And thus, after a chunk of inactivity, the last entry comes. I do wish that I could say something truly poetic and gorgeous, fitting to serve as a swan song, but alas I do not think that that will be the case(it typically is not with writing done by me; for whatever reason, great endings are elusive). I will say this instead: I will attempt hereafter to be more open to the synchronicity that exists with every one of us--also refered to as the collective unconcious-- and which causes us, whether we are aware of it or no, to mimic mythological stories. Which, as all stories do to some extent or another, to repeat themselves endlessly.

Au revoir, Classical Foundations. I am off to far-away spheres.
*Strauss' Thus Spake Zarusthra begins to play, softly at first, but then rising to a magnificent crescendo*

Today was the concluding day for discussion of Apulies' The Golden Ass, with great attention still being payed to the long story within the story of Cupid and Pysche. The idea has been proposed that rather then looking upon Psyche as a bimbo--which is admittedly a conclusion easily reached, with her and a great many other heroines of fairy tale and myth--, look upon her and the story in which she moves in an allegorical sense. Her name, of course, means soul. So we are looking at the story of the evolution of the Soul, and its relation to Love. This adds a whole other fruitful dimension of contemplation.
And, similarly, the hoary fairy tale/mythological chestnut in which the protagonist is told expressly Not to do something, and then of course goes ahead and does it. Some have suggested that maybe it is necessary to disobey, because this is the only way anything of consequence ends up happening, or the protagonist ends up becoming something above and beyond. Otherwise you could fall prey to the anxiety of influence, and run the risk of feeling the need to surpass one that is above you, or something like that(and this assuming one is a writer or of some other artistic bent).

"The final belief is to believe in a fiction which you know to be a fiction, because there is nothing else." I do wish I knew what particular poem by Wallace Stevens this comes from, but it doesn't matter to much, really. It's still great for what it is on its own.

I had actually made it a goal to have TS Eliot's Four Quartets read during the summer. Who duh thunk?

Today was day one of two days to be spent discussing Apuleius' The Golden Ass, a novel which is about seeing and hearing(or not being seen or heard). Which was very amusing, due a great deal to(yes I will admit) silly sexual humor. But that's fine. I also found it quite interesting how Mr. Sexson said that the only "moral" of the story is the story. I'll have to point that out to a great many people from now on, who are always asking me "what's the point of ___ or ____?"
It was a clever construction having the protagonist changed into an ass, because it fits in well with the paradox that that which is the bottom is also the top--or becomes that way--or vice-versa.
Now I thought the injection of fairy tales into the discussion was very intriguing, particularily with the definitoin given them by Mr. Sexson, degenerated myth. Because if 'the only moral of the story is the story", then what are we to make of the moralistic fiber that seems to run throgh so many fairy tales? Or are they not designed to teach us lessons really and this is just the function they've been pegged with for some reason? I do not know.
Though it is intriguing that the story of Cupid and Psyche is so obviously the progenitor of a great many fairy tales.
And I can now add to may list of reasons not to get married(which to my dear mother's dismay perpetually expands)that Jung argued through the Cupid and Psyche story that all marriage is rape in some way or another. While that may be a bit to blunt a proclaimation, even for me, at a certain level I think it is accurate, certainly in a historical context, which doesn't mean we can't necessarily change or alter what our own history will be, but that is enough out or moi for now

Today was a day for preparing questions which will be on the next exam. But before the giving of questions occured, Mr. Sexson brought up a concern, voiced by Elizabeth in her blog where it was stated(and please, Elizabeth, pardon my butchering of your phrase): how can rape, and murder, and sparagmos be justified by a few pretty words? To which Mr. Sexson replied, they simply cannot be. Evil things that happen in this world, such as rape and pain inflicted upon children, cannot be justified; only countered by the one weapon that can effectively be yielded by us: beauty(to which I read "art"). I am yet again reminded of the fact that I need to read The Brothers Karamazov and I also feel that I ought to check out Tarkosky's Andre Rublev now as well. The specter of how little I truly know rears its head yet again.

We were also instructed to pay special attention to page 147 in The Golden Ass, in the last few moments of class. I have not reached said page yet, but will before too long a time goes by. Probably.

One thing I learned today is that it was Homer who first employed the phrase "bit the dust". Wattaya know?

There was also a long, semi-quotation from James Joyce that came primarily to this effect: There are no really immoral or moral books, only well written books, and badly written books. And something succeeds at being true art(which is to say, static) when it meets three criterion: wholeness, harmony, and radiance.

We were also asked to keep in mind that everything has its dark side; such is the paradoxical, give-and-take nature of this world in which we live in.

Today concluded with the out-loud readings of various favorite lines from the Metamorphoses. I ended up settling on a passage describing the state of natural mourning after the gruesome death of Orpheaus(this after my orginal choice, which comes slightly afterward, was read by another).

The birds, in mourning, wept

o Orpheus--the throngs of savage beasts,

and rigid stones, and forests, too--all these

had often followed as you sang; the trees

now shed their leafy crowns-as sign of grief,

their trunks were bare. They say that even streams

were swollen; yes, the rivers, too shed tears.

The aesthetic clincher for me was that last bit, about how even the rivers shed tears. Odd and lovely for being so.

Also learned were things of etimological(sp?) value. Apparently the Joycean rendering of "phenomenal" is "funanimal". So if something is phenomenal, it is an animal having fun?

And this I found quite piquant. The word ate, which is Greek, and means infatuation to the point were you have ruined your life(numerous stories from Ovid obviously would fall under this category, but I was reminded--probably because I re-watched the film version not so long ago--of The English Patient, which may be in congruence or not). But apparently this, according to Plato's Socrates, is ends up truly giving life a real essence; and hence art.

This information came up as Mr. Sexson was reading Carly's blog entry, which if I may say so was quite eloquent and thoughtful.

And here I now am, left to ponder the existence and drawing out from insubstantial vapor the music of the spheres...

Today we were re-vivisted the notion of something that has sort of been touched on before, but not to the depth that happened today: that is, the redemptive power of Art. We--humanity--are able to whether through the most terrible things our own nature is able to offer because of the refuge of art. The argument has been prosented that this is exactly what the transformations in Ovid's Metaphorses truly are.
Mr. Sexson then put forth that there are two books equal to Ovid in this power: the complete works of William Shakespeare(which I don't know about counting as a single book, but that's not really the point) and James Joyce's Finnegans Wake. The latter is a book for quite some time I'd figured on never endeavoring to read(intellectual vanity notwithstanding)due to the simple fact that it is "unreadable". However, Mr. Sexson proposed something oddly reassuring: you don't have to understand it, you just have to feel it. I can follow that.
We also must pick out what we thought to be the five best lines from Metamorphoses for Friday. Can do, will do.