We are just a group of retired spooks that discuss things that you’ll not find anywhere else. It makes us unique. Take a look around. Learn a thing or two.
I woke up today, only to find my “news” feeds all stuffed up with a most amazing psyops campaign. Wow! I’ll tell youse guys, it’s really impressive. They must have unleashed every free ‘bot they could get their hands on. Jeeze!
According to the “news”, Russia is deeply regretting invading the Ukraine and trying to fight the forces of “democracy”, with little old grandmothers fighting to protect their cabbage patches, and fields littered with the carcasses of destroyed Russian armor.
“The same pilot who shot down six Russian warplanes, he was nicknamed the ‘Ghost of Kiev”. “A column of scorched Russian equipment near Konotop”. “Snake Island recaptured”. Such messages have quickly gone viral on Russian-language telegram channels, which are a major source of information for the world media.
The impression is that Russia has already lost the war and its last reserve are Kadyrov’s 10,000 guards, an army of absolute evil, who lined up outside the Chechen leader’s gloomy palace, preparing to be sent to Ukraine. Well, it also looks like Russia has lost the war, the war of fake news.The first time Ukrainian telegram channels were caught in a lie was on the morning of February 24, just a few hours after the war broke out, when they started spreading photographs of the first Russian tanks knocked out by the Ukrainian military.
It soon transpired, however, that the snapshots had been taken in Syria and were several years old, yet the unverified information about Russian losses had already been picked up by the media.
The fact is that the Russians had unwittingly played into the hands of the Ukrainian PR people.
The Russians advance in mobile, self-directed columns. Therefore, if a vehicle breaks down (the cruising range of a tank or infantry fighting vehicle is several times shorter than that of a civilian jeep), they simply abandon it, because they have to move fast.
Before long, the photos of the abandoned tank or APC appear on Ukrainian messenger services and in social networks as a “destroyed tank of the invaders.”
-Batko Milacic
Who are “they”?
“They” of course, is the United States DoD who is running this proxy war against Russia. Make no mistake about that. So the USA got what it wanted. The USA is fighting Russia, and it is doing so where they planned, and engaging it in such a way to become a long-drawn-out war.
It’s not going to be one. So don’t worry.
Now, you can go on the internet and read all about the brave Ukrainians, but Jeeze!, it’s all disinfo. I’m sure the well-armed, and well-dug-in neo-Nazi forces are fighting heroically. But they will be overwhelmed. The timetable is in motion, and the clock is ticking and things are going according to plan, so don’t worry about it.
Let others chat about that.
We’ve got better things to do.
I just got a comment from a Korean who is living in the High Desert of California. Yeah. I lived there, don’t you know. That’s where I got my MAJestic probe calibration and training. It’s awfully nice. Well, if you like pine tree forests on gravel, twisty and turny roads on the edge of cliffs with no guardrails, and fresh cool mountain air.
There’s a real Western “cowboy” vibe about the High Desert. And that has inspired me to present the work of one of the best “Western” themed artists that I have ever come across.Let’s take a look at some of his amazing work.
I hope you enjoy this post.
Mark Maggiori is a French painter who paints modern cowboys in the nostalgic American West. Maggiori’s approach is realistic and academically tuned.
Maggiori is a graduate from the prestigious Academie Jullian in Paris, France and currently resides in the United States.
At the age of 15, Maggiori visited the United States and drove cross-country with his uncle, it was love at first sight. Ever since that trip, he dreamed of returning to live in the American West.
After graduating Academie Jullian in 2000, Disney Studios recruited Maggiori with a prestigious Art Director position in Los Angeles, CA. Maggiori declined the offer to stay in Paris where he could be free to excel in various types of art including photography, animation, and music video directing, all while heading the rock band Pleymo as their lead singer.
In 2001 Pleymo signed with Sony records and toured the globe for 10 solid years, and still the dream of the American West never left him.
With his desire to discover America, he returned to the USA with a film camera and lost himself in the rural South for months.
Through directing music videos, he had the opportunity to wander the country, including Los Angeles, where his life changed.
Petecia Lefawnhawk, was a talented and very creative artist living in Los Angeles.
Maggiori was lucky enough to work with her in one of his music videos; this encounter changed the course of his life forever. Lefawnhawk introduced Maggiori to the ghost towns of the west, including Chloride, Arizona where she grew up.
It was in this setting that Maggiori directed a feature film “Johnny Christ” in 2010.
Soon after they visited the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City…and it was that day that Maggiori decided he would stop everything and dedicate his life to documenting the American West.
Today, Maggiori lives in Los Angeles, CA with his wife Petecia and paints the American West full time.
“I love to paint and dream about the good old times, Cowboys always represented, for me, a time when America was still a promise land…a huge dream for whoever wanted it, before corporations and plastic…I am trying to paint pieces that will tell a story itself and bring to the viewer certain nostalgia, a moment to remember what it felt to be riding a horse on a wide-open range. I am so fascinated by the era 1860 to 1910 in Europe and in America. Those were some golden ages.”
– Mark Maggiori
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This next painting has got to be the best of the best…
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Lost mines
He’s a pretty awesome artist, eh?
As a boy, I grew up reading “Treasure Magazine” that talked about gold and silver and precious stones, all in great abundance in the California deserts. I would daydream about being a cowboy of the Old West, or even better, finding the discoveries that lie hidden in plain sight.
Things, like old belt buckes, and rusty old swords and pistols were of chief interest in those days. I also used to daydream about finding some of those “lost mines” and venturing inside to gather a handful of precious gold nuggets, and then becoming wealthy as only a ten-year-old boy could conceive.
Of course, when I actually lived in the desert, it was a different story. But still, the romance of the west is undeniable. Here’s some pictures of abandoned mines of the California deserts.
Keep out!
Of course, most of the mines areound Ridgecrest were just a hole in the ground that went deep, deep, deep down, and if you accidently fell into one of these holes you ain’t never getting out.
But if you start venturing up into the high mountains, you start seeing some green grasses and plants. And you can sometimes stumble upon scenes like this…
Or perhaps something like this…
Of course, Treasure Magazine no longer exists as a paper magazine. Instead, it went online with a host of other organizations.
The Lost Treasure Magazine Obituary
It’s a well-known fact that print is in decline. However, despite this, a number of niche magazines have been able to hold on. Sadly, Lost Treasure magazine met its untimely end in December 2018, ending its over 50-year run covering treasure hunters past and present.
Lost Treasure first launched way back in 1966 and from there it came out monthly from its Grove, Oklahoman headquarters, far from the epicenter of publishing. One of its common features were reviews of metal detectors that modern-day prospectors might use in their quest for gold.
Where Lost Treasure really went above and beyond, however, was in talking about the treasure hunters of old, not as events frozen in time, but in terms of their relevance for gold prospectors in the present day.
The lost treasures of America were a particular focus, as the name might imply, with a particular interest in gold lost during the War Between the States. But there were also gripping tales of old-time stagecoach robberies and the golden age of bank robbery. Lost mines were another focus of the magazine, as well as sunken pirate treasure still sitting around waiting to be taken.
Photos were used, but the magazine also had a distinctive style of drawings that kept readers coming back for more. These were old-timey looking illustrations of everything from six-shooters to scorpions, evoking the symbolism of the Old West. Most were in a charcoal-and-pencil format, which further evoked a bygone age, though watercolors did sometimes appear in the pages of Lost Treasure.
Sadly, it isn’t just the print version of Lost Treasure that disappeared when it ceased publication. The website and Facebook page likewise went the way of the Old West.
The magazine suffered from the generalized decline in publishing, however, its content did not lend itself to continued survival as a niche magazine. Information about metal detectors is not only readily available to the general public on the Internet, it is also much more reliable than the “reviews” in Lost Treasure, which were oftentimes glorified advertisements. What’s more, the historical events cataloged in the magazine are likewise easily available to anyone with an Internet connection. As with the reviews of metal detectors, the information is also far more accurate.
The treasure stories were what sold the magazine — the notion that you could go out today with nothing but a metal detector and be the man who discovered the next mother lode of gold ore to become a millionaire.
It was an aspirational magazine before there was such a word for such a thing. One didn’t need to strike gold or even hunt for it to appreciate Lost Treasure magazine. One could get a little piece of that life every time one opened up a copy of Lost Treasure. That was where the magazine’s enduring appeal came from rather than practical advice.
