Happy Goethe’s Birthday

“Everywhere we learn only from those whom we love.” Goethe

I’m sure that one of the things that drives writers to drink is isolation. Between my hip rehab (now finished in a sense) and settling down to really write the Schneebelis Go to America, I’ve spent a lot of time alone. I don’t think it is easy for everyone, but it’s mostly easy for me.

I don’t know why except that my dogs are large enough to feel like companions and without pain in my hip, walking them is a lot more fun than it’s been for years. The wild life refuge — cows and all — is fully open, and I knew what I was getting into moving to a small town. Life is mostly writing, rehab and walking the dogs. Solitary bliss.

But I remember even back in San Diego where there are millions of people, and I was teaching constantly (it seemed) I was still pretty isolated. That’s just my story and has been all my life. I think it’s the result of being an introvert with a lot of resources for entertaining myself. I dunno…

But, as my dad wrote in this little poem when he was 18, if you can’t be your own friend, you’re more or less fucked.

Dad's Poem

Long ago I learned to make friends with dead writers. My first such friend was Louisa May Alcott and there have been several since. My best friend among the dead writers is Goethe. When I met him, I felt I’d found a soulmate. He interests me less as a writer than as a person writing, if that makes any sense. Like a lot of people, I find some of his work dated and somewhat inaccessible in the finished (and translated) form, BUT conceptually, a lot of that very same work is incredibly engaging and I love many of his small poems, one of which is kind of my life-mantra:

Alles geben Götter, die unendlichen,
Ihren Lieblingen ganz,
Alle Freuden, die unendlichen,
Alle Schmerzen, die unendlichen, ganz.

I won’t translate it, having learned that everyone who loves Goethe has a proprietary feeling about anything they read and this has been translated infinitely (like the gods?) and my translation will be debated by someone with far more authority than I have. Just know it’s an argument for stoicism, patience and acceptance and says, basically, that you can expect to experience infinite joy and infinite suffering as the beloved of the gods. That’s true to my experience. ūüôā

Among all the beautiful things he wrote my favorite is something he didn’t write. It’s a kind of diary of conversations written by his secretary Johann Peter Eckermann. Back when I was traveling more,¬†Conversations with Goethe was the only book I carried. Reading it is really like talking to Goethe or, at least, listening to him. I’m grateful he lived a long life because his old age is a good guide to me for mine.

I’ve written a birthday “card” to Goethe every year I’ve written a blog. My feelings for him have not changed, but I have little new to add. If you are curious, you can read:

Happy Goethe’s Birthday (2017)

Happy Goethe’s Birthday (2016)

Happy Birthday, Goethe! (2015) 

Happy Goethe’s Birthday (August 28) (2014)

And that’s just the stuff for his birthday SINCE I’ve had a blog on WordPress. I celebrate every year. I have Goethe Birthday posts on my old Blogger blog (Private, sorry). I used to try to celebrate in some more celebratory way, like a walk on the beach with a friend or pizza, but I soon learned that Goethe’s Birthday is not widely known as a holiday.

I’ve written many more posts beyond his birthday that discuss him, his poetry and our undying love. ūüėČ This one is probably the best, but be prepared for a long read…

The Heroism of Mere Survival

However you celebrate it, have a wonderful Goethe’s birthday.

“People are always talking about originality; but what do they mean? As soon as we are born, the world begins to work upon us, and this goes on to the end. What can we call our own except energy, strength and will?¬†If I could give an accound of all that I owe to great predecessors and contemporaries, there would be but a small balance in my favour.” Goethe from¬†Conversations of Goethe

 

Mentor for Life

It wasn’t very long ago that the word “mentor” became a verb. Well, maybe it was always a verb, but I had only heard it as a noun taken from Mentor, the friend Odysseus left in charge of his son’s education while Odysseus was out there becoming the legend of millennia. Mrs. Zinn (my AP English teacher) explained all of that. It was cool to me in high school that Mentor’s name had come to mean a great teacher, a model for young people. Mrs. Zinn herself actually qualified, that pocket-dynamo with a classical education.

When I was teaching, it got to be a “thing” to “mentor” new teachers. I was (obviously) never called upon to do this because I never had tenure and was, therefore, always a “new” teacher, but my colleagues were always talking about their “mentee” with great importance and fussing around.

