Beautiful song.
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness. ~twloha.com/vision/story
"Fear. Fear attracts the fearful. The strong. The weak. The innocent. The corrupt.
Fear.
Fear is my ally."
~Darth Maul
I believe that there is Good and Evil.
I believe that they are both active.
I believe that they conflict, that they are opposites, mortal enemies.
Call me what you like, I believe that Good trumps Evil.
I believe this to be a Truth.
Meaning that it is true, whether men agree or not.
The philosophical realm does not tolerate democracy.
Because democracy is not based on Truth.
But that's an argument for another post.
I believe that Good trumps Evil, and I believe this is true.
I also believe that all men must choose to live for one over the other.
I believe most men make this choice without realizing it.
I believe this is possible because the choice is made everyday.
I believe our actions and experiences have a purpose.
I believe that purpose is to change men, to transform us, to convert our hearts.
That, I believe, is what life is about: a conversion of the heart of Man.
I am not speaking strictly religiously.
Faith without works is, after all, dead.
I am saying that every moment you are alive, every heartbeat, every breath, every step, every word, every touch, always, you are in constant metaphysical motion.
Movement is possible in one of two directions at a time: forwards or backwards.
Good or Evil.
There have been moments when I stop doing. I just stop. And I feel the stillness around me. I let the stillness saturate my skin. I attempt to become equally still inwardly. I simply exist for a moment, and I feel. I find that the initial stillness masks a collision of sorts as it occurrs around me. I witness it. I am a part of it. It's over humanity. It's over me. My heart begins to race. So this is what it's all about, this is why I'm here?
"This issue is now quite clear. It is between light and darkness, and everyone must choose his side."
~GKC's last words
The Sound (John M. Perkins Blues)
The Static comes in slow.
You can feel it grow.
Our stream of conscience flows
Under the streets below.
The rivers made of sound
Still running underground
Runs like a silent flood.
We run as thick as blood.
Can you hear it rise
Up from the ground?
Can't drown it out,
Can you hear it now?
This is the sound
of a heartbeat.
This is the sound
from the discontented mouths
Of a haunted nation.
We are the voice of breaking down.
Can you hear me?
This is the sound
of the desperation bound
By our own collisions.
We are the voice of breaking down.
The static comes alive
Beneath the broken sky.
John Perkins said it right:
Love is the Final Fight.
Let it rise above,
Rise above.
There is no song
Louder than Love.
This is the sound
of a heartbeat.
This is the sound
from the discontented mouths
of a haunted nation.
We are the voice of breaking down.
Can you hear me?
This is the sound
of the desperation bound
by our own collisions.
We are the voice of breaking down.
Let it rise above
Up from the ground.
Can't drown it out.
Can you hear it now?
This is the sound
of a heartbeat.
This is the sound
of the discontented mouths
Of a haunted nation.
We are the voice of breaking down.
Can you hear me?
This is the sound
of the desperation bound
by our fallen condition.
We are the voice of breaking down.
This is the sound.
This is the sound.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
...like freedom in spring
We all need people to talk to about anything. Two kinds of people are easiest to talk to about anything:
The people closest to us
These are ideal, and not everyone has them. The ones we grew up with, who've seen us at our best and worst like anyone could, but they've seen us through it. They know what we have given up and gained. They know our true stories, our true selves, our hearts.
People we meet once and never again
These people do not know our name, where we live, what we've done, what we believe. They may know our typing speed. For one brief moment they may listen better than people who think they know us because they have no pre-conceptions.
Both of these kinds of people can provide what we want. What we want is to be deeply known without being judged.
