Moby-Dick :: Chapter 42 :: The Whiteness of the Whale

Mister Ishmael ~

Writer's Dispair

He wonders--
Why am I writing this down?
How can I but gain the reader's ear
if only through pity
that what I am trying to say
is worth saying
even if I am
unmatched to the task
and horrible in the delivery.

But the message is mightier than I
thus I must write even if
to only write around
as best I can
the most obsure,
hardly able to hold onto,
sometimes I see it and
sometimes I don't,
yet I write
I write

The life of man is pitiful--
writer's write to make it
less pitiful I suppose.

Chapter XLII. The Whiteness of the Whale.

Thus the comparisons of white.

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word, or phrase by ijil RHG

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 30 :: The Pipe

Mister Ishmael ~



Ah, that which pleasures us, yet

tossed away when the pleasure ceases.



Should it be the pipe at our command

or rather that we should be at its?



The smoke, the smoke.

Where does it curl?



Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word, or phrase by ijil RHG

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 28 :: Ahab

 Mister Ishmael ~

Ahab has finally appeared.
Chapter 28 . Week 11 . Page 159.
. . . (of 135) . . (of 52) . . (of 655).

Chapter XXVIII. Ahab.

As you can see my moleskine, my note taking and study is a little bit further behind, (only chapter 18), than my reading; but reading this book when I was drawn to read this book, instead of reading when I was told to read this book, is making all the difference in my enjoyment and understanding of Moby-Dick.

And this going premeditatively slowly through the book is also highly beneficial. One chapter about every three days is allowing the re-reading and looking-up time of things that I do not know or do not understand or wonder about.
That has been delightful.

Daughter 3 gave me the black magnetic book clip with the white skull and crossbones on it (okay, she gave it after I threatened permanent banishment),  but it now rests on every page as I read through this tome. It has been a constant reminder of the nature of societies, even societies with less than ten members, and how they need to function together.

Even today as the risen sun shines slowly through the foggy mist outside my house windows it seems that nautical things have taken a hold of my life.

Captain Jack has been in my life, popular culture and today's young person's video watching pleasure. The watery coastal towns, wharves, lay lines, riggings, gunnels and cargo.
I read on.
The Occupy Movement has come to Norfolk. The deal making and the deal breaking. The loyalty and the trust assumed, broken and otherwise. With a common questioning of "are they right in the head?" No good answer returns.
I read on.
Whales and Moby-Dicks, of the every footed and non-footed kind have breached my shores, large dead blocking carcasses and smaller sculptural delights -- one never really knows which they will become -- friend or foe.
I flow around them or look upon them to discern which for me they might be.
I read on.

'I' has traded his tame merchant-ship companies for a barbaric, heathenish, motley crew with a fierce uniqueness (pg 157). This makes me wonder whom i would choose to live among? The visually socially acceptable people with very few real necessary life skills or the rough handed carpenter or farmer with realistic time-honed survival skills.My thoughts turn to nearby Jamestown and those first horrible winters in Colonial America that killed so many there. Who would you choose to live among?

"...Captain Ahab stood erect, looking straight out beyond the ship's ever-pitching prow. There was an infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate, unsurrenderable wilfulness, in the fixed and fearless, forward dedication of that glance. Not a word he spoke; nor did his officers say aught to him; though by all their minutest gestures and expressions, they plainly showed the uneasy, if not painful, consciousness of being under a troubled master-eye." ~ Herman Melville. Moby-Dick.  pg 159.

another example that "an experienced-filled life is the only real life."*

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word, or phrase by ijil RHG (c)

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 25 :: Postscript

Mister Ishmael ~

A short chapter to read. Just one page.
And straight to the point you are, with the understanding of making just one more important point in regards to the new industrial whaling industry, careful not to allow it to become embedded within any other chapter. Clean and simple. I like it.

Anointment. Anointing. Anointed.

Who anoints?
Who is anointed?
And in this case, with what is someone anointed.

I had no idea it was spermaceti, sperm whale oil, that the royals of the British Empire used in their anointing rituals. However, it does make fine sense.

