The Man who Loved his Mother, part 2

Readers, young sons and daughters of Brigham Young University, why do you read this humble blog?  But I perceive it is to understand the tragedy that is Oedipus, and the writing style of the immortal Sophocles.  The play is heavy with comparisons and contrasts, with light, sight, dark and blindness all juxtaposed against each other.

Oedipus begins with both eyes open, able to see as well as you or I.  He thinks himself to be knowledgeable and wise, and in many ways, he is.  Yet he is blind to the secrets and hidden truths that are causing his people to suffer, because of his great (as yet unknown) sins.  This is also seen in his choice of dress; when first our eyes light open Oedipus, he wears colorful clothes, as befit a king.  When his eyes are opened to the truth of his heritage, and then closed forever, he wears only a plain white robe, having all the dark colorful secrets stripped away like the skin of a calf ready to roast.  These symbolize his sudden transformation from a colorful, blissful ignorance, to the cruel white truths he is forced to face.  Now that his eyes are no longer distracted by outside images, he can see his crimes, though it cuts to the heart for him to know.

The prophet Teiresias, on the opposing hand, is constantly blind.  He sees naught but the blackness of his mind, but with the blessing of the gods, he knows the truths that are hidden from most men.  He knows Oedipus's great folly, and try to keep it from him as he might (to prevent the black tragedy that will occur), he reveals all.  Oedipus, still with eyes in a light that blinds him to the light of knowledge, can not at first believe his prophecies.  He thinks instead that they are a blind of their own, in a plot of treason to remove him from the throne, replacing him with Creon, his brother-in-law and uncle.  Ironically, Creon does become king, though it was not his intention, after Oedipus becomes as blind as the prophet, and decides to leave Thebes for the good of all.

The one flaw in my theorizing is that Teiresias dresses in darkness, even though his eyes have been opened to secrets of the world.  I cannot use the same allegory with him as with Oedipus.  Regardless, the main theme of blindness yet seeing still stands.  The man in darkness can see the light, while the man in light only sees the inner light for a short time, before he hides in darkness.

You that live in ancestral BYU, behold Oedipus, and pity him.  See how his new understanding broke his heart and family, and the cruel light of truth robbed him of his wife, his sight and his throne.  And once again, the Muse ends her song.

The Man who Loved his Mother

Sing, O Muse, of Oedipus, king of Thebes!  The great ruler who did defeat the mighty Sphinx, using his golden voice and brain (the latter sharp as the tip of a dragon's fang) rather than fist or sword!  Sing of his brave attempt to escape his fate; at birth, it was announced he would be the slayer of his father and the future husband of his mother!  Oedipus did all within his power to escape this fate, but the wills of the gods cannot be denied!

Sing of his hamartia, or missing of the mark!  Weep for the unwise decisions made by one renowned for his wisdom!  For lo, when Oedipus did go to the oracle to hear its destiny, and learned the horrible fate the gods had in store, he fled, in hopes of preventing it (pg 145).  Weep for that simple crossroads where he chanced to meet an aged king and entourage-unbeknownst to him, none other than Laius, his own true parent!  For in a struggle to pass each other, Oedipus allowed his rage to overcome his natural good sense, like Achilles at Troy, or a hungry wolf who chases a particularly plump sheep into a pasture where the shepherd waits, too starved to see the danger!  He slew all but one, that one later being the instrument of his downfall (pgs 145-146)!

Oh, Oedipus, foolish Oedipus!  You did not see that the woman Jocasta, more advanced in age than thee, was your own mother, and entered into sin with her!  Your children, also your siblings, now bear your curse (pg 174)!

Sing, O Muse, of the plague that struck Thebes to punish this travesty (pg 112)!  Sing of Oedipus's great struggle to find the one responsible, not knowing it was he himself!  He gathered information bit by bit, as a bird gathers twigs for a nest, but didn't see that the perch he craved would soon come crashing down under the weight of his facts!

Sing of his anger, and his lack of foresight!  Because of his rage, his father died by his hand!  Because he could not see the truth until too late, he realized past time that he had brought a plague on Thebes, and had to flee, a blind and miserable man!  Pity Oedipus, who had long to travel before he found peace at last, far from either of the lands he called home!

Thanks to thee again, O Muse.  Thy voice is strong, and thy words are true.
Oedipus Rex song

Epithets of Me

Sing, O Muse! of the Freaky Greek known to all as Coral!

Sing of wild-haired Coral, whose long curls whip about in the wind, and if brushed while dry, take on the appearance of a lion's mane!  Sing of that brown, shaggy mass that adorns her pale head, just behind and around her freckled brow!

Sing, O Muse, of the mouse who can become a raging lion!  Wild-haired Coral, who can be as quiet and timid as the young mouse who scurries and sniffs for crumbs beneath the notice of man, but when roused to anger, takes on all the ferocity of a lion who has been deprived of a choice morsel of meat, and is suddenly placed in the presence of a grinning monkey!

Sing the praises of Coral, writer of words!  The one from whom stories flow like a cascading waterfall!  Tales of monsters, adventure, and battles of body and soul!  From that young mind have come adventures from a dystopian future, an unbelievable present, and a hidden world within our own!  Sing, O Muse, of Coral's tales from near and far!

Finally, sing of Coral, the grinning snarker!  The girl who speaks with words that can sting and bite, but are usually meant to incite laughter!  Sing of her dry wit, her acts of Groucho, and her expressions of humor!  The writer of words has plenty to say when she cares to say it; often what she says dances the boundaries between insincerity and honesty.  Her bluntness can shock, but also amuse.  All hail the snarkiness of Coral!

We thank thee for thy song, O Muse.  Thou hast done wonderfully.  If any wish an encore, you need only ask.