"...she's been staring down the demons who've been screaming she's just another so-and-so
don't let go, don't let go tonight.
there's a fear that burns like trash inside,
and your shame the curse that burns your eyes.
you've been hiding in the bedroom hoping this isn't how the story has to go.
it's not the way it goes.
it's your book now.
you're a lonely soul in the land of broken hearts
and your "far from home" is the perfect place to start
this world is a dead man down
every breath is a fading crown we wear like some debilitated king
the earth spins and the moon goes round
the green comes from the frozen ground
and everything will be made new again
like freedom in spring"
~Golden, by Switchfoot
The people closest to us
These are ideal, and not everyone has them. The ones we grew up with, who've seen us at our best and worst like anyone could, but they've seen us through it. They know what we have given up and gained. They know our true stories, our true selves, our hearts.
People we meet once and never again
These people do not know our name, where we live, what we've done, what we believe. They may know our typing speed. For one brief moment they may listen better than people who think they know us because they have no pre-conceptions.
Both of these kinds of people can provide what we want. What we want is to be deeply known without being judged.
"...she's been staring down the demons who've been screaming she's just another so-and-so
don't let go, don't let go tonight.
there's a fear that burns like trash inside,
and your shame the curse that burns your eyes.
you've been hiding in the bedroom hoping this isn't how the story has to go.
it's not the way it goes.
it's your book now.
you're a lonely soul in the land of broken hearts
and your "far from home" is the perfect place to start
this world is a dead man down
every breath is a fading crown we wear like some debilitated king
the earth spins and the moon goes round
the green comes from the frozen ground
and everything will be made new again
like freedom in spring"
~Golden, by Switchfoot
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Love. Always.
One of the retreats my high school required us to go on. The theme of this particular weekend was something like "removing the masks"- we were supposed to be examining our past and our hopes for our futures, and find who we are, our true identity in the middle of it all. In the now, behind the disguises we wear for the world, and sometimes for ourselves. The ones that we've been wearing for too long because we forget what we look like underneath them.
Naturally, one of the crafts was creating a papier mache mask of each other's faces then decorating our own with images symbolizing ourselves in the future. Most of my classmates' images had something to do with a sport, a college, or a profession. Mine wasn't. I am not an athlete. I was not looking forward to college. I still have no idea what sort of job I want to work at when I grow up. And I hate planning my future like that. I can handle only the present. If I think of more, my performance becomes beyond poor, and my sanity slips.
The only constant I've seen in my past and the only pattern I believe I can count on seeing in my future is suffering. Suffering coupled with joy if I allow it. My mask was different. One half was entirely black, except for a circlet of dead and painful thorns, and a single red tear of blood shed by the eye. I decorated this side as I thought of the letdowns, the pain, the evil I will participate in and witness over the course of my life. This is the heavy, darker, desperate side of life, of my future. I let the other half of my face remain white, except a simple crown of read roses and a bit of soft crimson in the cheeks. This half is meant to reveal the beauty, the purity, the love, the goodness I may choose despite the darkness' suffocating weight. This is the light, lovely, hopeful potential of my life, of me.
The opposites rely on each other to maintain the delicate balance of sanity. Much like how Love implies Justice as well as Mercy.
As real as suffering is, its couterpart must be moreso. I believe it is simple, and I believe it is called Love. Always. Every opportunity with everyone you meet - you will be given each opportunity only once. Love them as well as you know how, if only for a moment. Chances are, they will not take much notice. But if you persist someone will. When they do, they will remember you and that moment. They will remember that there is more to life than the mundane and the letdown it often seems to be. You are alive, and that is no accident, no coincidence. You are meant to live for more than you've settled for.
"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle."
~ Plato
Let Your Love be Strong
By Switchfoot
In this world of news
I've found nothing new.
I've found nothing pure.
Maybe I'm just idealistic to assume that Truth
Could be fact and form,
That love could be a verb.
Maybe I'm just a little misinformed.
As the dead moon rises
and the freeways sigh,
Let the trains watch over
the tides and the mist
Spinning circles in our skies tonight.
Let the trucks roll in from Los Angeles;
Maybe our stars are unanimously tired.
Let your love be strong and I don't care what goes down.
Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunder cloud.
Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes.
All of my world hanging on your love.
