Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being.
I’ve decided to reread Herman Melville’s classic, Moby Dick, because it been quite a few years. Probably something like ten. In many ways rereading well-written pieces of literature, fiction as well as non-fiction, is like reading them for the first time. The ideological and cognative distances I’ve traveled, at least to me, feel like oceans of both space and time. The passage above comes from the end of chapter seven, and of course I don’t remember a bit of it. I’m enjoying, and probably better understanding than the first time around, the King James style vernacular employed by Melville and the deluge of topical analogy that so compliments a first person narrative. Being one who always finds at least a smirk for the simple spiritual analogies, particularly those offered by simpler minds or characters such as Ishmael, I just had to share it. Lees, by the way, is the sediment of wine in the bottom of a curing barrel.