GRAND DELUSIONS
Fall
2005
I sit still, erect, immobile, staring at the screen. My fingers itch with energy, my brain races, but inspiration lies just beyond my reach. I crumple back into my seat, close my eyes, and listen to the empty room. In my minds eye, I see bookshelves looking in on me from every angle. They must be whispering behind my back. I strain my ears but still cant hear them. The ghosts of this hall, if they are in here, whisper only to each other.
I look up at the painted ceiling beams and get lost in the latticework of colors.
I blink.
I rub my forehead, sigh, and close my eyes.
1. Salamanca
Fall 1490
He wants to sail to the West Indies.
Yes, Zacuto, but I doubt hed make it. Its quite a body of water, and it doesnt seem to me that hes gone about this thing logically.
Hes quite a presence, though. Forceful, you might say. Hes got the sort of fire that gets you places.
Oh,
I dont know, replied Nebrija, his brow creased in impatience. Watching the
movement of their feet distractedly and gesticulating largely, he continued,
The fire youre talking about is that red hair![1]
Hes
just hotheaded. Brash, hotheaded (sic), and self-important.
Zacuto smiled and gazed into the crisp blue air as
he replied: Well, he does have the backing of the
court, it seems. He has the favor of the chief tax
collector, the court rabbi, the chief banker, that
wealthy Santangel fellowand the king and queen
gave the man a personal audience.[2]
Perhaps, but were the ones who will decide the
2a
matter ultimately.
The two men, Nebrija and Zacuto, turned off the
narrow cobblestone street and passed between two heavy wooden doors. The thick stone walls of the University enveloped them and the noises of the city streets fell away behind the click of their shoes on the stone floor.
2b
These
buildings were newly built – some parts were still under construction
– and the stone shone with freshness. In the last generation, with the
student corpus swelling to a massive six thousand, it had become necessary to
expand the Salamanca University complex.[3]
Thanks to the financial support of the royal courts and the papacy, the most
en vogue architecture was employed: a delicate, ornate, and especially
Spanish variation of Renaissance architecture known as Plateresque.[4]
2a, 2b. The Faade of the
University, Completed in 1435, is perhaps the
best representation of the Plateresque style in Spain. Hidden somewhere in the
detail work sits the legendary lucky frog, perched atop a human skull.
Whoever can spot it is ostensibly blessed with good fortune.
It was fine workmanship. But Nebrija often found himself reminiscing about the days of his youth, when he and his classmates had gathered for lessons in the shadowy bowels of the citys great cathedrals.[5] The word of God and more than two centuries of classroom lectures had permeated those cathedral walls. He wasnt quite comfortable in these new halls, decorated with such crisp and delicate carvings, bathed with heat and light.
3. The Minor Schools, finished in 1534
Sill,
Nebrija was proud of his alma mater – it was, after all, one of the
finest and oldest universities in Europe – and he viewed this necessary change
as a tangible, if irksome, testament to the greatness of his institution. As
a professor of poetry and grammar and an advocate of humanist learning, he was
willing to relinquish his private preferences in order to address the practical
matter of having sufficient classroom space for his numerous students.[6]
Like Nebrija, Zacuto also had a history with the place. He was born in Salamanca, studied astronomy at the university, and after stints in Zaragoza and Cartagena had eventually returned to his birth city as a renowned astronomer, mathematician, inventor, and professor.[7] For his part, he was quite satisfied with the more secular classroom switch. He preferred the synagogue to the church, besides.
4.
Salamanca University
Immersed in conversation, these two formidable men strode
through the courtyard-fringed corridors of the newly built Minor school. Boys
of all ages speckled the halls, ceding passage to the two professors as they
passed. In their respectful
momentary pause, all noticed what the two professors didnt – a third
party
to the conversation. The intruder, less than half the size of the two men, was
trotting behind them in an effort to keep up. His opaque oblong face was
reddening with the effort, but his eyes gleamed.
The lanky boys whose skinny arms and legs had yet to be grown into watched the pint-sized eavesdropper aghast, and wondered if he didnt know how rude he was being. The boys who had grown into their limbs averted their gaze imperiously and assumed that the child was too young to know better.
The professors, still chatting, came to a closed door and paused before it.
Nebrija, exasperated and gesticulating heavily, said, Yes, yes, I admire his imagination, but he seems to think hes on a god-given quest![8] All respect to Nuestro Seor, but Im just not sure we have the funds necessary to make this journey feasible.
Or the scientific knowledge, though Id love to continue testing some of my inventions on so long a journey. Im perfecting the Astrolabe right now, and I wonder if my astronomical tables would be accurate that far west[9]
Zacuto, Im sure those would be useful instruments for any sailor, not just this Columbus. You really should look into marketing
Nebrija began listing merchant friends who could help to get the business rolling. Zacuto, who had been momentarily lost in his own thoughts, suddenly caught sight of the young boy.
Well, hello. He bent down and peered at the youngster from beneath heavy brows. You look quite young to be a student here.
The boy, puffing up his chest with pride at this polite recognition, responded gravely, Yes. I am five.
Well then, you are unusually tall for your age, and young indeed. What is your name?
