An Important Announcement

I am happy to announce that two of my most important web sites are now available:

BasilSprig.com - my web site devoted to the less carnal and more spiritual things. This here blog you are reading is an extension of that important web site. But articles, news, poetry, things that I think are important enough to be very obvious (and not burried in the history of a blog) are posted there as articles, etc. I plan to add much, much more.


DragonsCleft.com - there isn't much content there yet, but this site is devoted to my Fantasy and Sci-Fi Fiction, where I write in the name of Arthur Pennybog. I currently have one novel seeking publication in the fantasy genre. It's a great novel, and I hope to attract a great publisher in order to meet head-on a great audience.

You may already know Mr. Pennybog from his blog DreamerOfDreams - where he is currently working his way through a phantasmagorical story about a lonely single guy and his strange dreams. This work is more "magic realism" than it is Fantasy- SciFi. Nevertheless, I've made it a work of Arthur Pennybog.

Lastly, Mr. Pennybog (or is it Mr. BenJava?) has begun a blog of Flash Fiction called FireFlash. Flash Fiction is a particular genre of the very, very short story. Basically, these are things that I have always written and called vignettes. But I guess the term in vogue for it now is "Flash Fiction." It is a short story of 500 words or less. Often between 100 and 250 words. I'm going to try to keep mine under 250 words, or at least under 300 words.

These are serious stories, not for the faint of heart. They have no overtly Christian "message" - personally, I say humbug to messages in stories. A good story doesn't have any overt messages, but it secretly speaks to your heart.

Well, there are other modes and existences of Basil the Wandering Fool - and they can be found by digging deep at the above sites. I don't advertise them... they are far to terrifying for public consumption.

Regards,
BasilFly

Jan 27, 2004
Planet Earth
(I have to keep reminding myself of this since I gaze at beautiful pictures of Mars all throughout my day.)
Ain't she pretty:

as I was saying...
Jan 27, 2004
Planet Earth
Where do Stories Come From, Part 2

And so, the Doc. says: stories come from these official little places we've all figured out meticulously, through our haughty degrees, and formal institutions. Look at Tolkein; Look at Thomas Pynchon; Look at the Cat In The Hat! The Cat in the Hat? (No, that's me speaking now, not him any more.) Yes, I say, look at the Cat in the Hat. Stories don't come from the formal institution. They come from incandescent moments with loud pounding music, good wine, good Bourbon, a good Single Malt. They come from skyscrapers, scraping the sky. They come from eavesdropping on strangers, and watching the hookers swag their way down the streets. They come from the lonely isolation of a bus ride through hell, on the way home from the grocery store. But, they don't come from my life. Oh no. Not from my heart either, or my mind. At least if they do, I don't want to know. Don't tell me.

Do they come from my nightmares, or my dreams?

Where do stories really come from? I have never hazard a guess. I have never had to look for one. When I write a story it is because I'm trying to escape it. I don't go looking for a story. I never have, and I don't want to. Perhaps some understanding of where a story comes from can help me along my way. Yes, it has. I learned something from the first week's lesson: dig deep. And so that's what I did, and I think it was evident all over what I wrote for my first assignment. But the prof says it doesn't show anywhere in what I wrote.

So, I guess I didn't get the point across.

on Basil The Wandering Fool

I noticed in my post on St. Xenia below, that one might be tempted to derive some significance from the fact that St. Xenia is called a "Holy Fool", and in her troparion is called a "Wanderer" and the fact that I recently changed my logon-name to "Basil The Wandering Fool," so let me clear up a few things:

Whereas in Protestant thought, all Christians are readily called "saints" (after all, Paul wrote to "the saints" didn't he?), on the other hand there is nothing more arrogant, nor more sinful, in Orthodox Tradition that for a person to consider themselves a saint. In fact, if someone is being considered for canonization as a recognized saint, it is certain they won't be if there is any suggestion that they thought of themselves as saintly. So, let me be clear, I am not calling myself "Basil The Wandering Fool" because of any even remote inclination toward holiness. I am far from holy. It is a coincidence that those two phrases "wandering" and "fool" have coincided in a troparion of the Church, for I have never noticed them presented that way before.

I made this recent change, because in the depths of my own heart, I know I am a wandering soul, and I know I am a fool. Sometimes I even fear that I'm one of those types of people mentioned in the Scripture:

These are the men who are hidden reefs in your love feasts when they feast with you without fear, caring for themselves; clouds without water, carried along by winds; autumn trees without fruit, doubly dead, uprooted; wild waves of the sea, casting up their own shame like foam; wandering stars, for whom the black darkness has been reserved forever.
- Jude 1:12-13

or the Holy Aposlte James:
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think that he shall receive any thing of the Lord. A double minded man is unstable in all his ways.

- James 1:5-8

For I feel myself wandering, like one without water, through the deserts of my own heart, and I find myself multifaced, with a multitude of conflicting ideas and opinions. Am I unstable in all my ways? I pray not. I hope not. But I have what I hope to be a healthy fear that I am.

Let me explain: I have no hestiancy in my faith. My faith is boundless, my heart is full of the love of God, my mind is settled on the teaching of the Church. But my body does not do what my mind always wants it to do. My body leads me down many a broken and wretched path, and I find myself powerless to change that. No, worse, I do not even wish to change that, at least not everything.

