OPM 203, September 5th Mediation (2004 & 2014)

At the very least, this blog offers me the opportunity to document where I was with my work in 2014.  I prompted to say that because this morning, when I was on the train back to Hofstra, I came upon the Moleskine notebook where I was jotting down this and that between April and May.  It started off as a notebook where I could collect the titles of books of interest in the Drew University holdings.  (Drew is the campus where I work when I am in New Jersey.  I have no official relationship with Drew, but the campus is a fairly open and hospitable one, and the library is quite good, as well as comfortable.  The campus is also part of the same wooded landscape that covers this hilly part of New Jersey.  The campus itself is called Drew Forest, and has been inspiring many a scholar for generations.  Here is a turn of the 19^th into 20^th century description of the campus I found by Olin Curtis:

The Trees of Drew Forest

By Olin Curtis

The first time I ever saw Drew Forest, Doctor Upham, my gracious host, suddenly said: “Do you want to see the finest thing we have here?” Not waiting for an answer, he started in the direction of Cornell Library. This direction vaguely led me to expect to see a rare book, or an old manuscript, or a historic portrait.  But, before we came to the library, the doctor stopped, backed away from the path, and, with a quick flourish of his right hand and entire arm, as if trying to sweep the whole campus into the spot in front of him, exclaimed heartily: “There it is! That beech! Is there anywhere on earth, any living thing more beautiful?”

Our last scene is that paradise of trees, ‘Drew Forest.’ The entire picture is beyond my courage; but here is a fragment: a group of white birches, and snow-besprinkled spruces standing over against eastern sky. It is a December morning, perhaps ten minutes before sunrise. From where I stand, I now and then catch, through the treetops to the northeast, kindling patches on the distant, low-lying hills. Squarely in the east are long, streaming pennants of color—none regular, none gorgeous—just dull red alternating with blues so dark that they barely escape being somber. The tops of the birches are the first to respond to the dawn, and very soon their plumes, drooping and gently swaying, shine like treads of silver filigree. But only for a few moments are the birches central in the scene, for the tops of the spruces now become aware of the rising sun. All their sharp points and variant angles are suddenly burnished, and over the dark green branches, powdered as with damp marble dust, there is a shimmer of gold beryl which seems to light up the erect dignity of the spruces with unmistakable gladness. You begin to appreciate those exultant words in Isaiah: ‘All the trees of the field shall clap their hands.’ For these transformed spruces appear to be ready to do any joyous thing!

I break away from the small group and look over the whole sweep of the Forest, and everywhere it is morning in the treetops.

—Professor Curtis

Professor of systematic theology, Drew Theological School, 1896–1914

So...the finding of the Moleskine prompted me to remember the importance of this blog as a documentary of the work from this year, as a place where the focus of my thought has been deposited and can be retrieved, I hope, with some interest accrued!  (For the record, the last of the Moleskine notes, which was recorded on May 16^th – then it was put away  for the summer in the file folder I have been using for the past 7 years for my teaching material – says: “there is a subtle yet key distinction between ‘dwelling’ in a place and ‘being located’.  The structures we make suggest the difference – the place locates us in time & space.  To be located is to have a passive relation to be acted upon.”)

On to the legend…

“The river appeared much wider from the Eastern bank.  As a group of caretakers waved him off, Zarathustra was puzzled by the optical illusion.  The breadth of the river had doubled and he could not imagine how it was possible for him to have crossed such a distance.  He turned now, still dazed and confused, to regard the  awesome image of the mountain range rising up before him.  If the crossing of the river seemed an improbably venture, the ascent that stood before him could not be measured, nor described in words.  He would be carried away by the mountains, devoured and diminished like the cloudy mist that had been cleared by the rising sun.  Loaded and slowed by the pack prepared by the caretakers, and clutching the boda he received from Sancho, Zarathustra began his slow and arduous ascent.

“‘Don’t go away.  Stay with us.  Else our musty depression might seize us again.’[Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra] The words echoed in Zarathustra’s memory as he began his trek.  In the earliest hours of this day of his departure he had heard the desperate and sad entreaty of a mysterious wanderer who remained in the dark outside the shelter where Zarathustra silently prepared his pack.  He was not at all startled by the melancholy voice arriving from the deep night.

“In the time he had spent in the forest with the caretakers he had become accustomed to the unexpected and unsolicited voices that would speak to him.  Oaks, maples, hemlocks, birch, holly all enjoined him in dialogue, and compelled him to become an attentive listener, ready and waiting to hear, to receive the wisdom of the forest, the hidden harmony resounding throughout the glades. ‘Stay with us, O Zarathustra!  There is much hidden misery here that desires to speak, much evening, much cloud, much musty air!  You alone make the air around you strong and clear.  Have I ever found such good air anywhere on earth as here in your cave?’ (ibid)

“The saying of ‘cave’ interrupted his packing.  ‘This is no cave, stranger.  But I leave this morning, cross the river, and ascend to a cave high in the eastern range.  Are you called to that cave, and you mistake this forest shelter for that safe dwelling of peace?’ ‘Do not go away!’ repeated the voice.  ‘Who are you?’ asked Zarathustra.  A silence ensued, and Zarathustra returned to his packing, believing the stranger had left.

“After some time the same voice replied, ‘We are your shadow Zarathustra.  Stay with us.’  Zarathustra stood, but did not leave the lean-to.  He gazed into the darkness, into the hiding where the speaker was dwelling. He listened again for the voice, and any sign of life. The hymns of crickets and cicadas bounced off the limbs and trunks.  ‘I leave this morning, cross the river, and make an ascent of the eastern range.  I follow the northern trail.  Join me, my shadow, for you are welcome company. Together we shall find the air most strong and clear in the lofty heights.  Much shall we see from the peaks.  Leave the habit of your lonely habitation.  Let silence inhabit your dwelling and disrupt “the evil routine of your own howling and cries of distress.”(ibid) Let us dwell together, so that I may stay with you.’

“Another long silence ensued, and was finally broken by the voice of a caretaker.  ‘Are you gathered, brother? Shall we help you with your pack? The time to take your leave has arrived.’  Zarathustra re-called these voice as he hiked north, following the river, moving alongside its southerly rush.  The banks were climbing, steep, and soon became a cobble of boulder and root.  ‘Rest beneath the falls, then follow the path to the east.  You shall reach the shelter of the mountain cave in the light of the second moon.’ 

“He focused now on the teachings and tales he had received in the forest, and listened to the rush of rapids.  His spirit was lightened, his steps were quick.” (09/05/04, with very little editing)