So, gold and silver is it then?
No, I think it will be bronze.
Why bronze?
I like your story about the woman who bought the bronze candelabrum.
For 500,000 sesterces? I remember. The seller threw in a hunchback with the lot.
And she held a party to show off what she'd bought and had the man pose naked.
Yes, and she became shamelessly passionate and took him to bed.
Later she mentioned him in her will.
She did, and having become rich he worshipped the candelabrum as a deity.
But morality was vindicated.
It was. When he put up a tombstone to perpetuate the memory of her shame.
Oh look! The post! You have a letter.
Who can it be from? The Premier's Office! Look here, I've got a ticket to the Clipsal!
Showing posts with label gold. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gold. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Continuity Conundrum
Very nice, said Pliny the Elder. I liked your stories of the dog and the grandad and the kite. What are you going to write about next?
I don't know, I said. I've lost my sense of continuity now the Fringe is over.
You need to go back to what you were writing about before, said Pliny.
No, I don't, I said. I want to write about something new. And anyway, I don't remember what I was writing about before.
My book, said Pliny. You were reading it. Where are you up to now?
Gold and silver, I said.
Were you writing about that before?
No, of course I wasn't.
Well there you are, that is the nature of continuity.
What is?
The nature of continuity is that it accommodates breaks. And after the break it resumes the continuity and moves on.
What about the things that happen in between?
Those are the things that give the break its meaning.
I see that you are trying to be helpful. You are saying that the Fringe break will give meaning to what I decide to write about next.
Yes, is that encouraging?
It would be if I didn't get the feeling you were trying to make me go backwards.
I don't know, I said. I've lost my sense of continuity now the Fringe is over.
You need to go back to what you were writing about before, said Pliny.
No, I don't, I said. I want to write about something new. And anyway, I don't remember what I was writing about before.
My book, said Pliny. You were reading it. Where are you up to now?
Gold and silver, I said.
Were you writing about that before?
No, of course I wasn't.
Well there you are, that is the nature of continuity.
What is?
The nature of continuity is that it accommodates breaks. And after the break it resumes the continuity and moves on.
What about the things that happen in between?
Those are the things that give the break its meaning.
I see that you are trying to be helpful. You are saying that the Fringe break will give meaning to what I decide to write about next.
Yes, is that encouraging?
It would be if I didn't get the feeling you were trying to make me go backwards.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Lucky
I was at Li Feng's this morning. She was telling me about the cats that come to her kitchen door every morning and evening. There are four of them now. A white one, a black one, a yellow one and a gold one.
Three of the cats will eat anything she gives them. Rice or soup or vegetables. The fourth, the gold one, will only eat salmon and chicken breast fillet. He very fuss, she said.
This one sleeps on top of the shed at night. One night her husband went to the shed to get something and the cat tapped him on the head. This was because her husband had made a noise and woken up the cat, which wanted to sleep. The same thing had happened to her once, she said. It proved that this cat is clever.
It costs her fifty dollars a month to feed the cats. I wanted to know why she continued to feed them. Some people say a cat or dog come to your door is lucky, she said. Lucky cat, lucky dog, I don't know.
Your cats are lucky, I said.
Three of the cats will eat anything she gives them. Rice or soup or vegetables. The fourth, the gold one, will only eat salmon and chicken breast fillet. He very fuss, she said.
This one sleeps on top of the shed at night. One night her husband went to the shed to get something and the cat tapped him on the head. This was because her husband had made a noise and woken up the cat, which wanted to sleep. The same thing had happened to her once, she said. It proved that this cat is clever.
It costs her fifty dollars a month to feed the cats. I wanted to know why she continued to feed them. Some people say a cat or dog come to your door is lucky, she said. Lucky cat, lucky dog, I don't know.
Your cats are lucky, I said.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Kisa Gotami
How does the Buddha's Mustard Seed Parable go? asked Jesus. You'd better tell me, if you think it's so good.
It's a lot more complex than yours, I said. There's a rich man whose gold and silver turns to ashes. He's understandably upset. A wise friend tells him to go to the market place and set up his ashes and pretend to trade with them.
I like this story, said Jesus. It's funny.
Yes, that's what you think now, but listen. People ask him why he has ashes for sale. He tells them, these are my riches. The people think he's gone nuts. A poor young orphan girl called Kisa Gotami passes his stall and asks him why he has silver and gold for sale. He says, please hand me some of it. When she does, the ashes have turned back into gold.
Great story, said Jesus, but what about the Mustard Seeds?
Be patient, I'm getting to that part now. Well, the rich man sees that this girl has an eye for the true value of things...
What! cried Jesus.
.....and he marries her to his son.
Oh, I see, said Jesus.
Jesus, I said. Do shut up. This part is only of minor relevance.
I think you'll find it isn't, he said, looking wise. If I know anything about parables, he added.
I decided not to answer that, but pressed on.
Anyway, Kisa Gotami has a baby, and some time later it dies.
Oh, I know what's going to happen next, said Jesus.
No you don't, I said. She's very distraught, and runs around to all the neighbours asking for medicine.
Ha! said Jesus. But the baby's dead.