But surely the Norsemen would have also used the precious amber liquid -- the original whaling peoples that they were with many whaling outposts around the North Atlantic. Or the Northmen of the North Pacific, the Eskimos, or the tribes of the Japans, would they have used spermaceti in the same ways?
Although, what oil would have been used in ancient middle eastern times, in the days of Abraham, or the days of Noah or Moses, but almond oil, maybe.
Or in the Mediterranean lands of ancient Greece or Italy, but olive oil perhaps, the greatest gift as given by the great goddess herself, Athena, in ancient Athens.

And what other substances might have made good anointing substances? I would think at one time even amber-colored honey would have been used.
And of course sometimes, just pure water from holy wells which are present in every earthly land, might have been enough.

Anointments have been plenty throughout history.

Even today we use sesame seed oil or palm oil after our showers and eucalyptus oil and rose oil in our baths; anointed each time after we purify ourselves.
Can we not anoint ourselves as we need to?

The case presented is cleaver in its single short format.

You asked, "Does anointing affect our interior and exterior runnings?"
Do ceremonies affect our lives? Does having witnesses of our commitments entice us to live better lives? Yes, I think they do.

And furthermore, I have observed that peoples who use plants and plant materials in their everyday existence are healthier and have a greater calm about their person. Could it be that we are to live symbiotically with the earth/world? That we really are more dependant on the other growing things on this earth, like plants, than we are comfortable to admit? Are we actually dieing each day we do not have plants and plant materials, in their raw forms, in our lives? Some of the most vibrant people I have seen eat mostly raw or natural food stuffs, some of which they grow themselves. A good, natural and healthy exchange with the earth. Not dependant on anything or anyone else. Are we symbiotic creatures?

Anointing rituals and ceremonies return us to our personal individual consciousness and to our commitments and our promises, reminding us through acknowledgement and recognition of the great trusts that have been placed upon us, if only by the divine right of birth which each of us have experienced, as we are present on the earth, now.

Have you been anointed lately?

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word, or phrase by ijil RHG

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 24 :: The Advocate

Mister Ishmael ~

Just to let you know, this is my favorite chapter to date.

As I reread, the blustery November winds howl outside my own window. I read of everyday men doing everyday jobs in an everyday way. This chapter speaks of already sung heros and then it emplores the reader to think and remember the multitudes of others, the unsung heros. The men, women and children, who throughout history have everyday taken the next appropriate step--think about what they have done, what they have made, what they have produced, what they have invented or created, what they have protected or taught and how they have toiled to keep everyday working well. But what does that really mean?

What does it mean to do a job?  To show up ready for whatever presents itself?

This week has seen the long-time careers of several thought-to-be wizen lion-headed men tarnished in world-wide multimedia and television broadcasting frenzency. Why? because they knew something was horribly wrong and they failed to act strongly enough to stop the abuse. They instead choose to pass the football to someone else to handle the situation. They had direct knowledge of an abusive situation, a grown man with an under-age child, and they did nothing to ensure that it never happened again. They did not fix the problem. They did not handle the situation well, in fact, they did not handle it at all--they allowed the grievance to continue. And now, years later, what has happened? All the good they had done, and the future good they could do, was washed down the drain because they knew of even one "something" and did not fix it.
There is no statue of limitation when correcting a terminal wrong.

It was their watch and they failed.

This week has seen the decampment of several locations of the Occupy Movement. Police in Norfolk in a heavy-handed, short notice terminal end date, trashed the personal property of the peacefully-assembled citizens--who were speaking out for all of us, whether or not we have the good sense to understand that--in a show of televised "we are in charge here", which is becoming the typical brutal governmental fashion. Message: Who is in charge? Not the people. Are you afraid yet?--well you should be. Where are you and the other citizens of the world? Not awake.

Gatherings of people of more than 30 are prohibited. Did you know that? Thirty is the size of a classroom. Thirty is a very small number. In Norfolk there is one cop for every 1200 people, armed with weapons, pepperspray, bullet proof vests, and helmets. The ultimate bullies on our dime, our wages paid through our taxes. Who are we but the nameless insignificant little people who pay the bills but who do not have a say in our own town's policies or brutalities. Do you feel safe in your home? Well, you are not. The rowing military, or homeland security is ultimate move toawards another fiascos regime. Who is really at the top of this pyramid? We have not one face that is recognizable. Is that face another paranoid Berry Goldwater, J. Edgar or George W.? Are we really willing to be lead by anyone? Are we really that dumb?