I’ve had some mentors in my life. First my dad who taught me not to let anyone do my thinking for me. Then, various teachers — Mrs. Zinn, as I’ve mentioned, then Mr. Preston at Colorado Woman’s College who furthered my dad’s tutelage at a moment when I really needed it, and who was there to help me grow through the moment of my dad’s death. In grad school, I was extremely lucky in my thesis adviser, Dr. Robert D. Richardson who saw me for the person I am. A true mentor is, I think, that kind of teacher.

As time passed, and I became more complete (i.e. older) I still needed a mentor. I found Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. If you were to visit my house, you’d see bits of Goethe everywhere. For me, he’s not “the Shakespeare of Germany” (I don’t think he’d like that, I don’t think he’d feel worthy). He’s a friend somewhat further down the road (a lot further, in fact).

I “met” him when I checked¬†Italian Journey out of the library of one of the colleges where I was teaching. What a surprise that book was to me! Here was a man after my own heart. I read everything I could find translated into English.

One of the amazing things I discovered was his correspondence with Thomas Carlyle. Carlyle was someone I met in a Victorian lit class in undergraduate school. I kind of liked him, but at the time I was preoccupied with other things — the usual post-adolescent depressionism stuff, my dad’s illness, my mom’s manic rages and her despair, my brother’s disintegration. And school. Later I learned that my grandfather’s mentor had been Thomas Carlyle. One of my cousins showed me a well thumbed volume with brown pages that had been my grandfather’s constant companion. And here were these two men writing each other. Goethe was Carlyle’s mentor! Their letters are wonderful, human, homely, friendly. Carlyle is largely responsible for Goethe being known in Britain — he translated some of Goethe’s poetry and Goethe’s novel,¬†Wilhelm Meister’s Wandering Year.

Learning that, I felt a connection to a grandfather I never knew.

Carlyle has written of Goethe in the introduction to his translation of¬†Wilhelm Meister’s Wanderjahre:

“…Goethe’s culture as a writer is perhaps less remarkable than his culture as a man. He has learned not in head only, but also in heart; not from Art and Literature, but also by action and passion in the rugged school of experience. If asked what was the grand characteristic of his writings, we should not say Knowledge but Wisdom. A mind that has seen, and suffered, and done, speaks to us of what it has tried and conquered. A gay delineation will give us notice of dark and toilsome experiences, of business done in the great deep of the spirit; a maxim, trivial to the careless eye, will rise with light and solution over long, perplexed periods of our own history. It is thus that heart speaks to heart…”

That’s the essence of it.

 

image_547224744467377

1932 Menu from a German Luxury Liner — the 100th anniversary of Goethe’s death.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/mentor/

Rococo

This is one of the wisest things I’ve ever read. It puts things squarely where they belong, and it is sometimes difficult to remember:

‚Äú‚Ķwhatever we nourish in ourselves grows; that is an eternal law of nature. There is an organ of displeasure, of dissatisfaction in us, as there is one of opposition and doubt. The more food we provide for it and the more we practice it, the mightier it becomes until it turns from an organ into a malignant ulcer and banefully eats up its environment, drains and strangles all the good humors of the body. Then repentance, self-reproach and other absurdities are added to it, we become unjust toward others and ourselves. The joy at ones own success and action as well as that of others is lost. In our desperation we finally look for the reason of all evil outside ourselves instead of finding it in our mental perversion. We should see every person and every event in its real light, one should step beyond oneself to be able to return to oneself all the more free.‚ÄĚ Goethe quoted by his friend, Friedrich von Muller.”

I’ve been watching the British art historian’s –Waldemar Januszczak — series’ off and on for a couple of years. The most recent one I’ve looked at is¬†Rococo Before Bedtime.¬†I don’t always agree with him when he starts inflicting his taste in art on the viewing public, but as MY taste in art conflicts with the Rococo, I never learned to appreciate it. I never even put it in its place in time. I’ve seen some of it. I got to spend a day at the Nymphenburg Castle in Munich trying to fathom it and what my new acquaintance was telling me. He was a docent from the Haus du Kunst¬†the formerly Hitlerian government art museum building. He didn’t speak English, I didn’t speak any German, and we relied on something loosely resembling French. The architecture was beautiful, the interior ornamentation? I didn’t get it.

