The Lines of Fate

Destiny by John William Waterhouse


I have a weakness for things related to the supernatural. Maybe it's not healthy, maybe it's wrong, maybe it's superstitious... or maybe it's because it's real. I was reading Jung the other day and in one of his essays, he told of this "vision" that deeply disturbed him:

"In October, while I was alone on a journey, I was suddenly seized by an overpowering vision: I saw a monstrous flood covering all the northern and low lying lands between the north sea and the Alps. When it came up to Switzerland I saw that the mountains grew higher and higher to protect our country. I realised that a frightful catastrophe was in progress. I saw the mighty yellow waves, the floating rubble of civilisation, and the drowned bodies of uncounted thousands. Then the whole sea turned to blood . . . two weeks passed; then the vision recurred . . . even more vividly than before, and the blood was more emphasised. An inner voice spoke. "Look at it well; it is wholly real and it will be so. You cannot doubt it." Soon afterwards [June 1914] I had a thrice repeated dream that in the middle of summer an Arctic cold wave descended and turned the land to ice . . . the entire region totally deserted by human beings. All living things were killed by frost."

This vision he had was in October of 1913, World War I broke out in August 1914. When war broke out, he finally realized that this dream was a foretelling of this event, of the death of millions of people. He thus conceives of this idea of the "collective unconscious," and that mankind is capable of accessing this connection through dreams. BUT... why does he not then go further and say that these types of dreams are actual prophecies? What I mean is, if people can have prophetic visions, then it follows that future events are already set to occur, that the future is already fated. This, of course, follows a linear view of time, that there exists a past, a present, and a future (as an aside, most language has evolved along this line of thought). However, if we believe in the changeability of the future, then we would have to accept the version of the universe that is split into an infinite number of universes, otherwise known as multiverses or metaverses. By exercising free will and choosing one path over another, there suddenly exists another existence. And, each choice, compounded with millions upon millions of souls... Still, even in this scenario, the existence of prophetic dreams is possible. For instance, what if it were possible to see sometimes these various universes; what if there are people amongst us that possess this gift? The unfortunate thing is that in our modern world, we do not allow for such things. We are comfortable with just one possibility, but alas, one that is not fated. We want to think we are not destined to live out life along a certain path, yet we are also not willing to accept the existence of the multiverse. These dreams and prophecies, even lines of fate inscribed on the hand are deemed the ravings of madmen. Maybe that is why Jung came up with the collective unconscious, because the collective unconscious deals with the present condition of mankind as a whole and not the existence of a predetermined (or completely infinite pre-existing) future... avoiding altogether opening this can of worms.

I'm Not Really a Conspiracist.

One thing that we need to grasp is the duality of this world. What I mean is that as much as we may wish it, we cannot have good without evil....

I wrote this sentence about a month ago and I've lost my train of thought, but here it is, here it is... the world as we live it is a bunch of lies. Like I've said before, I'm not really a conspiracy theorist. I don't really believe that everything is a conspiracy, but if it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, well, damn it, then it IS a duck. Take for instance what it means when one says American Dream. One would picture a house, a family consisting of a young couple, 2.5 kids, and a dog, preferably golden retriever (certainly not a pit bull), nice manicured lawn, etc. AND, it is not just any house, but it is a Cape Cod. Now, what the hell is a Cape Cod? Well, let me tell you. It is the house that every single five year old draws when you tell him/her to draw a house. All across this United States, ask ANY child to draw a house and you will get a Cape Cod. So ingrained is this American ideal that all children (city children, country children, California children, Hawaii children, and of course New England children) will draw the same freaking house. If you don't think that is in any way bizarre... It also happens to be the house that was miraculously mass-produced in the late 1940's in New York. Of course, it wasn't invented back then (it was actually brought over from England in the 17th century), no, but it was the first house that allowed the "masses" (meaning all of the people who really had no chance in hell of ever becoming a home-owner unless through government intervention via FHA or VA) to become homeowners and THUS to BECOME middle class. By the very definition of homeownership, one enters the middle class. Think about this... the government actually created a middle class by allowing mass production of housing. It spawned satellite industries (such as real estate companies, mortgage lenders, home inspectors, pest control companies, etc.) and it created an unsustainable consumer-driven economy. AND, we are ALL supposed to strive towards this ONE goal. Why? I think it is so that we become so preoccupied with the attainment of all of these material things that we cease to think. When one has a house and garden and "toys," there is no anger, no injustice to right, no rebellion, no revolution. We have become mere drones. Then years pass, nothing significant is done with one's life and people only then may wonder, what was it all about anyway? Oh, but wait, the government doesn't want you to think.

