Atlas
26th February 2004, 10:47 AM
This morning I read a post in the thread: Intent by Sackett describing a German Islamic scholar's thoughts on the Koran. How 1 out of 5 sentences express a thought unrelated to any line before or after it, and how it doesn't seem to matter to the faithful. I've long been fascinated by this trick of language, it's power to lift us or even damn us in our hearts.
Upchurch recently had a thread in which he discussed the strange experience of a close friend, who is a Christian and who knew his views, asking for his prayers. It touched on the nature of prayer and how one can remain true to one's self and still be supportive of a friend with a plea.
My reply had to do with manipulating language. It's probably born of a holdover thought from the best of Buddhism that I still hold dear, and that is, Choose the Middle Way. Some of you have read of my feelings on the loss of my eternal soul when I turned my back on Christianity and how it was important for me to redefine my existence to include a soul of high sound. A soul without a known eternal quality that reflected the appreciation of man for the wonders of nature and his own glorious achievements.
I called this soul the Transcendent Soul, at it's root a mere product of language. I use the word 'mere' in it's ironic sense. Few great ideas are communicated without language. But many of those ideas that move us and touch us, seem to possess a quality beyond logic. They are the ideas expressed on flowery speech and rich imagery that reach behind logic to a part of the brain that seems quite susceptible and fond of of it.
When my ex-wife of 20 years expressed a darkness of depression that seemed to weigh on her recently, I wanted to give her some light. Knowing someone for 20 years gives you some insight. But how do you reach across the internet with only the written word and give someone a lift. Jokes and funny stuff do work, but there is another way. A way where imagery and textured prose pierce the darkness. It is a talk from soul to soul that doesn't make alot of sense but reveals a depth of caring that affirms your friend's meaning in life is not only in herself but in you as well.
A talk from soul to soul is also a little ironic. My ex is a vivacious, love of life, extrovert who would be an atheist if she gave a damn about labels. She doesn't - doesn't have any time to give to thoughts of the real and unreal. Her watchwords are: Life's too short. When a person like that get's down, you might be able to lift them by taking them someplace that is full of energy... if you are there. But if they feel trapped in their existence and you're not there what do you do? Answer: Hit them where they feel.
So it is I come to present my little psychological example of what I've been talking about. A piece of flowery rhetoric designed to touch the soul (of the soulless?), to lift the spirit of a heart in darkness... it is a prayer, not on the wind, but aimed directly at another's heart. It was a joke we shared between us that I called it - Song for Sandy. It was written the morning I heard from her as I gazed out my window and pondered the day and the shadow under which she had fallen. I liked how it turned out. She did too.
A few last thoughts, This post may be out of place in this forum. I appreciate your indulgence. You have always been nice to me. Don't feel like you have to stop, ok? Oh, one more thing - at the time I was going by a more poetic name but it's really me, Atlas, who signed it.
I forgot to mention: She's a dancer.
Upchurch recently had a thread in which he discussed the strange experience of a close friend, who is a Christian and who knew his views, asking for his prayers. It touched on the nature of prayer and how one can remain true to one's self and still be supportive of a friend with a plea.
My reply had to do with manipulating language. It's probably born of a holdover thought from the best of Buddhism that I still hold dear, and that is, Choose the Middle Way. Some of you have read of my feelings on the loss of my eternal soul when I turned my back on Christianity and how it was important for me to redefine my existence to include a soul of high sound. A soul without a known eternal quality that reflected the appreciation of man for the wonders of nature and his own glorious achievements.
I called this soul the Transcendent Soul, at it's root a mere product of language. I use the word 'mere' in it's ironic sense. Few great ideas are communicated without language. But many of those ideas that move us and touch us, seem to possess a quality beyond logic. They are the ideas expressed on flowery speech and rich imagery that reach behind logic to a part of the brain that seems quite susceptible and fond of of it.
When my ex-wife of 20 years expressed a darkness of depression that seemed to weigh on her recently, I wanted to give her some light. Knowing someone for 20 years gives you some insight. But how do you reach across the internet with only the written word and give someone a lift. Jokes and funny stuff do work, but there is another way. A way where imagery and textured prose pierce the darkness. It is a talk from soul to soul that doesn't make alot of sense but reveals a depth of caring that affirms your friend's meaning in life is not only in herself but in you as well.
A talk from soul to soul is also a little ironic. My ex is a vivacious, love of life, extrovert who would be an atheist if she gave a damn about labels. She doesn't - doesn't have any time to give to thoughts of the real and unreal. Her watchwords are: Life's too short. When a person like that get's down, you might be able to lift them by taking them someplace that is full of energy... if you are there. But if they feel trapped in their existence and you're not there what do you do? Answer: Hit them where they feel.
So it is I come to present my little psychological example of what I've been talking about. A piece of flowery rhetoric designed to touch the soul (of the soulless?), to lift the spirit of a heart in darkness... it is a prayer, not on the wind, but aimed directly at another's heart. It was a joke we shared between us that I called it - Song for Sandy. It was written the morning I heard from her as I gazed out my window and pondered the day and the shadow under which she had fallen. I liked how it turned out. She did too.
A few last thoughts, This post may be out of place in this forum. I appreciate your indulgence. You have always been nice to me. Don't feel like you have to stop, ok? Oh, one more thing - at the time I was going by a more poetic name but it's really me, Atlas, who signed it.
I forgot to mention: She's a dancer.