Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
An article I found that is useful
Question: "What is lust? What does the Bible have to say about lust?"Answer: I think Job 31:11-12 (NLT) sums up lust quite nicely, "For lust is a shameful sin, a crime that should be punished. It is a devastating fire that destroys to hell. It would wipe out everything I own." Just think about the definition of lust: 1) Intense or unrestrained sexual craving, or 2) An overwhelming desire or craving (Source: The American Heritage Dictionary). Now try and reconcile this definition with verses such as Exodus 20:14, 17 (NLT), "Do not commit adultery. . . Do not covet your neighbor’s house. Do not covet your neighbor’s wife, male or female servant, ox or donkey, or anything else your neighbor owns," or Matthew 5:28, "But I say, anyone who even looks at a woman with lust in his eye has already committed adultery with her in his heart."Lust is a focus on pleasing oneself, and often leads to unwholesome actions to fulfill one's desires with no regard to the consequences. Lust is about possession and greed. The Christian faith is about selflessness, and is marked by holy living (Romans 6:19, 12:1-2; 1 Corinthians 1:2, 30, 6:19-20; Ephesians 1:4, 4:24; Colossians 3:12; 1 Thessalonians 4:3-8, 5:23; 2 Timothy 1:9; Hebrews 12:14; 1 Peter 1:15-16). The goal of each person who has put his/her faith in Jesus Christ is to become more and more like Him each day. This means putting off the old way of life, of which sin was in control, and conforming one's thoughts and actions to the standard put forth in Scripture. Lust is in opposition to this ideal.Nobody will ever be perfect, or attain sinlessness while still on this earth, yet it is still a goal for which we strive. The Bible makes a very strong statement regarding this in 1 Thessalonians 4:7-8, "God has called us to be holy, not to live impure lives. Anyone who refuses to live by these rules is not disobeying human rules but is rejecting God, who gives his Holy Spirit to you." If lust has not yet gripped your heart and mind, ready yourself through a life lived above reproach to combat the temptations of lust. If you currently struggle with lust, it is time to come clean before God and ask for His intervention in your life, so that holiness can be a mark of your life as well.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Fugue Subject
a fugue is an exhaustive exploration of how many times a fugue subject can be done.
a fugue subject should be brief and full of potential energy : memorable and workable. a specially designed idea.
a fugue subject should be brief and full of potential energy : memorable and workable. a specially designed idea.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
And once one had gone into the summer, it crawled out in fall, sunburned and miserable. The wretch that had gone in came out, but barely. So I took this wretch into my domestic environment, gave it a name, then a bath, and Mr. Pewtey became my new best friend. Out of the dust of outside, the heat and the leaves-he came. Arthur Pewtey hadn't existed to anyone other than the flies which laid eggs upon him. After a bath he was much more presentable. This person, this entity was entirely new to the world however, and yet, was not a child. So first I took him out to a park with trees. I tried to get him to say something, but all he could say was "ahh" Shapeless words and breathful vowels made up most of our conversation. So I made the point to tell him as much about myself as I could, since, that is how we humans learn to speak anyway. I sang to him, he sat. I prayed with him, he sat. I ate with him, he sat, eating. I asked him who he was and where he was from, he said nothing. He sat. He did not smile. He would not smile. If I became very loud or came very close, his eyes would get bigger. So I brought him back from the place with trees and put him back into my domestic environment.
He lay on the couch. I gave him a pillow which he did not use, and a blanket, which he did. I gave him a sandwich, which he ate. He ate it slowly. With his mouth full, he went mmmmmm. But this "mmnnn" was not a satisfied "mmmm" nor a thoughtful "mmmmm" nor a thankful "mmmnn" This "mmmmmnnn" was the "mmnnnnnn" of one who was just discovering his or her vocal chords for the first time. This is why I came to assume that Arthur Pewtey was not from around here.
He had the most interesting blue eyes, short, light brown hair, blue-jeans and a soft checker coat which was covered in dust. His face was generally blank of expression, which I was quite taken with because it wasn't even an expression of indifference. Looking at him there, lying on the couch. He was not tired. In fact, he looked possibly even quite rigid. I didn't think that a lot of human interaction would be good for him, but I also didn't think that a lot of sitting around would be good for him either. I asked him "Are you cold?" I looked at him. I tried to use my voice and face and body to make it obvious that I expected an answer. All it got me was the same look through those interesting blue eyes which were neither dark nor light. He made no noise. He made no sense.
I couldn't even begin to imagine where he had come from. His name came from a television show, but he...I don't know.
He was a fully grown child. He seemed to be seeing everything for the first time. He didn't judge me or become indignant at my question, "Are you cold?" but he didn't know how to respond. He didn't even really seem to know that he should respond. I took away his blanket. I took away his pillow. I brought in some ice. I put the ice in his hand and said, "Are you cold?"
The ice dripped. I took it away.
I think he needs more time.
After a few moments, sitting there in silence, my wheels turning, he stood up. To my surprise, I stood up too. He just stood there. He looked at me with his expressionless face. I put the ice back in the freezer. I decided I wanted coffee.
Arthur and I walked to Starbucks. I asked him, "Do you want anything." He said nothing. He looked up at the signs. He seemed to know how to look at signs, but not how to read them. I ordered. I ordered two small coffees and a big cookie. This is not usually what I order. This isn't even really what I wanted that day. Really I wanted a mocha. I always want a mocha, but I didn't know what Arthur wanted and I didn't want to get something that was different from what he wanted. We sat in the corner at the booth. I took my journal out of my bag and wrote across the top of the first page: "Arthur Pewtey"
Then I wrote out the alphabet and some of my favorite things. I wrote some quotes. I took some notes. He watched me expressionlessly, but intently, for he didn't look away.
For the first time, I noticed him blink.
I had this idea that he must be an alien from somewhere. I spoke to him in English. I just talked. I gave him some of the cookie, more than half of which I ate myself. I motioned for him to put it into his mouth. He had eaten the sandwich and other food earlier fine, but he spit the cookie out. I think he does not like sweet things. I had been drinking my coffee. He drank his. He took a sip. He did not spit it out. He did not take another sip. When mine was more than half finished, I finished the cookie, threw out the tiny plate it had been on. I sat down again. I told him to drink his coffee. He took another sip. He was staring out the window.
I turned around as a kid on a blue bike rode past the window and down the street. Arthur stood up. I stood up. He threw down his coffee and ran out the door after the hoodlum on the bike. He was fast. I ran after him. The kid on the bike was riding slowly. Arthur was able to be gaining on him. I was not, but I could see them both. At the intersection across from the Starbucks, a red pick up sped through a red light. The truck slammed its breaks halfway through the intersection, the smell of burned tire filled the air, and it was that smell that I remembered more than anything. I blinked. Oddly, I don't remember any noise at all from the incident. The boy was fine. The bike was not. The red truck had no driver in it, but it had hit another car, which had been a dark blue Beretta.
Obviously I was and am confused because none of what I remember seems to make any sense. It went rather quickly. Perhaps if I burned some rubber I could bring something back. The strangest thing about it all is that I watched Arthur run. I watched the red truck approach the intersection, I watched the kid on the blue bike, and noticed the Beretta. Then I was running toward Arthur who was scratchless, the driver of the red truck was nowhere to be found. A shaken skinny college freshman was dialing the police on his cell phone, and the boy was more than thirty feet from his bike, just standing next to Arthur, surveying the scene, as speechless as Arthur, his bike was destroyed. Arthur blinked. I blinked.
Arthur took my hand and led me home. I didn't think of it at the time, but we should have stayed to deal with the police. I guess I didn't really want to deal with them. There had been plenty of other witnesses to the accident. Thinking back, it is strange, but it is also like a memory that is very vague.
If you, reading this, were hoping for the questions to be answered, I am afraid I can't leave you with any answers. I can only tell you what I know, the things I remember.
At that point, I was sitting in my living room with Arthur. My light green blouse was covered in Starbucks, so I put on a white sweater instead. I tried to gather my thoughts. Arthur apparently had some regard for human life, I thought, or whatever he knew would happen, he would have remained indifferent. He also knew where home was for me, and, temporarily for him. I paced about the apartment, which was all very natural for me. It was evening.
The sky was light blue with various shades of violet. My roommates were gone for the week. I poured some Sprite for Arthur and I. He spat it out into the cup. I poured him some milk, which he drank. It was about nine o clock.
"Mmmm" I said to him, with my mouth full.
He said nothing.
I put his fingers on my larynx and said, "Mmmm"
I put my fingers on his larynx and he said, "Mmmm"
I smiled.
He did not smile, but his expressionless eyes lightened for a fraction of a second. It was the beginning of a smile.
He lay on the couch. I gave him a pillow which he did not use, and a blanket, which he did. I gave him a sandwich, which he ate. He ate it slowly. With his mouth full, he went mmmmmm. But this "mmnnn" was not a satisfied "mmmm" nor a thoughtful "mmmmm" nor a thankful "mmmnn" This "mmmmmnnn" was the "mmnnnnnn" of one who was just discovering his or her vocal chords for the first time. This is why I came to assume that Arthur Pewtey was not from around here.
He had the most interesting blue eyes, short, light brown hair, blue-jeans and a soft checker coat which was covered in dust. His face was generally blank of expression, which I was quite taken with because it wasn't even an expression of indifference. Looking at him there, lying on the couch. He was not tired. In fact, he looked possibly even quite rigid. I didn't think that a lot of human interaction would be good for him, but I also didn't think that a lot of sitting around would be good for him either. I asked him "Are you cold?" I looked at him. I tried to use my voice and face and body to make it obvious that I expected an answer. All it got me was the same look through those interesting blue eyes which were neither dark nor light. He made no noise. He made no sense.
I couldn't even begin to imagine where he had come from. His name came from a television show, but he...I don't know.
He was a fully grown child. He seemed to be seeing everything for the first time. He didn't judge me or become indignant at my question, "Are you cold?" but he didn't know how to respond. He didn't even really seem to know that he should respond. I took away his blanket. I took away his pillow. I brought in some ice. I put the ice in his hand and said, "Are you cold?"
The ice dripped. I took it away.
I think he needs more time.
After a few moments, sitting there in silence, my wheels turning, he stood up. To my surprise, I stood up too. He just stood there. He looked at me with his expressionless face. I put the ice back in the freezer. I decided I wanted coffee.
