14 April 11
0930 and you are in the air. Excellent sleep, breakfast, shuttle, search and boarding. Due in Chicago about three-thirty. You are anxious to begin working on this chapter, but for now, think about the prison. Find the old rules online today or tomorrow. We will use them to show how it is, how the Greeks are burrowing themselves and the rest of the Dead in for a stand. Part deals with old Earth habits. As you can see the environment, physical, mental, within and without loads the dice and the odds at the same time. Combinations are not unlike the crank of the old slot machine handle. That’s the way this is going to be played. Later, dude. – Amorella.
While on the flight to Chicago you read the first three delightful chapters of Beauclerk’s book on Oxford and Elizabeth and have had time for less else. About a half hour out you are closing up shop for the time being.
Almost one-thirty Chicago time. We are on the ground waiting – we have an hour. No active and free wireless service in this area. Carol is out and about on a walk.
One of the shocks I discovered while reading is this: “My own view which determines the perspective from which I write, is that Oxford was the bastard son of Elizabeth and Seymour, the infant who was declared “miserably destroyed” at birth.” (pp. 59-60). In the previous chapter (two) I read on page 36 (but not in present context):
“The trauma of Elizabeth’s origins and any oedipal tensions that might have been triggered by her mother’s execution were revived with unhappy intensity in her relationship wither her stepparents, but now she was a fully sexual adult. Elizabeth’s crush on Seymour, who was not only her stepfather but her uncle . . . may have aroused feelings of animosity toward her aunt-mother, Catherine [Parr], to whom nevertheless she looked for protection from the increasingly overt advances of [Parr’s new husband] the swashbuckling lord admiral [Thomas Seymour].. . .”
No proof, of course, in the identity of Edward DeVere as W.S. in the Shakespeare mystery; innuendo, conjecture with a heap of circumstantial evidence; it is a fascination, particularly if you are, as I am, an Oxfordian at heart. The book is smooth reading with the passion of a believer at the helm. Hmm. No wonder “aunt-mother and uncle-father” in Hamlet.
15 April 11
The earthly nerve endings of Spring have efferented your yard and the local southwestern Ohio surrounds. Bright green tree leaves are half way out as well as their white or pink flowers where possible. Tim cut the grass so it is one less homecoming chore. You have household chores aplenty as well as the numerous running of errands of catch-up.
Alas, local sticker shock on fuel – forty-two dollars for eleven gallons; the most I have ever paid to fill up the Honda, a bit less than in California. Craig and I figured we drove 1500 miles on our trips to New Mexico and through northern California. Which reminds me, the feral cows were just that, no bull (as witnessed by the camera)l “Feral” was a joke, of course, as there is a lot of open range out West, sometimes where one would least expect it.
It feels good to be home, sleeping somewhat soundly in a ‘well-known intimately understood’ bed of twenty some years, and presently sitting in the black leather chair looking out the northeast bedroom window. Home comfort, not missed until arriving. The trip was a re-cognation of Arizona, New Mexico and California but not of old friends who are as they always are, timeless.
Later, dude. - Amorella.
The point is, Edward may have seen himself as Elizabeth’s bastard son and acted accordingly –that is enough to see the unconscious evidence in the plays. As far as the human mind is concerned the actual genetics do not have to be (authenticated or not) real in order for the individual to act on the circumstance. Bastard or not, Elizabeth acted. It may have been Edward’s way to address the problem. I can easily identify with this myself even as a ‘private’ writer.
You are at the park having navigated a short walk with Carol – now she is taking a longer one. What you have learned so far is that Edward, the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, may have injected himself into Elizabeth, not literally of course, but literally in a manner of form and perhaps even with consent. Indeed, there was a lot of incest, even brother and sister at the time. Reminds you of other days – Claudius and his ancient counterparts. One had much to do to keep money, privilege and land in the few noble and royal families. Not unheard of in today’s world though money and subsequent power takes the place of much of the so-called ‘blue bloods’. There was a time when there was a spiritual line in place in a variety of cultures, not so much today.
More errands then Chipotle/Panera for lunch—presently Carol is at Kroger’s and perhaps one more errand before home and putting the clothes washer and dryer to use for the rest of the afternoon. . . . you are now home, more household chores completed, and now you can relax waiting on the wash to cycle while Carol continues to pull weeds before it rains.
The spiritual line, Amorella, I’m afraid was/is just as corrupt as the rest of our species. People try to do good. Perhaps we don’t do so good of a job in defining Good and Evil, perhaps by capitalizing the two, we suggest or make the definitions more than what we (our humble species) actually is. More and more, I think this is the case. We are a lot like Edward and have an ever resolving identity crisis. This manifests in our personal behavior and interests – pride, greed, lust, power ooze out. I think I know better, but in reality I know next to nothing. I need a nap.
Before you slumber off, orndorff, post. – Amorella.
Spent the evening relaxing and catching up on some late March TV shows. The spiritual line on mind was/is the significance of the human species from a spiritual perspective.
I don’t think of our species (such as it is) as spiritual, though I am immediately reminded of Clarke’s Childhood’s End. Is surviving spiritual? Do you mean soul or all-soul connections, something of that sort?
Tomorrow, dude. Post. – Amorella.
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