Let the wars begin.
Let my strength wear thin.
Let my fingers crack.
Let my world fall apart.
Train the monkeys on my back to fight.
Let it start tonight
When my world explodes,
when my stars touch the ground,
Falling down like broken satellites.
Let your love be strong and I don't care what goes down.
Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunder cloud.
Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes.
All that I am hanging on,
All of my world resting on
Your Love.
Persist.
Naturally, one of the crafts was creating a papier mache mask of each other's faces then decorating our own with images symbolizing ourselves in the future. Most of my classmates' images had something to do with a sport, a college, or a profession. Mine wasn't. I am not an athlete. I was not looking forward to college. I still have no idea what sort of job I want to work at when I grow up. And I hate planning my future like that. I can handle only the present. If I think of more, my performance becomes beyond poor, and my sanity slips.
The only constant I've seen in my past and the only pattern I believe I can count on seeing in my future is suffering. Suffering coupled with joy if I allow it. My mask was different. One half was entirely black, except for a circlet of dead and painful thorns, and a single red tear of blood shed by the eye. I decorated this side as I thought of the letdowns, the pain, the evil I will participate in and witness over the course of my life. This is the heavy, darker, desperate side of life, of my future. I let the other half of my face remain white, except a simple crown of read roses and a bit of soft crimson in the cheeks. This half is meant to reveal the beauty, the purity, the love, the goodness I may choose despite the darkness' suffocating weight. This is the light, lovely, hopeful potential of my life, of me.
The opposites rely on each other to maintain the delicate balance of sanity. Much like how Love implies Justice as well as Mercy.
As real as suffering is, its couterpart must be moreso. I believe it is simple, and I believe it is called Love. Always. Every opportunity with everyone you meet - you will be given each opportunity only once. Love them as well as you know how, if only for a moment. Chances are, they will not take much notice. But if you persist someone will. When they do, they will remember you and that moment. They will remember that there is more to life than the mundane and the letdown it often seems to be. You are alive, and that is no accident, no coincidence. You are meant to live for more than you've settled for.
"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a battle."
~ Plato
Let Your Love be Strong
By Switchfoot
In this world of news
I've found nothing new.
I've found nothing pure.
Maybe I'm just idealistic to assume that Truth
Could be fact and form,
That love could be a verb.
Maybe I'm just a little misinformed.
As the dead moon rises
and the freeways sigh,
Let the trains watch over
the tides and the mist
Spinning circles in our skies tonight.
Let the trucks roll in from Los Angeles;
Maybe our stars are unanimously tired.
Let your love be strong and I don't care what goes down.
Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunder cloud.
Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes.
All of my world hanging on your love.
Let the wars begin.
Let my strength wear thin.
Let my fingers crack.
Let my world fall apart.
Train the monkeys on my back to fight.
Let it start tonight
When my world explodes,
when my stars touch the ground,
Falling down like broken satellites.
Let your love be strong and I don't care what goes down.
Let your love be strong enough to weather through the thunder cloud.
Fury and thunder clap like stealing the fire from your eyes.
All that I am hanging on,
All of my world resting on
Your Love.
Persist.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Illusion of "Death with Dignity"
An axiom of the Christian faith is that we do not own ourselves; rather, we are stewards charged with respecting our physical bodies. This principle recognizes God’s role in endowing us with personhood, and it properly subordinates our temporal nature to our innermost spiritual dignity. Christian’s respect for life from creation until natural death is rooted in this truth, and it is for this reason that no properly instructed Christian can, in good conscience, condone any act that violates our essential dignity. Washington’s assisted-suicide measure, overwhelmingly passed in the fall, does just this. Moreover it creates a terrible schism in society’s psyche that tolerates suicide in one sense but not another. Take for example the front-page story recently run in the Peninsula Daily News lauding Linda Fleming as the first woman to die with dignity. This story extolled her supposed bravery because she ended her pain and suffering, yet within a short period the paper ran a story along the same vein, which criticized the eighth street bridges for not being fitted with higher railings because they encourage people to jump. Of course supporters of “Death with Dignity” will point to the difference in circumstances, however, they cannot but admit that only the means differed and the end remained the same. To a well-informed conscience it is clear that suicide is an intrinsically selfish decision by which a person determines that their life is no longer valuable.
