Conversation with the divine
I was absolutely delighted by the number and length of the comments people made on my previous post (and I thank each and everyone of you who chimed in!). But, I was not surprised that so many people felt moved to talk about the subject of identity and blogging.
As was evidenced by your comments, we all blog for various personal reasons and under different circumstances. And each person’s reasons are true and valid to them - regardless of whether or not anyone else thinks those reasons are good ones.
There are many reasons why I blog, but of all the factors that draw me to this forum, probably the strongest is the conversational aspect of it. Though I consider myself a private person in many ways and I very much enjoy being alone, I would never be able to live comfortably for very long in a situation which required me to take vows of silence or to cut myself off from conversation with other people. And indeed it does seem that in this lifetime I have actually taken a vow not of silence, but of conversation!
For me, writing actually fulfills that vow in some ways. When one writes, even in solitude, there is always a conversation going on; there is always a correspondence with someone, be that an assumed or imagined audience “out there,” an interplay between characters in a story or, as I’ve talked about many times on this blog, simply a communication going on between aspects of oneself.
I’ve recently been thinking about the idea of conversation with the divine, and how that concept is really missing, or at least not encouraged outside of overtly “spiritual” pursuits in this culture. By conversation with the divine, I do not mean prayer or meditation or situations in which a person directly communes with their version of a divine being through worship - though these are all forms of divine conversation. What I’m talking about here is the idea that Michael Dames speaks of in his book, Mythic Ireland:
In Ireland, the Divine is nourished by conversation. At its best, Irish talk retains a sacramental quality and so needs no other justification. Like any creative act, or rather like THE creation of the gods, “the crack” is understood to be a primary event. In its stream, idea, emotion and thing combine in whirlpools (whose equivalent in Irish music are jigs and reels), alternating with placid stretches and furious falls. At times, submerged cargoes, long supposed lost, rear up, waterlogged yet intact, to bump and nuzzle in the ceaseless flow. Such supernatural talk is no mere description or illustration of a parallel reality. It IS the Other, returned to life - a life made between speaker and listener (who exchange roles, turn by turn), and where eye and gesture contribute like the glitter of sunlight on a wind-stirred lough, to the business of serious delight.
The way I understand what Dames is saying is that simple human conversation - the ideas and debates and emotions we share with each other - is not only a profoundly creative human act, it is also our umbilical, the lifeline which connects us to the nourishing numinous truth of our existence. It is our communication with each other that reminds us, again and again, of the places where human and divine intersect.
Regardless of what the blog-o-sphere can be, despite all the dangers and dark corners, it can be also this: an invocation to the Other; an invitation to the gods to come out and play. Conversation, even through this odd medium we call blogging, is a celebratory feast… for the gods, and for us.
So, to all of you who enjoy this blog (yes, even you lurkers), please always feel free to say your piece here, to add your voice to the festivities. Or, if you are inspired by something here and would rather go back to your own blog and riff away… go for it!
Whether you are pseudonymous, anonymous, or just motormouth-ymous, know you are participating in, as Dames says, a primary event of sacramental quality… disguised quite cleverly as blogging.
At times, submerged cargoes, long supposed lost, rear up, waterlogged yet intact, to bump and nuzzle in the ceaseless flow.
Ah, true Blarney indeed!
Those with less of a woo-woo bent would certainly agree that connections and re-connections that we make as half-formed ideas are picked up and re-examined in some new context, like a multi-dimensional game of Tetris, help us to build both internal, mental relationships, and external relationships with friends and family - and yes, even with anonymous blogsters.
Oh, and I meant “Blarney” in the good way, of course. I have some ancestors from the Cork and Limerick areas who apparently spent quite a bit of time kissing that stone.
Tom,
Ah, of course… how could you not be Irish? And sure, I mean that in a good way!
And, I agree, woo-woo or Tetris-minded, it’s all the same - a game of connections.
grins … the Divine explains a lot - my family talks a LOT (I am the quiet one) - and the stories never end and are constantly evolving and changing (just TRY to get a straight answer about something that occurred when you were a kid) - but what struck me the most was how my parents, mother in particlar “talks” to god - she talks to him like to a friend - out loud, argues with him, cajoles him and frequently, when growing up, advised us in a whispered undertone (as if he couldn’t hear LOL) - to “talk tohis Mother, she can always get around him” …. she berates St. Anthony when she loses something and ups the ante to the poor box to get him to help her find it - and calls him a “a fecking eejit” and a “greedy gob” LOL
and for me, writing indeed releases that inner storyteller .. that Irish sage and genial host - all without having to open my mouth.
selkie
No doubt we all have our definitions of the Divine, but if you can see it as a beautiful mystery, the rhythm of the universe played on a celestial bass, then I’m with you and everything is oceans of stardust. Certainly, all conversation is a divine gift, because whether vocal or print, there’s always something that remains with you when the talking is done…a nebulous scent of the other participant that quietly molds and re-molds your intellect and emotions. I think that’s how good stories are made.
I also agree with the original wag who said that humans should not have been classified homo sapien. Better to be referred to as homo loquacious as the most accurate and descriptive portrait.
One of the things I love about conversations is the synchronicity that often develops. You start entertaining what seems to be a complete digression, and after an hour or two, you find yourself back in the part of the conversation you left, newly illuminated by the ideas you explored in what seemed to be a totally different subject.
And if not, there’s still a connection that develops over time, over many discussions. “Oh, I meant to talk to her about thus-and-such…next time!” And now there’s a reason to seek out a “next time”.
It’s also interesting, and wonderful, how over time these discussions, which seem to be parts of one long discussion, can create an almost physical intimacy. A friend of mine has described this feeling as “cuddling with words”. I think that’s one way online communities start to feel so real to us; this connection we make through words alone. Or perhaps it would be better said that the words are a medium for something else, something, as you suggest, spiritual.
selkie,
I also come from a big family of talkers (can you tell?). And, though not Irish, we are Catholic. Well, they still are, I’m not. And yeah, what’s with the whispering like God can’t hear you thing?? OH, that is just too funny! I know exactly what you mean, I have my own memories of great aunts doing that, but to read someone else’s description of it is really precious!
…and for me, writing indeed releases that inner storyteller .. that Irish sage and genial host - all without having to open my mouth.
So, you stayed true to your upbringing, but in your own way. Sly one, you are.
Kaz,
Certainly, all conversation is a divine gift, because whether vocal or print, there’s always something that remains with you when the talking is done…a nebulous scent of the other participant that quietly molds and re-molds your intellect and emotions.
Beautifully said.
Homo loquacious, indeed!
Arkhilokhus,
Yes, indeed. You echo Tom’s comment, and Kaz’s, too.
And I think it’s true: there is more than one way to conduct, as Michael Dames put it, “the business of serious delight.”