Have you ever had a surreal moment? Shoot, there I go again using a not-so-everyday word. According to dictionary.com, a definition of surreal is…having the disorienting, halucinatory quality of a dream; unreal; fantastic. Hmm…that is actually a pretty good description of one of my Egypt moments. An assignment I had for my Ancient Egypt course was to memorize the poem Ozymandius by Percy Shelley. While we were at the Ramesseum in Luxor, I was asked to recite the poem while standing next to the shattered face of this very same Ozymandius. But wait a second, something doesn’t seem quite right. Ozymandius doesn’t sound very Egyptian. Weren’t most of the pharaoh’s named Amenhotep, Nefertiti, or Tutankhamen? You’re right, they were. However, pharaohs often had several names.
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In this specific case, I am standing in front of the shattered statue of Ramses II. His throne name was Usermaatra…and the Greek transliteration of his name is Ozymandius. Thus, this poem by Shelley is based upon this very same statue. Do any of you remember reading this back in a high school English class? I don’t remember if it was Mrs. McLagan or Mrs. Erickson, but I know we had to read it for one of my literature classes back in the day. Just being so close to the source of inspiration, though, was really quite remarkable. It didn’t really feel quite real, or maybe more specifically…it felt more than real, almost as if an extra layer was added to reality. The fallen statue was behind, the ruins of his temple surrounded me, and the endless sands loomed around just waiting to swallow up this place forever. Poetry is the perfect way to capture this–for a pictures gives the visual, and words can merely describe it, but a poem can capture the very essence of feeling.
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I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said:–Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies; whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive; stamped on these lifeless things
The hand that mock’d them and the heart that fed
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandius, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
~Percy Shelley
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The great things is when you live in the Middle East, these type of surreal moments are almost a daily occurrence. Here’s another…
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This picture was taken from the front porch of the house I am living in now. We are on hills of Beit Jala, but the church steeple you can see on the horizon is in Bethlehem. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. There are some huge events going on in town. We know the people who are putting on a big Christmas parade by the Church of the Nativity, so we might go join them and hand out candy to all the little kids. Why is this significant? Well, if tradition is correct, our little parade will be tracing the steps of Joseph and Mary and nearly-born Jesus on the day before we celebrate his birth. We know that Jesus wasn’t born on December 25th, but oh well, we’ll celebrate it anyway.
The sun peaks over the distant Fields of Moab. The Wilderness of Judah and the Dead Sea lie between Bethlehem and Moab. Why am I connecting these? When you read the book of Ruth, you’ll discover that Naomi and her family left Bethlehem for Moab. It was a long journey, but they could see their destination from their previous home. As this picture is taken from our front porch, I wonder if Naomi or Boaz or Ruth or Jesse or David or Joseph or Mary or Joseph ever watched the sun rise from this same hill upon which I sleep every night?
