Saturday, March 1, 2008

The Cross Your Fingers Tree


When one of us was a young girl (and, now that we think about it, only one of us could have been, issues of species and gender being what they are) declarations of truthfulness could be vouchsafed by swearing, “Cross my heart and hope the devil plucks my eye out.”

This seems to us now in its consequence to be a trifle Draconian (which phrase, now that we think about it, is a bit of an oxymoron). It isn’t having one’s eye plucked out that is so disorienting (although we can't imagine we would enjoy it), but claiming to hope it occurs that confounds us.

And just what do we mean by Draconian? We are so pleased that you asked. Draconian, as it happens, refers to an ancient Greek lawgiver who advocated the punishment of death for violations of just about any law whatsoever. Since his name means "dragon" in Greek, we think that adds an interesting twist to the contemporary association between lawyers and sharks. We are guessing the only worse thing than being compared to a shark is to be compared to a dragon, and for the former association we now have considerable appreciation. Injury is always relative.

Draco is also a reference to a lovely constellation, as shown below.



But where were we? Ah, yes: promising to tell the truth or risk a Cyclopean outcome.

Very well, then. I will explain. Cyclops was a Greek monster with one (very large) eye in the middle of his forehead (a singularly disagreeable feature, if you ask us, and we will spare you any visual representations since we have yet to find one we could view without requiring the presence of Karma the Beloved Dog beside us).

Oops. We stand corrected. We are gratified to note that it is possible to order kits that permit one to knit both a Medusa and a Cyclops, as shown below.



It is our opinion that there is nothing like knitting away one's monsters (drawing, painting, and sculpting are equally reassuring), and if we were in possession of a single useful domestic skill, we might well have attempted to knit one of the above, but our knitting needles have been put to better use as hair pins.

We do think it is particularly interesting that, while we feel considerable repugnance for a single eye, the notion of a third eye is much-esteemed.

You might be gratified to learn that you and everyone else you know has access to the third, or inner eye, which is that aspect of ourselves that allows us to see and hear in the deepest sort of way. This capacity, we believe, greatly facilitates any communication with presences that are otherwise disinclined (or anatomically unable) to communicate in the usual fashions.

We think the third eye is pictured very sweetly in the illustration below.



We are further gratified to note that those with sun-sensitive eyes need not risk damage to their third eyes, thanks to the (fairly improbable, but true) offer of the sunglasses below.



Finally, although for most of us access to our third eye is best achieved as a mental and spiritual exercise, for those of a more literal bent the following might be of interest.



While it is true that, as a necklace, it is not precisely situated where the third eye is usefully believed to be, it nevertheless serves the purpose of reminding one of its use.

Well, we are quite certain we were making a point, and the knitting needles, while clearly pointed, seem not to have helped at all. Ah, yes: we were discussing the strategies of truth-telling by avowing the very puzzling offer of having our eyes plucked out, on our way to the Cross Your Fingers Tree.

It is a common notion, derived, we have learned, from sixteenth-century England, that a wish is facilitated by crossing one's fingers. Paradoxically enough (to our great delight), crossing one's fingers is also a way to, um, dissimulate, if one were so inclined (we do prefer that term so much more than lie, which sounds, actually, like the very transgression it is). So if, for instance, one merely wanted to appear to be telling the truth, while not entirely doing so, all one needed to do was cross one's fingers (preferably behind one's back, where they couldn't be seen).

In our day this lent for some fairly demanding cross-examinations in certain circumstances when trust was at issue, and many an argument ensued once it was determined there was a slip ‘twixt the hand and the lip, necessitating either a full circuit of the pledging person or a deft transfer of the betraying hand. Those with more prehensile toes and a looser shoe could sometimes be found to have crossed toes, but as a general rule that was a defense less to be suspected for your average adversary.

By the way, we rather think these shoes might have done quite well with the above objective in mind and a couple of toes of the prehensile variety.



In any event, you can then perhaps thus imagine our constellation (we may mean consternation) when we came across the Cross Your Fingers Tree. Is it offering the promise of a wish come true, or pretending to promise and boldly declaring its deception?

We do believe as a general rule it is wise to be suspect of any promise, per se (unless, of course, you yourself are in a position to effect that outcome).

We have learned, however, that there is one wish the Cross Your Fingers Tree can happily agree to. If you stand before it and ask, "May I accept what is," you will most certainly discover it has been granted, by the very effort of your appeal.

No comments: