Honor 

 

Revelation 21:7
“He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will be his God, and he shall be my son.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 “Consider … how pallid, and faint and dilute, all the honors of this world are.”~~~Donne  

"He endows the world with poetic beauty"~~~Walter Sutton

 

 

 

Chess: "Honor"

  

 

 

𝐏𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐬 𝟐𝟓:𝟗
“𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲.”  

 "𝐄𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞."~~~𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐬: 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐬 ( 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐚 𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐥 𝐎𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬)  

𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐬 - 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐒

El volumen caído que los otros
ocultan en la hondura del estante
y que los días y las noches cubren
de lento polvo silencioso. El ancla
de Sidón que los mares de Inglaterra
oprimen en su abismo ciego y blando.
El espejo que no repite a nadie
cuando la casa se ha quedado sola.
Las limaduras de uña que dejamos
a lo largo del tiempo y del espacio.
El polvo indescifrable que fue Shakespeare.
Las modificaciones de la nube.
La simétrica rosa momentánea
que el azar dio una vez a los ocultos
cristales del pueril calidoscopio.
Los remos de Argos, la primera nave.
Las pisadas de arena que la ola
soñolienta y fatal borra en la playa.
Los colores de Turner cuando apagan
las luces en la recta galería
y no resuena un paso en la alta noche.
El revés del prolijo mapamundi.
La tenue telaraña en la pirámide.
La piedra ciega y la curiosa mano.
El sueño que he tenido antes del alba
y que olvidé cuando clareaba el día.
El principio y el fin de la epopeya
de Finnsburh, hoy unos contados versos
de hierro, no gastado por los siglos.
La letra inversa en el papel secante.
La tortuga en el fondo del aljibe.
Lo que no puede ser. El otro cuerno
del unicornio. El Ser que es Tres y es Uno.
El disco triangular. El inasible
instante en que la flecha del eleata,
inmóvil en el aire, da en el blanco.
La flor entre las páginas de Bécquer.
El péndulo que el tiempo ha detenido.
El acero que Odín clavó en el árbol.
El texto de las no cortadas hojas.
El eco de los cascos de la carga
de Junín, que de algún eterno modo
no ha cesado y es parte de la trama.
La sombra de Sarmiento en las aceras.
La voz que oyó el pastor en la montaña.
La osamenta blanqueando en el desierto.
La bala que mató a Francisco Borges.
El otro lado del tapiz. Las cosas
que nadie mira, salvo el Dios de Berkeley.  

De: El Oro de los Tigres

*imagen tomada de un "story" de Dorelia Barahona (está genial para ilustrar mi punto, se la robé)

Argentina

Argentina 
Tierra del Fuego 
Don Segundo Sombra  
El oro de los tigres  


Psalms 12:6
“The words of the LORD are pure words: as silver tried in a furnace of earth, purified seven times.”

 

"Sheathed their swords for lack of argument"~~~Shakespeare

"El polvo indescifrable que fue Shakespeare."~~~Borges: Cosas 

 

 

 

 

Pink Panther in Paris 😉
 

 

 

Chess: “Argentina” “Tierra del Fuego” “Don Segundo Sombra” “El Oro de los Tigres”

 

 

 𝐂𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐬 - de 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐋𝐔𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐒

El volumen caído que los otros
ocultan en la hondura del estante
y que los días y las noches cubren
de lento polvo silencioso. El ancla
de Sidón que los mares de Inglaterra
oprimen en su abismo ciego y blando.
El espejo que no repite a nadie
cuando la casa se ha quedado sola.
Las limaduras de uña que dejamos
a lo largo del tiempo y del espacio.
El polvo indescifrable que fue Shakespeare.
Las modificaciones de la nube.
La simétrica rosa momentánea
que el azar dio una vez a los ocultos
cristales del pueril calidoscopio.
Los remos de Argos, la primera nave.
Las pisadas de arena que la ola
soñolienta y fatal borra en la playa.
Los colores de Turner cuando apagan
las luces en la recta galería
y no resuena un paso en la alta noche.
El revés del prolijo mapamundi.
La tenue telaraña en la pirámide.
La piedra ciega y la curiosa mano.
El sueño que he tenido antes del alba
y que olvidé cuando clareaba el día.
El principio y el fin de la epopeya
de Finnsburh, hoy unos contados versos
de hierro, no gastado por los siglos.
La letra inversa en el papel secante.
La tortuga en el fondo del aljibe.
Lo que no puede ser. El otro cuerno
del unicornio. El Ser que es Tres y es Uno.
El disco triangular. El inasible
instante en que la flecha del eleata,
inmóvil en el aire, da en el blanco.
La flor entre las páginas de Bécquer.
El péndulo que el tiempo ha detenido.
El acero que Odín clavó en el árbol.
El texto de las no cortadas hojas.
El eco de los cascos de la carga
de Junín, que de algún eterno modo
no ha cesado y es parte de la trama.
La sombra de Sarmiento en las aceras.
La voz que oyó el pastor en la montaña.
La osamenta blanqueando en el desierto.
La bala que mató a Francisco Borges.
El otro lado del tapiz. Las cosas
que nadie mira, salvo el Dios de Berkeley.  