The Nature of Man

Michelangelo Buonarroti, The Sin of Adam and Eve, The Fall of Man, Fresco at the Vatican, Sistine Chapel
But then, what exactly is evil? Is it really so easy and clear to define? Or is it simply a point of view? Evil is intentional. After all, predators kill prey for food, but we could never rightly say they are evil. Are humans inherently good or evil? Is evil made or born? Is good made or born? According to the Chinese philosopher, Wang Yang Ming, man is inherently good. He says, "when it [the mind] sees a child fall into a well it naturally knows what commiseration is. This is intuitive knowledge of good, and is not attained through external investigation. If the thing manifested emanates from the intuitive faculty, it is the more free from the obscuration of selfish purpose. This is what is meant by saying that the mind is filled with commiseration, and that love cannot be exhausted. . . ."

But, when we compare this philosophy to Christian theology, it is the complete opposite... man is a sinner because of original sin. Man is corrupt, selfish, and depraved, saved only by divine Grace.

What is interesting is that both philosophies (religion, philosophy, so closely linked...can we not call one the other and the other one?) speak of the passions of men. In Eastern thought, man is born whole, good, upright then corrupted by passions (from Wang Yang Ming):

"The mind is one. In case it has not been corrupted by the passions of men, it is called an upright mind. If corrupted by human aims and passions, it is called a selfish mind. When a selfish mind is rectified it is an upright mind; and when an upright mind loses its rightness it becomes a selfish mind. Originally there were not two minds. A selfish mind is due to selfish desire; an upright mind is natural law (is true to nature). . . .Someone said "All men have natural endowment (mind), and the mind is the embodiment of heaven-given principles (natural law). Why then do some devote themselves to virtue and others to vice? The mind of the evil man has lost its original nature. . . .There are no crises and problems beyond those of passion and change. Are not pleasure, anger, sorrow, and joy passions of men? Seeing, hearing, talking, working, wealth and honor, poverty and lowliness, sorrow and difficulty, death and life, all are vicissitudes of life. All are included in the passions and feelings of men. These need only to be in a state of perfect equilibrium and harmony, which, in turn, depends upon being watchful over one's self. . . ."

So accordingly, evil is the result of not being watchful over one's self, yielding to the temptations that so readily present themselves in life whereas in Christian thought, evil is something we are born with and have to remove from our very souls by divine Grace... divine intervention?... that we will absolutely be doomed to evil... it's such a pessimistic view.

Good vs Evil

Peter Paul Rubens, 1618, Head of Medusa

Nearly an entire month has passed in the blink of an eye; I did not mean to neglect writing, but some things needed addressing, dotted my i's and crossed my t's, all that good stuff that makes up life. I'm trying not to be sarcastic, though it's difficult not to be. I've been thinking about good versus evil. J has kept two constant friends in her life, through decades of turmoil, through thick and thin. She admits to not being able to philosophize with either, to not really confiding in either, but they've been her friends now for decades. Her oldest friend, let's call her Bambi, is pure innocence, naive today as the day she was born... happy-go-lucky in life, not particularly well-to-do. Then there is her other long-time friend, let's call her Medusa. Medusa has been married at least six times (all for money), was at one point a "madame," and is now quite wealthy from her dead husbands. Based on this, J believes that evil wins out in the end; all the scheming and plotting of Medusa, after all, has netted her a fortune, while the carefree, good-hearted Bambi lives a most ordinary life. But, this is where we disagree. From my point of view, I think Medusa is most miserable. She spent her entire life, deceiving people, telling lie upon lie until she can no longer recognize truth from fiction... certainly there must be some psychosis there? She trusts no one, not even her own children. She desires adoration from the "common people." She desires things and has spent her entire life feeling as if it were never enough... maybe just a little more. Bambi, on the other hand, lives in complete bliss. Life takes care of her; she wants nothing and so never feels that she needs anything. She has spent her entire life... well, happy, I suppose. Most people, of course, are neither extremes. I asked J why she is friends with either one since she confides in neither. She says she keeps Medusa around to remind her who not to be and Bambi... ignorance is bliss.

Silkworms, continued.

