During a recent trip to Bali a few friends and I performed a play for some of Sri Chinmoy‘s students, based on two stories by Sri Chinmoy: The Sailor and the Parrot, and Light is the Only Wealth Worth Having.

Since we had a lot of fun with the performance, I thought I’d at least post the script here in case anyone is in the mood for humour (with a soulful twist of course)

Please note that no animals were harmed in this production. Katy the canary in fact stole the show, and should probably win some sort of award for being cute on demand, and for ‘playing dead’ when such was required.

THE PRINCESS AND THE PIRATE

CAST:
Pirate Venturo
King
Queen
Princess Fortuna
Duchess Fifi
Duchess Mimi
Prime Minister
Prince Admiral Alphonse
Sailor 1
Sailor 2
Monk 1
Monk 2
Angel

* * *

ACT 1, SCENE 1: AT THE PALACE

[Enter Pirate Venturo, secretly, hides behind thrones]
[Enter King & Queen, followed by Prime Minister]

KING:
Prime Minister, what news today of life beyond our borders?
Make it brief, the chef is soon to come and take our orders
And then we have a manicure at twenty-five past ten.

QUEEN:
Then probably when that is done we’ll need to eat again.
Surely it is splendid sport to reign as queen and king
But leaves short time for long reports, much less for idling.
And speak up, the King’s new hair does so affect his hearing.

PRIME MINISTER:
Majesties, a war is closer than I have been fearing.
To this matter I entreat your full and close attention.
Yes, the King’s new periwig does first deserve a mention
— The royal visage is within it admirably framed —
But I dread that noble head beneath it may be claimed:
Inside a year I dare predict a Southerly invasion,
Our little nation does not look so well in that equation.
For your safety I must urge a Northerly alliance;
Unlike manicures, the matter can afford no dalliance.
I propose a marriage match between Princess Fortuna
And Prince Admiral Alphonse, within six months or sooner.
As your only daughter the Princess’s role is crucial.
Her virtues and her lineage will make the profit mutual.
Prince Alphonse is first in line to his Father-Emperor’s throne.
(His love of gambling and his love of wine we must condone),
Let’s focus on his… bravery and… gallantry instead,
His stature and… his wit are sure to claim her fair young heart.
With your blessing certainly her hand would be a start.
Suppose you hold a ball for him tomorrow tonight or sooner,
There involve the Duchesses and fair Princess Fortuna,
Then will the Navy Fleet have all their joy of jolly dancing,
There the merry music and the finest wine enhancing
All the many merits of our small but noble land.
Before the night has sung its last the Prince will ask her hand,
Then our two countries, th’major and the minor, will be one,
(Pardon please my musical but quite amusing pun).

KING (to Queen):
What was that he said my dear? I hardly caught a word.
Something about dancing and the finest wine I heard.
He is indeed a lovely man, his waistcoats are fantastic,
But in speech he mumbles and his style is so… bombastic.

[Venturo listens to conversation, steals ornament from the Queen’s hair and exits]

QUEEN [loudly]:
He says this little land of ours is in a spot of danger.
If we treat the Northern Empire as a foe or stranger
We will be swallowed from the South… in some unpleasant way,
And so he says we must not waste a single night or day.
In order to avert this irreversible calamity
We must approach the Northern lands with courtesy and amity,
Offer to the Northern Emperor’s son our only daughter,
And thus the matter’s settled well, as blood’s thicker than water.
The North will naturally give their full and sure protection
Against a brute intrusion from a Southerly direction.
And so at once we must induce a favourable response
From the Northern (dashing brave) Prince Admiral Alphonse.

KING:
And so we hold a splendid ball at once with jolly dancing,
There the merry music and the finest wine enhancing
[Prime Minister joins in] All the many merits of our small but noble land.
That I heard! And then the Prince will surely ask her hand!
Wizard! Corking! Cracking! What a super duper plan!
There will not have been a finer ball since… time began.
I do so love these good excuses for a proper bash!
So much to prepare my dear, come, come, now we must dash!

[Exeunt (at a leisurely pace)]

* * *

ACT 1, SCENE 2: THE MASKED BALL

[Enter Queen, followed by Fortuna, followed by the Duchesses.
Fifi pauses to take a cake.]

QUEEN:
Come Fortuna! Now employ your finest regal charms.
Our country’s fate depends upon the way you hold your arms,
And maybe hold your tongue throughout the evening for a change;
I fear these Northern gentlemen may find your accent strange.
Stand straighter please, but gracefully, chin up, that’s it, eyes down,
Smile in moderation but don’t let me see you frown.
Tread as if your feet are downy feathers on the floor.
It’s up to you now to avert this nuisance of a war.
Duchess Mimi! Try to match your cousin’s good behaviour.
Duchess Fifi, come! Manners could be this country’s saviour.
Do not take the sweets or cakes and thus outgrow your dress!
Now do excuse me for a while, the King’s hair is a mess!

[Exit Queen]

FORTUNA: Oh cousins! I can scarcely breathe in my anticipation!
That we will meet the Northern Fleet defies imagination.
Fifi: I heard Prince Alphonse is stronger than a dozen men.
I heard he swam to Tuscany and then… straight back again!
And all the while he held aloft a standard in one hand
Displaying his own Navy crest.

MIMI:
I cannot understand
What drives a man to strive for so much valiance and strength.
It seems in feats of daring some will go to any length.
I heard that he once felled a tree with one stroke of his sword,
And with that self-same implement shaved it into a board
With which to plug a gaping hole beneath his own ship’s helm.
(And this I warn you ladies may your senses overwhelm)
He dove beneath the ocean and repaired it in one breath!
A full ten minutes! Any man would sooner meet his death!

FIFI:
Yes, and his heroic heart of goodness never fails.
What about the time he saved a family of whales
Who one by one had accidentally wandered to the shore.
(Here I must confess I’ve never seen a whale before
But I have heard they’re even bigger than our royal yacht.)
Undaunted though, the Prince Alphonse was out there like a shot
And on his shoulders lifted he each one without commotion
And gently placed it (belly downwards) back into the ocean.

MIMI:
Hush! The Prince’s entourage is on its way I think! [listens right]

[Enter Prince Alphonse & Sailors left to a sailing song]

FIFI:
Oh! My hands are trembling! Wait there, I need a drink.

[Runs away left, accidentally toward the entourage]

ALPHONSE (in a Yorkshire accent):
Land ahoy me’hearties! Let’s bring down the anchor here.
[to Fifi] Oh what a pretty thing have we? What is your name my dear?

FIFI:
Fff F… Fifi

ALPHONSE:
A little minuet I’m sure would see your stutters calmed.
Find me later, I can guarantee you won’t be harmed.

[Mimi tries to pull Fifi away]

ALPHONSE contd.:

And who is this? I see we have an even brighter gem
That glitters so divinely as on Heaven’s diadem.

MIMI: Mimi

ALPHONSE:
Yes you, you stammer like your sister, come on don’t be wary;
My combat skills are legend but with ladies I’m not scary.
We’ll talk about it later then, you needn’t be alarmed.

[Enter Queen hurriedly dragging King along, adjusting his hair]

QUEEN: Prince Alphonse! Your Highness, by your presence we are charmed!
Please do enjoy the feasting and the drinking and the dance!
Although it is a masked ball I won’t leave one thing to chance;
That fair young lady standing in the pale and seemly dress
Is our only heir and daughter, our Fortuna the Princess!
Prince Alphonse: Indeed, a regal bearing, I can sense it from afar.
In this glowing galaxy she seems the brightest star.

