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William Shakespeare s Macbeth Vs. Othello - 1006 Words

Nadia Chilcoat Macbeth vs. Othello Period: â…š 12/12/2014 Macbeth vs. Othello Ancient Greeks believed that a tragic hero must be admirable but flawed, someone the audience can sympathize with, and someone capable of good and evil. The main character must also have a doctrine of free will, in which they are able to redeem themselves, but they continue to fall freely in a downward spiral from a position of superiority. The audience must also be able to see themselves acting in the same way, and the protagonist’s suffering must be greater than their offense. Macbeth is the true tragic hero, because he displays all of the qualities of a tragic hero, and causes himself to fall down from his position as king. Othello is a weak example of a tragic hero, because Iago causes his fall, not his own actions. In Macbeth, by Shakespeare, Macbeth is told by three witches that he will one day rise to power and become king. Macbeth decides to believe the witches, and all of the prophecies they tell him throughout the tragedy. Macbeth kills King Duncan, his best friend, and other innocent people in order to gain power and remain king. Macbeth is killed by Macduff at the end of the play, when the â€Å"forest† of Birnam walked to his castle. In Othello, by Shakespeare, Othello is the general of Venice, and many people are jealous of him because of his high rank and his beautiful wife, Desdemona. Iago decides to plant seeds of doubt intoShow MoreRelatedDefining The Terms Renaissance And Humanism875 Words   |  4 Pagesscientific and artistic transformation and advancement between the Middle Ages and the early stages of the Modern age in Europe (2014). In the New World Encyclopedia article â€Å"Humanism†, Humanism’s scope primarily focuses on human beings: human being s place in relations to nature, human potential, human beauty, etc. etc. etc. (2014). 2. Who were the Medici’s? The Medici family dynasty comprised of former bankers and commerce men who became powerful rulers (four members of the Medici family went onRead MoreThe Controversial Ending of King Lear by William Shakespeare Essays1580 Words   |  7 PagesThe Controversial Ending of King Lear by William Shakespeare Few Shakespearean plays have caused the controversy that is found with King Lear’s ending scenes. Othello kills himself, Macbeth is executed, and of course in hamlet, everyone dies. Lear, however, is different from other Shakespearean classics. Is Lear mad or lucid? Is Cordelia really dead? Is Edmund’s delay explainable? What is the nature of the Lear world that occasioned all of this? How does Knight’s thesis relate to the ending

RITUAL Essay Example For Students

RITUAL Essay In the mountains, they call it Going Beyond.The way they pronounce the Words endows the sound with a hushed finality as though the meaning had nothing to do with the syllables, the lips just a bit parted, afraid to release The Words altogether.The head is bowed during the utterance, signifying both the solemnity and the apocalyptic nature of the occasion.If you had been there then you would have see how the men, baskets of cabbages and green bananas on their backs, would meet on the muddy trail and whisper to each other.You would have understood from the contour of their lips that The Words were said; and these having been said, they would pursue their individual waysone, perhaps, to wend his way to the Market, the other to wait by the Highway for Tourists to purchase his vegetables at a paupers price.Women sitting on the cold bamboo benches before the village store would suddenly interrupt their conversation by an ominous silence:you knew they were thinking of The Words; they did no t have to say them.In fact saying them would be only anti-climactic, because deep in their minds lurked images that could not be collapsed into a mere couple of sounds.A father queried about the whereabouts of his son would whisper The Words, raising him arms in the direction of the Mountains, and you would be a Fool if you thought he meant his son had gone away to live in another place.The raising of arms is supplementary to the meaning of the Words, at times it means more than The Words.Hes gone beyond, the father would say.No, hes not dead, but hes gone beyond.Beyond is more than the physical boundaries of the Village, more than the physical boundaries of the Mountains, more than the Sea and the Sky and the Land put together.Yes.It is not Death.It is not Life.It is not Life and Death put together.You may give it any name you want, you may declare the people mad, but in the Mountains, they call it Going Beyond. The trouble with you, Roy said, is that you are a coward.I looked at him framed by the last glow of sunset that managed to pour through the misted windowglass.He had just arrived from the City which, from the vantage point of this far-flung Village, was on the other side of eternity.His single bag (I like to travel light) lay beneath the army cot that stood parallel to the wall; this and the other on e I called mine touched ends to form an ell, with the two windows dotting their extremities.It was a small room, though it was room enough for me.Even in the rare event when I had an overnight visitor there was still sufficient space to spare. The trouble with you is that you are a coward, he said again turning to me after quaffing the last drops of his drink.Imagine coming here, living here with God knows what kind of people.This is not the place for you.He walked to the table in the middle of the room to refill his glass; the moment he was embraced by the light, the single light that dangled from a single cord from the ceiling, I saw that the years had not altered him.I do not mean that he had