Arthur and I walked to Starbucks. I asked him, "Do you want anything." He said nothing. He looked up at the signs. He seemed to know how to look at signs, but not how to read them. I ordered. I ordered two small coffees and a big cookie. This is not usually what I order. This isn't even really what I wanted that day. Really I wanted a mocha. I always want a mocha, but I didn't know what Arthur wanted and I didn't want to get something that was different from what he wanted. We sat in the corner at the booth. I took my journal out of my bag and wrote across the top of the first page: "Arthur Pewtey"
Then I wrote out the alphabet and some of my favorite things. I wrote some quotes. I took some notes. He watched me expressionlessly, but intently, for he didn't look away.
For the first time, I noticed him blink.
I had this idea that he must be an alien from somewhere. I spoke to him in English. I just talked. I gave him some of the cookie, more than half of which I ate myself. I motioned for him to put it into his mouth. He had eaten the sandwich and other food earlier fine, but he spit the cookie out. I think he does not like sweet things. I had been drinking my coffee. He drank his. He took a sip. He did not spit it out. He did not take another sip. When mine was more than half finished, I finished the cookie, threw out the tiny plate it had been on. I sat down again. I told him to drink his coffee. He took another sip. He was staring out the window.
I turned around as a kid on a blue bike rode past the window and down the street. Arthur stood up. I stood up. He threw down his coffee and ran out the door after the hoodlum on the bike. He was fast. I ran after him. The kid on the bike was riding slowly. Arthur was able to be gaining on him. I was not, but I could see them both. At the intersection across from the Starbucks, a red pick up sped through a red light. The truck slammed its breaks halfway through the intersection, the smell of burned tire filled the air, and it was that smell that I remembered more than anything. I blinked. Oddly, I don't remember any noise at all from the incident. The boy was fine. The bike was not. The red truck had no driver in it, but it had hit another car, which had been a dark blue Beretta.
Obviously I was and am confused because none of what I remember seems to make any sense. It went rather quickly. Perhaps if I burned some rubber I could bring something back. The strangest thing about it all is that I watched Arthur run. I watched the red truck approach the intersection, I watched the kid on the blue bike, and noticed the Beretta. Then I was running toward Arthur who was scratchless, the driver of the red truck was nowhere to be found. A shaken skinny college freshman was dialing the police on his cell phone, and the boy was more than thirty feet from his bike, just standing next to Arthur, surveying the scene, as speechless as Arthur, his bike was destroyed. Arthur blinked. I blinked.
Arthur took my hand and led me home. I didn't think of it at the time, but we should have stayed to deal with the police. I guess I didn't really want to deal with them. There had been plenty of other witnesses to the accident. Thinking back, it is strange, but it is also like a memory that is very vague.
If you, reading this, were hoping for the questions to be answered, I am afraid I can't leave you with any answers. I can only tell you what I know, the things I remember.
At that point, I was sitting in my living room with Arthur. My light green blouse was covered in Starbucks, so I put on a white sweater instead. I tried to gather my thoughts. Arthur apparently had some regard for human life, I thought, or whatever he knew would happen, he would have remained indifferent. He also knew where home was for me, and, temporarily for him. I paced about the apartment, which was all very natural for me. It was evening.
The sky was light blue with various shades of violet. My roommates were gone for the week. I poured some Sprite for Arthur and I. He spat it out into the cup. I poured him some milk, which he drank. It was about nine o clock.
"Mmmm" I said to him, with my mouth full.
He said nothing.
I put his fingers on my larynx and said, "Mmmm"
I put my fingers on his larynx and he said, "Mmmm"
I smiled.
He did not smile, but his expressionless eyes lightened for a fraction of a second. It was the beginning of a smile.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
I think that this is the point at which we must all realize that everything is alright and nothing bad can happen. This is my blog. I have a multitude of things that aren't right in my life anymore. You might say that life simply hit me on the head with a hammer. Finally.
But aside from all the therapeutic whining and complaining, I've decided to fully comply with the requests of me. I have to get things done. I have to get a move on with my life and stop some of the foolish nonsense that has dominated me since my younger years. Silly people.
Theologically it's easier because I've realized that it doesn't really matter at all. If it's about God, then it's about God. At least it's not about us. Giving a Divine reason for life being as it is helps a lot of things immensely, but even if when it doesn't...it's still just not about us.
The narcissists in the group cringe.
The only thing that I've found to be true is that, generally speaking, the most meaningful and deepest beauty in this world is found in the foulest and most ugly things sometimes. And often, what the general populous accepts as beautiful can generally be some of the most disgustingly foul things in existence. Take whatever example you will, I shall armor myself in ambiguity and silence.
The roles are that of the following: there is the role of the caretaker and that of the afflicted. The afflicted can be that of mind, body or spirit; likewise the caretaker may be a healer of one of those things. This caretaker is absent in my life because my own biggest affliction is my desire to continue being afflicted at the expense of myself, for fear of the caretaker wasting his or her time. I feel much more comfortable taking on the role of caretaker than that of the afflicted (naturally no one wishes to be afflicted, but some find it easier than facing life because of fear of responsibility)
Speaking of fear of responsibility, a side note for parents: This is a crazy and dangerous world. You are responsible for your children. The desk workers at hotels, maintenance guys at pools, and servers at restaurants are not and should not be your replacements. Places that you take respite in are not to be abused or taken to be daycare. Thank you.
So much has changed. Such is life, you might say, but the issues I touch on must be left ambiguous. This is ultimately because of fear of what others think. I may not be as definitive as I once was because the age of figuring out who or what I should be should be past. But it is not. Quite contrarily, I haven't the foggiest. All I know is that I still enjoy a lot of the things I once did, and cannot continue doing them because of the paralyzing fears that have entered my life. It is easy enough to say "just forget them" but after looking at things on the larger scale, the little things don't matter. Little things like career and future and family lose their meaning. Perhaps my growing religion has been a bit of a cop-out. It seems that the world is ending...what worth does my major hold anyway. I can't help thinking that thought sometimes.
I feel that devotion isn't an easy thing. Becoming motivated by any sort of divine power is the most difficult way to become motivated...because the expectation is endless, the disappointment is endless when you fail, yet the forgiveness and ability to continue going is also endless. Therefore, because of the endlessness of expectation, there is no greater fear than failing. And even when you fail God, you may not lay down and simply allow oneself to be a failure, you're expected to pick up and begin again and again and again and again. There is no room for laziness, even in failure. By this token, to be religiously devoted causes you ultimately to change your lifestyle. It is the most difficult task any human being can accomplish, in fact, it cannot be accomplished. It is an ongoing action, which never ends, not even in death.
Yet devotion to God is a cop-out for so many people. We begin to believe (and I include myself in this one) that the end is near enough that there is nothing that can be done. We see things as impossible to change except by God's will and we forget that there are tasks at hand. Being truly devoted means also acts of service, not simply saying one will someday and procrastinating, but beginning it today. I should really follow my own doctrine. I am a hypocrite along with the others. I enjoy Church and worship, I pray fervently outside of church. I firmly believe that God is the only reason life is worth living. I am willing to work hard. But then I don't. I just don't do anything. This is about to change. I cannot continue to live as idly as I have. Tomorrow, as it is 2:13 am now though, will have to be the time for it. Now it is time for bed for me.
Except I cannot end my rant there. I am a bit of a religion fanatic these days. It is only for the greater glorification of God alone. I'm constantly searching my conscience for reasons why this has come about. I'm constantly looking to figure out why suddenly religiousness has taken root in my life. I don't want it to be my drug. I don't want it to be for attention. I certainly don't want it to be me living up to someone's expectations, with the sole exception of God. Trust me that I am asking those questions of myself. Before I became this way, I felt that people were religious because of some sort of emptiness in their life from some tragic event that must have happened, or perhaps they were brainwashed by society, or raised that way by their parents. Yet, I look at the people that seem to make up the population. I look at the extent of abuse in America, I look at parents that I see in my workplace, I look at parents from my home community and the more I look, the more I realize how much less most parents seem to care about their children than I believe they should. Perhaps this is why I find myself hesitant to enter into any sort of relationship with any sort of heterosexual male. I don't want to become like them.
Speaking of us and them:
I've surprised myself, how much I've become one of the brainless enemies of my past. I see the traits found in them and the traits in us.
The "us" traits in my mind were always those of artistic fanatics, charged by intellectual individualism, with a confident, yet unique view on things.
The "them" traits were those of general pop culture. Those who worship sex and violence but not in an intellectual enough way to realize the primalness of it, only to feel.
They are opposite sides of the spectrum I suppose. Nobody wants to be completely detached from their primal impulses. It is innate within us all to want to be violent when angry, regardless of how much we may suppress it, and it is innate within all of us to be sexual, even in the most innocent or watered-down of ways. I think that my problem is that I detach myself and find myself, oddly, most attracted to others who have also detached themselves from those impulses.
I feel in many ways that I am past the point at which I was ever attractive to anyone. Perhaps this isn't a bad thing.
But aside from all the therapeutic whining and complaining, I've decided to fully comply with the requests of me. I have to get things done. I have to get a move on with my life and stop some of the foolish nonsense that has dominated me since my younger years. Silly people.
Theologically it's easier because I've realized that it doesn't really matter at all. If it's about God, then it's about God. At least it's not about us. Giving a Divine reason for life being as it is helps a lot of things immensely, but even if when it doesn't...it's still just not about us.
The narcissists in the group cringe.
The only thing that I've found to be true is that, generally speaking, the most meaningful and deepest beauty in this world is found in the foulest and most ugly things sometimes. And often, what the general populous accepts as beautiful can generally be some of the most disgustingly foul things in existence. Take whatever example you will, I shall armor myself in ambiguity and silence.
The roles are that of the following: there is the role of the caretaker and that of the afflicted. The afflicted can be that of mind, body or spirit; likewise the caretaker may be a healer of one of those things. This caretaker is absent in my life because my own biggest affliction is my desire to continue being afflicted at the expense of myself, for fear of the caretaker wasting his or her time. I feel much more comfortable taking on the role of caretaker than that of the afflicted (naturally no one wishes to be afflicted, but some find it easier than facing life because of fear of responsibility)
Speaking of fear of responsibility, a side note for parents: This is a crazy and dangerous world. You are responsible for your children. The desk workers at hotels, maintenance guys at pools, and servers at restaurants are not and should not be your replacements. Places that you take respite in are not to be abused or taken to be daycare. Thank you.
