Can one ride a xebec to Quebec?

[peterthooper at juno.com]

Sombrely, one of the clarifications Stencil was looking for was revealed at the end of V.

His father being involved in all the militaristic plotting and so forth, the great efforts and, well, *devotion* to Victory - 

In the Catholic rubric as I understand it, devotion to Nike, or Victory, is idolatry, and thus Stencil the Elder, having sown the wind, reaps the whirlwind. V., the eternal feminine drawing his mistaken imperialistic efforts onward, is gradually replaced by inanimate stuff (just as unchecked militarism in general reduces human capabilities to destruction, desirable as many of its fruits seem)

(Pynchon tempers this observation with judiciousness that I revere, but I think the point is there to see - is there a reason he wouldn’t utilize the V. for Victory connotation among others, when it’s so prevalent? In a book that often refers to the distinction between animate and inanimate, in a world where Victory often entails making animate things inanimate? Generally agreed to be something to avoid but this is ignored in devotion to Victory? The elder Stencil was right to cite the ripeness of the depth of meaning in, and lack of understanding of, V.)

Whereas Paola and Pappy (by virtue of her devotion, wearing the Miraculous Medal in a life-affirming use of metal) appear to be, as Hector Zuñiga might have put it, saved.

Which is qabalically sound, Pappy Hod, the 8th Sephirah and the pillar of Mercy, and then you have the 7th Sephirah, on the pillar of Severity, V./Victory/Nike/Netzach, 
But the Middle Pillar of the Miraculous Medal/Tiphareth is an even more desirable goal 

So like Pappy Hod (Mercury, Hermès, changes, eigenvalues) climbing through the Sephiroth, rising on the planes, moves through Victory, and reaches Tiphareth 
“And though the wrong seems oft so strong /
God is the ruler yet!”

Whereas poor old Stencil never rises past Netzach and is still trying to understand when his fate overtakes him, leaving Stencil fils to figure it all out and witness the next developments while doing so.
But with complications and nuances unique to OBA, in addition those which might be implicated by any great Schriftsteller, way beyond the pont I’m ificating on.

May 
your xebec be untroubled by waterspout
Your happy endings all turn out
Your flesh remain unbruised by sjambok
Your ale be tasty, pure and bock 
Your eigenvalues logically route 
Idolatry never make you devout
Your bathtub never lack for grout
You learn the laws you cannot flout
Your vectors all converge toward grace
Your countenance be a beauteous place,
Like the rock in the story “The Great Stone Face”
Your confession whether to dentist or priest
Yield absolution of worries uncreased 
And gratitude for the miracle feast


A Florida man (“don’t you wish that you were anyplace else but here?”)


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