That's what the neighbours say. They think she's gone nuts.
You see! said Jesus triumphantly. The parallel with the first part of the story!
Oh yes. You're quite right. Thanks for pointing it out, I said. Now, one of the neighbours tells her to go and see the Buddha, because he might be able to help.
Jesus looked a bit put out. The Buddha puts himself into his own parable, he said. That doesn't seem right. Did I ever do that?
I don't think so, I said
No, it's unconventional, said Jesus. Still, there's nothing wrong with being unconventional.
True, I agreed. So, the girl goes to see the Buddha, and asks him for medicine that will cure her baby. And he says, bring me a handful of mustard seed.
At last, says Jesus. I suppose he's going to do a miracle.
No, stop second-guessing! He says that the mustard seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent or friend.
Well! said Jesus, this is either amazingly cruel or the Buddha has something further up his sleeve.
He hasn't, I said. Kisa Gotami goes from house to house with her dead baby and eventually realises that death is common to all. Then she buries her baby, goes back to the Buddha and takes refuge in him, finding comfort in the Dharma, and the path to enlightenment.
The cheek of it! exclaimed Jesus.
It's a lot more complex than yours, I said. There's a rich man whose gold and silver turns to ashes. He's understandably upset. A wise friend tells him to go to the market place and set up his ashes and pretend to trade with them.
I like this story, said Jesus. It's funny.
Yes, that's what you think now, but listen. People ask him why he has ashes for sale. He tells them, these are my riches. The people think he's gone nuts. A poor young orphan girl called Kisa Gotami passes his stall and asks him why he has silver and gold for sale. He says, please hand me some of it. When she does, the ashes have turned back into gold.
Great story, said Jesus, but what about the Mustard Seeds?
Be patient, I'm getting to that part now. Well, the rich man sees that this girl has an eye for the true value of things...
What! cried Jesus.
.....and he marries her to his son.
Oh, I see, said Jesus.
Jesus, I said. Do shut up. This part is only of minor relevance.
I think you'll find it isn't, he said, looking wise. If I know anything about parables, he added.
I decided not to answer that, but pressed on.
Anyway, Kisa Gotami has a baby, and some time later it dies.
Oh, I know what's going to happen next, said Jesus.
No you don't, I said. She's very distraught, and runs around to all the neighbours asking for medicine.
Ha! said Jesus. But the baby's dead.
That's what the neighbours say. They think she's gone nuts.
You see! said Jesus triumphantly. The parallel with the first part of the story!
Oh yes. You're quite right. Thanks for pointing it out, I said. Now, one of the neighbours tells her to go and see the Buddha, because he might be able to help.
Jesus looked a bit put out. The Buddha puts himself into his own parable, he said. That doesn't seem right. Did I ever do that?
I don't think so, I said
No, it's unconventional, said Jesus. Still, there's nothing wrong with being unconventional.
True, I agreed. So, the girl goes to see the Buddha, and asks him for medicine that will cure her baby. And he says, bring me a handful of mustard seed.
At last, says Jesus. I suppose he's going to do a miracle.
No, stop second-guessing! He says that the mustard seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent or friend.
Well! said Jesus, this is either amazingly cruel or the Buddha has something further up his sleeve.
He hasn't, I said. Kisa Gotami goes from house to house with her dead baby and eventually realises that death is common to all. Then she buries her baby, goes back to the Buddha and takes refuge in him, finding comfort in the Dharma, and the path to enlightenment.
The cheek of it! exclaimed Jesus.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Ant Stories
Speaking of ants, began Pliny the Elder, I recall a story I recorded in my Natural Histories about the ants of India.
Oh really? I said. Tell me the story.
These ants have giant horns. They are the colour of a cat and about the size of an Egyptian wolf.
Quite large then, I said.
Oh yes. These ants excavate gold from holes in the ground in northern India. The people there try to take the gold in the summer when the ants are underground escaping from the heat. But the ants, catching the scent of the Indians, sally forth and frequently tear them to pieces.
The Indians? I asked. They tear the Indians to pieces?
Yes, even though the Indians are provided with the swiftest of camels for the purpose of flight.
With camels! I echoed. Well, that is a most wonderful story. Ants certainly are the most interesting of creatures. That reminds me, I heard a story about ants only this morning, from my son.
Tell me the story, said Pliny.
Well, he arrived home yesterday in the late afternoon and went out into his back garden. He saw what he thought was a black mist in the central section of his back fence. On getting closer he realised that the black mist was actually thousands, if not millions, of ants, marching up and down the fence, having paid a visit to a certain pot that was lying on the ground nearby.
And what was in the pot? asked Pliny.
That was the strange thing, I answered. Nothing but dirt, according to my son. And the ants were not carrying any pieces of food, neither on their way up nor on their way down.
Most mysterious, agreed Pliny. What did your son do then?
He went inside and got some Ant Rid, I said. He sprinkled it around, and half an hour later there wasn't an ant in sight. He said he was sorry he hadn't taken a photograph of the black mist.
Indeed, said Pliny. It is always wise to collect evidence of unusual events. Or people might be disinclined to believe that they happened.
