[IMG]http://www.jnanam.net/beowulf_art/lynd%20ward%2007%20%5BBeowulf%20tears%20off%20Grendel's%20arm%5D-e.jpg[/IMG]
Beowulf wrestling Grendel
Joseph Campbell once said, and I am of course paraphrasing, that the purpose of Mythology and religion is to teach people how to function, and come to grips, with the world around them. Yes, it teaches ethics and the like, but its main function is to teach people that the world is a harsh place; but here's how you deal with it. If looked at in this way, rather than as literal concrete truth, it often works to inspire people and push them forwards.
If anyone read my last journal entry, they know that I was suffering through a major case of cold feet. I had just completed by first week of classes and, when faced with the monumental work load in front of me, I paniced. The thought of two twent page papers, each on a seperate subject, plus the required readings to go along with them, struck me full in the gut.
One of the major stresses of my life, ever since I reached adolecence, has been this persuite of mine to 'have a life'. To go out and have a good time and to have those experiences which I could later turn around and tell my own children, with a wink and a smirk; the types of stories you hear from your parents and suddenly realize that they were young once too.
To put it even more bluntly, I've always wanted to enjoy those things which, it has always seemed to me (and still does), come so easy to everyone else; but which I have to fight tooth and nail for. This has, in fact, always been my greatest fear; that, for all of my talents and abilities, I'm simply not good enough to experience those things which everyone else does as a matter of course. That I, for some reason unbeknownest to me, am not 'allowed' to go wild and just have a good time.
Although its gotten better with time (there was a point, in High School, were I actively imagined my ancestors sitting around in the Afterlife, laughing at me and going on and on about how much of am embarrassment I was to the family line, because I wasn't able to get a girlfriend or find parties), I still have to say that its a major concern of mine. One of those land-mines of the soul which we plant ourselves and continually walk over throughout our lives; suprised each time when it goes off with a catastrphic 'bang'
These thoughts were coursing through my brain for the past few days, causing me no small amount of grief. There was so much I wanted to experience while I was still young and yet, here I was; trapping myself in another system which wouldn't allow me to express myself or do what I wanted to do.
It preyed on my mind for practically every minute of the past few days; so consumed was I by this dreadful certainty that I'd be sonfined to my apartment, reading forever and not allowed to enjoy myself, that I was overlooking many of my small victories over the past week; I seemed to be genuinely liked by the professors on staff and the other students, that I'd finally managed to line up a job and I was one step closer to pulling everything together, etc etc etc.
That was, until tonight. In a bit of a huff I wandered over to a local venue where a Heavy Metal Band was playing. I wasn't sure if I was going to stay, as I'm not generally a fan of Metal. Luckily it turned out to be the melodic and epic variety of the form which I actually enjoy.
I was listening to the music, with my hair in a stylish pomapour, my jacket hanging loose, looking every inch the greaser, and feeling cool, when the words of Campbell hit me. Mythology is supposed to be inspiring, and so I began to search my mind for some inspiration.
Suddenly my mind was awash in two images, and I found myself muttering "Sigismund slew the Wendigo; even though it was said it would kill him" and "Beowulf killed the Dragon, through is cost him his life" The first was a reference to the epic poem I'd written over the past three years and which is, I'm coming to find, a major peice of my own personal myth. The later was, of course, of Beowulf's final battle against the Dragon.
Then it struck me; a hero is not a hero because he conquers great odds. He can't be, as a hero will always fail in the end; no matter their momentary victories, the hero will always be killed at the end of the story.
The hero must always fail; as must we all. We all stand at the bring, facing the gaping void of death in front of us and, no matter what, we wil lall be swallowed by it in the end. No, what makes a hero isn't the victory, but the way they face defeat and what it teaches to us all. When faced with that same void, the hero accepts the inevitable, but fights anyway. Not because he or she has any real hopes of victory; but because struggling is what the hero does. At least in Western cultures.
It was an inspiration and, I will tell you, is firmed up my heart; reminding me of what I once claimed my philosophy of life was; the winds of life would blow hard, but you put your head down, put one fut in front of another, and eventually you'd get where you were going ("YESSSS!", my sister once exclaimed when I told her this. Apparently its her view as well)
I was in grad school, it was a challange and, god dammit all, I was going to meet that challange head on. I would either succeed of fail; but nobody, absolutely nobody, would be able to say when it was all done and overwith that I'd balked in the face of a challange.
No; I'd plan things out and attack my class as if they were obstacles to be overcome. I'd break it all into smaller peices which could be accomplished in a day and not overwhel me. And, in the end, I'd make damn sure I still had time to have that social life I wanted; play in the band I desired.
All because, when push comes to shove, I'm a Western man; a child of the Occident and fighting is what we due; its the basis of our society.
On a side note; here is my hair now that I've learned how to use pomade correctly and comb a Pompadour!