Practical advice is now readily available for those seeking to hunt treasure. What’s more, large capital investments are no longer necessary to get your start at hunting for treasure. Such materials can now be rented, allowing you to dip your toes in the pond to find out if a prospector’s life is for you or not.
Speaking of treasure…
Read the Reader’s Digest article that inspired Rick Lagina to hunt for treasure on The Curse of Oak Island
The Curse of Oak Island star Rick Lagina was just 11 years old when he picked up an edition of Reader’s Digest and first his eyes on an article that would change his life forever.
The January 1965 edition of the publication — which was at the time the best-selling magazine in the United States — included an article reprinted from The Rotarian magazine and written by David MacDonald.
The subheading, enough to entice any 11 year old worth their salt (and any mystery-loving adult for that matter), added: “There is something down there — but for 170 years no one has been able to solve the riddle of how to get at it.”
He didn’t know it yet, but for the young Rick — who like his younger brother Marty loved adventure stories like The Hardy Boys books — that article sealed his future.
The Reader’s Digest story was in fact the same one that sparked an interest in the Oak Island mystery in fellow treasure-hunter and The Curse of Oak Island star Dan Blankenship, who moved to the island the same year it was published.
The article delved into how the famous Money Pit was first discovered by 16-year-old Daniel McInnes all the way back in 1795, when he stumbled across an “odd depression” at one end of the island. McInnes and two of his friends, Tony Vaughan and Jack Smith, then found mystery oak platforms every 10 feet down as they dug deeper and deeper into the ground.
The article went on to chronicle the massive and repeated efforts by various teams over the decades to try and find out just what is down there. Booby traps, deaths, $1,500,000 (at the time) already spent on trying to uncover the island’s secrets — this story had it all.
The article also included a diagram showing what had been found at various depths in the Money Pit, and included a picture of a prominent oak tree that used to sit at the top — which has since gone.
The article ended with a 1955 quote from petroleum engineer George Greene, who had spent time drilling on the island for a syndicate of Texas oilmen.
It said: “Someone went to a lot of trouble to bury something here. And unless he was the greatest practical joker of all time, it must have been well worth the effort.”
And so with that sentence did the little Rick Lagina set off into a future that would one day see him and his more skeptical brother Marty find themselves at the center of the biggest treasure hunt the world has ever seen.
The Reader’s Digest article had a slightly different layout in the US and Canadian versions of the magazine — with it starting on page 136 of the American edition and more prominently, on page 22, of the Canadian one.
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page 2
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Page 5
Inspiration
And if you all are so inclined for some inspiration, perhaps these links might send you in the right direction. Happy treasure hunting!
FMDAC – The Federation of Metal Detector & Archaeological Clubs, Inc. (FMDAC) was organized in 1984 as a legislative and educational organization and incorporated as a non-profit, non-commercial, non-partisan organization dedicated to preserving the sport/hobby of recreational metal detecting/prospecting.
SMARTER HOBBY – Getting started with a metal detector. Everything you need to know.
THE RING FINDERS – Lost rings, lost watch, lost brooch, lost pendant, lost jewelry?
HOBBY HELP – A beginners guide to metal detecting.
KELLY NOELLER – Metal detecting treasure hunter. Learn how to metal detect, we have the equipment and knowledge for all your treasure hunting needs. Read my blog.
UNDERCOIL.COM – A beginners guide to metal detecting.
DETECTING RESEARCH SITE– Detecting Research is your online portal to help you expand your knowledge of places to detect.
Do you want more?
I have more articles like this in my Art Index here…
This post consists of music from the group “Tool”. I was inspired to provide it here after reading a comment on the Forum by Pissed Lizard, who said…
I am opening this up as a general music area because I am VERY seriously interested in all of your music - I have had some people share some seriously moving music.
There is a band called Tool that nobody can really categorize - for those of you who aren’t aware. It’s fans are RABID for some reason and we can pick each other out in crowds - at least here in the states.
I got into a little trouble in my psychiatry years and stumbled upon an old, cranky, narcissistic to the bone neurologist that sort of saw the way things were going and for some reason-intervened. He has passed away since but I mention him because he truly changed my life and our friendship became more meaningful than I ever could imagine. Everyone saw him as a total asshole. GREAT doc - brilliant - just a dick. He was from Ukraine and made sure they got a few CT scanners and MRI’s. He paid for them out of his own pocket. And passed away alone. Lots of family - so close - but alone.
He is connected to my Tool story because one day, out of the clear blue - I was blasting Tool in my car and he needed a ride - but he said he wanted to get me in a functional MRI and see if my brain lit up differently than his when we both listened to the same tool songs. We selected 7 at random and one each for a total of 9 (my Holy number - arbitrary, but - we were messing around.
Sure as shit certain areas of my brain - and take a wild freaking guess which area (pineal gland) lit up like a neon bulb.
He ended up taking that little “hey, let’s mess around with a hospitals toy because America” and turned it into a straight up research project regarding how different visual art lights up different areas in different peoples brains.
I’ll keep his name to myself, because he is a one of many passes souls I love, that, like me, like a bit of privacy. Or as much as we can control. But as much as he was hated - and I hated him as a resident - he became a great, loyal friend to the end.
RIP, brother! I hope you are where you need to be. Frigging hand delivered MRI machines to Ukraine - a legend.
The song he saw me reacting to is called “Vicarious”. What’s funny in the machine - I was lighting up like a Christmas tree - and THAT mother f—er - HE fell asleep!
But Tool has that effect on my brain, I am CERTAIN some of us are wired the same way.
How? And where the hell am I going with this - on THIS forum?
As you all know I am WAY late to the party, so if I am repeating stuff that is old news to you - awesome. PLEASE correct me where I am misunderstanding things because it is the hardest topic I have studied - EVER. But anyway I am studying “vertical” time (per my Mantid buddies and yes I can say this part) so I am studying vertical time and I go down the whole “memory implant” rabbit hole and hit the whole Central Race DNA (HUMAN) template of creation.
So I am there - I take a freaking left turn into holy shit town - to THIS - the hard one - and the topic is pretty much how our DNA responds to vibrations - that quantum physicists are bringing all the way down as far as CERN will let them!
I am telling you - I have a witness - I think he filmed it at the time - suffice to say I was at a concert - SUBSTANCE FREE - people were smoking - it was in Colorado - but I am telling you I felt my DNA changing - and I told my buddy OVER AND OVER it was happening - yet I have no recollection of it. It REALLY freaked the dude out - like bad! But something must have happened.
And this was a couple of years ago before I ever even found MM or quantum physics.
My gut is that Tool also messes with my DNA some how - but in a positive way - only a Tool fan will understand.
But has this happened to any of you and what music btw?
The concert was a Wardruna show BTW. It was the only one in the states that year. And again - I know for a fact I was 100% sober and substance free.
I am very interested to hear if anyone else feels that strongly about their music and if you could, please share a link. I am genuinely interested - even to you lurkers out there (we see you) - please - come contribute!
It got me curious, and so, if anyone wants to check out this music, please feel free to download and enjoy.
The Music
You can download the zipped CD/Albums by clicking on any of the links below…
I’ve been in a kind of strange funk lately. It’s difficult to put my finger on it. It could be anything. It’s really just been a strange year all in all.
Those of us expats that applied for our Federal Government Coronavirus checks never received them and we can’t seem to figure out why. Everyone else in the world got theirs. But a quick review of the news explains it all. [1] If you don’t have a social security number tied to a bank account, you just aren’t going to see the money. Or, [2] if you use a bank account not on SWIFT, or [3] if you have a family bank account with a non-citizen. If you want a stimulus check, no matter what anyone says, it must be deposited in an account that the US government can tax. It’s something that we suspected all along, but nothing hits home hard, then having money denied to you.
I’ve been terribly nostalgic for Boston, and the surrounding environs lately. I go to Visitnewengland.com and check out my old stomping grounds and some of my favorite restaurants and pubs. Sigh. There I can see that some of the places are still standing and I look at the fine blue skies of Massachusetts and the fall leaves, and just… well…
And…
.
Yah. While I do enjoy where I live, I have to admit that I really, really loved living in Boston, and the surrounding area. As you can well guess, I used to live in Milford, Walpole, Woonsockett, and Uxbridge. I wonder what it must be like now. I’ll bet that it is glorious. That’s what, and probably really nice for a nice little walk in the Wrenthan state forest.
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Anyways, I feel (you know “feel”) it’s time to wind some things down, pause a while, regroup and contemplate new directions. It’s a strong feeling. And I cannot explain it, except to say that my “feelings” and “hunches” have merit and are illustrative of other things.
