Comments on: No Reason to Believe http://derechosalvaje.wordpress.com/2008/05/27/no-reason-to-believe/ ...a lonely impulse of delight Mon, 31 Aug 2009 13:36:21 +0000 http://wordpress.com/ hourly 1 By: Marianthi http://derechosalvaje.wordpress.com/2008/05/27/no-reason-to-believe/#comment-64 Marianthi Sat, 16 May 2009 22:17:27 +0000 http://derechosalvaje.wordpress.com/2008/05/27/no-reason-to-believe/#comment-64 I´ve been swimming round images of ´fullness of instinct´ for a whole year now, dear wise one, before I could add my comments to the richness of yours. Thank you for them. In those waters came bobbing up two of my favorite characters: Diogenes and Hari. The first one, the real man who lived and became the most famous of cynics of Ancient Greece, rejected all proper norms and requirements of his society, lived as an ascetic, made fun of Plato (to his face and to his students), masturbated in public with the comment that he wished his stomach could be as easily satisfied as his penis and insisted that what was good enough for a dog´s comfort was good enough for a human. Kynion, old Greek word for dog made him and those who espoused his thought into kyniki : dog-like, from which English somehow derived the word cynics, the dog-like ones, who needed little beyond satisfying the bare cravings of instinct and could laugh at those who needed more. The second one is called Hari. She´s the protagonist of a book yet to be written, a wise old lady, lover of Diogenes, who pulls the ground from under his feet as passionately and often as she can. She´s groundless and invites him there. She visits him draped in silk garments and tries to anoint him with perfumed oils. Stuck in his rejection of comfort he rejects them. She laughs, he frowns. Next visit she wears rags, eats dirty raw onions with him (his favorite diet) and spits the tough stems out. She stinks, he stinks. She rejects him. He pines, but stays stuck to his show-off onion diet. Then she comes to him as the temple scholar, in simple linen, embracing scrolls full of quotes. She reads them to him for hours. He yawns, she demands mental alertness from one who says he´s better than those who need comforts. He falls asleep. Sternly she asks him why on earth he sat like an old dog, listening till he slept. He can´t figure her out. Loves and hates her. Her shifts, her freedom to contradict herself and catch him out at his rigidity are ultimately so entertaining. She´s more like an aeluros, a cat, in ancient Greek. Flexible, not set in her ways, responding to the moment, to the instinct of what seems right for the time even if it completely contradicts yesterday. She awakens and bends Diogenes out of his posturing. The aeluroics begin with her. I know you know her. I´ve been swimming round images of ´fullness of instinct´ for a whole year now, dear wise one, before I could add my comments to the richness of yours. Thank you for them. In those waters came bobbing up two of my favorite characters: Diogenes and Hari.
The first one, the real man who lived and became the most famous of cynics of Ancient Greece, rejected all proper norms and requirements of his society, lived as an ascetic, made fun of Plato (to his face and to his students), masturbated in public with the comment that he wished his stomach could be as easily satisfied as his penis and insisted that what was good enough for a dog´s comfort was good enough for a human. Kynion, old Greek word for dog made him and those who espoused his thought into kyniki : dog-like, from which English somehow derived the word cynics, the dog-like ones, who needed little beyond satisfying the bare cravings of instinct and could laugh at those who needed more.
The second one is called Hari. She´s the protagonist of a book yet to be written, a wise old lady, lover of Diogenes, who pulls the ground from under his feet as passionately and often as she can. She´s groundless and invites him there. She visits him draped in silk garments and tries to anoint him with perfumed oils. Stuck in his rejection of comfort he rejects them. She laughs, he frowns. Next visit she wears rags, eats dirty raw onions with him (his favorite diet) and spits the tough stems out. She stinks, he stinks. She rejects him. He pines, but stays stuck to his show-off onion diet. Then she comes to him as the temple scholar, in simple linen, embracing scrolls full of quotes. She reads them to him for hours. He yawns, she demands mental alertness from one who says he´s better than those who need comforts. He falls asleep. Sternly she asks him why on earth he sat like an old dog, listening till he slept. He can´t figure her out. Loves and hates her. Her shifts, her freedom to contradict herself and catch him out at his rigidity are ultimately so entertaining. She´s more like an aeluros, a cat, in ancient Greek. Flexible, not set in her ways, responding to the moment, to the instinct of what seems right for the time even if it completely contradicts yesterday. She awakens and bends Diogenes out of his posturing. The aeluroics begin with her.

I know you know her.

]]> By: Kerry http://derechosalvaje.wordpress.com/2008/05/27/no-reason-to-believe/#comment-52 Kerry Wed, 28 May 2008 02:57:40 +0000 http://derechosalvaje.wordpress.com/2008/05/27/no-reason-to-believe/#comment-52 Steven, Even from my 'mid-life' vantage I can notice that instinct and longevity, or is that qualitative longevity, go together or not at all. I recall, earlier, a belief that instinct was all only inherited and that it never evolved with any input of my own. So, to read that you too, you two, notice an education of instinct, that it gets informed, that its a tool that keeps making itself, is most welcomed. In youth anyone could be dining with loud fascinating friends and injest a piece of ham, maybe hidden in salad, that a dog (maybe an old dog?) would sniff once and turn away from. Why? Instinct is asleep in the din of preoccupation, muffled by the pillows of self conscious intrigue. May we all loose count of our lives, K Steven,
Even from my ‘mid-life’ vantage I can notice that instinct and longevity, or is that qualitative longevity, go together or not at all. I recall, earlier, a belief that instinct was all only inherited and that it never evolved with any input of my own. So, to read that you too, you two, notice an education of instinct, that it gets informed, that its a tool that keeps making itself, is most welcomed.
In youth anyone could be dining with loud fascinating friends and injest a piece of ham, maybe hidden in salad, that a dog (maybe an old dog?) would sniff once and turn away from. Why? Instinct is asleep in the din of preoccupation, muffled by the pillows of self conscious intrigue.

May we all loose count of our lives,

K

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