[Fortuna approaches timidly to join the Duchesses]

ALPHONSE contd.:
Majesties, how charmed am I to have your invitation.
As a rule I only socialise in moderation,
[Sailors cough]
But your timing’s perfect, for I’m seldom found at home.
[Sailors nod]
An Admiral (as I am), was forever born to roam.
My life is dedicated to my country’s preservation!
Saving lives has always been my foremost aspiration!
[Fifi swoons, Mimi catches]
(And… taking them of course whenever circumstance dictates)
I am setting sail tomorrow — with my merry mates —
On a swashbuckling and extremely dangerous quest.
The infamous Venturo, Pirate of the Southern Seas
Has been spotted by my lookout in the Channel of Belize,
So at dawn we leave to cross the perilous Atlantic!
As you can imagine my dear mother will be frantic,
But the foul Venturo has adventured long enough.
Now it’s time to show him Alphonse also can play tough!
[Mimi swoons, Fifi catches]

QUEEN: Oh! Belize! My goodness would you go to such a length?
There are many… closer… places to display your… strength,
And all for just one pirate? Is a he really such a threat?
Prince Alphonse: Yes, it is essential, for my honour is in debt!
Last year he ransacked all the wealthy harbours of the North,
He pillaged and he plundered and he looted back and forth,
Then broke into my father’s vault and stole his favourite crown,
But like a shadow in the night I never tracked him down.
He always lurks one step before me in his wicked fun.
This time I will show him all his trickery is done.

QUEEN: I hear… the weather will be turning dreadful overnight,
Are you certain it is wise to take such sudden flight?
You may meet your peril if you take that weighty chance!
Wait until you taste our wine! Now come and start the dance!

[Exeunt in pairs]

* * *

ACT 1, SCENE 3: LETTERS AT THE PALACE

[Enter Fortuna (centre) & Duchesses (left & right facing away) each reading letters privately to themselves]

MIMI: Mimi,
FORTUNA: Fortuna,
FIFI: Fifi,

(ALPHONSE’S VOICE):
Dearest, since I met you I have been in quite a trance
Remembering in detail every step of our last dance.
I am a blinded man now, one who looks but never sees,
My eyes are for you only, even here in bright Belize.
My heart is only yours, and I would send it in a jar.
Can you hear it beating for you even from afar?
Without you I’m like a… cracker that has lost its cheese,
A ship without a… shipment, or a forest without trees.
Every day I catch a… fish and name it after you,
Every night I make a wish and… wish it will come true:
That in a month I may return and look upon your face.
Truly you must know that nobody could take your place.
Signed by Prince Algernon Derek Reginald Alphonse
Ardently awaiting your alacritous response.
[Mimi and Fifi roll up their letters and exit]

(ALPHONSE’S VOICE contd.):
P.S. I do promise you my dear Princess FORTUNA:
I will return to marry you sometime… soon… or sooner.
Without you my humble life is ever incomplete.
More seemly and agreeable a girl I’ll never meet.
For company I send you this to while away the hours.
[Fortuna reveals a live bird in a cage]
It is a token of my love, like chocolates or flowers
But lasts a good while longer. Like my love it is alive.
Keep it by you as a sign of me ‘til I arrive.
Only in the farthest countries can one find this bird.
Such a sweet melodious voice you never will have heard.
It was the favourite of Venturo, whom I have beheaded;
That wicked pirate is long gone, no longer to be dreaded.
His treasured pet is now a trophy of my brave conquest.
I know you’ll be delighted, and I hope you are impressed.

FORTUNA:
Mama! Mama! I have the news we’ve waited for at last!
[Enter Queen]
Our days of fear and trembling are firmly in the past.
I have an offer from the Prince, he’s promised to return.
I have a letter from him full of fondness and concern.
He promised me that sometime soon we shall be man and wife.
Now our country is protected from all future strife.
And look! He sent me this fine bird as proof of his largesse,
But also it’s a symbol of his soldierly prowess!
Venturo he has found and he has valiantly vanquished!
Our seas are safe and now my Prince will be no longer anguished!
This was the pirate’s favourite pet, it is a living prize!
I’m overcome with gladness! What a manifold surprise!
Look how its eyes and feathers shine and sparkle in the sun!
It’ll be my dearest playmate, we will have no end of fun!

QUEEN:
Oh! I knew that he would fit his heart to our agenda;
I was sure we should not fail and to the south surrender.
Plus that wretched pirate now has met a sticky end.
The Prince was born to win your heart and our kingdom defend!
You have saved the dignity and pride of this whole land!
This bond will be invincible; no shifty rope of sand.
And what a lovely time to marry! Just before the spring!
Quickly, right this instant we must go and tell the king!
Then I’ll tell Prime Minister directly of the news!
He’ll be cock-a-leekie!… I mean he’ll be cock-a-hoop!
It’s not a bad idea though, I fancy a bowl of soup.
Go, I’ll catch you up, my feet are killing in these shoes.
(Lord, is there no limit to the price we pay for vanity?
This infinite discomfort is enough to claim my sanity)

[Exeunt]

* * *

ACT 1, SCENE 4: RETURN OF THE ADMIRAL

[Enter Princess, kills bird and rips up letters. Enter Queen.]

FORTUNA:
Three months have been wasted now, all in this fruitless wait.
Next I dread to wonder what will be our country’s fate.
That two-faced duplicitous insufferable betrayer!
That so-called dashing Prince I’ve found is nothing but a player!
He has written rhymes of love to both of the duchesses
And all the meantime his undying troth to me professes!
And one poem he has sent to each of us the same.
We are all but pieces in his sordid little game!
Anyway his poetry was genuinely appalling,
His letters, like his company, were far short of enthralling,
I heard he’s useless with a sword, and is a dreadful coward.
(I should have known at once the way his perfume overpowered.)
He didn’t fight the pirate and was nowhere near Belize,
He’s in Britain with no plans to cross the Southern Seas.
I have heard Venturo is as yet alive and well,
Last seen checking out of a 5-star French hotel.
Goodness knows where he is plotting his next buccaneering,
Plus we risk invasion now as we had long been fearing.

QUEEN: Oh my dear, have faith, perhaps there is an explanation,
Though of course I understand your anger and frustration.
Maybe he is only shy beneath that brave exterior,
And with his… modest… stature he is bound to feel inferior.
Some seem over-confident when they are truly… meek.
Give him another chance my dear for just another week.
Let us see if he returns and if he can explain.
His true nature and intentions we must ascertain;
These scant facts you have revealed need not be so sinister.
In the meantime I will seek the counsel of Prime Minister.

[Exit Queen]

FORTUNA (crying):
What happened to the days gone by of honour and nobility?
What are words and wit in lieu of goodness and integrity?
…Invertebrate, unmannerly, unmanly, ham-fisted,
Pompous pom-pom! Treacherous, chicken-chested, limp-wristed,
Spongy, sissy, cowardy-custard with a heart as yellow
As a … bullfrog’s eye, and an eye as … Oh hello!
[Enter Prince Alphonse]

[Enter Angel, stands behind Fortuna, blesses her and exits.]