Beowulf wrestling Grendel
Joseph Campbell once said, and I am of course paraphrasing, that the purpose of Mythology and religion is to teach people how to function, and come to grips, with the world around them. Yes, it teaches ethics and the like, but its main function is to teach people that the world is a harsh place; but here's how you deal with it. If looked at in this way, rather than as literal concrete truth, it often works to inspire people and push them forwards.
If anyone read my last journal entry, they know that I was suffering through a major case of cold feet. I had just completed by first week of classes and, when faced with the monumental work load in front of me, I paniced. The thought of two twent page papers, each on a seperate subject, plus the required readings to go along with them, struck me full in the gut.
One of the major stresses of my life, ever since I reached adolecence, has been this persuite of mine to 'have a life'. To go out and have a good time and to have those experiences which I could later turn around and tell my own children, with a wink and a smirk; the types of stories you hear from your parents and suddenly realize that they were young once too.
To put it even more bluntly, I've always wanted to enjoy those things which, it has always seemed to me (and still does), come so easy to everyone else; but which I have to fight tooth and nail for. This has, in fact, always been my greatest fear; that, for all of my talents and abilities, I'm simply not good enough to experience those things which everyone else does as a matter of course. That I, for some reason unbeknownest to me, am not 'allowed' to go wild and just have a good time.
Although its gotten better with time (there was a point, in High School, were I actively imagined my ancestors sitting around in the Afterlife, laughing at me and going on and on about how much of am embarrassment I was to the family line, because I wasn't able to get a girlfriend or find parties), I still have to say that its a major concern of mine. One of those land-mines of the soul which we plant ourselves and continually walk over throughout our lives; suprised each time when it goes off with a catastrphic 'bang'
These thoughts were coursing through my brain for the past few days, causing me no small amount of grief. There was so much I wanted to experience while I was still young and yet, here I was; trapping myself in another system which wouldn't allow me to express myself or do what I wanted to do.
It preyed on my mind for practically every minute of the past few days; so consumed was I by this dreadful certainty that I'd be sonfined to my apartment, reading forever and not allowed to enjoy myself, that I was overlooking many of my small victories over the past week; I seemed to be genuinely liked by the professors on staff and the other students, that I'd finally managed to line up a job and I was one step closer to pulling everything together, etc etc etc.
That was, until tonight. In a bit of a huff I wandered over to a local venue where a Heavy Metal Band was playing. I wasn't sure if I was going to stay, as I'm not generally a fan of Metal. Luckily it turned out to be the melodic and epic variety of the form which I actually enjoy.
I was listening to the music, with my hair in a stylish pomapour, my jacket hanging loose, looking every inch the greaser, and feeling cool, when the words of Campbell hit me. Mythology is supposed to be inspiring, and so I began to search my mind for some inspiration.
Suddenly my mind was awash in two images, and I found myself muttering "Sigismund slew the Wendigo; even though it was said it would kill him" and "Beowulf killed the Dragon, through is cost him his life" The first was a reference to the epic poem I'd written over the past three years and which is, I'm coming to find, a major peice of my own personal myth. The later was, of course, of Beowulf's final battle against the Dragon.
Then it struck me; a hero is not a hero because he conquers great odds. He can't be, as a hero will always fail in the end; no matter their momentary victories, the hero will always be killed at the end of the story.
The hero must always fail; as must we all. We all stand at the bring, facing the gaping void of death in front of us and, no matter what, we wil lall be swallowed by it in the end. No, what makes a hero isn't the victory, but the way they face defeat and what it teaches to us all. When faced with that same void, the hero accepts the inevitable, but fights anyway. Not because he or she has any real hopes of victory; but because struggling is what the hero does. At least in Western cultures.
It was an inspiration and, I will tell you, is firmed up my heart; reminding me of what I once claimed my philosophy of life was; the winds of life would blow hard, but you put your head down, put one fut in front of another, and eventually you'd get where you were going ("YESSSS!", my sister once exclaimed when I told her this. Apparently its her view as well)
I was in grad school, it was a challange and, god dammit all, I was going to meet that challange head on. I would either succeed of fail; but nobody, absolutely nobody, would be able to say when it was all done and overwith that I'd balked in the face of a challange.
No; I'd plan things out and attack my class as if they were obstacles to be overcome. I'd break it all into smaller peices which could be accomplished in a day and not overwhel me. And, in the end, I'd make damn sure I still had time to have that social life I wanted; play in the band I desired.
All because, when push comes to shove, I'm a Western man; a child of the Occident and fighting is what we due; its the basis of our society.
On a side note; here is my hair now that I've learned how to use pomade correctly and comb a Pompadour!
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
The school stuff isn't as tough as it seems. I write 20 page papers in 3 days and I am not the writer that you are.