In her
essay — entitled “Jewelry--Not to Ornament” — Choong convinces the reader of her
belief that jade can absorb into itself the psychic energies of those who
handle it or keep it close to their skin. “I have an indescribable fondness for
jade bracelets,” Choong writes, “because I instinctively feel that … the stone
is itself a microcosm, and it can sense the changes in human bodies.” The
gemstone, she says, “records time, and it grows old with us….”
“Wearing
ornaments is like keeping poltergeists,” she warns. This contemplation alone
made her conjure up “macabre scenes in horror films. She moved even further
into that direction by introducing “folk prescriptions for amassing energy with
certain objects” such as the roots of mandrake (in the nightshade family) and
Ginseng. “Mandrakes not only invite love, but also bring along death. Love and
death, the two are always inexplicably tangled together.”
Why is it,
then, that Choong inserts into her essay a step back from her conviction?
“Perhaps
beautiful stones always stir up people’s imagination,” she says. This is a
statement that mildly detracts from the belief that the stones in and of
themselves hold a power, an energy, or consciousness that is their own. (Choong’s
essay draws my attention especially because it skirts into the territory of
Panpsychism.)
Choong
follows this sentence with the following: “Legends say that crystals are
transformed from thousand-year-old ice, and agates are coalesced demon blood.”
Well, all right. That’s a “truth” in itself: “Legends say.” Stop there, and the
reader will absorb that “legend” as a possibility. Most definitely the ancient
storytellers who spoke of ice and blood were convinced that crystals and agates
are more than what they seem.
Sadly, the
writer goes on to rationalize those ancient, prehistoric understandings by
saying, “Such tales probably owe their origins to the fact that the colors of
the stones are simply too teasing to one’s imagination.”
In her
discussion of diamonds, Choong destabilizes the idea that diamonds are
connected to “love” by interpreting that association with clever marketing. “I
always see the business conspiracy hidden behind the diamond ads — it is
precisely because love is a short-lived trade with a high replacement rate,
that diamonds have a market.”
From this
she proclaims: “So, let ornaments regain their simple beautifying function.”
Why, then,
had Choong spent so much time presenting gemstone “ornaments” as something more
powerful than mere ornamentation? Why did she so persuasively display her belief
that pendants, rings, and bracelets were for her powerful talismanic items?
It seems
Choong, by essay’s end, has given way to the strong forces of modern society
that raise scientific rationalism over the ancient respect for mystery. “It’s
probably hard for a pragmatic person like me to be obsessed with ornaments,”
she says toward the end of the essay. It feels as if she has recanted her
belief in otherworldly energies as a momentary weakness, lest anyone think her
to be, gulp, superstitious.
There’s a
sadness in that reversal away from the mysterious. It reminds me of those
readers and writers of Horror who proudly proclaim they do not believe in
ghosts, even while they admit that ghost stories give them a shiver. There is
something shallow and false about that desire to embrace the rational, the demand
that something be proven by the scientific method.
We can
embrace a wider view of the way the world works without becoming narrower in
our behavior. Indeed, that is one of the lessons we might learn from the Horror
Genre. This world is so much more than what we can see. (Thank you, Hamlet.)
Sermon
ended. Go in peace.