not grown old; I mean that his soul had not changed:he was still Roy, my big brother, my friend trying to save me from distress most of which he had only imagined.Or I may be wrong.Perhaps he had changed, only I was too ensconced in my new world to notice the realities outside it. Hows Luisa? I said.I had not moved from sitting on my cot. Shes going to have a baby.You cannot expect a woman like her to remain alone forever, Roy said. And the man?She cant ask for anyone better.Im glad shes happy.Its not a question of happiness, he said moving back to the window.A lot of people die not knowing they are happy.Its a question of knowing someone is there for you to turn to when you get sick of being with yourself or punching the same infernal machine day in and day out.I did my best, I said, but my mind was groping for some more definite words. You did what you thought you had to do.As to whether that was the right thing to do?He respected my feeling.That one thing kept our friendship alive; I could not help thinking, however, that the sentence would have ended with an undertone of reproach. You kept away, for sure, he said, and I must say you did it magnificently.It came at last.He swept the room with a wide gesture of his arm, a gesture that encompassed also the whole Village.But I came not to speak about that.I know you dont want to speak about that.I came?Yes, why did you come?He was silent for a moment.Then he said, Come to think of it now, I dont know hwy I came? I wanted to see you.It has been two years after all.Two years! How could two years have passed?Probably the Mountains had something to do with it:Time that ordinarily knocked on the doors in the City, that pushed one to work and back to home again, Time that stole but never gave, was here a non-entity, or, at most, an ignored presence:the Mountains leveled it, the winding roads and the cool trees tempered it, so that when it finally arrived at the doorstep, it was all haggard and hungry and begging for a lodging.As to what tow years had done to me I did not know; when you do not bother time it stays away from the fringes of your memory and comes to you only in the guise of images not brilliant in their broken-ness, which you can easily push into that cave of darkness called the Mind; the Mind, no more than Time, reposes when the muscles repose:both speak the same language. Two years.This morning I received a letter from Dayleg, the import of which struck me only when I came to the last passage.Dayleg of the dikes and the downy cogon grass, Dayleg of the dancing uninhibited, Dayleg the devotee turned defiant, Dayleg of the broken skin and white teeth, had spoken at last.Remember the hunt we had two years ago, he wrote, how we crossed the line between heaven and hell in pursuit of the white boar?I remembered.The sacred grove was hardly a forbidding sight:it was like any mountain hunting ground, though there was a sharp tang in the air while the frail twigs crackled louder as we stepped in between the willows and the pines.But then perhaps we really were just half-aware of these, our senses attuned only to the presence of the quarry. Father says this place is a thousand years old, Dayleg said.By the way we are trampling all over it we deserve at least fifty years in Hell.You can start your penance now, I said, Surely the gods will accept contrition by installment.It?s down by the stream.Lets encircle it.The profound significance of the moment sprang before me while I moved as Dayleg directed.We were on forbidden grounds tracking an equally forbidden animal.The fact that I was an outsider did not alter nor lighten the gravity of my involvement.Even as we were encircling the animal a network of guilt was weaving tiny holes of pain in my conscience.By consenting to the hunt I was sharing in the malevolence of a conspiracy. When I arrived by the stream Dayleg was already bending over the dead animal.A single arrowtail protruded form one side of its neck, the arrowhead having shot clean through the other side. Its not white after all.Dayleg was disappointed.They had always told me it was pure as the clouds.What shall we do with it now? I said, eyeing the animal.It was about three feet long, its body covered with thick grizzly hair; mud and blood glistened round its throat.Its tow tusks were ivory in the fading light.In cold repose the boar seemed to cling to its mythic holiness as long as it could. Well bring it to the village and show the elders the lie theyve been handling us all this time.By the light of the fire we had built against the cold I could see Daylegs face as he spoke.It had turned bronze; his eyes shone as though relishing the wickedness of what he had planned to do.His dark slender trunk covered with a dirty G-string was damp with sweat. But wouldn?t that be the height of sacrilege?You asked.You could not hide the shock (or was it fear) in your face.I could not understand your concern for thewhole thing.All you had to do was pack up and go.The gods would have a hard time finding you in the city, crude and walking as they are, if ever they have the mind to meddle in the affairs of a foreigner.Their sovereignty is confined to the mountains. The mountains swelled in darkness as we started our descent to the Village.Dayleg, his sturdy legs punching the sward, the sacred boar stradding his neck, moved easily down the mountain side while I picked my way, stumbling now and then on the rocks or slipping down the moist grass. ?The cat would eat fyshe but he will not weate his feate.WhatI said. I could barely catch up with his steps. ?English proverb,? he said.?A lot of them in the books.Very good for the mind.?We walked in silence most of the time.In spite of the cold night, perspiration soaked my clothes. The knapsack grew heavy on my back.I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt.A true son of the mountains, Dayleg never slowed his pace but even whistled once in a while.Looking at him naked save for a piece of loin-cloth I could hardly believe that he was one of the most intelligent men I had met. When first I came to the Village, the first person I saw was a young native squatting by the roadside and cleaning the tip of a ten-foot spear.The spear was common sight in the place, I had been told earlier, for it was both a means of tilling the soil and, during a tribal feud, of disemboweling the enemies.Occupied by what he was doing, he hardly responded when I asked him for directions to the village school.But the word ?school? made him raise his head.He surveyed me from head to foot before giving me the direct ions I wanted. The school was a four-room structure of wood and galvanized iron located in a small piece of flat land the people called ?The Valley.? Big pine trees that protected the structure from both sun and wind gave it a quality of idyllic serenity usually associated with monasteries.You climbed three steps to find yourself in a kind of balcony that overlooked the whole schoolground. ?Of course one can get terribly lonely here, and one usually does,? the Principal, father Van Noort from Belgium, said.I had knocked on the door of his ?office? at the back of the school building and was met by an old man with graying hair and a brownish soutane that used to be white.Like most of the missionaries I knew, he had a fondness for native cigars.The ?office? was a small room in which were miraculously accommodated a roll-top table, a rattan chair, a wooden bed with a feather mattress, a table with several dirty pieces of cutlery, two chairs to the table, bookshelves, books, wastecans, a table lamp, the sculpted figure of a mountain warrior holding the severed head of his enemy in one hand and his sword in the other. Father Van Noort brushed the ashes form his sleeves.?As I mentioned in my letter, you?ll be in charge of the fifth class.Literature and language.?There was a knock on the door followed by the entrance of a dark-skinned man carrying several books.His white trousers and white shirt were spotless; the electric bulb was reflected on his shoes. ?Carlos Dayleg, in charge of the fourth class,? father van Noort said to me by way of introducing the newcomer. ?I think we?ve already met,? Dayleg said, extending his hand.It was only then that I realized he was the man I asked directions from a few hours ago.He must have noticed my surprise.?Yes, we met this morning. In this place it is not uncommon for natives to change to more civilized attires.As for me, I do it only on special occasion.And school is a special occasion,? Father Van Noort said. ?And school is a special occasion,? Dayleg said, ?and going to the movies and visiting the Mayor,?After classes Dayleg invited me for a drink.A few minutes? walk from school, down winding paths that led past the native huts squatting on hard-packed mud, past the curious structure of a cogon roof placed right on the hard-packed mud, the remains of a bonfire in the very center of the space which one could enter only by crawling on all fours, past this nest of love by t4rial, past half-carved coffins drying ion the sun, emerged Dayleg?s hut.We climbed a steep ladder to the center of the room. ?Make yourself comfortable,? Dayleg said.?The old man must be in a feast somewhere.?The clang of brass gongs filled the hut, reverberated against the rafters, seemed to seep down through the bamboo floorings and settled on the ground below.Dayleg took an earthen jar form a corner. He placed two plastic glasses on the low table.With a groan he sat down beside me.The heat of the rice wine snaked through my throat ? that was the first time I ever drank it, and the taste was both strange and sweet.?Here we ferment rice into wine,? Dayleg said.?The longer, the better.Of course if you overdo it you get vinegar.?That night we talked about many things.I learned that Dayleg had finished a course in pedagogy and philosophy in a university in the City, and that he had come back to his village to do his part in ?the education of my people.?But the rest of our talk came to me now in images and impressions that flitted in my brain like cinematic associations, the focus always changing.A jar of ric e wine does so much to blur the memory, though the pictures are nevertheless recognizable:Dayleg, sixteen years old, sitting before the Council of Elders, being reprimanded for shouting at the village High Priest; the smell of pig roasting, its smoke wafted through the pores of houses, everyone poking his head through the window, straining to smell the meat and to hear the familiar sounds, for this feast was for Lumawig, He Who Sends Fruition to the Earth, the men and the women woven into a circle, the fire in the center, swinging to the rhythm of the gongs which constant use turned golden, like the bright deathmasks of ancient mummery, dancing and chanting, amongst them Dayleg handsome in his nakedness; the circle widening with the shouts of combat, in the center Dayleg with a spear in a stance of sciamachy, fearless as a man for whom death had no meaning, resolved only to redeem the honor of his tribe while the circle metamorphosed into many pointed lances; Dayleg alone in the spo t, a bloody wound in his thigh, the circle broken; myself with eyes bloodshot pouring wine into my twenty mouths when Dayleg tipped the jar and the floor bloomed into a hundred wet pieces of clay; a graduation photograph ? left to right, third row ? Manuel Pantig, Jose Arcana, Roberto Galdon, Lauro Canlas, Antonio Morte, Lorenzo Peron, Carlos Dayleg, Mario Tarsus; a dark face lined with the furrows of years, saying ?Hardly were the feet cold that