The lie that people accept is that their dignity will be preserved by their self-termination, yet, they do not recognize that this fundamentally undermines any moral defense of human value. If society condones death in one sense what is to preserve it in another, such as murder? What is to prevent doctors or other agents from determining that our lives are unworthy? This is a very real slippery slope that can only end in the continued desecration of a person’s value.
Perhaps the most insidious consequence of the assisted-suicide mindset is that it is the same belief that inspires countless dictators, despots and tyrants. It is the means by which they assert control and maintain the“purity” of their races. It is something that we, as Americans, have historically opposed, and our nation has sent hundreds of thousands to die in defense of that belief. Yet now, in the spirit of liberty, we have embraced the very evil we have fought to eradicate. It may not be as blatant as it was under the regimes of Slobodan Milošević or Adolph Hitler, but it is just as virulent and just as dangerous. By tacitly affirming the belief that some lives are unworthy or not valuable we reject the principles that this nation was founded upon and invite a silent holocaust. Liberty, which is the preeminent American value, can never be divorced from responsibility. As persons we must oppose anything that undermines our inherent dignity, and as voters we have a responsibility to ourselves and to future generations to repair the damage already done. True death with dignity is only possible if we properly acknowledge the gift that we have been endowed with: Life.
~Daniel Acheson
The lie that people accept is that their dignity will be preserved by their self-termination, yet, they do not recognize that this fundamentally undermines any moral defense of human value. If society condones death in one sense what is to preserve it in another, such as murder? What is to prevent doctors or other agents from determining that our lives are unworthy? This is a very real slippery slope that can only end in the continued desecration of a person’s value.
Perhaps the most insidious consequence of the assisted-suicide mindset is that it is the same belief that inspires countless dictators, despots and tyrants. It is the means by which they assert control and maintain the“purity” of their races. It is something that we, as Americans, have historically opposed, and our nation has sent hundreds of thousands to die in defense of that belief. Yet now, in the spirit of liberty, we have embraced the very evil we have fought to eradicate. It may not be as blatant as it was under the regimes of Slobodan Milošević or Adolph Hitler, but it is just as virulent and just as dangerous. By tacitly affirming the belief that some lives are unworthy or not valuable we reject the principles that this nation was founded upon and invite a silent holocaust. Liberty, which is the preeminent American value, can never be divorced from responsibility. As persons we must oppose anything that undermines our inherent dignity, and as voters we have a responsibility to ourselves and to future generations to repair the damage already done. True death with dignity is only possible if we properly acknowledge the gift that we have been endowed with: Life.
~Daniel Acheson
Friday, August 20, 2010
To Plainness Honour's Bound
"Now Cinderella, don't you go to sleep - it's such a bitter form of refuge.
Why don't you know the Kingdom's under siege, and everybody needs you?"
"What is real? How do you define real?"
Is "real" simply electrical signals interpreted by our brains, as THE MATRIX suggests?
I do not know. I do know that when I am angry, tired, happy, stressed, or perfectly at ease, my eating and activity habits change as a result. I feel different, I sense different sensations, electrical signals are created, sent, and interpreted throughout my body. I know that when, for example, I have a headache resulting from a negative emotion, I reach for caffeine or water, or I fall asleep. I know that these purely physical reactions are mere remedies, they only help ease the symptoms. If I want to rid myself of these negative sensations, I would destroy the source of the negativity. The remedies are deceptions, lies - they lead one to believe that the problem is solved, but it is only hidden. I equate what is "real" with what is "true", what is "truth", what is the source, as opposed to what is the symptom, the sensation, the interpretation, the electrical signal, the purely physical.
