As it says on your syllabus--you have one more blog entry due this week.
This entry is a free write, and you can write about whatever you want but let your work with Borges be the catalyst for your writing.
Impress me, inspire yourselves.
Good luck
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I was left confused and frustrated after class, not by our discussion, but by my own misunderstanding of Borges and his complex manner of relying ideas and concepts to the reader. As mentioned in class, I see that perhaps Borges is, in fact, purposely confusing the reader to provoke thought, question, and eventually discovery. If we were not frustrated, confused, or otherwise moved by his writing, we would not spend time thinking, discussing, and drawing conclusions about his writing and messages.
After reading the “The Garden of Forking Paths”, although I do not totally understand the story, I believe that some of Borges’ ideas and messages are a bit clearer. Again, Borges mentions the idea of the importance of the present, when the narrator “reflected that all things happen, happen to one, precisely now. Century follows century, and things happen only in the present” (90). This quote is similar to one in “Tlon, Uqbar, Orbus Tertius” that states that “the future has no other reality than as present hope, that the past is no more than present memory” (25). These ideas suggest that the only real moment is the present.
When Borges begins discussing the labyrinth in “The Garden of Forking Paths”, he talks about how we “create various futures, various times which start others that will in their turn branch out and bifurcate in other times” (98). This goes along with the idea mentioned above, that the future is only a present hope that we create. Does this mean we create the labyrinth? Towards the end of the story, when the narrator and Albert are assessing the book by the narrator’s ancestor, Albert says that the author of the book “believed in an infinite series of times, in a dizzily growing, ever spreading network of diverging, converging and parallel times. This web of time-the strands of which approach one another, bifurcate, intersect, or ignore each other through the centuries” (100). This references the fact that everyone’s actions influence someone or something else, intertwining lives. Everything we do can influence something else, but we do not influence everyone’s lives or cross everyone’s path. This is supported when Albert continues, “In some you exist and not I, while in others I do, and you do not, and in yet others both of us exist” (100).
From this evidence and what we’ve read and discussed so far, I take the labyrinth to be a combination of all three worlds (one, two, and three; past, present, and future). These three worlds all intertwine for each person, creating a giant web of everyone’s stories, experiences and actions. Where the stories cross is where people have influence on each other. Like the sculpture Mr. Kasprzak showed in class, the web has lines that intersect (where people’s paths cross) and lines that don’t touch at all. The Labyrinth is the past, present, and future; the history and facts, the self-reflection of every person, society, and culture interwoven.
I sat in my statuary desk, with all four metal feet cemented on the floor, when my mind began to wander with the rays of the sun. The concept of living a world within a world, within a world was enigmatic to my mind. Soon I made scenes of Borges’ concept that Ugbar’s legends are based off of “two imaginary regions of Mlejnas and Tlön”(19). Through my mirror an image of seven worlds is reflected back. Through my encyclopedia, my eyes scan the translation of Borges.
Today in World Literature, my encyclopedia was at the center of my worlds. World Literature is the first world in the mirror of self-reflection. It is where the words of the encyclopedia are applied to my life in concepts. As I cross the threshold of the classroom I enter world two, the world of being a student at Berwick Academy. This world comes with a whole new set of responsibilities besides completing homework, and participating in class discussions. Enter the next threshold of the senior lounge and world three is entered, friendship. Its role is to be supportive of one another. Cross the threshold to exit Fogg, and a new world is entered, being a girlfriend. This world comes too with new roles besides being supportive, its role is to let one’s self be loved. A role I wrestled with for so long. Next, I walk through the front door to my home; I have entered the world where I am a daughter. I walk through the entrance to the town hall, and vote for the next president, world six, and a citizen of our country. Finally, I go for a walk through the woods. I have opened the gate to world seven, a living being in this world.
Each one of these seven worlds, all take place in my life each day. It is only some of the roles in each world that change with the days. My actions are shaped by each one of these worlds, and each world is within another, similar to the concept Borges poses to the reader. Although I acknowledge each world within world, I mourn for the simplicity of knowledge from my touch, not my sight. It is through my sight of the encyclopedia that my mirror shines back my actions in all seven of my worlds.
Would I not buy those Italian leather boots, if I had to pull the skin off the animal?