followed your mother?s coffin than you should break her jar.Aie, I tell you, Son, this house will know peace no more!?, the clash of cymbals in a nameless place as warriors without faces whirled up and down in air till one of them, naked, plunged backward shattering his spine against a giant monolith. ?It?s not because my people are uneducated that they cling to ancient tradition,? Dayleg said as we walked around the schoolyard during recess the next day, ?but it?s a reason civilized men like you don?t and can?t fully understand.?Ars longa, vita brevis,? as your philosophers say, yet something longer than art governs the very consciousness of these people.It goes to the very bone of their existence. Lumawig, Creator of Earth, permeates their lives, my life, and these traditions are but extensions of His Being. When one turns his back on these he forfeits glory in the afterlife.Then you?ve already lost a great part of that glory,? I said reminding of the wine jar.?That is pardonable under the circumstances in which I broke it,? he said.He shrugged off the matter.?But what must be obvious to you is that I do things to break these traditions.I believe it?s about time some of them were challenged.?I could hardly understand him for the contradictions in what he said; perhaps he was not aware of them, but on my part the more I got to know him the more complex he became, until an incident that disturbed the elders provided me with the first insight into his character. Bipolar Disorder EssayThree months later, while I was in the city during the semestral vacation, I ran into Father Van Noort; he had been on leave from school for a year now on account of his heart. I invited him to a cup of coffee in a nearby restaurant.Except for a little paleness on his cheeks he looked healthy; I called his attention to this and he said, ?I ought to be healthy.I live in the Order?s hospital, you know, and there they treat me like a kid.Diet.Exercise.I like everything but their denying me my tobacco.Imagine doing that to a man who has all this time subsisted on the weed!:I reminded him that it was for his own good and he shrugged his shoulders in mock resignation.When I related what Dayleg had done to the sacred boar he shook his head; the shadow of sadness passed across his face. ?It was bound to happen,? he said.?Dayleg is what you may call a complex person.I don?t mean that he?s schizophrenic or something, but he?s not transparent either.Some people you can read like a book, Dayleg you have to decipher.He seems simple enough, ? I said. ?Yes, but remember simplicity is not transparency.Beneath Dayleg?s tribal accoutrement lies the tension between self and reality, a tension ? call it paradox if you like ? which is common to persons like him.When will this tension subsideI don?t know.Who knows?Perhaps when he finds peace.I don?t know.I don?t really know why de did it, Sir,? wrote Mario, my best student. His letter reached me while I was still on vacation a few days after I met Father Van Noort.?I was there, Sir, and I cannot describe to you my feelings as I watched him destroy our sacred boar.You may not understand it, Sir, you not being one of us, but from our birth we have always believed that the grove is only for the gods, that whoever enters it and as much as touches a blade of grass in it will be denied eternal happiness.I believer this, Sir, that is why I was horrified by Mr. Dayleg?s action.He did not only bring shame to our village, as you will see, Sir, when you come back.Mr. Dayleg has disappeared.It is be tter that he did not witness the rites the elders held for his expulsion.Under our laws, Sir, such acts as Mr. Dayleg committed are grievous, so the actor has to be driven out of the tribe to lessen the gods? wrath on the innocent ones who have, nevertheless, been tainted with the guilt by their relationship with the sinner.Sir, we have to do a lot of sacrifice to wash this sin.I don?t know how this will be possible.The harvest is not good this year.But the best thing is for the sinner, in spite of his expulsion, to come back, to show repentance.Only then will the gods consider our prayers.But we don?t know here he is.?Two years.,I stood up and walked to the window; with my fingers I rubbed off the mist that had collected on the glass.I peered outside.The world was a blanket of darkness.These two years I had tried to find peace, to re-order my life toward a more meaningful goal, but things eluded me.An indefinite fear was gnawing my mind. ?Anything around here to eatRoy shouted from the kitchen.I could hear him opening and losing drawers. ?There?s a can of beans on the upmost shelf and some meat in the bowl on the table.There?s some rice near the stove,? I said. I smoked as I watched him eat.Outside, somewhere in one of those spare, squat houses with roofs and walls of cogon, I knew, a group of white-haired men was praying to the gods.In these two years that Dayleg had been gone they had not stopped their supplication.The harvest had been regularly poor, a sure sign of the heavenly displeasure.?he?s gone beyond,? they would say alluding to Dayleg, ?the gods have turned their faces away form us.?There had been no rain for the past three months, whereas before it came sooner than the planting season, soaking the terraces and fattening ht frogs that croaked in the mountain crags.Now the rice plots lay barren like a thousand mouths without blood, and plating time was just a week ahead.Only the fog rubbed the soil and tinted it with a whiff of wetness that was gone as soon as the fog had lifted. ?And you have not seen him sinceRoy said after I had told him what had happened. ?No,? I said.I quenched the light of my cigarette in the metal ashtray.?But I have just received a letter form him.Does he say where he is nowNo.The