Habits

Starting during the Covid-19 era, I became a regular wine-drinker. It was never excessive, but I started having a glass of wine either with dinner or before bed, mostly every day. Previously I would only drink if going out for dinner or on holidays. The nightly glass of wine became a way to relax and mark the end of my work day, when things were weird and there was nowhere to go and nothing to celebrate. 

When life gradually went back to “normal,” or whatever you want to call it, I just kept up this habit. I came to expect that glass of wine, and I would make sure I always had some, and feel “cheated” if I ran out.  I did stop drinking for a while in the summer of 2021, but then I started again in the fall when my stress level went up.

In July of 2023 I decided I would give it up for the summer. School was out, life was good, I was doing fun things for myself like ballet and barre class, so I decided I just didn’t need this extra thing. And it was fine. And then September came and school started and it was still fine.

There is something else I think is a factor. I started listening to Fr. Stephen De Young’s podcast The Whole Counsel of God this past summer. In this podcast he goes through the Bible verse by verse and explains it.  Most nights I put on an episode or two when I crawl into bed. I look forward to it. And - this is important - there are so many episodes I don’t worry about running out. I feel like I will be listening for months and months. The Bible will just keep giving and giving; I an confident of this.

Ever since I started listening to podcasts, I have always needed them to be long. I won’t listen to anything that is less than an hour. I actually feel anxious when I see a short time. Not all of the WCofG podcasts are long, but I can play them back to back and they just keep going. It’s really like one giant podcast.

I realized something just this week. Not only am I okay without the nightly glass of wine, I don’t even want it anymore.  I don’t remember the desire going away. Just now it is. Maybe this shouldn’t surprise me but it does, in a good way. It’s so hard to change habits even when you want to. I feel lucky that k was able to change this one. 

up the mountain, making a trail (two)

 I'm continuing to read Robert Orsi's History and Presence, alongside A Comparison of the Mennonite and Doukhabor emigrations from Russia to Canada, 1870-1920, by Robert Sawatsky. The purposes of each writer become clearer as I read, and my personal feelings and motivations can temporarily recede a bit, to come back later (one assumes) with greater clarity. I'm noting quotations from each as I go, and already have a significant amount of copied text and scribbled citations. I have a pleasant sensation of curiosity that is not fettered to any conclusion yet. I'm also having a flashback to my undergraduate days, when I seemed to have a knack or doom for finding the dustiest, obscurest, smelliest books in the library. Of course the dust on an online text is non-literal, but I think I can still see it out of the corner of my eye.

Anyway. Here is a passage from Orsi that resonated, on the topic of encountering a saint or deity. It references the story of Bernadette at Lourdes.

The testimonies visionaries give of their experiences are not exhaustive [...]. Both those who see and hear and their interlocutors sense that there are levels and dimensions of what is happening to and around them that are not completely within their grasp. To understand an experience, including an experience of real presence, involves relationality, conversation, doubt and ambiguity. It entails tracking back and forth between one life and other lives, as Bernadette and her family and neighbors did in their efforts to begin to understand events in the woods outside the village. But they did not succeed in containing the experience, which was probably not, in any case, their goal. "Life might be understood as precisely that which exceeds any account we may try to give of it," and this includes accounts of our life and the life around us that we give to ourselves, as well as to others. No life is to thoroughly embedded in given structures of meaning, discourse, and power as to be fully accounted for by them, just as meaning, discourse and power are rarely hermetic, coherent, unidirectional, and stable. Narratives of encounters with the saints are simply not isomorphic with experience, just as the holy figure is not completely identified with any one social environment. These stories are incomplete, contingent, and intersubjective. They are shot through with "unknowningness," studded with "opacities." Talk about the Blessed Mother and the saints is contingent upon the unpredictable supernatural figure and the never fully knowable lives of the others with whom stories of what the Blessed Mother has done are shared. Such stories are always in three voices, at least. There is the Virgin Mary, the one speaking, and the one listening.  In these exchanges, aspects of one's life previously unknown or unacknowledged may be discovered. The imagination takes hold of the world as the world takes hold of the imagination. This all belongs to the experience itself and to its history. "Human culture, like consciousness itself," Jackson writes, "rests on a shadowy and dissolving floe of blue ice, and this subliminal, habitual, repressed, unexpressed, and silent mass shapes and reshapes, stabilizes and destabilizes the visible surface forms." Bernadette was not an already, once and for all fully formed subjectivity when she entered the grotto where she saw aquero. Her experience of the supernatural other did not arise on securely and fully constituted discursive grounds, nor was it completely containable in the stories that first Bernadette and then others told about their experiences of her and of Our Lady of Lourdes.

The Blessed Mother lived in others' lives and they lived in hers. The apparitional figure standing in the grotto was at once known and unknown. She was an appearance. No story about what happened or happens at Lourdes is ever a secure medium of world making or meaning making, subject formation, or power because the narratives of this experience are never free of the interplay of the known and unknown, conscious and unconscious. There is always an excess of intersubjectivity in encounters with the Blessed Mother and the saints, and there is excess in the narratives that precede and follow from them, too. The experience arises on the shadowy and dissolving floe of blue ice. (pages 62-61)

This is an admirable effort to say in precise language that some stories and experiences cannot be contained inside an interpretation even as they attract people to try and interpret them.

I am particularly intrigued by the sentence "there are always three voices, at least : the Virgin Mary [or other saint/presence, I would presume] the one speaking, and the one listening." This reminds me of the Caedmon story which turns on speaking and listening.

As I read Orsi's accounts of spiritual experiences and the interpretations of them by philosophers and theologians and heretics and all-sorts who wanted to the the ones with answers, I also become curious how and where the Doukhabours fit in. The obvious answer seems to be the Protestent side of things, but I wonder? They very much prioritized personal spiritual experience. But they did not, as far as I can tell, link it with specific locations or objects.

Other entries in this series:

(one)

Other people’s stories

I never read (or I don’t remember reading) anything by Heather Armstrong. Nevertheless, the fact I still write in a couple of blogs suggests she had some indirect influence. Something out there made blogging seem to me like a normal, even desirable, activity. Somebody found an audience of women which spun off into smaller audiences for people like me.

Heather Armstrong died by suicide this week, and the social media/news world discussed it enough that it came to my attention, first through an algorithm on a news page (which usually pushes articles about the royal family) and then through a couple of blogs I still sometimes read.

I didn’t know much about her so I chose to read 

this Vox article. I got about halfway through, then I’d had enough*. My conclusion? The internet probably killed Heather Armstrong. There was a lot of wealth and fame and drama and other stuff along the way, of course. But that’s my takeaway. We will never know, but it seems to me there is a decent chance she still would be alive if not for the internet. What about having your life struggles out there as entertainment for people is remotely healthy? I’m sure there’s room for debate but from my point of view, that is the conclusion to draw.

Now I’m still here blogging for my audience of dunno, five people, so isn’t that hypocrisy? All I can say that is if the five people suddenly became millions, or goodness, even hundreds it would change things a lot. I guess I blog in hope of a few good people reading, but more is not better. And none might be best of all. Having no audience is not ruining my life, anyway.

Having not been an audience, I don’t want to rush to judge Armstrong’s writing.  Based on some excerpts I read however, I’m not sure it presented a very helpful picture of motherhood. For sure it’s good to laugh at the trials and absurdity, but the struggles can be overemphasized, making parenthood sound like a constant horror show. It’s not. People need to be able to laugh at themselves and their problems, but we also need a sense of the sublime and a higher purpose in life. I think this can be lost with constant hot takes, over focus on detail and making a priority of being funny/ironic/sarcastic.  Some of us need to rediscover the art of being serious and dutiful and a bit boring.

Apparently Armstrong cursed a lot too, and this is presented as authentic/funny. I must disagree with that. I think cursing is extremely negative and people who do that a lot should be thinking about why and asking if they can be doing something else. 

But it’s hard to speak conclusively of cultural trends. Enough to say I seek support and guidance elsewhere than the confessional blogging/social media world that Armstrong inhabited and where I once had a presence on the margins. And I’m sorry this fellow woman’s story ended this way. 

*I did go back later and read the article to the end.

Up the mountain, making a trail (one)

So almost a year ago, I had a short online conversation with the Substacker Flat Caps and Fatalism, about his piece "Without Saints." I eventually responded with my own blog entry, called "The Saints," where I remembered my life-changing encounter with Caedmon and Hild, and tried re-framing it as an encounter with a saint.

