Who are you?

Click to play: El Condor Pasa by Simon and Garfunkel

The earth moved beneath my foot. A large rumble woke me. Everything was now quiet and still, but I couldn’t see the sunlight shine through my shell. Instinctively, I could tell I wasn’t where I had fallen asleep. I wanted to stay hidden. Whenever I felt scared, I’d bury my head within my shell because it gave me a false sense of protection, but hiding from the unknown was better than facing it. But I didn’t know where I was, so instead of hiding, I poked my eyes from my shell–one after the other cautiously crept out–then finally my head.

Straining to see was pointless. The thickness of the dark fell like a weight on my eyes. Before I could crawl forward, a sudden jolt stopped me. The rocking and the rumble that woke me started again. The world tilted once again, but this time fiercer than before. The mucous on my foot couldn’t keep me locked to the ground. I hit something hard and bounced off, rolling back to the other side. I hit what I guessed was another wall. The rocking wouldn’t stop flailing my body around. I couldn’t see anything. I started to panic-taking quick, short breaths. The air was thin and hard to breathe. I wasn’t getting any air. I was going to die. I moved my tentacles around quickly, trying to see a way out, but the dark engulfed me. My eyes were clouded by the empty void of darkness and the rolling rumble of my body slamming against walls. I gasped in pain and heard my shell crack.

Then stillness, and silence once again.  But I still couldn’t breathe. All I could feel was the pain of my shell and the pain of my lungs. The darkness seemed to suck away all the air.  My panicking had used up all of the air. I contracted all my muscles, moving my body in a rippling action, one short wave starting from the back moving slowly to the front. I strained my head forward, stretching until the pain was unbearable. Another rippling wave from the back of my body to the front. I could tell the weight of my shell slowed me down. Another ripple, another. Stretching my head even further while my eyes moved wildly around. I moved about a millimeter.

I would never get out of here alive. I was too weak to panic any more–I knew I would die here in the unknown dark. My eyes grew heavy, my lungs constricted.   I put my head down and slept, not having the strength to recoil in my shell for protection.

***

A snail’s home is her shell. My shell is beautiful. It doesn’t swirl upwards into a cone like most shells, but it’s a perfectly round circle that curves within itself. It’s small and cozy, and when the sun is shining, the inside becomes warm and glows red. But the outside is a gorgeous blue with black stripes following the round spirals. Dots of white fleck the outside, which remind me of clouds scattered across the sky. A shell is a wonderfully warm and a protective place to live.

I always sleep under the same flower, in the same garden, in the same grass. I live mostly on my own, with the occasional visit from a bee, or a butterfly, or a bird. But I keep mostly to myself. Being slow, I tend to stay where I am. I love the garden I live in, with its big, beautiful daisies and the occasional blackberry vines in the summer. There’s a creek nearby, so the lone garden snake will drift by to cool down in the water. His slithering body always pushes back the grass, creating a path for my slow foot to follow. I love leaving my slimy trail in the large paths of others.

In the mornings, I’ll hear a bell chiming through the air. That’s my usual wakeup call. It lets me know that the puppy will soon be here, and it’s time for me to crawl back into the warmth of my shell. I’m not afraid of the puppy, but I’ll never forget the first time I met her. I heard the metal gate across the yard open, and the footsteps of a person walking towards the garden. He wore sandals, and all I could see were dirty toe nails and freckled feet. He carried a small black puppy in his arms with a piece of tape wrapped around her neck and a note stuck onto her back. Her long, black tail wagged and her pink tongue licked his arms. Then he placed her down and walked back to the gate, trying not to let her follow.

Then she came running–more like jumping–back to me. My eyes were waving at her, trying to see every angle of those large white paws and that great big, black face. Her pink tongue hung out and a drop of drool landed on me like a falling boulder. Then the nose came down and sniffed. The bursts of air were quick and strong, in out in out. She sniffed me. All I could see were the cavernous depths of her nostrils. If my mucous weren’t anchoring me to the ground, I was sure those wet caverns would swallow me.  So every time I hear the bell ring, I curl into my shell so I won’t be faced with the empty, dark abyss of the puppy’s nose.

***

A scraping noise woke me up. It came from above. The air was still thin, and I was drowsy and dizzy from the jolting. All I wanted was for it all to be over.

The scraping became louder and louder. A spasm of excitement ran through me. I had no idea what was happening, but a tense thrill gripped my body. I could only focus on that scraping noise above me. My tentacles stretched as far as they could go, my eyes unblinkingly staring into the dark. Every fiber of my body relied on that scraping noise.