So much has changed. Such is life, you might say, but the issues I touch on must be left ambiguous. This is ultimately because of fear of what others think. I may not be as definitive as I once was because the age of figuring out who or what I should be should be past. But it is not. Quite contrarily, I haven't the foggiest. All I know is that I still enjoy a lot of the things I once did, and cannot continue doing them because of the paralyzing fears that have entered my life. It is easy enough to say "just forget them" but after looking at things on the larger scale, the little things don't matter. Little things like career and future and family lose their meaning. Perhaps my growing religion has been a bit of a cop-out. It seems that the world is ending...what worth does my major hold anyway. I can't help thinking that thought sometimes.
I feel that devotion isn't an easy thing. Becoming motivated by any sort of divine power is the most difficult way to become motivated...because the expectation is endless, the disappointment is endless when you fail, yet the forgiveness and ability to continue going is also endless. Therefore, because of the endlessness of expectation, there is no greater fear than failing. And even when you fail God, you may not lay down and simply allow oneself to be a failure, you're expected to pick up and begin again and again and again and again. There is no room for laziness, even in failure. By this token, to be religiously devoted causes you ultimately to change your lifestyle. It is the most difficult task any human being can accomplish, in fact, it cannot be accomplished. It is an ongoing action, which never ends, not even in death.
Yet devotion to God is a cop-out for so many people. We begin to believe (and I include myself in this one) that the end is near enough that there is nothing that can be done. We see things as impossible to change except by God's will and we forget that there are tasks at hand. Being truly devoted means also acts of service, not simply saying one will someday and procrastinating, but beginning it today. I should really follow my own doctrine. I am a hypocrite along with the others. I enjoy Church and worship, I pray fervently outside of church. I firmly believe that God is the only reason life is worth living. I am willing to work hard. But then I don't. I just don't do anything. This is about to change. I cannot continue to live as idly as I have. Tomorrow, as it is 2:13 am now though, will have to be the time for it. Now it is time for bed for me.
Except I cannot end my rant there. I am a bit of a religion fanatic these days. It is only for the greater glorification of God alone. I'm constantly searching my conscience for reasons why this has come about. I'm constantly looking to figure out why suddenly religiousness has taken root in my life. I don't want it to be my drug. I don't want it to be for attention. I certainly don't want it to be me living up to someone's expectations, with the sole exception of God. Trust me that I am asking those questions of myself. Before I became this way, I felt that people were religious because of some sort of emptiness in their life from some tragic event that must have happened, or perhaps they were brainwashed by society, or raised that way by their parents. Yet, I look at the people that seem to make up the population. I look at the extent of abuse in America, I look at parents that I see in my workplace, I look at parents from my home community and the more I look, the more I realize how much less most parents seem to care about their children than I believe they should. Perhaps this is why I find myself hesitant to enter into any sort of relationship with any sort of heterosexual male. I don't want to become like them.
Speaking of us and them:
I've surprised myself, how much I've become one of the brainless enemies of my past. I see the traits found in them and the traits in us.
The "us" traits in my mind were always those of artistic fanatics, charged by intellectual individualism, with a confident, yet unique view on things.
The "them" traits were those of general pop culture. Those who worship sex and violence but not in an intellectual enough way to realize the primalness of it, only to feel.
They are opposite sides of the spectrum I suppose. Nobody wants to be completely detached from their primal impulses. It is innate within us all to want to be violent when angry, regardless of how much we may suppress it, and it is innate within all of us to be sexual, even in the most innocent or watered-down of ways. I think that my problem is that I detach myself and find myself, oddly, most attracted to others who have also detached themselves from those impulses.
I feel in many ways that I am past the point at which I was ever attractive to anyone. Perhaps this isn't a bad thing.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Latest updates? Nah. I'll just tell you the story of a person who was a Druid. This particular Druid made certain that all the other druids were jealous by being the best druid of them all. Does this make the Druid a bad person? His modivation for being what he could be was not the best kind of modivation, but it was modivation.
In a different light, I'd like to say that I don't know just how fair foul is or how foul fair is, but there's something out there and it's got my attention. God works in extremely mysterious ways, and just when you think one thing is happening, the exact opposite happens. For example, if I was running and praying for healing for someone, and God asked me to witness to someone the Gospel...and I hesitated until the person left, but stopped hesitating when I thought that my calling at that time had the possible reward of my prayer being answered. This opened my eyes to how impious and disgusting my own personal belief is. I should love for love's sake, witness for love's sake and live for love's sake...directly, not indirectly.
I am annoyed by "new blogger"
And then there is the refraction of him. He pushed, he ran, he broke down, he failed, he accepted and finally he was given another chance. That is it in a nutshell anyway. I should be more elated than I am. I am happy for him. I am happy that his life has some direction, some meaning, when he claimed before that it had none. Yet I wonder, just how foul can this fairness be? How much more responsibility has he now than before I knew him. How much more ambiguity must I bring about in my life now or I will be a betrayer. Can measurement be put on one's love for another person? Is any amount of love ever enough? If I love him, then I love him. Should I love only him? How committed should I be? I am young yet, correct? I know how my parent's feel...they're edging me toward the door in hopes that I will be going on dates left and right with many different people, but at the same time they raised me not to be that kind of girl. Does it matter what they want at this point anyway? Not really, except I haven't really thought about what I want before. After spending years living up to other people's expectations, I don't think I'm ready to make decisions for myself.
And then I have to examine just when did the human race ever have to make decisions for itself? With every great calamity people have either laid down to die or risen to the occasion of work and living only to the extent to which they must survive. Quality of life, for most people, assuming "most people" spans the strata of history and bredth of the world, spend their lives trying to merely live. The decisions I find myself in a quandry over are pointless. Because as we know, foul is fair and fair is foul, so therefore the second we think we can make decisions, they're all taken away from us anyway in some great catastrophic event. Generally. But what about when someone decides to make the decision to give up the right to make decisions about the quality of life and join in the struggle for survival? Who would make such a decision? Why? When it gets down to it, it's not about us.
That's the greatest thing about stress. None of it matters. Nothing in this life really does matter. Because what is, simply is. And what isn't, isn't. It's not about us. Our decisions don't really matter. It isn't about following a series of clues laid down by a Divine being. It isn't about what we want or desire to do. Even though we do have "free will" the only choice we really have in life is whether we will enjoy it or not. And for me, I hope that I am ethical enough to feel that the only way I can enjoy life is if I am helping others who cannot realize that they can.
only then can I manipulate the masses into following me and my criminal mastermind.
my plot to take over the world shall be complete.
In a different light, I'd like to say that I don't know just how fair foul is or how foul fair is, but there's something out there and it's got my attention. God works in extremely mysterious ways, and just when you think one thing is happening, the exact opposite happens. For example, if I was running and praying for healing for someone, and God asked me to witness to someone the Gospel...and I hesitated until the person left, but stopped hesitating when I thought that my calling at that time had the possible reward of my prayer being answered. This opened my eyes to how impious and disgusting my own personal belief is. I should love for love's sake, witness for love's sake and live for love's sake...directly, not indirectly.
I am annoyed by "new blogger"
And then there is the refraction of him. He pushed, he ran, he broke down, he failed, he accepted and finally he was given another chance. That is it in a nutshell anyway. I should be more elated than I am. I am happy for him. I am happy that his life has some direction, some meaning, when he claimed before that it had none. Yet I wonder, just how foul can this fairness be? How much more responsibility has he now than before I knew him. How much more ambiguity must I bring about in my life now or I will be a betrayer. Can measurement be put on one's love for another person? Is any amount of love ever enough? If I love him, then I love him. Should I love only him? How committed should I be? I am young yet, correct? I know how my parent's feel...they're edging me toward the door in hopes that I will be going on dates left and right with many different people, but at the same time they raised me not to be that kind of girl. Does it matter what they want at this point anyway? Not really, except I haven't really thought about what I want before. After spending years living up to other people's expectations, I don't think I'm ready to make decisions for myself.
And then I have to examine just when did the human race ever have to make decisions for itself? With every great calamity people have either laid down to die or risen to the occasion of work and living only to the extent to which they must survive. Quality of life, for most people, assuming "most people" spans the strata of history and bredth of the world, spend their lives trying to merely live. The decisions I find myself in a quandry over are pointless. Because as we know, foul is fair and fair is foul, so therefore the second we think we can make decisions, they're all taken away from us anyway in some great catastrophic event. Generally. But what about when someone decides to make the decision to give up the right to make decisions about the quality of life and join in the struggle for survival? Who would make such a decision? Why? When it gets down to it, it's not about us.
That's the greatest thing about stress. None of it matters. Nothing in this life really does matter. Because what is, simply is. And what isn't, isn't. It's not about us. Our decisions don't really matter. It isn't about following a series of clues laid down by a Divine being. It isn't about what we want or desire to do. Even though we do have "free will" the only choice we really have in life is whether we will enjoy it or not. And for me, I hope that I am ethical enough to feel that the only way I can enjoy life is if I am helping others who cannot realize that they can.
only then can I manipulate the masses into following me and my criminal mastermind.
my plot to take over the world shall be complete.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Our admirations of youth and resentment of old age may result from the emphasis in our culture on achievement: the tasks to be gained, the knowledge to be gained, the new frontiers to be mastered. Anything that represents flagging energy and waning ambitions obviously is out of step with the restless drive. But does the problem go deeper than that?
Consider, for example, the limited scope of human life. In childhood the life that lies ahead seems like an endless expanse with unlimited opportunities about which one can dream and hope while waiting for the slow passage of time. But as one grows older the years pass by more quickly and the range of opportunities becomes more narrow. There comes a crisis of middle age when, whether we want to or not, we must face the fact that many of the dreams of our childhood and youth will never be fulfilled. And in old age we have to come to terms with the fact that, for better or worse, we have spent our life-irrevocably and absolutely.
