Tag Archives: E. L. Mayo

Feminism, Consciousness, and Memory

I recently discovered a feminist philosophy professor from LeMoyne College, Karmen MacKendrick, who has written about one of my favorite subjects—difference and sameness.  The following is a selection in a review by Richard A. Lee, Jr. of one of her books:

The issue in Fragmentation and Memory is the question of the relation between unity or wholeness and difference or fragmentation. The argument could be put quite generally and abstractly: wherever there is a drive for unity or wholeness, there fragmentation will always and necessarily be found. More specifically, MacKendrick argues that it is fragmentation that is, in fact, primary and that the obsession one finds with unity and wholeness is, in fact, derivative of this primary fragmentation. The key to this is memory. In a sense, memory as always fragmented remembers this primary fragmentation.

“My dull brain is racked by things forgotten,” said Macbeth.  Shakespeare knew that our memory was a house of cards, teetering on the bedrock of the unconsciousness.  He knew that individuals like Macbeth…and I’m sure himself…were “weak links” who felt the seepage from that forbidden territory.  And groups of individuals, even countries, can also experience this seepage also, as is the case currently with my country, the United States.  We are demonstrating what can happen when a mouth piece for a country’s hidden ugliness appears on the scene, giving voice and action to its reptilian brain.  For always, there is, “Only a tissue thin curtain in the brain (that) shuts out the coiled recumbent landlord.”  (E. L. Mayo)

In the very early stages of our development, what will become a mature psyche begins to take shape in the depths of chaos, termed above as “primary fragmentation.”  Mackendrick asserts that this memory, which our ego wants us to take as so sacrosanct, is actually “derivative” of this chaotic, fragmented stage of development.  But Shakespeare realized, with the Macbeth character, that the “derivative roots” of memory are still there and influence tortured souls, as well as gifted souls who can sublimate the anguish of their “racked brain” into works of art, literature, and religion; this is naming but a few disciplines that can facilitate this redemptive sublimation.

The unconscious is always present.  It is present in a subterranean “structure” that is always already underway when we born, providing a fabric of assumptions, premises, and even biases which provide a safe cocoon in which we can find our footing in the tribal culture into which we are born.  The challenge comes in maturing enough to accept at some point the presence of these “subterranean” influences, a realization that strikes terror in most hearts who prefer living on the surface of life.  To accept these influences is to encounter the feeling of being out of control as we embrace our mortality and fragility, devoid of the safety the cocoon provided in our youth.  This is the existential predicament that comes with being a human being and emerging from the cocoon which would otherwise stifle our interior life.  This is what Jesus had in mind when he posed the question, “What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?”

*****************

Here is a list of my blogs.  I invite you to check out the other two sometime.

https://anerrantbaptistpreacher.wordpress.com/

https://literarylew.wordpress.com/

https://theonlytruthinpolitics.wordpress.com/

Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow

I share here with you one of my favorite poems but I can’t really tell you why I love it so much. I don’t really understand it. But, it speaks powerfully to me and I share it just in case it speaks to one of you.

It is about reality and its mysterious origin and nature. Reality is just mind-boggingly complicated and we cannot wrap our mind around it, try as we may. I love science and I am so glad we are trying to “wrap our mind around it” but I really thing we will find at the end of our pursuits what Einstein described as “a mystery.” And Einstein said that it was this mystery which gave rise to his “religious sentiment.”

I think we should always be thinking, exploring, hungering, questing but in the end we will have to recognize that mystery and, perhaps, bow down and sing, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

HOUSE
By E. L. Mayo

House
Vast and ambiguous
Which was before we were

Did you
Build yourself and then grow populous
By taking thought, or

Did someone leave a tap on long ago
In You
Which with its spatter

Affirms at the very least a householder
Who will return at the last if only to
Turn off the water.

The Fragility of Life

THIS WIND
By E. L. Mayo

This is the wind that blows
Everything
Through and through.

I would not toss a kitten
Knowingly into a wind like this
But there’s no taking

Anything living
Out of the fury
Of this wind we breathe and ride upon.

This poem eloquently and intensely conveys the fragility and preciousness of life. It makes me think of some of the Old Testament writers, especially the Psalmist, who knew so much of despair.

Pithy, annoying truth

I want to share two short, pithy poems this morning.   Poets are so adept at stinging us with truth, sometimes very sharply and sometimes just annoyingly.  It was one of the ancient Greek luminaries, Socrates I think, who likened his role to that of a gadfly who would befuddle and annoy the populace.

Here are two such offerings from the past century:

QUERY
By E. L. Mayo

I died and three lemons
Arranged assymetrically
Took my place. Just why
Did you select that moment to comment on
The sweetness of my disposition?

 

A MAN SAID TO THE UNIVERSE
By Stephen Crane

A man said to the universe:
Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation.”