Cavort indeed!

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Cavort indeed!

77 qualities of mischievous swift gladness


If you haven’t read the preface to this Cavort Indeed, ZProject Chapter 2, frolic, 1 of  77, it’ll give you a jolly jolt and the premise. 

   We started there with 'frolic' which at root means swift gladness, an almost unbearable beauty. We folk of good will won the election. So the second of the 77 qualities of swift gladness is cavort. Oh we must cavort. One dictionary has it as prance ostentatiously. Oh yes, we must prance ostentatiously and boisterously. Ebullient are we.

    The <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Waste Land was our land, soul-lost, maggot-devoured, shadow-ridden.

                                                      javid tatazall

   Jung so turgid, so insightfull, had horribly but necessarily told us that we could not hold the next plateau or quantum of consciousness (clearly Al Gore 2000) until we faced and integrated the shadow. Mr. Bush, Mr. Cheney, Mr. Rove et ilk were the grotesque, boschian apotheosis of our own petty aggrandizements and minor nastinesses. Fat E, the greatest psychologist, puts the riddles to us in sledgehammer-upside-the-side-of-the-head when we are insistently insolent or surly lazy. “Here’s the consequences of the self-indulgent, self-pitying rat-feces-strewn garbage you allow to fester in your psyches. The soap opera throws your own minor slime-moldery into relief so you can notice it at last.”

    So in our cavorting so earned, we should eschew hubris. As much as we want them to eat crow, we mustn’t imagine ourselves not also tar-&-featherable to one degree or another. There is no mirror which reveals any of us as pure.

     Adored Mr. Keats speaks of the central capacity for art, for living in serious delight, Negative Capability, “that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason–Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge. This pursued through volumes would perhaps take us no further than this, that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.”

    So we can in these coming times, it is to be hoped, “without any irritable reaching after fact and reason,” be overcome by Beauty and the cornucopic possibilities of fruitfulness we could create and tend upon our darling Earth.

     The 8th sense, the sense of Beauty. I think Keats means and certainly I mean that groking Beauty is a sense of its own, half celestial, half terrestrial, hallowed, in the forests of the night. We see/imbibe/inhale/guzzle with our 8th sense, this keen and preened sense of Beauty, the glory of dream and of nightmare that this dear and terrible earth life vouchsafes us. Of all the lives, none is as poignant and flaying as this realm.

    Cavorting is a proper gazelling of hope we should perform and indulge this Thanksgiving. You feel tiny green shoots of tender and tentative glee peeking up through the ashes all over the relieved world. Tho there is much too much last-men-dying-for-a-mistake blood to be uselessly spilt, the national hemorrhaging is staunchly staunched and the healing can begin. This is cause for radical joy. Cavort indeed.



The first part of this series is here.


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6 thoughts on “Cavort indeed!

  1. I'm practicing prancing ostentatiously in a very sly way, an inherent possibility in the directions, a certain shy swagger from the beginnings of freedom from the 'pipsqueak despotism.'

  2. I'm dazzled by the 8th sense, pogblog. Now that I'm aware of Beauty as a sense, it's like the world is illuminated. It's an amazing physical phenomenon.

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