HEAD(hed), (n.) 1. the top part of the human body or the front part of an animal where the eyes, nose, east and mouth are. "Your brain is in your head." DIBS(dibz), (n.) 2. a thick, sweet syrup made in countries of the East, especially the Middle East, from grape juice or dates. [Arabic "debs"]--World Book Dictionary, 1976.
Actually, it’s an ad-duck-tion. I missed the perfect opportunity to say, “and they’re in a row, too!” Silly goose.
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Two Ways to read Homer's Odyssey (focus: the life lesson of the second option)
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"One way to read The Odyssey is that it’s a story of human perseverance. Odysseus is cunning and determined, he’s willing to do everything and anything to get back to Ithaca...and eventually, because of that, he finally does. That’s certainly the interpretation of Tennyson in his poem 'Ulysses':
'We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.'
But there is also a way to read The Odyssey as illustrating the exact opposite lesson. Because basically every delay and impediment on Odysseus’s long journey home is completely his fault. He says he wants to get back to Ithaca, and then proceeds to constantly undermine himself. It’s only towards the end when he finally stops and actually listens to the gods (most of whom favor him) that he quickly makes any real progress.
In fact, they finally come out and tell him this when Odysseus tries to argue with their instructions for surviving Scylla and Charybdis (he wants to stand and fight, they tell him to dart through). 'Goddess, please, tell me the truth, is there no other way?' Odysseus pleads. The goddess answers, 'No, you fool! Your mind is still obsessed with deeds of war. But now you must surrender to the gods.'
Marcus Aurelius talked about practicing the 'art of acquiescence.' Seneca and Epictetus spoke often about surrendering to fate—understanding that we are not in control, accepting that there is a larger plan for us spelled out in the logos. It seems like resignation, and it’s a very scary thing for us to try. So most people don’t. We refuse to yield, like Odysseus, and we never end up getting where we want to go.
The concept of Amor Fati is quite paradoxical. It’s acceptance fused with determination. It’s the ability to go along and make the best of something—even if every ounce of your being would rather stand and fight. It seems crazy, but it works. Because there is more at work behind the scenes than we know. There is a bigger picture we cannot see. And even if there wasn’t, the universe is much stronger than we are[emphasis mine].
That’s why it’s better to flow with it than impotently resist it."
July 2004 I went to Kenya, Africa to speak in two Pastor’s Conferences on the subject of Man, Sin and Salvation. At the end of each day I left just over an hour for questions (half the time were questions touching the subject of my lectures, and the other half for “open questions”; that is, people could ask anything). For the next few weeks, I will be sharing the questions that were asked of me, and my answers—and believe me when I say these people really know how to think! Question from Kenya #1: “Men and women who saw God in the Bible: Why did they not all die?” [“ But He said, ‘You cannot see My face, for no man can see Me and live! ’” (Exodus 33:20) was the basis of the student’s question]. Answer: First, consider those who did see God—how did they respond when they saw Him? They were instantly aware of their sinfulness, and God’s holiness and righteousness (to name a few. And notice also that each responded in an attitude of worship, bowing down): Abraham built altars, wors
“My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, Besides their other flames? Doth poetry Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn? Why are not sonnets made of thee? and lays Upon thine altar burnt? Cannot thy love Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the fame, Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name! Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that, which one day, worms may chance refuse. Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of ink; for, as the Deluge did Cover the earth, so doth thy Majesty: Each cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and lilies speak thee; and to make A pair of cheeks of them, is thy abuse Why should I women's eyes for crystal take? Such poor invention burns in their low mind Wh
“In primitive times, when man awakes in a world that is newly created, poetry awakes with him. In the face of the marvellous things that dazzle and intoxicate him, his first speech is a hymn simply. He is still so close to God that all his meditations are ecstatic, all his dreams are visions. His bosom swells, he sings as he breathes. His lyre has but three strings—God, the soul, creation; but this threefold mystery envelopes everything, this threefold idea embraces everything. The earth is still almost deserted. . . . He leads that nomadic pastoral life with which all civilizations begin, and which is so well adapted to solitary contemplation, to fanciful reverie. He follows every suggestion, he goes hither and thither, at random. His thought, like his life, resembles a cloud that changes its shape and its direction according to the wind that drives it. Such is the first man, such is the first poet. He is young, he is cynical. Prayer is his sole religion, the ode is his only form of