The noise stopped. My body relaxed. BANG! A huge burst of light shone through. I could finally see! My eyes went wild with excitement, trying to take in my surroundings as quickly as they could. But there was nothing to see. Just four gray walls, a gray floor, and a gray ceiling.  I was in some sort of box.  Air flooded the room. I could finally breathe again. I tried to peer through the little hole, but light flooded my vision. A beautiful, white, clear light. BANG! Another hole! More light! The two holes shone down beams of light. I couldn’t help but laugh with relief. Bang! Bang! Bang! Hole after hole appeared after each loud crashing noise.

When enough light flooded the room, I could finally see what made those loud bangs, what created that beautiful light and air. A huge, metal, sharp spear crashed through the ceiling. I didn’t know whether to be afraid or happy. I stood still, but my eyes slowly crept back into my shell.

Then suddenly, the gray ceiling lifted, and two human faces peered down at me. They were two little girls, one with golden curly hair and two front teeth missing, the other with black hair in pigtails. They were smiling at me.

One of them clutched a fistful of leaves and twigs and placed them next to me. The other a tray of water. I quickly retracted into my shell as soon as I saw those large hands bearing down on me, but it was no use. One of them grabbed me, and I felt the warmth of their palm underneath my shell. Everything stood perfectly still. Slowly, I poked my eyes out. Their squeals of excitement filled the air. One of them shouted, “Mommy, look!” and ran into another room with me. All I could see were their bouncing curls and their excited smiles. I never knew my face could bring such joy. Despite the nauseating, rocky ride, I was glad that these girls found me so interesting.

But my arrival was a different story with the mother. She looked at me with a sneer and told the girls to put me down and wash their hands in the bathroom. They did so after placing me on the kitchen sink spout near where the mother was peeling an apple. I looked over the gleaming silver spout to see the drip-drop of water falling down to the depths of the basin. Spirals of red apple skins scattered the bottom.  I crawled slowly forward, peering down below to the puddle of water that had collected.

A shadow covered me. I moved my eyes upward to see the mother glowering at me. She raised her hand, a blue carton with a cute picture of a girl in a yellow dress. She held a blue umbrella over her head to keep the rain off of her. The mother tilted the carton and shook. White powder snowed down on me, sticking to the mucous on my skin.

The pain! I was screaming, crying, and she kept shaking! My eyes rolled over, I couldn’t see any more! My body twitched involuntarily, curled up inside itself. It was worse than the fear in the dark. Worse than the dog sniffing at me. Worse than the pain when my shell cracked. I was losing my grip. I couldn’t hold onto the spout any more. I was falling, falling, falling… and crash!-into the puddle of water.

WC: 1599

Click to play: Earth Intruders by Bjork

There was once a shogun from 1680-1710 named Tokugawa Tsunayoshi that was nicknamed the “Dog Shogun.”  Born in the year of the dog, he felt obligated to protect dogs.  Although believed to be influenced from his mental retardation (a result of generations of inbreeding), he released Edicts on Compassion for Living Things (Shoruiawareminorei), which protected stray and diseased dogs.

But towards the end of his reign, the 50,000 dogs in Edo overran the streets.  People were executed for wounding dogs, dogs of higher ranks were dressed up and when walked down the streets, were given higher honor than most humans, and they were fed fish and rice, bought with the money from taxpayers.  Ironically enough, when Tokugawa first came to reign, he ordered the suicide of many samurais only to demonstrate his power as shogun.

At a certain point, a line must be drawn.  I see parading a dog through the streets, forcing people to part way for him and bow down at his presence, ridiculous.   Equally as ridiculous is ordering people to kill themselves in order to demonstrate power.  But why don’t I see these as ridiculous when the roles are reversed?

Bjork’s song “Earth Intruders” reminds me of Hopkin’s “God’s Grandeur”:

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.  (375)

Centuries later, humans are still not part of the “mysterious and ungovernable order of nature” (381).  We are, as Bjork puts it, earth intruders.  Being human, I personally feel this disconnection between nature-perhaps because I grew up learning Genesis’s belief that humans have “dominion over the beasts” (382).  Through this, I’ve never felt as if I’m a part of nature.

Miyazaki’s film, Princess Mononoke (1997), explores the intrusion of humans into the natural world-dominated by gods in the forms of animals.  Like Hopkin’s connection of God and nature, “God, lover of souls, swaying considerate scales,/ Complete thy creature dear O where it fails,/ Being mighty a master, being a father and fond,” Miyazaki gives nature a other-worldly aspect (376).  In the film, iron industrialization creates a “nameless god of rage and hate” that takes over the animal gods, forcing them to run through villages and destroy them.  A boy defending his village is touched by the demon, which curses his arm.  The curse gives him strength, but as a result has the ability to easily kill (and the curse is affected by life-it is activated by seeing the beauty of nature and has an impulse to destroy it).  His journey is to stop the curse from spreading, preventing hate to cloud his eyes.