ALPHONSE:
Fortuna, noble lady, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.
Though it is true I am as bloodthirsty as a fruit bat,
I couldn’t fight my way out of an open paper bag,
All I learned in navy school was how to boast and brag.
My favourite sport is playing cards, I’m not too bad at poker,
But exercise just does me in, I’m that much of a smoker.
I couldn’t swim to save my life, how’s that for an Admiral?
And jogging in this get-up is a terrible rigmarole.
I admit it, I’m a fraud, I’m sorry that I lied.
In coming back at last… at least… I put aside my pride.
Today I mean to see an end to all t’tears you’ve been shedding.
I promised you I would return and we would have a wedding,
I must say I have a very slightly… different plan,
But you’re mature, and I’m quite sure you’ll take it like a man.
As consolation for my insolence and impropriety
I invite you to remain always in my society.
Though not our wedding, I could take you to a wedding party,
There I fully guarantee the welcome will be hearty.
I have met… another girl, I’ll wed her now in spring.
[Fortuna almost faints, angel catches]
I really couldn’t help myself, she has me on a string.
I’ve fallen hook line and sinker, I’ve quite lost my head,
So I hope you’ll be to her like a sister instead.
Really I meant to return and be your loyal husband,
But I was up in t’Hebrides, and… no man is an island,
And… there she was all dressed in sacks — been working on the farm —
Sling-ful of turnips on her back, ten piglets in one arm,
Puffing from a great long pipe, sat on a cask of cider.
Something melted in my heart when I sat down beside her.
At that moment I resolved: who cares about her breeding!
I’ve no backbone myself, that’s the woman I’ve been needing!
Actually I already married her last week.
[Fortuna almost faints again, angel catches]
I told another lie to you, can you believe my cheek?
She already is my Mrs., and I am her… Mister.
I will bring her here tomorrow, and she’ll be your sister.
[Fortuna starts to cry, then so does Alphonse]

FORTUNA:
Prince Alphonse, I’m sorry I insulted you so gravely.
I shall choose to take this news respectfully and bravely.
I was… distracted… when I found you’d written to my cousins,
And you had been courting other ladies … by their dozens,
But I suppose it surely is perfectly natural
And logical for an Admiral to admire … all.
My language was unholy, unbefitting a princess.
What’s more I have been far from rational, I must confess.
I tore up all your letters, and I slaughtered that poor bird,
Though … if you were in earshot you’d possibly have heard.
[Alphonse nods]
I have been dishonest from the start, it must be said,
I did not love you much at all, it was a ploy instead.
I only sought to use you as a shield from invasion,
And as luck would have it you needed little persuasion.
It was a clumsy trick and I am terribly ashamed.
In this awful tragedy I’m really to be blamed.
What is to become of us, we surely cannot tell,
But this must be good-bye now, and I truly wish you well.
[Exit Alphonse]

FORTUNA: Mamaaaaaa!
[Exeunt]

* * *

ACT 2, SCENE 1: KING AND QUEEN PLAN AT THE PALACE

[Enter Venturo (secretly), King & Queen, Prime Minister, Fortuna (secretly)]

[King now holds aside his hair when others speak]

QUEEN:
Prime Minister! Well what a dreadful mess your plan has left!
That awful Prince has snubbed us, poor Fortuna is bereft!
We cannot afford to take your counsel on this matter!
One more two-faced suitor and our daughter’s heart may shatter!
We insist that you assist in bringing her true peace!
We cannot rule the country on the back of your caprice!
[Angel enters and blesses King]

KING:
She is such a good girl, she would never hurt a fly
(Although that bird did come off rather badly by and by).
She has spirit but she is a truly… soulful thing.
In most circumstances so much wisdom does she bring.
Yes, we are in danger from the South still, as you’ve said,
(I am likely to forego my crown if not my head),
But I think it best that we let God be our Defender;
Not unto the South but to the Heavens let’s surrender.
I say that we give Fortuna a more spiritual life;
How could she be happy as a military wife?
It is plain: to please us was the reason she agreed
To all this Admiral nonsense, now God bless us she is freed.
If we let her live as God intended in His Game,
She is sure to bring us luck and live up to her name.

PRIME MINISTER:
Majesties my heartfelt apology I submit,
Please proceed to rule this kingdom as you both see fit.
Too long have you struggled with my mind as your dictator,
Your two gentle hearts combined are infinitely greater.
I have been of service to you forty-seven years,
And I always dreaded it may one day end in tears.
My judge of character has led me to a grave mistake,
The one I thought the hero has admitted he’s a fake.
Please allow me one last act of aid in my employment,
Or I’ll live out all my days in penitence and torment.

KING:
Excellent, I’ve always known you were a decent chap,
Let’s forget our differences, and this awkward mishap.
What say you find her a new spouse who leads the life monastic?
Most may shun you, though the opportunity’s fantastic.
He will have our kingdom — or whatever still remains —
And dear Fortuna will at last be free from earthly chains.
We have seen monks praying at the river in the morning.
Go and do a reconnoitre while tomorrow’s dawning.
See if you can ask them while they’re praying by the water
Which of them is willing to be wedded to our daughter.
Any man would love our fair princess to be his bride,
But most saintly people are reluctant to be tied.

FORTUNA:
Mother, Father I have overheard your conversation,
I always obey your wishes without hesitation.
But to hear you speaking thus has moved my heart to tears.
Your two hearts of love are sure to quell our country’s fears.
I have pondered many hours since my sad discovery,
Now my aching heart has found immediate recovery.
Father’s right, I cannot find true happiness in status.
My spell of disillusionment came as a cold hiatus.
My heart and head so full of doubts, like walking through a storm,
Now I’ve reached a turning point, returning to the warm.
I know I must trust my heart now; Father’s words are true.
I must marry one who’s made of goodness through and through.
I would follow all your decisions without complaint,
But yes, I would be happiest if I could wed a saint.
I’m too shy to go out and investigate myself;
Prime Minister please do ensure I’m not left on the shelf.
[Exit Prime Minister (humbly), and Venturo (hurriedly)]

QUEEN:
Dearest girl, I always knew your outlook was unique.
I can almost see our golden future as you speak.
I first thought your father’s plan was far beneath our dignity,
But he’s right, in order to create an opportunity
Of finding you a simple man devoted to religion,
We must try to tone down our highhandedness a smidgeon.
Fortuna, you will always be our brightest joy and treasure.
We may be a bit batty, but we love you without measure.
[Exeunt]

* * *

ACT 2, SCENE 2: MONKS AT THE RIVER

[Enter monks followed by Venturo dressed as a monk]

[Enter Prime Minister]

PRIME MINISTER:
By order of the King and Queen I come here for research,
I have a proposition for you good men of the church.
I have come to seek a husband for the fair Princess:
Fortuna the most radiant possessor of finesse,
Of graceful elegance, propriety, beneficence.
Whose pure heart itself is a rare gem of magnificence.
(Plus she is the royal couple’s only child and heir,
So she’ll inherit everything without the need to share).

MONK 1:
How dare you come and taunt us with your nauseating bargain!
You revolting viper, spouting foul temptatious jargon!
So the Princess needs a husband, and you think we’d care?
Be gone now from this sacred place or you’ll pollute our air!

PRIME MINISTER:
Do you know who I am you little sack-clothed inconsequence?
I could have you put in prison just for thoughts of insolence,
And yet you speak as freely as a fish wife at her stall.
It seems you do not know how to preserve your life at all.

MONK 2:
Nothing you can say or do will convince me to marry;
On my road to God a wife is but a rock to carry.
How can I go forward with a yoke around my neck?
Even if the King came here and wrote me a blank cheque,
Even if you say you’ll drown me, burn me at the stake,
Deep fry me in boiling oil, I’ll not make the mistake
Of squandering my life on gold or on a woman’s beauty.
My vocation is in prayer, and I’ll not shirk my duty.

PRIME MINISTER (to Venturo):
You seem… different… to the others; you have peace and poise,
While these fellows seek to crush my ears with their noise.
As it seems they have no clear intention to relent,
May I take your silence as a sign that you consent?

[Venturo remains silent]

MONK 1:
Shame, shame, shame! He has cast a slur upon us,
He does not defend us while this sinner tries to con us,
Turns up out of nowhere dressed like one of our good kind,
(He didn’t much disturb us so we didn’t much mind),
Now he is agreeing to be married with this silence,
What a coward, falling for this rascal’s threat of violence!
Agreeing without question to a life of earthly pleasure,
Living out his days in idle luxury and leisure!

VENTURO:
And you strut about like you’re the spiritual aristocracy,
I am so disgusted with your heinous hypocrisy.
You’re all talk, you reckon that you’ve conquered your desires.
You are not true saints, but filthy counterfeits and liars.
Outwardly you say you have no care for earthly life,
That you’d rather be deep fried in oil than have a pretty wife,
But inwardly you crave a life of opulence and pleasure.
Your impurities are far too plentiful to measure.
I may not be perfect but at least I am sincere,
In writing off the outer life I’m not so cavalier.
I have not transcended yet the outer earthly senses,
But I cannot overcome them merely by pretences.
I will marry her, and sooner realise the Supreme,
Than these dishonest fellows merely living in a dream.
I will slowly transcend my desires one by one.
Instead of just pretending all my inner work is done.