Hernando Cortez, and when I grow up Im going to have a big ship and sail far away and be very rich and fight goblins and find the fountain of youth. My mom says it in the east too. Do you think Columbus will get there first?
Zacuto, taken aback by this vocal youngster, laughed, which in turn made the boys ears turn pink. But Nebrija, who had suddenly become aware of this unexpected intruder, eyed the boy severely.
Who is your father, boy?
At the sight of this sterner man the boys eyes widened and his voice fell almost to a whisper. Mar. Mar um, Martn Corts.[10]
Martn Corts. Thats what I thought. Those in your family are lawyers. You will be too, hijo mo. Now, as I understand it, your grandfather is presently at the law school giving a lecture. And Im sure he will expect you to be waiting for him outside the door.
Nebrija said this last quite gruffly, and the boy scurried off without saying more.
Nebrija, you shouldnt have scared him so. Id say he was quite a charming little fellow,
And up to no good, said Nebrija.
Zacuto watched the small boy trotting off. Yes, perhaps. But he did have a great little story to tell. Fountain of youth, eh?
5. Cortez, about twenty years later, having
enrolled in the University of Salamanca Law School at age fourteen, dropped
out by age seventeen, arrived in America, and stumbled upon the Aztec
empire.
Chuckling, the two men entered the large salon in which many other men had already assembled. Some were austere and sober looking, wearing the long black robes of professors or friars. Others were more flamboyantly dressed, donning a variety of wide-brimmed hats and lush tunics that were nonetheless a bit scruffy around the edges. Together they sat, some chatting, some reading, and some simply waiting.
Presently, a small, bald, and be-spectacled man addressed the group:
My esteemed fellow councilors. We have gathered together intermittently over these last four years to discuss and study, as appointed to us by our illustrious king Ferdinand and our most noble queen Isabella, the proposal of one, Christopher Columbus, to reach the far West Indies under the flag of our great Madre Patria, Spain. We have among us many able minds: geographers, astronomers, philosophers, mariners, cartographers – all men of learning or men of the sea. It has been our illustrious duty to appraise this project, by means of discussion, deliberation, and dedication[11]
My, he can ramble, whispered Zacuto to his friend.
Yes, well, you know how these official things go answered Nebrija under his breath.
Zacuto allowed his mind to wander. He thought of what he had for breakfast that morning and his son and the little boy who wanted to find the fountain of youth and the day that Columbus first proposed reaching the East by traveling west.
He had come to Salamanca by the command of the King and Queen to address a council that they had assembled for the purpose. Zacuto had been less than thrilled when informed that he was to be a part of this esteemed council. He knew the King and Queen were busy, what with the war in Granada, and he did not appreciate having their projects farmed out (sic) into his free time.
But the tall foreigner had an interesting project in mind. Not entirely logical, but interesting. Columbus began on the assumption that the world was round, which they all agreed upon, being the more disciplined minds of their time.[12] He then followed logical conclusions: the distance by land between the edge of the west (Spain) and the edge of the east (India–i.e. Asia) is very long, the distance by sea between Spain and India is therefore very short.[13] Zacuto was not sure he agreed with this, but it was great fun to think about, and so he didnt mind the meetings quite so much as he had expected.
However, that was four years ago now. It was time to make a decision. None of them could guess the distances, though they could certainly guess at the expense. Zacuto, like most of the members, knew what the verdict would be. They would save the crowns precious gold and the lives of some salty sea lads, and err on the side of caution. Was the voyage possible? He told himself it didnt matter much to him. But sometimes he liked to think it was
6. The
Ptolemy
World Map,
reconstructed from
Ptolemys
Geographia
(circa 150)
represents the
geographical
worldview
accepted by most
learned
men of the time.
Columbus, who was
also
familiar with this
map, obviously
did not expect to
happen upon a
landmass the size
of the Americas. He
calculated the Earths equator to be at least ¼ too small,
and assumed the distance between the Spanish Canary Islands and the West Indies
to be about 2,500 miles. The Columbus story is based upon a case where the
littleness of knowledge was not a dangerous but a helpful thing. If Columbus
had proposed to sail westward for nearly twelve thousand miles, the approximate
distance between the Canaries and Japan, could he have expected his crewmembers
to make the voyage with him?
Hardly! Under such
conditions there would have been no first voyage to record as of the fifteenth
century.[14]
As you all know, boomed the orator, and several near-slumbering heads jerked up, We have come here today to announce our final decision.
The little be-spectacled man finally had everyones attention, and was pleased with himself. Let it be known that, like our cousins the Portuguese before us, we have come to the just and rational conclusion that this journey is unfeasible. Christopher Columbus will not be sailing under the Spanish flag. The Talavera council is henceforth dissolved.
-WHAT?!?
Come now, Seor Columbus, it really is quite ambitious.
Zacuto was watching the enraged young man curiously. His normally meticulous appearance had become a bit disheveled in his consternation. He was quite tall, and his face was almost as red as that strange hair of his. But the man recovered himself quickly and countered well:
Fortune favors the bold.`
Zacuto was impressed. Not many sailors quoted Virgil. But he was careful not to let it show, and stuck to the point:
It also favors those with money. You have no one to fund you.