-Arne Unjhem, The Book of Revelation
I think that this is some of the best writing I've read in a while. However, I don't agree. I am young yet and I don't believe that one must ever realize their own mortality. I feel that it doesn't matter what we do, there is no way one can do everything. All ambitious people, myself included, want to do everything. One day I too will die. Right now, I need to continue filling out applications and create resumes. I must make money now. I must make money so that I can live in this world and stop being a leech. I am proud, to an extent of this step in my existence. However, I realize that this is all completely innocuous. The only thing that will ultimately matter is my own demise. Death is the one physical thing that unites all people regardless of when, where or how they lived. Each person on this earth will die. What Mr. Unjhem said about how one day we shall have a crisis when we realize that all of our childhood dreams cannot be fulfilled. I mean, yes, there's going to be a day...in fact, today I have realized that I am never going to become an astronaut. I could, yes certainly, change my life around and if I decided to be very focused, very pushy and play all of my cards right I might, if I started with this breath of air, be able to go to outer space someday. But what is the cost? If I do that, I will never write a symphony. I will have to teach myself not only alot of basic physics and chemistry principles, but shoot above and beyond the rest of the students my age for the one spot on the next space craft to go into space. Before that even happens, the national budget has to be changed around, which isn't even possible because this country is in more debt than there is money in the world. What room in a budget that is impossible is there for space exploration? I can, however, always admire the stars, perhaps read alot about their aspects, and never push things further than that? Am I settling for less...yes, I am. Is it wrong? No. It's not. There are some things that people should give up on. There are other things people shouldn't give up on.
People should give up on their ambitions sometimes. Sacrifices must be made in life. But the things you sacrifice for, those things must not be given up on. If I sacrifice everything for my children, I am investing in tomorrow. They may, with some help from me, realize the dreams I put off for their sakes. That is the joy that there is, or one of the joys at least, in having kids.
Although it doesn't really matter what chords I play or words I say or time of day it is. It's only a northern song.
I don't know anything. Yet, I do know a great deal more than alot of people, and I have a wealth of information at my disposal. The only way I can consider myself responsible is if I research things about the world, learn as much as I can, get a job and not go into alot of debt myself. Although what, in essence is so terrible about debt, as long as you do pay it off in the end.
America cannot pay it's debt off. So what can it do instead? Perhaps those that are in power understand that we have the most weapons and the most education. Therefore we must police the world. This is not fair. There are too many people in the world. We cannot be a single, global society. Because once we do become that we must war within one great institution rather than survive in groups. Perhaps I can gain some peace by telling myself it will all be over soon. If war comes to America, we will each be to blame, every single last one of us. The mother, the daughter, the teacher, the student, the parent, the child, the doctor, the patient...each one of us is responsible because we allowed this to happen.
The pride in this country is gone. During the Great Wars people looked back and said "Americans don't give up" because of the great heros of past wars. The great idea that democracy was. So many people in this country eke out a meager living at fast food places and doing janitorial work. Why are they to be blamed? They themselves could get themselves out of their situation, you say. They often are trying. They often are telling themselves that they need to work just a little harder, just a little longer, when in truth, they will never make it. Every unforeseen broken ankle, every unforeseen lay-off, each thing changes the outcome and makes it nearly impossible to go on. So we begin to hate one another and pick at the other assuming that, well, it was your fault because I was ambitious, I had drive, I was doing everything in my power to get ahead.
And then there's me. My ideal living situation is one of intellectual poverty. I don't need things, only a place to live, food and books. TPOTD. But that's me. Perhaps I support my undying wish to simply check out of the human race for a while. Power hungry money grubbers that they tend to be. It is my disgustedness with them that has caused this anguish within me, the disappointment in the way things are, my discontent with my fellow humans. That is what has caused my unhappiness. It isn't fair. It isn't good. It isn't right. Who am I to judge them?
And this is about his mother
Yet who are they to judge me? I am sick of being told that I am wrong, that I am unworthy, that I am pitiful, that I am trash. That is what they think, they of little faith. They feel that I am wrong because of the wrong actions that I take. I have done things that are wrong. I am sorry, but it is of no consiquence because the deed is done and they who are judgemental of me, namely his mother, feel that I am nothing. Even though I have forgiven others, I don't deserve to be forgiven because I have had no hurdles to jump in my life. I have had no social issues, I haven't fought mental illness. I have had nothing but people in my life who love me. I have never been abused. Therefore, when I do something wrong, it is unspeakable. I haven't been led astray, yet I have gone astray. That act, in her eyes, is unforgivable. I am trash. I am trash to be with him. Not only that, but I am Catholic to boot. Obviously I am a problem that can only be solved by being extracted from his life. Luckily the only one I answer to is Jesus. It hurts me that I cannot find His forgiveness in places that I would expect to. It hurts me that she or he or anyone will not forgive me my actions. It hurts me that they judge me without knowing me when I haven't judged anyone without getting to know them first. It hurts me that they would put to judgement who I am because of actions for which I am grieviously sorry. It hurts me that they would wish to slice me out of his life for fear of me doing it. It hurts me that there is so much hate and anger in this world. And the continuation of it makes it difficult to bear.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Consider, for example, the limited scope of human life. In childhood the life that lies ahead seems like an endless expanse with unlimited opportunities about which one can dream and hope while waiting for the slow passage of time. But as one grows older the years pass by more quickly and the range of opportunities becomes more narrow. There comes a crisis of middle age when, whether we want to or not, we must face the fact that many of the dreams of our childhood and youth will never be fulfilled. And in old age we have to come to terms with the fact that, for better or worse, we have spent our life-irrevocably and absolutely.
-Arne Unjhem, The Book of Revelation
I think that this is some of the best writing I've read in a while. However, I don't agree. I am young yet and I don't believe that one must ever realize their own mortality. I feel that it doesn't matter what we do, there is no way one can do everything. All ambitious people, myself included, want to do everything. One day I too will die. Right now, I need to continue filling out applications and create resumes. I must make money now. I must make money so that I can live in this world and stop being a leech. I am proud, to an extent of this step in my existence. However, I realize that this is all completely innocuous. The only thing that will ultimately matter is my own demise. Death is the one physical thing that unites all people regardless of when, where or how they lived. Each person on this earth will die. What Mr. Unjhem said about how one day we shall have a crisis when we realize that all of our childhood dreams cannot be fulfilled. I mean, yes, there's going to be a day...in fact, today I have realized that I am never going to become an astronaut. I could, yes certainly, change my life around and if I decided to be very focused, very pushy and play all of my cards right I might, if I started with this breath of air, be able to go to outer space someday. But what is the cost? If I do that, I will never write a symphony. I will have to teach myself not only alot of basic physics and chemistry principles, but shoot above and beyond the rest of the students my age for the one spot on the next space craft to go into space. Before that even happens, the national budget has to be changed around, which isn't even possible because this country is in more debt than there is money in the world. What room in a budget that is impossible is there for space exploration? I can, however, always admire the stars, perhaps read alot about their aspects, and never push things further than that? Am I settling for less...yes, I am. Is it wrong? No. It's not. There are some things that people should give up on. There are other things people shouldn't give up on.
People should give up on their ambitions sometimes. Sacrifices must be made in life. But the things you sacrifice for, those things must not be given up on. If I sacrifice everything for my children, I am investing in tomorrow. They may, with some help from me, realize the dreams I put off for their sakes. That is the joy that there is, or one of the joys at least, in having kids.
Although it doesn't really matter what chords I play or words I say or time of day it is. It's only a northern song.
I don't know anything. Yet, I do know a great deal more than alot of people, and I have a wealth of information at my disposal. The only way I can consider myself responsible is if I research things about the world, learn as much as I can, get a job and not go into alot of debt myself. Although what, in essence is so terrible about debt, as long as you do pay it off in the end.
America cannot pay it's debt off. So what can it do instead? Perhaps those that are in power understand that we have the most weapons and the most education. Therefore we must police the world. This is not fair. There are too many people in the world. We cannot be a single, global society. Because once we do become that we must war within one great institution rather than survive in groups. Perhaps I can gain some peace by telling myself it will all be over soon. If war comes to America, we will each be to blame, every single last one of us. The mother, the daughter, the teacher, the student, the parent, the child, the doctor, the patient...each one of us is responsible because we allowed this to happen.
The pride in this country is gone. During the Great Wars people looked back and said "Americans don't give up" because of the great heros of past wars. The great idea that democracy was. So many people in this country eke out a meager living at fast food places and doing janitorial work. Why are they to be blamed? They themselves could get themselves out of their situation, you say. They often are trying. They often are telling themselves that they need to work just a little harder, just a little longer, when in truth, they will never make it. Every unforeseen broken ankle, every unforeseen lay-off, each thing changes the outcome and makes it nearly impossible to go on. So we begin to hate one another and pick at the other assuming that, well, it was your fault because I was ambitious, I had drive, I was doing everything in my power to get ahead.
And then there's me. My ideal living situation is one of intellectual poverty. I don't need things, only a place to live, food and books. TPOTD. But that's me. Perhaps I support my undying wish to simply check out of the human race for a while. Power hungry money grubbers that they tend to be. It is my disgustedness with them that has caused this anguish within me, the disappointment in the way things are, my discontent with my fellow humans. That is what has caused my unhappiness. It isn't fair. It isn't good. It isn't right. Who am I to judge them?
And this is about his mother
Yet who are they to judge me? I am sick of being told that I am wrong, that I am unworthy, that I am pitiful, that I am trash. That is what they think, they of little faith. They feel that I am wrong because of the wrong actions that I take. I have done things that are wrong. I am sorry, but it is of no consiquence because the deed is done and they who are judgemental of me, namely his mother, feel that I am nothing. Even though I have forgiven others, I don't deserve to be forgiven because I have had no hurdles to jump in my life. I have had no social issues, I haven't fought mental illness. I have had nothing but people in my life who love me. I have never been abused. Therefore, when I do something wrong, it is unspeakable. I haven't been led astray, yet I have gone astray. That act, in her eyes, is unforgivable. I am trash. I am trash to be with him. Not only that, but I am Catholic to boot. Obviously I am a problem that can only be solved by being extracted from his life. Luckily the only one I answer to is Jesus. It hurts me that I cannot find His forgiveness in places that I would expect to. It hurts me that she or he or anyone will not forgive me my actions. It hurts me that they judge me without knowing me when I haven't judged anyone without getting to know them first. It hurts me that they would put to judgement who I am because of actions for which I am grieviously sorry. It hurts me that they would wish to slice me out of his life for fear of me doing it. It hurts me that there is so much hate and anger in this world. And the continuation of it makes it difficult to bear.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Monday, April 23, 2007
TFP
This hasn't been resolved. We're both not in a great state of mind. She represents a world I don't ever want to be a part of. She represents the known, the shallow, the ones who are not deep nor great nor grateful. The ones who do not respect one another or care for ones emotions above one's physical characteristics. The ones who see everything for face value. The ones who do not reach deeper. The ones who are unfeeling and say "I told you so" when you are hurt. The ones who are vicious. The ones who do not apologize. The ones who are so self-seeking that the best way to show them is to have passion for something that will harm them, which is being weak in the longest run. But they do not know. They do not see things for more than monetary value. They do not love one another. They do not know one another. They do not care. They are indifferent and selfish. If an issue does not affect them, they do not even have the time to listen. If an issue does not invoke thoughts of shallow, selfish desires and wants and needs, they are unimportant. This is foul. Only foul. Yet so fair a face, behind the makeup and the things. Behind the success. Behind the cars and the houses and the big swingsets on the expensive property somewhere else in the world, there is something there. There is something there that hates itself and everyone else. There is something there that wishes to kill all that is fun and good. There is something there. Yet behind that something else there is a soul. A soul who has been hurt. A soul who is the way she is because of her history. There is a soul that has been mistreated, a soul who lived so passively that she never knew "no" or pain or hurt. And this soul has begun to devour herself.
