Discussion Post 6

For your initial post

• Based on your reading so far from, “Where Does Art Come From?” how are art and the various forms of creative expression reflective of the people producing them, their cultural context, and the time and place in which they are produced?
• What meanings or values are being communicated through the various forms of creative expression?
• Why is death an important topic to humans? Explain. Is there any modern-day art that you have encountered representing death or the afterlife?
• Both The Raven and This Body Is Not Me engage with themes of suffering, loss, and the self. How do these texts invite readers to sit with pain or respond to it? What emotional, philosophical, or spiritual questions do they raise rather than resolve?
• When read together, what types of conversations emerge between The Raven and This Body Is Not Me? What tensions, contrasts, or unexpected similarities stand out to you, and why might these matter in a broader humanistic context?

Reading:

This Body Is Not Me

This body is not me.
I am not limited by this body.
I am life without boundaries.
I have never been born,
and I have never died.

Look at the ocean and the sky filled with stars,
manifestations from my wondrous true mind.

Since before time, I have been free.
Birth and death are only doors through which we pass,
sacred thresholds on our journey.
Birth and death are a game of hide-and-seek.

So laugh with me,
hold my hand,
let us say good-bye,
say good-bye, to meet again soon.

We meet today.
We will meet again tomorrow.
We will meet at the source every moment.
We meet each other in all forms of life.

contemplation on no-coming and no-going – thich nhat hanh

This prayer recitation is excerpted from the “Ceremony for Closing the Coffin.” From Chanting From the Heart (2007) by Thich Nhat Hanh with permission of Parallax Press, Berkeley, California, www.parallax.org.

The Raven

The Raven

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

Tis some visitor, I muttered, tapping at my chamber door

Only this and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrowsorrow for the lost Lenore

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled mefilled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;

This it is and nothing more.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

Sir, said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard youhere I opened wide the door;

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore?

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore!

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

Surely, said I, surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;

Tis the wind and nothing more!

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, I said, art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Nights Plutonian shore!

Quoth the Raven Nevermore.

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaninglittle relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as Nevermore.

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he utterednot a feather then he fluttered

Till I scarcely more than muttered Other friends have flown before

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.

Then the bird said Nevermore.

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

Doubtless, said I, what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of Nevernevermore.

Where Does Art Come From?

This week, we are skipping around a bit, please read Chapters 7 and 10 of “Where Does Art Come From?“

Chapter 7 Pages 113-137

Chapter 10 Pages 181-202

Chapter 16 (to answer questions 2)

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