Quail and Rashomon at St. Godric's

After our poetry session yesterday (which was nothing to write home about, but we're building), I stayed for dinner at the monastery. Breakfast is bread with a choice of either beans, a hard boiled egg, or dried fish. I've already described their lunches. But dinner ... well ...

1st Course
Chilled Cream of Acorn Squash Soup

Main Course
Pomegranate Quail over Moroccan Cous-Cous, served with Grilled Vegetables and Chantrelle Mushrooms in a Port Wine Sauce
w/ 1999 Domaine Drouhin Pinot Noir Cuvee Laurene

Dessert
Chocolate Clafoutis
w/ 2000 Paradise Ranch Reisling IceWine

While the portions are appropriate to the monastic life, the experience of a dinner at St. Godric's is anything but ascetic. At the same time, it is a deeply religious experience. Every meal is a little version of Babette's Feast - an incarnation of the Glory of the Lord, a Hymn to Christ, a Re-Creation of the Cosmos, an Icon.

The meal always ends with a very unforced appreciative silence of contemplative gratitude. And at just the right distance from the meal, we watched Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon on the monastery projector. At first, I was less impressed than I expected to be. I had never seen it before, and while I was struck by Kazuo Miyagawa's cinematography, the Kabuki-influenced Japanese style of acting has always been a bit difficult for me to appreciate (though I think I might be getting over it).

We retired for the evening without conversation - they to their prayers and I to my cell in the visitor's quarters, so I had some time to think about the film myself before discussing it. The more I thought about it, the more I appreciated it.

Four versions of an event, each told by a deeply invested character. At first I was mechanically caught up in the mere mystery of the plot. What really happened? Did the samurai die by a sword or a dagger? Was his wife faithful? Did Tajômaru fall off the horse or not?

But as these sorts of questions began to exhaust themselves, I began asking more probing questions. Is the point here really to solve the mystery? Can the mystery even be solved? Can a golden thread of 'truth' be pulled out of these four stories that tells us what 'really' happened? What is the art of storytelling all about? Aren't we all really artists? What does it mean to provide a faithful narrative? What is the difference between faithful art and a lie? Do dead men ever tell lies? What do women want, what will they do to get it, and will they be happy when they do? What does it mean to be an honorable man? How compatible is honor with honesty?

This morning I walked back up the valley, growing more and more appreciative of the film, the day, and all other mysteries that have little to do with 'just the facts.'

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Third Poetry Workshop