Navigation with the Senses

Good evening, my friends. Today has been a day of navigation. It is the day I have returned with melancholy to Oxnard, sailing westward against the winds of my will. I do not know how many are inclined to agree, but liberation from responsibility very nice, and it is not something I should like to surrender. Now I must be responsible once again. They will tell me in the morning, "Read this by Thursday. It is very long," and then later that morning, "Translate this lengthy and convoluted passage of a strange tongue by tomorrow, at which point you will be given a quiz and another assignment of the same kind due the next day," and then in the afternoon, "Write a lengthy and profound synthesis of your ideas, and also read this excruciatingly long document by Thursday," and then later that afternoon, "Read this very dull and repetitive text by Thursday, for it is full of profundity," and then I will return to my cell and do all these things, and they will devour my life away until Blessed Friday, when I take flight into the East, and then later into the South. Only on Blessed Friday shall I receive respite from my toil, and I shall take full advantage thereof, only to begin the cycle again with the coming of the next week. There is no navigation in a cycle. Wherever you go, there you are, and that place always turns out to be your starting point again and again until 9 May finally arrives.

Today, however, was a day of navigation, which was achieved with the senses. One such sense is the sense of magnetism, which is used by a certain creature, widely known as the compass, to lead Victor Frankenstein and his monster to their deaths near the North Pole. The sense of magnetism, like all other senses, is experienced in the brain, and it allows myriad destinations to be reached, especially if they are magnetic poles. Today it was used that travel continued in a westward direction, rather than another direction, such as upward or downward.

Another sense of this kind is that of sight, which allows us to see both where we are going and where we are not going. Without sight, it would be difficult to keep an automobile on the road and out of contact with animals, trees, and its fellow automobiles. Where indeed would we be without the sense of sight? Quite honestly, I do not think we would know.

Lastly, we have the sense of smell, which allows us to be repulsed. Certain places have certain smells, and as a general rule, pleasant places have pleasing aromatic qualities, and unpleasant places have displeasing aromatic qualities. The Lush River Valley where I live is excellent for breathing, for example, whereas my cell reeks of emptiness and melancholy. Furthermore, in the halls of my home in the Lush River Valley one may waft an air consisting of perpetual joy and righteousness, whereas the hallways outside my cell wafting will only bring the odor of mysteries that ought not be solved and iniquity. I often think to myself that I could easily discern my location by the sense of smell alone, and I believe it to be true. For this reason smell is the Emperor of the Senses, for it is all we truly need for navigation. Any talking dog will tell you this.

Now, having considered all the senses (magnetism, sight, and smell), I at last wish to consider the Arts associated therewith. The Art of Etch-a-Sketch is the Art of Magnetism. The Art of Painting is the Art of Sight. The Art of Navigation is the Art of Smell. These facts are not to be questioned. We can see now clearly the essential bond between the nose and navigation. Remember well the words of Gandalf in Moria, "'I do not like the feel of the middle way; and I do not like the smell of the left-hand way: there is foul air down there, or I am no guide. I shall take the right-hand passage. It is time we began to climb up again.'"

Good night, my much beloved friends.