Have you looked around the American streets of your towns? Where are the people? In my town the sidewalks are hugely devoid of people in public spaces, and there are very few parks. I have been uncomfortably noticing this strange and eeire devoidment of human life for several years now. Unlike when I traveled abroad, and there were people everywhere (cafes, shops, train stations) living life. In America we are in houses, offices, private cars; inside and off the streets. No loittering, no sitting, no standing, no parking, no soltiting, no nothing. Our very towns have been taken over by overly-restrictive legislation which we have approved and sanitioned. Did you realize that? In a move to legislate safety we have eliminated life.

It was our watch and we have failed.

What does it take to spotlight that something is seriously wrong here? How many arrests need to be made on this land before people, who know something is seriously wrong, unite and proactivily step up and fix it, instead of passing the growing bad policy-making and potenially harmful society issues off to others for them to handle? Whatever mis-alignment, whatever abusive situation, whatever mis-handled potenially damaging event is before you, is the piece that you are to handle, that you are to bring to light, that you are to champion forth to a better future which we have to live together.

It is important to personally discern what your job on earth is. Not what you are being paid to do, but what was your purpose for being born. What is your job here on earth and the reason you were born. What is your Moby-Dick? Are you doing that job well?

It is your watch are you going to fail?

Like whalemen in the 1800s#, whom had no advocate, yet continued to do their job everyday, day in and day out. Like every worker in every job, paid or unpaid, continue to do the job, this is what keeps our world some place that we would want to live. Really, it is easy.

The government is a business.
It is your busniess.
It is your business.
It is your life.

I have heard people ask, "What can we do?"

Well, I would suggest that until your last dieing breath you figure out the answer to that question.*

This is your watch. It is our watch.

Happy (I hope we never have to produce another veteran) Veteran's Day. 10:01

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original statement, quote, word or phrase coined by ijil RHG

# until Herman Melville wrote this book, Moby-Dick

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 23 :: The Lee Shore

Mister Ishmael ~

Are we not all slaves, entrapped here upon these shores, dropped at birth with no terms of recourse for years into our lives. Homeless, even though we think we home. Criminals by right of birthright. Born in debt before our first breath. Surely this was not the best way to safety.

But what seems like safety, the land, the strong rocks, the firm ground, is not that, but the quicksand upon which we try to stand.

Doest the land under the feet burn thee? Doest the cagey entrapment of dreams and promises, hold thee off the course, of straight south? Legal servitude--binding net about us--encob* us now. And the cry of patriotism sound like a call to lay down, as roadbase, for the legions of soldiers to walk over, even the profit spoke of this. The navy, most powerful pirates, shiny in apparent goodness, hoist over the tainted seawater and spent rods, imperilling our world?

Ayin, the land, for far doth be seen while on high mountain's peak, sans clouds or mist. Speak not, as thy voice doth offend the gods that are here.

Bulkington, Bulkington. Bull of a man. Break free. Steer clear. Head out to sea. Make haste. Flee all succour. Outrun the Dooms Day book, open for to add your name. Or speak now and fain stay.

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote or word coined by ijil RHG

* encob - to become wrapped in cobwebs, physically, mentally, metaphorically, or otherwise. To become ensnared, wrapped up, encircled on all sides, encased. To become totally bound, as if in a net. Having a sticky or creepy substance or feeling about it. The more one moves, the deeper the level of entanglement.

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 22 :: Merry Christmas

Mister Ishmael ~

A Whalin' we will go,
A Whalin' we will go.
High Ho the Merry oh,
A Whalin' we will go.

You might ask, "Does it matter?" Why of course it matters.
It matters the world over, who the pilot will be.
And for the Pequod, she required two pilots to gain an offing and out to sea, out to sea to be free.
And such pilots they were, Mr Peleg and Mr Bildad, as each of us might be, escaping tarriff and extra fee as we possibly can, looking out for ourself and our own. Happy and sad in the same moment, for the friend who, be it person or prospects, is 'ere and anon, with each turning of a tide.

With every curse and every song, every adversary and every opportunity, devil and angel alike, the chances are just chances. To set sail upon life with mates unknown to us, we double guess our actions and quadruple guess our choices. At moments doubt ourselves when unsavourey events occur, but throughout our insides, when we listen well, we know who is good and who is not good, for us to be in bed with.