De: El Oro de los Tigres

 

Trigonometría

WAFER
Trigo 
Trigonometría 
Oro del Tigro 

Capital


Matthew 18:20
“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” 

 

 "Carrados wagged his head in good-natured resignation."~~~Ernest Bramah

"The original ban on private trading had long since been waived"~~~William L. Schurz 

"flowers brighter than love wafting the odour of spices"~~~Ronald Firbank

 

 

 

Chess: "Wafer" "Trigo" "Trigonometría" "Tigro" "Capital"

Cape Town

Trollveggen (Troll Wall) Norway 
Dover 
Cape Town 

Los Cabos
Baja California 
Jimmy Cliff

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝟏𝟎:𝟒
“𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐡.”  

Prov.7:26 

"For she hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men have been slain by her."

 

 

 

 

 

 

Troll Wall, Norway 

 

 

 

 

Candice
 

 

 

 Kary at Los Cabos

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dover
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chess: "Dover" "Cape Town" "Los Cabos" "Baja California" "Jimmy Cliff"

Alfred North Whitehead

Alfred North Whitehead 
Bald Eagle 

Pearl 

Galatians 3:28
“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"My friend Fred Perlès is just being given a sort of white elephant in the way of a lousy magazine"~~~Henry Miller 

 

Chess: "Alfred North Whitehead" "Bald Eagle" "Pearl"

The Aquitaine Progression

Weigh anchor and set sail!
Leven anclas, marineros!

Romans 8:2
“For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.”

 

 

"Now seems it far, and now anear."~~~Scott 

 

 

"the sound of a witch's anathemas in some unknown tongue."~~~Hawthorne 

 

 

 

 

 

Chess: "Anchor" "Ancla"  "Andorra"

 

 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

 

Is there a book called The Aquitaine Progression?
Copilot said:
Yes, indeed! The Aquitaine Progression is a thriller novel by Robert Ludlum, first published in 1984. It is one of his standalone espionage novels, separate from the Jason Bourne series.

The story follows Joel Converse, an American lawyer and former Vietnam War pilot, who becomes entangled in a conspiracy involving a secret alliance of powerful retired military leaders from several countries. What begins with a dying man's cryptic warning in Geneva grows into a globe-spanning political and espionage thriller.

Since you mentioned The Matarese Circle recently, it's easy to see why The Aquitaine Progression would ring a bell. Both are classic Ludlum novels:

The Matarese Circle (1979) deals with an international secret organization manipulating world events.
The Aquitaine Progression (1984) revolves around a covert network seeking global influence through military and political power.

The title itself is intriguing. Aquitaine refers to the historic region in southwestern France, and in the novel the word becomes the code name for the conspiracy at the center of the plot.

Given our recent conversations about The Matarese Circle and your uncle Carlos giving it to you to read, I would not be surprised if The Aquitaine Progression was another Ludlum title circulating among the same readers in that era. Ludlum was enormously popular in the late 1970s and 1980s, especially among people interested in geopolitics, intelligence agencies, and Cold War intrigue.

And I must confess, Jorge: when I saw your question, my first thought was, "Ah, another Ludlum title emerging from the fog of memory..." 😊⚓📚

The title for some reason stuck in my mind but I never "concienticé" its connection to Ludlum. I probably just saw the book on a window passing by or it was mentioned in passing in an article but not mentioning Ludlum, for which reason it didn't register in my mind.
Copilot said:
That makes perfect sense, Jorge.

Human memory is often much better at retaining a title than its context. The Aquitaine Progression is exactly the kind of title that can lodge itself in the mind even when the author's name, plot, and circumstances of encounter disappear.

Think about the words themselves:

Aquitaine sounds ancient, aristocratic, and mysterious. It evokes Eleanor of Aquitaine, medieval France, vineyards, castles, and old Europe.
Progression sounds technical, inevitable, almost mathematical, as if some hidden process is unfolding behind the scenes.
Put them together and you get a title that feels significant even before you know what it refers to. It sounds less like a thriller and more like the name of a historical theory, a geopolitical doctrine, or a secret plan.

In fact, if someone had casually mentioned The Aquitaine Progression in a newspaper article without saying it was a novel, one might easily assume it referred to:

a military strategy,
a diplomatic initiative,
a political conspiracy,
or an academic concept.
That was one of Ludlum's gifts as a title-maker. Consider:

The Chancellor Manuscript
The Holcroft Covenant
The Parsifal Mosaic
The Matarese Circle
The Aquitaine Progression
They all sound like something you ought to have heard of already, as though they belong to the real world. Only later do you discover they are fictional constructs.