This is not resolved. I hope the best for this country.
This is not resolved. I hope the best for this country.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
~Lord Byron
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went--and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires--and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings--the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire--but hour by hour
They fell and faded--and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash--and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twin'd themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless--they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought--and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails--men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lur'd their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not with a caress--he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they rak'd up,
And shivering scrap'd with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects--saw, and shriek'd, and died--
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless--
A lump of death--a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes and ocean all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge--
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them--She was the Universe.
~Lord Byron
Thursday, April 12, 2007
I was asked to answer a series of questions by a friend because I feel the drenching dregs of winter and that the marrow of life has been sucked from my bones as of late. The first of the questions was, "What made me happy before?" Happiness being not yet defined, I think I shall seek the help of a dictionary. Because what exactly is happiness anyway?! I think the best the dictionary did was "Enjoying, showing, or marked by pleasure, satisfaction, or joy." Pleasure is something I used to get from a good cup of coffee; participating in a long, meaningful conversation; reading a good book; listening to and making music of all kinds; petting, walking or brushing the dog; baking things or simply going for a long walk. I used to find satisfaction upon the completion of things which gave me pleasure, and also upon the completion of things like cleaning, helping someone, or running. I found profound joy in worship, friendship, and the love of my family.
The second question I was asked to answer was "What good and bad things happened this year" This year I met the love of my life, I composed three new songs, I wrote endless poems and blogged and did things in books. I learned to think differently. I learned what it means to be there for people who are truly suffering. But to ask what good things happened perhaps means more, what things of good fortune happened this year to me. And to answer that question: not alot. I am not one to complain about things though. That's the problem. It isn't as if I live in third world country and everyone I know is dying of aids. It isn't as if I am likely to starve to death. I am getting an incredible education at a fantastic school. I have a plethora of people who love me. I am a white American in her late teens, meaning I am young, rich and powerful. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason except when I was born and when I had my wisdom teeth out, but neither of those experieces were illness or injury and I'm not even sure that the wisdom teeth thing was in a hospital. My life is f***ing fantastic. Who the hell am I to complain about it?
Still, I'm trying to wrack my brain for events which have happened this past year that have been particularly fortunate and I'm still not coming up with anything. The best I can do is come up with bad things that didn't happen. This is not good. I just haven't had a particularly fortunate year. Bleh. No. I won't take it for granted. That's wrong.
But what bad things happened this year?! I don't mind complaining I guess...bleh. bleh bleh bleh.
My best friend almost died, my parents are facing financial lows they've never faced before as well as the ensuing maritial problems, I found out one of my deepest crushes has had a much more troubled life than I could possibly imagine, I found out my other best friend was abused as a child, as well as someone else I've bonded with alot. A certain family member of mine is severely depressed and has been cutting. Actually...you know..that's all that comes to mind. Dad broke his wrist. It's really not all that bad. Amanda pulled out of her illness, Kevin continues to deal with life, as do Amber and Dawn, I think Melissa is doing better too. I can't say much for my parents though. I don't quite know how to stomach it because I don't live with them anymore.
"How did/do I feel about life?" was the third question. How did I feel about life before? I wasn't always happy, but I felt that life was ultimately about doing what God wants and not what I want. I was rather ambitious, I would have ups and downs, rants and raves, times where I could laugh until I cried, and times I would cry, but then feel better. I've always feared failure, I've always considered independence to be important. I wrote in my journal a mission statement, once, when I was much younger:
"I am a positive young woman with a bright future, with talent and spirit. I refuse to complain, I refuse to control, I refuse to give up. I will try my hardest at everything I do..."
Yet all of this has changed now. I am too old to keep the attitude I had and too young to merit hopelessness so I am stuck in a limbo of not being allowed to think anything, to feel anything or to be anything anymore. I am not a positive young woman anymore. I am rather a pessimistic old buffoon. My immediate future is far from bright, my talents are far inferior to those around me. My refusal to complain hasn't made me stronger in the least, refusing to control...I don't even know what I meant by that now, and I've given up on so many people at so many times about so many things that even that seems to be a complete and total fantasy of my past. Erg. What is this? How do I feel about life now? I think I pretty well summed it up. Lathargic, even to the point at which cynical humor is just mildly entertaining. I am beginning to feel as if the only real joys I'm getting from life are coming from Amanda and Kevin. This is not good. Oh, no, I know that this is not good. But what exactly can I do about this?
How do I feel about myself? I don't think I'm all that horrible of a person or anything. I merely realize that I'm not worth as much as I thought I had been. Human worth is immeasurable, and regardless of how worthless I may feel, I retain some worth by merely living. I realize that. I also realize that my life isn't mine to take, that this wave of dispair can and will pass and that if I was faced with my own mortality, there are alot of things about this life that I would miss. I feel that the best things about myself are things that I have allowed to die, and the worst things about myself: my obnoxiousness, my selfishness, my inherant ability to hurt the feelings of the people I care about, and the fact that I'm completely irresponsible and incapable of accomplishing anything important, and the fact that I was completely full of myself and my perfect f***ing life and my perfect f***ing abilities and friends and likes and how when it all fell apart I had little to no integrity about it and allowed it to drag me into the current state of my being, those things are the things that prevail in my life now.
What am I passionate about now? Sleep. Kevin and Amanda. God. Probably in that order, which I know is completely disjointed, twisted and perverse. Music doesn't matter. Classes don't really matter. It is one in the morning...nearing two. I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to wake up tomorrow. So what have I to do?
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
The second question I was asked to answer was "What good and bad things happened this year" This year I met the love of my life, I composed three new songs, I wrote endless poems and blogged and did things in books. I learned to think differently. I learned what it means to be there for people who are truly suffering. But to ask what good things happened perhaps means more, what things of good fortune happened this year to me. And to answer that question: not alot. I am not one to complain about things though. That's the problem. It isn't as if I live in third world country and everyone I know is dying of aids. It isn't as if I am likely to starve to death. I am getting an incredible education at a fantastic school. I have a plethora of people who love me. I am a white American in her late teens, meaning I am young, rich and powerful. I have never been admitted to a hospital for any reason except when I was born and when I had my wisdom teeth out, but neither of those experieces were illness or injury and I'm not even sure that the wisdom teeth thing was in a hospital. My life is f***ing fantastic. Who the hell am I to complain about it?
Still, I'm trying to wrack my brain for events which have happened this past year that have been particularly fortunate and I'm still not coming up with anything. The best I can do is come up with bad things that didn't happen. This is not good. I just haven't had a particularly fortunate year. Bleh. No. I won't take it for granted. That's wrong.
But what bad things happened this year?! I don't mind complaining I guess...bleh. bleh bleh bleh.
My best friend almost died, my parents are facing financial lows they've never faced before as well as the ensuing maritial problems, I found out one of my deepest crushes has had a much more troubled life than I could possibly imagine, I found out my other best friend was abused as a child, as well as someone else I've bonded with alot. A certain family member of mine is severely depressed and has been cutting. Actually...you know..that's all that comes to mind. Dad broke his wrist. It's really not all that bad. Amanda pulled out of her illness, Kevin continues to deal with life, as do Amber and Dawn, I think Melissa is doing better too. I can't say much for my parents though. I don't quite know how to stomach it because I don't live with them anymore.
"How did/do I feel about life?" was the third question. How did I feel about life before? I wasn't always happy, but I felt that life was ultimately about doing what God wants and not what I want. I was rather ambitious, I would have ups and downs, rants and raves, times where I could laugh until I cried, and times I would cry, but then feel better. I've always feared failure, I've always considered independence to be important. I wrote in my journal a mission statement, once, when I was much younger:
"I am a positive young woman with a bright future, with talent and spirit. I refuse to complain, I refuse to control, I refuse to give up. I will try my hardest at everything I do..."
Yet all of this has changed now. I am too old to keep the attitude I had and too young to merit hopelessness so I am stuck in a limbo of not being allowed to think anything, to feel anything or to be anything anymore. I am not a positive young woman anymore. I am rather a pessimistic old buffoon. My immediate future is far from bright, my talents are far inferior to those around me. My refusal to complain hasn't made me stronger in the least, refusing to control...I don't even know what I meant by that now, and I've given up on so many people at so many times about so many things that even that seems to be a complete and total fantasy of my past. Erg. What is this? How do I feel about life now? I think I pretty well summed it up. Lathargic, even to the point at which cynical humor is just mildly entertaining. I am beginning to feel as if the only real joys I'm getting from life are coming from Amanda and Kevin. This is not good. Oh, no, I know that this is not good. But what exactly can I do about this?
How do I feel about myself? I don't think I'm all that horrible of a person or anything. I merely realize that I'm not worth as much as I thought I had been. Human worth is immeasurable, and regardless of how worthless I may feel, I retain some worth by merely living. I realize that. I also realize that my life isn't mine to take, that this wave of dispair can and will pass and that if I was faced with my own mortality, there are alot of things about this life that I would miss. I feel that the best things about myself are things that I have allowed to die, and the worst things about myself: my obnoxiousness, my selfishness, my inherant ability to hurt the feelings of the people I care about, and the fact that I'm completely irresponsible and incapable of accomplishing anything important, and the fact that I was completely full of myself and my perfect f***ing life and my perfect f***ing abilities and friends and likes and how when it all fell apart I had little to no integrity about it and allowed it to drag me into the current state of my being, those things are the things that prevail in my life now.