Kitagawa Utamaro, Ukiyo e, silkworm moths

In this day and age, we take it for granted that we can hop on a plane and be in another country in less than a day. Even with all the hassles of flying, it's really no big deal anymore. But, back in the day... back in the day... (no, I'm not going to talk about walking ten miles to school, through the snow...) I mean, back in the time of Lafcadio Hearn, before there were airplanes, before the famous first flight of the Wright brothers, the only way to really get around the world was by ship. And, it wasn't a pleasant journey. One could be overrun by pirates, the ship could be lost at sea, tossed in storms, sunk; it was a rather dangerous way to travel. So, it's particularly remarkable, I think, when someone from the late 19th century went from Europe to America, and then finally settled in Japan. And, then to top it all off, he learned the language and customs and settled down to write and share it with the Western world. Language is not an easy thing. Learning basic phrases for travel is easy, but actually learning a language and the nuances and cultural references take a lifetime. His thoughts on Buddhism as compared to the Judeo-Christian traditions stemmed from an old Chinese proverb. He writes, "I WAS puzzled by the phrase, " silkworm-moth eyebrow," in an old Japanese, or rather Chinese proverb : — The silkworm-moth eyebrow of a woman is the axe that cuts down the wisdom of man. So I went to my friend Niimi, who keeps silkworms, to ask for an explanation." From here, he goes with his friend to see the silkworms and eventually he comes to his musings:

"First of all, I found myself thinking about a
delightful revery by M. Anatole France, in which
he says that if he had been the Demiurge, he
would have put youth at the end of life instead
of at the beginning, and would have otherwise so
ordered matters that every human being should
have three stages of development, somewhat cor-
responding to those of the lepidoptera. Then it
occurred to me that this fantasy was in substance
scarcely more than the delicate modification of a
most ancient doctrine, common to nearly all the
higher forms of religion.

Western faiths especially teach that our life on
earth is a larval state of greedy helplessness, and
that death is a pupa-sleep out of which we should
soar into everlasting light. They tell us that
during its sentient existence, the outer body
should be thought of only as a kind of caterpil-
lar, and thereafter as a chrysalis; — and they
aver that we lose or gain, according to our be-
havior as larvae, the power to develop wings
under the mortal wrapping. Also they tell us
not to trouble ourselves about the fact that we
see no Psyche-imago detach itself from the broken
cocoon : this lack of visual evidence signifies
nothing, because we have only the purblind vision
of grubs. Our eyes are but half-evolved. Do
not whole scales of colors invisibly exist above
and below the limits of our retinal sensibility?
Even so the butterfly-man exists, — although, as
a matter of course, we cannot see him.

But what would become of this human imago
in a state of perfect bliss? From the evolutional
point of view the question has interest; and its
obvious answer was suggested to me by the history
of those silkworms, — which have been
domesticated for only a few thousand years. Consider
the result of our celestial domestication for — let
us say — several millions of years : I mean the
final consequence, to the wishers, of being able to
gratify every wish at will.

Those silkworms have all that they wish for, —
even considerably more. Their wants, though
very simple, are fundamentally identical with the
necessities of mankind, — food, shelter, warmth,
safety, and comfort. Our endless social struggle
is mainly for these things. Our dream of heaven
is the dream of obtaining them free of cost in
pain; and the condition of those silkworms is the
realization, in a small way, of our imagined
Paradise. (I am not considering the fact that a vast
majority of the worms are predestined to torment
and the second death; for my time is of heaven,
not of lost souls. I am speaking of the elect —
those worms preordained to salvation and rebirth.)
Probably they can feel only very weak sensations:
they are certainly incapable of prayer. But if
they were able to pray, they could not ask for
anything more than they already receive from
the youth who feeds and tends them. He is their
providence, — a god of whose existence they can
be aware in only the vaguest possible way, but
just such a god as they require. And we should
foolishly deem ourselves fortunate to be equally
well cared-for in proportion to our more complex
wants. Do not our common forms of prayer
prove our desire for like attention?' Is not the
assertion of our "need of divine love" an
involuntary confession that we wish to be treated
like silkworms, — to live without pain by the help
of gods? Yet if the gods were to treat us as we
want, we should presently afford fresh evidence,
— in the way of what is called " the evidence from
degeneration," — that the great evolutional law is
far above the gods.

An early stage of that degeneration would be
represented by total incapacity to help ourselves;
— then we should begin to lose the use of our
higher sense-organs; — later on, the brain would
shrink to a vanishing pin-point of matter; — still
later we should dwindle into mere amorphous
sacs, mere blind stomachs. Such would be the
physical consequence of that kind of divine love
which we so lazily wish for. The longing for
perpetual bliss in perpetual peace might well seem
a malevolent inspiration from the Lords of Death
and Darkness. All life that feels and thinks has
been, and can continue to be, only as the product
of struggle and pain, — only as the outcome of
endless battle with the Powers of the Universe.
And cosmic law is uncompromising. Whatever
organ ceases to know pain, — whatever faculty
ceases to be used under the stimulus of pain, —
must also cease to exist. Let pain and its effort
be suspended, and life must shrink back, first
into protoplasmic shapelessness, thereafter into
dust.

