The Ties That Bind (or, Of Gods and Men).

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"An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet regardless of time, place or circumstance. The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break." -Chinese proverb

After my last post, I thought to myself: "Self! You should write about something happy and carefree! Maybe post some photos of kittens, or puppies...babies, perhaps. Things that make you happy!" Then this week was suddenly upon me, with nary a furry creature or cherubic bundle in sight (except for the rather mischievous beady-eyed squirrel that gleefully munches on tomatoes from my backyard plant.)

Instead, I was faced with a sudden proliferation of ghosts, real (the kind that made me flee Facebook suddenly and without much regret) and imagined (the inner demons of a tortured soul, made weaker by nerve-shredding preteen girls.) The happy post will then have to wait, in favor of the pensive. (Admission: Babies don't make me particularly happy, unless they belong to other people and I can give them back quickly once they start fussing. I am actually quite frightened of them.)

I have been thinking a lot about the ways we are all interconnected, through communities and language and common interests and a thousand other things. What is it that brings us together, binds us close to some people and not others? It's funny, isn't it. Even though every person is unique, how many people around the planet overlap that uniqueness? If I said, "Are you suggesting coconuts migrate?" how many of you would scratch your heads, and how many of you would light up and laugh, because a specific memory was stirred up? (And if there is nary a one of you that knows that of which I speak, well then, run away! Run away!)

The metaphor of strings is powerful. The ancient Greeks were particularly fond of stories involving thread: Penelope waiting for Odysseus, weaving her endless tapestry; Ariadne gifting Theseus with a ball of string to help him find his way out of the Minotaur's labyrinth; Arachne getting into an ill-advised weaving competition with Athena. We can be high-strung, or strung along (or, strung out.) I came across the above proverb here at StoryCorps, in a story about adoption. StoryCorps, if you are unfamiliar with it, is an oral history project, and anyone can participate. It's unbelievably interesting to listen to stories about people's lives: their troubles, accomplishments, hopes. Something about it makes you feel a little less adrift in the world.

I love things that make me feel connected to a greater whole. There is another site, The Speech Accent Archive, that is absolutely fascinating. People from all over the world, with different native tongues, read the same fairly nonsensical English passage. Each language has several examples, with male and female speakers from different regions repeating the same handful of words. It's wonderful to compare a native Kirghiz (from Kyrgyzstan! Who knew?) speaker to myself, or to a native Bosnian or Icelandic speaker. I love it when the big, wide world feels just a bit more cozy.

What do you think about connection? Not just romantic - all kinds. Why do we meet who we meet? And when that connection is strong, does it really last forever, even when it may seem to be broken apart? Where does all that energy go?

The Magnetic Fields - You're My Only Home

Blue October - Calling You

The Features - Lions

more. MORE.

Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea...

Homer, The Odyssey

Southern Lebanon.

Southern Lebanon.

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending

e.e. cummings, somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

A.E. Houseman, Into My Heart an Air That Kills

Momo's, Beirut.

There is a Moroccan-themed lounge downtown (original location, London) that uses cute coasters printed with Moroccan sayings. It's funny how things can get lost in translation.

Delicious pastry at Momo's. Vanilla cream puff with passion fruit gelee.

Downtown Beirut.

Postcard for a pop-up shop, Beirut.

Expecto Patronum (or, Oh How I Wish).

I am a bit tired tonight, and no longer in Lebanon (more on that later!) but finally have internet that works, so I have to take advantage. I will finish up relating the Lebanon leg of my journey. It will provide welcome respite from the BBC's sports coverage (Thank God there were no cricket test matches!) and today's "Keep the Kids Walking So They Don't Realize How Far the Metro Station Is" activity: Twenty Questions (Harry Potter Edition).

So, about the first photo: I love this! I had recently been talking to my brother about Magritte and his painting, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe", which is one of my favorite pieces of art. (I can't explain why; it makes me smile.) I came across this in the gift shop of Lebanon's National Museum, and it instantly reminded me of that painting. Granted, I need another empty, unlined notebook like I need a bushel of bunions, but I could not resist. I also bought one that actually says "ceci n'est pas une pipe" with a graphic of a hookah pipe, but in my efforts to promote non-smoking, I have refrained from posting the photo.

Sarcophagus depicting Priam begging Achilles for the body of Hector. National Museum, Beirut.

"Honor the gods, Achilles; pity him.
Think of your father; I'm more pitiful;
I've suffered what no other mortal has..."


I know I am partial to The Odyssey, but there are parts of The Iliad that brought hot tears of sorrow to my eyes. This is one of them. (Along, of course, with the actual death of Hector.)

The Kidnapping of Europa. Mosaic. National Museum, Beirut.

Ah, Europa, you Phoenician hussy! Climbing on to the back of a bull like that! That bull, of course, was Zeus, who had a fondness for fondling and for luring unsuspecting maidens into petting him (in various animal forms.) In this case, he turned into a bull, kidnapped Europa, and whisked her off. At least she got a continent named after her. (Much better than, say, "Stockholm Syndrome".)

The Birth of Alexander. Mosaic. National Museum, Beirut.

Now, call me crazy, but this should probably be called, oh, "The Toddlerhood of Alexander." Maybe he was a big baby, being The Great and all. Or maybe babies are hard to depict in mosaic. In any case, this was probably done after he was in power, because otherwise it would have just been a very time-consuming piece of art created for a random baby. (Ok, a random ROYAL baby.) Still, royal or not, I doubt anyone could have predicted how powerful he would become.

The National Museum, Beirut.

It is a tiny museum, probably the size of an exhibit at The British Museum, but lovingly restored and well-kept. It was sad that it was mostly full of tourists - the Lebanese are probably too concerned about the present to ponder the very distant past at the moment. That's actually a bit of a luxury, come to think of it. I was in a shop in the suburbs the other day, and the young woman helping me had a severe disfiguring burn covering half of her face. I saw quite a few people on the streets who had been injured in the latest war (2006): chemical weapons or cluster bombs, bullets or rockets. Does it really matter? They are thinking how to make their lives better today, for tomorrow. They could care less about crumbling Roman ruins when their own houses are in shambles, without proper electricity or water.

The 'Jealousy' Mosaic. Byzantine Period. National Museum, Beirut.

There was nothing too remarkable about this mosaic upon viewing, but then I saw the translation of the text:

Envy is a great evil; however, it has some beauty
for it consumes the eyes and the heart of the jealous.

I guess the more things change, the more they really stay the same.