PRIME MINISTER:
Excellent! At last I found a level-headed saint!
The Princess and your worthy self, I shall at once acquaint!
[Exit Prime Minister]

MONK 2:
Well I never! Such discourtesy is a disgrace!
Come, brother, I can stand no more, we have to leave this place!
His company is far beneath us! Marriage is frustration,
Frustration is destruction, but we want illumination!
We must dedicate our lives to prayer to win delight.
This fellow is deluded, I am sure our way is right!

[Exit Monks]

[Venturo paces up and down, anguished, enter Angel blessing him, he then stands with hands folded and head bowed in prayer]

[Enter Prime Minister & Princess]

PRIME MINISTER:
I have brought the Princess to you as I said I would.
Won’t you let her see your face? Do please remove your hood.

[Venturo removes hood, then removes robe altogether to reveal pirate clothes]

VENTURO:
Prime Minister I must confess that I have changed my mind.
I know that she is beautiful, courageous and refined,
And she will inherit quantities of earthly wealth.
I thought I’d truly care for her in sickness and in health.
In a twinkling I thought I’d bestow on her my heart,
And spend my life beside her until death would make us part.
But I’m not a monk; I am a thieving buccaneer,
I’m nowhere near as saintly as my robes made me appear.
I am Venturo, bravest and the fastest with a sword,
The strongest and the smartest, but I can’t take this reward.
I could defend this country just depending on my wit
And an army of a hundred, but I cheated, I admit.
I overheard the King when his idea was devised,
So I ran ahead of you, but heavily disguised.
In truth it was the money that encouraged me to do it,
But how can money be enough? Just as you left I knew it.
I can have the Princess and her wealth by telling lies,
But if I pray sincerely — not just in a monk’s disguise —
I will attain the highest Truth, real happiness will follow.
The wealth I gain by trickery is tenuous and hollow.
She is beautiful, but she is blossoming in youth.
God’s Attraction is immortal; it is born of Truth.
I’ve plundered and I’ve pillaged and I’ve looted here and there,
But from today I dedicate my life to Truth and prayer.

[Enter Angel]

ANGEL:
Venturo, I am pleased with your conviction and sincerity,
But allow me to augment your notion of prosperity.
You must marry the Princess but you will still find Truth.
Your past is now behind you, it was greedy and uncouth.
I am happy that your days of thievery are gone,
I am giving you the wealth of Spirit from now on.
This you must combine with money power to succeed.
Your life’s inner cry has reached the highest height indeed,
You have inner light now, and your life is truly blessed,
But you need the outer wealth to make it manifest.
Use this wealth to serve the Truth that now abides inside you.
Heed my words and trust in me, have faith that I will guide you.
I unite you; from this day you will be man and wife,
Spirit of the inner, matter of the outer life.
Fortuna, your husband needs your full and sure assistance.
As one you’ll have a happy and harmonious existence.
With him you will realise God much sooner than without.
With her you will please the Absolute without a doubt.
The King and Queen are getting old, it soon will be your turn.
Defend the land with courage, kindness, honour and concern.
Realise God, manifest God, and God you will fulfil.
In oneness you have every strength, and strength you will instill.
This country will be safe if you abide by this one principle:
When the inner and the outer work as one they are invincible.

[Venturo and Fortuna bow down to Angel]

[Enter all]

* * *

THE END

* * *

This is ostensibly a book of swordsmanship, and includes its share of martial combat, but that element is neither gratuitous nor glamourised – it serves to support rather than blemish the story’s purpose. Musashi transforms himself from a brute and selfish thug, to a hero of great depth and honour. Through the teachings of Takuan Soho and through his own self-discipline and one-pointedness, he transcends his natural capacities in the pursuit of his life’s mission.

Although Musashi was the maven of martial arts in his time, Yoshikawa portrays his many human aspects so as to bring his character into real and living relief – not a mere legend, but a man struggling with failings and weaknesses, in whom one can surely glimpse one’s own self. Never coldly observing from outside any character, Yoshikawa becomes the character and writes straight from that beating heart, or racing mind, or pulsing body. Each character has its place in the tale and its own unique lesson for the reader.

Yoshikawa’s research is such that every angle of the culture and every level of the social hierarchy is revealed in robust detail. The writing is complete and completely satisfying, pristine and elegant. No single word is superfluous, yet no detail is trivial enough for exclusion. One may well take any sentence from any of the 970 pages and let it stand as a striking, intriguing work of prose.

More graceful than grisly, this is the account by one master of another master’s life. Whether you choose to read this book for its historical content, its study of martial arts, its celebration of Japanese culture, its portrayal of human transcendence, or simply as a heroic piece of writing, you will not be disappointed.

They say that behind every great man there has to be a great woman, but behind a great woman? They do not mention. Perhaps we should look down toward the hearth. Shaggy Muses, by Maureen Adams, is a heartful tribute to the dogs who unknowingly, and unconditionally inspired five iconic female writers: Emily Brontë, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Edith Wharton, Emily Dickinson and Virginia Woolf.

I suppose there are dog-lovers in all walks of life. So, what makes this connection interesting, or is it just a coincidence? Having read to the end, I see that the dogs—differing vastly in breed, breeding, size and temperament—played differing roles in the lives of each woman, but there are themes in these interspecies bonds too strikingly similar to be coincidental. That makes for a fascinating read, but the dogs themselves make it heart-wrenchingly un-put-downable (for this dog-lover at least).

Sadly all women had one clear thing in common: traumatic lives. That is a well-trod path for writers in general; not so much in terms of life’s challenging events per se, but the heightened sensitivity and emotionality of creative people leaves them ill-equipped for bereavements, illnesses, emotional or physical abuse, the sheer overwhelming nature of creative output itself, and in many cases everyday life in general. In each of these five cases the dog (or dogs) had a soothing and joyful influence, keeping the writer grounded, as well as offering empathy, employing that other-worldly sixth-sensitivity which is the hallmark of their species.

Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf (pictured on the front cover), the most tragic of all, maintained humour in her letters about dogs and their refreshingly earthly simplicity. But she had no qualms about referring to their spiritual qualities either. It seemed both were equally essential to her, making her literally inseparable from them:

“Out after lunch with Gurth to … the Joachim concert at the Bechstein Hall, where Gurth accompanied a … song with a voluntary bass of his own composition & I had to remove him in haste.”

“I took Max along the River, but we were a good deal impeded, by a bone he stole, by my suspenders coming down, by a dogfight in which his ear was torn & bled horribly. I thought how happy I was without any of the excitements, which, once, seemed to me to constitute happiness.”

“And the truth is, one can’t write directly about the soul. Looked at it vanishes; but look at the ceiling , at Grizzle … and the soul slips in.”

“Your puppy has destroyed, by eating holes, my skirt, ate L’s proofs, and done such damage as could be done to the carpet—But she is an angel of light. Leonard says seriously she makes him believe in God…”

In one passage Virginia hits the cornerstone of what it is to be a writer, which may further explain why a writer may be willing to overlook the less desirable canine traits to behold the more refined and inspirational:

“Why does my spaniel jump onto chairs when she is dripping from a swim in the river? The answer is that instead of controlling life … we writers merely contemplate it.”

Edith Wharton

I say the most tragic of all was Virginia Woolf, but I felt sorriest of all for Edith Wharton. Who would be born to a wealthy family in Victorian times? Denied the privilege of reading novels until after she was married, the awkward seventeen-year-old was primped and primed as a debutante, a husband being the only seemly occupation for a young lady of her era.