So we sail with the tides that come all around with regular frequency. Whom will come next? Where will we be taken? How big will be the whale of our next incarnation? Spring, Spring. Be Alert! Heave Ho!

It matters what course we take.

But I must ask the question. Why such a hurry?

I mean, why would anyone choose to leave out on Christmas Day? So much talk about bibles and "a copy of Watts in each seaman's berth." Why not have a Christmas Day service and a high-holy-day meal together and depart two days later, after Christmas? Leaving in November is still too early, for hurricane season is not yet complete, that makes sense; but setting sail two days after Christmas would host no folly. Ahhh, but I miss the mark. How better the story goes with identifiable dates to target the way and bleed our souls for misery.

How much time did it take to sail from Nantucket to the Carribean anyway? Two weeks maybe? From stormy frozen northland to balmy, no-shirt, tropical latitudes we sail to warm ourselves as lizards upon the rocks.

Who should be my pilot other than myself?  For there is no one better.

I blindly plunge like fate into the deep unknown, aware there is something I want which the entire universe will conspire in helping me to obtain.^

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word or phrase by ijil RHG (c) ever and anon

^ reworded unabashedly from "When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it." written by Paulo Coehlo in The Alchemist.

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 12 :: Biographical

Mister Ishmael ~

I came to this understanding early in my life that we are born exactly where we are grow up, around the people we are to know, and situated in the situations that will fully shape us to be the people we are to become; and that is why most people can't wait to get away. To run as far and as fast as circumstances, resources and opportunity will afford them. So it was with your new friend, so it was with you, so it has been with most of my close companions and so it was with me.

Only how to run? by land or by sea or even these days by air? Which is the best way to get away from all the comforts and goodness of early life into your own dreams and other people's schemes of later life. How far have you run? And more importantly who have you chosen to run with? How is it that we choose our life companions and confidants? By dumb luck or by shear grace. Well, that all depends on how we listen and how fearful we are. Surely each of you have your own tale to tell. Days of uncertainly, hours of dread, stiff with morose doubt, or comatose with depression. But still, somehow we move.

When we are young, it is easier, for by some misguided instinct we know we have many years to correct whatever wrong turn we might take, although naively convinced that will never happen to us. We (the proverbial we of course), we set out in search of something, we know not what. But surely we are told to go, encouraged to head away to college, suggested we travel to a foreign land, and we do, we set out seeking something better than we had before. For somewhere there is indeed something better than was before, as every common saying tells us. But for others, each step away is further into a land where we sink and never fully recover.

That has been my tale. Each step away was a monumental step in the wrong direction. And the constant telling to myself that there is something better out there somewhere, if I can find it, than what I already had, was a colossal lie. A deceit that never borne out any resemblance to something greater or something better. Yes, I learned a lot. But much learned in the learning game can be learned right where you are, and in a less stressful way. And sometimes, sometimes, at least with me, it was the learning of how to stay put instead of the constant running to somewhere else. No place is going to be better if you constantly take yourself with you, until you learn to be with yourself. That was the first thing that I learned.

By stopping and being still, I learned the most of what I am. And the further away a child goes from home, the closer they are to always being home. But in the journeys away from the source, what dirtiness has been cast over, what filth adheres which can never be washed clean. How many lies to we tell ourselves so that we are able to stay in the same place, and endure the same rotten behavior and impositions? Just so you know--one lie is too many.

What epic-sized myth must be spun to stay standing upright upon this earth? For those of you who can honestly say "none", I applaud you. But to most I have witnessed, the lie is so complete that the deception to self can not begin to curl back the steel shell that protects. For those of you who say "never". I wonder out loud how far down the road you have traveled and how poor is thou hearing and thou memory. For the sails are set and whipping in the most unnatural way.

As each step is taken, each gravely crunch below the boot, binds the man to the wonder of the earth forever. I am sure that is why we travel. Yet our roots never grow too deep that we can not run when we see trouble in our realm. Escape, escape, escape. But now that I am old, I am sure that there is no escape.