Would I not choose to vote for that candidate, if I could feel the blood of a dead soldier on the battlefield? Would I not think I was on control of my life, if I could touch the shattered glass of a five-car collision? Would I be me, if I could feel the knowledge of my encyclopedia, the center of my worlds?
As we have in class many times, imagine yourself without rules, laws or any type of boundary. One is free to live his or her life the way they want. This life consists of no punishments or restrictions from anything. Everything is possible in this world and each person is encouraged to do what they please. This world parallels Borges’s writing in Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius. Borges lets the reader interpret his writing the way they choose. By setting little to no boundaries, the reader is able to shape his own thoughts without having a mold already forming thoughts in his mind. If placed in this world without boundaries what would you be doing? Would you still be at Berwick following the same routine day after day, if you didn’t have to? Would you surround yourself with the same people you do now? Or would you dare to break free from your constant system of order? Borges encourages each person to follow their own path without having one already set for them. The daunting truth is many of us are not surrounding ourselves with what we like to do or what we want to see, mainly because we are afraid to break the rules or voice our own opinion. We are scared to act, dress and think differently then others because we have grown accustomed to relying on others ideas.
However by allowing ourselves to follow our own course we will learn more about ourselves and others. Having our own thoughts process through our heads with out a filter (school, parents) will allow us to learn more about ourselves. Letting our mind wander where it wishes will allow us to explore more ideas and thoughts of our own.
The truth is this “pretend” world where one can do what they please does exist. It exists right here, right now. In this world, where you live now, one should do what please them, instead of others. Boundaries only hold you back and without them, the possibilities are endless. So by allowing yourself to do whatever you want whenever you want you are living the life you want. I challenge you to defy the path that has already been set for you, and create your own way without boundaries. The once “unrealistic” ideas that pondered your head at one point may now become reality. As Thoreau once said, “Go confidently in the direction of YOUR dreams, live the life YOU have imagined,” without boundaries.
Borges thoroughly confused me at first. However, I am absolutely certain that to do so was his intention. Even on the very first page of the first piece we read of his he told us in an indirect way that, he would be “using a narrator who omitted or corrupted what happened and who ran into various contradictions sot that only a handful of readers, a very small handful, would be able to decipher the horrible and banal reality behind the novel” (17). I believe that we, as individuals, may not have the power, analytical skills, or life experience to truly understand what Borges is trying to tell us, but as a whole, if we are able to work collaboratively to bounce ideas off each other, we may find some success in deciphering the messages Borges has for us. Although it may take a while for us to understand the truths that Borges cryptically hides within his writing, these truths are all ones that we should already know and understand. The only way we wouldn’t already understand these ideas would be if we had not yet lived, and certainly each of us has done so at least a little; we just have to understand these truths that, although we may have already lived through them, we have not yet realized or understood.
Though I was lost through the entirety of “Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” I feel as though I have a good understanding of “The Garden of Forking Paths.” Every action one makes along with every thought one has has a few possible outcomes. Sometimes those outcomes could be reached in a different way. As a student of physics, I am taught that all forces come in pairs; every action force has an equal but opposite reaction force. This physical, literal science makes sense, but it also applies to the actions and forces in life. Yet what is every reaction but its very own action? And if so, would it not be true that every action is simply a reaction to another action? Thus there must be a chain of events that continue infinitely. This is the garden of forking paths. The paths are never ending, but regardless of which path one takes, maybe it is true that each path leads to the same location or temporary resting point. But one must ask if every single path is predetermined. Could it be one’s personal legend to follow these paths exactly, that have surely been traveled before, or could a person choose a path different to the options laid in front of him or her? Some of the questions and ideas will never be answered, unless someone is willing to travel these paths and break down thorn covered branches to get to their personal legend.
Usually I find that I am far too impulsive. I sprint through the garden, not thinking about where certain paths may lead me. Along the way, I tend to hold branches out only for myself along the way and allow them to whip back towards those who may be in the area, taking the damage for my recklessness. Borges has made me realize that a calculated and wise walk through the garden may actually be a better one for not only me, but all of those with whom I share the garden.
