In Gratitude

On the first day of November, following a day of storms in both a literal and metaphorical sense, I was brought to wonder by a rainbow. It was a Wednesday, and I had to mind a passage from Proclus’ Parmenides commentary that I had only just reread —

“I am ready at your service, Parmenides,” said Aristoteles, “for you mean me when you say ‘the youngest.’ So ask away, and I will answer.” (137c)
Parmenides made the general and indefinite statement that the youngest should be the one to reply to him. Aristoteles has brought himself into the category described, thus joining the particular to the general; for if he is the youngest, he should be the one to answer. Again, these statements bear some indications of divine things. The general and unified content of the intellection of divine beings is received on the particular level by souls, according to their own rank, and not souls only, but also the secondary ranks of the gods themselves receive on a particular level the general intellections of the higher. Thus also in the most divine Poet, when Hera says indefinitely and absolutely, “But if some one of the gods should summon Thetis to my presence” (Iliad 24.74), the goddess who is the chief of the angelic order makes the task hers in particular: “So she spoke; and storm-footed Iris sprang up . . .” (ibid. 24.77). And yet the remark was not addressed explicitly to her by Hera, but she, comprehending the order, both recognised it as pertaining to her and, recognising this, performed her proper task. For it is proper to her to gather together secondary entities to their own causal principles, according to the dictates of the demiurgic Intellect, and especially to the leader of the female divinities in the cosmos. It is this which Plato is representing in images when he causes Aristoteles to present himself and submit himself to the orders of Parmenides; and Parmenides, turning this youth to himself, addresses himself to the proposed discourse.

Proclus, Commentary on Plato’s Parmenides, Book V, 1038

The rain has been such that I’ve been seeing rainbows a lot as of late, with rains ending just before Golden Hour. There was still a lot last week to get through — and, in a metaphorical sense, the storms were not over until Saturday — but at last I had enough sleep, and I had successfully conducted the new workshops that had intimidated me so much and processed some inertial things from the previous weekend. Nothing can be so firmly bound, am I right?

On Saturday, I read about 150 pages of Proclus’ Timaeus commentary. This was not all in one sitting. I played with the cats in between and ate and wrote poetry.

And today was the six-month anniversary of their adoption. They are such good girls, and it’s been so rewarding to see them open up to me day by day. Thank you, Artemis, for them. It’s so worth it to adopt shy cats from a rescue, especially one-year-olds who have just aged out of prime adoptability.

And I want to say a few final words in gratitude to the Muses, brought forth to light by Zeus after Mnemosyne bore them to Nyx within herself, choristed by Apollon, the lyre-player and dancer. While I will keep the particulars vague here, thank you, sweet-singing Goddesses, for everything. ❤️