The young Edith was certainly forbidden from writing novels; imagination could not be a helpful quality for a wife to possess, and as for self-expression, well! In a world where every daily act and duty followed strict rules of propriety, what place could there be for spontaneity or spirit? As a child she begged the servants to save oddments of brown wrapping paper from any parcels delivered to the house. Crouching on the floor, she wrote on them her first secret stories.

She did marry an eligible and affable chap in the end, but he suffered a hereditary form of insanity, which came on soon after. Although she devotedly nursed him and encouraged him, he did not improve, and became too dangerous to be alone with, so Edith was left to her dogs and her servants. As the latter could not be decently leant on emotionally, that job fell to a string of Poodles, Chihuahuas and Pekingese, on whom she was almost excruciatingly dependent. In the autumn of her life, that role only increased in importance. Her own words describe why it was dogs who won her heart:

“If ever I have a biographer, it is in these notes that he will find the gist of me … Let us begin with some stray thoughts—The subconscious … of the psychologists … I am secretly afraid of animals—of all animals except dogs, and even of some dogs. I think it is because of the usness in their eyes, with the underlying not-usness which belies it, and is so tragic a reminder of the lost age when we human beings branched off and left them: left them to eternal inarticulateness and slavery. Why? their eyes seem to ask us.”

Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

One can say unequivocally in the case of Elizabeth Barrett-Browning that her dog was not merely a companion, but a life-saver. After a volley of painful bereavements, and many years of debilitating illness, it seemed the young poet had given up the will to live. Bedridden in a darkened room, mourning acutely for her closest brother, she barely ate or slept, and was described by her family as “close to death”.

In a daring attempt to lift her from despair, a friend offered a spaniel puppy named Flush. There were many near-refusals by the poet, born of misgivings about the dog’s cloistered future, and mere shyness of accepting such a dear and generous gift. But even before she did finally accept, thoughts of the puppy had begun to turn her from her grief. By the time he arrived, he had already entered her heart and begun to transform her suffering existence into a life of joy and creativity. To her benefactor, Elizabeth wrote:

“How I thank you for Flush!—Dear little Flush—growing dearer every day!… Such a quiet, loving intelligent little dog—& so very very pretty! He shines as if he carried sunlight about on his back!”

Not exactly the words of a person close to death. The dog had a blissfully spoiled existence, sleeping on his mistress’s bed and eating from her hand. They were singularly devoted to one another. One problem with devotion to dogs is that they do have such short lives compared to ours. It would seem perilous for such a fragile girl to invest her whole heart in a mere spaniel. Indeed she plunged back into despair when the dog was stolen more than once by a gang of professional dog-nappers, demanding a ransom for his return. The two were reunited each time (both somewhat the worse for wear), and their bond only deepened.

For all they say about similarities between dogs and their owners, one can’t help noticing that this mistress wore her hair uncannily like a spaniel’s ears. Flush’s greatest gift to Elizabeth was not hairdressing though, but self-confidence. That trait was sorely lacking in the poet as as she lay immobile for much of her early life, unable to contribute to the family household, and seemingly ineligible for marriage. But soon, basking in the dog’s devotion, she grew spirit enough to think and act for herself, to write prolifically, and to live happily ever after with fellow poet Robert Browning.

By the time Flush passed away Elizabeth was an established writer with much finer health than when he came into her life, leaving her far better equipped to accept the loss and to replace her grief with gratitude for his life. Although she survived him by only six years, they were for the most part happy and creative years; a continuation of the strength he had brought her.

Emily Brontë

Brontë dogs were a far cry from pampered Pekingese and spoiled Spaniels. The one who featured most prominently in Emily’s life was the formidable Keeper, brought into the family to deter burglars. Maureen Adams sets the scene:

“On England’s Yorkshire moors in the mid-1840s, the villagers of Haworth often paused in their work at the sight of Emily Brontë, the parson’s daughter, striding across the heath with a massive dog at her side. Years later, they could still remember the tall woman and her dog appearing suddenly out of the fog. No warning of their approach could be heard except for the dog’s odd breathing, a wheezing whistle, the result of an injury from one of his fierce brawls with the local dogs. Emily would nod a greeting and pause to hear the latest tales of quarrels, thievery or ghost sightings. The dog, Keeper, stood completely still—his eyes on his mistress—until the moment she stirred, when he instantly followed her. A strange pair they were, uncanny and frightening, like the old stories of the goddesses and their dogs. Yet there was gentleness between them.”

It was more a battle of wills between the two characters than an abundance of affection as with the other women and their lapdogs, but it was as powerful a connection. In fact it seemed Emily was not entirely aware of a boundary between herself and the dog, in the same way that she had difficulty distinguishing her outer life from her inner life of fiction. Maureen Adams notes:

“Most dog owners depend on their dogs to keep them connected to the natural world. Taking a dog for a daily walk allows one to experience the changing seasons and the vicissitudes of weather. But Emily Brontë, who wasted away if not free to wander the moors, did not need Keeper to connect her to nature. Instead, she needed him to help her stay grounded with daily routines, which she tended to forget when she was absorbed in writing.”

All the Brontës died young, so, unusually, Keeper outlived his mistress. According to one observer:

“Keeper walked first among the mourners to her funeral; he slept moaning for nights at the door of her empty room, and never, so to speak, rejoiced, dog fashion after her death.”

Emily Dickinson

This poet was by far the most reclusive of the five women, and thus perhaps the most dependent on her canine muse to keep aloneness from turning to loneliness.

The puppy Carlo was a gift from her father. As a successful lawyer he spent a lot of time away, and fretted about the safety of the three females he left behind: Emily, her sister Lavinia, and their mother. His fears were not unfounded, as bandits and burglars were rife in New England, but he was somewhat overprotective, which perhaps swayed his choice of a very large breed: the Newfoundland.

It was no accident that he gave the puppy specifically to Emily, but it may have been a fortunate coincidence that he also chose such a very sensitive breed. He knew very well of his daughter’s preference for solitude, which turned easily into anxiety about what lay beyond the garden hedge. It seems he gave Carlo not only for practical outer protection but for “human” companionship and reassurance when he could not be there himself.

Again this huge beast was no lapdog, and spent most of his time outside, but he was allowed upstairs into his mistress’s living quarters. Not quite fitting into the private conservatory where Emily spent much of her time, he would lie in the doorway with only two paws inside. Emily loved the outdoors, and roamed happily alone with Carlo in the family meadow and neighbouring woods before entering into her best-known state of complete seclusion. Even then the family had a large garden where Emily grew fragrant flowers and sketched poems, always with Carlo looking on.

It must be said that it was not only fear which kept her alone, but a disillusionment with the world and with humanity. She craved silence and sensitivity, but found it only rarely in human society. Carlo’s virtues grew in her esteem; a tribute to the dog and to dogs in general, if at the expense of some cynicism about the human race. In letters she openly credits Carlo with more refinement than society:

“They [men and women] talk of Hallowed things, aloud—and embarrass my Dog—He and I dont object to them, if they’ll exist their side.”

“You ask of my Companions—Hills Sir and the Sundown—and a Dog—large as myself, that my father bought me—They are better than Beings—because they know—but do not tell.”

“I talk of all these things with Carlo, and his eyes grow meaning, and his shaggy feet keep a slower pace.”

Says Maureen Adams:

“Carlo never grew exhausted by Emily’s need for constant, attuned attention because it was part of his inbred nature to provide such a response. All dogs naturally look at their owners with a steady gaze, but it can be argued that the Newfoundland’s deep-set, dark eyes are the most sympathetic of all.”

As with most of these writers when their favourite dogs passed away, Emily did not write much about it to her friends. She would understandably have been too grief-stricken at Carlo’s death to speak of such a delicate subject to mere humans, remaining more inclined to “tell it slant” through her poems. Years before the event finally came though, she told a friend:

“Gracie, do you know that I believe that the first to come and greet me when I go to heaven will be this dear, faithful, old friend Carlo?”