Fortunately, money is a fluid commodity, and can be acquired. With respect Zacuto, your Talavera Commission is by no means the final word. The word of God guides me, and by his grace I will find that which I seek.
He left abruptly.
Zacuto sighed, walked to the door, and watched as the tall and ruffled man shouldered his way through the busy street. Such a high-strung, dramatic individual, he thought. Nebrija was right - he has a temper. But thats part and parcel with those sea-faring folk. If he finds his funding, Ill give him an astrolabe. If he gets that far with this crazy idea of his, hell deserve it!
Fall 2005
I open my eyes, images of a doorway, a crowded street, and a tall, angry man fading from my vision Who was that?
Reaching back to rub the base of my neck where the muscles have knotted, I slowly come back to myself and remember the black sleeping computer screen in front of me. I click Enter to wake it up, and with a jolt the monitor jumps to life. It is horrifyingly blank. I watch the cursor blink in the white expanse. Tabula rasa.
There was something I was going to write what was it? I strain to remember, and lose focus momentarily on the page before me as I reach back into my thoughts.
No, I lost it. Damn. I sigh, rub my forehead, and notice that the room is changing quality, glowing, softening.
A golden dusk light reverberates into the room through thin glass panes. Indulging in the window view, I look out across the campus buildings. I watch the windy sky swirl and let my thoughts drift to what will come tonight. Rita must be rolling in. My eyes rest on the swath of dappled clouds draped across the horizon, and I hear a voice echo in my brain, Fishscale clouds mean rain.
The sky is salmon-pink with sunset, swirling and shimmering with premonition.
I watch dusk fall, and sink into the darkness.
Spring, 1492
A man walked alone down a dark alleyway on the outskirts of Salamanca. The echo of his footsteps had died out with the end of the cobblestones, and he was now traipsing through dirt avenues, wet in places with the remains of washbasins and urine bowls. As a boy he had sometimes explored this side of Salamanca with his friends, but that was long ago now and he was unfamiliar with these soggy streets. It unnerved him a bit to be in such an unknown and distasteful part of the city that he knew and loved so well. If only it were daytime, he thought to himself. If it were daytime the sun would glow on the rosy golden stone of the city buildings, the doves would fly out from the cathedral buildings with the bells, and perhaps a lovely campesino girl would traipse by, charming in spite of her dusty frock A lovely gypsy girl, with big black eyes and–
No. Not a gypsy girl. He frowned, steeled himself to the night, and kept walking.
Eventually he stopped in front of a dark house and peered speculatively at the portal. The low wooden doorframe was splintering. He counted the houses next to it several times as if to assure himself of something, hesitated momentarily, then knocked.
Silence.
Zacuto?
After a moment, a muffled shuffling noise came from behind the door. Ah, Nebrija, its you! Wait just a moment
A door was unbolted several times, unlatched, and opened. A candle emerged from the darkness, and behind it Zacuto, who ushered in his friend with warmth.
Nebrija, I am so glad you have made it! It is good to see you, my friend. How have you been? I hear you are about to publish a most controversial book on grammar.
7. Zacuto
Nebrija
laughed, and found a seat on one of two wooden chairs in the cramped but clean
room. Oh yes. It is vulgar. So vulgar that it is dedicated entirely to
Spanish. You know, it will be the first grammar book of any romance language.[15]
8. Nebrija
Oh good – a grammar of the common language! How
exciting! You are fiendish, my friend. Zacuto took a corked bottle out of a
lopsided cabinet and poured the last of the wine into two mugs, handing one to
Nebrija.
Nebrija accepted it, murmuring, Yes, well, Im just trying to keep up with you, old chap. We cant all be renegade by religion, can we?
Zacuto smiled darkly. Its good timing for your book. The country is being homogenized. The Reconquista is complete; the Inquisition is murmuring once more, the Muslims are gone, the gypsies, and soon the Jews. Soon all of Spain will be forced to speak the language of the Catholic kings.
Nebrija looked down into his cup.
Ah, my friend, do not worry. I have made arrangements. This time I return to my native city only to pass through. Zacuto fell silent and watched the candle flame. A moment passed before he turned back to Nebrija and continued:
8. Nebrija
Tomorrow my son and I go to Lisbon, to the Portuguese, and
closer to the sea.[16]
What better place to be? That ocean will provide me with all the interest I
need. There are new islands cropping up every day out there! I wouldnt be
surprised to hear of a re-discovered Atlantis some day soon.[17]
And Ive every intention of devoting my mind and devices to the cause. He
raised his glass, but behind his smile his face remained enigmatic. He took a
sip.
Have you heard about Columbus?
Ahhh, yes. That red-headed man, brash, he was Nebrijas eyes glazed in remembrance, but sprang back into the light of the candle momentarily. Yes, what about him?
Well, hes been financed. Zacuto paused to let the news sink in. He was initially rejected by the courts on our advice. Also because of his demands – can you believe it? – he asked to be knighted, appointed grand admiral and viceroy – titles which would remain in the family forever, of course – and to receive 10% of all transactions made within his admiralty! And so of course he was rejected. But, from the looks of it, certain members of the court persuaded the king and queen to call him back. And so they did, and his demands were met, and he sets sail on April 3rd.[18]
Nebrija was shocked, but enjoying the scandalous gossip thoroughly. Dios mo! – he crossed himself – That audacious man must have the right friends! April 3rd but isnt that the day of the day of the expulsion?