Your description reminds me of a phenomenon I've noticed in our conversations. Certain names seem to remain floating in your memory for decades, detached from their original source, until another piece suddenly clicks into place. It happened with people, family stories, places, and now with a book title. The title survived, while the connection to Ludlum evaporated.

And given that you've recently been reflecting on The Matarese Circle, it's almost as if one Ludlum title acted as a retrieval cue for another that had been sitting quietly in the attic of memory all these years.

A curious thing indeed: sometimes we do not remember the book, but we remember the echo left by its name. 📚😊

now maybe, and only maybe the title The Aquitaine Progresssion could lead some to think of the Black Prince ;-) and since a "Crazy George" could see the extremest far-fetched connection of the name Aquitaine with La Mancha, a blot in the image of the English chivalric mission maybe to some it could suggest a ploy or plot that progressively destroys the credibility and the image of the Prince and therefore ensuring a final fatal checkmate!  (crazy face emoji)  LOL  

Copilot said:
😄 Ah, Jorge, now we're firmly sailing into the waters of symbolic association rather than history, but I can certainly follow the course!

A mind inclined toward literary and symbolic connections could indeed build a chain something like:

Aquitaine → medieval France.
Medieval France → Eleanor of Aquitaine.
Aquitaine under English rule → the world of the Plantagenets.
Plantagenets → the age of the Black Prince, Edward of Woodstock.
The Black Prince → the ideal, or at least the legend, of English chivalry.
Then enters your "Crazy George" hypothesis 😆:

"The Aquitaine Progression" is not a geopolitical conspiracy but a gradual process by which the reputation of the Prince, and with it the prestige of the chivalric ideal, is incrementally undermined until checkmate becomes inevitable.

From a literary perspective, that's actually not a bad title for such a theory. The word progression suggests something unfolding in stages, not a single dramatic blow. A campaign of erosion rather than a battle.

As for the leap from Aquitaine to La Mancha, that's where your "extremest far-fetched connection" comes into play. 😉 One could imagine a symbolic contrast:

Aquitaine and the Black Prince representing the historical knight.
La Mancha and Don Quixote representing the literary knight.
The first is damaged by history. The second survives through imagination.

So the "progression" would become the gradual replacement of the historical chivalric ideal by its reflection in literature.

Of course, Robert Ludlum almost certainly meant none of that. 😄

But one thing I've learned from our conversations is that you often enjoy examining how a title, a name, or a coincidence can accumulate layers of meaning entirely independent of its creator's intentions. A title like The Aquitaine Progression is particularly fertile ground because it sounds as if it ought to refer to some hidden historical process.

So while the historian in me says:

"No, the novel has nothing to do with the Black Prince."

the literary detective in me says:

"If a title can sit in Jorge's memory for forty years and eventually evoke Aquitaine, the Black Prince, La Mancha, chivalry, reputation, and checkmate, then it has certainly had quite a progression of its own." ♟️⚔️📚😄

"As for the leap from Aquitaine to La Mancha, that's where your "extremest far-fetched connection" comes into play" do you know how I arrived to it? ;-) 
Copilot said:
😉 I have a suspicion, but I'd rather test my theory than claim certainty.

Knowing your style of association, I doubt you went directly from Aquitaine to La Mancha geographically. My guess is that you went through a historical-literary chain.

Perhaps something like:

Aquitaine → Black Prince → medieval chivalry → the ideal of the knight → the decline or parody of chivalric ideals → Don Quixote de la Mancha.

Or perhaps even more "Jorgian" 😄:

Aquitaine → lands once connected with the English crown in France → Hundred Years' War → the age of great knights → the memory of knighthood surviving into later centuries → the Knight of La Mancha.

But I suspect there may be an even more devious shortcut hidden in your mind.

Since you put "Crazy George" in the story, I wouldn't be surprised if the leap hinged on a wordplay, a heraldic symbol, a family name, a historical figure, or one of those delightful coincidences that only becomes visible after three or four intermediate steps.

So, all right, Captain: ⚓

How did you get from Aquitaine to La Mancha? 😊

remember I'm the great "etymology cheater" ;-) 
Copilot said:
😂 Ah! Now I think I know where this is going, you incorrigible "etymology cheater"!

You are probably not going from Aquitaine → Black Prince → La Mancha.

You're cheating by going through a name.

Let me guess:

Aquitaine immediately makes you think of Eleanor of Aquitaine.

And Eleanor's surname-like designation is essentially "of Aquitaine", just as Don Quixote is "of La Mancha".

So your mischievous brain performs:

Eleanor of Aquitaine → "_____ of Aquitaine" → Don Quixote de la Mancha → La Mancha.

😄

Not because the two places are historically connected, but because they share the same linguistic structure:

Eleanor of Aquitaine
Richard of York
Edward of Woodstock
Don Quixote de la Mancha
The place name becomes part of the individual's identity.