Diving into Borges, I would like to first and foremost declare I am lost. I am lost in so many ways I have become confused. Lost not only in Borges ideas, his labyrinths, I find myself lost in his writing, lost in time. Through Borges, I have found a new medium of rebellion against my routine life. Different than my other classes of routine homework and study, and even with other English books at times, I find Borges writing refreshing. Begging me to think, Borges offers concepts passively as if he was reluctant to concede his thoughts. Thus, I have begun painstakingly slowly to unravel the complex labyrinths Borges has so craftily constructed.Borges is not simply a writer. Rather, he is a philosopher. He riddles his stories with points to be made but, at the same time, refuses to generously portray. Stealing the rights to his words, I am working to piece together what Borges’ ideas mean to me and how they apply to my life.
Tell me of your regrets or your dreams and I will show you neither is relevant. Earth is a physical place, a concrete object on which one stands. What is the world though? For me, the world is a creation from the hands of man. Time? Language? They are simply means of structure, communication, all controlled by man. It is because of these truths that places like Tlon can “exist” or, more accurately, can be created. Today, there are many worlds of creation. Some worlds are more peaceful than others but all exist under human control. Therefore, these worlds can be changed, transformed into different and better (or worse) places. By dwelling on the past or looking to the future, people are refusing their present condition. Embrace reality, it is simply all you have.
As Borges suggests, time may not necessarily be a linear path. Rather, it may be a circle or even numerous lines with varying destinations. Time must not be thought as a thing of certainty; it must be thought of as a creation of flexible nature. Borges stresses in the Garden of Forking Paths that time has limitless possibilities. Every passing moment of time, every slight action taken, every event that occurs can lead “toward innumerable futures” (100). I, a believer in fate, struggles with this concept. For years I have endured hardships and moments of success and been told by my mother: “It was meant to be”. Raised by Catholic tradition, I had been successfully brainwashed to believe in fate, destiny, ultimate purpose. As I have matured and continue to do so, I find I do in truth believe in fate to an extent. I am not simply a product of the church. The struggle I find is the fact that I believe in both fate and free will.
I agree with Borges that time have uncountable possibilities yet I remain faithful to the idea that each possibility was meant to be included in my life plan. I often wonder: if I had not stopped at Duston’s bakery on the way to school, would I have been hit on route 4? If I had taken more time to visit my grandfather in the hospital, would he have lived long? Even with two seemingly unrelated events: If I hadn’t shut my locker all the way, would I have scored higher on my test? Even now as I write, if I erased that last line or change the word uncountable to countless, will I marry and have two child instead of one? I don’t know. I can believe that a change in my daily routine may affect my future but I am left to acknowledge that the change may have led me on a path I was already destined to trod upon.
Now, I sit on my thinks a consider Borges game. He offers an idea yet does not argue; he does not try to persuade. Why? I believe he is deliberate in his style. Labyrinths are his sanctuaries in which he can lead readers down innumerable paths, some leading further than others. All paths, however, serve as invaluable experiences that should be cherished while the person walks them, living in the moment.
A dreary 57 degrees faherenheit, a constant rain drizzling from the damp autom air. The rust colored leaves falling peacifully to there final resting place. Squirrles gather nuts and scavenge the desolate woodlands in search of two things, food and water. Deer wander to keep themselves warm, acting only on instint. With a down wind scent of something out of the ordinary, an animal that was once almost in your line of vision, has vanished, crashing through the underbrush, and trampling through the damp fall vernal pools.
As winter slowly creeps in and the cool artic air drifts down from the provinces of Canada a gentil cooling of the northeren hemisphere slowly takes place. With this cooling comes a labrynth of choices. Choices to be made by nature and humans alike.
Choices are to be made all throughout life. While making these choice one creates a labrynth, A Labrynth of life. As we move on from our little shell, our little existance of life we like to call Berwick Academy, we will see and experience new things, all the while making choices and decisions that benifit ourselves. Our lives are a Labrynth of decision.
Like the squirrle and the deer, we will wonder throughout new place with our heads down not payign attention to the world around us. We will make life changing decisions without even knowing what we are doing.
As we wonder throughout life, we must pick up our heads and take in what is around is. Except the world for what it is, and except our selves for who we are. All the while never forgetting the Labrynth that has shaped ourselves.
“I thought that a man might be an enemy of other men, of differing moments of other men, but never an enemy of a country: not of fireflies, words, gardens, streams, or the west wind” (p. 94)
Nature is neutral. The woods outside my window don’t care what college I get into, my almost complete Mary-Kate and Ashley book collection will never side with my parents, and just because it is raining doesn’t mean my day is ruined.