And this grossed me out:

 

prunkwagen-ludwig-II500

Carriage, Nymphenburg Castle

 

It’s pretty impossible to escape personal taste. The baroque and rococo (the baroque becomes the rococo) churches I’ve visited in Europe are still over-the-top to me. The first one I visted was Einsiedeln Abbey in Switzerland. Entering that sanctuary for the first time was scary. I’d NEVER been in a place like that — or even in a Catholic church. EVERYTHING was there in a vast 3D illusion — and some actual 3D legs and arms made of stucco (plaster). I felt the full and intended effect, I guess, of what I have now learned the Catholic church wanted me to feel. My friend and I retreated from that place and took a walk in the woods.

 

Ausschnitt Weihnachtskuppel Einsiedeln

Ceiling, Einsiedeln Abbey

 

It was interesting to learn, however, that the baroque (which led to the Rococo) ¬†was (in¬†Januszczak’s opinion? Or really?) a church sanctioned art movement that was part of the Counter-Reformation. The Council of Trent had sent out the order? Edict? that Catholic churches should VIVIDLY depict Bible stories on their walls in reaction to the burning of the idols. Einsiedeln is one of the pilgrimage churches and, according to¬†Januszczak, pilgrimages were big during the baroque and rococo. This also made the pilgrimage churches even richer BUT they had to give the pilgrims some bang for their bucks which contributed to their ornateness. I believe that. Churches I’ve visited that were NOT pilgrim churches but were decorated around the same time are still ornate, but not over-the-top, every square inch peopled with saints, angels, madonnas, and various random people in the “audience,” the faces of donors.

I wasn’t even clear on the YEARS that comprise the baroque and rococo, but watching the program I got it. It was much of Goethe’s lifetime. When I realized that I thought of Goethe’s incredible mind that was, literally, everywhere — science, poetry, drama, erotica, government, mining, botany, geology on and on — and realized that the¬†zeitgeist was such that the fecundity and fluidity in the visual arts and music was everywhere, as elaborate and wildly creative as a rococo ceiling.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/agile/

Don’t Beat Up My Friends

Yesterday I read an article from¬†The New York Review of Books, “Super Goethe” by Ferdinand Mount.

More or less it is a review of a recent biography of Goethe by Rudiger Safranski,¬†Goethe: Life as a Work of Art. I made it most of the way through this book until I realized that having read Goethe’s autobiographies (with a grain of salt and a grin) this book was, for me, gratuitous. I didn’t finish it. Goethe wrote a LOT about himself and I felt OK having let him tell his tale. I don’t take issue with Safranski’s book. This review, however?

I have a huge problem with retroactive judgements of historical figures and this review concludes with the intimation that, in another time and another place, Goethe would have been a Nazi.

Maybe that’s true, maybe that’s false. No way to know that because Goethe did not live in another time and another place and just because Weimar is near Buchenwald doesn’t mean Goethe would have been a prison guard, or worse, but Mount concludes his piece with, “I am not the first to note that included among the sights of Weimar in the Michelin Green Guide is Buchenwald.”

I happen to love Goethe, but that doesn’t mean I “know” him. I can’t. But when I look at the past I try to see past the hazy fog of intervening historical events to what had NOT yet happened.

