Burning Foot Syndrome: Taking the Edge off the Fire

If you've ever traveled to London and Rome, you'll probably remember the sore feet. There's something about walking on uneven cobblestones all day that really tires one's feet out.  This post is about what I learned from this  trip.

First things first, if you suspect you may have Burning Foot Syndrome, the most important thing to do is to see a doctor--likely a podiatrist--for a diagnosis.  It's my understanding that the pain associated with this condition can also be misdiagnosed as a diabetic symptom, so a good specialist is the first step.  If you, like me, are on a prescription that only helps a bit, you may wish to consider experimenting with other products to see if a supplemental approach might be helpful. 

When I was flying from the USA to London, my right foot began to feel unusually bad.  There's not a lot you can do at 35,000 feet--or in an airport, for that matter--except for taking off your shoes.  I did what I could to manage the discomfort until our hot and tired group finally arrived at our temporary housing at the London School of Economics.  Thinking that I'd give my feet a rest, I made the ill-fated decision to wear deck shoes the next day rather than my usual Merrell hiking shoes.  By the time I returned to the apartment that evening, walking had become really painful.  Checking my feet, I found they were very badly blistered.  So, rule one for London and Rome trips is to ensure you are wearing your best walking shoes.  Even if they're warm, you're likely going to be sorry if you wear something not designed for a long day of walking.  My injured feet at the start of this trip made the total 110 miles walked in less than three weeks quite a painful experience.

As far as other suggestions relating to this condition, I have a couple.  First, consider supplementing your burning foot prescription with the homeopathic product called Arnicare.  Perhaps it is just the placebo effect, but I have found quite a bit of relief using the gel directly on my feet in the morning as well as taking the oral supplement on a daily basis.  It was actually a professor who suggested this product on the study abroad trip, and I'm very thankful for her recommendation.  It's worth a try.  (If it helps, I'd appreciated hearing from you.)  One more suggestion that may seem a little weird at first is to try putting your socks in the freezer overnight.  I often put mine in a ziplock bag.  One might not think that this would offer any help beyond first putting the icy socks on, but it seems to be helpful for me.  

(If you're elderly or suffer from circulation problems, please talk to your doctor before trying this last approach; better safe than sorry.)  

See also The Erythromelalgia Association.

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What is the Problem with the Modern Arts?

I’ll be the first to confess that I have a bias in favor of the writers and (most) artists of past generations more than today—just as I tend to prefer classical composers belonging to centuries other than our own.  That said, I’m not usually overly critical, but, I am reminded of particularly uninspiring readings from a recent college term focusing upon modern American Literature.  Yikes!  Even with those authors and poets, like Sylvia Plath, who held my attention, the common thread that came to mind for that term was one of despair.  

     It’s more than a despair of the present, though; the attitude of these authors seems to convey a deep-seated and pervasive hopelessness running through these writers like blood runs through veins.  If we follow these threads of despair back through the past couple weeks, or so, a good starting point would be Sylvia Plath. 

You stand at the blackboard, daddy, In the picture I have of you, A cleft in your chin instead of your foot But no less a devil for that, no not Any less the black man who 

Bit my pretty red heart in two. I was ten when they buried you. At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.  

But they pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue. And then I knew what to do. I made a model of you, A man in black with a Meinkampf look 

And a love of the rack and the screw. And I said I do, I do. So daddy, I’m finally through. The black telephone’s off at the root, The voices just can’t worm through.

Plath, Sylvia (2016-11-15). The Collected Poems (pp. 223-224). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.

     These words echo and reverberate like a popular tune that won’t go away.  The contrast of the darkly powerful and profound “Daddy” with more natured-centered works like “Winter Landscape, with Rooks,” “Channel Crossing,” or “Southern Sunrise” is also fascinating.  What mental or spiritual darkness led this author to veer so violently away from the appreciation of the beauty around her to a focus so upon the blackness of her own heart and mind?  If she is expressing sorrow and anger for the loss of her father, then why did she herself choose to commit suicide (using her own stove, after leaving food out for her orphaned children)?  Since her father reportedly refused medical treatment, does she see his death as morally synonymous with suicide?

     A similar thread of darkness infuses the writings of Ginsberg, and is conveyed with something akin to anger or a nightmarish rant in “Howl.” 

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the 

     stoops off fire escapes off windowsills of Empire State out 

     of the moon,

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and 

     memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of 

     hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and 

     nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on 

     the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of 

     ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and 

     migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak 

     furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad

     yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken

     hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing

     through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and 

     bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at

     their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of

     Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary

     indian angels, 

Ginsberg never caught my interest, nor did his writing seem to convey anything other than a sort of random litany of profanity.  It didn’t seem to represent profanity directed towards a higher purpose, but more like profanity for the sake of profanity.  Nothing is conveyed other than a feeling of despair, isolation, and sin (the ultimate separation between God and man). 

     From my perspective, then, many of that term's selected readings conveyed mainly inarticulate expressions of spiritual deficits and emptiness: form devoid of underlying depth of content.  Compare these authors to the more uplifting and edifying words of authors like Flannery O'Connor, and modern literature (as represented here) strikes me in a similar way as modern art and modern classical music: abandonment of time-tested traditions and methods in pursuit of dissonant and cacophonous artistic methods—from visual arts to music.  “If it feels good, do it” seems to be the modernist approach.  Whether something has inherent value, truth, or beauty is apparently irrelevant as long as the “art” is believed suitable for making one think.  

     Since the artistic rule of the day—perhaps tracing back to the beginnings of deconstructive criticism and the “anti-hero”—is one that embraces chaotic discord in music, banal and empty words in literature, and image without meaning or sign of inherent talent, then one could perhaps generalize that much of the arts today seem all about embracing the beguiling guise of "the new" rather than the old. Yet, if that's true, then it stands to reason also that these characteristics of modern artistic expression are the new normal, the current paradigm of the arts. This seeming lack of tradition becomes the current "tradition," and those seeking out art for the sake of beauty, enrichment, or wonder become the artistic rebels on the scene. If you're an artistic rebel, then it's time to consider that perhaps the old has become new again.

Conflicting Pictures of Truth (Caravaggio)

     

Sharing a short academic piece concerning conflicting natures or truths found with regards to classic images and art.  MLA style not consistently followed for blog.

     At the Gallery Borghese in Rome, I recently had the opportunity to view a magnificent painting by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610): Madonna Dei Palafrenieri.  (Vodret, 16 and 64) Caravaggio’s masterpiece is captivating in its beauty and expressive detail.  The painting’s lifelike faces and vibrant colors first drew my attention before I noticed something else.  Looking closer, I observed that Mary’s bare foot was squarely atop a serpent’s head and the young Christ’s foot was atop hers.  This detail might go unnoticed by some visitors, but the theological meaning behind this symbolism is not only rich and profound, it also transforms the beautiful image into something much more complex and nuanced.  The painting becomes something that is representative of the serious divisions of Christian belief that stand between the Catholic and Orthodox on one side and the Protestant traditions on the other; the image is either a work of theological and artistic genius, if one is Catholic, or of serious doctrinal error, if one is Protestant.  Of course, the beauty of the painting can be appreciated by all, but its secondary meanings, the paradoxical meaning, may be met with greater skepticism than its artistic merits.

     The third chapter of Critical Terms for Media Studies offers a powerful insight into this process of appreciation for one dimension of the art, followed by a sort of double-take in which the underlying meaning or expression—not perhaps readily apparent at the first glance—comes into crisp focus upon closer examination. 

We experience the image as a double moment of appearing and recognition, the simultaneous noticing of a material object and an apparition, a form or a deformation. An image is always both there and not there, appearing in or on or as a material object yet also ghostly, spectral, and evanescent. Although images are almost automatically associated with the representation of objects in space, it is important to recognize that some form of temporality is built in to our encounter with any image: phenomenologists note what we might call the “onset” of an image, the event of its recognition, and the “second look” or double take that Wittgenstein called “the dawning ontology of photographs), a historical style, a depicted narrative (as in history painting), or a labyrinthine interiority that leads the beholder on a pursuit of its depths, as when we observe a drawing coming into the world, drawing out of invisibility the trace of something that is coming into view. (Mitchell, 39)

     The willing participation of Mary in the miracle of the incarnation is seldom argued or disputed too strongly within the most Christian traditions; Catholics and Protestants usually can find common ground in general appreciation for her unique role of being mother to Christ.  While some might attempt to argue that God could have chosen any number of other methods to send His Son into the world, the fact of the matter is that He selected Mary. Most Christians would agree that she deserves a special place of respect and honor. After all, if through Christ we become like His adopted brothers, then it only stands to reason that we should reserve a special honor for the "spiritual mother" we share.  This is how the Catechism of the Catholic Church describes her special role.

 969 "This motherhood of Mary in the order of grace continues uninterruptedly from the consent which she loyally gave at the Annunciation and which she sustained without wavering beneath the cross, until the eternal fulfillment of all the elect. Taken up to heaven she did not lay aside this saving office but by her manifold intercession continues to bring us the gifts of eternal salvation . . . . Therefore the Blessed Virgin is invoked in the Church under the titles of Advocate, Helper, Benefactress, and Mediatrix."⁵¹²

