Noon. Upstairs looking out the northeast window having just completed the third chapter of Beauclerk’s Shakespeare. It leaves me despondent to think on such a life were it true or thought to be true by Edward Oxenford as he wrote his name in those days. There is evidence that he believed he could become king after Elizabeth as he placed a crown above his signature and seven slashes below it. He could have been Edward VII if his mother, Elizabeth had pronounced it so. These things I have read before, but not with the clearer understanding that this book presents. Certainly I see more to Hamlet than before, and after so many years of teaching it too. Amazing. It is not as if Beauclerk is preaching to the choir here, I will always have my doubts without a ‘smoking gun’ proof. But then, if there were, the allure of the ‘mystery’ would be extinct. Part II of IV coming up.
Do not mistake moodiness for despondency, old man. The writer of the plays and sonnets was a person of energetic passion better controlled by the whims of grammar, setting and character than good sense. Earlier today while glancing through the science section of BBC you found something that would do well to set here.
I did not find anything for here – I had looked at the article on the volcanic probabilities at Yellowstone yesterday and an article on language earlier this morning. I don’t see how either of them would fit.
Read the article on language, boy. – Amorella.
14 April 2011 Last updated at 18:24 ET
“Language universality idea tested with biology method”
By Jason Palmer; Science and technology reporter, BBC News
" . . . The models revealed that while different language structures in the family tree could be seen to evolve along the branches, just how and when they evolved depended on which branch they were on.
"We show that each of these language families evolves according to its own set of rules, not according to a universal set of rules," Dr Dunn explained.
"That is inconsistent with the dominant 'universality theories' of grammar; it suggests rather that language is part of not a specialised module distinct from the rest of cognition, but more part of broad human cognitive skills."
The paper asserts instead that "cultural evolution is the primary factor that determines linguistic structure, with the current state of a linguistic system shaping and constraining future states".
However, co-author and evolutionary biologist Russell Gray of the University of Auckland stressed that the team was not pitting biology against culture in a mutually exclusive way.
"We're not saying that biology is irrelevant - of course it's not," Professor Gray told BBC News.
"But the clumsy argument about an innate structure of the human mind imposing these kind of 'universals' that we've seen in cognitive science for such a long time just isn't tenable."
Steven Pinker, a cognitive scientist at Harvard University, called the work "an important and welcome study".
However, Professor Pinker told BBC News that the finer details of the method need bearing out in order to more fully support their hypothesis that cultural boundaries drive the development of language more than biological limitations do.
"The [authors] suggest that the human mind has a tendency to generalise orderings across phrases of different types, which would not occur if the mind generated every phrase type with a unique and isolated rule.
"The tendency may be partial, and it may be elaborated in different ways in differently language families, but it needs an explanation in terms of the working of the mind of language speakers."
** **
This is an example of how setting plays so much a part of who we see ourselves as. Even we learn our grammar, our languages as different paces. This would complicate the moral pronouncements of the Dead who would surely recognize this. Who’s Good? Who’s Evil? How can the Supervisor sit in judgment? How can it be motioned to the Greeks who goes to Elysium and who goes to Tartarus? I noticed while bringing in the mail today that Time magazine’s cover has something to do with ‘what if there is a Hell’ – I will have to read it, as I am curious. To say language is set more by culture than by genetics is of real importance when thinking about who we are as a species. We can be as sheep and are still as easily lead at times. How strange is this when we have such potential of minds?
Time for a break, boy, as it is almost ten to the hour. Post. – Amorella.
A-moving fast or slow --
Thus from this Grandma Earth to your toothy gums
Another couple of errands then a read of the newest Time and Discover, last night it was the new Consumer’s Report. You were wrong about the Time, the question had to do if there were no Hell, not the other way around.
It was somewhat disappointing and Discover wasn’t much better though several wrote in saying G---D should not be equated with physics. Why would one equate (the concept of) or G---D with anything? I still haven’t taken a nap.
Your nap, supper, the news, and a couple more programs you had copied when traveling. You are more interested in reading on DeVere than spiritual aspects of the species. Perhaps tomorrow after you have finished another chapter.
I don’t understand what you mean by spiritual that hasn’t already been covered. Heartansoulanmind, that’s the spiritual entity in each, at least as far as the books are concerned.
What about the ‘connection’ of each heartansoulanmind?
A tangle of ‘roots’ is the way I remember it from the book, but I forget where, other than one of Grandma’s Stories.
You found a story though not the one you had set on. Let’s take two selections and post them here – perhaps it will remind you of another time. – Amorella.
This is from the introduction and the conclusion of Grandma’s Story Sixteen in Braided Dreams. The focus is on “a spiritual aspect of humanity”.