In my Irish studies class we are grappling with the concept of paralysis and the negative side effects of immobility. But as I scan my room and the view out my windows I am beginning to belief that an unbiased constant is a necessity. I have treasured my books since I was a young girl and upon opening the stiff grayish pages of “The Case of the Summer Camp Caper,” I seem surprised to see the size sixteen fonts, remembering that all I used to want was a Basset Hound named Clue and to go to the Atlantis Resort in the Bahamas; the words were still the same. The adventures of Mary-Kate and Ashley will never be my enemy, I will never be fearful of them and I know that they will always be there. Their immobility, the place reserved from them on my pink shelf, will never be compromised. When I die those books will still be on this planet, the fate of those still-crisp pages is not tied to mine; we merely coexist.
Everyday my dad walks down to the pond to search for the beaver. Accompanied by some sort of rake, determination, and the stress from his day, he proceeds to take down the damn. Pulling the mucky sticks out of the stream that runs into the woods, he has begun to build quite the pile, a measure of both the beaver and my father’s strength. I can see a thin sleek outline of an animal cutting a smooth V through the water, perhaps eyeing my father but more likely he is only scanning the waters for his supper. My father would like to think that they were at war, but I disagree. The beaver didn’t conspire to have his pager go off at three in the morning, and he does not rebuild his damn everyday out of spite. If it is a war than it is a one sided war and my dads opponent ought not to be the cyclical serenity of nature that surrounds us, the nature that we are so lucky to be a part of.
The concreteness and the surprises that material things offer to our lives is precious. They change us but we do not change them. We can burn down trees, melt mountains with our gas emissions, and pave over fields; but they were here first and will be here after we have gone. The beaver isn’t going to stop building his damn just because my dad had a bad day, that isn’t a factor in his routine. Mary-Kate and Ashley aren’t going to stop planning their sweet sixteen if my parents yell at me. But why would I want the inevitability of nature to pause just for me? All I can do is thank them, thank the objects and the nature around me; I owe the beaver for my Ewok spear on Halloween and for my dad taking his anger out on something other than my brother and I. I owe Mary-Kate and Ashley for their signature haircut and my ability to sport it and create a trend in the fourth grade, and for showing me the excitement of being a teenager. I owe I to nature for remaining neutral; it’s comforting to know that the greatest force on this earth is not forceful at all, and that I have no reason to fear it, it simply exists and it inspires me to live in the present and will let me build a damn everyday if that is what I wanted to, and it will let me organize my childhood books in chronological order starting with Michelle: My Two Best Friends.
We are groomed to despise stasis, but I am grateful for the paralysis of the written word and of nature. These things have the capability to stay the same but always change. They are the few knowns of the future and it is reassuring to step through my thresholds accompanied by the entire natural world and by a crowd of characters too real to exist; all things that defy the test of time, I will be in the company of immortality.
Every Monday night at nine o’clock I sit down on the couch, an unusual place for me, to watch Heroes. An unrealistic television show that gives humans supernatural abilities, the power to fly, paint the future, read minds, invisibility, all traits we wish we had as children. One of the characters on Heroes, Hiro Nakamura, has the ability to bend the time-space continuum. He uses this ability to manipulate time, stop time, travel back in time or advance time.
Now this may seem a little far off from Borges idea of time, but connected in many ways. When Hiro finds himself in bad present situations that he feels could be altered by past events he travels back to a pervious time, be it is hundreds of years before or only seconds before. Hiro many times gets caught up in the past, winding himself and the present into a larger mess then it began.
Characters like Isaac who can paint the future draw pictures of terror and destruction in the future. These paintings show us only a prediction of what is to come not what will actually happen. For what is done in the present directly affects what will happen in the future. When Hiro sees these paintings he is interested and wants to know more about the events, when he goes to the future he sees things he doesn’t want to, as well as events that he shouldn’t see. When he comes back he warns everyone about the future, panicked about the future the heroes take drastic measure to make sure the future doesn’t happen the way it is written.
Confused? You should be. Without following the show and watching every week from the beginning, understanding all the twist and turns of the show would be nearly impossible. Just as in Borges stories, we must spend ample time analyzing the twists and turns of his writings and more importantly let him take us though the labyrinth, wherever it may lead.
