Saturday, January 21, 2023

Near the Graveyard of Old Promises

 



 

 

Cooler than the underside

Of an old pillow

When the first spring rain

Washes the sand

From window sills

 

Dry as apricots strung

On an old string

Lonely as the necklace

Left on the hickory floor

For the cat to play alone

 

And quiet, to hear the rain

Before it stops

To let the mid-day promise

Sound almost new

And sound already at peace

 

For old pillows remember

That spring rain wash more than sand

At noon, when the cat plays

With dried summer apricots 

Strung on an old string

 

On the hickory floor

 

January 21, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023

Saturday, January 14, 2023

From Eros to Agape – When Human Consciousness Forgets about Reason

 



 

I have always written. When my mother passed, I found tortured pieces of papers in paper bags that had lines from me going back to the age of 7 years. These were written either in Armenian or in French. My mother had kept these for half a century. Why, I never knew.

I have always written, but at some point I do not recall some of what I had surrendered to paper and later, to electronic media. Until I come across them in an unplanned way, or someone else does.

And that is what happened early this year. I received an email from a reader of my blogs who, among other things, wrote:

“So, an encounter during an academic lecture takes a tangent into discussing love and passion - a delightful write up. And I have to say that your definition of passion is quite unique – takes the reader into an unexpected simplicity about that emotional experience. Here is that line:

Passion is not love.  It runs away from the daily, it also runs away from tomorrow.  Passion has only the need for distances to eclipse in its own moment of readiness.

A great way to start 2023!”

 

Since the reader had kindly provided the link to that post (https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2013/06/baltic-amber.html ), I tried to refresh my memory.

It is a piece I wrote in 2006, I believe on a flight back from Europe. I sat next to an Eastern European colleague during a conference and somehow we both lost interest in the lecture and ended up talking about literature, love and passion.  The write up reads like a diary, as I often wrote about unusual events to not forget the details, hoping to use them later.

Since I had posted that write up in 2013, I assume that I had found the lines I wrote on that plane years later, perhaps stuck in a book or other papers I was carrying on that trip.

And they stayed as a diary note.

… Of course, the topic is as old as any human feeling that still challenges us today. Somehow, I believe all of us deal with the conundrum of love and passion at some point in our lives. Often, youth favors cherishing passion as we recall decades later when love takes over and keeps us company for much longer. At some turn, we also become more philosophical about these feelings. We become almost Socratic searching in ourselves when Eros turned to Agape; and when dependency taught us to celebrate the simplicity of our expectations.

Since I have often mused about the continuum of passion, love and dependency, I did a word search in my posts to see what else I had forgotten about the evolution of my thinking.

Quite a few posts were identified from among the 341 I had published on that blog.

One page, posted in 2015 caught my attention as I could see an interesting progression in my search for a comfortable co-existence between love and passion into my lifespan.

The discussion there was about how an old container would care for new wine. It was very similar to the Socratic evolving view of intimate feelings, as the progression from Eros to Agape may depict. In fact, years ago we used to discuss such changing appreciations of intimacy as “La Petite Mort of Desire” when passion finds its own moment of readiness after an unsustainable climax and temporary loss of consciousness.

Here are a few lines from that posting https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2015/02/new-wine-in-old-bottle.html addressing some of these topics:

 

…  Interestingly, “new wine in old bottle” is a conceptual transliteration of a parable found in the New Testament. There are different versions of it, but the one in Matthew 9:17 reads:

 

“Nor do people put new wine into old wineskins; otherwise the wineskins burst, and the wine pours out and the wineskins are ruined; but they put new wine into fresh wineskins, and both are preserved.”

 

The wineskins were actually the entire skin of a goat where the openings of the legs and tail were tightly sewn. The opening of the neck was the “neck” of this container and the partially fermented wine was poured in the opening at the neck then tied off securely. (Now I know where the “neck” of a bottle came from!)

 

 … So what to do with the wineskin and wine parable? Can one resemble the wineskin to a person’s soul? A soul where love had already fermented and given the passion, the ecstasies and their side-effects? So now would it be wise to pour new love into this used, expanded to its limits, and old soul? Would the “Tumultuous Stage” of a new love’s fermentation tear this soul to parts?  

In other words, and to stay conform to the original parable, should one pour new wine in an old bottle?

 

Hmm.

 

So, I wrote back to the reader and ended my email reply with this:

 

“Thank you for taking me back more than a decade through your reading of my blog. During that period, I have realized that passion does not eclipse through distances alone. But it does transform itself, quietly, into the Agape phase. That seems to be its state of readiness and eventual harmony.”