Now that I am old, I know it is far better to stand and fight, than ever it was to turn in flight. I am fully Occupied, it is time to do what our parents before us did not. "Don't rock the boat" I remember being told at every age. Well, now I am sure this boat needs to be rocked, so the babies can at last sleep in peace.

Let me puff the last puff, touch my forehead to yours, and then say goodnight, elest I will never be fully baptisted again for tomorrow is another adventure.

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word, or phrase by ijil RHG (c)

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 11 :: Nightgown

Mister Ishmael ~

A quiet scene
thoughtful touch
of midnight smoke
and words not much
pleasant warmth
of a new friend
with whom this voyage
may soon begin.

Eyes shut tight
against the light
knees pulled close
air just right.

A loaded pipe
in the still night
smoke curls slowly
devil's flight.

Lots of time
talk comes slow
gentle words
and trust
doth grow.

Listen well
til morn doth come
to know another
to know thy self.

Trust Your Journey (tm)

~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote, coined word, or phrase by ijil RHG (c)

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 9 :: The Sermon

Mister Ishmael ~

A fishier tale was never spun than that of Jonah and the Whale.
A tighter brotherhood has never been conceived than that of seamen.
A deeper bondage has never been foraged than that of a death bond.

"We are all pirates in our own way."

Trust Your Journey (tm)
~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote by ijil RHG

:: Historiaverophobia – fear or aversion of truthful history.

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 8 :: The Pulpit

Mister Ishmael ~

Great pulpit climber, no better the crow's nest for a far view what maybe coming. The marbles remind of what has gone before, and even on obtaining a glimpse of the numerous stones present, the traveler continues as if there will be no unpleasant consequence for them. That our travels will be under fair winds and easy seas. No matter how many orders we acquire, how many lines we have crossed, Davy Jones will always be able to find us, and Neptune will reign supreme.

We bow as we take stock of the mental boat, asking for the last rum libation before all reason escapes, and our world becomes a world where no world is the world. Winter is summer and up is down, the entire world is turned around. Around and around the journey can go on forever. Willful winds push us beyond our limit. There is no edge. No stopping point. No way to get off. Have you tied enough knots in your line to let out one by one so that you can return? The maze on land is confusing and the maze at sea is deep.

Is your pen ready? Will the ship's log be full? Will you have enough to retain the facts, share no secrets, and come out alive after you find your sea legs?

"No fortress is fortress enough if you, the enemy, are within."

Trust Your Journey (tm)
~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote by ijil RHG

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 7 :: The Chapel

Mister Ishmael ~

Oh Mad Captain of my own vessel which doth bob and duck cork-wise upon the blustery oceans of reason, and indeed, moral or immoral life-eternal, weighs each moment against the next, and against the last, for what? What prize is sought? and to what end?

Truth be told, I like my dreams better than my life, on some days, and except the nightmares of course, which can wage havoc upon the smoothest glass-like sea, on twenty-first century hardened glass, I shatter but there are no sharp shard's for all is tempered against the newly energized lessons of life.

I can not purchase insurance enough, nor time enough, to stave safe my soul.

I pause under the harsh light, looking both ways along the street I enter, drawing my jacket tighter before closing the church door quietly behind me, soon the hard teak bench rises to support me. Eyes closed for a moment, I relax, all raging thoughts calm under the soft candle glow. The inside quiet, like a cave, a shelter. I lean back and breathe.

Having seen my shadow, I now breathe even deeper.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote by ijil RHG

Essay Review:

In the 2011 The BEST American Essays on page 90, Pico Iyer delivers to us a reflection of his calm space - CHAPELS - the places that he has found around the world as he has traveled and wrote as a journalist for Time Magazine. 
Essay first published by Portland Magazine.

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 6 :: The Street

Mister Ishmael ~

The sweet odor of a bustling seaside town. A look in both directions; to the northeast lie the docks, seacrafts of every class, whalers among them, and sea catch; to the southwest the same. Behind, the commotion of New Bedford rises along the lanes. Mine eyes a bustling for focus, for here no one walks on one side or the other of separation, and all must walk at some point, searching out the haul of the day or a trade in time with what doth float ashore. All can be seen here, with an owl's swivel of the head, the horizons are immense.