Grandma’s Story – Sixteen
People are born dead, they live dead and they die and are as dead as they were before they were born. Happenstance gives people a heartbeat and then consciousness. Faeryland is a spooky buffer in the outer mind, a flower petal or a shell casing of the mind. Faeryland is a psychological state.
Ideas radiates beneath its buffer. Sometimes concepts are as particles and other times as waves. A concept can hit you straight on or it can roll in for a beaching. Strange ideas fester inside mind-hills, like Faery hills where the King and Queen of the Faeries reside in those old European enchantments. The Mayan enchantment in my last story allowed a short quiet on those two hot to trot young lovers. The two did die in bed by the way, holding hands. Mudslide. One minute you are breathing and the next minute you are not. That is the way it has always been.
According to the Annals in Ireland, King Conn of the Hundred Battles had a daughter Saraid who married Conaire II son of Modh Lamha. Following a famine Conaire II lead his people to the far northeast of Ireland and across to West Scotland where they formed the first major colony of the Scots-Irish in Alba.
Some of these Scoti, as the Romans called them, moved on to Argyll. Dal Riada became their early tribal and territorial name. That is all the background you need for this little story. That and the fact of the son of Saraid and Conaire II was named Corbred of Dal Raita. He would later become king and his son Eochaid would become king of Dal Raita after him and so on until some three hundred and fifty years later the direct descendant Corbred of Dal Raita was the son of Gabran and Princess Lluan of Brecknock. The famous son was Aedan MacGabran Pendragon, King of the Dalriadic Scots.
King Aedan MacGabran married Princess Igraine del Acqs in the late sixth century. Her mother was Queen Viviane of Avallon del Acqs, and her father was Prince Taliesin the Arch druid. The Celtic church accepted Igraine, sometimes called Ygerna, as the High Queen of the Celts. Igraine conceived a child named Arthur by Aedan while she was still married to Gwyr-Llew, Dux of Carlisle.
According to the Scot Chronicle: “Becaus at ye heire of Brytan was maryit wy tane Scottis man quen ye Kinrik wakit, and Arthure was XV yere old, ye Brytannis maid him king be ye devilrie of Merlynge, and yis Arthure was gottyn onn ane oyir mannis wiffe, ye Dux of Caruele."
Thus, you see another account of a famous legend. To play this part of the story out, Igraine had another child by Aedan when she was legally married to him, his name was Eochaid Buide MacAedan. The last story in this dead tree will be about King Aedan, Queen Igraine and Prince Eochaid, not about his more famous older brother King Arthur. As for the legendary druid, Merlyn, most everyone knows of that gathered roost of stories already. But many don’t know Merlyn the Bard as I know him. Many a fantasy has Merlyn frozen in a Crystal Cave. The skull cave is what I call it.
Grandma put on a puzzled face and her eyes stretched forever large and grew larger. “There is more to this than meets the eye,” she cackled. She held out her clear crystal walking stick and said, “Old Merlyn had a walking stick, but this stick I hold is his >essence < stuck.” And with that Grandma whipped the wooden stick into pulp. “By the bones that held the spirit of Merlyn the man, I will tell a toe curling story,” said old Grandma Owl to the now red-feathered human heart named Graystone clinging to the branch below.
Queen Saraid, King Conaire II and young Prince Corbred were walking along a forest path, happy to be alone for a change, when the king saw a strange mushroom on the right side of the path. It was ivory with brown spokes like the spokes in a Roman chariot. “What is this?” he said and bent down for closer inspection.
“Shall I pull it up for a snack?” replied the queen.
“No, no. This is a special warning. I need to call the druid to come see this first. He will know what it means and what to do with it. Perhaps he can use it as a charm.”
Queen Saraid smiled contentedly, “That is a wise choice, my king. The druid will know what its significance.” If it means anything, she thought to herself. These druids are a menace. I have grown up with them, listening intently at first but all I see are talkers. Most wait to see which way the wind blows or if the moon is as the bull horn. Talkers all. A menace to our personal existence. It is a mushroom, I would pluck it up and take it home to be tossed into a stew. I know one good mushroom from another. It is of unusual design, but I have seen others also unusual, and I have eaten them on the spot with no harm. A snack from the forest floor, a free gift from the woods for the taking. The poison ones are good too, good for secretly grinding onto any enemies’ palate. She grew lost in thought of who was on her king’s enemy list.
“I think it is indeed a sign,” he said as he glance up. “Where is Corbred?”
“Oh, he is fine. I saw him walk on ahead, but he will not go far without me as his tale. I know that little boy well. He’s a mama’s son if there ever was one.”
King Conaire II stood with a slight concern and looked down the trail. “I don’t see him.”
“That little boy,” snapped Saraid. “He has never run off before. He is usually tugging on my dress.” Sometimes he is a little menace, she thought. She was more aggravated than alarmed, but she noted the tone of the king, and walked ahead calling Corbred’s name in a polite and gentle manner.