 

January 3, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023


Addendum: Today, January 30th, I received an email from a reader who said that "Khalil Gibran wrote about reason and passion in The Prophet."

.. I read most of Gibran's work in Arabic when I was a teenager. I did not recall the passage on reason and passion in The Prophet so I did a search, and indeed, the reader is correct. The translated passage can be found on  https://poets.org/poem/reason-and-passion

And that made me realise that perhaps we never forget our life experiences -- our brain somehow catalogues and compartimentalises them and, at the moment propice, fragments of our experiences resurface.

Here are the ending lines of Gibran's "On Reason and Passion"

Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of distant fields, and meadows—then let your heart say in silence, “God rests in reason.”

     And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind shakes the forest, and thunder and lightning proclaim the majesty of the sky,—then let your heart say in awe, “God moves in passion.”

     And since you are a breath in God’s sphere, and a leaf in God’s forest, you too should rest in reason and move in passion.

From The Prophet (Knopf, 1923).



Sunday, December 4, 2022

Koki

 



 

The North Sea 

Forgot its north

And its ripples

 

When

 

A profound shadow

Of brown eyes and of await

Invited me

To see through

 

… There was an island

And a stormy night

 

There was a parrot

Older than its cage

 

And a fallen tree

Behind which Vidar, Petar and Saša

Let me see through

Again

What I had seen once

 

Or twice

 

… But next to the North Sea

All felt new

That stormy night

 

Even

When the parrot cage door

Was left open

But the old

Parrot

Stayed

In

 

December 4, 2022

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2022

Wednesday, November 16, 2022

When We Burn the Candle at Both Ends

 




I met an artist at a local art studio who had just moved to town. A man with ample silver-gray hair, a moustache reminiscent of William Saroyan, and an aura that says “I have done what I wanted to do; now I just play with colours on canvas.”

 

That was probably why I was attracted to him and his work.

 

“So you are retired too?” he asked. “I am sure you are having a good time since you look healthy.”

When I asked if he still paints for others, he said “No.”

“I paint because that is what I know to do, but I now do it for myself. For decades I burned the midnight oil to survive on what others would appreciate in my work. I also burned my candle at both ends as an artist in California and somehow I made it to an age when all is extra time I had not counted on having.”

“You have done a lot of burning” I teased him.

“Yes, but hope some of it did brighten people’s dark moments a bit” he pensively replied.

 

… That night, I searched for a century old poem without remembering the poet’s name. I had read the lines years ago and the conversation with the painter made me think about them.

The author was Edna St. Vincent Millay and the poem was published in 1918. The lines I recalled were:

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night:
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!

 

The Californian artist’s candle lasted more than a night—in fact decades as he said. And during this time, his works found walls in countless houses to “brighten people’s dark moments a bit.”

And the creativity of the artist did not get affected by the burning of that inspirational candle -- he is still painting, although more as an impulse than a survival need.

… Candles have inspired imagery in all forms of art as symbolic of the fragility of life yet representing beauty, coziness and surprising resilience to the drifts of our days.

There is a saying by Buddha that goes beyond these symbolisms regarding candles – it places the candle as a source of light and enlightment, philosophically taking the darkness of other candles away. It reads:

Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.

... So as my first email to the artist, I sent him the above quote.

He replied with this:

“Buddha was a smart man! Yet I do not know if we can share happiness through art. We can share evasion; and we can share scars from wounds that can only be healed from inside out. The rest is to those who take my art home and try to find themselves in it.

You know? Of all those poetic and philosophical lines we know about candles, my favorite is from the late Welsh comedian Tommy Cooper who said:

Electricity is a wonderful thing. Do you realise that if we didn't have electricity, we'd be watching television by candle light?

In our phase of life, we need to remember that a candle is just goat fat and a wicker – don’t you agree?”

 

Indeed, I often do.

 

PS/ The photo at the top of the page is from my backyard, on a windy afternoon. The Pampas grass, native of South America, can be spectacular in growth following sustained rainfall.

To my eye, they looked like candles flickering with the wind.

 

November 16, 2022

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2022

Thursday, October 13, 2022

Manna, Ambrosia and Soma – the Superfoods that Shaped Human History and Mythology?

 



 

Among the blessings life has allowed me is the joy of staying in touch with many of my childhood friends. Sure, belonging to a generation where communication became the easiest and fastest in human history, helps to keep that blessing ongoing.

 

A friend with whom I shared a primary school desk sent me an email about his trip this summer. It started:

 

“Do you remember the Lebanese tennis-ball-size nougat confiserie we used to eat? It was made with Manna and filled with pine nuts. It was called Mann wa Salwa or Mann el Sama’a – perfect name for what falls from the sky! Say, you remember?”

