Emotion

Although I have not yet found religion and probably never will, I have strived desperately my entire life to reconcile the gorge between me and God. I am envious of those who have faith, and I imagine that they must experience a more vibrant fuller life and that they carry a stronger sense of security. In contrast, I have always viewed my own life as an endless landscape of spiritual vacancy and desertion. Throughout my 23 years of searching I have only once come close to the feeling of what I imaging, but do not fully understand to be faith, and I will never forget the moment or sensation as it was one of extreme power and emotion.
I have often joked that to fill the necessary void of a religion, I replaced the bible with literary anthologies and churches for museums. Hence, it is appropriate that my single religious moment strike me while visiting the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Harlem annex: the Cloisters. It is not uncommon for museums to contain religious art, as undoubtedly, the greatest works of art are most often commissioned by divine inspiration; however, this particular museum, being one dedicated to early Anglo-Saxon Christian art, contained so many theological depictions that it blurred the line between museum and church.
Not having an overwhelming interest in the subject matter of the museum, I only ventured there in an attempt to avoid the monotony of my usual visits to the Met., Morgan, and MOMA. Once arrived, I was not immediately struck by anything unusual and felt that the museum was merely a poor man’s attempt to capture the authenticity of historic Italian churches. Towards the end of my visit, however, I stumbled into what is known as the “Treasure Room” and in the moments that followed I experienced one of the most powerful emotions in my life.

Commissioned during the middle to late 12th century AD an Altar Cross stood approximately one yard high and was carved out of walrus ivory. Strangely, although time had drawn the vibrancy from the ivory and at a distance the valuable material was unrecognizable, the cross, alone in a room full of treasures, maintained a mysterious and captivating allure. Upon closer examination, however, I realized the true fortune of the cross as its craftsman ship and story telling were of an astonishing quality. Moreover, from a spiritual perspective the cross captured and ignited something about Christian sentiment through its appeal to captivate and communicate a sense of glory.
The spiritual essence of the cross was further enhanced upon examining the detail of the relief carvings that decorate both its sides. The front of the cross portrayed a tree and depicted typological scenes including Moses and the Brazen Serpent, the Deposition and Lamentation, the Resurrection, and the Ascension. The rear side appeared to represent the 12 apostles with various mythological creatures present on the terminals. Aside from the overall craftsmanship, the artist’s representation of a tree on the front and depiction of mythological creatures on the back drew my particular attention.
The mythological creatures included a Pegasus like creature or horse with wings, a griffin or some form of hybrid lion with wings, and a daunting bird of prey. I found significance in these creatures as they do not appear in traditional Christian theology, so their presence indicated a cultural transfusion and strongly suggested an Anglo-Saxon heritage. Nonetheless, the mythological presence created a bridge that stretched my conception of the origins of Christianity deep into the past to a time unremembered and only imagined.
Furthermore, on the front of the cross and between each terminal, the trunk of a striped tree appears. The museum’s footnote indicated that the depiction was an allusion to the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. What intrigued me most about this, however, was the artist’s choice to represent the tree’s branches as being hacked off. Also, the haggard and raw state of the tree was peculiar and the alterations enacted on the tree appeared to be committed for the sake of construction. The quality not only alluded to the cross as the Tree of Life, but also reminded me of a cross in a famous poem “The Dream of the Rood.” In this poem the cross is referred to as a tree and reflects on its origin as a tree prior to becoming the crucifix used to crucify Christ. The description and emotion of the tree described in the poem also gave it an improvised and unfinished appearance, as if the trunk were merely stripped of its branches and then haphazardly erected in the shape of a cross. Instantly I felt as though the two crosses were the same, and the connection I made between them swept me like a gust of wind as it occurred to me that I was not witnessing the iconic symbol of Christianity, but a crucifix. The realization filled me with empathy and the resounding sound of the word charity began to echo in my ears. It felt as if the cross began to whisper an emotion that filled me with knowledge and a contempt state of confusion at the same time. I can only describe the feeling as being able to hear its feelings and feel its words.
As I mentioned earlier, the Altar Cross is located in the Treasury room of the museum which contains an assortment of rather shiny objects, such as goblets, jewelry, and relic cases. Amidst this room of wealth, the cross stood apart floating alone beneath white focused lights and surrounded by riches. The sullied beige tint of the cross and soft lighting of the case juxtaposed the many vibrant and shiny adjacent artifacts, and the contrast gave it an inescapable humble and solemn charm. As I approached the cross its ethereal essence seemed to draw the breath from my lungs and refill them with faith. The sensation felt much like rain showering and nourishing my arid soul. I felt as though my body was flourishing with an overgrowth of life and spirituality.
Also, the cross had the quality of darkening the surrounding room and created a sphere or glob of religious light which appeared to emanate purely from its being. Standing within the confines of the light gave me an indescribable sense of security, warmth, and knowledge. Mesmerized and entranced by the peculiarity of the cross the notion of time slipped away and I was overcome with a sensation of eternity.
Despite the intensity and joy I received through the experience, it did not last past my drive home from the museum. I still recall the moment as I have done here and many times since, but my attempts to reconnect have never extend beyond the feeling of a nostalgic memory. I have even revisited the Cloisters twice since the event in hopes to spark the spiritual realization or anything close to the transcendent experience of my first encounter. However, my last two visits have felt more like visiting a grave; that empty sense of confusion when you have to search for a person in the space above your mind when they are lying six feet below you. I stood completely still waiting for the magic of the cross to retake me, but nothing happened. I noticed and appreciated all the details that I did on my first encounter, but nothing happened. I felt betrayed; I felt abandoned. I felt like a child running downstairs on Christmas morning to find a house completely empty.
So now, having no other choice and not wanting to let go, I have developed a new way of appreciating the cross. Some nine hundred years since the artisan’s hand first brushed the smooth surface of the walrus tusk, countless eyes have looked upon this cross and from these eyes the cross derives its power. In an attempt to move on, I have concluded that it is not the cross alone that moved me once, but a millennium of worship, devotion, faith, and love encapsulated within and represented by the cross. Even if I am not able to experience the spiritual power of the cross anymore, I am still capable of appreciating the craftsmanship and I can not deny or ignore the nine hundred years of humanity flowing from its very being.

