by Paul Elie