970 "Mary's function as mother of men in no way obscures or diminishes this unique mediation of Christ, but rather shows its power. But the Blessed Virgin's salutary influence on men . . . flows forth from the superabundance of the merits of Christ, rests on his mediation, depends entirely on it, and draws all its power from it."⁵¹³ "No creature could ever be counted along with the Incarnate Word and Redeemer; but just as the priesthood of Christ is shared in various ways both by his ministers and the faithful, and as the one goodness of God is radiated in different ways among his creatures, so also the unique mediation of the Redeemer does not exclude but rather gives rise to a manifold cooperation which is but a sharing in this one source."⁵¹⁴   (Catechism, 274-275)

     When discussing the Catholic understanding of Mary, it is only natural to briefly mention the Immaculate Conception. This dogma, made official by Pope Pius IX in 1854, declares that Mary was free from the stain of original sin. As The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes it, she was "redeemed from the moment of her conception." While this mystery may be challenging to grasp at first, it makes greater sense if one reflects upon it. If we acknowledge that God is outside of time, then we can understand the implication of Mary's predestination as hinted at in verses such as Ephesians 1:3-4. God was precisely aware who was destined to bear His Son into the world before even the arrival of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. If we accept God is omniscient and possessed foreknowledge of the details of this miracle, then it only stands to reason that God would shelter this chosen one from the harmful effects of original sin. After all, how can the stain of sin co-exist so intimately (both physically and spiritually) with true good or "life itself, immutable, "as Saint Augustine describes God in his Confessions? Of course, another argument supporting the Immaculate Conception is found in Luke 1:28. How could Mary be "blessed among women," if she harbored the stain of original sin?  Many Protestants at this point would be inclined to argue that these kinds of Marian beliefs represent meaningless and extra-biblical concepts which have no value when applied to our faith.  This is precisely why so many people of faith might strongly disagree with the sense in which this painting invokes Mary as the Mother of God (an example of the communication of idioms), rather than Mary as simply another virtuous or holy woman—e.g. a vessel. 
     
     In short, Caravaggio’s painting of the foot of Mary below Christ’s own foot suggests something more than mere selection; it emphasizes her cooperation in the salvation story.  Cooperation in terms of salvation is a bridge too far for many when we are referring to the role of Mary.  This is an example of the inherent complexities and paradoxes of art and the nature of image.  The painting may make a statement or express an opinion just as clearly as a fine essay.  This is also why our impressions of certain pieces of fine art may change or mature with time.  The first instance we open a classic novel by an author like Robert Louis Stevenson our impressions may be altogether different from reading the same book some decades later.  Age and experience, culture, faith, and media all are like lenses through which we see or perceive the work of art—whether visual, literary, or musical—and these lenses change as we change.

    
 

Cited and Referenced Sources:

Augustine, and E. B. Pusey. Confessions. Simon & Brown, 2012.

Catechism of the Catholic Church: Revised in Accordance with the Official Latin Text

     Promulgated by Pope John Paul II. Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1994.

Mitchell, W. J. Thomas, and Mark B. N. Hansen. “Image .” Critical Terms for Media Studies,

     University of Chicago Press, 2010, pp. 35–47.

The Holy Bible Containing the Old and New Testaments with the Apocryphal/Deuterocanonical

     Books: New Revised Standard Version. Oxford University Press, 2006.

Vodret, Rossella, and Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio. Caravaggio a Roma: Itinerario.

     Silvana, 2010.

The Practical and Symbolic Resonance of Water in Ancient Rome

      A short essay exploring the significance of water to ancient Rome follows.  MLA format not strictly adhered to here due to blog formatting restrictions and general readability.

The Practical and Symbolic Resonance of Water in Ancient Rome


If we pause and think about the cycle of a drop of water as it endlessly changes its form and location, we can catch a glimpse of this Christian community: past, present and future. Perhaps this drop of water on our outstretched finger once dropped as rain on the head of Christ himself. (Erickson, Online)

     One of the great wonders of ancient Rome was its ingenious strategy for bringing fresh water into the city.  With its stunning creation of aqueducts and underground system of lead pipes, it truly was called “regina aquarium, the queen of the waters.”  (Hughes, 64)  Visitors from afar must have been astonished at the abundance of clean running water within the city.  This abundance of water was a critical factor in enabling Rome’s population to expand so freely with each passing century.  According to Robert Hughes in Rome, A Cultural, Visual, and Personal History, maintaining this flow of fresh water into Rome was a complex and daunting task.

Before it could flow out of Rome, of course, the water had to flow in.  It did so mainly through aqueducts.  Eleven of these supplied the city with its drinking and washing water, eight entering by the region of the Esquiline Hill.  Four more were added after the popes replaced the emperors, two of them in the twentieth century.  No other ancient city had such a copious supply of water…  (Hughes, 64)

Water was more than a practical necessity for Rome, however.  As its many fountains like the Fontana del Nettuno (Fountain of Neptune) demonstrate, water also played a critical part in nurturing and symbolically representing the unique creativity and passion for the arts found within Rome.  From bringing water into the city in complex aqueducts, turning dry lands into productive agricultural models, and using water for artistic purposes, there was no end of the practical and symbolic resonance of water in early Rome.