Correct. All Jews must leave the country by the night of the 2nd. And yes, several of his friends were wealthy and influential. But theyre the wrong friends now – like myself, they are Jewish. Rumor has it, so is he.`
An hour later Nebrija had bid goodbye to his childhood friend and was carrying an important package in the folds of his robe. Nebrija felt the cold weight of the parcel jostling against his chest with the rhythm of his steps and reflected how strange it was that Zacuto had fashioned the instrument from metal instead of wood, as was the usual practice. On a whim he stopped mid-stride, felt for the item in his pocket, and extracted it. The object was humbly wrapped in a ragged piece of cloth embroidered with the emblem of a scallop shell. He paused to finger its rough outline. For all its shoddy needlework, he could not help but look on the image reverently. It was the symbol of St. James the Great, and of the many European starting points from which medieval pilgrims began their journey, all drawn to a single point at the base of the shell, Santiago de Compostela[19] – the cathedral which bears his name. The scallop shell had been donned proudly by centuries of pilgrims on their search for discovery, salvation, and communion with God. As if imbued with the power of their devotion, the image held him transfixed and sent a slight shiver through him. The surprising weight of the tiny wrapped parcel in his open palm once again demanded his attention. Taking his eyes from the pale shell image, he began to unravel the cloth.
A moment later the object emerged. The light of the moon caught its gleaming surface and Nebrija was dazzled. Nestled in the folds of the fabric, its slender arms overlapping detailed carvings in an intricate and elaborate design, lay Zacutos newly perfected Astrolabe.
To the
uninitiated eye, it would appear beautiful but unintelligible, perhaps some
secret symbol of religious practice. Nebrija had once, while visiting the
marketplaces in the port town of Cdiz, come across such a thing – a mandala, it was called,
used for invoking unknown gods in strange lands far to the east. As he stared
down at the ornate instrument in the moonlight, it was unnerving to think of
such things – things that were so far away, so strange. Again, he
shivered. But he could not help admiring the delicate device
cradled in his hand.
9. Tablulae
Astronomicae, used
by Columbus in his journeys of discovery
10. 16th
Century Astrolabe,
an astronomical instrument
of many uses
including,
finding and
predicting the
positions of the
stars and
sun; determining
local
time given
longitude;
and surveying and
triangulation[20]
So this is what hes been up to for so long, he thought, smiling to himself at his friends achievement. For all its esoteric craftsmanship, the astrolabes purpose was essentially practical: when used in combination with specific astronomical tables, it provided the exact location of a ship in high seas.[21]
Zacuto had asked him to deliver it to Columbus. At this last thought, Nebrija became annoyed, bundled up the instrument, and again began pacing up the hillside. Hotheadedfanaticalprobably up to no good, he grumbled to himself as he found his way back up to his university apartments. He never had much liked Columbus. He didnt relish the idea of aiding – even indirectly – the ridiculous man whose silly crusade he had publicly condemned, and he certainly didnt like going so far out of his way to do so. But by the time he reached his chiseled stone doorway, he had walked himself out of much of his annoyance. In the spirit of a last favor to his long-time friend, he put away his reservations and resolved to deliver the parcel to Columbus in Granada as promised. He had to admit that the man had tenacity. And he sure did get lucky in his friends.
Columbus sat alone in a small, dank room. The air was heavy with smoke from a fire that needed tending, but the man in the corner did not notice. His eyes were red, whether from the smoke or the wine bottle in his hand it was hard to tell. He sat still as stone, fixated upon several pieces of parchment stretched out before him, deaf to the clamor of fireworks and revelry seeping through the cracks in the window frames. Outside, the city of Granada convulsed with desecration and celebration – the last Moorish stronghold in the country had fallen. The conquest of the Catholic kings was over.
Columbus had a different cause for celebration. The queen, in light of the long-awaited victory and auspicious absence of her husband the king, had publicly granted him what he had spent nearly a decade searching for: commission to embark on his journey.
Her words rang through his mind: The enterprise is mine, for the Crown of Castile. I pledge my jewels for the funds.[22]
The money! Finally, the money! My dear sweet Queen Isabelle, I am forever your servant! He raised his glass waveringly, tilted back his head, and took a long swig.
In addition to the titles and rites, he had asked for three thousand crowns, two vessels, and their crews wages.* By the end of the month he would be in Palos, with three vessels, making ready to set sail. And by August, after three months of preparation, he would be on his way – riding the waves, at last! He and his crew.
He knew already that they would be a problem. What with superstitions and prejudices, recruiting for this journey would be difficult. But no matter – he had the commission! Nothing could hold him back now. And just in time, too, he thought to himself. There were rumors at court. Come August hed rather be beyond the Inquisitions reach.
He fingered the wine bottle and raised it to take another gulp, but found it empty.
BOY!
A bodiless peaked face popped into the doorway, Sir?