Whether it is only personal, or suggestive of other things, bigger things, in a more expansive Geo-political arena is unknown. It’s just a really persistent, super odd feeling. Really.
When you get into these kinds of funk, the first thing that you want to do is hide. You go into your attic and read old magazines, you get the tackle box out and go fishing, or you hop in your truck and go on long rides in the countryside. You try to settle yourself. But it’s difficult.
It’s sort of like you are a (old fashioned) peculator coffee-pot and you are sitting on the stove and the water is starting to sizzle and a few pops of coffee are hitting the glass bulb on top. It’s almost exactly like that.
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It’s a strong feeling that I cannot shake.
The thing about these feelings, for me, is that I am unable to discern what’s going on. Is it [1] me personally? Is it [2] something having to do with my latest affirmation campaign? [3] Is it part of my MAJesic mission parameters? [4] Is it a trend or series of changes that I am sensitive to? [5] Is it something having to do with our benefactors?
I really do not know.
Jeeze!
These feelings pretty much come and go with me all the time. You get in tune with yourself and your body, and you can feel when you need to rest, or you need to exercise, or when an organ is going to give your trouble, or when you should avoid doing certain activities. It’s an internal awareness of self. These feelings, well, they are like tides or swells with the ocean. Only this time, it’s really, really, REALLY strong and persistent. Gosh darn it, I might need to go ahead and drink some VSOP and some beer to chill way the fuck down.
This reminds me of something…
You know, my first wife, well she had a mental illness known as schizophrenia. And she was the sweetest and kindest girl that I have ever met, but when the illness would hit her, she was unmanageable and needed to go into seclusion in a mental hospital staffed with trained and experienced doctors. And the thing about this illness is that while she had it, she was also really seriously super psychic. She could see things, predict things, and experience things hours or days before they occurred.
Good and bad.
Drove her crazy. Or, according to the doctors; crazier.
Anyways, this feeling that I have right now reminds me of an event years ago.
On October 17, 1989, a magnitude 6.9 earthquake hit the San Francisco Bay Area, killing 67 people and causing more than $5 billion in damages. On October 17, 1989, a magnitude 6.9 earthquake hit ...
-San Francisco Earthquake of 1989 - HISTORY
On October 16, all day long, I watched her experience this kind of discomfort that I am kind of feeling now. Now, we were not living in California at that time, we were living in Indiana, but she had this desire to call our friends in San Francisco and talk to them. Just talk. She didn’t feel anything bad. She just wanted to talk.
…
Weeks later the friends (in San Francisco) called us and told us that when the power was eventually restored they found my wife’s messages on their answering machine asking if they were all all-right. They all asked “how did you know?”
…
Anyways, I’m just throwing this all out there. It’s probably nothing for you all to be concerned about. Just go about your daily lives. Just remember that isolation is a danger. Get out and be with friends. Be social. Don’t trap yourself in a place or within a isolation bubble.
From Robert Greene…
LAW 18
DO NOT BUILD FORTRESSES TO PROTECT YOURSELF— ISOLATION IS DANGEROUS
JUDGMENT
The world is dangerous and enemies are everywhere—everyone has to protect themselves. A fortress seems the safest. But isolation exposes you to more dangers than it Protects you from—it cuts you off from valuable information, it makes you conspicuous and an easy target. Better to circulate among people, find allies, mingle. You are shielded from your enemies by the crowd.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
Ch‘in Shih Huang Ti, the first emperor of China (221-210 B.C.), was the mightiest man of his day. His empire was vaster and more powerful than that of Alexander the Great. He had conquered all of the kingdoms surrounding his own kingdom of Ch’in and unified them into one massive realm called China. But in the last years of his life, few, if anyone, saw him.
The emperor lived in the most magnificent palace built to that date, in the capital of Hsien-yang. The palace had 270 pavilions; all of these were connected by secret underground passageways, allowing the emperor to move through the palace without anyone seeing him. He slept in a different room every night, and anyone who inadvertently laid eyes on him was instantly beheaded. Only a handful of men knew his whereabouts, and if they revealed it to anyone, they, too, were put to death.
The first emperor had grown so terrified of human contact that when he had to leave the palace he traveled incognito, disguising himself carefully. On one such trip through the provinces, he suddenly died. His body was borne back to the capital in the emperor’s carriage, with a cart packed with salted fish trailing behind it to cover up the smell of the rotting corpse—no one was to know of his death. He died alone, far from his wives, his family, his friends, and his courtiers, accompanied only by a minister and a handful of eunuchs.
IIII MASQU I OI IIII. RI.DDI ATH
The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatur and its seal—the redness and horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution.... And the whole seizure, progress, and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour. But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half-depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knight, and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtier.s, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. Theyresolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. Theexternal world could take care of itself In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.” It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence. It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade.... ... And the revel went whirlingly on,until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock.... And thus too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked fzgecre which had arrested the attention of no single individual before.... The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood—and his broad brow, with all the features ofthe face, was sprinkled with the scarlet horror ... ...
A throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse-like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form. And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And oneby one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEAIH, EDGAR ALLAN POE, 1809-1849
Interpretation
Shih Huang Ti started off as the king of Ch’in, a fearless warrior of unbridled ambition. Writers of the time described him as a man with “a waspish nose, eyes like slits, the voice of a jackal, and the heart of a tiger or wolf.”
He could be merciful sometimes, but more often he “swallowed men up without a scruple.” It was through trickery and violence that he conquered the provinces surrounding his own and created China, forging a single nation and culture out of many.
He broke up the feudal system, and to keep an eye on the many members of the royal families that were scattered across the realm’s various kingdoms, he moved 120,000 of them to the capital, where he housed the most important courtiers in the vast palace of Hsien-yang. He consolidated the many walls on the borders and built them into the Great Wall of China.
He standardized the country’s laws, its written language, even the size of its cartwheels.
As part of this process of unification, however, the first emperor outlawed the writings and teachings of Confucius, the philosopher whose ideas on the moral life had already become virtually a religion in Chinese culture.
On Shih Huang Ti’s order, thousands of books relating to Confucius were burned, and anyone who quoted Confucius was to be beheaded. This made many enemies for the emperor, and he grew constantly afraid, even paranoid.
The executions mounted.
A contemporary, the writer Han-fei-tzu, noted that “Ch’in has been victorious for four generations, yet has lived in constant terror and apprehension of destruction.”
As the emperor withdrew deeper and deeper into the palace to protect himself, he slowly lost control of the realm. Eunuchs and ministers enacted political policies without his approval or even his knowledge; they also plotted against him.
By the end, he was emperor in name only, and was so isolated that barely anyone knew he had died. He had probably been poisoned by the same scheming ministers who encouraged his isolation.
That is what isolation brings: Retreat into a fortress and you lose contact with the sources of your power. You lose your ear for what is happening around you, as well as a sense of proportion. Instead of being safer, you cut yourself off from the kind of knowledge on which your life depends. Never enclose yourself so far from the streets that you cannot hear what is happening around you, including the plots against you.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Louis XIV had the palace of Versailles built for him and his court in the 1660s, and it was like no other royal palace in the world. As in a beehive,
everything revolved around the royal person. He lived surrounded by the nobility, who were allotted apartments nestled around his, their closeness to him dependent on their rank. The king’s bedroom occupied the literal center of the palace and was the focus of everyone’s attention. Every morning the king was greeted in this room by a ritual known as the lever.
At eight A.M., the king’s first valet, who slept at the foot of the royal bed, would awaken His Majesty. Then pages would open the door and admit those who had a function in the lever. The order of their entry was precise: First came the king’s illegitimate sons and his grandchildren, then the princes and princesses of the blood, and then his physician and surgeon.
There followed the grand officers of the wardrobe, the king’s official reader, and those in charge of entertaining the king. Next would arrive various government officials, in ascending order of rank. Last but not least came those attending the lever by special invitation. By the end of the ceremony, the room would be packed with well over a hundred royal attendants and visitors.
The day was organized so that all the palace’s energy was directed at and passed through the king. Louis was constantly attended by courtiers and officials, all asking for his advice and judgment. To all their questions he usually replied, “I shall see.”