  • In Goethe’s time, there were only the beginnings of what would be the Industrial Revolution. Marx was born when Goethe was 69.
  • When Goethe was a young man and made a journey to Switzerland, the United States of America was three years old and did not yet have a constitution.
  • Voltaire was alive; the Age of Enlightenment was in full force.
  • Goethe lived during the French Revolution. What he saw of it, what he knew of it, would have been FAR different than what we know of it. From Goethe’s perspective it was wanton death on the streets and the destabilization of life for millions of ordinary people.
  • Goethe was the son of a lawyer. Education in his family was extremely important, but it was not the common lot of most people to have the chance to go to school.
  • There was no “Germany.” That geographical blob on the map was a very loose assemblage of small duchies, principalities, etc. Imagine a big hunk of land broken up into hundreds of very vulnerable Liechtensteins and Monacos. When Goethe — or anyone at that time — wrote about “German cultural identity” they were writing about something that didn’t exist.
  • Goethe -SAW war. He was sent to be a correspondent about fighting in the Alsace. His descriptions of this are harrowing. He was never the same person afterward, either. He wrote about refugees from war, too, and problems they had becoming part of the culture to which they had refugeed.
  • Mount has written that Goethe admired Napoleon, a statement that is — miraculously — both true and false. They met. Napoleon could speak of Goethe’s novel, Sorrows of Young Werther but apparently had no directly knowledge of¬†Faust. Goethe¬†admired Napoleon, but only up to a point. Because Goethe was ALIVE at the Napoleonic moment, he would NOT have seen Napoleon the way I do or the author of this article does.
  • Science — as we understand it — was new. The scientific method was being, at that time, defined. Goethe was a contemporary of Newton. Goethe was himself a good scientist and far more influential than most of us are aware.

I will never know who Goethe really was. I like that he wrote very direct erotic poetry. I like that he was irreverent and reverent with life and language, both, at the same time. I appreciate his intellectual curiosity. I like that he believed a person needed to constantly learn, to explore, to nurture curiosity. In the time in which Goethe lived, there was no big push to specialize, and he didn’t. I like that he asked, “What if?” I appreciate his willingness — desire — to learn. I admire his resilient sense of wonder. I know he was misogynistic and thought people who wore glasses were trying to be something they’re not. I don’t know if he would have liked me; I even kind of doubt it. But, that’s OK. I probably wouldn’t have known him if I had been alive during his lifetime. But I’m not. I’m here, now, and I have been able to reap the fruits of his long lifetime of work. I like that he composed poetry such as this:

From fall to fall a thousand streams are flowing
A thousand more are plunging, effervescent,
And high up in the air the spray is glowing,
Out of this thunder rises, iridescent,
Enduring through all change the motley bow,
Now painted clearly, and now evanescent,
Spreading a fragrant, cooling spray below.
The rainbow mirrors human love and strife;
Consider it and you will better know:
In many-hued reflection we have life.

(Faust Part II, Act I, trans. Walter Kaufmann)

Featured image: The Rhinefalls, ink sketch by Goethe

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/inheritance/

Ooh l’amour

Goethe believed it was a gift to be capable of falling blindly, stupidly, passionately, irredeemably in love — like an adolescent — in old age. Of course, when he was in his 80s, he proposed marriage to a 17 year old girl.

He felt pretty stupid when she turned him down. He even had a broken heart along with shattered pride. And then, resilient man that he was, he began to see the funny side.

When I was a youthful wight,
So full of enjoyment and merry,
The painters used to assert, in spite,
That my features were small ‚ÄĒ yes, very
Yet then full many a beauteous child,
With true affection upon me smiled.

Now as a graybeard I sit here in state,
By street and by lane held in awe, sirs;
And may be seen, like old Frederick the Great,
On pipe-bowls, on cups, and on saucers.
Yet the beauteous maidens, they keep afar;
Oh, vision of youth! Oh, golden star! (‚ÄúWhen I Was‚ÄĚ)

Plato had a different opinion on this question. He felt he was well out of the whole thing when he was too old to be interested in young men/women any more. He described that period of life as a terrible storm and insanity. I don’t have the quotation any more anywhere, but that’s the jist of it.

Infatuation, love, whatever it is called, pulls a person away from their¬†status quo.¬†Life is set in motion and there is the chance of transformation. THAT is something to be open to at any age. Maybe that’s what Goethe meant?

The last thing I was enamored of was a big white puppy. I don’t regret that a BIT.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/enamored/

Happy Goethe’s Birthday!

“There is nothing more dreadful than active ignorance”
Maxims and Reflections, Goethe

The little book beside me here has a sticker from a real bookstore with the date on which I bought it. September 29, 2003. I bought it at the San Diego State University Bookstore about a month after school would have started.

Ink drawing of Goethe by Johann Wilhelm Tischbein

 

I carried it around in my backpack and read it in odd minutes between student meetings, classes, at lunch. AND my backpack then was a pretty amazing thing. I left it behind in Descanso when I made my final exit from my house..