Assignment 1

Yikes! I have 500 words to script my identity. Given the unanimous declaration of individuality and personal complexity stated by my peers during class discussion, I find it quit improbable that any of us would be capable of achieving such an immense task. Nonetheless, I attempt the feet; however, as I do so I would like to point out the cultural phenomena associated with this assignment, as it is an all too familiar platform for the technologically savvy masses of extreme individuals, whom have little to say and little to distinguish themselves by other than a list of favorite bands and movies accompanied by colorful backdrops, a self defining song played in the background, and a list of random irrelevant comments posted by those dearest to them, such as, “watz up man… I havn chilld w/ U in mad long hit me up”. Scanning the endless “identities” of Myspace and Facebook, which parallel in many ways the concept of this assignment, pages begin to melt together and every identity leads into the next. It quickly becomes evident that the terms, forms, and values placed on identity, in this modern age of technology and radical individualism, are extremely external, inauthentic, and impersonal.
Unfortunately, as I begin my own assessment of identity, I am tragically defeated by an overwhelming sense of trivialness. I do not feel and I can not relate to the intensely popular desire and format of asserting one’s identity in this digital age. Honestly, when I first sat down to begin this assignment, I struggled greatly to conform to the format. Obviously, however, I was unable and now find myself in a mess of criticism that caries a potential to offend. If this be the case, please permit me to clarify and defend some of my commentary.
I am by no means asserting that anyone of us are not individuals, but rather, that the array, dazzle, and simplicity of establishing such a virtual identity through such meager means is misleading and lacks depth. In fact, it boggles my mind that a person can state to a room full of their peers that they are “unique;” however, when asked to elaborate on their uniqueness they are stumped and reply awkwardly that they “do not know… they just are.” I know very well that we all feel our uniqueness, but I am not certain that all of us have explored the meaning behind the feeling.
I do not blame entirely, but do attribute some responsibility to current social standards of establishing uniqueness and individuality. Identity is not something worn on the stylishly torn sleeve of an American Eagle sweatshirt. It is not a list of adjectives, nor is it determined by material, external, or measurable factors. Identity is internal, intangible, and can not be captured. Hence, it is no wonder that a person asked to explicate their sense of uniqueness struggles to find the words.
My point, if I even have one, is that we are mislead by giant social networking programs, such as Facebook, Myspace, and other alleged outlets of individual expression into thinking that we are the sum of their parts. Yes, I too claim that I am an individual; yet, I do not feel that my individuality need be nor can be encapsulated into a packaged whole.