As Saint-Simon noted, “If he turned to someone, asked him a question, made an insignificant remark, the eyes of all present were turned on this person. It was a distinction that was talked of and increased prestige.” There was no possibility of privacy in the palace, not even for the king—every room communicated with another, and every hallway led to larger rooms where groups of nobles gathered constantly. Everyone’s actions were interdependent, and nothing and no one passed unnoticed: “The king not only saw to it that all the high nobility was present at his court,” wrote
Saint-Simon, “he demanded the same of the minor nobility. At his lever and coucher, at his meals, in his gardens of Versailles, he always looked about him, noticing everything. He was offended if the most distinguished nobles did not live permanently at court, and those who showed themselves never or hardly ever, incurred his full displeasure. If one of these desired something, the king would say proudly: ‘I do not know him,’ and the judgment was irrevocable.”
Interpretation
Louis XIV came to power at the end of a terrible civil war, the Fronde. A principal instigator of the war had been the nobility, which deeply resented the growing power of the throne and yearned for the days of feudalism, when the lords ruled their own fiefdoms and the king had little authority over them.
The nobles had lost the civil war, but they remained a fractious, resentful lot.
The construction of Versailles, then, was far more than the decadent whim of a luxury-loving king. It served a crucial function: The king could keep an eye and an ear on everyone and everything around him. The once proud nobility was reduced to squabbling over the right to help the king put on his robes in the morning. There was no possibility here of privacy—no possibility of isolation.
Louis XIV very early grasped the truth that for a king to isolate himself is gravely dangerous.
In his absence, conspiracies will spring up like mushrooms after rain, animosities will crystallize into factions, and rebellion will break out before he has the time to react. To combat this, sociability and openness must not only be encouraged, they must be formally organized and channeled.
These conditions at Versailles lasted for Louis’s entire reign, some fifty years of relative peace and tranquillity. Through it all, not a pin dropped without Louis hearing it.
Solitude is dangerous to reason, without being favorable to virtue....Remember that the solitary mortal is certainly luxurious, probably superstitious, and possibly mad.
-Dr. Samuel John son, 1709-1784
KEYS TO POWER
Machiavelli makes the argument that in a strictly military sense a fortress is invariably a mistake. It becomes a symbol of power’s isolation, and is an easy target for its builders’ enemies. Designed to defend you, fortresses actually cut you off from help and cut into your flexibility. They may
appear impregnable, but once you retire to one, everyone knows where you are; and a siege does not have to succeed to turn your fortress into a prison. With their small and confined spaces, fortresses are also extremely vulnerable to the plague and contagious diseases. In a strategic sense, the isolation of a fortress provides no protection, and actually creates more problems than it solves.
Because humans are social creatures by nature, power depends on social interaction and circulation. To make yourself powerful you must place yourself at the center of things, as Louis XIV did at Versailles. All activity should revolve around you, and you should be aware of everything happening on the street, and of anyone who might be hatching plots against you. The danger for most people comes when they feel threatened. In such times they tend to retreat and close ranks, to find security in a kind of fortress. In doing so, however, they come to rely for information on a smaller and smaller circle, and lose perspective on events around them. They lose maneuverability and become easy targets, and their isolation makes them paranoid. As in warfare and most games of strategy, isolation often precedes defeat and death.
In moments of uncertainty and danger, you need to fight this desire to turn inward. Instead, make yourself more accessible, seek out old allies and make new ones, force yourself into more and more different circles. This has been the trick of powerful people for centuries.
The Roman statesman Cicero was born into the lower nobility, and had little chance of power unless he managed to make a place for himself among the aristocrats who controlled the city. He succeeded brilliantly, identifying everyone with influence and figuring out how they were connected to one another. He mingled everywhere, knew everyone, and had such a vast network of connections that an enemy here could easily be counterbalanced by an ally there.
The French statesman Talleyrand played the game the same way. Although he came from one of the oldest aristocratic families in France, he made a point of always staying in touch with what was happening in the streets of Paris, allowing him to foresee trends and troubles. He even got a certain pleasure out of mingling with shady criminal types, who supplied him with valuable information. Every time there was a crisis, a transition of power—the end of the Directory, the fall of Napoleon, the abdication of
Louis XVIII—he was able to survive and even thrive, because he never closed himself up in a small circle but always forged connections with the new order.
This law pertains to kings and queens, and to those of the highest power: The moment you lose contact with your people, seeking security in isolation, rebellion is brewing. Never imagine yourself so elevated that you can afford to cut yourself off from even the lowest echelons. By retreating to a fortress, you make yourself an easy target for your plotting subjects, who view your isolation as an insult and a reason for rebellion.
Since humans are such social creatures, it follows that the social arts that make us pleasant to be around can be practiced only by constant exposure and circulation. The more you are in contact with others, the more graceful and at ease you become. Isolation, on the other hand, engenders an awkwardness in your gestures, and leads to further isolation, as people start avoiding you.
In 1545 Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici decided that to ensure the immortality of his name he would commission frescoes for the main chapel of the church of San Lorenzo in Florence. He had many great painters to choose from, and in the end he picked Jacopo da Pontormo. Getting on in years, Pontormo wanted to make these frescoes his chef d’oeuvre and legacy. His first decision was to close the chapel off with walls, partitions, and blinds. He wanted no one to witness the creation of his masterpiece, or to steal his ideas. He would outdo Michelangelo himself. When some young men broke into the chapel out of curiosity, Jacopo sealed it off even further.
Pontormo filled the chapel’s ceiling with biblical scenes—the Creation, Adam and Eve, Noah’s ark, on and on. At the top of the middle wall he painted Christ in his majesty, raising the dead on Judgment Day. The artist worked on the chapel for eleven years, rarely leaving it, since he had developed a phobia for human contact and was afraid his ideas would be stolen.
Pontormo died before completing the frescoes, and none of them has survived. But the great Renaissance writer Vasari, a friend of Pontormo’s who saw the frescoes shortly after the artist’s death, left a description of what they looked like. There was a total lack of proportion. Scenes bumped against scenes, figures in one story being juxtaposed with those in another, in maddening numbers. Pontormo had become obsessed with detail but had lost any sense of the overall composition. Vasari left off his description of the frescoes by writing that if he continued, “I think I would go mad and become entangled in this painting, just as I believe that in the eleven years of time Jacopo spent on it, he entangled himself and anyone else who saw it.”
Instead of crowning Pontormo’s career, the work became his undoing.
These frescoes were visual equivalents of the effects of isolation on the human mind: a loss of proportion, an obsession with detail combined with an inability to see the larger picture, a kind of extravagant ugliness that no longer communicates. Clearly, isolation is as deadly for the creative arts as for the social arts. Shakespeare is the most famous writer in history because, as a dramatist for the popular stage, he opened himself up to the masses, making his work accessible to people no matter what their education and taste. Artists who hole themselves up in their fortress lose a sense of proportion, their work communicating only to their small circle. Such art remains cornered and powerless.
Finally, since power is a human creation, it is inevitably increased by contact with other people. Instead of falling into the fortress mentality, view the world in the following manner: It is like a vast Versailles, with every room communicating with another. You need to be permeable, able to float in and out of different circles and mix with different types. That kind of mobility and social contact will protect you from plotters, who will be unable to keep secrets from you, and from your enemies, who will be unable to isolate you from your allies. Always on the move, you mix and mingle in the rooms of the palace, never sitting or settling in one place. No hunter can fix his aim on such a swift-moving creature.
Image: The Fortress. High up on the hill, the citadel be comes a symbol of all that is hateful in power and authority.
The citizens of the town betray you to the first enemy that comes. Cut off from communication and intelligence, the citadel falls with ease.
Authority: A good and wise prince, desirous of maintaining that character, and to avoid giving the opportunity to his sons to become oppressive, will never build fortresses, so that they may place their reliance upon the good will of their subjects, and not upon the strength of citadels. (Niccolò Machiavelli, 1469-1527)
REVERSAL
It is hardly ever right and propitious to choose isolation. Without keeping an ear on what is happening in the streets, you will be unable to protect yourself. About the only thing that constant human contact cannot facilitate is thought. The weight of society’s pressure to conform, and the lack of distance from other people, can make it impossible to think clearly about what is going on around you. As a temporary recourse, then, isolation can help you to gain perspective. Many a serious thinker has been produced in prisons, where we have nothing to do but think. Machiavelli could write The Prince only once he found himself in exile and isolated on a farm far from the political intrigues of Florence.