 

And he continued:

 

“Well, we thought it was a Lebanese, or an Iraqi sweet confection but, we were wrong! This summer my wife wanted to see Sardinia, so we did. And, Manna does not fall from the sky on that island, my friend – they harvest it like Canadians do with maple syrup – they make holes in the ash trees and the sap that comes out is Manna!

 

We stayed in Palermo and I ate Manna made in Castelbuono whenever my wife was not looking!!!”

 

Wow, that was more than half a century ago when we used to get either Baba au rhum (from a special tray made without rhum for the kids…) or Mann el Sama from the confectionery on our way home from school.

 

…So my mind left the present moment and went back where memories await us.

 

Manna is known as the “bread of angels” since when Moses and the people of Israel left Egypt for the promised land they faced starvation in the desert. But they ate quail and Manna came down the sky to assist them during the 40 year journey across the desert. The Bible refers to Manna as a bread-like substance, tasking sweet and of white colour like snow.  The Old testament has descriptions of how manna was snowed over Israelites in Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Nehemiah, and Psalms.

 

But manna and the exodus of Israelites from Egypt are also described in the New Testament, and the Quran. In a 10th century Persian medical book, one finds a more scientific description of Manna (called taranjabin in Farsi) as the sap of the Tamarisk tree, which is still commonly found in today’s Iraq and Iran.  

 

… And with the Middle East as my context, I grew up with my mother’s sayings as guide. One such saying was about manna:

 

“May in your difficult times, blessings fall upon you my son, just like Mannana once did”

 

I worked in Arabian Gulf for a few years and was told that there was an annual manna collection excursion to the desert. Since manna is the sap of ash trees, and since there were no ash trees in the desert (at least in the 1970s when I was there…) but there was a shrub called Rimth in Arabic that was said to drip its sap when punctured by insects. That is when I heard the term Manna-Rimth as yet another possible source of manna proposed by Arabian desert Bedouins.

 

No matter, the name given in Iraq to the sweet substance they to this day collect, be that as ash tree sap or the sap of the Rimth shrub (Haloxylon salicornicum) remains Mann El Sama’a (or Manna from the sky or From the sky), perhaps staying within the historical context of manna being “food of angels” that came down from the sky as if snowflakes tasting like honey.

 

But for me manna has specific association with the Armenian Apostolic Church, an Eastern Christian denomination in communion with the other Oriental Orthodox churches. And that association is with incense smoked during religious or cultural ceremonies. Indeed, similar to Eastern Orthodox churches (Greek, Russian), frankincense offering is made during religious ceremonies in the Armenian Apostolic Church. The connection between manna and frankincense comes from ancient Greek when this incense was called livanománna (λῐβᾰνομάννα) or powdered frankincense.

 

Frankincense is the hardened resin obtained from Boswellia trees after cuts are made to drain the sap. So manna and frankincense are either sap or resin from trees and shrubs. Interestingly, while manna was called the “food of angels”, ancient Egyptians called frankincense the 'Sweat of the Gods.’

 

I have written more about frankincense and the historic Spice Road here:

 

https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2015/01/the-spice-road-from-lebanon-to-mongolia.html

 

… So now, my mind was curiously navigating through history, religion and the magic powers given to manna and frankincense. And that takes me to two other historical “superfoods” – ambrosia and suma, both enshrined in myth and mythology.

 

In ancient Greek myth, the gods on Mount Olympus feasted on ambrosia brought to them by doves. Just like manna, the true composition or origin of ambrosia remains unknown, although in Homer’s writings nectar is usually the drink and ambrosia represent the food of the gods assuring immortality, while nectar is the drink of gods. Needless to say that does not explain much more about what ἀμβροσία (ambrosia) or nectar are or contain!

 

Finally, there is Soma, a drink used in ancient India, by the Vedic culture. Just like ambrosia, the true nature of Soma remains unknown, although it is a drink that gave Vedic gods power and longevity. Although it is a myth, Soma as a drink, is believed to contain Ephedra elata (Alanda in Arabic) known to modern medicine to have anti-oxidant, anti-obesity and anti-diabetic characteristics.

 

Is that enough, however, to give gods immortality?

 

… It was a long journey into myth and mythology based on an email I got from a childhood friend who reported on eating “manna”, a sweet – tasting sap from Fraxinus ornus ash trees in Castelbuono during a trip in Sardinia.

 

As a scientist, I do not know what manna, ambrosia, nectar and soma really are. They represent a myth but also enablers of how humans have faced adversity, challenged death, and risen above the earthly banalities.

