Malam Indah

Malam yang indah. Malam yang sepi. Angin bertiup dengan segar dan sejuk. Laut sedang berbisik di tepi pantai. Beberapa perahu bergoyang seperti bayang-bayang dan menyentuh bahu seperti sekumpulan pria tua yang diam-diam bercakap-cakap. Di atas semuanya, di puncak langit, bulan terus berjaga, dan berkata kepada diri sendiri, semuanya beres, segala sesuatu sangat baik.

[Beautiful night. Peaceful night. The wind is blowing, fresh and cool. The ocean whispers at the shoreline. Several boats sway like shadows and touch shoulders like a gathering of old men quietly conversing. Above all things, at the peak of the sky, the moon keeps watch, and says to itself, everything is in order, everything is very good.]

Profiles in Courage

Just watched Obama's speech at the Kennedy Center. I come away filled with a sense of pride that this was our president, and that in him we had expressed in our own society, and to the world at large, our best, most honorable vision, and turned the visage of 'our better angels' to the light, bending that arch of time ever more sharply toward equality, tolerance, compassion, integrity, responsibilty, friendship. Even as some of the comments scrolling at the bottom of the screen hissed with hatred, bigotry, curses, insults, these unworthy words were rendered more unworthy yet by the eloquent intellect and tireless compassion of the speaker. God bless you, President Obama. You are painfully missed at the helm of our nation, and yet we are encouraged by your reminder of the ideals that will not die.

The Not-So-Great Debate

There was an article on some site today, I've forgotten which, questioning the existence of Jesus as an historical figure. I commented briefly that the vast majority of historians acknowledge the existence of Jesus, whether they be religious or secular historians. Well, a certain man had a problem with this. He replied, insisting that there is no support whatsoever for the notion of an historical Jesus. I offered the observation that he was very much at odds with the remainder of the historical community and attached a fairly concise article from the Bibllical Archeology Review which briefly details the extra-Biblical, non-Christian sources acknowledging the existence of Jesus. He didn't like this either. "That's a Christian site!" he said, although I'm not sure how this, in his mind, could amount to a falsification of records that are, after all, only quotes from the historical sources. He demanded next that I name ONE historian who states that Jesus existed. So, I sent him another concise sort of article from Wikipedia which stated, as I had done to begin with, that most historians acknowledge the historical existence of Jesus. "Wikipedia!" he fumed. "You must be an idiot, sending me something from Wikipedia!" I explained next that it had struck me that brevity and accessibility might be most suitable for him, but that I would take the time to send a very, very long and thorough study from Quara which examines the historical debate in great depth, as well as analyses of the sources, the discipline of authentication, supposition, conclusion and etcetera. I mentioned that this would take time and patience and wished him luck. Within ten minutes he was back. "Quara!" he said. "Quara" is a religious publication! It doesn't mean anything!" Well, no. Quara is simply the name of a website that collects all kinds of stuff on all kinds of subjects and makes it available in one place. But, aside from that ... um, my dear sir ... the Quara article was authored by an atheist historian. :)) Sigh. I don't know why I waste my time. I could have had a V8.

Night

It is dark outside but there is a half moon above, hanging at the very top of the sky, faintly hissing like a Colman lantern exhaling the last quarter inch of its life, still enough to bathe the beach in a dim, milky blanket of light, blotted black by the knuckles and palms of the stunted trees that stand where the rush of the surf always ends. One star is dangling beneath the moon, as if on a string, and gently, ever so slightly sways. Thin clouds ruminate, uncertain, fickle, wondering what next to do. One feathery leg strides forth while the other flees. Three men with flashlights search the shallows for shellfish while the water tugs at their knees, and far out to sea a ship as tiny as the least visible star in the sky moves steadfastly along the horizon, more resolute, more consequential than the vast, inscrutable heavens and earth. How can all these things all at once be? And how have they conspired to include me?

Boggled

Recently, I've been reading two books side-by-side, one in Indonesian and one in English. In Indonesian, I've been reading Dunia Kafka (or Kafka on the Shore), by Haruki Murakami, while, in English, I've been reading Stephen King's Finders Keepers. 

Now, when I was a young man, this would have posed no problem -- in fact, better not had, given that I was a literature major and would often be reading multiple books from multiple writers and multiple periods at the same time during the course of a term. I cannot recall ever getting one mixed up with another, say Dickens with Tolstoy, for instance, or The House of the Seven Gables with Bleak House. Not only would I keep them straight and separate, but I was able as well to compare and juxtapose, arranging a theme from one, for instance, alongside a similar theme from another in a comparative or explicative manner. 

Ah, those were the good old days. My mind is different now. Like pudding compared to layer cake. Like a swamp compared to a fresh water lake. Not only will I sometimes wonder for a moment who the characters are in a book I've been reading for the past month, but I will wonder what happened to a character or an event that, in fact, actually appeared in a different book altogether! This can arise when one book shares a common thread with another - for instance, when both novels contain a murder. 

Now, what happened to that unknown witness? Shouldn't he be coming forward? Oh wait, he can't. He's in another book. 

See what I mean?

Just think what one might write could he meld this sort of confusion into some sort of sense! Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde will have become Dr. Hydell - the impossible protagonist, one of a kind, both in literature and in human experience. Here one might strike upon the most perfectly unlikely narrative and style, an elegant, somehow natural fusion of Hemingway and Faulkner, for instance, or of Castaneda and Flaubert. It would be more than just a book. It would be a language. 

Boggles da mind, don't it?

The Authentic King Experience

Was sitting here just now reading a novel by Stephen King, the big fat brown dog lying beside my chair. King was describing the smell of death. Rot. Carrion. Decay. When suddenly the big fat brown dog farted. While asleep. OMG! Those words jumped right off the page. This is it! Exactly! Words come to life.

Tip

The last couple times I've come to Starbucks at Level 21 Mall, I've met up with one of the guards outside - one of these guys in a blue uniform and a white helmet. Don't know who he works for. The mall? Anyway, he's one hell of a friendly guy and holds my hand during our entire conversation. But each time, he has asked me to "tip" his friend. He seems to mean his friend at Starbucks, as far as I can figure, but the people at Starbucks say they don't know him. Perhaps I am misunderstanding the language. In fact, Starbucks is expensive enough without having to tip as well. Still, I keep wondering what and who he is talking about 😅