Bring me more wine!
Sir theres none left. Some soldiers from the street took the last cache. I couldnt stop them–
Nonsense! Her majesty has several barrels yet! Get one of those He belched.
Sir, the queen has gone she is on her way to Santiago de Compostela with the offerings to pay tribute to Saint James the Great for the victory.
Saint James? Santiago himself, eh? Well, isnt that fitting? To Saint James, patron saint of pilgrims! To the journey ahead!
11. St. James the Great, commonly known as Santiago, was a martyred
disciple of St. John the Baptist. At the martyrdom of St. James, his body was
smuggled out of Herods Land. By ship it was taken to Spain. As the ship
approached land a horse and rider were seen on shore. The restless horse
plunged into the sea to greet the ship but in a few moments appeared again on
shore covered over with white-lined scallop shells. The rider, said to be a
bridegroom, went joyfully on to his wedding. And the scallop shell has [ever]
since been the emblem for St. James. A faithful disciple took the body to
higher ground and hid it in a cave chapel where it lay for eight hundred years.
In ninth
century Spain, firmly held by Moslem rule, a small group of Christian hermits
settled in Iria Flavia, modern El Padron, to live in poverty and prayer. One
night they were astonished to see a bright light and to hear marvelous
antiphons and anthems. Setting out to find the source of these visitations,
they found the sealed entrance of a cave which they opened to discover a
sarcophagus under a small altar. Beside the tomb was an inscription: Here
lies Santiago, son of Zebedee and Salome, brother of St. John, whom Herod
beheaded in Jerusalem. The
discovery was made on July 25, 813, since commemorated as the feast day of St.
James.
King Alfonso II
ordered the body removed to Compostela and gave land – six miles in every
direction – for building of a shrine. Thus Moorish occupied Spain at last
had a Christian shrine to compete with Moslem Cordova, [and] Christians [began making] pilgrimage to
Compostela from all of Western Europe. When the Crusades began in 1096, knights
[who] volunteered to help Spain fight her Moslem conquerors were excused from
[the] Jerusalem campaigns. The task of liberation was finally complete in 1492.
Ferdinand and Isabella, without knowledge of the value of Columbus discovery, celebrated their final
victory over the Moors by bringing thank offerings to St. James at Compostela.[23]
He raised his glass and made to drink, remembering too late that the bottle was already empty.
Sir, are you really sailing to India? asked the boy tentatively.
Columbus turned from his desk, teetering slightly. Fixing one red and slightly unfocused eye on the boy, and replied Well of course! I am carried by the will of Providence, for the accomplishment of a great purpose[s],[24] my good lad.
But how do you know?
Well my patron saint, for one thing! [Im] named after St. Christopher, whose legendary history is comprised in [the] name [itself:] Christophorus-the bearer of Christ [he]carried the infant Savior on his shoulders over an arm of the sea!...[I,] too, was destined to carry over the sea the glad tidings of the gospel, to nations dwelling in the darkness of paganism![25]
Columbus was now on his feet, making sweeping grandiose gestures with the bottle. They boy eyed him, glad that the bottle was empty, as he replied:
But sir, my brothers name is Christopher, and he hates ships!
Columbus snapped out of his reverie and stared with disdain in the general direction of the boy, though he seemed to be having a hard time narrowing in on the childs face.
You should not be asking your elders about such things, boy. Go and find me some wine!
The boy vanished, and Columbus again sat down. He reached to the corner of the desk, to a heavy black book, and drew it reverently towards him.
Fall 2005
I open my eyes to darkness. The windowpane, drained now of color, is indistinguishable from the walls. The view before me is as black as my computer screen – the world sleeps.
I can see nothing.
Instead, I watch the images in my head.
A man with a bundle scurries up a dark street. A heavy-browed father awakens his little boy tenderly to ready him for departure. A red-haired seaman pores over maps and a heavily-thumbed copy of the Bible by dim firelight, wine bottle in hand.
I think about each, and in the dark I watch their stories unfold until dawn.
Before I know it has happened, light has infused the room once more. The windowpane takes shape - first in indigo, then grey, then pink, and finally opaque. lobjet pour lequel on se dvoue . The little boy, the mariner, the package they drift away.
cette ralit est las plus splendide..
I am vaguely aware that I am staring up at the ceiling. A line of words unwinds above me. I let my eyes roll after them, tracing their lines mechanically without cognition. parure dont lhomme puisse dcorer
The
light is changing, sharpening. Suddenly, as if by the click of a button my
brain jolts awake and the meaning behind the words clicks into place:
If the object to which one devotes himself is an illusion, the devotion to it is none the less a reality; and this reality is the most splendid dress with which a man can deck out his wretched state.[26]
12. Columbuss Ships
Columbus never did reach the West Indies. But he aimed for
them.
I begin to type.
Eleven hours,
three thousand words later,
The light is again softening. I sit still, spent, staring at the screen: tabula no longer rasa.
I have told a story. Whispered to me by incorporeal voices of the past, it is now tangible, concrete. My brain is quiet. The tips of my fingers throb softly with release.
I put the screen to sleep, close it with one last click, and stand. Clear-headed and without a second-thought, I walk away from the windowpanes and bookshelves, but not from the memory of that dark space.