The danger is, however, that this kind of isolation will sire all kinds of strange and perverted ideas. You may gain perspective on the larger picture, but you lose a sense of your own smallness and limitations. Also, the more isolated you are, the harder it is to break out of your isolation when you choose to—it sinks you deep into its quicksand without your noticing. If you need time to think, then, choose isolation only as a last resort, and only in small doses. Be careful to keep your way back into society open.
Conclusion
Whenever you feel strange, or are angry, fearful, or upset, or confused… don’t isolate. Reach out to others, and get with your friends and support network. It might be the local watering hole, or your extended relatives. It might be some friends, or if you have no-one then just get out in nature and take your favorite dog with you.
Everyone has times where things “don’t feel right”. And it is at those times that we need to get in touch with what is going on, calm the fuck way, way down, and get with others. Others that care about us.
For me, this is one of those times. You all shouldn’t read more into this than what it probably is. Nothing. But use this as a reminder that we are all part of an environment with a complex social structures and a network that involves others. tap into that network and you will mitigate any negative concerns or worries that you might have.
For me, I’m going out to eat some delicious food, have a smoke or two with some friends, and gonna eat some fine delicious food. I’d suggest you all do the same. God Bless.
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I have more posts in my 48 Laws of Power Index here…
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Lord Frederick Leighton was an amazing painter from the days of true classic art. He painted a total of 518 artworks. All told, he is considered to be “English Aesthetic, New Sculpture (19th Century British), Olympian Classical Revivalist painter, sculptor, illustrator and writer”. He was Born in 1830 and Died in 1896. He was only 66 years old.
You can see all of his works at the Art Renewal Center here.
Pay attention to the kind and amazing details in this remarkable piece of work. It’s art like this that puts a smile on my face. And that is the truth. First, here is the painting. It’s hard to appreciate all the work and beauty that went into it…
It’s a pretty amazing painting.
Please check out the details up close to really appreciate the art, and the form…
Elijah (ēlī`jə) or Elias (ēlī`əs) [both: Heb.,=Yahweh is God], fl. c.875 B.C., Hebrew prophet in the reign of King Ahab.
He is one of the outstanding figures of the Bible. Elijah's mission was to destroy the worship of foreign gods and to restore exclusive loyalty to God. His zeal brought about a temporary banishment of idolatry (see Jezebel).
Incidents in his life include his raising the widow's son from the dead; his contest of faith with the priests of Baal, resulting in his triumph and their death; his being fed by ravens; his experience of the still, small voice on Mt. Horeb (Sinai); and his departure from earth in a chariot of fire enveloped in a whirlwind. His disciple was Elisha.
Unlike other great prophets, Elijah and Elisha left no written records. In Jewish tradition, Elijah is the eschatological herald of the Messiah. John the Baptist and Jesus were asked if they were the incarnation of Elijah, who appeared at the Transfiguration. The prophet is prominent in the Qur'an. Mendelssohn composed an oratorio, Elijah.
-The Free Dictionary
Translated from Hebrew, the name Elijah means “My God.” The prophet was a devoted follower of the Christian religion in Israel. Using his preaches and working miracles, he faithfully fought for the elimination of idolatry and disgrace. In different religions, including Christianity and Judaism, it is believed that Elijah was taken to Heaven alive, conquering death.
The saint was among the first religious figures worshiped by Orthodox Christians in Russia. A few churches were built to honor his life path. Believers continue to regard Elijah as one of the most revered Biblical personalities.
Many religious people consider the “Elijah in the Wilderness” icon their most beloved miraculous painting.
Poet and politician Dante Alighieri is exiled from Florence, where he served as one of six priors governing the city.
Normally, I don’t give a rat’s ass about politicians. But this fellow was a writer and a poet, and this guy was chased out of his home and “on the lam” while being hunted down by the rival political forces of the day.
And this painting is beautiful.
He wasn’t virginal. He did bad things too.
Dante’s political activities, including the banishing of several rivals, led to his own banishment. It was during this banishment that he wrote his masterpiece, The Divine Comedy, as a virtual wanderer, seeking protection for his family in town after town.
You might think of him as a “blue blood”; a member of the “elite”.
Dante was born to a family with noble ancestry that had fallen in fortunes.
He began writing poetry in his teens and received encouragement from established poets, to whom he sent sonnets as a young man.
He had fallen in love with another fine young lass, and the combination of poetry and love, infatuated forbidden love is a story in itself.
At the young age of nine, Dante first caught a glimpse of Beatrice Portinari, also nine, who would symbolize for him perfect female beauty and spiritual goodness in the coming decades. Despite his fervent devotion to Portinari, who did not seem to return his feelings, Dante became engaged to Gemma Donati in 1277, but the two did not marry until eight years later.
The couple had six sons and a daughter. I am sure that it was a lively household. Six boys! Lord have mercy!
He made his money from his poetry…
About 1293, Dante published a book of prose and poetry called The New Life, followed a few years later by another collection, The Banquet. It wasn’t until his banishment that he began work on his Divine Comedy.
In the poem’s first book, the poet takes a tour through Hell with the poet Virgil as a guide.
Virgil also guides the poet through Purgatory in the second book. The poet’s guide in Paradise, however, is named Beatrice.
The work was written and published in sections between 1308 and 1321. Although Dante called the work simply Comedy, the work became enormously popular, and a deluxe version published in 1555 in Venice bore the title The Divine Comedy.
Another beautiful painting. I particularly love the tender embrace with the hands, and the way the two lovers cheeks press together. From a fellow painters point of view, I am really impressed with the details on the dress and the clothing folds. Just look at it all. Impressive!
Take a look at the vase of flowers. What detail and what perfect shading. Look at the tapestry of a crane behind the mother, and the details on her hands. The folds in both of the dress are exquisite. This is a marvelous work. It is stunning and just wonderful.
Greek history can be very interesting, as long as you can adjust to the names, and the cultural differences. Here is a great write up about the story of Alcestis and our Hero Hercules…
For the ancient Greeks, the quality of arete (personal excellence) and the concept of eusebia (social duty) were most important.
Aristotle discusses both of these at length in his Nichomachean Ethics and relates arete to eudaimonia – translated as “happiness” but actually meaning “to be possessed of a good spirit”.
To have arete, Aristotle claims, one must associate oneself with those striving for the same goal.
I really can agree with that. Can't you?
If one wanted to become an excellent musician, one should associate oneself with excellent musicians and the same if one wished to be a star athlete or carpenter or doctor.
The Greek concept of eusebia is often translated into English as “piety” (as, for example, in Plato’s dialogue of the Euthyphro), but the concept is actually much closer to “duty”, particularly social duty.
Eusebia dictated how one interacted with one’s husband, wife, parents, servants, and those of higher and lower classes. Eusebia also touched on how one understood the gods (though not on how one interacted with the gods, which would be the concept of housia, much closer to “piety”).
The gods, and especially the all-powerful Fates, controlled and directed the lives of human beings and one needed to accept that fact and live one’s life accordingly. If one suffered some tragic loss or financial set-back, it was the will of the gods, or the Fates whom not even the gods could sway, and by accepting this as the order of the universe, one could better accept such loss.
The stories the Greeks told – which today are referred to as their myths – played a part in understanding arete and eusebia in that they illustrated for the listeners these virtues of Greek civilization.
In hearing how heroes and kings and even gods behaved, one was provided with a model for one’s own behavior. Among the many myths the Greeks told, one that exemplifies the virtues of personal excellence and social duty is the story of Hercules and the Queen Alcestis. There are two versions of the myth, one in which Hercules plays no part at all, but thanks to the playwright Euripides (480-406 BCE), and his play Alcestis, the version featuring Hercules is the better known.
The Story of Alcestis & Admetus
Both versions begin the same way and emphasize the importance of loyalty, love, and kindness in informing one’s social duty.
Once upon a time, as the story goes, there lived a gentle king named Admetus who ruled over a small kingdom in Thessaly. He knew each of his subjects by name and so, one night when a stranger appeared at his door begging for food, he knew the man must be from a foreign land but welcomed him into his home anyway.
He fed and clothed the stranger and asked him his name but the man would give no answer other than to ask Admetus if he could be the king’s slave. Admetus had no need for another slave but, recognizing the man was in distress, took him on as shepherd for his flocks.
Apollo thanked Admetus for his kindness and offered him any gift he desired.
The stranger stayed with Admetus for a year and a day and then revealed himself as the god Apollo. He had been sent to earth by Zeus as punishment and could not return to the realm of the gods until he had served a mortal as a slave for a year.
