How many golden apples of the sun Falling from fractured rays will it take? Phases of life are like the phases of the moon. Blood moons and their curses, Blank moons and darkness, Slivers of sliding scales, Moving the tides. The crush of ignorance fracturing Ejecta of split seeds pouring down Your gullet, the bile on your lips, Falling fruit laying at roots, Rot of all begot. The phases move. Do you?
The Stoic
Port Orford, Oregon
At the tail end of the depths of the pandemic, when things began to open up, and the world was eking towards normalcy, or a facade of normalcy, my wife and I made a long overdue vacation to the Oregon coast. Hidden on the outskirts of the Redwoods is this tiny fishing town. All the little towns down the coast are stuck in an awkward ambiguity between the their aged traditions and the necessity for tourism.
They keep to their weird selves in true Oregonian fashion, they haven’t fully jumped in with both feet. Still, many within the tri-state area of Wa-Or-Id head this way as a honeymoon destination. Our trip to the small town of Port Orford was long overdue. The hotel reservation number was a codex of a promise. We finally earned time to ourselves. Six years past our own honeymoon, my wife and I developed a closeness in our relationship that had existed before, but not at such a depth. We made it over the head of the hill into what I believe are indications that she and I will be a lasting thing.
Ever the dreamer, and ever the romantic, transcendentalist too (sometimes at contention to my stoic practices), to me, this trip was magic, emblematic too of my wife and myself as a patient, honest, sincere love. To add to the cannon of pandemic-influenced writing, it is no wonder that the trip we had kept us at the WildSprings Guest Habitat. Off of the highway, in the woods, we had a quaint cabin. The main building had board games and DVDs to rent.
The movies we watched were:
Arrival
Hannah and Her Sisters
Cannery Row
The Grand Marigold Hotel
Each one in their own way was of disallusionment and the movement into something foreign. Some took it as new starts against old habits, to ramble idly (as Woody Allen is apt to do), or the continued testament of love as the only thing holding the diverging world together.
We also played bannagrams. I consoled my poor play with the best fish and chips I have ever had.
Just like everyone else, the best vacation was away from others, in nature. The trailheads were mostly empty, lines were hardly a thing. Sentimentality be damned, the pandemic left me with the only thing I know I need, the love of my life, good food, and some books and movies.
What if anything does such a syrupy-sweet saccharine view of my undying love have to do with Stoicism? Everything. The philosophical perspective of Stoicism is that it is pragmatic actuation and disposition. When the world effectively fell apart, shut down, what did I do? I fell deeper in love. That was within my control.
Climate Change: an anticlimactic perspective
We drove up in the middle of August. There were times where the weather was nearly prohibitive and uncomfortable. Windy and rainy. I wasn’t expecting perfect and seventy-five. None of that weather ruined the trip, but in my brain of many tangents, the conditions made me think of our changing world.
I tend to agree with the effects of climate change, not as dogma, but it difficult not to recognize the repercussions around us. Anecdotally, seasons are lasting longer, fires spark up heavier, the tragedy of disasters are speeding up in damage and occurrence. But a cursory look into the expansive scale of the earth’s history show now as nothing more than the echoing of eons. There are intervals of heating and cooling.
Unfortunately, mankind fits within a narrow band of climatical conditions. At some point, long in the future, we will edged out of life on earth. At least we may see the end of a comfortable one.
It is my entirely uninformed and disinterested opinion that there is little affect we have on lasting effect of those conditions. It is best to focus attention to where it matters, living as virtuously as we can. It is imperative to do what is right as a stoic, reasoned, and in accordance with the world.
In seeming contrast to the other point of what affection we have in the global climate, we should seek to be more conscious of ecological actions. Most of cannot directly stand in front of rampant deforestation, but we do have reasonable control within our communities. Choosing to be wasteful, uncaring to our local ecology, inconsiderate to others is not virtuous. You have the obligation to be a good person no matter where your beliefs lie.
Calls to Action
Until I know better, or am taught better, I will continue to recycle, reduce meat consumption, turn off a light or two, water my lawn at a decent hour, and occasionally take part in community service for its own sake.
The pains of inaction are to your pride of not meeting up to the life you seek to live. Acta Non Verba, deeds non words, comes from Seneca the Younger. Words list away into nothingness when not anchored in conduct. Be good; do good. You need nothing more.
The Poetic
Allusive Verse
All art comes from other art, and life, and all other things. There is not originality in subjects, sometimes even execution. Yet, we still read poetry, and create it. Why? Are feeling devalued from ever being felt before? Some of the writers got there, if to show a facet of the face of truth. Allusions are reference. Line in a poem can be written as response to other works.
I wrote about a reference to Golden Apples of the Sun, a short story collection by Ray Bradbury. The title of the book refers to William Butler Yeats poem, The Song of the Wandering Aengus a poem that was the basis of an episode of the Star Trek Enterprise: Rouge Planet.
All art is connected as I said.
Books from the Trip
Rough House - Tina Ontiveros
Cannery Row - John Steinbeck
Golden Apples of the Sun - Ray Bradbury
The Butterfly Girl- Rene Denfeld
I try not to recommend things to people. In this day and age, with so many options we all have our own tastes. Hardly anyone will ever check out what you say they should. Instead, I’d rather share. Sharing is coercive, but it’s also caring. It is the thought counting, but also the social pressure of disappointing the sharing party.
Share this newsletter. Make them feel bad that they haven’t followed. I am nice guy.