In the halls, I watch for adventure lurking in bright eyes. Anonymous faces pass and I wonder which one is a Cortez or a Columbus in disguise.
In Spanish class, I hear grammar rules screech their way onto the chalkboard and Zacutos words echo in my mind: you are about to publish a most controversial book on grammar? In the whisper of the chalk I listen for the rustle of Nebrijas quill, for the remnants of that which he first set down five centuries ago.
13. Scallop Shell Images
on the U.T. Campus
Even
Santiago has found his way into my life. Everywhere, absolutely everywhere, I
see the image of the scallop shell.
In my dorm room, I sit on my bed, stare out the window, and muse that somewhere in the deep, dark, dream-like gap between inspiration and insanity, perhaps these characters became a part of me.
Is their presence illusion or reality?
In that dark space framed by windowpanes and bookshelves I heard voices of the past
–But I couldnt have heard them! Those voices are mute, dead, gone.
And yet I did hear them. I hear them still. They murmur through sunlit hallways, measured out by the beat of shoe-soles on stone, rising in intonation and nestling in the crevices of Plateresque relief that is still sharp with newness and sunlight–
–No! those hallways are now worn with age and far away.
And yet I see them crisp, new, and clear as day.
Where are these hallways? In my mind, and in my mind alone? Where are these voices?
I pull my eyes from the window, let my thoughts lie, and turn instead to my guitar.
I begin to practice. My fingers warm up, my mind relaxes, and I sink into the sound. Soon I am not practicing, but playing. AmEDm a note rings through my head, and I fumble across the frets to find it ahhhh, F, thats it. Am, E, Dm, F the notes unwind in my mind, my fingers follow where they lead, and suddenly a tune has been composed – a story told.
Again my gaze drifts to the window.
A melody was just born into reality – but when, exactly? Was it real in the moment that I heard it in my head, or only once I found the strings and strummed them? And now that the song is over and exists only in my memory, is it no longer real? And if it is not real when resonating in my mind alone, how is it that I could hear it in the first place?
One thing is certain: the tune I strummed would not have existed without the noiseless tune in my mind to dictate its creation. Reality begins in the imagination.
Did Columbus know this? Is that why he sailed so far afield? No, probably not. But he had something more powerful than this knowledge: a guiding force, devotion. Any of us can dream up a goal, but to get across the water weve got to have the impetus to go after it. We must stop staring at blank screens and have the audacity to create our own realities.
This is not as hard as it seems: the veil between illusion and reality is thinner than one might expect.
In a flash of insight, I understand what Zacuto must have known all along: we must stop worrying about whether our goals are attainable or illusory and be devoted to them not just in spite of but also because of all of the unknown variables. The unknown variables may very well hold the most colossal rewards, and certainly the greatest discoveries. So perhaps seeking the goal is more important than attaining it; who knows what unknown worlds we may stumble upon in the process? We must have the strength of will to let our own stories come out of incubation in our imaginations and be told.
14. The Tower From My Bedside Window
And after all our journeys are done, it is that remnant of audacity,
devotion, and strength of will that resurrects us. Reality not only begins in
the imagination, but ends there too: that is where Zacuto, Nebrija, Cortez,
Columbus and even Santiago have ultimately come to reside. Their ships, books,
quills, and bodies are gone. Their deeds and ideas lie dormant in written
record. But in the mind their personalities find voice and life once more (and
influence).
Outside, the tower bells begin to toll, and in their peal I hear an echo of the cathedral bells of Salamanca. A line of poetry surfaces in my brain:
Like each tucked string tells, each hung bells bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name[27]
To the rhythm of the bells, I pick up the pencil on my windowsill and sketch out the notes of the guitar song still ringing in my mind. At the bottom I write two lines:
Reality begins and ends in
the imagination.
Life is navigating the ocean of uncertainty in
between
What gets us from one shore
to the other is devotion: that life-propelling force that brings our whispered
imaginings into being, and demands that our life story to be told.
I sit admiring the page for several seconds, pondering the lives of these fanciful characters that have become so vivid in my imagination. A phrase from my English class drifts to mind - Hammer your thoughts into unity,[28] – and I am silently smug that I have been able to synthesize some meaning from my peephole into their lives and distill it into such catchy little phrases. But my grains of greeting-card wisdom lose their glimmer quickly. Slowly, an uncomfortable thought itches its way into my consciousness what is my life story? What devotion anchors and propels it, what common thread unites it?
Ive been beating my brain against this particular question for some time now.
Dejectedly but diligently, I again begin to examine the strange schematic of places that has been my life for the past five years. All have been meaningful to me, but what meaning unites them? Where have I been going with all of this movement?
A small desperate voice in my brain whispers, Only connect!... Live in fragments no longer![29] I think back, flip to pages of old journals, map my philosophical transmutations, zoom in and zoom out, but for all my observations and calculations I find no point of fusion, no constant. It is useless.
