Huge Sunglasses and the Ipod: A New Urban Modesty

What was modesty, before its meaning was shriveled to be equal to that of mere prudishness? Was it not respect and reverence for that in us which is eternal, and eternally unique? By veiling our inner thoughts and our bodies, we become un-priceable, unjudgeable and more difficult to objectify. Our eternity begins to shine through our eyes, and those who would know us yearn for our thoughts. In revealing our bodies they become objects, and the only thing we have left to call our own is our eyes; but no one need take the time to look into them, for all our thoughts have become the texts of blogs.

We have given up our selves, selling our bodies into the slavery of the highest bidder we can afford. From WalMart to Gucci, from Starbucks cups to Macbooks, we pay to make ourselves the living billboards of all that is fashionable; we are consumers, and the value of our persons is derived from that which we consume. In this way, the body, that which ought to have been the manifestation of a unique and unfathomable spirit, is placed on display, to become an object of amusement, scorn, admiration, etc. How this object is beheld matters very little, it is the fact that we have made ourselves into objects that demonstrates the shameless revelation of person as commodity. By successfully reducing the value of the person to what it puts on display, we reach a point of self-exposure in which nothing need remain unknown about anyone - we have done away with modesty.

If a person is an object on display, why should it not then be fully revealed? Why should anything be guarded, or kept veiled as sacred? It is this logic that allows us to believe that in seeing and touching another's object - body - we know the person. And so we go on about our lives, knowing everyone we meet, and even some we never meet.

However, upon realizing that we are all objects to each other, there seems to be evidence of a sort of "buyer's remorse." Suddenly, we wish something to remain hidden from view, to hold on to something mysterious, unknowable and individual in ourselves. We solve this problem of keeping up with the competition of the display while returning ourselves to some level of individuality by exhibiting what I would perhaps dub "public privacy," if you will excuse the obvious oxymoron.

Like the somber clothing of the Puritans, our large aviators are more or less uniform in appearance, and the sleek plainness of Ipods makes them subtle and indistinguishable from one another. These two decorative objects attempt to restore individuality by making something about the wearer unknowable.

Large, dark sunglasses hide at least the eyes, and often almost half the face, the center of expression and visible physical individuality. Unable to see someone's eyes, you do not know where their gaze is directed, and the thoughts and reactions that often come through the eyes remain hidden. For if, as according to the cliche, the eyes are the window to the soul, then these dark glasses keep the soul hidden while leaving the body on display.

The Ipod works similarly but in its own sphere. The usage of earbuds emphasizes that the wearer's mind is elsewhere, engaged by other things; they body remains before you, but the person is not present to you. Furthermore, you cannot know what the user is listening to, and so you are shut out from their experience, and while you may be together in the same time and place, your worlds are clearly separated. The Ipod always looks the same to the viewer, but the experience of its user is infinitely variable. Therefore, as the sunglasses above, the Ipod shields the listener's individuality and claims for him his own world, while leaving the body on display.

Modesty was once the guarding of body and action to protect the soul. Now it is the desperate guarding of the soul without regard for body or action, and this regard for one at the expense of the other emphasizes a divide where unity was intended.

Christ and Apollo

In Christ, Word and Thought become Being.

For the rest of us left to ourselves, they remain divided, and word and thought are the actions of our being.

I desire to cross that chasm, but what happens when I am thought and word?

How it was, is, shall be

I am alone.
I am alone with my god.

Permission

When the old blind man comes
knocking on your spiked gate,
do you merely loosen the lock
for him?

Or do you, like a mother
having disciplined her child
clean his hands with stinging medicines
and bandadge them in
your own former nightgown?

Then, when he comes again
Ready to die
He need only cry out
and the gate will fall down before him.

[Who chose you]

Who chose you
O Dweller-in-hell,
Who chose you
as eternal symbol
of Face-turned-from-God?

Who chose you,
and if heaven began again
would you choose again the same?

How might heaven
Live eternally altered
In the light of your eyes

How might hell
Burn with different cruelty
under the will of another

Could mercy be gentler
or deceit more acidic
Love a greater burden
and lust like flaming oil

Or is the quality of human frailty,
the Echo-in-us-all,
Vastly the misunderstanding
of the immensity of our own choosing?

June 10

So what
of our being called to love
will move us from our
deceptively dependable
train car cabins
of living for tomorrow?

Tomorrow will not come; only today.

That is why duty never rests.
But emanates ever from the willing heartbeat of its owner.

Trust

All I have ever wanted was to give myself away as a gift of love, and to bear the consequences. Perhaps I shall be led to new strength.

Hold my love tenderly, but be not afraid lest it die. For only neglect, out of apathy or fear, will give it place to asphixiate.

Take it up, examine it in the light, in the dark and in the twilight. See how it resonates with joy in the embrace of the earth. Touch with your hand, or cradle it in your arms, and it will show you what it means when the leaves burn and die.

Pressed close to your heart, it will gaze at the pulsing wonder of your very life. Challenge it, and it will grow in strength. Speak, and ice will fall from the stars.

Ways of knowing shall tumble open, the floodgates will burst, and we shall be drenched.

Give your love in return, and we shall burn forever.

Oh this will consume me. But I would rather my Life consumed by Love than wasted at the cool altar of pleasure and memory.