letter bears the City?s postmark.Sounds like a strange fellow to me.He is.I can?t understand him, couldn?t understand him myself.I don?t think anybody here understands him.Maybe he?s an exception to the rule.The ruleI mean in any society or tribe there?s bound to be someone who?d violate traditions and laws.Not that he?d do it for the heck of it, but that in him probably a new personality is emerging.?I though of Father Van Noort. ?A synthesis, we may say, of the old tribal character and the modern patterns that slowly put him in a quandary:he may be alienated entirely from his native roots or he may bridge the past with the present.I?m thinking? Dayleg is an intelligent,? I said. ?Intelligence has nothing to do with it.Why, may I ask, did he do what you said he did if he is intelligent?No, its? a matter of blood, not of intelligence.Well,? I said, ?it?s done.His people are having a hard time appeasing the gods.And to top it, rain has not yet come.I don?t know how this people will survive a year of hunger.Appeasing the gods by prayersYes.And sacrifices.Tomorrow they?ll hold a big one.Killing a cow, you know, changing, dancing.That?s one thing I?d like to see.We?ll be there.?We took another shot of whiskey before going to bed. Early the next morning, while I was boiling some coffee, there was a knock on the door.Roy was still curled up in his cot, so I crossed the living room to see who it was.It was a tall dark man in dirty maong trousers and gray shirt, his hair long almost touching his shoulders; his beard and moustache covered a large part of his face. ?YesI said, not knowing what he wanted. Then he uttered my name. ?It?s me, Dayleg,? he said. I stood there in disbelief; Dayleg.Dayleg, I said to myself.A thousand thoughts rushed to my brain like a flood. ?It?s me, Dayleg,? he said again when he noticed my hesitation. I opened the door wide and he stepped inside.I led him to the kitchen just in time for me to prevent the coffee from spilling all over the stove. ?What happened? Where have you beenI could scarcely conceal my excitement. He sat down by the table on which, so many times before, we had worked till midnight making our lessons.He had lost weight ? his shirt was loose around his shoulders and his veins stood out of the skin of his arms. ?Nothing,? he said. ?I have been living with a friend in the City.But why didn?t you tell me?I could have helped.Nobody can help me.Been workingI could not though I wanted to.You could have taught.Your record is excellent.You don?t understand,? he said and looked at me with his bloodshot eyes.?It?s not that.The gods.WhatI almost dropped the cup I was holding.You received my letterI nodded. ?Then, ? he continued, ?you know what I mean.VengeanceThe gods.You knew about that before, didn?t you?Even before we hunted the boarYes.?His voice was old, tired, excruciated by a force too strong for me to unlock.?But I didn?t believe it then.But I?m not staying,? he said softly. ?What?Then why did you comeTo tell you good-bye and to get the things I?ve left here.You know what you?re doing, of course.?That?s the only thing I can do.I?ll go far enough where no one can touch me.Perhaps, but your people will suffer in the meantime, as they?ve been suffering these past years.They can blame the gods.They?re blaming you, yet they pray for your return.No, I can?t stay.I didn?t want anyone to know I?m here so I came this early.Where will you goAnywhere.I?m alone.?He stood up. ?I must go.?Roy was awakened by our conversation.He came into the kitchen. ?Roy this is Dayleg,? I said. They shook hands.Dayleg turned o me.?I must go,? he said. I followed him to the door.I said, ?Anytime you want to come backThanks,? he said. ?The sacrifice tonightNo, I can?t.?His figure was swallowed by the early morning before I could say anything more. The sacrifice began three hours after noon.Five men, their necks and arms coppery with sweat, dragged a cow down to the village square where a big wooden table had been set.The elders had formed a circle around this table and were already praying.The sun cast their shadows in jagged patterns across the wooden planks as their voices interlaced in supplication, as the cow, being tied now temporarily to an iron stake, gazed at the solemn gathering; the fire burned fiercer under the big iron vats and small tin pots while the brass gongs were brought out of the chieftain?s hut and hung on their wooden pegs near the avocado trees where the young men would take turns beating them.Small boys arrived from the forest bearing in the crook of their arms firewood and dead leaves that would lessen the night?s chill. At sunset, the praying stopped.In single file the elders walked slowly toward the cow; they surrounded the animal and, as if somebody had given a signal, knelt before it.They uttered some inaudible incantation, their heads bowed, giving the impression that they were addressing themselves.Once in a while the leader?s voice rose above the murmurs of the others.He would stand up, stamp his foot several times, then kneel again.Finally, they all stood up ? their ancient faces yellowish in the flickering firelight ? silent.The leader raised his right hand.Immediately a barrel-chested muscular man appeared from outside the circle.He looked at the leader?s eyes and read the message there, for he nodded, the leader having said nothing.Quickly he stepped aside to allow the elders to pass and return to the table to resume their prayer.Not long afterward the deafening cry of the crying cow drowned out the elders? voices:it flew above the clatter of pots and pans and the whispering of the women a s they prepared the boiling water and tended the fire; then, all of a sudden, it was gone.A group of men had converged around the cow; from where we stood we could see knives