But additionally, in part of our conversation, FCF made this comment:

"....I wonder how common this feeling that you have to make your 'interest' [in saints or some aspect of religion] respectable is. I honestly wouldn't be surprised if there are often seminar rooms with several people all talking in 'respectable' language about something they relate to in a far more complex way.

Have you read Orsi's 'History and Presence'? Your story makes me think of it a lot." (Comments, July 28th 2022)

 I did in fact buy Robert Orsi's History and Presence after that exchange. But when the actual book arrived it look intimidating and I put off reading it. Finally today, a cool May day with rain, the kids at their grandparents', I started reading.

The first few chapters describe the theological disagreements of Catholics and Protestants and how these resulted in violence: rioting, torture, warfare, and (depending on one's affiliation) martyrdom. (Chapter 1, "The Obsolescence of the Gods). Now in the past three years, some aspects of Christianity seem clearer to me, and I even feel something like a call to participate. But, what Orsi describes is completely alienating. Obviously such carnage happened, it is documented, but there is no chime of understanding in me.

Or is there.

Maybe I have just not been listening for it. Maybe it's the last thing I want to hear.

I was born in Canada, with a immigrant Greek father and a Canadian mother of Russian descent. People who hear me say that usually make a few assumptions about my cultural background immediately. Most of them are wrong.

• I don't speak Greek or Russian, and this was deliberate on both parents' part. I never met my dad's parents and while I met my mom's parents and my dad's sister, there was a language barrier.
• I was raised with Christian stories. But not only do I have no background in the Greek or Russian Orthodox churches, I was raised to be actively hostile towards all churches.
• Growing up, I had almost no deliberate exposure to Russian or Greek culture or traditions, though there was some accidental exposure, for sure.
• As a child I celebrated no holidays, not birthdays, not Christmas or Easter or Halloween. Nothing.

Now, my childhood was not terrible; in fact it was extraordinarily rich in many ways. Family has always been my safe place, even when it was complicated, so I'm not trying to make my childhood family sound crazy or anything. Also, there is no doubt in my mind that they were always trying to do what they thought was right.

Still, when I think of my cultural background, it's hard for me to put into words just how fragmented and filled with loss it feels. If I include religious experiences and feelings in there, even more so. It's like an abyss that I only look at sideways, because looking right into it is overwhelming.

But maybe it's time to look at bit more closely at these pieces of cultural inheritance. I will start by learning about the Doukhabours, the Russian sect that my mother's family came from. They were both her cultural inheritance and a group she didn't want to be associated with at all, at least not when she was interacting with people outside her family. The Doukhabours were a sect that developed in Russia, and many eventually came to Canada because of religious persecution. My mother's grandparents were among those that immigrated.

There's some general information on websites, but I'm currently reading this thesis: MQ36523.pdf (doukhobor.org) It is a history and comparison of the Doukhabours and Mennonites. It will take me a while to go through it, so I'm optimistically titling this blog entry as "one" assuming there will be other entries. (But I'm kind of bad at long reading projects, so the likelihood of me making progress, or alternately, just continuing to be angsty and confused are equally likely.)

Observations/questions so far:

• I don't know if it's possible to reach a sympathetic understanding of the early Doukhabours (the ones who lived in Russia). So far I find it hard to relate (several levels of dislocation). It's natural to want to find points of sympathy with one's ancestors, but so far not.
• The history of the Doukhabours frequently involves isolation from the mainstream society as they tried to maintain their culture and religious practices.
• Many of the bloggers/stackers I read speculate about stepping away from an increasingly technological society and forming "parallel societies". There is logic to it, even a sort of cool "rebel" factor. But reading Doukhabour history should give one pause before promoting this idea. Corruption, scandal and misery are all just as likely in an isolated society, if not more so. It's rather depressing to read about, truthfully.

The metaphor in the title:

My maternal grandparents' property included a small forested mountain. On occasion, my brothers and I and sometimes my parents would hike up it. There were no trails and I remember these mountain excursions as challenging, exhilarating and spiced with a sense of risk and danger. In reality it couldn't have been more than a half-hour hike and I didn't have any trouble even as a small child. But there was a powerful sense of being off the map, away from the civilized world, into an unknown. So that is kind of how this research undertaking feels.

I will also try to continue reading History and Presence. It will be helpful background info I'm sure. Also I'm curious what exactly reminded FCF of my writing in the book, because it certainly is not obvious yet.