What am I passionate about now? Sleep. Kevin and Amanda. God. Probably in that order, which I know is completely disjointed, twisted and perverse. Music doesn't matter. Classes don't really matter. It is one in the morning...nearing two. I don't want to go to bed because I don't want to wake up tomorrow. So what have I to do?
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Monday, April 02, 2007
Each time I sit down to write I suppose things that I oughtn't. I have faults I thought not to have. I have become disloyal to myself. I am a cynical person who eats cyanide jellybeans. It is all the fault of the one who lives in my head who is not me. However, whoever it is is not to be blamed. Things happen. It is not the fault of anyone. This incredibly terrible and wonderful world we live in is full of terrors and wonders. Not to be rediculously rhetorical or anything. I'm just blabbing at this point.
I've done it. I played in a Shakespeare production. It was marvelous. I was the good Doctor Pinch, who was less than good by troth, but yet it's interesting to think of the way things are. I've been listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring too much to keep my sanity intact. Yet it's all alright with me.
It's going to be a long time before I'll be able to quiet my digits and desist this contemptuous yammering of my fingers upon the keys. It isn't in the movies he quotes, nor the things he says nor the way I've treated him that bothers me most of all. It is the fact that the subject of our discourse was that he was not religious and that by being religious he feels people are fake. Has he then decieved me for the sake of "truth"?
When he, one day, says that I am incapable of handling the truth. That truth being that worship is entirely incomprehensibly irrational and that all those who worship are obviously fabricating something for their own advancement in society or in some other way, that the Truth is that God does not in fact, exist at all, that Christ's life was entirely pointless and that the comprehension of all religious things are hypocritical...
Then the next he tells me that religion is what he needs in his life, that God is impacting him directly anyway...that prayer does affect him. Is he lying? Is he lying because he feels I am incapable of handling the truth? Is everything a lie?
Men were decievers ever...
I don't quite know what to think. I have two choices, optimism or pessimism and I feel I have come to a crossroads. If I have the courage, I will dare to be optimistic and maybe, just maybe, this will turn out for the better. There's an equal chance that it won't turn out for the better and that will cause my optimism to fail and myself to be rapt in foolishness, finally realizing regretting for the rest of my life the mistake I made in hoping for the best.
If I do not have the courage, I will assume pessimism and break this entire thing off presently, move on with my life and he and I will remain trite aquaintances for the rest of time. Aside from the tragedy of a mere, meagre, trite aquaintance being derived from so passionate a love, and not mentioning the sickness that has often been called dispair, I quite feel that if the pessimist within me o'ertakes my mind, then why not give up on a great many other things, ultimately and namely my life altogether. The only benefit to being pessimistic is the fact that I may avoid falling further...if one is optimistic and proves to be wrong, it's a great deal more of a fall, a hurt, an embarressment than one who is pessimistic about it all along.
In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Nevermind. I'm sick of thinking about all of this. I can hope for the best, and yes, I dare to. I do. Yet the things that really scare me are (1) The point of finding truth of anger and the realities of that truth (2) The idea of creating drama for the sake of drama. I've already screamed at him. What the heck is going to happen next? I am beginning to see our fights escalating and I really don't need to go up a fight escalator right now. I know where that can lead. I know where, statistically speaking, it is likely to lead.
I have other things in my life to worry about than this right now. The point of me being in college is to get my degree. It is to become educated. Meeting all the amazing people along the way has been wonderful and fun, traumatic and telling. I've learned more from my friends than from my professors truths of this world.
Yet this is coming to a point where I'm not certain why I am here anymore. I have helped people heal. People have helped me. Yet I feel that I have been sanded down to the bare bone of who I am, and now it is the world : the professors, the friends, the loves, the hates ....there is hardly anything but bone left, and that too they are chipping at. It is a greed in a way, I feel I have been subject to. The only way I have been able to cope with this greed is (1) to chip away at other people, which is something I can hardly abide doing - thereby must do it craftily - and has caused the true retaliation of many if not all the ones whom I love to take a step back and feel only for themselves the harm I have caused them. (I won't pretend to be coherant, but you may pretend that I am)
(2) to chip away at myself, for after all, if you cannot beat them, you may join them. It is an age old lesson taught to children in cartoons throughout all ages. If I build myself up, then I am arrogant, if I work hard silently, I am contemptuous. This and other things bring me to John Lennon's working class hero.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be...
It has alot of truth to it, yet...it can be poisonous to be cynical.
People are of the mindset-these days especially-that being happy/joyous/vivacious/ ... and to be falsely happy is the most dangerous and terrible of ways to be. While this is true, I have found through my own experience, namely those filled with the truth of the cynic I've become, it is equally as dangerous and terrible to be filled with negitivity. It is entirely stupid and silly to forcefeed myself cake in the hopes of my life getting better, it is equally stupid and silly to feed upon the bitterness of life in the hopes of showing people that I do not eat cake. It is entirely rediculous of me to put on a happy face just because people expect me to. It is also entirely rediculous for me to cause myself to constantly feel unduly upset for no real reason. It's better alwithal not to feel anything.
Which is why numbness is so desireable.
Speaking of numbness, one might question the ways in which one may cause damage to onesself. Leaving entirely out the question of why, let us examine more creative and unorthodox ways in which people damage themselves.
Rather, first let us name the normal ones. Drinking is most popular, damage through jollity. Huzzah. Then there is overeating and the occasional smoker. A number of us (college students) decide to draw blood and the masochism of being sleep deprived is enjoyed by all. These are too mainstream, perhaps for the likes of me.
Ergo, I have decided to think of different ways of self-harm. Those of atonal music, those of bad grammer, those of friendless yammerings to onesself. Those of Stravinsky, Lennon...those of Shakespeare, those of the eyes and fingertips. Those of caffeine. Those of ambition. For what better way to harm onesself than feining success and ultimately dying?
I will paint with red paint. I will decieve blue skies. I will pray fervently, and perhaps masochism will turn to optimism and in the light of hope I may reside once more.
I must now ask myself the one question that will have my mind for some time. If there is fear in beauty, is there then, joy in self distruction? Isn't that ultimately what life is about anyway? Death. We all ultimately cause our own demise, whether knowing it or not. We are all to blame for our own deaths because even the "accidents" could have been avoided with some forethought...correct? It doesn't much matter though. I think that part of this problem is that nothing can be entirely erased.
No amount of smiling can change the fact that things are not really good right now. For anyone. This is the end of this incredibly rediculous rant. Anyway. I have a number of things to examine as it be right now.
Listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring if you have the chance. Think of the riots it caused in Vienna when the ballet was first shown.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
I've done it. I played in a Shakespeare production. It was marvelous. I was the good Doctor Pinch, who was less than good by troth, but yet it's interesting to think of the way things are. I've been listening to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring too much to keep my sanity intact. Yet it's all alright with me.
It's going to be a long time before I'll be able to quiet my digits and desist this contemptuous yammering of my fingers upon the keys. It isn't in the movies he quotes, nor the things he says nor the way I've treated him that bothers me most of all. It is the fact that the subject of our discourse was that he was not religious and that by being religious he feels people are fake. Has he then decieved me for the sake of "truth"?
When he, one day, says that I am incapable of handling the truth. That truth being that worship is entirely incomprehensibly irrational and that all those who worship are obviously fabricating something for their own advancement in society or in some other way, that the Truth is that God does not in fact, exist at all, that Christ's life was entirely pointless and that the comprehension of all religious things are hypocritical...
Then the next he tells me that religion is what he needs in his life, that God is impacting him directly anyway...that prayer does affect him. Is he lying? Is he lying because he feels I am incapable of handling the truth? Is everything a lie?
Men were decievers ever...
I don't quite know what to think. I have two choices, optimism or pessimism and I feel I have come to a crossroads. If I have the courage, I will dare to be optimistic and maybe, just maybe, this will turn out for the better. There's an equal chance that it won't turn out for the better and that will cause my optimism to fail and myself to be rapt in foolishness, finally realizing regretting for the rest of my life the mistake I made in hoping for the best.
If I do not have the courage, I will assume pessimism and break this entire thing off presently, move on with my life and he and I will remain trite aquaintances for the rest of time. Aside from the tragedy of a mere, meagre, trite aquaintance being derived from so passionate a love, and not mentioning the sickness that has often been called dispair, I quite feel that if the pessimist within me o'ertakes my mind, then why not give up on a great many other things, ultimately and namely my life altogether. The only benefit to being pessimistic is the fact that I may avoid falling further...if one is optimistic and proves to be wrong, it's a great deal more of a fall, a hurt, an embarressment than one who is pessimistic about it all along.
In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.
Nevermind. I'm sick of thinking about all of this. I can hope for the best, and yes, I dare to. I do. Yet the things that really scare me are (1) The point of finding truth of anger and the realities of that truth (2) The idea of creating drama for the sake of drama. I've already screamed at him. What the heck is going to happen next? I am beginning to see our fights escalating and I really don't need to go up a fight escalator right now. I know where that can lead. I know where, statistically speaking, it is likely to lead.
I have other things in my life to worry about than this right now. The point of me being in college is to get my degree. It is to become educated. Meeting all the amazing people along the way has been wonderful and fun, traumatic and telling. I've learned more from my friends than from my professors truths of this world.
Yet this is coming to a point where I'm not certain why I am here anymore. I have helped people heal. People have helped me. Yet I feel that I have been sanded down to the bare bone of who I am, and now it is the world : the professors, the friends, the loves, the hates ....there is hardly anything but bone left, and that too they are chipping at. It is a greed in a way, I feel I have been subject to. The only way I have been able to cope with this greed is (1) to chip away at other people, which is something I can hardly abide doing - thereby must do it craftily - and has caused the true retaliation of many if not all the ones whom I love to take a step back and feel only for themselves the harm I have caused them. (I won't pretend to be coherant, but you may pretend that I am)
(2) to chip away at myself, for after all, if you cannot beat them, you may join them. It is an age old lesson taught to children in cartoons throughout all ages. If I build myself up, then I am arrogant, if I work hard silently, I am contemptuous. This and other things bring me to John Lennon's working class hero.
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool,
Till you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules,
A working class hero is something to be...
It has alot of truth to it, yet...it can be poisonous to be cynical.
People are of the mindset-these days especially-that being happy/joyous/vivacious/
Which is why numbness is so desireable.