Angrily, I heave rationality aside and begin to doodle. My thoughts take off, scattered scenes flashing disparately through my head: a dandelion-and-book-strewn field in Colorado, a moonlit plaza in Spain, a densely overgrown rainforest trail in Costa Rica, a flour-strewn kitchen in Mexico, a massive snail-like art Museum in New York, a rudimentary classroom in Nicaragua where I am playing teacher–
I catch sight of the shapes my hand is mindlessly doodling and my whirling brain halts.
In astonishment, I stare down at the stylized image that has emerged from the point of my pencil: a scallop shell
The scallop shell, symbol of the many points from which pilgrims began their journey, all drawn to a single point at the base of the shell, Santiago de Compostela[30]
I think of the thousands of scallop shells etched and engrained in the UT campus buildings: Battle, Biology, Benedict, Calhoun, Carruthers, Garrison, Goldsmith, Hogg, the Littlefield House, Parlin, Rainey, the Tower[31] In amazement, I begin to recognize a commonality in all my meanderings, and – perhaps – their point of fusion...
The scallop shell, which remind[s] all of us pilgrims that in the midst of a world both beautiful and broken there are signs to help lead us forward, sometimes right under our feet.[32]
I think of my cousin Kiowa, and where her feet are taking her. Then, my heart aching, I think of all my family members and the various drastic and painful life changes that we have all navigated in the past few years. We have been through a great deal: vicious diseases, tumultuous family deaths, court cases, family feuds, personal failings and flounderings, (sic) fierce love and abuse, and the dual liberation and challenge of graduating from one set of circumstances into another. It has been difficult at times to find any anchor of solace, encouragement, or hope. But despite the rough waters, our family is healing, and each of us in our own way is striking out into new territory. Kiowa is on the Camino de Santiago, walking her way towards the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Millions have made this trek, yet for some reason her journey seems special, unique, triumphant. I am proud of her.
15. Pictures and Posters
from
political protests and alleyway walls in Spain.
I remember my own experiences in Spain, and how supremely
difficult and formative that year was. It was the year of the September 11th
terrorist attacks,
16. Roman Ruins in Zaragoza, Spain, which I passed each morning on
my bus ride to school.
of the beginning of the war in Iraq, and of the Prestige oil
spill. It was also the first time I really felt the presence of history around
me, of my genius loci. Like all new
comers
to
a spot on which the past is deeply graven [I] heard that past announcing itself
with an emphasis altogether unsuspected by, and even incredible to, the
habitual residents.[33]
Even the most mundane of things, a habitual morning bus ride for example, was imbued
with that charisma of the past: each morning on my way to school I could stare
out the windows of city bus number forty-two and watch crumbling Roman ruins
and statues of Caesar Augustus, the citys founder, slide by.
It was as if the illustrations of my history textbook had suddenly sprung from the page and into present-day life. For all my experiences with discovery learning[34] in the Montessori classroom as a child, the concept of reading the whole world as a text[35] had never been more real to me (and for a child who had largely defined her world through the books she read, this was quite a treat). Though I initially perceived this new world that I inhabited as studded with anachronisms, little by little I began to view them as part of the fabric of everyday life, remnants of a time and place that, though distant, continued to whisper its influence upon the modern world. We are Romans still, my Spanish history teacher used to say.
I became fascinated by this link to the past, and quietly continued to probe the relationship between these ancient relics and the present day. My most powerful insight into this affair occurred in the northwestern corner of Spain, on the site of a shrine that had been attracting worshippers from abroad for more than a thousand years.[36] Like my cousin Kiowa, I too visited Santiago de Compostela during my time in Spain, though my journey there lasted only two weeks and I arrived thanks to trains, not my own two feet. It was, however, the first trip I had ever planned and embarked upon completely independently.
17. Santiago de Compostela
I
arrived alone on a cold, drizzly night. The sky shone purple as the lights of
the city reflected through low-hanging clouds and mist, and the plaza of the Cathedral
was utterly deserted. I imagined that everyone else must have been wrapped
tight in blankets and warm in their beds, safely out of reach of the muggy
chill that was slowly eating its way through my jacket. Despite the cold, I
remained to examine those old stone walls which had been the focal point of so
much reverence throughout the centuries.
What was their secret? For a few minutes I stood watching the rain and
sparse ephemeral snowflakes slip off the imposing faade. Carved with images
and personages that I was unfamiliar with and seemingly deserted, to me the cathedral was a lifeless lump
of rock, a sleeping giant, alien in form and purpose. And yet, its very weight
and stillness were somehow reassuring. I crossed the plaza, tried the side door,
and entered.
When I stepped inside I was swallowed as much by the silence as the colossal size. Tentatively, I began walking down the central aisle, searching for the attendant I knew must be there somewhere, noting the cold, heavy air, the strange pungent scent percolating through the space, the lavish decorations, the lofty ceiling, the solemn carved faces of robed individuals caught and frozen in cold grey walls – and stopped.
It struck me that those walls had been watching people like me come and go for centuries. Once, the incipient form of those stone faces had felt the cold just as acutely as I did in that very moment. I shivered.