I have wondered about the opposite of this recently, how an empty street signals an empty life. Where few people walk because there is plenty and adequate access; no need to be out - not even a dawg. Still the very poor have always walked everywhere there is to go, while the wealthy will find another way. And the wealthiest of all rarely go out, but rather enclose themselves unto themselves, and fear what is outside. I wonder about the enclosed life. The life shaped by only familiar things set around in a very particular order and dusted on a very particular day.

Yet, like Ledyard and Buddha, some have forsaken their comfortable life to seek another, one with more adventure and experiences. When traveling there is found a zestful excitement for life in the differences and extremes of other places. Twenty-first century planned travel tours often means the 'looking at of things' which are deemed valuable or worthy, hoards guided quickly by with no time relish any relishable thing and little gained substantial substance. But is not the value of worth being more in what you need when you need it? Rather than in what others want you to see and pay them to view? To have an exciting tale to tell, have others hear the tale, possibly have all the world read the tale, and then pass that tale onto offspring - that is value - that is experience - the lesson secured.

And yet the view out to sea, across the harbors and inner waterways, over the ocean, beyond the blue, is the grandest of all. Maybe it is the blue itself that calls like the snow-capped apex of a mountain or the vast dry-sand nothingness of a desert. It is the going, the journey, the travel. Should Paulo alchemize a young boy any more than Don and Dante transform and define the worlds. Is not the journey experience the ultimate practice for the development of intuition? Practiced everyday, in every decision, with every encounter, intuition develops well, "practice makes permanent"*. Yes indeed, intuition can be developed/taught through practice, listening inwardly and choosing well. Like a silent breakfast, a good thoughtful walk will sort out your mind. Practice walking meditation of time and space. Even good Thomas spoke of the within and without. "He who walks with wise men is wise, but he who walks with the divine I is the wisest of all."* A good practice is good practice. The experience journey of the without develops the cool intuition of the within. Grapple a few beefsteaks towards yourself, and note to self, anything done coolly is done genteelly.

Looking outward now Mister Ishmael, I long for color, experience, walking and difference here in my life. Not the usual and mundane, the soul-crushing same, as safe as the grave experience.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote by ijil RHG

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 5 :: Breakfast

Mister Ishmael ~

Silence. The great ritual seldom observed. Yet a mighty good thing. Still, withal often uncomfortable, if not practiced regularly. As for the company, having greatmen together in anything particular does not guarantee any level of conversation, as I have noticed the most accomplished men often speak of the most mundane, indeed silly, verse ever uttered. And these men with vitals on their brains would already be engaged in another, albeit more simple yet needed, pursuit. The fact that you were able to see clearly around you, with no charades nor shenanigans, is probably the better feat of the day. For unlike yourself, these men had been here before, had said all that needed to be said, and saw of each other all that could be seen, on or off the water. So what tale would they tell now to others who have already heard and in fact has already done the same or more. Instead they practiced as well as could be practiced the best practice of all, which is of course - silence. The great ritual so seldom profoundly observed.

First only to the second great ritual of only if necessary. Just because another desires something lays nothing on the other to do it. So on the great morning of your second day is the second great ritual so well displayed, do nothing unnecessarily, for more than that would be a waste; and the difference between living and dieing is often in the waste. Waste of materials and supplies surely, but the waste of life energy in the last, the most horrendous and often fatal of the poorest decisions. Spearing across the table with great deft and skill, as Queequeg demonstrated, when walking would have been the polite thing to do, carries no foul. Safe and swift is good, skill can win your life, were polite and hesitation can get you killed. Which would you rather see practiced, Oh Good Reader? Yes, me also. As so eloquently said by one ijil RHG,  "Practice makes permanent"*, rather than the more commonly spoken, but truly incorrect, sentiment of "practice makes perfect". If you have practiced incorrectly you have still practiced, but it is not correct, thus not perfect. Practice rightly and speak naught more than is needed, as here in Mister Coffin's parlor. Men are just men throughout most moments of the day; and hungry men are just hungry men.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

* original quote by ijil RHG

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 4 :: The Counterpane

Mister Ishmael ~ 

Amazing how a good night's sleep can change the harshness of our thoughts and the sharpness of our actions. Last night you were so angry with Mister Queequeg, and now, you are almost loving. Is it when another does a tender thing, conscious or unconscious, that we are more able to return a tender gesture? Sleeping two to a bed is not as horrible as was once thought, and maybe returning avant garde. Children know the good dream of a warm body beside them as they crawl into bed beside parents, siblings or cousins. It is not so lonely, nor so scary, as sleeping alone; nightmares and awful fears are held at bay, and it is easier to stay warm. Plus the best plans are concocted during sleepovers while relaxed and safe with great-great-great-great grandma's handiwork.

