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Mac-in-who? Dog? No, Mac Ind Og (pronounced Macintosh, as near as I can tell) is the Celtic mythological figure, Aengus Mac Ind Og, aka Mac Ind Oc, Mac Oc, Mac Og, et al., immortalized in Yeats’ poem,
The Song of the Wandering Aengus,
 
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
 
And made further famous as the mysterious figure in Joyce’s Ulysses, Macintosh, the lonely wanderer, who appears here and there throughout the work clad in a macintosh, after having first showed up at Paddy Dignam’s funeral, again wearing a macintosh.
 
Now who is that lanky looking galoot over there in the macintosh?

Now who is he I'd like to know? Now I'd give a trifle to know who he is.

Always someone turns up you never dreamt of. A fellow could live on his lonesome all his life.
 
Hynes, who is writing up the funeral for the local newspaper, queries Leopold Bloom about Macintosh:
 
- And tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in the, fellow was over there in the ...
He looked around.
--Macintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is he now?

--M'Intosh, Hynes said scribbling. I don't know who he is. Is that his name?
He moved away, looking about him.
--No, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say, Hynes!

Didn't hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good Lord, what became of him?
 
It is in this manner that Joyce introduces the Aengean figure Mac Ind Og. Although much has been made of how Homer’s epic poem has influenced Joyce’s Ulysses, the same, or more, could be said of the influence of Celtic mythology.

So, it is for Aengus Mac Ind Og that I have named this website, because I was so touched by Yeats’ poem. I, too, like most men, have my glimmering girl. Psychologists have made much of the glimmering girl concept, what Robert Bly refers to as the “golden girl,” but I’ll leave that for another time.
 
 
 
The truth is, after much furrowing of brow, I can't think of anything to say by way of preface to my blog. Along the way I wondered what it's purpose might be and maybe I should say a few words about that and would, except that I don't know what its purpose is, or could be, or should be. I only know that my clock is winding down and I'm so desperate to have my mind known that I could just spit! Maybe my blog could be about that. But how depressing and pretentious that could be! But hold on a second, maybe not—my therapist commented the other day how in late adulthood (AKA elder years), one is forced to deal with the sense of loss, all the time, it's always there, and it's painful, it takes great faith to live on even though one knows it's going to end and that whatever they accomplish, if anything, is not going to matter all that much. How does one find meaning or a sense of fulfillment in life knowing that it’s coming to an end? Psychologists have not written much about this if anything. It's sort of an unexamined part of adult life. It takes a lot of self-discipline to function in spite of this sense of loss—it's so easy to give up on the constant struggle, on life. A lot of people do—drinking, TV, drugs, electrosex, So, if you'll bear with me, let us examine this unexamined part of adult life.
 
 
 
 
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