flashing in the moonlight. ?What are they doingRoy said. ?Cleaning the animal.The entrails will be buried near the sacred grove before the cow is roasted,? I said. They had dug a roasting pit, about six feet wide, ten feet long, and three feet deep, where live coal was dumped.Two big forking branches of mountain pine were hammered into the ground to serve as a cradle for the pole that impaled the animal to turn on. ?A pity to waste such meat,? Roy said. ?It won?tbe wasted.They will eat it after a portion has been properly offered to the gods.This is actually a feast, you know, with lots of wine going around.?As the animal was being raised above the pit to roast, the dancing began.The clang of brass gongs preceded a group of men and women whose feet bent the grass to the strange uneven rhythm, their arms outstretched fluttering in alar animation, who formed two long lines.The strange uneven rhythm had a logic to it for the dancers never missed a step, never hesitated; the strange uneven rhythm had a logic to it for the dancers moved as if synchronized in sure and easy steps even as a couple swung in between the lines to join them.A native told me once that dancing was not really taught to the children ? the children learned by watching and carrying the rhythm in their heads, memorizing it even in sleep, making it a part of their bones.So when they danced they danced as though mesmerized, as these dancers now were, eyes glazy in the m oving firelight.Dance, brothers and sisters, they seemed to say; the gods watch, and the gods must be appeased. We left the dancers and returned to the roasting pit.The cow was now exuding a delicious smell as its fat trickled down the burning coal, producing tiny hisses as it touched the embers; the skin was golden brown and, as the animal was turned by two equally smoke-burnt men while others watched and waited, full of brightness. As the night deepened, more fires were built; but the elders continued praying, the tone of their thaumaturgic throats never wavering nor slowing, while Roy and I sat on a boulder behind them to rest awhile.There was little for us to do.We were strangers:our lives were not entangled in these istic complexities.Our world was on the other side of the Mountains.Yet I felt I was part of all these for I had stepped into the sacred grove and had stalked its sacred occupant.The reality of my guilt had laid a heavy hand on my heart, and even now as I heard the primitive music I could not help imagining that it was exorcising the demon in me. MY thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a commotion emanating from a section of the square.The elders abruptly stopped praying and turned their heads to the direction of the dancers.The natives shouted as they pressed forward nearer the avocado trees.I looked at Toy.Then we ran.The sounds of gongs grew louder and louder than the pounding of my heart against its ribcage as we approached the thick circle of people straining their necks to see the object of the perturbation.We elbowed our way through to the center of the crowd.For a while I rubbed my smoke-filled eyes for I thought I was dreaming, but there, caught in the glare of the bright firelight, was a lone man dancing, the ends of his G-string flapping as he moved unerringly to the strange uneven rhythm of the goings while shifting shadows drew myriad patterns on his golden chest, his arms elegant in their winging, his feet affirming his thanage of the earth, his long hair and loose beard wavelike in the wind while the peop le whispered, ?He?s back,? ?Dayleg, Dayleg,? and the elders caressed the sky with their eyes and gazed at him reduced to a thin pathetic remnant of a man by the mills of the gods, him the hunter, expressing the threads of mountain history that held his muscles and bones in the frenzy of autochthonous grace now unleashed purely, and that contorted his face into a mask of grave pain until tears came to wash his beard and glimmer in the light, and, as his feet stamped the ground in syllables of penance, they commenced carving that portion o fate cow for the gods ? he had returned but the gods had a long memory ? they carved the meat while in the circle, wrapped in a spell, he kept on dancing, figure of a man fallen and rising again, with his feet and arms and soul declaring his inviolable kinship with all that made him what he was and what he would be, there in the circle, oh how he danced. The next morning I packed my bags and told Roy I was going back to the City with him.There were many things I had to do.We could still catch the six o?clock bus.

The Aborigines Essay Example For Students

The Aborigines Essay Rust red sand underlies the heart of Australia, where the huge monolithsknown as Olgas shoulder above spinifex and grevilea. This old and worncontinent has a look like no other celebrated by both the nativeborn and brief sojourners to the land down under (Portraits 159). Thisold continent also has also a spirit like no other, embodied by the peoplewho inhabited it for so long that they have come to identify spirituallywith the land (Terrill 200) the Aborigines. They have developed a uniqueculture, centered on religious beliefs, and a lifestyle that unites them tothe earth. Many times they have been categorized as primitive, but viewsare changing, and their civilization has come to be recognized assophisticated, their influential role in modern Australia being no longerdenied. Aboriginal history stretches long into the past. They have inhabitedAustralia for thousands of years before the European arrival. Sitesdiscovered around the continent prove that they have been there for atleast 38,000 years (Judge). However, new archeological techniques haveexpanded this figure to 116,000 years, stretching the limit almost to thebirth