Sometimes it is hard to separate the images in our minds with the images in our eyes; the angles and arcs reflect the same and then they are distorted. Looking for understanding or even something that makes sense and has reason. Chased by either canis or panthera, uniequus or taurus, we traverse the untamed pagan patch-worked landscape sometimes alone, but better with a shamanic friend, even one with strange customs and odd herbs in his rag, never carrying a book. Witness the wildness of wisen unfamiliar ways, foreign to ourselves, body stiff with tenseness, defenses on high-alert. And then as now, a thick arm thrown across, a shoulder after a game well-won, camaraderie is the language we speak, the feelings we feel, and the justice we recognize. When our minds are still enough, we know when something is right or wrong; we can discern the difference, our body, nature's true compass, pointing the way. Intuition can be taught as surely as ciphers and starpaths, squares and triangles, well, at least improved. Given the actions of man or the words of man; actions will never lie as consistantly as words will.

Is the threshold sill so dark and the jamb to tight, that without help, a friend, or supernatural hand, we will never be able to open the sun-lit window? Hold tight to the cord of connection. Circling, circling, circling, unwinding the center of our selves. No matter what this pilgrimage is called - correct name or no - maze or labyrinth; mightily warned against the dangers, regardless, the capri soul will not stay home. The innerlands call us to journey, whether one path or many, straight away or dead-end, false-starts or marsh; our boredom is now banished by fresh sights and newness of characters; we come more alive, nerve endings tingling with each new smell and vista, whether a painting on a wall or a painting on an arm, el signos we find around us are many, and the incredibly helpful hands even greater. But are you watching? Are all your eyes open? Do you follow your proper path? Where will your soul lie tonight, in a heathen-laden countryside or fanatically clean marble floor, or someplace worse? Who is the devil and who is the savior? Will the trice masted dawg crawl far enough to win the true-blue heart from the iceberg? I will watch for you and your son Tom in the rigging at the edge of water. Play at no curses, sing a sharp song, tools in good repair, right at hand, get your boots on.

The passat are blowing rhythms. The chill air will not keep us here much longer.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 2 :: The Carpet-Bag

Mister Ishmael ~

Surely, you know the value of having a safe place to lay your head at night, or at the end of the day, or even for a nap. A safe and quiet place, where you can not even hear the crickets' chirp, where slumber and dream time are encouraged to come as assuredly as the rising sun. This place need not be fancy, as you well pointed out, or even all that clean, but the respite that comes when a proper spot can be secured to hold the small bones of those weary of walking, moving, and doing - that bed that cradles the cranium, shelters the skin, moulds the mind like no schoolroom, no apprentice shop, no stoic under a tree can. Nay, the gods themselves send Hermes with dreams to a well-supported head, the nightmares too, for the peace-doves and the ankhs, the zombies and werewolves, mere symbols which have endured and withstood time come unhindered by conscious thought, which is often best, to warn us, encourage us, guide us, and to give us pause to ponder. Is that what you meant? That we too should miss the boat, maybe on purpose, so the sea-side stay can last through the weekend or longer?

With a warm Starbucks blowing in my hand and points of light overhead maybe I will ~ maybe I will donne my red silken night wrap, sit by the cooling coals keeping my toes safe, read some Sapphio, Robert or Joseph, finish planning my trip to Carthage, Santorini and Cyprus, or if I am feeling really wight, dive into contemplation of my fortune & copestone, and just make it so.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver


note to self: 

• check the worthliness of my water craft. 
• pick up photos at store and get more batteries.
• see if Mister Temple can come by for a spot of White Lotus tea and crackers at the Five Trees Inn this afternoon.

Moby-Dick :: Chapter 1 :: Loomings

Mister Ishmael ~

Very smart of you to appeal to my inner-escape artist, to my perennial Sagittarian world traveler and my general all-around philosopher scallywag, very smart, very smart indeed. For now I am onboard with you. I will sojourn across the watery ways and bi-ways of our world not as captain, cook nor paying passenger, but as a freeman for hire always seeking the grandest adventure from the very best vantage point.