Was there any evidence for your giant Indian ants? I asked.
There was, said Pliny, a pair of horns of miraculous size, suspended in the Temple of Hercules, at Erythrae.
Oh really? I said. Tell me the story.
These ants have giant horns. They are the colour of a cat and about the size of an Egyptian wolf.
Quite large then, I said.
Oh yes. These ants excavate gold from holes in the ground in northern India. The people there try to take the gold in the summer when the ants are underground escaping from the heat. But the ants, catching the scent of the Indians, sally forth and frequently tear them to pieces.
The Indians? I asked. They tear the Indians to pieces?
Yes, even though the Indians are provided with the swiftest of camels for the purpose of flight.
With camels! I echoed. Well, that is a most wonderful story. Ants certainly are the most interesting of creatures. That reminds me, I heard a story about ants only this morning, from my son.
Tell me the story, said Pliny.
Well, he arrived home yesterday in the late afternoon and went out into his back garden. He saw what he thought was a black mist in the central section of his back fence. On getting closer he realised that the black mist was actually thousands, if not millions, of ants, marching up and down the fence, having paid a visit to a certain pot that was lying on the ground nearby.
And what was in the pot? asked Pliny.
That was the strange thing, I answered. Nothing but dirt, according to my son. And the ants were not carrying any pieces of food, neither on their way up nor on their way down.
Most mysterious, agreed Pliny. What did your son do then?
He went inside and got some Ant Rid, I said. He sprinkled it around, and half an hour later there wasn't an ant in sight. He said he was sorry he hadn't taken a photograph of the black mist.
Indeed, said Pliny. It is always wise to collect evidence of unusual events. Or people might be disinclined to believe that they happened.
Was there any evidence for your giant Indian ants? I asked.
There was, said Pliny, a pair of horns of miraculous size, suspended in the Temple of Hercules, at Erythrae.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Magical Snake Egg
Well, what is it? I asked him impatiently this morning.
What is what? he asked.
A wind egg, an ovum anguinem, whatever you like to call it, I replied.
Ah! yes. It goes by many names. The wind egg, the snake egg, the sea egg, the chalk egg. It was held in high regard by the Gauls, although not mentioned by the Greek writers. Many snakes twining together form a skilful ball using saliva from their throats, and foam from their bodies. The Druids say that the hissing of the snakes throws the ball into the air. The ball must be caught in a cloak, so it does not touch the ground. He who steals it must ride away quickly, for the snakes will follow him until he crosses a river. It is said that a genuine egg will float against the current of a stream, even if set in gold.
Whoa, Pliny! I said, this is too bizarre! Why would anyone want to steal one? Why would it be set in gold? And what has this got to do with the sea urchin?
Patience, said Pliny. The wind, or snake eggs were highly prized by the Gaulish people, for to possess one would grant access to princes, and ensure success in battle or legal disputes. Naturally, anyone possessing such a marvel would wish to set in in gold, to honour and protect it.
But, the sea urchin?
Well, said Pliny, I myself have seen one of these eggs. It was round, and about as large as a medium apple. The shell was cartilage, with many cup-marks like those on the arms of an octopus.
So you think it was really a sea urchin shell?
I think the Druids, unable to procure as many of these snake eggs as they desired, would use de-spined sea urchin shells in their stead. They also used to make a round bead, decorated with spirals and swirls, for the same purpose.
And were they really magical, do you think?
Certainly not. I recall the story of a certain Gaulish gentleman who carried one into court for good luck, and who lost the case because the judge thought he was trying to exert an undue influence.
What is what? he asked.
A wind egg, an ovum anguinem, whatever you like to call it, I replied.
Ah! yes. It goes by many names. The wind egg, the snake egg, the sea egg, the chalk egg. It was held in high regard by the Gauls, although not mentioned by the Greek writers. Many snakes twining together form a skilful ball using saliva from their throats, and foam from their bodies. The Druids say that the hissing of the snakes throws the ball into the air. The ball must be caught in a cloak, so it does not touch the ground. He who steals it must ride away quickly, for the snakes will follow him until he crosses a river. It is said that a genuine egg will float against the current of a stream, even if set in gold.
Whoa, Pliny! I said, this is too bizarre! Why would anyone want to steal one? Why would it be set in gold? And what has this got to do with the sea urchin?
Patience, said Pliny. The wind, or snake eggs were highly prized by the Gaulish people, for to possess one would grant access to princes, and ensure success in battle or legal disputes. Naturally, anyone possessing such a marvel would wish to set in in gold, to honour and protect it.
But, the sea urchin?
Well, said Pliny, I myself have seen one of these eggs. It was round, and about as large as a medium apple. The shell was cartilage, with many cup-marks like those on the arms of an octopus.
So you think it was really a sea urchin shell?
I think the Druids, unable to procure as many of these snake eggs as they desired, would use de-spined sea urchin shells in their stead. They also used to make a round bead, decorated with spirals and swirls, for the same purpose.
And were they really magical, do you think?
Certainly not. I recall the story of a certain Gaulish gentleman who carried one into court for good luck, and who lost the case because the judge thought he was trying to exert an undue influence.
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