Apollo thanked Admetus for his kindness and offered him any gift he desired; but Admetus said he had all he needed and required nothing for what he had done. Apollo told him he would return to help him whenever he needed anything in the future and then vanished.
Not long after this, Admetus fell in love with the princess Alcestis of the neighboring city of Iolcus. Alcestis was kind and beautiful and had many suitors but only wanted to marry Admetus.
Her father Pelias, however, refused Admetus’ request for her hand and stipulated that the only way he would give his daughter to him would be if he rode into the city in a chariot pulled by a lion and a wild boar. Admetus was despondent over this situation until he remembered the promise of Apollo.
He called on the god who appeared, wrestled a lion and a boar into submission, and yoked them to a golden chariot. Admetus then drove the chariot to Iolcus and Pelias had no choice but to give him Alcestis in marriage.
Apollo was among the wedding guests and gave Admetus an unusual gift: a kind of immortality. Apollo told them how he made a deal with the Fates who governed all so that, if ever Admetus became sick to the point of death, he might be well again if someone else would volunteer to die in his place.
The couple lived happily together for many years and their court was famous for their lavish parties but then, one day, Admetus fell ill and the doctors said he would not recover. The people of his court remembered the gift of Apollo and each felt that someone should give their life to save so kind and good a king; but no one wanted to do so themselves. Admetus’ parents were old and so it was thought that one of them would volunteer but, even though they had only a short time left on the earth, they refused to surrender it. None of the court, nor any of Admetus’ family, nor any of his subjects would take the king’s place on his death bed – but Alcestis did.
At this point the two stories diverge.
In the older version, Admetus wakes on his bed feeling better and runs to tell Alcestis he is cured – only to find it was she who took his place. He then sits by her body in mourning and refuses to eat or drink for days. As this is going on, Alcestis’ spirit is led down into the underworld by Thanatos (death) and presented to Queen Persephone.
Persephone asks who this soul is who has come willingly to her realm and Thanatos explains to her the situation. Persephone is so moved by the story of Alcestis’ love and devotion to her husband that she orders Thanatos to return the queen to life. Alcestis and Admetus then live happily ever after.
Hercules & Alcestis
In the version popularized by Euripides in his play Alcestis (written c. 438 BCE), however, Hercules plays the pivotal role in bringing Alcestis back from the dead.
In this version, as in the first, no one will take Admetus’ place in death except for Alcestis.
Admetus is informed of this, accepts her sacrifice, and begins to recover as his queen grows weaker. The entire city falls into mourning for Alcestis as she hovers on the brink between life and death.
Admetus stays by her bedside and she requests that, in return for her sacrifice, he should never marry again and so keep her memory alive. Admetus agrees to this and also swears he will never throw another of their parties again nor allow any merrymaking in the palace once she has gone; after these promises are made, Alcestis dies.
Hercules was an old friend of the couple and he arrives at the court knowing nothing of Alcestis’ death.
Admetus, not wishing to spoil his friend’s arrival, instructs the servants to say nothing about what has transpired and to treat Hercules to the kind of party the court was known for. The servants, however, are still upset over the loss of the queen and Hercules notices that they are not serving him and his entourage properly.
After a number of drinks, he begins to insult them and ask for the king and queen to come remedy this poor performance on the servant’s part, when one of the maidservants breaks down and tells him what has recently happened.
Hercules is mortified by his behavior and so travels to the underworld where Thanatos is leading Alcestis’ spirit toward Persephone’s realm. He wrestles death and frees the queen, bringing her back up into the light of day.
Hercules then leads her to where Admetus is just returning from her funeral. He tells the king that he must depart on other business and asks him to take care of this lady while he is gone.
Admetus refuses because he promised Alcestis that he would never marry again, and it would be unseemly for this woman to reside at the court so soon after his wife’s death.
Hercules insists, however, and places Alcestis’ hand in Admetus’. Admetus lifts the woman’s veil and finds it is Alcestis returned from the dead. Hercules tells him that she will not be able to speak for three days, and will remain pale and shadow-like, until she is purified, after which time she will become as she always was.
Euripides’ play ends there while other versions of the myth continue the story further and conclude with everything then happening as Hercules has said, and Alcestis and Admetus living a long and happy life together until Thanatos returns and takes them both away together.
Personal Excellence & Social Duty in the Tales
The characters of Admetus, Alcestis, and Hercules, all at some point in the story exemplify – or fail to meet – the values of personal excellence and social duty.
Admetus exemplifies the value of hospitality (which would be considered part of social duty) in taking in the stranger at the beginning of the story and would fall short of that value when he allows festivities in his home directly after his wife’s death.
These two incidents are directly related to each other, however, in that, when Hercules arrives at his home, Admetus is under a social obligation to entertain his friend according to the custom he is used to.
Even though Hercules would have certainly understood the house being in mourning after Alcestis’ death and is embarrassed when he finds out he has been drinking and carrying on in the palace so soon after a death, Admetus values social obligation to such a degree that he fails to keep his promise to his wife – and so fails in arete and, because he neglected the promise he had made to Alcestis, eusebia as well.
Alcestis epitomizes the loyal, loving wife who is so devoted to her husband that she would literally die for him.
In this, she exemplifies both arete and eusebia.
A modern-day reader may feel uncomfortable with the version of the story in which Admetus accepts his wife’s sacrifice, but this would have been completely understandable to an ancient Greek audience.
The husband, especially the husband who was a king, was responsible for the well-being of more people than the wife or queen.
Alcestis’ virtue in taking Admetus’ place is admirable in that she not only sacrifices herself for the man she loves but also for the people who depended upon Admetus for their continued well-being.
Her personal excellence is illustrated in her willingness to die for the good of others and the value of eusebia through her understanding of the social order and how she could do her best to maintain it. In all ways, Alcestis stands as a model for proper behavior.
Hercules exemplifies the values of arete and eusebia and provides the story with its heroic climax.
In his drunken behavior in the house of mourning, he fails in both, of course, and yet he cannot be blamed for this in that he was not told of Alcestis’ death.
The more important – and interesting – breach in social conduct is his wrestling Thanatos for Alcestis’ soul.
The Fates were all powerful to the ancient Greeks, and Apollo had made a deal with them for Admetus’ continued life.
The Fates had kept their part of the deal and restored Admetus to life, once someone else agreed to take his place. By wrestling Alcestis’ soul away from death, Hercules was breaking the deal.
If one made a deal with the supernatural powers, one was expected to honor that deal. This can be most clearly seen in the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, where Orpheus makes the deal with Hades that he will not look back on his way up from the underworld but then breaks that deal, and so loses Eurydice.
Unlike that story, at no point in any version of the Alcestis story is Hercules portrayed in any way but admirably for rescuing the queen from death. Further, by placing himself in danger by physically wrestling death, Hercules embodies the personal excellence of courage and heroism and, by doing so, he restores order to the kingdom by bringing the queen back to her king and rewarding the selflessness of Alcestis.
The story operates on many levels, of course, which is why it has resonated so strongly with audiences for over 2,000 years but, on the simplest level, it would have transmitted the values of the society to those who heard it sung or recited or watched it performed.
How one balances one’s personal excellence with one’s place in society and, further, in the universe, would have been illustrated through Hercules and his confrontation with Thanatos.
In defeating death, Hercules is shown as the ultimate hero who defies even the will of the Fates in order to do what he feels is right.
In the version of the story where Persephone sends Alcestis back to life, it is eusebia which is emphasized through Alcestis’ selfless gesture while, in the Hercules’ version, it is arete through Hercules’ decision to fight with death, and yet both versions highlight the importance of both of these values to ancient Greek society.
The popularity of the Hercules’ version indicates that, while the ancient audience would have understood the value of social duty and conduct, they also valued personal achievement and, of course, heroism, which is the embodiment of personal excellence.
Scholars have long been divided on the Alcestis play by Euripides regarding why he wrote it and even what he was trying to say in it but, perhaps, it was as simple as promoting the concept that one should do what one feels one must to right a wrong no matter what societal rules may stand in the way and, in doing so, one can actually restore order instead of upsetting balance.
Iphigenia was the daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra in Greek mythology.
While the Greek army was preparing to set sail for Troy during the Trojan War, Agamemnon caused the anger of the goddess Artemis, because he killed a sacred deer. So, she decided to stop all winds, and the ships would not be able to sail. The seer Calchas realised what the problem was, and informed Agamemnon that to appease the goddess, Agamemnon had to sacrifice Iphigenia to her.