of Homo sapiens, and it is unclear whether they are the descendantsof modern man (Fullagar), or of a more archaic type (Judge). It isgenerally accepted that the Aborigines have migrated here from Asia,although there are still questions whether they have crossed a land bridge,or have sailed the seas (Fullagar; Judge). Whatever the means they used toget to Australia, the Aborigines have adapted to the continent and havemanaged to survive isolated from all other human groups. They only came incontact with another human population some 200 years ago, at the time ofthe European colonization. At that time there were from 300,000 to 700,000Abo rigines (Gonen; Moore, Aboriginal), and their numbers have decreasedto about 250,000 today (Rajendra, Old people). The British settlersdestroyed the Aboriginal communities and way of life by taking over theland and introducing new animals into the Australian ecosystem. The nativesdied of diseases introduced by the Europeans, or starved as the newlyintroduced animals displaced the ones they traditionally hunted (Gonen). Although recently the Australian government gave them back some land toturn into national parks (Terrill 200) or mine for minerals (Gonen), theAboriginal community is still the one with the highest rate ofunemployment, disease and illiteracy in the country (Rajendra, Oldpeople). The geography of a place will always influence the societies that livethere, and this is especially true of the Aboriginal culture that hasperfectly adapted to the Australian landscape. Australia is a flat and lowcontinent, with an average elevation of 1000 feet. The western sideconsists of a great, arid plateau and several deserts, while the easternpart is a mountainous region. The center of the continent is made up oflarge plains and is perfect for agriculture. The same area is also host toUluru or Ayers Rock, the worlds largest monolith (Powell) and a sacredplace for the Aborigines (Rajendra, Aboriginal). An estimate of 700Aboriginal tribes, were spread throughout the continent at the time ofEuropean arrival (Moore, Aboriginal). Many tribes still survive today,although more than half of the Aboriginal population has moved to urbanareas (Rajendra, Old people). Besides inhabiting all the provinces ofmainland Australia, Aborigines also live in Tasmania, an island on thesouthern tip o f the continent (Gonen). The structure of the Aboriginal society is different from the forms ofgovernment known in most modern societies. Related people are organized insubunits called clans or family units (Moore, Aboriginal). Several ofthese subunits make up a tribe. They speak the same language and gather forreligious ceremonies. A tribes population can vary from a few members to2,000 people (Gonen). All male members of the tribe that have gone throughthe initiations are considered equal. There are some leaders in each clan people who have qualities that others admire or that can perform certainroles. The Elders are the wisest men in the tribe, knowing both the lawsand the tribes mythology. They are the ones who can give advice or settledisputes. In large tribes, the Elders form a council for the purpose ofconducting initiations and regulating other social and religious events,but they are not a government in the modern sense of the word (Moore, A toZ). Because of this organization and the small size of a clan, Aboriginesare not divided into social classes. Men and women have separate roles in the society, and, similar to otheraspects of Aboriginal culture, these are strongly influenced by theirspirituality. People of both sexes have to go through initiation rituals inorder to become adults, and these rituals are kept secret from the eyes ofthe opposite sex (Moore, A to Z). Among the Aborigines, non-initiatedmales are considered women until their initiation, because they only havetheir mothers blood in their veins (Eliade 27). During initiations, thenovices are instructed in the religious traditions of their tribe and theirgenders sacredness is revealed, thus establishing a connection betweentheir adult life and that of mythological beings (Eliade 4 and 42). Theseparation of sexes continues later in life, when each one has a specificrole. Men hunt and carry only their weapons, while women collect plantfood, small animals and take care of babies and household utensils(Humphrey). Because each subunit consists of people related to each other, the familyties in the Aboriginal society are more extensive that those incontemporary societies. Children consider their mothers sisters as mothersand their fathers brothers as fathers. Their cousins are to them brothersand sisters. The only people seen as aunts and uncles are the parentssiblings of opposite sex, and their children are cousins. As tribes areclosed communities, they are divided into two intermarrying groups. Peoplefrom one group can only marry people from the other and this preventsinbreeding. Marriages are arranged when children are very young, and girlsbecome wives at the early age of 11 or 12 years old. Polygamy was notunusual, but both the husband and wives had love and respect for eachother, because this is what they were taught by stories and tradition(Moore, A to Z). Little children are taken care of by all members of theclan, but they still have to learn to fend for themselves. Therefore, froman ea rly age, they try to imitate their parents, girls helping theirmothers and boys going hunting or fishing with their fathers (Humphrey). The Value of Physical Education to the Ancient Gre EssayAll the places where they have retreated to reside (Elwood 34; Moore, A toZ), or where important acts of creation have taken place are considered tobe places of power, tying this world with Dreamtime (Berndt, Ronald 531). Everything has a spirit and is alive