Rachel's Religion.1

[Terrance]

First, some comic relief and a few links: 


In Chapter 3 of Ulysses Stephen opens his eyes and sees two
women, midwives. What is in the bag the midwife carries, a
misbirth (Joyce is tying thousands of threads together
here). The still born has a navel cord, it hangs from the
bag, trailing. He thinks of the cord as a link back, a link
back, strandenwining cable of all flesh. His thoughts turn
to the mystic monks navel gazing, will you be as gods?, and
then the cord becomes a phone system, he gives the number,
Aleph, alpha, nought, nought, one, and asks to be put
through to Edenville. The navel cord of the still born child
(remember that Bloom, the wandering Jew is caught in a vice,
not the vice of drink and religion, although being Irish he
can not escape this history,  the duel Master's (Rome and
England) opium, that will,  time and again in Joyce's text,
have men torturing the Orthodoxy of the RC Church and the
history of Ireland's diaspora to claim privilege above their
brothers, men like Bloom,  but the vice of father and son,
both dead) is the unbroken chain of all humanity. 
 
        
The Song of the Cheerful (But Slightly Sarcastic) Jesus
 by Oliver St. John Gogarty (a.k.a. Buck Mulligan) 

        I'm the queerest young fellow that ever was heard
        My mother's a Jew; my father's a Bird
        With Joseph the Joiner I cannot agree
        So 'Here's to Disciples and Calvary.'

        If anyone thinks that I amn't divine,
        He gets no free drinks when I'm making the wine
        But have to drink water and wish it were plain
        That I make when the wine becomes water again.

        My methods are new and are causing surprise:
        To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes
        To signify merely there must be a cod
        If the Commons will enter the Kingdom of God.

        Now you know I don't swim and you know I don't skate
        I came down to the ferry one day and was late.
        So I walked on the water and all cried, in faith!
        For a Jewman it's better than having to bathe.
        
        Whenever I enter in triumph and pass 
        You will find that my triumph is due to an ass
        (And public support is a grand sinecure
        When you once get the public to pity the poor.)
        
        Then give up your cabin and ask them for bread
        And they'lll give you a stone habitaton instead
        With fine grounds to walk in and raincoat to wear
        And the Sheep will be naked before you'll go bare.

        The more men are wretched the more you will rule
        But thunder out 'Sinner' to each bloody fool;
        For the Kingdom of God (that's within you) begins
        When you once make a fellow acknowledge he sins.

        Rebellion anticipate timely by 'Hope,'
        And stories of Judas and Peter the Pope
        And you'll find that you'll never be left in the
lurch
        By children of Sorrows and Mother the Church

        Goodbye, now, goodbye, you are sure to be fed
        You will come on My Grave when I rise from the Dead
        What's bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly
        And Olivet's breezy---Goodbye now Goodbye.

My apologies for Gogarty's blasphemy and slurs. 

Speaking of slurs, it seems only fair, where is Thomas E.
when we need him, to toss in the Wandering Jew from V. to
Ulysses. And so we will have to include Eliot's Baedeker Jew
and The  Wasteland. Why? 
Why to get to the Phoenicians of course. The Phoenicians are
very important to V.  and to P&L, that's Profits and Losses
dear doctor. R's religion is Five Towns, where the Orientals
bow and the incest in none of your Sephardic Orthodoxy,
where the old man, Stuyvesant (what's in a name?) wears J.
Press suits, just like Sphere, but the lady of the house
doesn't drive a Triumph, but a Jag, and the daughters go to
Liberal Arts college, self directed programs in VT., and
hide Daddy's little secret behind rhinestone rimmed glasses
and an MG, and dates with the Captain of the Yale, is it
Yale, crossbow team.  


Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, 
forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell, 
and the profit and loss. 

A current under sea 
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell 
He passed the stages of his age and youth 
Entering the whirlpool. 
Gentle or Jew 
O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. 

"The Fearful Jesuit" no more....