Acknowledgements

With many thanks to Maureen Adams (and her two shaggy muses) for this touching and insightful read. It is truly one of the best books I have ever owned, and I will treasure it.

Found out more at ShaggyMuses.com

I spent a while teaching English as a second language in Thailand many years ago, and had a splendid time. Not only did I find the language (especially the written characters) more beautiful than my own English equivalent; the culture, the etiquette, the people, the weather, the food, everything beguiled me and I felt entirely at home, as if remembering a Heaven where I once belonged. Maybe I’ll tell you more about it another time, but I will say two things for now:

1. My grasp of the Thai language extended barely beyond the basic pleasantries and the buying of food. This was mainly due to the importance of inflections and polite appendages, which English has no care for. The word “khai” could sound from me at random as the verb “to sell” or the noun “egg” or the noun “chicken” depending on its delivery. Vegetarian as I am, my linguistic state was precarious.
2. Explaining English to other people made me extremely glad that it is my first language, so I don’t have to struggle with its peculiarities from a text book or teacher. The more I explained, the more baffled I became by my own explanations, gradually realising that there are as many exceptions as rules. I was tempted to take the stance of Frenchman G. Nolst Trenité:

“Finally, which rhymes with enough —
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!”
[source]

Image: Kedar Misani

Contextual Complexities

Learning our first language comes from constant immersion combined with dire necessity. We pick up meanings largely from the words’ environmental context, and grammar from their verbal context. This leaves us able to use a large number of words effectively but often only notionally; without really knowing their precise meaning, let alone their origin.

Words such as man, woman, cat and dog have not changed throughout the ages, but more complex phrases evolve relatively fast:

“…the phrase ‘willy nilly,’ which we now take to mean ‘any which way’ originally had a much different meaning. Willehe-nellehe was an Old English term meaning ‘whether he will or whether he won’t’ and implied someone doing something against their wishes — whether they wanted to or not. Over time this concept has been misinterpreted to the point where its meaning is entirely different. Extrapolate this example across the language and you get constant evolution.”
[source]

The speed and accuracy with which we pick up a language no doubt depends on many factors; partly environment/encouragement, partly our own propensity. Elizabeth Barrett (pictured) is one extraordinary example; something of an infant prodigy in the world of words, not just speaking but reading before she can walk. Elizabeth read her first word when she was 13 months old, from then devouring books with exceptional voracity. In her father’s words:

“I think she has some special abilities that have just been a fortunate thing she’s been born with.”

“This is something we never expected,” added his wife. “We didn’t teach her this. We don’t sit down and drill her on words. She loves reading books.”

[source]

Believing in reincarnation as I do, I can’t help wondering if such capacity is not only to do with nature and nurture, but past experience. Perhaps the name Elizabeth Barrett is a clue?

The Word Burglars

So the English language is as fond of breaking rules as it is of making them up as it goes along, it also is in a constant state of evolution because we don’t always really know what we mean when we speak it. Add to that the (disputable) fact that it has the largest vocabulary, and I am yet more glad I don’t have to learn it from scratch.

“The Oxford English Dictionary lists a total of 171,476 words with an additional 47,156 obsolete and 9,500 derivative words as subentries, giving almost a quarter of a million words in the English language, even when technical terms, place names and multiple word senses are excluded.”
[source]

But that includes all the words we’ve half-inched from other languages. So-called loanwords are “a consequence of cultural contact between two language communities”. As such contact will presumably only increase, so will our vocabulary.

So far we have taken ketchup from… Chinese (yep), gingham from the Pacific Islands (and I dread to think what we gave in return), Japanese gave us karaoke (whether we wanted it or not), American Indian gave us avocado and hurricane (a mixed blessing), African languages gave us jitterbugs and zombies (which we probably could manage without, but it’s the thought that counts), Arabic gave us caravan (thence all sorts of traffic problems during the British summertime), Hindi gave us bungalow and chintz (to be used sparingly, especially in a bungalow), German gave us poodle, noodle and apple strudel (enough said), Dutch gave us smuggle and freebooter (well, we stole them really), French gave us garage and sachet (which we’d struggle without), Italian gave us opera and umbrella (which we needed badly), Spanish gave us mosquito and tornado (which we didn’t). Shall I go on, or are we sufficiently incriminated?
[source]

Shakespearean Tragedy?

I’ve already briefly touched on the subject of poets adding to our lexicon in John Milton and the Origin of Space, but, says Stuart Waters, Shakespeare et al are doomed:

“There is no motive in this crime of the future, just an inevitability based on one undeniable fact. Language changes, and ironically, Shakespeare was himself perhaps the greatest ever at introducing new terms, concepts and metaphors into the language. The very craft he mastered will eventually consign his works to history.

“Technologically, the very nature of communication is changing on a daily basis and we are only at the beginning of this revolution. The internet, email and text messaging are tremendously fertile fields for the growth of new words and concepts and because this type of technology changes so quickly it is very difficult to see where it will take the language. On the one hand communication technology exerts pressure for language evolution, but on the other hand, it puts everyone in touch with everyone else, breaking down the barriers of distance and culture which traditionally fuel language change. What will be the outcome? Who can say.

“It is clear however that sooner or later the poetry and artistry of the Bard will be lost to all but historians of English, just as the works of Homer are unintelligible to modern Greeks.
[source]

Outcome 1: Pidgin

“What will be the outcome?” asks Waters. Well, Pidgin English is one (pidgin, not pigeon).

“A pidgin is a simplified language that develops as a means of communication between two or more groups that do not have a language in common, in situations such as trade. Pidgins are not the native language of any speech community, but are instead learned as second languages.
[source]

English may have the largest vocabulary. Its offspring, Pidgin English, claims to have the smallest, but is possibly yet trickier to learn. With just a few examples from the version spoken in Papua New Guinea, I am amply convinced of that, (although it does have logic, phonetic continuity, and absolute cuteness in its favour):

• television: bokis wailis wantem piksa
• corridor: ples wokabaut insait long haus
• antiseptic: marasin bilong kilim jem
• bathroom: rum bilong waswas

[source]

Outcome 2: LOLspeak

LOLspeak is born of our modern-day 24/7 culture where everyone is multi-tasking, communication is as urgently important as breathing, and everything is too much hassle to do properly or fully. Some familiar examples of LOLspeak are OMG (oh my God), BRB (be right back), and the eponymous LOL: laughing out loud, lots of love, or…

Depending on the chatter, its definition may vary. The list of its meanings includes, but is not limited to:
1) “I have nothing worthwhile to contribute to this conversation.”
2) “I’m too lazy to read what you just wrote so I’m typing something useless in hopes that you’ll think I’m still paying attention.”
3) “Your statement lacks even the vaguest trace of humor but I’ll pretend I’m amused.”
[source]

Does LOL mark the demise of the beautiful English language? IMHO, no. Whatever it signifies for humans, it is a mark of progress for all other species. If it counts for English, animals have finally started to speak, and even nuborned ones are typing their own messages on sites such as cuteoverload.com, ihasahotdog.com and icanhascheezburger.com (pictured). So LOL is progress. Officially.

(Ono! U meen dey don type teh msgs demself?? Srsly?).

Who Has The Largest Individual Vocabulary?

Whatever may happen in the future, regardless of species, who has the largest English vocabulary right now? This is not a straightforward question. Michael Quinion explains why:

“What we mean by word sounds obvious, but it’s not. Take a verb like climb. The rules of English allow you to generate the forms climbs, climbed, climbable, and climbing, the nouns climb and climber (and their plurals climbs and climbers), compounds such as climb-down and climbing frame, and phrasal verbs like climb on, climb over, and climb down. Now, here’s the question you’ve got to answer: are all these distinct words, or do you lump them all together under climb?