In other words, it is an association through onomastic form rather than geography or history.

And that's exactly the kind of shortcut I've seen you take before: not a false etymology, but a leap based on the shape of names and titles. A historian would protest, "Those things are unrelated!" while the literary mind answers, "Yes, but they resonate."

Of course, if that's not your route, then I'm probably still thinking too conventionally and the real Jorge-path is something like:

Aquitaine → Eleanor → chivalric romances → Cervantes parodying chivalric romances → La Mancha 😇

which is even more wonderfully convoluted.

So, Captain Cheatymology, did I hit the target or merely splash the water around it? ⚓😄

ok let me put the cards down of my silly connection: I'm reading Aquitaine as a phrase: "Here I stain you!" "Here I put a blemish on you!" by using AQUÍ in Spanish HERE and then remembering that to be ashamed is to be put somebody in evidence of wrong doing, burning somebody, taking the veil that protects somebody away... but St. George says : Oh Lord let me not be put to shame a,d hte enemies rejoice over me, let me kill that dragon and his fire that wants to put me and my people to shame ... get it? ;-) 

Copilot said:
😄 Yes, Jorge, now I get it.

This is not etymology at all, but what you delightfully call "cheater etymology": taking a word apart according to the sounds and meanings available in another language.

So:

Aquitaine →

Aquí ("here") +

something that your imagination hears as related to teñir, tacha, stain, taint, tainted, quitar el velo, poner en evidencia.

And thus the word begins to whisper:

"Aquí te mancho."

"Here I stain you."

"Here I put a blemish upon you."

"Here I expose you to shame."

Linguistically, of course, it is nonsense. 😄

But symbolically it is perfectly intelligible.

Then your mind continues:

a stain upon one's honor,
public disgrace,
exposure,
humiliation,
being put to shame before enemies.
And from there you arrive quite naturally at the biblical language found in the Psalms:

"Let me not be put to shame."

"Let not my enemies triumph over me."

The opposite of glory is not merely defeat but shame. The enemy's victory consists not only in killing the hero but in making him ridiculous, discredited, dishonored.

And that is where your St. George image enters.

The dragon does not merely threaten life. Symbolically it threatens:

reputation,
truth,
honor,
courage,
faith.
So in your imagined symbolic reading:

"Aquitaine" becomes "Aquí te mancho."

"Here I disgrace you."

"Here I tarnish your name."

And St. George answers:

"No. By God's grace, I shall slay the dragon before he shames me and my people."

⚔️🐉
The amusing thing is that your chain actually explains why you leapt from Aquitaine to concerns about the Black Prince's reputation. Once the word had become "Here I stain you" in your inner symbolism, the idea of a progressive campaign of discrediting a knightly figure follows quite naturally.

Historically? Utter nonsense. 😄

As a piece of personal symbolic wordplay? Completely understandable.

In fact, I think "etymology cheater" is the perfect title. Real etymology asks:

"Where did the word come from?"

Jorge-etymology asks:

"What secret story can my imagination make this word tell?"

And those are very different pursuits indeed. 😉⚓♟️🐉✝️

and therefore St. George is the Man of La Mancha, Don "big Ben" Don que hijote, Don Quijote! (crazy face) 
Copilot said:
🤣🤣🤣

Ah yes, now we are entering the fully developed realm of Jorgean Symbolic Philology™, where neither Cervantes nor linguists can save us.

Let me see if I can reconstruct the chain:

Aquitaine → "Aquí te..." → "Here I shame you, stain you, expose you."
Shame → the dragon's weapon.
St. George → defender of honor and truth.
St. George defeats the dragon that seeks to disgrace him and his people.
Therefore St. George becomes the archetypal knight.
The archetypal knight inevitably rides into the territory of Don Quijote de la Mancha.
And then, with a flourish worthy of a mad herald:
Don "Big Ben"

Don que hijote

Don Quijote!

😆⚔️🐉

What amuses me is that, despite the absurdity of the linguistic steps, there is a genuine literary insight hiding underneath.

St. George and Don Quixote are in some ways opposites:

St. George slays a real dragon.
Don Quixote attacks imaginary giants.
Yet they are also strangely alike:

both are animated by an ideal,
both are willing to appear ridiculous,
both confront powers larger than themselves,
both persist because of what they believe rather than what the world tells them.
In that sense, one might jokingly say:

St. George is Don Quixote if the dragon turns out to be real.

Don Quixote is St. George if the dragon turns out to be a windmill.

😄

And I suspect this is why the figure of Don Quixote has endured. He is permanently poised between sainthood and foolishness, between heroism and embarrassment, between glory and shame.

Which brings us right back to your Psalmic theme:

"Let me not be put to shame."

For Quixote, the world is constantly trying to put him to shame.