. . .
Conclusion:
Corbred felt like crying he found that he could not. He waited and sniffed the air but smelled nothing, not even the nearby fox. The old tree stood guard over his head. He stared at the top branch were the owl had been. He kept staring at that limb like something was up there, something with feathers he could not see. Claws wrapped around the tree. Thump, thump, thump, thump. The sound grew distinctive. Corbred was sure something black-winged was above him.
Soon the sound was so repetitive that it put him into a deep sleep. He had a dream encased in sharp teeth. Here is little lost Corbred’s dream:
“Hello, little boy, this is your Grandmother. What sharp little teeth you have. I think I will have one of those.” She reached in his mouth and pulled it out.
When Corbred awoke his left front tooth was missing. He could find it nowhere. He had dreamed Grandmother had taken it and when he awoke it was gone. Corbred was so taken back that he just sat there a very long time trying to phantom the situation.
Suddenly in late mid-morning he heard his mother’s voice. “Corbred!” she exclaimed, “I knew I would find you.”
“I was hunting a fox, Mother,” he said rather proudly for a little boy, “See, there is its den.”
“The den is a menace,” cracked his mother.
“The boy beamed, “Did the old owl tell you where I was?”
“No, I didn’t see any owl. I haven’t seen any birds this morning.”
Corbred asked, “How did you know to find me here?”
“It was the only trail we hadn’t seen to search. It is an animal trail not a human one.”
“I didn’t notice,” he said with growing confidence, “I kept my eyes on the tail because I knew the fox’s head was at the other end.”
“You sound just like your uncle,” laughed his mother. “Say, what happened to your tooth?” she asked. “I didn’t know it was loose.”
“It wasn’t. Grandmother came by in the night and took it out.”
“Grandmother? Your grandmothers are dead, Corbred.” She brushed at his hair in a motherly fashion, “You know that.”
“Well someone took it,” he said indigently. “I’ll ask Selwyn of Black Water. He’ll know what happened to my tooth.”
Just like your father, she thought. So sure cock sure of himself. She sighed then she politely said, “He’ll say a faery took your tooth.”
Suddenly Corbred turned white as a sheet. “Faeries take your soul, not your teeth,” he replied. “I do know that. Selwyn once told me so. I never thought of the faeries in my dream. I thought of Grandmother.”
“Don’t bother with it, son,” she said, “It’s just old men’s talk. Come on, get up and we will be on our way home.”
“How do you know the way?” he asked.
She looked down at his serious face and giggled to make him feel better. “The old tree here gave me the directions home. See, there’s a large limb, higher up than all the others, and it is point the right way out.”
“Wow,” said the boy. “I didn’t know dead trees could talk.”
“The tree may be dead, but look down Corbred, it still has its roots fastened to Mother Earth.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said in good humor as he took the comfort of his mother’s hand.
“Mother Earth always opens a door so we can find our way along. You open a door and something is bound to find its way out,” she said to reassure the young boy.
The further they walked the more hesitant he became. “What’s the matter, Corbred?” said the queen. “There is nothing to be afraid of. The main trail is right over here.”
“My front tooth left an opening in my mouth, Mother, and it is making me very afraid.”
She laughed softly and motherly, “Don’t worry, we will have a big party when we arrive home. Everyone will be happy to find you safe and well.”
Corbred suddenly realized he would have to put on a good face to please his mother. He would try to keep his mouth shut so no one could see the gap in his teeth. He also thought he should not try to say very much or people would mind the gap. A lost tooth is better than a lost soul, he thought.
That is what got him to thinking, putting tooth and soul together in the same sentence. He was never the same boy after. Corbred the Silent became the hallmark in his adolescent years. No one knew why. Only Corbred and old druid Selwyn knew the truth and neither would say a word.
Children don’t always tell the truth even when they don’t have anything to say. Modern people know better. When you were young the faery was only after your teeth and some children are paid handsomely for each one. You can sell a tooth but not the soul. You can mind the gap between tooth and tooth with a reward unearned. The soul resides between the twin tracks of Faeryland One and Faeryland Two which reside above the teeth in the underground of the mind resting in the brain resting in the skull bone.
Grandma chuckled and slid within the toes of her nearest reader. She nestles there still, between the billions of toes whenever they touch the bare earth.
Faeries, berries, quite contraries
How does the Garden’s grow?
With the Root of Soul near the trance-luminaries
Inner nature uproots with a Past to Future show.
This is how it is with Grandma’s jaw
A-moving fast or slow --
A double helix twists and turns
The body electric follows in tow.
Plasticated nerves of platinum-like thread
Catch a thought of the waves left by the Dead.
Thus from this Grandma Earth to your toothy gums
Something more and familiar, this way comes.
***
You are still having problems keeping lines together, but the point is in the words not the lines. More tomorrow. Post. - Amorella
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