Speaking of numbness, one might question the ways in which one may cause damage to onesself. Leaving entirely out the question of why, let us examine more creative and unorthodox ways in which people damage themselves.
Rather, first let us name the normal ones. Drinking is most popular, damage through jollity. Huzzah. Then there is overeating and the occasional smoker. A number of us (college students) decide to draw blood and the masochism of being sleep deprived is enjoyed by all. These are too mainstream, perhaps for the likes of me.
Ergo, I have decided to think of different ways of self-harm. Those of atonal music, those of bad grammer, those of friendless yammerings to onesself. Those of Stravinsky, Lennon...those of Shakespeare, those of the eyes and fingertips. Those of caffeine. Those of ambition. For what better way to harm onesself than feining success and ultimately dying?
I will paint with red paint. I will decieve blue skies. I will pray fervently, and perhaps masochism will turn to optimism and in the light of hope I may reside once more.
I must now ask myself the one question that will have my mind for some time. If there is fear in beauty, is there then, joy in self distruction? Isn't that ultimately what life is about anyway? Death. We all ultimately cause our own demise, whether knowing it or not. We are all to blame for our own deaths because even the "accidents" could have been avoided with some forethought...correct? It doesn't much matter though. I think that part of this problem is that nothing can be entirely erased.
No amount of smiling can change the fact that things are not really good right now. For anyone. This is the end of this incredibly rediculous rant. Anyway. I have a number of things to examine as it be right now.
Listen to Stravinsky's Rite of Spring if you have the chance. Think of the riots it caused in Vienna when the ballet was first shown.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Don't hate me because I'm beautiful
Marcela, the shepherdess...
"Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of mine, for, be it what itmay, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it;and as the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to beblamed for the poison it carries, as it is a gift of nature, neitherdo I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for beauty in a modestwoman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; the one does notburn, the other does not cut, those who do not come too near."
Cervantes
trans. Ormsby
"Moreover, you must remember that the beauty I possess was no choice of mine, for, be it what itmay, Heaven of its bounty gave it me without my asking or choosing it;and as the viper, though it kills with it, does not deserve to beblamed for the poison it carries, as it is a gift of nature, neitherdo I deserve reproach for being beautiful; for beauty in a modestwoman is like fire at a distance or a sharp sword; the one does notburn, the other does not cut, those who do not come too near."
Cervantes
trans. Ormsby
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
Hildegard von Bingen
Hildegard described not only how the elements combined to form the cosmos, but also how they helped to shape and give life to our ...human bodies: (Schipperges is maddeningly awkward and I hate his unnecessary writing style, but commend him on his knowledge). "when God made humanity, the earth out of which it was form (limus) was glued together by water. God sent the breath of life - fire and air - into this form made from earth and water. Because the human form was made from Earth and Water, the earth became flesh through fire of this breath and through air. The water that held this together became blood. When God made Adam, His radience instantly embraced the entire earth out of which Adam was made. This earth showed itself outwardly in Adam's fashioning - in the shape of his limbs - but Adam was hollow within. (Curae et Causae 42,)
Hildegard went on to describe how the heart, liver, stomach, bowels, brain and other inner organs were made: the soul filled the human heart which pumped elements throughout the body. The liver heated the heart, the lungs covered it...
The heart was thought to be the seat of all knowledge, the liver the seat of all emotions. This we know to be false today...but in medieval times...well...hmmnnn...
I don't like this source one bit, honestly. Schipperges insisted that psychologically analyzing Hildegarde was a bad idea but it seems that he does so throughout the book himself, whether he realizes it or not. Perhaps he doesn't use psychological terminology, but he seems to make his own inferences, all of which are based in the context of psychology today. I wish I had more time to read in depth his book however, at least so that I could further disagree (or change my mind and agree) with him.
I guess I just don't like it when scholars use words like "puny" and "libido"
Hildegard went on to describe how the heart, liver, stomach, bowels, brain and other inner organs were made: the soul filled the human heart which pumped elements throughout the body. The liver heated the heart, the lungs covered it...
The heart was thought to be the seat of all knowledge, the liver the seat of all emotions. This we know to be false today...but in medieval times...well...hmmnnn...
I don't like this source one bit, honestly. Schipperges insisted that psychologically analyzing Hildegarde was a bad idea but it seems that he does so throughout the book himself, whether he realizes it or not. Perhaps he doesn't use psychological terminology, but he seems to make his own inferences, all of which are based in the context of psychology today. I wish I had more time to read in depth his book however, at least so that I could further disagree (or change my mind and agree) with him.
I guess I just don't like it when scholars use words like "puny" and "libido"
Sunday, February 04, 2007
I'm not capable of this anymore. I simply cannot continue to be the way I am. I feel at some times so happy, yet at others, so unhappy. It is tempting for me, stoic-faced to tell myself that "that's life" and that dealing with happiness and unhappiness is a part of it. But at the same time, I feel that there is the one who, having been gone, has returned and is, like me, mingling happiness and unahappiness, but perhaps doesn't think of things the best way. One must allow onesself to heal from psychological trauma, not constantly wallowing in one's suffering.
At the same time, there is the one that was here and is leaving. This is the one that all too often is the cause of my happiness and of my unhappiness. I fear being lied to again more than anything. I feel that it is wrong of me to give this person anymore leeway. It is wrong of me to be so understanding, so justifying. It is wrong of me to allow this person not to treat me the way, someone said, I deserve to be treated. I deserve to know where this person is, I deserve to know how they feel and what they are thinking. I deserve loving attention and I deserve a person who doesn't constantly cause me grief in one way or another.
At the same time though, I feel selfish in asking for this attention that according to a friend, I deserve. There are deeper things involved here than my happiness or unhappiness. There are bigger things in this world than the offense I feel when I am blown off or not cared about. There is more than the simple fact that to some people, I don't matter...and never will.
Every person thinks of themselves as number one.
I knew going into this thing that it would not be easy to be a part of. But then, one reaps what one sows. If I give this person enough attention...if I love this person enough...someday things will be alright between us. And the "alrightness" will mean more to us than it does to most people. How much sweeter will the contentment be that was fought for?
Much.
At the same time, there is the one that was here and is leaving. This is the one that all too often is the cause of my happiness and of my unhappiness. I fear being lied to again more than anything. I feel that it is wrong of me to give this person anymore leeway. It is wrong of me to be so understanding, so justifying. It is wrong of me to allow this person not to treat me the way, someone said, I deserve to be treated. I deserve to know where this person is, I deserve to know how they feel and what they are thinking. I deserve loving attention and I deserve a person who doesn't constantly cause me grief in one way or another.
At the same time though, I feel selfish in asking for this attention that according to a friend, I deserve. There are deeper things involved here than my happiness or unhappiness. There are bigger things in this world than the offense I feel when I am blown off or not cared about. There is more than the simple fact that to some people, I don't matter...and never will.
Every person thinks of themselves as number one.
I knew going into this thing that it would not be easy to be a part of. But then, one reaps what one sows. If I give this person enough attention...if I love this person enough...someday things will be alright between us. And the "alrightness" will mean more to us than it does to most people. How much sweeter will the contentment be that was fought for?
Much.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
The Fire-Eaters
Bloodletting, Earth, Fire, Water, Air....yes, a discourse on Alchemy is in accord.
Alchemy was the midieval version of physics, psychology and medicine in one. The main purpose of alchemy was to convert base metals into gold, but aside from that, the study and practice of Alchemy in the midieval world was also to cure disease and ultimately find immortality.
Death is one of those things that people feared, especially back then. The Black death raviged people. Whole populations were lost.
Medieval thinking was largly based on heiarchies. This general idea can probably be traced to the time of the Romans. I'm not certain to whom to give the due of coming up with the "four basic elements" theory, but Earth, Water, Fire and Air were symbolic of four characteristics that, in the medieval mind, made up everything: dry, cold, moist, hot.
Earth was furthest from heaven, therefore the lowest of the elements, then water, which goes up and comes down as rain, then air, which goes up and stays up, and then fire, which the Sun is made of.
They believed that each person contained four humors which were made up of two characteristics each that symbolized and element.
Blood is hot and moist, and therefore of the element of Air.
Yellow Bile/cholor is hot and dry, therefore made of the element Fire
Phlegm is cold and moist, therefore made of the element Water
Black Bile is cold and dry, therefore made of Earth.
While the modern mind can see a great deal of problems medically that can come of this type of thinking, one must also marvel at it's partial accuracy.
Blood carries oxygen to the cells. Oxygen is found in the air. The midieval mind knew this, even without knowing truly what blood is, nor cells, nor oxygen. In the medieval mind, they knew that one's humor needed to be in balance and that each humor was largely affected by diet. The stomach and liver, to the medieval mind were the entities which converted food into each of the humors.
The idea that one is psychologically affected by the food one eats has enormous truth to it. I know because I've tested this theory on myself. It's a tremendous excercize, if one enjoys eating quite alot, but the practice of fasting should have a moment here in the limelight. Fasting is a fantastic way to clear your mind, not because of hunger pains (if you fast, I encourage you to eat enough to avoid those, but eat things which have life... citrus, leafy greens and water-bearing vegetables and fruits: watermelon more than a banana, celery more than a potato) but because of the profound feeling of being clensed.
Here in America, we eat highly-processed food, that which is usually hot and dry. So we, then are the Fire-eaters. Who also has been at war? We eat fire and therefore have an overload of yellow bile. Are we like Shakespeare's Hotspur, then, ruled by our spleens?
Perhaps our international and internal problems would be solved if we embraced the Spinach leaf...quit babbling about fears of ecoli and ate something healthy for a change.
It was only a harmless musing.
Alchemy was the midieval version of physics, psychology and medicine in one. The main purpose of alchemy was to convert base metals into gold, but aside from that, the study and practice of Alchemy in the midieval world was also to cure disease and ultimately find immortality.
Death is one of those things that people feared, especially back then. The Black death raviged people. Whole populations were lost.
Medieval thinking was largly based on heiarchies. This general idea can probably be traced to the time of the Romans. I'm not certain to whom to give the due of coming up with the "four basic elements" theory, but Earth, Water, Fire and Air were symbolic of four characteristics that, in the medieval mind, made up everything: dry, cold, moist, hot.
Earth was furthest from heaven, therefore the lowest of the elements, then water, which goes up and comes down as rain, then air, which goes up and stays up, and then fire, which the Sun is made of.
They believed that each person contained four humors which were made up of two characteristics each that symbolized and element.