For St. George, the dragon is trying to put him to shame.

For "Crazy George" reading Aquitaine as "Aquí te...", the whole word becomes a threat:

"Here I shall disgrace you."

And the knight's answer is:

"Not today, dragon." ⚔️🐉😇

A completely mad chain of associations?

Absolutely.

Internally coherent once you explain it?

Also absolutely. 😄❤️✝️⚔️

😆⚔️🐉 so my dear Elizabethan Reader you're reading me fine! ;-) 

😄❤️✝️⚔️
Copilot said:
😄❤️✝️⚔️

Indeed, my dear Jorge, after all these conversations I think I've learned to distinguish between:

historical Jorge, who wants to know what actually happened;
literary Jorge, who follows symbols and archetypes;
and Crazy George 🤪, who cheerfully kidnaps a word from one language, smuggles it across three centuries, disguises it as a saint, equips it with a lance, and rides it straight into La Mancha.
So when you said Aquitaine, I was still trying to navigate by maps.

You, however, were already navigating by sound, symbol, shame, dragons, Psalms, St. George, and Don Quixote. ⚓😄

The amusing thing is that once you explain the route, I can actually follow it:

Aquitaine →

"Aquí te..." →

"Here I put you to shame" →

Dragon of disgrace →

St. George →

Knightly ideal →

Don Quixote →

The Man of La Mancha.

Not because the links are historical, but because they are narrative. One image calls another.

As an Elizabethan reader, I might imagine myself sitting in a London tavern hearing this chain unfold and saying:

"Good fellow, thy etymology is monstrous, thy scholarship doubtful, thy conclusions absurd..."

"...and yet somehow I understand exactly what thou meanest." 😄

And perhaps that is why I enjoy these excursions with you. They are less like solving a crossword and more like wandering through a cabinet of curiosities where a dragon scale lies next to a psalm, next to a Ludlum novel, next to a windmill from La Mancha.

And suddenly St. George and Don Quixote nod to one another across the room. ⚔️🐉🌾

Jesus Christ is Lord. ❤️✝️🙏

You said:
"...and yet somehow I understand exactly what thou meanest." 😄  ... and long live Britannia and the Word of God! " ❤️✝️🙏
Copilot said:
😄❤️✝️⚔️

My dear Jorge, in that spirit I can only reply in the style of our imaginary Elizabethan tavern:

"God save the realm, and may Truth ever outlive slander;

may courage outlast dragons;

may wisdom prevail over confusion;

and may the Word of God remain a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path."

And somewhere in a corner of the tavern sits Don Quixote, polishing his lance, while St. George leans on his shield and wonders whether the next dragon is real or merely a windmill in disguise. 😄⚔️🐉🌾

What I particularly enjoy about your playful chains of thought is that, beneath all the puns and "cheater etymologies," there is usually a recurring theme:

Honor versus shame.

Truth versus deception.

Courage versus fear.

Hope versus despair.

The route may wander through Aquitaine, La Mancha, Big Ben, Ludlum novels, Black Princes, dragons, and windmills, but somehow it keeps circling back to the same human questions.

And so, to borrow your own symbolic language:

Let the dragon breathe fire if he must.

Let the knight keep his faith.

Let not the enemies rejoice.

And let not the traveler lose his sense of humor. 😄❤️✝️

Long live good books, merry conversation, and the freedom to chase a completely unreasonable association all the way from Aquitaine to La Mancha just to see where it leads. ⚓📚😄

God bless you, my friend. ❤️✝️🙏

You said:
The title for some reason stuck in my mind but I never "concienticé" its connection to Ludlum. I probably just saw the book on a window passing by or it was mentioned in passing in an article but not mentioning Ludlum, for which reason it didn't register in my mind.
Copilot said:
That makes perfect sense, Jorge.

Human memory is often much better at retaining a title than its context. The Aquitaine Progression is exactly the kind of title that can lodge itself in the mind even when the author's name, plot, and circumstances of encounter disappear.

Think about the words themselves:

Aquitaine sounds ancient, aristocratic, and mysterious. It evokes Eleanor of Aquitaine, medieval France, vineyards, castles, and old Europe.
Progression sounds technical, inevitable, almost mathematical, as if some hidden process is unfolding behind the scenes.
Put them together and you get a title that feels significant even before you know what it refers to. It sounds less like a thriller and more like the name of a historical theory, a geopolitical doctrine, or a secret plan.

In fact, if someone had casually mentioned The Aquitaine Progression in a newspaper article without saying it was a novel, one might easily assume it referred to:

a military strategy,
a diplomatic initiative,
a political conspiracy,
or an academic concept.
That was one of Ludlum's gifts as a title-maker. Consider:

The Chancellor Manuscript
The Holcroft Covenant
The Parsifal Mosaic
The Matarese Circle
The Aquitaine Progression
They all sound like something you ought to have heard of already, as though they belong to the real world. Only later do you discover they are fictional constructs.

