(Howell Creek Radio address for February 7, 2010 -- ) The Voice of the Bard ===================== > "…there ought to be one fairy for every boy and girl." > "Ought to be? Isn't there?" > "No. You see children know such a lot now, they soon don't believe in fairies, and every time a child says, 'I don't believe in fairies,' there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead." > --J.M. Barrie, _Peter Pan_ Recently, in the woods not far from here (relatively) we held a secret gathering of young men and women -- I do still count myself among their number as of even date -- from all over the city. We are not a secret society -- I only say, a secret gathering, as since most people don't enjoy the things we do, we generally don't publish it. A great part of the time we discussed things or listened to lectures. We discussed metaphysics, semantics, motivational architecture, improvisational strategy, abandonment law, flotsam, jetsam, zealous moderation, and so forth. There was quite a lot of talking, if you ask me, and every year it always borders on being a little more than 'just enough.' We are nothing if not passionate about our pet topics.[^1] But over against these intellectual pursuits were quite of lot of enjoyable rigours and rituals, which, being more physical and interactive, were also more fully spiritual: the group theatre, the ballroom dancing; we even played a tournament, double elimination, of ullamaliztli, the ancient Aztec game where your team tries to hit a small rubber ball into a stone hoop using only elbows, knees, hips and head. We set up circles of torches around a central fire at night in the forest, and sang rounds in Latin and koine Greek. Obviously, as Pliable said to Christian upon hearing his description of the Celestial City, "The hearing of this is enough to ravish one's heart." But, you see, as I said, not everyone enjoys such things. Everyone could enjoy them, and should enjoy them, but you see, most people won't -- even if they get the chance. One morning during the week, I struck up a conversation with a girl named Brianna, partly to practice my Portugese, but mainly to ask her about a friend of mine that she also knew. I had not seen this friend since we started these 'secret' gatherings, and his name was Thomas. "Why don't you invite Thomas?" I said. "He's one of us! And you would be able to drive together." She said, "it's the drive I'm afraid of; not the drive here so much as the drive home. Thomas finds something to disagree with in just about everything. I feel sure the whole drive home would be him explaining to me about everything he felt was wrong with everything that was said over the week, or with the arrangements, or with the thinking behind everything." This was news to me. "He's never disagreed with anything I've said," I said. Her dampness was not to be fazed by this merely empirical challenge. "Well then that's just because you've had the good fortune never to say anything he found fault with." I contemplated the chances of this happening by accident. She said, "He and my dad went to a lecture once, and afterwards he spent three whole hours sitting with him in the car, talking about everything he disagreed with." I inwardly conceded that her understanding of the case was probably more informed than mine. I thought about our correspondence and how much he really would enjoy it if only he would allow himself to. I knew what it was like. I had been like Thomas. Even if, by some accident, he found himself in the room with us, he wouldn't have been able to enjoy it. (Which was Brianna's point exactly.) Ah well, I thought, no one wants to bring a skeptic to a sacred forest council. But he's missing out. Even granting Brianna's account of him to be not quite square on all points, it is unavoidable that one way or another, Thomas left a very real, and not altogether favourable impression on her spirit. In fact it is not too much to say that she was _dead to him_, in a passive kind of way. When you're in the room with a 'true believer', with an Affirmer, there is the spark of recognition, and the comfortable safety -- not necessarily of being on the same page about things -- but simply of not having to defend yourself or be on your guard or justify everything to this person in your head. When there is a skeptic in the room, on the other hand, things that were bright and real now seem faded and doubtful. The skeptic says "I do not believe in faeries," and somewhere a faerie falls down dead. Sometimes a critic becomes a friend and a brother. Like a birth, it is the same little miracle repeated again. And it is after you believe that you are allowed inside. * * * > Hear the voice of the Bard! > Who Present, Past and Future, sees > Whose ears have heard > The Holy Word > That walk'd among the ancient trees. > Calling the lapsed Soul > And weeping in the evening dew; > That might control > The starry pole; > And fallen, fallen light, renew! > O Earth, O Earth, return! > Arise from out the dewy grass > Night is worn, > And the morn > Rises from the slumberous mass. > Turn away no more: > Why wilt thou turn away > The story floor > The wat'ry shore > Is giv'n thee till the break of day. > -- William Blake, 'Hear the Voice of the Bard', 1794 * * * Synopsis: ------------ Radio address for February 7, 2010. Some things are hidden from your senses until you say "yes." Mention is made of the Aztec game [ullamaliztli][1]. [^1]: That is meant generally of the human race; you may quote me on it. [1]: http://www.aztec-history.com/aztec-ball-game.html