     In an excellent academic paper prepared by Evan James Dembeskey for the University of South Africa, he quotes the following passage from Pliny the Elder’s Natural History concerning the wonders of the Roman aqueduct system.  (A different translation was utilized here than the one referenced by Evan Dembeskey.)

If we only take into consideration the abundant supply of water to the public, for baths, ponds, canals, household purposes, gardens, places in the suburbs, and country-houses; and then reflect upon the distances that are traversed, the arches that have been constructed, the mountains that have been pierced, the valleys that have been levelled, we must of necessity admit that there is nothing to be found worthier of our admiration throughout the whole universe.  (Pliny, EBook)

Another remarkable passage from Pliny describes the astonishing magnitude of the engineering involved in these creations.

The channels thus formed are called “corrugi,” from our word “corrivatio,” I suppose; and even when these are once made, they entail a thousand fresh labours. The fall, for instance, must be steep, that the water may be precipitated, so to say, rather than flow; and it is in this manner that it is brought from the most elevated points. Then, too, vallies and crevasses have to be united by the aid of aqueducts, and in another place impassable rocks have to be hewn away, and forced to make room for hollowed troughs of wood; the person hewing them hanging suspended all the time with ropes, so that to a spectator who views the operations from a distance, the workmen have all the appearance, not so much of wild beasts, as of birds upon the wing. Hanging thus suspended in most instances, they take the levels, and trace with lines the course the water is to take; and thus, where there is no room even for man to plant a footstep, are rivers traced out by the hand of man.  (Pliny, EBook)

It is hard to grasp the ability of an ancient people having both the understanding and the ability to accomplish such tasks.  While this appreciation is perhaps tempered by the assumed use of slaves to perform much of the backbreaking and dangerous work, the final success remains a breathtaking feat of engineering.  More than that alone, however, the Roman water system facilitated the practical survival of a large and growing Roman population, which then permitted greater attention to be placed upon the arts as well as engineering and government, public discourse.  In other words, being relieved of some of the immediate pressures of daily survival, the culture was able to mature and flourish in a way that would not have been possible otherwise.  In a substantive way, the clean water pouring through the aqueducts and out from the many fountains was quenching a cultural thirst in the same way it addressed the immediate human need.

     While further research remains required to ascertain the critical nature of agricultural irrigation within the immediate area of Rome itself, irrigation and water rights issues were critically important in North Africa and elsewhere within the Roman Empire.  (Hollander and Spanier, 3504) If rainfall could not be depended upon for agriculture, irrigation techniques were implemented where possible.  As we see from the fountain photographs at the conclusion of this essay, however, water was for far more than practical and life-sustaining purposes alone; it also conveyed the artistic richness and beauty of the Roman Empire.  This particularly must have struck the pilgrims arriving in Rome at Piazza del Popolo.  After long and difficult journeys, the sight of so much flowing water must have been truly astonishing: both welcoming the end of physical thirst and the beauty addressing something more along the lines of the thirst for beauty and the spiritual dimension.

     If water symbolized life, then there was truly an abundance of life within the Roman Empire.  The eternal nature of water, its endless cycle of change, also seems a fitting emblem for Rome.  In one sense, the mysterious quality of water represents the many and diverse citizens of Rome, but it is more than that alone.  As mentioned previously, the abundance of fresh water led to satiation of the need for drinking and bathing water, which, in turn, created an environment a little less concerned with survival alone as the goal, opening the door to wider and richer expressions of thought and the arts.  Beauty for the sake of beauty finally became something within the grasp of the common man, and that is clearly something for which we can all be thankful.  Another important dimension of the Roman contribution to western civilization, of course, is its impressive legacy of paved roads.  Together, the water and transportation systems encouraged the spread and sharing of important ideas; this certainly includes Christianity and Living Water.

 

Cited and Consulted Sources

Dembskey, Evan James. “The Aqueducts of Ancient Rome.” Feb. 2009,
  www.romanaqueducts.info/aquapub/dembskey2009Rometxt1.pdf. (University of South Africa)

Elder, Pliny The. Delphi Ancient Classics: Complete Works of Pliny the Elder

       (Delphi Classics). Delphi Publishing Limited, 2011. EBook.

Erickson, Karl Bjorn. “Mysterious Tools.” America Magazine, 3 July 2006,

     www.americamagazine.org/issue/577/faith-focus/mysterious-tools.

Erickson, Karl.  Fountain and Water Photography, 2017, Rome.
       JPEG.

Hollander, David B., and Ethan Spanier. “Irrigation, Greece and
       Rome.” The Encyclopedia of Ancient History, 2012,    
       doi:10.1002/9781444338386.wbeah06364.

Hughes, Robert. Rome: A Cultural, Visual, and Personal History.
       New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2011. Print.