 

But, though the cultural and social symbolism represented in the form of food or drinks, even when their chemical composition is unknown, the effect they had on the course of human history and our vision of cosmic powers, remain undeniably potent.

 

PS/ I took this photo of a female camel herder in Morocco. Although I have lived in the Arabian Peninsula desert and now I am a permanent resident in the high desert of Arizona, the ecosystem of each desert is different. Yet, all make me think of our history more than forests of Aspen trees and snow covered blue spruce trees do.

 

October 13, 2022

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2022

Friday, September 16, 2022

Rumours of Beauty from However Far Away (From The Book of Wonder, by Lord Dunsany, 1912)

 



The story always begins in the middle. Where it matters most.

No one sees the fallen branches next to a river till they fall in. Till they become driftwood.

Just like the middle of a story when we realize that it is time to become driftwood. To let time find us accepting what we have become. Because we always become what we once were. Driftwood is still a fallen branch.

… In my student dormitory I had a few posters on the walls. One was from Lord Dunsany, the prolific Anglo-Irish writer and poet whose lines had resonance in my days as a young man. The poster I had the opening lines from his poem “Where the Tides ebb and flow” (circa 1910)

The ebb came
And I saw the dead eyes of the houses
And the jealousy of other forgotten things
That storm had not carried thence.

The poster faced my bed and every night those words helped me dream. Of all that my life’s storms had not carried away.

Instead, these memories remained untouched, like the fallen branches next to a river that no one notices.

Till the branches become driftwood. And the river celebrates their journey.

… More than 40 years after these graduate student days, I thought about Lord Dunsany. This time when I came across new lines from him that I had not read before. But this time, his words did not made me rejoice about what life’s storms had not carried away. Rather, they made me think about the story that starts in the middle, when a river carries fallen branches. And makes them driftwood.

Here is the passage I read from his “The Book of Wonder”

“Yet in the blood of man there is a tide, an old sea-current rather, that is somehow akin to the twilight, which brings him rumours of beauty from however far away, as driftwood is found at sea from islands not yet discovered: and this spring-tide or current that visits the blood of man comes from the fabulous quarter of his lineage, from the legendary, the old; it takes him out to the woodlands, out to the hills; he listens to ancient song.”


The ancient song. From lineage. The jealousy of forgotten things that were thought to be forgotten. But they never are.

 PS/ Photo of a humble stream in downtown Prescott following autumnal rain.

September 16, 2022

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2022

Thursday, September 8, 2022

Saxum Volutum Non Abducitur Musco


 


 

I was recording random thoughts on my laptop when an old friend from England sent me an email.

“Yet another change we have been allowed to witness – even the Queen of England is mortal” he wrote.

I have known him for many decades. I wrote of another communication with him a decade ago which has been read around the globe (https://vahezen.blogspot.com/2014/09/veronicas-veil_2.html).

“You recall the old saying that rolling stone does not gather moss? You have been a rolling stone and I assume you have been through a lot of change in all the places where you did not g row roots. For us, many have their roots in England and her history, so this is a major event.”

… Here is what I was writing on the screen when his email arrived:


Misfortune or Fortuna?

 

In the shade

Of a pine tree

Next to the sea

I left a note

For me to read


So I sent it to him.

“Your timing is impeccable. My mind was in the past, next to the bluest sea, wondering if it is fortune or misfortune to have been a rolling stone. “

“It is always both of those things” he replied in his usual manner. “You have the ability to not feeling lonely. So, it is a fortune. But do you sometimes wonder about belonging?”

Hmm.

I took my time to respond.

“I do not belong to material things or to trees, oceans and rainbows over mountains. I probably belong to the moment with people. That is what stays with me to be grateful to have had those moments, to learn about ideas, feelings and eventually about myself. Funny, in some ways it is like photography – being in that moment and capturing it as a blessing is always in shades of gray.”

“Ah, your love of B&W photography that goes beyond taking photos. It is a life philosophy, isn’t it?”

… Not gathering moss.

“Tell me” I said “what is moss for you?”

“Well, in its larger meaning it would be belonging. If you move around, willingly or by necessity, you do not belong to any of the places you moved to and from. Yes, you would gather joy, sorrow, and perhaps wisdom from the passages, but you will have had no time to growing roots. Or perhaps simply growing. Does that make you devoted of that joy I have of following my favorite football team for years, having bitter beer, or hearing “God save the King”? Simple things that often can mean a lot and make gathering moss a needed human path to inner comfort.”

And then he added:

“In those lines you were writing when I knocked at your door, what did you write on the note that was destined to you?”

I could not resist:

“If you had not interrupted my train of thought by your email, I was about to discover that myself!”

 

September 8, 2022

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2022