And to set an even loftier goal before us as you have - b r i l l a n t . To find not just any leviathan in the great deep cold waters of the earth would reveal, but the largest Holy Grail, for surely there is one that plies the world's darkest depths, yet has to surface, at least once in its life, for those cavernous lungs to fill so that it may live long enough for one more unfathomable dive. Our prize, not just the average prize of which there are many, but of the most obscure and wight prize to find, that keeps any good man or good woman seeking for the entirety of their life. Seeking, seeking, always seeking.

And while seeking, one can never be bored for in each turn, each twist, each block, and each full stop, there is presented another glorious moment of decision-making, another moment of sorting through the details of life to determine and discern friend or foe, dark alley or golden way, glorious captain or detestable beggar. Which one is for us? How will we know but to board a trusty ship while she anchors in calm harbour and ride her through all the grand waterways, all the tempest seas, or sit out the doldrums of life with shipmates? Always seeking what looms before us and yet never truly ever arriving; a life with a constant and continuous project; what a delight and a distraction against ever making a real decision again, for the needs of the moment will always keep one busy, and rarely facilitate a pure moment of calm or nothingness which could suggest the ancient compass heading of true south of our own soul.

And so we will take together, as the poor poet from Tennessee, on a ship this year into our own Bloody Battle in Affghanistan, as two thieves, carrying no rags, seeking escape from the worst damp and drizzly November, armed with Seneca and the Stoics, praying our caravan is supplied with a metaphysical professor and our inner resident hermit and crucifix do not kill each other, while paying homage to Jove and Poseidon each in their turn, hoping for good exercise and a good view, while receiving a general universal thump, knowing it was our own freewill and discriminating judgment that made us scratch the everlasting itch that tormented us until we bled, and scabbed over and over again and again.

Will we seek a brief reprieve against the onslaught of our own makings, which surely will come? Surely not. Carry on!

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver

Moby-Dick :: PreReading, Explanations & Reasons Why

It may have been Hurricane Irene that blew through the east coast of Virginia last weekend, or it may be something that by adding another year to my age has changed a foundational pier in me, or it may be that it is just time - finally - to read this tome.  Moby-Dick  has been calling to me over this past week ... read me ... REEEAD MEee...  And you should know, Moby-Dick  has never called to me before, in fact more of the opposite is true, I have shunned every opportunity prior, until now, to read this book.

So here I am - starting this year's the "one thing I will do every day for an entire year" - a practice I started in 2003. (I have done a different activity each year - never the same activity two years in a row.) This, however, will be the first time I will make the string of experiences and my personal musings available on the web through this Moby Dick in 365 days blog.

These are my reasons for writing this blog:

• read Moby-Dick  (I know, a bit of a duh)
• the 365 day thing
• learn how to create and maintain a blog
• improve my writing with a mandatory writing assignment
• and hopefully, connect with others through this literary classic

Well, that is way too much about me, and not enough about this classic, Moby Dick by Herman Melville.

There are 135 chapters in Moby-Dick. And thankfully very short chapters they are. Reading Moby-Dick  in one year averages about one chapter every three days. This is completely doable.

The volume I am reading is from the Barnes & Noble Classics collection - a rather large perfect bound book; I hope it can withstand 365 days of being handled. I was hoping for a smaller volume like the Everyman's Library collection published by Knopf, something pocket sized and hardback, to add to my own small book collection, but when I went to the B&N bookstore this edition was the only one. In fact, it took myself and the sales clerk over twenty minutes to locate even one copy of Moby Dick  in the store. We each looked in several sections (including the back room - twice). But this intense searching and not easily finding made the trip much more memorable, as I suppose the classic beginning of any worthwhile hero's journey, or heroine's journey, should be! Yes - I am taking this as an omen of the year ahead and an indicator of what may come.

So I will start, in my next post, Moby-Dick in 365 days. Maybe you will choose to read along with me. As I said before, it is a good thing these chapters are short, most under ten pages, completely doable.

Trust Your Journey (tm)
 ~ ijil Rainbow Hawk Giver