So, I am calling myself a wanderer and a fool. I seek for wisdom not only from the Divine, but from every hidden corner of the earth - why? because I want to believe that God has not completely hidden his Wisdom from nature. I want to believe that God can be found and seen - in all His Beauty and all His Terror - in every corner of this earth.

And I go looking for Him there.

Lord have mercy on my soul.

Basil

St. Xenia of Petersburg

Today is the special day of the Blessed St. Xenia of Petersburg.

Lives of the Saints - Blessed Xenia of Petersburg

St. Xenia holds a special place in our lives, as being the patron saint of our daughter, Xenia.



The Holy Fools are an amazing type of saint, known for their strange portentous deeds. St. Xenia was known for many such things: wandering the streets of St. Petersburg in her husband's old clothes, sneaking into a Church being constructed to help move bricks (depicted in the icon above), making stange utterances that caused people to repent, or seek God more fervently.

I love that kind of stuff! It is the stuff that makes you think, and the sort of stuff that you remember for a long time to come. (I chose St. Basil the Holy Fool as my own saint, I love that stuff so much.)


Here is a pretty good web page on St. Xenia.


Enjoy!

In thee, O wandering stranger, Christ the Lord hath given us an ardent intercessor for our kind. For having received in thy life sufferings and grief and served God and men with love, thou didst acquire great boldness. Wherefore, we fervently hasten to thee in temptations and grief, crying out from the depths of our hearts: Put not our hope to shame, O Blessed Xenia.

Rasputin

Thanks to James for an opportunity to explore the strange labyrinth of history on this strange man.




(Rasputin - Old Imperial Stout an interesting and provocative beer - quite tasty)

Well I was wondering tonight about the character of this creature Rasputin. Was he a demented devil as portrayed by Disney?

Was he a simple monk who came to the aid of the Tsarina?

Was he a self serving imposter who tried to take the political reigns of Russia?

Is he the ultimate cause of 70 years of communist power in Russia?

I'm curious and I haven't exactly made up my own mind about this fellow.



Here's a web site that is PRO Rasputin.

And here is a web site that is a bit more negative about him, but not necessarily "against" him.

The sort of thing I'm wondering a little is: was he actually an ordained member of the clergy of the Orthodox Church? (A Reader? A Monk? otherwise?) Anyone know?

Cheers!
Basil

Where do stories come from?

When faced with this question, I began at once to think: they come from nowhere; they come from everywhere. They come, but they do not come deliberately. I fill myself with everything, and somehow the story comes at me out of nowhere.

Several days ago I watched the movie Edward Scissorhands. A perfect analogy came to me in the watching of that movie. The question: "where do stories come from?" has its perfect parallel in the question: "where does snow come from?" Those of you who have seen the movie will recognize the comparison at once.

Stories are born magically within, but not without work. Stories are the gems I mine from the depths of my soul, but in order to form them, everything I do and see, everything I think and feel, everything that hits me in this life and everything that surrounds me is compacted within my heart. It is compressed and buried beneath the tons and tons of rubble, the earth that by sheer weight turns coal into diamonds.

The birth of the story then has two origins: (1) I bury the coal with tons and tons of "stuff" - with everything I read, do and see - all the thoughts and ideas I pile up in my soul. Then (2) I dig for it in the mines of my own heart, and I find it there completely transformed.

I cannot explain this transformation any more than I could explain the origin of the snow. It just happens. But it is not coincidental. I must work for it. I must explore the catacombs of my own soul. I must dig, and dig, and dig. Then the gems I find are nothing more than raw hard stone. It is then that the real work begins. I must chisel at them. I must cut these stones into something recognizable by the world. For a raw diamond, a raw emerald, ruby, or sapphire, is nothing but compressed earth. It is in the shaping and chiseling of the stone that the transformation becomes complete.

A story is something that is carefully and skillfully crafted from the treasures buried in my soul. First I must learn the tools of the trade, namely, I must read everything I can get my hands on. And I try to. I have worked hard for a number of years reading novels in every genre and a great deal of literary fiction besides. I go to lectures, meetings, conferences, and gatherings of other writers to learn from them about the craft. All of that, however, is merely a part of the sculpting of the stone, the cutting of the diamond. The story itself is already buried inside me through years of contemplation, and observation of the world around me.

To Blog or Not To Blog?

(need I say: "that is the question?")

Well, having worked through some of the considerations of a writer's journal, I think that this blog shall not become my writer's journal. Why?

Having read several folks comments in my writing class, along with the instructor's advice, it makes sense that a writer's journal is something private - something a person feels that they can say anything that pops into their head, anything that they need to say: without having to consider that i might come to public scrutiny.

However, that having been said, I still find there are some possibilities. For one thing, it has been noted that a writer's journal should be some place the writer can stick anything. It has been suggested that even cutting out interesting things from the newspaper and taping them, glueing them into the journal is not unheard of.

Therefore, I think what I shall do is: type stuff here that I believe CAN withstand public scrutiny, and then print a copy of it and tape it into my writer's journal.

This, then, will rather become more of a public expression of my "writer's journal." That will get me blogging more often, and work itself into my assignment at school.

~basil