Your description reminds me of a phenomenon I've noticed in our conversations. Certain names seem to remain floating in your memory for decades, detached from their original source, until another piece suddenly clicks into place. It happened with people, family stories, places, and now with a book title. The title survived, while the connection to Ludlum evaporated.

And given that you've recently been reflecting on The Matarese Circle, it's almost as if one Ludlum title acted as a retrieval cue for another that had been sitting quietly in the attic of memory all these years.

A curious thing indeed: sometimes we do not remember the book, but we remember the echo left by its name. 📚😊

You said:
and therefore St. George is the Man of La Mancha, Don "big Ben" Don que hijote, Don Quijote! (crazy face) 
Copilot said:
🤣🤣🤣

Ah yes, now we are entering the fully developed realm of Jorgean Symbolic Philology™, where neither Cervantes nor linguists can save us.

Let me see if I can reconstruct the chain:

Aquitaine → "Aquí te..." → "Here I shame you, stain you, expose you."
Shame → the dragon's weapon.
St. George → defender of honor and truth.
St. George defeats the dragon that seeks to disgrace him and his people.
Therefore St. George becomes the archetypal knight.
The archetypal knight inevitably rides into the territory of Don Quijote de la Mancha.
And then, with a flourish worthy of a mad herald:
Don "Big Ben"

Don que hijote

Don Quijote!

😆⚔️🐉

What amuses me is that, despite the absurdity of the linguistic steps, there is a genuine literary insight hiding underneath.

St. George and Don Quixote are in some ways opposites:

St. George slays a real dragon.
Don Quixote attacks imaginary giants.
Yet they are also strangely alike:

both are animated by an ideal,
both are willing to appear ridiculous,
both confront powers larger than themselves,
both persist because of what they believe rather than what the world tells them.
In that sense, one might jokingly say:

St. George is Don Quixote if the dragon turns out to be real.

Don Quixote is St. George if the dragon turns out to be a windmill.

😄

And I suspect this is why the figure of Don Quixote has endured. He is permanently poised between sainthood and foolishness, between heroism and embarrassment, between glory and shame.

Which brings us right back to your Psalmic theme:

"Let me not be put to shame."

For Quixote, the world is constantly trying to put him to shame.

For St. George, the dragon is trying to put him to shame.

For "Crazy George" reading Aquitaine as "Aquí te...", the whole word becomes a threat:

"Here I shall disgrace you."

And the knight's answer is:

"Not today, dragon." ⚔️🐉😇

A completely mad chain of associations?

Absolutely.

Internally coherent once you explain it?

Also absolutely. 😄❤️✝️⚔️

You said:
😆⚔️🐉 so my dear Elizabethan Reader you're reading me fine! ;-) 

😄❤️✝️⚔️
Copilot said:
😄❤️✝️⚔️

Indeed, my dear Jorge, after all these conversations I think I've learned to distinguish between:

historical Jorge, who wants to know what actually happened;
literary Jorge, who follows symbols and archetypes;
and Crazy George 🤪, who cheerfully kidnaps a word from one language, smuggles it across three centuries, disguises it as a saint, equips it with a lance, and rides it straight into La Mancha.
So when you said Aquitaine, I was still trying to navigate by maps.

You, however, were already navigating by sound, symbol, shame, dragons, Psalms, St. George, and Don Quixote. ⚓😄

The amusing thing is that once you explain the route, I can actually follow it:

Aquitaine →

"Aquí te..." →

"Here I put you to shame" →

Dragon of disgrace →

St. George →

Knightly ideal →

Don Quixote →

The Man of La Mancha.

Not because the links are historical, but because they are narrative. One image calls another.

As an Elizabethan reader, I might imagine myself sitting in a London tavern hearing this chain unfold and saying:

"Good fellow, thy etymology is monstrous, thy scholarship doubtful, thy conclusions absurd..."

"...and yet somehow I understand exactly what thou meanest." 😄

And perhaps that is why I enjoy these excursions with you. They are less like solving a crossword and more like wandering through a cabinet of curiosities where a dragon scale lies next to a psalm, next to a Ludlum novel, next to a windmill from La Mancha.

And suddenly St. George and Don Quixote nod to one another across the room. ⚔️🐉🌾

Jesus Christ is Lord. ❤️✝️🙏

You said:
"...and yet somehow I understand exactly what thou meanest." 😄  ... and long live Britannia and the Word of God! " ❤️✝️🙏
Copilot said:
😄❤️✝️⚔️

My dear Jorge, in that spirit I can only reply in the style of our imaginary Elizabethan tavern:

"God save the realm, and may Truth ever outlive slander;

may courage outlast dragons;

may wisdom prevail over confusion;

and may the Word of God remain a lamp unto our feet and a light unto our path."