Reluctant at first, Agamemnon was forced to agree in the end. He lied to his daughter and his wife by saying that Iphigenia was to marry Achillles before they left. The mother and daughter happily went to the port of Aulis, only to find out the horrible truth.
Achilles, unaware that his name was used in a lie, tried to prevent the sacrifice, but Iphigenia utterly decided to sacrifice herself in honour and of her own volition. The most popular version of what happened afterwards is that on the moment of the sacrifice, the goddess Artemis substituted Iphigenia for a deer, but Calchas who was the only witness remained silent. Iphigenia was then brought by Artemis to the city of Tauris where she became the goddess' priestess.
Years later, after Orestes, Iphigenia's brother, had killed his mother and her lover Aegisthus, he was hunted by the Erinyes for committing matricide. He was then advised to go to Tauris, take the carved wooden image of Artemis and bring it back to Athens.
In Tauris, where he went with his friend Pylades, he was taken captive by the locals, and the two men were brought before Iphigenia. Although initially the two siblings did not recognise each other, they finally realised the truth and managed to escape the city. They then returned to Greece, where Iphigenia continued to serve Artemis as a priestess in her temple.
-Greek Mythology
According to a story published in 1897, Leighton spent six months searching throughout Europe for a model to match his imagined ideal of Iphigenia for his intended portrayal of Cymon and Iphigenia.
He saw a young actress, Dorothy Dene, in a theater in London and his search was over. Possessing a classical Greek style beauty, Dene had golden wavy hair with excellent skin texture and coloration on her face; she was taller than average with graceful arms and legs together with an “exquisitely molded bust”.
She appeared in several other of Leighton’s works, including Greek Girls Playing Ball and Summer Moon.
Lena, one of Dene’s younger sisters, appears in the painting as the child slave.
Other paintings by Leighton featuring Dene are: The Bath of Psyche, Clytie, Perseus and Andromeda, Solitude, The Return of Persephone and The Vestal.
The painting took eight months to complete; a succession of line drawings were done first as Leighton tried to capture the position he wanted for the central figure, around 56 – including several of foliage and other elements of the piece – of these are known to exist.
The English art critic Peter Nahum describes the painting as “central among Leighton’s later works”, an opinion Mrs Russell Barrington considered was shared by Leighton.
Leighton’s painting Idyll dating from a few years earlier has some similar elements but lacks the complexities of Cymon and Iphigenia. The two compositions each highlight the difference between the fair complexion of a female with a dark skinned male; both feature a full-length woman reclining beneath a tree and similar lighting techniques are used.
Lord Frederick Leighton would paint these amazing enormous paintings. In it would be crammed such detail that you could spend hours admiring every little morsel. Such as in this work.
This painting celebrates the Madonna painted by Cimabue. It is known as the “Madonna in Majesty.”
The picture originally stood on the high altar of Santa Trinità church in Florence. The iconography is frequent in medieval painting and represents the Madonna enthroned with Child and angels, a pattern commonly said Maestà as shows the Virgin as Queen of Paradise. In the lower part are four biblical figures, symbolizing foundations of Christ's kingdom: the prophets Jeremiah and Isaiah under lateral arches, Abraham and King David under the chair of the throne.
This Madonna, which is similar in structure to the same artist's Madonna at the Louvre and Duccio's Ruccelai Madonna, still shows the influence of the Byzantine tradition. There is, however, an unprecedented tension in the profiles and in the attempt to create spatial depth, which is rendered by superimposing the figures and in the concave structure at the base of the throne behind the figures of the prophets. The architectural structure of the throne becomes a sort of robust spatial scheme which creates a three-dimensional effect, while the edges of the painting seem to compress and hold in the bodies. There is an intense vitality in the figures and the same dramatic force that characterizes all Cimabue's work.
-Web Gallery of Art
Here, we have Lord Frederick Leighton painting a celebration of that painting in public display for all to admire. The emotions on the people’s face and the scenes depicted are both fascinating and curious at the same time.
This is a lovely painting. I truly enjoy the art and the skill that went into painting it.
Others, not so enthralled, have used this image to profit from it, or to make some kind of contemporaneous statement. As an example, here is a work by Alexey Kondakov titled “Kyiv, bus station at “Nauki Ave.” , 2015″.
One of the things about art by “masters” is that they are able to convey emotions within certain specific scenarios. If you have had a very private event, one that evoked the same kind of emotions, then the art would resonate with your.
I love the woman’s hand, and the upturned face, and the details of the folds on the dress. But that is just me. This painting speaks to me…
Condottiere, leader of a band of mercenaries engaged to fight in numerous wars among the Italian states from the mid-14th to the 16th century. The name was derived from the condotta, or “contract,” by which the condottieri put themselves in the service of a city or of a lord.
-Condottiere | Italian history | Britannica
I cannot help but think that this painting was part of an inspiration for a movie made in 1972…
Aguirre, The Wrath Of God(Werner Herzog, 1972) Full time force of nature and part time filmmaker Werner Herzog has a career filled with eerily atmospheric masterpieces of almost every style, genre, and form.
Yet, if ever we find ourselves in some sort of movie apocalypse and only one Herzog movie can be saved, that title must be Aguirre, The Wrath Of God.
Herzog’s career was up and running by the time he descended into the jungle to make this his first genuine masterpiece and when he emerged on a raft surrounded by monkeys he was a legend.
It’s an encapsulation of everything that the filmmaker does well (including a collection of insane and possibly fictionalized behind the scenes stories) and also boasts quite possibly the finest performance Klaus Kinski’s career.
Aguirre is a brutal, thoughtful, poetic, and terrifying work of art that never possibly could have existed unless Herzog decided to point a camera at his twisted imagination. The director might have equaled the remarkable achievement of Aguirre several times in his career, but he never topped it.
The story is deceptively simple.
It follows Kinski’s Spanish conquistador Aguirre who recently triumphed with his army in battle and has now been ordered to trek through the jungle in search of the mythical city of El Dorado and the untold riches therein.
The journey is treacherous from the start, with an unforgiving jungle offering little more than immense physical and philosophical difficulties challenging the journey.
Eventually a death toll mounts and Aguirre’s mind becomes as lost as his quest.
That’s pretty much it and yet the film is as complex thematically as it is simplistic in narrative.
Herzog was clearly influenced by Joseph Conrad’s Heart Of Darkness and Aguirre would quickly inspire Francis Ford Coppola to make Apocalypse Now. It’s hard to say which work explores those shared themes better, but given that one of the major concepts of all three is an exploration of the cold brutality of nature, you can assume that Herzog nailed that one.
After all, give Herzog 30 seconds and a microphone and he’ll be sure to let you know how horrendous nature can be.
Like Fitzcarraldo, the most immediately striking aspect of Aguirre, The Wrath Of God is the physical brutality of the production.
From the astounding opening shots of an army wiggling down the edge of a mountain, it’s clear that this production was as dangerous as the journey it staged. Filth, grit, pain, and exhaustion radiates from the screen and at times it blurs the lines between fiction and documentary.
The second most striking aspect is Klaus Kinski’s devastating performance.
Forever caught between stoic silence and volcanic explosion, Kinski is a wild and unpredictable beast at the center of Werzog very deliberately paced and hypnotic film. He’s a constant element of danger and a physical embodiment of insanity that’s impossible to take your eyes off of (which was important given that mood and spectacle easily could have dominated the picture).
Beyond the surface dangers and central performance, the movie is filled with layers of meaning and moments of visual poetry that Herzog never fully explains.
It’s a mystery of a movie to be experienced and interpreted in many different ways. At times it’s terrifyingly real, at other times is archly stylized. Some scenes are quietly contemplative, others viscerally thrilling.
The project was a bold announcement of a new filmmaking voice from Werner Herzog and has lost none of its power in the decades that followed. Love or loath it, Aguirre: Wrath Of God is one of those movies that everyone needs to see to even consider themselves a cinephile.
The rich colors of the jungle and filthy details of the period costumes pop off the screen like never before. The production might have been rough and tumble, but the beauty of Herzog’s images here have rarely been equaled.
The Hit
Most people have never heard of this man, and he is rarely mentioned in art schools. And that, is a shame. For all that most people can read about him is found in obscure Wikipedia listings.