The story explores the idea that humans can live peacefully with nature and animals, but unlike reality, they are given means to defend themselves.  However, it is ultimately a human that saves nature from mankind, giving a mixed moral at the end of the story.  We have the ability to preserve or destroy nature.

However, ignorance is viewed almost as an excuse in many occasions, “…these bloodied animals were probably not victims of cruelty.  Cruelty implies a desire to inflict pain and thus presupposes an empathetic appreciation of the suffering of the object of cruelty” (382).  In my P1, I discuss Lewis Carroll’s belief that it is intent rather than act that is inhumane.  I agree with this, but there must be a point where ignorance cannot be enough to say “Oh, its ok.”

Click to play: I’m Scared by John Lennon

“Let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance”
Franklin D. Roosevelt

Like Roosevelt’s inaugural address, the texts we have read for today have a common theme–we fear the unknown.  We fear being alone.

William Blake conflicted me with his Songs of Innocence.  They remind me so much of Sunday school–we are lost lambs, and God is our shepherd.  We must not be led astray, or else we’ll find ourselves in the fiery pits of hell.  But following the herd, staying in the crowd, is something I have learned to resist:

From About a Boy

Like the mother tells her son, be you.  Make sure to stay true to yourself, although that is a scary thing to do.  It takes courage to stay true to yourself when you are surrounded by those that disapprove.

Blake’s story about the lost Lyca caught my attention.  Here, we have a girl who is lost–wandering into the unknown desert, “Sweet sleep, come to me,/ Underneath this tree;/ Do father, mother, weep?/ Where can Lyca sleep?” (355).  She is so frighten, so alone, that she does not want to sleep.  Understandably, she is afraid of what might happen to her in the desert as she vulnerably sleeps.  When finally, she does close her eyes, lions, tigers, and leopards appear.  Rather than attacking, they take her safely away to their cave.

In “The Little Girl Found,” we see the parent’s fears, “Seven nights they sleep/ Among shadows deep,/ And dream they see their child/ Starved in desert wild” (356).  This fear, I have witnessed for myself.  When my sister Elizabeth and I were little–my sister four and I was six–my family went to Waterworld for vacation.  The park was crowded because of a Beach Boys concert, and my parents did not notice when Elizabeth slipped away and into a water slide by herself.  My parents went absolutely nuts.

They were screaming and yelling, telling every person that they could find that a blonde girl in a watermelon swimsuit was missing.  Soon, we had everyone in the vicinity trying to find her.  When people would bring back the wrong child, my mom’s vocabulary turned to one that I did not recognize at my tender young age.  She was absolutely livid and distraught.  We were all crying, fearing the worst had happened.

Within the half hour, she was found.  Giggling and completely oblivious to the entire situation.  There was such a great sigh of relief when she was finally found.

In Blake’s poem, what humans naturally and normally fear–lions, wolves, tigers–were Lyca’s saviors.  It forces us to reconsider what it means to be scared, why we are scared, and should we be scared.

This point is also covered in Harrigan’s stories.  Is it natural to fear animals?

“It had to do with the realization of a fear built deep into our genetic code: the fear that a beast could appear out of nowhere–through a window!–and snatch us away” (362).  I have this fear of windows.  A fear of windows ever since I was very little.  I’m always afraid something–or someone–is watching me.  My mom, also, has this fear of windows, and she calls me every night to make sure I’ve closed my curtains.  A fear of being watched, especially unknowingly, is something horror movies tend to play on.

This also, I think, has a connection with eyes, “When the great head pivoted in my direction and Miguel’s eyes met mine I looked away reflexively, afraid of their hypnotic gravity” (366).  As Derrida explains, “…in silence by the by the gaze of an animal, for example the eyes of a cat, I have trouble, yes, a bad time overcoming my embarrassment [or shame]…” (217).  And I also quoted the passage in an earlier blog (Sound of Silence) about Mowgli’s ability to stare at animals, but they are unable to hold his gaze.  Like Harrigan, are the Jungle Book animals afraid to look at their potential death in the eyes?

Harrigan is a much braver man than myself.  If a tiger had just previously killed a person, I would not have gone near his cage.  Especially when Miguel pounces against the cage and shows his, “demonstration of the power he possessed” (366).  I doubt I could ever be near a tiger again without some uncontrollable panic rising in my throat.  Like Lennon’s song, once I’m scared, I’m scarred.