Other entries in this series:

(two)

Small scale history of ideas

This is random, but I was reading old entries on my other blog and realized it is six years exactly since I discovered (and took the time to listen to) Dr Jordan Peterson. I consider this my official entrance into the club (?) of people finding their way through the “meaning crisis.” I was primed for admittance long before that, but it’s different when you put something into words, or hear someone else put it into words.


Subterranean Messages

I became pregnant for the second time shortly after I discovered the lectures. Listening to Maps of Meaning helped me cope with my brutal nausea in the early months. Several months later, I remember listening to one of the Bible lectures while lying inverted on an ironing board while my husband did moxibustion on my toes. (We were trying to get my breech baby to flip. It didn’t work but she was born just fine anyway.)


Total honesty moment: the thinkers and intellectuals who have had the most impact on me in recent years are the ones that help me to sleep and/or deal with anxiety and physical discomfort. What can I say. I like to think and learn and I never want to stop learning. But life is a lot more complicated than what goes on in anyone’s brain. For an idea to have staying power in my life, it has to seep into the fabric of every day. It needs to say something to me in the moments when I have it together and the moments I don’t. And it has to motivate me to keep going.

I only occasionally listen to JBP’s content these days, but when I do it’s usually interesting.

My blog about the Birthgap documentary

Other posts from this blog

Flashback to 2016

I was scrolling through some unpublished posts on my other blog, and I came across this one from October 15, 2016.  I titled it: "The things I have to say that don't fit anywhere."

At the time, torthúil journey had a small but established and homogenous readership. Just how homogenous, I started to realize after the 2016 American election, when I saw my small community all express essentially identical political and cultural views. It wasn't long before this started to bother me, not so much the views themselves, but the fact there were no dissenting or different voices. Furthermore, I didn't even see difference or dissent valued in the abstract. Naturally, I didn't share these raw thoughts on that blog. They seemed almost scandalous then. This was before I discovered Jordan Peterson and the movement some call the "meaning crisis," before I started learning about Christianity, including Jonathan Pageau and Fr. Stephen Freeman and others, before Covid, before I (mostly) quit social media. Since I wrote these words I have accepted these observations about myself, have thought about them and addressed them, have in some ways moved past them. But I thought they would be interesting to record and share, especially in the context of the post about books. I think my thoughts here go some way toward explaining why I am reading and learning about the things that I am.

They also mark a moment in time, and one that I am no longer self-conscious or embarrassed about. These things I had to say do fit: they are an important part of my journey.

The things I have to say that don't fit anywhere (October 16th, 2016)

Surrounded by propaganda. People taking "sides." Most of those sides don't fit with my questions, my concerns, my beliefs. It all leaves me with a feeling of unreality.  What is most obvious to me is that I've lost interest in culture. This might sound like an esoteric problem. Reading novels and going to concerts and comedy clubs and plays is hardly essential to survival, right? I'm reasonably healthy; I have a job, a family, a house, some (rather neglected) friends. But my avoidance of culture is a huge break from how I lived most of my adult life. Concert halls were a home to me as much in a way as my physical home. I identified with certain artists and felt they spoke for me, gave my inner life voice and connected me to a larger community. No more. I feel like when I go to an event, the artist (and the audience) is going to start signalling, openly or covertly, about which side of the culture wars they are on. I respect people's freedom of opinion. But the constant signalling/side taking leaves me with the feeling that the event I'm going to is meaningless in and of itself. The artist and their work is irrelevant, or at least secondary, an (possibly) amusing distraction. What truly matters, what people truly care about, is which side the artist is on and which side their audience is on. That is where the solidarity comes from, not from the fact we have all come to this place because we value the cultural artifact on display. So I end up not going. For a couple of days I make up my mind to go to an event; I might even tell Mr. Turtle that we should make plans. A few weeks later, I realize I never bought tickets, the event is passed and I don't really care. It has happened again and again. It's not just that I have a toddler and an intense job and I'm busy. I know I won't find the belonging and catharsis I'm looking for, but I will find more pressure and more propaganda. There is no appeal.