Even though this is just a show and I haven’t yet grasped how to read minds yet I have learned something about time, and messing with past and future. Spending too much time physically or mentally in the past or future causes us to lose sense of the present and what it means to be in the present. We must live consciously in the present, not working to alter time that has past or is yet to come. Moments in the present turn too quickly into the past for us to dwell on them. We can dream of the future, but must never get our hopes up about it, for when the moment comes the outcome is usually disappointing.
“I reflected that all things happen, happen one, precisely now, century follows century, and things happen only in the present.” (p. 90) Nothing is able to happen in the past or the future. We are only able to act in the present. We can be a man of action who is able to make decisions in the present, or a man of thought who thinks only of the mistakes he has made and will make. Tomorrow is today, today is today, and today is yesterday.
Uqbar and Tlon fascinate me. The idea of a world within a world (within a world, if you consider Ficciones a world in itself) within our world makes my mind feel like Dali’s Persistence of Time, but at the same time makes a strange amount of sense to me.
There are a few things that come to mind when I think about the width of dimensionality and the idea of worlds existing within and around other worlds. Ryan’s comparison to the locker scene in Men in Black comes to mind, with the land of Whoville (Dr. Seuss’s famed world within a snowflake) following closely on its heels. The most vivid comparison I can think of, though, is the cover of a book of Christmas poems that I loved when I was little. In the illustration, a jolly Santa Claus is sitting on a stool in his workshop, reading a story to his elves. Upon closer examination, it can be seen that the cover of that book in Santa’s hand is the same as the book in mine, and that another miniature Santa is framed in it, reading to a set of much smaller elves. It always made my stomach feel strange to look at this cover because of the infinite expanse that this one picture could cover, and how many strange dimensions existed in one, flat illustration. It also made me feel strange that I somehow became part of a picture, yet at the same time ended it. I was not Santa, and I had no elves to read to, so the depth ended with me. I feel a similar way when I read about Uqbar and Tlon. Uqbar’s Uqubar is Tlon, and Tlon has its own Uqbar. That Uqbar has its own Uqubar, which has its own Tlon, which has its own Uqbar. Like the book of Christmas poems, this idea has the ability to make me feel very small and queasy, but it also makes me wonder if our society is some other world’s imaginary place.
The easiest way for me to make sense of this idea is to turn to art. After class the other day, I opened my sketchbook and I began to draw. I drew nothing in particular, but I realized that even my nonsense sketch became an Uqbar. There was a horizon, there was a space, and there could be a language if I wanted to create one. Borges’ Uqbar in Ficciones belongs to him. From what we’ve read so far, I gather that our task is to create our own societal labyrinths. Some turn to art, some to mathematical theorems, some to writing, some to religion, some to acting, some to music, some to filmmaking, and so forth. Each Uqbar is different and personal, but each explores its own world. Harry Potter, for example, is a perfect example of a fictitious society that has rules that are easy to buy into and believe. The society embedded in that series has a completely different way of ordering itself, and it has its own rules. It has a certain language that cosmically seems to work.
There entire artistic movement of surrealism is based on this same concept of suspended disbelief. From classic metaphysical still-life paintings to Dali’s spider-legged elephants to Escher’s brain-warping landscapes, these images can only be understood if the reason applied to our known world is put on hold. Still, though, we aren’t as confused by them because we accept them as brilliant creations made at the hands of brilliant men. We assume they have grand messages, so we ignore the fact that men don't realistically have faces that are half dead and we are willing to put aside our knowledge that the pathways in a realistic drawing would all lead to the same vanishing point. We accept these versions of Uqbar without hesitation, and it is perhaps because of our ignorance to this brilliance that Borges inherently becomes difficult to understand.
There is no denying that after I was trying to discern Monday night’s reading I was completely lost. I was lost in the concept of Talon and Uqbar. I was lost with the overall meaning and concepts Borges was trying to discuss. I thought that the book was a bunch of gibberish which I could not decern and figure out. After our class discussion on Monday parts of the story began to become clear.
I understand Borges message of Talon being a world within Uqbar; at first I didn’t understand this concept but then I remembered Men in Black. At the end of the second movie the concept our universe being within a larger one was shown when Agent K opened a locker to reveal that our world, earth, was only a small civilization within a larger universe. I admit that personally I find this message to be mind rattling, in fact I feel completely uneasy with the concept that we are within a larger world. I think the cause of this is due to being told all my life that humans are the dominant species and the concept that we might in fact be a minuscule life form is just hard to understand.