Blood is hot and moist, and therefore of the element of Air.
Yellow Bile/cholor is hot and dry, therefore made of the element Fire
Phlegm is cold and moist, therefore made of the element Water
Black Bile is cold and dry, therefore made of Earth.
While the modern mind can see a great deal of problems medically that can come of this type of thinking, one must also marvel at it's partial accuracy.
Blood carries oxygen to the cells. Oxygen is found in the air. The midieval mind knew this, even without knowing truly what blood is, nor cells, nor oxygen. In the medieval mind, they knew that one's humor needed to be in balance and that each humor was largely affected by diet. The stomach and liver, to the medieval mind were the entities which converted food into each of the humors.
The idea that one is psychologically affected by the food one eats has enormous truth to it. I know because I've tested this theory on myself. It's a tremendous excercize, if one enjoys eating quite alot, but the practice of fasting should have a moment here in the limelight. Fasting is a fantastic way to clear your mind, not because of hunger pains (if you fast, I encourage you to eat enough to avoid those, but eat things which have life... citrus, leafy greens and water-bearing vegetables and fruits: watermelon more than a banana, celery more than a potato) but because of the profound feeling of being clensed.
Here in America, we eat highly-processed food, that which is usually hot and dry. So we, then are the Fire-eaters. Who also has been at war? We eat fire and therefore have an overload of yellow bile. Are we like Shakespeare's Hotspur, then, ruled by our spleens?
Perhaps our international and internal problems would be solved if we embraced the Spinach leaf...quit babbling about fears of ecoli and ate something healthy for a change.
It was only a harmless musing.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Ah, what evil thoughts lie brooding within my brain! Have I yet died unto my failings? For what end has this person used my fears to make for his or herself a wayward mess to dote upon, perhaps even clean? Is it to my failings that I die? Or to someone elses, my grandfather's perhaps...
Something amiss, something assumed. I left the theater touched. Was it by the performance that I was touched, or something else? I closed my eyes and entered the theater of myself, my memory.
And now it is that I distrust even myself. I think evil thoughts, feel evil feelings, dream evil dreams, there is only one possible end in this. Death.
But what death? Death of a young or old woman? In so many ways I feel that I am an old woman. In so many ways I feel that I have been so lucky. If death come, be it swift and let me be well worthy of the death that will end the life I lived!
It isn't death now that troubles me, nor the thought of it. It is Time, Grandfather Time himself who has troubled me, and not that of Death and the Future, as doomed as it may be.
It is Memory, mistress to Time that now hangs heavy upon my brow. Looking, searching for fault, for pain, anger and hurt in Memory is much more difficult than allowing simple Time to take it's place, and as one gazes further inward, the more frustrating the memories become. Some may even be dreams.
Something amiss, something assumed. I left the theater touched. Was it by the performance that I was touched, or something else? I closed my eyes and entered the theater of myself, my memory.
And now it is that I distrust even myself. I think evil thoughts, feel evil feelings, dream evil dreams, there is only one possible end in this. Death.
But what death? Death of a young or old woman? In so many ways I feel that I am an old woman. In so many ways I feel that I have been so lucky. If death come, be it swift and let me be well worthy of the death that will end the life I lived!
It isn't death now that troubles me, nor the thought of it. It is Time, Grandfather Time himself who has troubled me, and not that of Death and the Future, as doomed as it may be.
It is Memory, mistress to Time that now hangs heavy upon my brow. Looking, searching for fault, for pain, anger and hurt in Memory is much more difficult than allowing simple Time to take it's place, and as one gazes further inward, the more frustrating the memories become. Some may even be dreams.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Benedick: ...it is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted; and I would I could find in my hard that I had not a hard heart, for truly I love none.
Beatrice: A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear by dark bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Benedick: God keep Your Ladyshihp still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice: Scratching could not make it worse, an' twere such a face as yours were.
Benedick: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice: A bird fo my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer. ...
Beatrice: A dear happiness to women! They would else have been troubled with a pernicious suitor. I thank God and my cold blood I am of your humor for that. I had rather hear by dark bark at a crow than a man swear he loves me.
Benedick: God keep Your Ladyshihp still in that mind! So some gentleman or other shall scape a predestinate scratched face.
Beatrice: Scratching could not make it worse, an' twere such a face as yours were.
Benedick: Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher.
Beatrice: A bird fo my tongue is better than a beast of yours.
Benedick: I would my horse had the speed of your tongue and so good a continuer. ...
Monday, January 22, 2007
Fair is foul, this is my testimony: If I release my inhibitions, I will lose. I will be driven by my release and then I will lose my focus on all the other things in my life. I have to focus on Shakespeare, Theory, History, the play, the poems, the essays, Russian, German...I don't know what to do. It's all too much, but I have such passion for all of it. The songs, the compositions...my requiem...his tango. Piano, voice, guitar...the things I want to do, I spend my time rather wisely. Nothing I do is something I don't enjoy. But my problem is that I don't have time for all of it all the time, and if I spend my time with him..."releasing" my inhibitions, I allow the focus of my life to shift, and I cannot allow that now. I cannot allow that to happen. I have built my life, my entire life, for as long as I remember, dreaming dreams and living life as fully as I can (except for those times when demons found me) ...
The truth is, I feel that we went too far. We didn't, we really did only play by the rules, but I feel also that how DARE he insinuate that we would get boring without that journey toward a release of inhibition. Inhibition...what is it? Is it my conscience? Perhaps.
The truth is, I love him more deeply than anything else in my life, but I strive to show him who I am, be everything that I am capable and more because that way, and only that way is the way I show myself love, and through that I show him my love too. I just worry that he doesn't see it. He is content to see love the conventional way. Touch.
This has created a problem because I don't see anything the conventional way. In fact, I have made a point in my life not to look at things the conventional way. I have to change my whole theory of thought around if I am to do justice to this man. He is so amazing though...truly, truly amazing. So honest, so loving...so pure. It's impossible to explain how he can be so exciting and so pure at the same time.
I love things that complete one another. Peppermint coffee is hot and cold at the same time...peanut brittle is salty and sweet at the same time, I laugh at cynical jokes, I cry at beauty...Fair is foul, foul is fair...God is the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, the almighty-all powerful, yet He came and became powerless and died. I love music because it is both objective and subjective and will always be both. I love Don because I am a poet, he is a philosopher, I love him because he is a thinker, I am an artist; he is an amazing man in every way that I am not, and that brings me strength and life and hope. I can only marvel at that love.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
The truth is, I feel that we went too far. We didn't, we really did only play by the rules, but I feel also that how DARE he insinuate that we would get boring without that journey toward a release of inhibition. Inhibition...what is it? Is it my conscience? Perhaps.
The truth is, I love him more deeply than anything else in my life, but I strive to show him who I am, be everything that I am capable and more because that way, and only that way is the way I show myself love, and through that I show him my love too. I just worry that he doesn't see it. He is content to see love the conventional way. Touch.
This has created a problem because I don't see anything the conventional way. In fact, I have made a point in my life not to look at things the conventional way. I have to change my whole theory of thought around if I am to do justice to this man. He is so amazing though...truly, truly amazing. So honest, so loving...so pure. It's impossible to explain how he can be so exciting and so pure at the same time.
I love things that complete one another. Peppermint coffee is hot and cold at the same time...peanut brittle is salty and sweet at the same time, I laugh at cynical jokes, I cry at beauty...Fair is foul, foul is fair...God is the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega, the almighty-all powerful, yet He came and became powerless and died. I love music because it is both objective and subjective and will always be both. I love Don because I am a poet, he is a philosopher, I love him because he is a thinker, I am an artist; he is an amazing man in every way that I am not, and that brings me strength and life and hope. I can only marvel at that love.
Fair is foul, foul is fair.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Thunder Shakes the World and its place is faced with many jabberings.
The thing that gets me is all the people of the world who are anti-catholic. For all of their accusations, for all of the fingers that point at us saying, look at how vile and sinful the Catholic Church is...for all the times I've been the butt of a joke, the object of scrutiny, and judged for my faith, I have yet to go to church and hear a homily of hatred. I have yet to hear a sermon putting someone down. I have yet to hear a priest say that any group of people is damned.
It hurts me. It has always hurt me, that anyone would judge an entire group of people based on the examples of a few.
I suppose I am simply paying for the sins of my Catholic ancestors. They were wrong. Faced with crucades and inquisitions, myriads of people killed for no reason other than the hatred that was the catholic church. That was hundreds of years ago. Since then, to be catholic is to live in humility.
So damn me, world. Yes, world, I am addressing you. Judge me. Damn me. I've been the object of scrutiny all my life for my faith. I dare you.
I have done no one wrong. I have lived my life to honor Jesus Christ, to spread His love. I have never sought to be anything other than an instrument of His peace. I have tried to bring love where there is hatred, I have tried to bring forgiveness where there is hurt, I have tried to bring light where there is darkness, faith where there is doubt. Comfort where there are tears...
But they judge me anyway.
That is life. Just because I face hatred in this world does not mean I will give up my faith or cease to live my life as I have. I am His and His alone.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
The thing that gets me is all the people of the world who are anti-catholic. For all of their accusations, for all of the fingers that point at us saying, look at how vile and sinful the Catholic Church is...for all the times I've been the butt of a joke, the object of scrutiny, and judged for my faith, I have yet to go to church and hear a homily of hatred. I have yet to hear a sermon putting someone down. I have yet to hear a priest say that any group of people is damned.
It hurts me. It has always hurt me, that anyone would judge an entire group of people based on the examples of a few.
I suppose I am simply paying for the sins of my Catholic ancestors. They were wrong. Faced with crucades and inquisitions, myriads of people killed for no reason other than the hatred that was the catholic church. That was hundreds of years ago. Since then, to be catholic is to live in humility.
So damn me, world. Yes, world, I am addressing you. Judge me. Damn me. I've been the object of scrutiny all my life for my faith. I dare you.
I have done no one wrong. I have lived my life to honor Jesus Christ, to spread His love. I have never sought to be anything other than an instrument of His peace. I have tried to bring love where there is hatred, I have tried to bring forgiveness where there is hurt, I have tried to bring light where there is darkness, faith where there is doubt. Comfort where there are tears...
But they judge me anyway.
That is life. Just because I face hatred in this world does not mean I will give up my faith or cease to live my life as I have. I am His and His alone.
Fair is foul. Foul is fair.
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