And novels. Why is it I enjoy novels? I can take another person's perspective. I can choose to believe in the alternate reality they create. Really, reading novels is like allowing another human to rent space in my brain. They can live there for a while, interact with my feelings and ideas, and when it's time for them to leave, I have a sense of what I learned from the visit and if I want them back. I've always been very generous with renting out my mental space and I enjoy the "visits" a lot. There isn't a type of book I regularly read; if it has words on the page I'll read it. In university I didn't specialize in any kind of literature, though I developed an interest in medieval literature in the later years. I studied with professors who had a variety of critical and ideological perspectives, and I got along well with all of them.

Lately, I have no desire to read novels. At first I thought that this was just because I am more interested in current events and non fiction. That is true. But there is something else going on. I don't want to rent out my mental space anymore. I am less willing (unwilling) to let someone else come into my mind to play. Again, I think it has to do with being surrounded by propaganda. I fundamentally mistrust the stories and messages I get from the media, and from my peers, and from the supposed arbiters of culture in our society, because I see the dishonesty and manipulation. Logically, then, why would I assume that a writer is any different? Why would I assume their morals and motivations are superior to those I see every day? Because they are published? Because somebody wrote a good review? Because a friend told me they were good? Because they are popular? I trust none of those things. But I should still be able to give a book a try and make up my own mind, right? In theory yes. But in in practice, I feel it is not worth the time or effort. What are the odds I will learn something of value, versus the odds that I will be bombarded with more of the same? I don't recall consciously making this decision, but somewhere along the way I decided the odds were against novels being enjoyable or useful. What about escape? I don't want to escape. Or, I feel there is no escape. I might long for it, but I know that escape amounts to surrender and denial. I am surrounded by corruption on a fundamental level, and I have no time for anyone who is not actively engaging with and challenging it.

The book post

I have been reading more lately, but when I tried to think of what books I actually got through last year, I had difficulty remembering. So I thought it might help to list the books I have been or will be encountering in one place. Here goes:

Currently reading:

The Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien (simultaneously listening to related episodes on the Amun Sul podcast)

The Language of Creation by Jonathan and Matthieu Pageau

Want to buy and read:

Face to Face: Knowing God Beyond our Shame by Fr. Stephen Freeman (READ)

Feminism Against Progress by Mary Harrington (you can read about some of Mary’s ideas here.) (READ)

This is Your Brain on Birth Control

 by Sarah Hill

The Sagas of the Icelanders  by Jane Smiley et al

On Fairy Stories by JRR Tolkien 

New Think 1 by Gregg Hurwitz

Competing with this wish list to some degree are blogs and Substacks, some of which I’m considering getting a paid subscription to. Then there are books I already own but haven’t fully read or benefitted from, mostly because they are challenging for some reason or other. I’m also on my second course from The Great Courses. So far I’ve been only buying the courses on sale, but they still cost as much as a hardcover book, at least.

Books I started and should finish some day, but don’t hold your breath: 

The Bible (no link needed, lol) I think I got to about Exodus? Update: I am now listening to the podcast 

The Whole Counsel of God where Fr. Stephen DeYoung reads through the Bible verse by verse and discusses, offering interpretation and background based on the Orthodox tradition and his own historical education.  I am finding this more engaging and meaningful than trying to slog through the Bible on my own. Plus I can listen while doing crochet or other repetitive work.

The Gulag Archepelago by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. I read a grand total of four chapters of this book in 2018, and blogged about it here: http://torthuilreads.blogspot.com/  Maybe one day I'll be back. But it's such an awful book to read and right now, I don't even want to try again.

The Wake by Paul Kingsnorth. I was reading this one last summer, and while I did appreciate it, it just wasn’t the right book to get me through some of the difficult stuff that was going on then.

Books I already own and want to read, but haven’t started:

The Unfinished Tales by JRR Tolkien (which was a birthday present along with The Silmarillion)

The Parasitic Mind by Gaad Saad (READ)

Prayers on the Lake by St. Nicholi Velimirovich

History and Presence by Robert Orsi (READ)

The last two were recommendations to me, for reasons that may become clearer when I actually start reading them. I have dipped into Prayers on the Lake and enjoyed the bits I read.

Some books don’t really lend themselves to a “feet up by the fire” reading approach. Something I’m challenging myself to do with The Language of Creation, and maybe with others, is to respond in a way that specifically isn’t writing. I’ve been doing a sort of visual journal for The Language of Creation, basically drawing or attempting to draw the images that come into my mind as I read it, or the particular passages that stand out. So far it's been a rewarding approach.

There you go, I may be back to add to this list or to say that I've actually finished a book!