Buddhism —which, in its own grand way, is a
doctrine of evolution — rationally proclaims its
heaven but a higher stage of development through
pain, and teaches that even in paradise the
cessation of effort produces degradation. With equal
reasonableness it declares that the capacity for
pain in the superhuman world increases always
in proportion to the capacity for pleasure. (There
is little fault to be found with this teaching
from a scientific standpoint, — since we know
that higher evolution must involve an increase
of sensitivity to pain.) In the Heavens of
Desire, says the Shobo-nen-jo-kyo, the pain of death
is so great that all the agonies of all the hells
united could equal but one-sixteenth part of such
pain.

The foregoing comparison is unnecessarily
strong; but the Buddhist teaching about heaven
is in substance eminently logical. The suppression
of pain — mental or physical, — in any conceivable
state of sentient existence, would necessarily
involve the suppression also of pleasure; — and
certainly all progress, whether moral or material,
depends upon the power to meet and to master
pain. In a silkworm-paradise such as our mundane
instincts lead us to desire, the seraph freed from the
necessity of toil, and able to satisfy his every want
at will, would lose his wings at last, and sink back
to the condition of a grub. . . . "

In Ghostly Japan by Lafcadio Hearn

Lafcadio Hearn

Lafcadio Hearn was an extraordinary man with an extraordinary mind. The wikipedia entry briefly summarizes his various endeavors as a journalist, writer, and thinker (I actually did not know about his collection of Creole recipes). However, he is best known for his writings on Japan, dealing mostly with the supernatural and religious aspects of Japan. You may have seen the collection of short stories that was made into the 1965 film Kwaidan. In Ghostly Japan, he writes about myths and legends of Japan, many of which stem from a mixture of Buddhism and Shinto. One particularly curious piece was his own musings on Western and Eastern religion. He conjectures that a belief in heavenly paradise replete with a divine, benevolent being leads human beings to eventually succumb to the fate of the domesticated silkworm whereas a life based on karmic principles seeks to constantly evolve for better or worse. It is a most fitting synopsis.

Fear and Cowardice

Francisco de Goya, Saturn Devouring His Son
J and I have been friends nearly a decade now, and I must say that is rare, at least for me. I had never given it much thought until the other day when she told me I was cowardly. Okay, I'm not good with criticism, but this one made me really think. She and I are quite alike oddly, even though we come from completely different lives. And she is maybe one of two (maybe?) people I trust not to blow smoke up my ass. She critiques my work frequently as well, gives me food for thought. Yes, cowardly.... hmmm... that, I've not heard before, but then again, our perception of ourselves is often different from another person's perception. She said I was cowardly because I often choose to not love people, to keep them at a distance for fear of.... betrayal?; even with her, it took nearly five years before we were good friends, longer to completely trust that she would not... would not abandon me? I just figured I was a tad anti-social. In this era of instant love as portrayed in films and books, she admitted that she did not love her first husband even when she married him, but that it was only years later that she learned to love him. She said love is both a physical and an intellectual endeavor; physical love is obvious, but intellectual love can only come with time.

Body Image

Greg Brady as Johnny Bravo

The Greg Brady Project
I can't seem to get Fumie Sasabuchi's work out of my head at the moment. It's not that it disturbs me, but it made me think of my time living in Los Angeles, before I ever really visited other places in the world (Las Vegas doesn't really count!!!). In my time living in West L.A., I have to tell you that almost everyone I met was in some way connected with the movie industry. For instance, nearly everyone had written a screenplay or was in the process of writing one. During my junior year, Jaleel White (aka Erkel) lived down the hall from me, and I used to pass Mayim Bialik (aka Blossom) on my way to class every day, and Danica McKellar (aka Winnie of the Wonder Years) was taking math classes down on the south campus. Add to this the proximity of the San Fernando Valley with its aspiring "stars" and you can begin to see how one's perspective might be a little skewed... I thought all women were blond skinny sticks with two melons... and faces that didn't move when they smiled or cried. At Starbucks, overheard a conversation between an agent and an aspiring "star":

Agent: Your breasts are too small. You're going to have to get them done.
Girl: Of course. Yes.
Agent: We'll foot the bill. I guess you'll do.

I guess she got the job...kinda reminds me of Greg Brady as Johnny Bravo... if the suit fits...