As I stood rooted in place in the middle of the central nave, I was overcome by a strange sensation: I felt utterly miniscule, overwhelmed by deference and awe, but at the same time profoundly empowered and energized. An image leapt into my brain: as William H. Crawford has put it in his book, Great Physicists, if an atom were expanded to the size of a cathedral, the nucleus would be only about the size of a fly, but a fly many thousands of times heavier than the cathedral.[37]
I suddenly understood why so many millions of pilgrims had walked thousands of miles to stand in that place, because in a way I felt them there with me. It was not the cathedral itself that unites them, but rather their devotion to it and all that it embodies. Though this devotion hibernates within the idea of that place, it can be felt just as fiercely without ever having set foot inside those cathedral walls, and is certainly not contained by them. It lives in the hearts of its pilgrims, in their deeds, and even the scallop shells that they don. And it was the weight of this devotion that empowered me.
Here at UT, I have once again become that fly.
In the past five years I have been an itinerant, but also a pilgrim. Only a sense of devotion divides one from the other; when one loses sight of this guiding force, life easily slips into fragments. Luckily, though this devotion may change forms or remain obscured for a time, it is difficult to ever completely extinguish, and can easily be rediscovered if one simply takes the trouble to look for it. Marcel Proust once said that the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.
As I stared down at the page
below me, of the image of the scallop shell that permeated my life yet so often
went unnoticed, I began to understand that the unifying devotion I had been so
hard-pressed to discover had been present all along. It was simply so integral
to the fabric of my being that I had overlooked it. Your hearts know in
silence the secrets of the day and the nights. But your ears thirst for the
sound of your heart's knowledge. You would know in words that which you have always
known in thought.[38]
Articulating our devotions is difficult, but so are most worthwhile endeavors. In striving to unify my past experiences and create my own sense of place here at UT, I have come closer to understanding the forces that move me. I have no doubt that I will continue to fine-tune and redefine this understanding throughout my time here. But what I do know is that I am and will always be essentially a small-town girl with one big devotion: knowledge.
Like Columbus, I have been on an all-consuming quest. I searched not for India, but for education – and my own brand of it, to be sure. Along the way I stumbled across Colorado, Spain, Nicaragua, New York, Costa Rica, Mexico, Guatemala, and Austin. Ive been fortunate enough to have a few Zacutos and Isabellas believe in me and propel me forward on fair winds of encouragement and financial aid, but there have been rough waters too. Still, the unexpected encounters and unknown variables have ultimately taught me the most. As Walter Pater affirmed, Not the fruit of experience, but experience itself is the end. A counted number of pulses only is given to us of a variegated, dramatic life. How may we see in them all that is to be seen in them by the finest senses? How shall we pass most swiftly from point to point, and be present always at the focus where the greatest number of vital forces unite in their purest energy?[39]
Finally, after
five years of wayward life wanderings, this devotion has led me closer to my
roots than Ive been in half a decade, and also to the focus of my energies.
Strangely enough, in this lively mass of youth and intellect that is U.T., Ive
found a variation of that solemn, sacred place that is Santiago de Compostela.
Both are immense, far-reaching, infused with the spirits of the past (and the
money of the state), and riddled with scallop-shells! Here, I have found my own
personal brand of cathedral: one devoted to knowledge. These walls contain
within them the pilgrims of all time – their images hover in the windows
of the Ransom center, their words grace the beams of the Life Sciences Library,
and the symbols of their passage linger above doorways, on library shelves, and
in the minds of the students who breath life into their memory. This University
is built upon the devoted minds of all time, and the weight of their
accomplishments and memory of their presence propels me forward.
18. Quote
on Beam
Word
Count: 8,051 – quotes (894) = 7,157
ENDNOTE:
Joseph Campbells Ode to the
singleness of the human spirit in its aspirations, powers, vicissitudes, and
wisdom:
We have not even to risk the adventure alone, for
the heroes of all time have gone before us; the labyrinth is thoroughly known;
we have only to follow the thread of the hero-path. And where we had thought to
find abomination, we shall find a god; where we had thought to slay another, we
shall slay ourselves; where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to
the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be
with all the world.[40]
List of
Illustrations
- Salamanca
Universtiy http://www.guiadigital.com/salamanca/laciudad/arteyarquitectura.cfm
- The
Faade of the University, http://www.guiadigital.com/salamanca/laciudad/arteyarquitectura.cfm
- The
Minor Schools, http://www.guiadigital.com/salamanca/laciudad/arteyarquitectura.cfm
- Ptolemy World Map, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ptolemy
8. Nebrija,
http://www.antoniodenebrija.org/
9. Tabulae Astonomicae, http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/loc/loc12a.html
10. 16th Century Astrolabe, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astrolabe
11. St. James the
Great, http://www.wilsonsalmanac.com/saint_james.html
- Columbuss Ships, http://www.sailtexas.com/columbusships.html
- Scallop
Shells, http://www.cwrl.utexas.edu/~bump/images/arch/shells.html,
and photo credit: Rachel Sibley, Nov. 10 2005
14. The Tower From My Bedside Window, photo credit: Rachel Sibley, Oct. 11, 2005
- Pictures and Protests, photo credit: Rachel Sibley, 2002
- Santiago de Compostela, photo credit: Rachel Sibley, 2002
- Quote on Beam, photo credit: Rachel Sibley, Nov. 5, 2005