Borges does bring up the concept that an action within one world alters the other. I completely believe this thought because as humans we have always had thoeries, like the butterfly effect, about how an action on one side of the globe could potentially cause a catastrophic event on the other. Newton even supported this theory in his own way, by the old saying “Every action has an opposite of equal reaction.” It is completely logical for a genius like Borges to try and explain in his book that what humans do in one world can make an impact in the other. I like to relate this concept to two of my worlds: Berwick Academy and the pool.
I believe that we at Berwick are all isolated from the outside world; we are on top of a hill overlooking South Berwick. We are the wealthier people of the community, which is known by our ability to in one form or another pay the gastronomical tuition. Berwick however, is another world for me. I get to school in the morning and am sheltered by an umbrella of academia, protection and friends. Anything that happens on this hilltop I know happens for a reason and I except it. Everyday I return home to another world away from Berwick where I am able to still communicate with my peers over email, aim and facebook. Personally I feel like I never leave the hilltop, there is always a way that I can find out information that is relevant to me about Berwick. BA, in my opinion, is a world within my world at the pool. This sounds weird I know but bear with me.
In the pool I am able to enter a completely relaxed state, I have been told it is due to the exercise which releases chemicals into the brain that make me happy but I enter a world where stresses and pressures are alleviated. This world is only possible to attain by jumping into the pool, believe me I have tried so many times to replicate this inner bliss outside of the pool and it never works. My belief is that the pool is a sanctuary away from the outside world; it is in my own way a temple, an escape, my own world. I can do anything I want in my mind within the pool, there are no limits, when I sing songs in my head during a hard set I sound like the artist of the song (anyone who knows me knows I have a horrible singing voice). I think that Borges concept of a world within a world in true to me in both these cases. Berwick is my world of academia, where I am isolated from the stresses of public school and where I am able to grow and learn as an individual. Swimming is my world within my life where I can alleviate any stresses, it is my world where I can achieve anything I want. Which brings me to my thoughts about the “Garden of Forking Paths.”
This chapter of the story struck home with me. The concept that each action you do has a series of several outcomes could not speak truer. For instance I could choose not go to swim practice tonigh; I could go home or out with my friends and have the time of my life, who knows I might learn that I hate swimming and quit after that or I could go to swimming do really well in a set and realize that I have found my ture passion. Either way both scenarios have several possible outcomes, I could go to college for swimming or I could enjoy the life of a teenager. I realize that these examples are childish but in its own way this is how I translate the chapter and relate it to my own life. In the Matrix Reloaded, Neo meets face to face with the Architect. He is the mastermind behind the Matrix, he created it, he controls it, and he has weighted every situation and every outcome. He knows every choice that will be made and the outcomes of that choice. He explains to Neo that he has to make a choice between choosing 8 people to save from destruction or dye with Zion and Trinity. I apologize for anyone who has not seen the other Matrix movies and thinks I am speaking gibberish. Neo makes neither choice; he shapes his own destiny even when the path has already been laid out in front of him. Neo is able to choose his own path, choose his own doors and have the outcomes of the choices be what he desires. I think that Borges is trying to explain to the reader that you can make any choice, and the outcomes of those choices can be manipulated and broken to go in your favor. I believe that the choices I make may be part of a divine plan, my path might be laid out in front of me but I have the ultimate choice about the paths I choose. I can go through the mazes and through the walls without having to be worries about being blocked. And I believe that that is the message of Borges.
When I was younger, somewhere between the age of five and seven, my brother use to take me on adventures. He had the imagination that I lacked. Together we would go the land of the Lord of the Rings and a wrinkle in time, to Oz and back, and even to Narnia. I remember once specific incident that occurred in my backyard. My brother and I made a time machine out of cardboard. That day we sat in it and traveled to the land of Zelda. I remember distinctly thinking I was in the land of Zelda. I was surrounded by fairies and chased by monsters. I could smell fresh air and feel the forest under my feet. The possibilities were endless. I guess what I am eluding to is that I understand the concept of Borgies’s different worlds. I have experienced them,
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