On knives and coins
Attempts to foretell the future are not dissimilar to the process of scholarly enquiry.
(Archive of Lady Catherine de Turnips, entry 46-63-4-2-4-2)
My dear friend,
There are not too many ways to answer your question. Yes, they said "yes"; as for me, I happily accepted this reply.
Not without doubts, fears, and prolonged internal monologue — it happens to the best of us.
You know perfectly well how I make some of my decisions.
Tossing coins. Spreading cards. Opening books.
(Say, "page 25, line 5 from the top" — and an Arabic dictionary works marvellously for those purposes.)
Yes, I am still not a foreigner to μαντική. Just like years and years ago, I am no stranger to different ways to foretell the future — or, as I would say, I mostly look for a second opinion on my present. I still use a pendant for some assistance, and everything can become a pendant if one is willing enough.
You are more than welcome to recall, as you usually do, how I used a knife in this capacity when we shared a room... was it in Moscow?
(Why I even had a knife, and not something else, under my bed? Do you remember why?
It wasn’t a table knife, but it wasn’t a gracious beauty of stainless steel either, dangerous and somehow romantic.
In my memory, it was a rather boring, yet purely functional biggish kitchen piece...
and what did I use it for, emphatically not in the kitchen, apart from occasional morning divination?
And, obviously, the word "divination" itself, to a certain extent, betrays me.
I don’t claim — or seek — to connect with anything that can be described as "divine" and beyond. I only seek a tool to think harder, even though there are those who would say that I need, for a change, to think lighter.
You know, when we put it this way, my — rather amateurish, and, like anything amateurish, rooted in love — attempts to foretell the future are not dissimilar to the process of scholarly enquiry. We look — quite attentively, but not without a technique! — at something, while hoping to find an answer to something else. You may disagree. Moreover, in certain rooms, they might disagree even more — to the extent that I would prefer not to bring such an epiphany there.
Yet I am positive that some might benefit from an exercise of attention coming from such an activity.
(Years and years ago, in order to prepare myself for going to Odesa, I read a lot of books and some pieces of poetry you would not even imagine could have been written.
And what do I remember most?
- The shadows of the branches covering the street when I took my first steps through the city.
- How confused the train conductor was while reading my ticket.
- How magnificent the strudel was that I had not far from the Literary Museum, and how lovely the waitress was who made me a glass of grogue even though it was not on the menu. I probably still have their business card tucked away somewhere safely — perhaps a little too safely — in one of my books.
Not exactly the area of expertise that requires an intellectual authority, unless they are looking for a spokesperson for shadows, confusion, and occasional treats. A field I have humbly made my own.)
To bring the illustration to this matter: let's toss a coin, shall we?
As far as I am aware, there is a tradition of using it in situations of well-differentiated binary divergence.
Not necessarily "yes" or "no": sometimes it might also be
- "chicken" or "fish",
- "white with gold" or "blue with black",
- "red" or "blue",
- you name it.
We, normally, do not expect a coin to simply disappear in the process — or create an unpredictable third option otherwise.
This is already a good exercise in observing polarities being created out of the blue (or out of the gold, if I may). Carl Linnaeus, while developing his influential taxonomy of living creatures, would not juxtapose "fish" or "chicken": the airplane menu, however, would.
(And yes, I tossed a coin once or twice.)
Practically speaking: do, normally, people even see a coin?
Not a lunch, not a chocolate bar you can not or you can exchange for it.
(Most likely, for a handful of them.)
Just the coin itself. I bet it is not necessarily the case. I bet most people increasingly see nothing.
The coin I decided to place in front of me while writing these words is an offering from my neighbour, already well-known to you.
In English, we distinguish between "tails" and "heads" as two flat faces of a coin.
(There are other words to describe it, for example, "obverse" and "reverse". Just like "left" and "right", they are not entirely helpful as they are.)
So, what do we see?
Allow me to describe.
It is a farthing — as I mentioned, it was an offering from my neighbour when he caught me by my postbox yet again.
The year is 1937.
On one side, there is a tiny bird: a wren, to be more exact. It has a head and a tail, and both parts are perfectly visible.
On the other side, there's King George VI, and he looks rather dashing, I need to admit it. Here, only the head is present.
Hence two "heads" and one "tail". Not entirely helpful for occasional divination, unless you open your mind and imagination to unexpected possibilities — which is rather desirable, if you ask me.
(And even if nobody asks.)
Beyond Roman numerals, there is a bit of casual, yet obviously ceremonial Latin I am so fond of:
GEORGIUS VI D : G : BR : OMN : REX F : D : IND : IMP.
I am more than sure that, mostly, this inscription is transparent to you. We are scholarly enough to understand that here, "IMP" has nothing to do with demonology, yet we can always cherish the opportunity to giggle at such a thought. As a reward for bearing with me, I would like to share my most recent discovery: the meaning behind "F" and "D".
Here, "F D" stands for the Defender of the Faith. "Fidei Defensor".
If you can find his daughter somewhere nearby, she will have the same combination standing for "Fidei Defensatrix" (which, in English, would still be "Defender").
To bring a conclusion to my detour, among other things, this title was granted to Henry VIII by the Pope. Judging by further developments in the life of the aforementioned monarch, one would see an irony in that.
I, however, would say that there is nothing more important than faith in yourself — and this sort of faith is always to be defended.
Yours,
C.
