Word: rituals
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...Atlantean religion; the so-called bull dances of the Minoans are familiar enough to all prehistory buffs. The golden "bull cups" of Minoan provenance at the Athens museum show bas-reliefs of young men capturing bulls with the help of only staves and nooses; Plato describes just such a ritual hunt as taking place on Atlantis. Again, he says that the Atlantean metropolis was built of red, black and white native stone in pleasing combinations; Santorini's cliffs, intriguingly enough, are striped with just those three colors of rock...
Whatever his reasons, his elucidations of Agee through his poetry are sound. He emphasizes the poet's sense of history, his demi-longing after death, his impulse to celebration and ritual, and his sense of Original Sin. Where Flannery O'Conner, a contemporary of Agee's and a fellow Southerner and writer, was trapped and finally suffocated by a sense of sin, determinism made Agee all the more athletic in his insistence on love. "From the evidence of his poetry," says Presler, "it seems safe to say that the condition of love--between persons, of nature, as action in life...
...totes Stella off on one of those lyric holidays by a deserted strand that have been a staple of English films since Room at the Top. This obviously calls for serious measures from Zee. Not even a ritual slitting of her wrists in the bathtub has any appreciable effect. With a gut instinct for elementary Freudian geometry (so thoughtfully supplied by Scenarist Edna O'Brien) Zee sets out to bed Stella herself and play out the triangle of X Y & Zee to its conclusion...
...drawing room misery in which a captain of the coast artillery and his wife Alice have by their profligate hostility doomed themselves to a life alone in the rooms of an island fortress off the coast of Sweden. They are a grim pair proceeding through their days with ritual bitterness; only the occasional Morse Code eruptions of the domestic telegraph set and the arrival of the Third Character divert the flow of venom from its daily course...
They came as they always come, carrying their sacraments with them; wineskins over the shoulder and carefully rolled joints in their pockets. The rank and vile of sub and inner urbia filed neatly into the beige somnolence of Symphony Hall. There it was, a ritual procession with all the passion of Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade; the worshippers were as enthralled as a gaggle of catatonic turkety buzzards watching a tennis match; the penitents approached their shrine with all the fervor of the champagne cooled Boston Pops crowd. It's not that rock concerts aren't interesting anymore, there...