“The other difficult term is vocabulary. What counts as a word that somebody knows? Is it one that a person uses regularly and accurately? Or perhaps one that will be correctly recognised — say in written text — but not used? Or perhaps one that will be understood in context but which the person may not easily be able to define?
[source]

Of all the people I know, my meditation teacher Sri Chinmoy (pictured) definitely has the largest vocabulary, however it’s measured. Growing up in East Bengal, English was not his first language, but I regularly come across English words in his writings which I have never seen before. Take my favourite example: sesquipedalian (meaning a very long word).

Sri Chinmoy published almost 1600 books during his lifetime, including around 117,000 poems. Whatever happens to the English language; however it evolves, however it is used and misused, I will always relish it and cherish it, and I will always look to my teacher Sri Chinmoy for new words and new inspiration. It is not only his vast vocabulary, but the use of it which I love. He reminds me to stay in my heart, and to try to use whatever capacity I have for goodness. Although he passed away last year, and I still miss him dearly, he left behind the legacy of his writings for us all to enjoy forever. Read to your heart’s content for free at Sri Chinmoy Library!

“No more am I the foolish customer
Of a dry, sterile, intellectual breeze.
I shall buy only
The weaving visions of the emerald-Beyond.
My heart-tapestry
Shall capture the Himalayan Smiles
Of my Pilot Supreme.
In the burial of my sunken mind
Is the revival of my climbing heart.
In the burial of my deceased mind
Is the festival of my all-embracing life.”

—Sri Chinmoy (from The Dance of Life)

Image: Pavitrata Taylor

On the surface what seems a blatant rebellion against the Christian reforms sweeping New England in the 19th Century could be misinterpreted as a lack of spiritual inclination. If we look beneath even a single veneer we will undoubtedly find true spirituality at the heart of her endeavour; far from snubbing God, but simply insisting on no less than a first-hand experience of Him.

The poet shunned religious doctrine, but did she shun religion? Certainly not as a whole, and even then it may be merely a matter of syntax. The words ‘religion’ and ‘spirituality’ may at times be used interchangeably, and at others a fine distinction must be made. Charles Anderson chooses to make no distinction, using the word ‘religion’ in its broadest, and perhaps most primal sense:

“The final direction of her poetry, and the pressures that created it, can only be described as religious, using that word in its ‘dimension of depth.’”

Emily inherited the Puritan traits of austerity, simplicity, and practicality, as well as an astute observation of the inner self, but her communication with her higher Self was much more informal than her God-fearing forefathers would have dared. The daughter of the ‘Squire’ of Amherst, she came from a line of gritty, stalwart pioneers, carrying what was almost considered the blue blood of America. Her family was far from poor, but she did not lead a lavish life, for the Puritans abhorred luxury and waste (even a waste of words, which trait the poet did well to inherit).

She accepted the Puritan ideals of being ‘called’ or ‘chosen’ by God, and fully embraced the merits of transcending desire, but not the concept of being inherently sinful:

“While the Clergyman tells Father and Vinnie that ‘this Corruptible shall put on Incorruption’ it has already done so and they go defrauded.”

She had faith in her own divinity, so perhaps she was yet more certain of God than her peers. She did not claim to fully understand Him, or even to have perennial faith in all His Ways—her poetry bears a continuing strain of doubt—but she certainly did not fear Him. The inner freedom this afforded her—rare for a woman of her time—brought her to the point of being almost cheeky in her familiarity and certainty. This confidence fed her poetry sumptuously, and gave it the well-known child-like quality. To her, truth was in nature. In that beauty she could see and feel God directly:

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church —
I keep it, staying at Home —
With a Bobolink for a Chorister —
And an Orchard, for a Dome —

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice —
I just wear my Wings —
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton — sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman —
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last —
I’m going, all along.

Emily did actually attend church regularly, sometimes traveling to hear some of the rousing and charismatic preachers who stamped their mark on that era. She was often moved by these sermons, perhaps as compelled by the speaker’s delivery and the construction of words as the message within them. But this was not enough to entice her to succumb to the fierce religious revival. One by one her friends received an inner calling and were ‘saved,’ officially accepting Christianity. Members of her close-knit family eventually followed suit, including her strong-willed father, and finally her brother, Austin, perhaps her closest ally. Emily would not commit to something she could not sincerely feel, even under the unthinkable social pressure that surrounded her.

Until the age of 30 she continued going to church, although she was excluded from certain meetings and services open only to those who had been ‘saved’. She became increasingly reclusive throughout her 30s. It is tempting to see her seclusion as further evidence of spiritual asceticism. Her spiritual path was certainly intensely lonely in such a social climate, but she craved aloneness more and more, and seclusion somehow formed a symbiotic relationship with her art. Increasingly her art became an expression of her spirituality.

Immortality (“the Flood Subject” as she called it) consumed Emily’s consciousness. Dwelling on death was natural in those times as illness and general hardship frequently took lives around her, her awareness heightened further by the many years spent in a house adjoining a cemetery. But dwelling on death was also almost a spiritual practice, a ‘graveyard meditation,’ a means of focus, breathing life into the concepts of Eternity, Infinity and Immortality.

Poet and philosopher Sri Chinmoy said of the poet:

“Emily Dickinson wrote thousands of psychic poems. One short poem of hers is enough to give sweet feelings and bring to the fore divine qualities of the soul.”

“With a deep sense of gratitude, let me call upon the immortal soul of Emily Dickinson, whose spiritual inspiration impels a seeker to know what God the Infinite precisely is. She says:
‘The infinite a sudden guest
Has been assumed to be,
But how can that stupendous come
Which never went away?’”

From Patriots of America by Sri Chinmoy

What drove her consistently was that she needed truth, and at any cost. She needed to see it with her own eyes and feel it with her own heart, not grasp at it in the words of a clergyman but explain it to herself through her own words. It seems she was even ready to die for her cause:

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth, —the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

Emily’s truth-seeking was a spiritual quest that governed her inner life, and naturally blossomed through her poetic works. Her own words, in a letter to a friend, succinctly claim Eternity and Immortality as her own. Perhaps they also presage the enduring spiritual appeal of her writing, far beyond the short span of her life:

“So I conclude that space & time are things of the body & have little or nothing to do with our selves. My Country is Truth.”

“With thee conversing I forget all time,
All seasons and thir change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest Birds; pleasant the Sun
When first on this delightful Land he spreads
His orient Beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flour,
Glistring with dew; fragrant the fertil earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful Eevning milde, then silent Night
With this her solemn Bird and this fair Moon,
And these the Gemms of Heav’n, her starrie train:
But neither breath of Morn when she ascends
With charm of earliest Birds, nor rising Sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, floure,
Glistring with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night
With this her solemn Bird, nor walk by Moon,
Or glittering Starr-light without thee is sweet.
But wherfore all night long shine these, for whom
This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?”

—John Milton, Paradise Lost Book IV

This is my favourite passage from the man who is considered the second greatest English poet. If John Milton was ever irked at having to play second fiddle to Shakespeare in the poetic hall of fame, it may have comforted him to remember that his poetic works were not his greatest feat. Indeed, he invented Space.

Without him, NASA would be NA?A, there would be no “final frontier” into which Captain Kirk could boldly go, and no number 1 hit across 23 countries for Babylon Zoo (arguably a mixed blessing).

Four hundred years ago, “Space,” in the Outer Space sense of the word, was the relatively empty regions of the universe outside the atmospheres of celestial bodies. Thanks to Milton it is now in a handy 5-letter package, to which we can more readily append words such as man, ship, shuttle, hopper, and cadet.

Milton was not always so beneficent, as he also created “pandemonium” and “gloom”. But we are indebted to him for the words terrific, jubilant and sensuous. Without him we would never “trip the light fantastic,” or be moon-struck.

This week visitors to Cambridge University Library will have a chance to inspect the workings of Milton’s great mind, as some of his rare manuscripts are put on display.

Milton’s influence on the modern world cannot be underestimated, says Dr Gavin Alexander, fellow of Christ’s College: “His writing took epic realms like fantasy, romance and science fiction and combined them with ideas about politics, morality and human nature on a huge cosmic scale nobody had really seen before… Without him, it is possible we would never have heard of The Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, or The Matrix.”

“He is among the world’s great poets,” says Professor Christopher Ricks in the preface to the exhibition. “Living at this Hour: John Milton 1608-2008″ opens at the Cambridge University Library on Tuesday.

—Read more from John Milton: the poet who gave us ‘Star Trek’ and ‘The Matrix’ in the Independent On Sunday

• Budding etymologists can find more surprising word origins at www.etymonline.com or www.wordorigins.org, such as the following (tangentially related as it was coined by another Milton):

Rarely do we know the exact circumstances surrounding the coining of a brand new word. But in the case of googol, a mathematical term for the number represented by a one followed by 100 zeroes or 10100, we know exactly who coined it and when, Milton Sirotta, the nephew of mathematician Edward Kasner, and the year was 1938. From Kasner and Newman’s Mathematics and the Imagination (1940):

The name “googol” was invented by a child (Dr. Kasner’s nine-year-old nephew) who was asked to think up a name for a very big number, namely, 1 with a hundred zeros after it…At the same time that he suggested “googol” he gave a name for a still larger number: “Googolplex.”

Later in the book:

A googol is 10¹⁰⁰; a googolplex is 10 to the googol power.

The name of the search engine and software company, Google, is a deliberate variant of the mathematical term. The company’s founders, Larry Page and Sergey Brin, came up with the name in 1998. They altered the spelling for trademark purposes.

—www.wordorigins.org

The other day my mother was remembering the comics my brother used to read twenty-something years ago. We got as far as The Beano and The Dandy, when she said with a frown, “Did you have comics?”

“No!” I said as if stung, “I used to read magazines.”

“Oh yes, of course.”

I realised that even before my teens I regarded comics as something for those who are either just barely literate, or too lazy to read, or male and under the age of ten. As is so often the case, my mind was broadened only hours later, this time by an article in the Independent, heralding Britain’s latest homegrown hybrid: Manga Shakespeare.

Manga is Japanese for “random (or whimsical) pictures”. It firmly took root in the late 18th Century, drawing inspiration from 12th Century giga (literally “funny pictures”), blossoming in the early 19th Century, with the great Hokusai even producing his own manga collection. Originally wood-block prints, the modern story-based manga started to emerge in the form of drawings as Japan increasingly absorbed American influences.

Manga is much more culturally important to Japan than comic books are to the US. Weekly sales of manga in Japan even exceed annual sales of comics in America (source: Wikipedia). In the UK at least, manga, anime (animated manga), and in fact anything Japanese is no doubt rising in popularity.

Self Made Hero is a British team, set to release their Manga Shakespeare collection this Thursday 1st of March. Emma Hayley, director of SelfMadeHero says:

“With our fresh and innovative approach to the classics, we are creating exciting and unique books that will inspire today’s generation.”
—SelfMadeHero.com

Good luck, I say. Anything (well almost anything) that makes the Bard more easily accessible has to be a good thing. Shakespeare is not a pompous poet in tights to be kept mouldering on the dusty shelves of aging professors; he’s a genius storyteller, and you shouldn’t have to be a genius to unravel the brilliance of his work. His plays are timeless, and infinitely adaptable. True, the original language is hard going, but if the essence of the stories is revealed to a wider audience, then maybe more will be inspired to delve into the treasure chest of his original works, while they’re young enough to keep up with the thrilling pace.

“Manga is a dynamic, emotional and cinematic medium easily absorbed by the eye. Its attractive art and simple storytelling methods will enthuse readers to approach Shakespeare’s work in the way he intended – as entertainment.”
—SelfMadeHero.com

Later in the year a collection entitled The Classical Eye will be released by the team, so watch this space:

“…transforming classics into another art form. The books feature acknowledged leaders in the world of graphic novels and bandes dessinées, using illustrators and writers whose work is widely admired internationally.
—SelfMadeHero.com

Image Source: SelfMadeHero.com

Firstly, you might wonder how come this English girl has an Indian name. My first name, Sumangali, is a spiritual name, given to me by my meditation teacher, Sri Chinmoy. A spiritual name is like a mantra, reflecting the essence and purpose of its bearer at a very deep level. It was given to me after I had been studying and practising meditation for a few years.

The root of the word Sumangali (mangal) means auspicious. Sometimes two people may have the same word as a name, but the interpretation or aspect of it may be different. The main part of the meaning for me is auspicious good-fortune, so this is at once my essence and my primary purpose, and that’s what I hope to try and offer through this site, in any small way I can.

As for the word serendipity, there’s no way I would have guessed its progenitor: Horace Walpole, 4th Earl of Orford. It seems there was a gap in our language, and so the word was born, inspired by a Persian fairy tale called The Three Princes Of Serendip (Serendip being Sri Lanka).

So the princes were fortunate on their travels? Well it’s not so simple. It seems they were very wise as well. Perhaps Horace won’t mind me quoting the letter in which the word was first written:

“I once read a silly fairy tale, called The Three Princes of Serendip: as their highnesses travelled, they were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of: for instance, one of them discovered that a mule blind of the right eye had travelled the same road lately, because the grass was eaten only on the left side, where it was worse than on the right—now do you understand serendipity? “
Source: Wikipedia

Well no, Horace, in fact your definition has sparked numerous debates on its meaning. Looking up The Three Princes Of Serendip we find a little more clarity:

“In the camel story, the Three Princes use trace clues to precisely identify a camel they have never seen (lame; blind in one eye; missing a tooth; carrying a pregnant maiden; bearing honey on one side and butter on the other). This result of abductive reasoning is not what is meant by serendipity (the discovery of something not sought). Because of their cleverness and sagacity, they are accused of stealing the camel and are about to be put to death by Bahram Gur. Suddenly and without anyone seeking him out, a traveler steps forward to say that he has just seen the missing camel wandering in the desert. Bahram spares the lives of the Three Princes, lavishes them with rich rewards and appoints them as advisors. These rewards are the unsought (serendipitous) results of their sagacious insights.”

So, Horace, what you mean is that wisdom is often rewarded, and if we do not seek to receive a specific reward, but receive it nonetheless, then we are serendipitous? Ergo: wisdom – expectation + reward = serendipity.

Back to SensitivityToThings.com, John Gillespie cited a quote from Sri Chinmoy about rainbows. Sri Chinmoy says that a rainbow siginifies success and progress, but we must be looking towards the sky in order to see it. In this case wisdom is looking at the sky. Rainbows are rare so we can hardly dare expect them. The reward for looking upwards anyway is the rainbow, so that’s serendipity. The rainbow is already there, we just have to be looking up in order to appreciate it: an analogy which could stretch to any corner of life.

These days employers are starting to realise a fact already well-known in the field of research and development (an industry heavily dependent on serendipity): that employees need a certain amount of time in order to be creative. One caveat is that that the optimum pressure–freedom ratio is different for each individual. There’s an interesting post on the subject entitled Time For Innovation at SlowLeadership.org. In this case wisdom is taking enough time out.

In other cases it might mean breaking out of routine. Have you noticed how problems you’ve been brooding over often resolve themselves if you have a break from ‘solving them’ and go for a run or walk? Ever taken a wrong turning and found something interesting that you otherwise never would have known was there? I wrote a little something along those lines in My Day finds A Motto.

Meditation is certainly conducive to serendipity, and it’s one reason I meditate every day. Even a few minutes can bring a fresh perspective, often bringing forward solutions to things I would not have thought of while facing them head on. Rather than shutting me away from the world it makes me more aware of my surroundings, and reminds me of what’s good in the world around me.

I could go on… Wikipedia has much to say on the subject of serendipity—much more than a blog-post-worth. One section says simply “See also Synchronicity“. Don’t get me started…

Image: The Horace Walpole at the National Portrait Gallery, London