 

Goethe wrote, “If we go back in history, we are always aware of personalities with whom we could get on and others with whom we should certainly be in conflict.” I met Goethe in the summer of 1998 through his book Italian Journey,¬†¬†and a friendship immediately ensued, though limited because I could not offer Goethe MY friendship. I have benefited so much from his. So many of his ideas gave language to mine. Others he confirmed and explained.

I’ve written a birthday card to Goethe every year I’ve been on WordPress. This is probably the least inspiring of them, but I feel pressed to get chores finished so my dogs and I can celebrate later with a walk at the slough.

 

Meditation on Precipices

There are a lot of theories about mountains and I don’t mean geological theories or theories about their existence, but theories about the way people perceive them. One theory says that it was only in the 18th and¬†19th centuries that people started to regard mountains as objects of wonder and inspiration.

“During the 18th century altitude became increasingly venerated…The fresh attitude to altitude was a radical change of heart and one which made itself felt in every cultural sphere, from literature to architecture or horticulture. In the early part of the century, the so-called ‘hill poem’ established itself as a popular minor genre…” (Robert Macfarlane,¬†Mountains of the Mind)

Before that they were “mere” obstacles with dangerous precipices people had to cross to get from one place to another.

I don’t¬†agree with this theory, though I do agree that during the 18th and 19th century people did (apparently) begin to travel to mountains for the sake of the mountains themselves, and romantic poetry does love the precipice — as a metaphor at least.

The precipice is the place where the faint-hearted, ordinary, unimaginative, dim and cowardly person NEVER goes. In real life a precipice is a dangerous and scary place with extreme exposure where no one goes unless they must. I get the metaphor — and after reading¬†Zorba the Greek I was determined to “walk to the edge of the leaf” and look over the side. (The Boss’/Kazantzaki’s metaphor for the metaphor of the precipice).

“Some men — the more intrepid ones — reach the edge of the leaf. From there we stretch out, gazing into chaos. We tremble. We guess what a frightening abyss lies beneath us. In the distance we can hear the noise of the other leaves of the tremendous tree, we feel the sap rising from the root of our leaf and our hearts swell. Bent thus over the awe-inspiring abyss, with all our bodies and all our souls, we tremble with terror. From that moment begins‚Ķ”

“I stopped. I wanted to say “from that moment begins poetry,” but Zorba would not have understood. I stopped.

“‘What begins’? asked Zorba’s anxious voice. ‘Why did you stop’?

“‚Ķbegins the great danger, Zorba. Some grow dizzy and delirious, others are afraid; they try to find an answer to strengthen their hearts, and they say: ‘God’! Others again, from the edge of the leaf, look over the precipice calmly and bravely and say: ‘I like it.’! (Nikos Kazantzakis/Zorba the Greek

There are some really nasty, scary passes through the Alps. One, the Via Mala (evil way), is notoriously terrifying. Goethe went there on a trip to Switzerland and sketched it. The lyrical lines of Goethe’s ink drawing reveal some of the romanticization of the precipice.

800px-ViaMala_Goethe

In real life it’s more like this:

Via_Mala

Imagine crossing that ice-covered stone bridge in the 15th century early on a late spring morning with the wind blowing.

The trail itself, leading to the bridge, was cut into the side of the mountain and it looks like this:

12

Another fun pass from the past is the Devil’s Bridge on the Gotthard Pass. The pass itself has been in use since the 12th century. Before the bridge was built (and that means several centuries) people died trying to get across the river when it was in flood. The story is:

The legend of this particular bridge states that the Reuss was so difficult to ford that a Swiss herdsman wished the devil would make a bridge. The Devil appeared, but required that the soul of the first to cross would be given to him. The mountaineer agreed, but drove a goat across ahead of him, fooling his adversary. Angered by this trickery, the devil fetched a rock with the intention of smashing the bridge, but an old woman drew a cross on the rock so the devil could not lift it anymore.

Turner painted this bridge with a mixture of romanticism and actuality that works for me.

800px-Joseph_Mallord_William_Turner_028

The precipice of the mind, however, is another thing. Henry Miller wrote about that, in Nexus.

