Round the Herne

 A reflection on a variety of issues from a polytheist perspective - linking the notion of worship (from the Anglo-Saxon weorth-scip) to Max Weber's ideas on religious value systems, medical ethics and the boundaries of Beauchamp and Childress's philosophising around moral values in medicine.

 This is a reflection on Carl Jung's ideas around the Shadow Archetype which will be discussed in the January meeting of the Suffolk Jungian Circle, though it may be of interest to others outside that group. The Shadow is the repressed and unwanted side of the individual and also the collective society, which has a cultural perspective on what is unwanted - because it is regarded (rightly or wrongly) as dangerous, shameful, wicked, obscene, too painful to contemplate etc.  I have made recordings about this before, but I thought I would expand ideas for the purposes of the January online discussion.

  My reading of the twelfth and final chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's book "The Phoenix and the Carpet". The poor old carpet really is worn out and, after a scare in which the nature of language is questioned, the magical bird makes a decision about its future. The power of magic is a huge responsibility, far too huge for children to bear (or, indeed, most adults) - such that a little of it goes a long way! The carpet itself responds to requests in a way very much in keeping with ancient understandings of magic that saw it as a vast and impersonal power that ought to be handled with kid gloves, before the New Age approach we have now that insists everything is about the intentions of the person rather than being anything external to their own massive ego. Without wanting to get sidetracked into 21st century obsessions with gender, I wonder if the phoenix is female or possibly some kind of hermaphrodite that reproduces without necessity for activities rega...

 My reading of the eleventh chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". Here the children realise how badly they have worn out the magical carpet and then have a near-deadly trip to the theatre. The phoenix takes worship where he finds it (sometimes we all need to take it where we can get it). It is a salutary reminder that, as an old Scottish saying has it, the value of a well is not known until it runs dry. Those of us blessed by magical forces - native skills, generous relatives, kindly friends etc. - can assume that they are a bottomless source of benefit that can be turned to again and again without ever running dry. Yet all things are finite and overuse can exhaust even the most plentiful source (something we are beginning to see with planet we dwell on). Sometimes the source can be patched up or will renew naturally if we give it a break, but sometimes gone is gone. The children will soon find out where the carpet sits in th...

  My reading of the tenth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story The Phoenix and the Carpet. The poor old carpet begins to become threadbare and some of the children end up having a second encounter with the unfortunate clergyman from the desert island wedding - who begins to question the very nature of his reality in a moment that reminds me of Zhuang Zhou's dream of being a butterfly (a fascinating episode from Taoist philosophy, for anyone unfamiliar with that school of spiritual thought). The clergyman's sisters have a somewhat more pragmatic approach to the nature of the cosmos - probably one experienced by quite a few people over the centuries who have wisely decided which bits of reality to admit to and which to leave unspoken. Perhaps this chapter serves as a partial reminder that magic should be used sparingly to avoid wearing it too thin. As Aristotle himself might have said, all things in moderation!

 My reading of the ninth chapter of Edith Nesbitt's (1904) children's story "The Phoenix and the Carpet". In this part of the book, we catch up with the cook on her desert island and the children engage in a jail break.  Criminologists should be pleased by the prospect that the villainously inclined can be so readily rehabilitated (mostly using the power of cows - I may have to try and work this in to a future Environmental Psychology lecture as an example of the therapeutic power of animals!).

 I've written a couple of previous poems (one published by Moon Books the other two as yet unpublished) about the peculiar Uncle Carbuncle and his various unfortunate relatives. This third addition centres on a Yuletide gift to his (as yet unnamed) nephew and niece. The written version of the poem follows the recording, in a randomly made up metre. UNCLE CARBUNCLE'S GIFT Laden with presents, home we return, Ice on our boots, frost riming our hair. For tea and crumpets does mother year, But something makes our dear father swear. There on the table squatted the box, Wrapped in paper the texture of moss. Father's home security it mocks, To grasp its presence, we are at a loss. How it came here sans stamp, none can say. Was it, by Santa, down the chimney flung? Yet there it sits by light of day, Bound with a ribbon, red as toad's tongue. "It's for you two!" Mother declares, The tag deciphered, we gather around - Knots undone, the box reveals two bears, Stuffed...