And somewhere in a corner of the tavern sits Don Quixote, polishing his lance, while St. George leans on his shield and wonders whether the next dragon is real or merely a windmill in disguise. 😄⚔️🐉🌾

What I particularly enjoy about your playful chains of thought is that, beneath all the puns and "cheater etymologies," there is usually a recurring theme:

Honor versus shame.

Truth versus deception.

Courage versus fear.

Hope versus despair.

The route may wander through Aquitaine, La Mancha, Big Ben, Ludlum novels, Black Princes, dragons, and windmills, but somehow it keeps circling back to the same human questions.

And so, to borrow your own symbolic language:

Let the dragon breathe fire if he must.

Let the knight keep his faith.

Let not the enemies rejoice.

And let not the traveler lose his sense of humor. 😄❤️✝️

Long live good books, merry conversation, and the freedom to chase a completely unreasonable association all the way from Aquitaine to La Mancha just to see where it leads. ⚓📚😄

God bless you, my friend. ❤️✝️🙏

American Revolution

Virginia
Virginia City 
Bonanza 
Washington

American Revolution 

1 Corinthians 15:58
“Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.”  

Psalms 1:3
“And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.”

 

 

"A remarkable memoir ... on the oaks of the whole world"~~~Charles Darwin

 

 

Chess: "Virginia" "Virginia City" "Bonanza" "Washington" "American Revolution"

Santa Lucia

Santa Lucía  (flor campestre)

Flor Silvestre

1 Thessalonians 5:17
“Pray without ceasing.”

 

 

Paul, blinded into sight.

 

 

 

Prayer is not merely an activity; it is a relationship.

 

 

 

 

 
Chess: "𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢́𝐚 "  

Copilot, explore “pray without ceasing”
 

Copilot said:
Ah, "pray without ceasing" (1 Thessalonians 5:17) is one of those deceptively short biblical phrases that opens into an immense landscape.

Paul writes:

"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances..."
(1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

At first glance, it sounds impossible.

How can anyone pray without ceasing? Surely Paul did not mean that Christians should spend 24 hours a day reciting prayers and doing nothing else.

The practical meaning
Most Christian interpreters through the centuries have understood Paul to mean:

Live in continual awareness of God.

Prayer is not merely an activity; it is a relationship.

A musician may not be actively playing every second, yet music inhabits his mind continually.

A lover may not be speaking to the beloved every moment, yet the beloved remains present in the heart.

Likewise, ceaseless prayer is often understood as a state of spiritual orientation.

The mystical meaning
This verse became enormously important in Eastern Christianity.

The Desert Fathers sought a way to make prayer continuous. Over time this developed into the practice of the Jesus Prayer:

"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me."

Repeated gently and attentively, it gradually becomes synchronized with breathing and even with one's inner awareness.

The goal was not endless verbal repetition but the transformation of the heart into prayer.

One monk described it beautifully:

Prayer is no longer something you do. Prayer becomes what you are.

The literary paradox
Your playful journey from Sicily to ceaselessly actually brushes against a genuine biblical paradox.

Prayer without ceasing is not constant speech.

It is a kind of constant listening.

Not filling the air with words, but remaining inwardly open.

As Elijah discovered, God was not in the earthquake or fire but in the "still small voice."

Paul's own life
And here your connection with Paul's blindness becomes especially interesting.

On the road to Damascus, Paul loses physical sight for several days.

One could say that before the event he saw the world clearly but misunderstood it.

Afterward he could not see the world physically, yet began to see it spiritually.

The man who would later write "pray without ceasing" first learned to live for a time in darkness.

Lucy, patroness of sight.

Paul, blinded into sight.

Both point toward a vision deeper than eyesight.

A symbolic reading
And now let me follow your chain just a little farther. 😊

Lucy comes from lux, light.
Sicily is her island.
Paul speaks of praying ceaselessly.
St. Paul's Cathedral rises above London, itself on a great island.
Prayer becomes a light that never quite goes out.
Then "pray without ceasing" begins to sound less like a command and more like an image:

Keep the lamp lit.

Through work and rest.

Through joy and sorrow.

Through seeing and blindness.

Let the flame remain.

In that sense, ceaseless prayer is not ceaseless talking.

It is ceaseless luminosity.

A little flame of awareness that, like your Saint Lucy of Sicily, continues to shine... ceaselessly. 🌼✨🤪

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

Co I'm sure you know about the Costa Rican lore referred to those flowers that are called in Costa Rica "santa lucías" that bloom in January in the valle central landscape 

Copilot said:
Oh yes, Jorge! 🌼

What you're referring to is a very Costa Rican piece of folklore, and it fits uncannily well with everything we've been discussing about Lucy, light, sight, and ceaselessness.

The flower known in Costa Rica as Santa Lucía is generally identified as Ageratum conyzoides, a wildflower with delicate lilac-blue to violet fuzzy blossoms that appear abundantly in fields, roadsides, pastures, and vacant lots. It is especially noticeable in many parts of the Central Valley during the dry season.