Frederic Leighton, 1st Baron Leighton, (3 December 1830 – 25 January 1896), known as Sir Frederic Leighton between 1878 and 1896, was a British painter, draughtsman and sculptor. His works depicted historical, biblical, and classical subject matter in an academic style. His paintings were enormously popular, and expensive, during his lifetime, but fell out of critical favour for many decades in the early 20th century.
Leighton was the bearer of the shortest-lived peerage in history; after only one day his hereditary peerage became extinct upon his death.
-Frederic, Lord Leighton 1830–1896 | Tate
Modern Art
Most lovers of “modern art”, raise their noses to this kind of art. They say that it is old, tired, and out of date. That instead, one needs to be “progressive” and “enlightened” to see and appreciate the art with no form.
Something like this…
And…
And apparently this Mark Rothko is considered to be an acclaimed genus in the modern, progressive art world. Here’s another one of his “breathtaking” and “astounding” works of art.
Modern art is no longer about art for the sake of beauty and appreciation.
Modern art is just a convenient way to launder money, as it is difficult to put a price tag on art. Thus in the modern art world, money is the king, and emotions, passion and beauty have no place in the modern art world.
You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.
Please kindly help me out in this effort. There is a lot of effort that goes into this disclosure. I could use all the financial support that anyone could provide. Thank you very much.
This story was copyrighted in 1951 by Ray Bradbury, and presented here under Article 22 of China’s Copyright Law. Ray Bradbury is one of my personal heroes and his writings greatly influenced me in ways that I am only just now beginning to understand.
Introduction
For years I had amassed a well worn, and dusty collection of Ray Bradbury paperbacks that I would pick up and read for pleasure and inspiration. Later, when I left the United States, and moved to China, I had to leave my treasured books behind. Sigh.
It is very difficult to come across Ray Bradbury books in China. When ever I find one, I certainly snatch it up. Cost is no object when it comes to these masterpieces. At one time, I must have had five books containing this story.
Credit to the wonderful people at Mother Earth News for posting it where a smuck like myself can read it within China. And, of course, credit to the great master; Ray Bradbury for providing this work of art for our inspiration and pleasure.
Full Text
Here is the full text of the masterpiece. I will let the reader read it and enjoy it.
The Pedestrian
To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o’clock of a misty evening in November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr. Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do.
He would stand upon the corner of an intersection and peer down long moonlit avenues of sidewalk in four directions, deciding which way to go, but it really made no difference; he was alone in this world of A.D. 2053, or as good as alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar.
Sometimes he would walk for hours and miles and return only at midnight to his house. And on his way he would see the cottages and homes with their dark windows, and it was not unequal to walking through a graveyard where only the faintest glimmers of firefly light appeared in flickers behind the windows.
Sudden gray phantoms seemed to manifest upon inner room walls where a curtain was still undrawn against the night, or there were whisperings and murmurs where a window in a tomblike building was still open.
Mr. Leonard Mead would pause, cock his head, listen, look, and march on, his feet making no noise on the lumpy walk.
For long ago he had wisely changed to sneakers when strolling at night, because the dogs in intermittent squads would parallel his journey with barkings if he wore hard heels, and lights might click on and faces appear and an entire street be startled by the passing of a lone figure, himself, in the early November evening.
On this particular evening he began his journey in a westerly direction, toward the hidden sea.
There was a good crystal frost in the air; it cut the nose and made the lungs blaze like a Christmas tree inside; you could feel the cold light going on and off, all the branches filled with invisible snow.
He listened to the faint push of his soft shoes through autumn leaves with satisfaction, and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally picking up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights as he went on, smelling its rusty smell.
“Hello, in there,” he whispered to every house on every side as he moved. “What’s up tonight on Channel 4, Channel 7, Channel 9? Where are the cowboys rushing, and do I see the United States Cavalry over the next hill to the rescue?”
The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a hawk in midcountry.
If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the center of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river beds, the streets, for company.
“What is it now?” he asked the houses, noticing his wrist watch.
“Eight-thirty P.M.? Time for a dozen assorted murders? A quiz? A revue? A comedian falling off the stage?”
Was that a murmur of laughter from within a moon-white house? He hesitated, but went on when nothing more happened.
He stumbled over a particularly uneven section of sidewalk.
The cement was vanishing under flowers and grass.
In ten years of walking by night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not once in all that time.
He came to a cloverleaf intersection which stood silent where two main highways crossed the town.
During the day it was a thunderous surge of cars, the gas stations open, a great insect rustling and a ceaseless jockeying for position as the scarabbeetles, a faint incense puttering from their exhausts, skimmed homeward to the far directions.
But now these highways, too, were like streams in a dry season, all stone and bed and moon radiance.
He turned back on a side street, circling around toward his home.
He was within a block of his destination when the lone car turned a corner quite suddenly and flashed a fierce white cone of light upon him.
He stood entranced, not unlike a night moth, stunned by the illumination, and then drawn toward it.
A metallic voice called to him: “Stand still. Stay where you are! Don’t move!” He halted. “Put up your hands!”
“But-” he said.
“Your hands up! Or we’ll Shoot!”
The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing; in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn’t that correct?
Ever since a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one.
Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car wandering and wandering the empty streets.
“Your name?” said the police car in a metallic whisper.
He couldn’t see the men in it for the bright light in his eyes.
“Leonard Mead,” he said.
“Speak up!”
“Leonard Mead!”
“Business or profession?”
“I guess you’d call me a writer.”
“No profession,” said the police car, as if talking to itself.
The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.
“You might say that, ” said Mr. Mead.
He hadn’t written in years. Magazines and books didn’t sell any more.
Everything went on in the tomblike houses at night now, he thought, continuing his fancy.
The tombs, ill-lit by television light, where the people sat like the dead, the gray or multicolored lights touching their faces, but never really touching them.
“No profession,” said the phonograph voice, hissing. “What are you doing out?”
“Walking,” said Leonard Mead.
“Walking!”
“Just walking,” he said simply, but his face felt cold.
“Walking, just walking, walking?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Walking where? For what?”
“Walking for air. Walking to see.”
“Your address!”
“Eleven South Saint James Street.”
“And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr. Mead?”
“Yes.”
“And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with?”
“No.”
“No?” There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation.
“Are you married, Mr. Mead?”
“No.”
“Not married,” said the police voice behind the fiery beam, The moon was high and clear among the stars and the houses were gray and silent.
“Nobody wanted me,” said Leonard Mead with a smile.
“Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to!”
Leonard Mead waited in the cold night.
“Just walking, Mr. Mead?”
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t explained for what purpose.”
“I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk.”
“Have you done this often?”
“Every night for years.”
The police car sat in the center of the street with its radio throat faintly humming.
“Well, Mr. Mead,” it said.
“Is that all?” he asked politely.
“Yes,” said the voice. “Here.” There was a sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car sprang wide. “Get in.”
“Wait a minute, I haven’t done anything!”
“Get in.”
“I protest!”
“Mr. Mead.”
He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at all.
“Get in.”
He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there.
“Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi,” said the iron voice.
“But-“
“Where are you taking me?”
The car hesitated, or rather gave a faint whirring click, as if information, somewhere, was dropping card by punch-slotted card under electric eyes. “To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies.”
He got in. The door shut with a soft thud.
The police car rolled through the night avenues, flashing its dim lights ahead. They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness.
“That’s my house,” said Leonard Mead.
No one answered him.
The car moved down the empty river-bed streets and off away, leaving the empty streets with the empty side-walks, and no sound and no motion all the rest of the chill November night.
Posts Regarding Life and Contentment
Here are some other similar posts on this venue. If you enjoyed this post, you might like these posts as well. These posts tend to discuss growing up in America. Often, I like to compare my life in America with the society within communist China. As there are some really stark differences between the two.
Posts about the Changes in America
America is going through a period of change. Change is good… that is, after it occurs. Often however, there are large periods of discomfort as the period of adjustment takes place. Here are some posts that discuss this issue.
More Posts about Life
I have broken apart some other posts. They can best be classified about ones actions as they contribute to happiness and life. They are a little different, in subtle ways.
Stories that Inspired Me
Here are reprints in full text of stories that inspired me, but that are nearly impossible to find in China. I place them here as sort of a personal library that I can use for inspiration. The reader is welcome to come and enjoy a read or two as well.
Articles & Links
You’ll not find any big banners or popups here talking about cookies and privacy notices. There are no ads on this site (aside from the hosting ads – a necessary evil). Functionally and fundamentally, I just don’t make money off of this blog. It is NOT monetized. Finally, I don’t track you because I just don’t care to.