because of Dreamtimes power, thusturning Aboriginal religion into a form of animism (Rajendra,Aboriginal). The Aborigines believe that people are born when spirit-children come from Dreamtime and enter a mothers body. When they die, thespirit-children return to Dreamtime and await a reincarnation (Elwood 34;Moore, A to Z). People have been created by the spirits to help maintainthis world and in order to do so, they need to learn the secret spirituallife that animates the world. This can only be revealed in time, duringseveral initiations. Girls initiation into the secrets of fertility andcreation of new life begins with their first menstruation and only endswith the birth of their first child (Berndt, Ronald 533; Eliade 42). Boysinitiations are done in groups and include several ordeals. During theseinitiations, they are told stories explaining the creation and structure ofthe world and taught how to use their knowledge of the spirits to preserve the world (Eliade 4). Religion and its purpose of maintaining lifetransforms all social events like weddings, funerals, births, andmigrations into re-enactings of events that took place in Dreamtime, thuslinking the two worlds together and transferring power from one to another(Berndt, Ronald 531). The Aborigines tied their life to a higher purposeand learned to honor spirituality, yet European settlers have oftenmisunderstood them. As the Aborigines are nomads, moving each season to aplace that can provide them with food in the harsh Australia, the habit ofgoing on a walkabout is entrenched in their culture. In the 1800s and1900s, Aboriginal workers on white-owned farms would disappear for days asthey left on a walkabout. The term was coined by the farmers who saw theAboriginal need to travel as ingratitude, instead of recognizing that itwas something fundamental to their culture. Walkabouts are spiritualjourneys that take travelers to a place where they feel they belong, and insom e cases to their place of birth (Moore, A to Z). The Aborigines have adapted to Australia and they learned to live ashunters and gatherers. They do not practice agriculture, but move fromplace to place, following the pattern of the seasons that makes foodavailable in some areas, and scarce in others (Humphrey). They eat allsorts of animals, from kangaroo stews and soups, to crocodile steaks,snakes, lizards, turtles, fish, worms, and even wild ants and bees. Thevegetarian diet is also diverse, focusing on roots, cereals and grasses,occasionally fruits and even resin. Food can be eaten raw or roasted oncoals (Rajendra, Bush tucker). Although the Aborigines do not need anindustry, they are involved in mining (Gonen), and in tourism, as theyturned their lands into national parks (Terrill 200). The ancient Aboriginal society has changed more in the last 200 years thanin the thousands of years before, yet is still maintains a lot of itsoriginal culture. In most cases, it managed to adapt to the Europeancolonization, yet still maintain its own spirit. Some of the Aborigineshave chosen to follow the path of their ancestors, others to seek a newlife in urban Australia. Whatever their choice, they all are important toAustralia, giving this 200-year old country a 100,000 year-old perspectiveon life. Works CitedBerndt, Catherine. Australian religion: mythic themes. Encyclopedia ofreligion. New York: Macmillan Publishing Corporation, 1987: 547-562. Berndt, Ronald. Australian religion: an overview. Encyclopedia ofreligion. New York: Macmillan Publishing Corporation, 1987: 530-547. Breeden, Stanley. Living in two worlds. National Geographic Feb. 1988:291-294. Breeden, Stanley. The first Australians. National Geographic Feb. 1988:266-290. Doherty, Charles. Art of Australia and New Zeeland. Internationalencyclopedia of art: Far Eastern Art. New York: Facts on File, Inc.,1997: 52-54. Eliade, Mircea. Rites and symbols of initiation. Woodstock, Connecticut:Spring Publications, Inc., 1958. Elwood, Robert, ed. Australian religions. The encyclopedia of worldreligions. Book Builders, 1998: 33-34. Fullagar, R.L.K et al. Early human occupation of northern Australia:archaeology and thermoluminescence dating of Jinmium rock-shelter,Northern Territory. Antiquity 1996: 751-773. Archaeology WorldResources. http://artalpha.anu.edu.au/web/arc/resources/papers/ausdates/jinmium.htm (10 Dec. 2000)Gonen, Amiram, ed. Australian Aborigines. Peoples of the world. Danbury,Connecticut: Grolier Educational, 1998: 83-87. Humphrey, Michael. Aborigines. Coo-eeAustralia calling, 1997. http://users.orac.net.au/~mhumphry/aborigin.html (13 Dec. 2000)Judge, Joseph. Child of Gondwana. National Geographic Feb. 1988: 170-177. Moore, Geoff. Aboriginal tribes of south-east coast of New South Wales.Australian Aborigines History and Culture Research Project, 2000. http://www.aaa.com.au/hrh/aboriginal/tribes1.shtml (10 Dec. 2000)Moore, Geoff. A to Z Encyclopedia of aboriginal information.Australian Aborigines History and Culture Research Project, 2000. http://www.aaa.com.au/hrh/aboriginal/A_Z/atoz1.shtml (10 Dec. 2000)Portraits of the land. National Geographic Feb. 1988: 157-169. Powell, Joseph. Australia. Encarta Online Encyclopedia, 2000. http://encarta.msn.com/find/Concise.asp?z=1;pg=2;ti=761568792;cid=4#p4(10 Dec. 2000)Rajendra, Sundran, and Vijeya Rajendra. Aboriginal religion. Cultures ofthe world: Australia. Tarrytown, New York: Marshall CavendishCorporation, 1996. Rajendra, Sundran, and Vijeya Rajendra. Bush tucker. Cultures of theworld: Australia. Tarrytown, New York: Marshall Cavendish Corporation,1996. Rajendra, Sundran, and Vijeya Rajendra. Old people in a new land.Cultures of the world: Australia. Tarrytown, New York: MarshallCavendish Corporation, 1996. Terrill, Ross. Australia at 200. National Geographic Feb. 1988: 181-212.