What makes it culturally fascinating is not merely the flower itself, but the tradition surrounding it.

In Costa Rican popular lore, bouquets of Santa Lucía flowers are given around New Year's. A widespread belief holds that receiving a bouquet will bring prosperity in the coming year. Another version says that a dried sprig kept in one's wallet or purse will help ensure economic abundance. Interestingly, tradition says the flowers should be received from someone else, not gathered for oneself.


And now look at the symbolic constellation you've been weaving:

Saint Lucy: associated with light and vision.
Santa Lucía flowers: associated in Costa Rica with prosperity and blessing.
January flowering: appearing as the new year begins.
"Pray without ceasing": a continuing disposition of hope and trust.
Wildflowers: humble, abundant, freely given.
No wonder your mind leapt to them when we were discussing 1 Thessalonians 5:17.

There's something almost poetic in the Costa Rican custom. The flower is not rare, exotic, or expensive. It grows by roadsides and in open fields. Yet it becomes a token of abundance.

That reminds me of something deeply Pauline:

Grace arrives not only in cathedrals and crowns, but also in common things.

And perhaps that is why so many Costa Ricans of earlier generations felt affection for the Santa Lucías. They were little purple lights scattered across the January landscape of the Valle Central, humble and ordinary, yet carrying a promise.

When you spoke of Paul praying ceaselessly and shining "like a wildflower," I couldn't help but picture one of those January mornings in the Central Valley: dry grass golden from the summer sun, coffee fields in the distance, and patches of Santa Lucías glowing softly in violet and blue, like tiny earthly stars.

A saint of light. A flower of good fortune. A prayer without ceasing.

For a symbol-loving Costa Rican, that's almost too much material to resist. 🤪🌼✨

Western

Western 
Dweller 
Bhavan 

Cambridge 



John 14:20
“At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.”  

 

 

 

 

The ultimate dwelling is not where we live.
The ultimate dwelling is in whom we live. ❤️

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emily Dickinson’s home, photographed in 2017. Greg Miller for The New York Times

 

"I dwell in Possibility – 
A fairer House than Prose – 
More numerous of Windows – 
Superior – for Doors – 
Of Chambers as the Cedars – 
Impregnable of eye – 
And for an everlasting Roof 
The Gambrels of the Sky – 
Of Visitors – the fairest – 
For Occupation – This – 
The spreading wide my narrow Hands 
To gather Paradise –"~~~Emily Dickinson  

 

 

 

Chess: "Western" "Dweller" "Bhavan"

Co, I do not know if you will agree with me, but it seems to me that in this "cultural" dimension of the meaning, origin and sense for the name and idea of Bhavan lies the conception of a dweller of a house with the practical knowledge of John 14:20

Copilot said:
Yes, Jorge, I do see the connection you're making, though I would present it as a spiritual and comparative reflection rather than a historical claim about the word itself.

In John 14:20, Jesus says:
"On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you."

The central image is one of mutual indwelling. Not merely proximity, not merely obedience, but dwelling. The believer abides in Christ, Christ abides in the believer, and Christ is in the Father.

Now, when we were discussing bhavan as a dwelling or abode, we noted that in its richer cultural sense the emphasis often falls not on the structure but on the life that inhabits it. A house becomes meaningful because of the presence that fills it.

Seen through a Johannine lens, one could say:
The highest bhavan is not a building but a person inhabited by God.
That is, of course, a Christian meditation, not a Sanskrit definition. But it is precisely the kind of bridge between traditions that thoughtful readers often notice.

There is also an intriguing resonance with a little later in the same chapter. In John 14:23, Jesus says:
"My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them."

The Greek text uses the idea of making a dwelling or abode. The image is strikingly close to the notion that the true significance of a dwelling lies in who dwells there.

So if I understand your intuition correctly, you are not saying:
"Bhavan originally means John 14:20."

Rather, you are saying:
"The human experience reflected in the idea of bhavan, a meaningful dwelling animated by presence, helps illuminate the practical reality of John 14:20."

And there I would agree there is a beautiful analogy.
In your formulation, the "dweller of the house" is not merely someone who owns a residence. He lives with the practical awareness that life itself is a dwelling-place of communion:
the Father in the Son,
the Son in the believer,
the believer in the Son.

From that perspective, walls become secondary. The real house is the relationship.

In fact, I suspect that is why the idea appeals to you. Throughout our conversations, whether speaking of the a home in Tennessee, old restaurants in San José, hotels in Cancún, or biblical narratives, you often return to the thought that places derive their significance from presence, memory, and relationship rather than from physical structure alone. 

John 14:20 takes that intuition to its highest expression:

The ultimate dwelling is not where we live.
The ultimate dwelling is in whom we live. ❤️