“Don’t be afraid of falling backward into a bottomless pit. There is nothing to fall into. You’re in it and of it, and one day, if you persist, you will be it…Did I fear unconsciously that if I succeeded in letting go, I would be speaking with my own voice…and would never again know surcease from toil?”

I understand the precipice of the mind and I understand the precipice of the mountain. I am very afraid of heights and it’s a fear I don’t particularly want to face. There are slopes I was always happy to climb and some of them look precipitous, but they were not. The angles were friendly and accommodating, the exposure was doable and I did not have to look down any drastic drops if I did not want¬†to. That is not the challenge life meant for me. As for the precipice of the mind, Henry Miller was right. I have fallen backward into the bottomless pit and there I found liberty.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/precipice/

Acid Reflux, Goethe and Life’s Labyrinth

Des lebens labyrinthisch¬†irren lauf”¬†“Life’s labyrinthine chaos course” (my translation) is from Goethe’s,¬†Faust, Prologue in the Theater. This is my favorite line in all the literature I’ve read. This line made me fall in love with Goethe. He got it right, if he was describing my life, anyway. ūüôā

I was reading about acid reflux yesterday (yeah) and some doctor wrote, “Though they don’t have any serious side-effects and are not, generally, dangerous, anti-acids don’t cure anything and that’s a problem.”

I thought, “How is that a problem if I feel better?” Then I saw how life is a lot like acid-reflux… There’s no cure, but we can feel better. Life-choices are confusing and too many of them are truly¬†serious and irrevocable. We’re only at any given place in life one time. Life only goes in one direction and we reach the Minotaur whether we have Ariadne’s thread or not. Stuff happens all around us — sometimes catastrophic, terrifying stuff. We have a lot of anti-acids, too, sayings and affirmations that are meant to help us through the darker parts of the labyrinth.

Some are even quoted from Goethe, “Nothing matters more than this day.” Well, that might actually be true, OK this one, “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it,”¬†and this one,¬†Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen”¬†they are anti-acids. It’s good to believe in yourself because it makes life better than doubting yourself. It’s good to dream, too, because then we¬†are momentarily lifted from whatever daily horror we¬†might be in. But the truth is we¬†cannot “make anything happen” even though the idea that we¬†can does make us feel better. I think it’s good to “feel better” even if the doctor quoted above doesn’t think feeling better is enough. Since there is no cure either for life or acid reflux, feeling better is the best we have, all we have.

But in this often quoted Goethe phrase, there IS a cure.

Every day we should hear at least one little song, read one good poem, see one exquisite picture, and, if possible, speak a few sensible words.

***

The photo above is the Giardino Giusti in Verona which both Goethe and I visited on separate occasions (ha ha). It has a small labyrinth and many other amazing features of a classical Renaissance garden. Goethe loved it, and cut some bows from the cypress trees to take back to where he was living. The trees represented funerals to the people of the city and he was surprised to be greeted by expressions of condolence.

Here’s another Goetheian post on the question of the labyrinth.¬†

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/maze/

 

I Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Affirmations

People say doubt does¬†all sorts of things. It holds us back. It even “plagues” us. I’ve had a lot of contact with the creature, and I’m still not sure about it. Sometimes doubt is my best friend. Other times it’s hurt me. Self-doubt — all doubt — leads to questioning reality and I think that’s often good.

These days we’re not supposed to doubt. There are products in the market to help us overcome doubt. Pillows for our sofas and beds, wall decals, books, daily emails and post on Facebook with “affirmations” to motivate us through self-doubt. The first time I ever heard of affirmations (remember, I don’t watch¬†TV) my “friend” Lana and I were hiking. I was talking about writing and she said, “You doubt yourself. You need to give yourself affirmations every day.”

“What’s an ‘affirmation’?”

“Nice things you tell yourself about yourself, positive self-talk.”

“Like what?”

“I’m improving every day.”

I thought that sounded like a line from the Return of the Pink Panther, “Every day, in every way, I’m getting better and better.”

I thought about this even though it seemed paradoxical. If you tell yourself you’re improving every day, what shit hole were you in? I even told myself I thought too much, but I saw that was negative self-talk. “Damn,” I thought. “Where do I start?”

I started with Goethe and his advice to his secretary, Eckermann, became my companion through some very sketchy times. I don’t think it’s an “affirmation.” I think it’s just good advice and advice I needed then — and now. ¬†Doubt is often the result of not knowing what to do, which choice to take, which way to go. Goethe’s words¬†resolve the questions we meet at every one of life’s intersections, big and small.

“Hold your powers together for something good. Let everything go that is for you without result and is not suited to you.” Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Still, I knew (know) that’s not an “affirmation” as Lana meant it. It doesn’t tell me how great I am or what wonderful things will come to me if I only project my desires into the universe and believe that they will “manifest”. I don’t want to live in such a universe. I have no doubt about that.

I think life is puzzling by its very nature, and difficult. I think the expectation that “everything will work out and I will be happy” is false. Good people every where face immense challenges that they did not have any part in causing and no “affirmation” is going to change that.

Back in high school I read¬†Also Sprach Zarathustra mostly because Nietzsche had said, “God is dead,” and I wanted to argue with him. What I found in that book has stayed with me all my life. When Zarathustra comes down from the mountain full of wisdom and beautiful words, the villagers are spellbound. They go to him with their complaints and problems, and Zarathustra says,

“You tell me life is hard to bear, but were it otherwise, how would you have your pride in the morning and your resignation in the afternoon?” Friedrich Nietzsche

I was reading¬†this book sitting on the sofa in the living room of my family’s house.¬†My dad was on the other end of the sofa. I was, in fact, at that moment “baby”sitting my dad. Someone needed to be with him all the time in case something happened, he had a back spasm and slid/fell¬†off the sofa, for example. His MS had gotten him to the point where he was using a walker, and he was no longer able to get up and use the toilet. If ¬†he needed to pee, he had a urinal. I was there to help him with that, too. So, there I was,¬†sitting on the end of the sofa reading Nietzsche while dad was¬†watching TV. I¬†was thinking about Nietzsche’s words and how beautiful they were¬†and how true and how they made the situation I was in at that moment bearable, acceptable and even lovely in the sense that things can be no other way than they are.

I read it to my dad.

He liked it.

Stoics don’t need no stinkin’ affirmations and self-doubt is OK.

But I’m also a “child” of the 70s and I truly believe…

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/doubt/

Unlike Any Other

I value originality very highly, but even my hero, Goethe, says there is no such thing, that whatever we do we — at the very least — build on what has gone before, reuse it, refresh it, or in Etsy-speak, “re-purpose” it. This from a man who wrote a play that is VERY original, so original that even though it is performed, I’m not sure it’s ever fully understood. I sure as hell do not understand it — fully.¬†But it has given critics, over a several-hundred year period, something to write about and dispute. That would be¬†Faust, Part Two.

In my opinion, an original mind is one that sees potential in extant things.

So what? Well, Bear. I don’t know what (or who) her ingredients are but in no way is she like any dog I’ve ever owned. She’s a livestock guardian breed — an Akbash — who’s lived her whole life as a companion dog in a small home with two other dogs and me. I have worked hard to socialize her, and she loves everyone and everything. She’s a very affectionate dog who especially loves small children. Out in the “wild” she is vigilant and observant as her breed is supposed to be, but I doubt she would take on a bear or a wolf. Because of her basic nature, her early life as an abandoned stray, and her training, her mind is unique¬†and her behavior original.

She’s learned to get a cookie in the evening by asking to go out when she doesn’t need out. When I realized what she was up to, I began saying, “OK, but I think you’re lying.” She now understands the word “lying,”¬†and has stopped completely the pretense of taking a turn in the dog run before coming back to me. We just walk to the gate and turn around. It seems she thinks that going to the gate of the dog run is worth a cookie (to me). She’s also figured out that I love it when she lies down. So, she will lie down in front of the cabinet with the cookies in it and then say, softly, “Woof!” to get my attention. She thinks I like throwing things for her to chase and it’s clear she’s doing me a favor in the morning by bringing me something to throw. When she wants my attention, she brings me something.

This creature has built a bunch of “if” statements and has me programed. I love her to pieces and think she’s hilarious. And original.

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/original/