What is real, is beyond human grasp.
Good and Evil. Every action is either one or the other. Good and Evil. The contrast sounds cut and dry, and rather obvious. It sounds extremely objective. But life and everything in it is a very subjective test. Actions are not judged to be Good or Evil by their outcome. It is determined by the intent of the person. If the intent is pure, selfless, and ultimately humble, it is not Evil. I believe that in the end, decisions exist to help transform the people who make them. Any lasting state that is external, has already been created internally.
There are times when I feel alone, stranded, helpless, empty, frustrated, trapped, and restless. There are many times when I blame my weakness on the people closest to me. There are times when I am thankful for them more than almost everything else. They are my world, They are my protection from what is beyond them. Then I hear the pattern-snares of a person's life, I see tears, I see pain, I feel a numbness in me, I become aware of a fatal ignorance I am diseased with, I am gifted with. I interpret these electrical signals. I wonder what is real. If these are merely the symptoms, can I handle knowing the illness itself? I wonder if I should.
And in everything, I ask: at what price?
At what price am I willing to hope? What is the price of opening up to people? At what price am I willing to question? At what price am I willing to live what I believe? At what price am I willing to live free? What is the real price of alcoholism? How much am I willing to sacrifice on a date, in a friendship? Where is the damage of a suicide incurred, is the pain worth the price?
"Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides."
~ King Lear, by W. Shakespeare
"And the decades disappear
Like sinking ships but we persevere.
God gives us hope. But we still fear what we don't know.
Now Cinderella, don't you go to sleep - it's such a bitter form of refuge.
Why, dont' you know the Kingdom's under siege, and everybody needs you?"
~ "Dustland Fairytale", by The Killers
Why don't you know the Kingdom's under siege, and everybody needs you?"
"What is real? How do you define real?"
Is "real" simply electrical signals interpreted by our brains, as THE MATRIX suggests?
I do not know. I do know that when I am angry, tired, happy, stressed, or perfectly at ease, my eating and activity habits change as a result. I feel different, I sense different sensations, electrical signals are created, sent, and interpreted throughout my body. I know that when, for example, I have a headache resulting from a negative emotion, I reach for caffeine or water, or I fall asleep. I know that these purely physical reactions are mere remedies, they only help ease the symptoms. If I want to rid myself of these negative sensations, I would destroy the source of the negativity. The remedies are deceptions, lies - they lead one to believe that the problem is solved, but it is only hidden. I equate what is "real" with what is "true", what is "truth", what is the source, as opposed to what is the symptom, the sensation, the interpretation, the electrical signal, the purely physical.
What is real, is beyond human grasp.
Good and Evil. Every action is either one or the other. Good and Evil. The contrast sounds cut and dry, and rather obvious. It sounds extremely objective. But life and everything in it is a very subjective test. Actions are not judged to be Good or Evil by their outcome. It is determined by the intent of the person. If the intent is pure, selfless, and ultimately humble, it is not Evil. I believe that in the end, decisions exist to help transform the people who make them. Any lasting state that is external, has already been created internally.
There are times when I feel alone, stranded, helpless, empty, frustrated, trapped, and restless. There are many times when I blame my weakness on the people closest to me. There are times when I am thankful for them more than almost everything else. They are my world, They are my protection from what is beyond them. Then I hear the pattern-snares of a person's life, I see tears, I see pain, I feel a numbness in me, I become aware of a fatal ignorance I am diseased with, I am gifted with. I interpret these electrical signals. I wonder what is real. If these are merely the symptoms, can I handle knowing the illness itself? I wonder if I should.
And in everything, I ask: at what price?
At what price am I willing to hope? What is the price of opening up to people? At what price am I willing to question? At what price am I willing to live what I believe? At what price am I willing to live free? What is the real price of alcoholism? How much am I willing to sacrifice on a date, in a friendship? Where is the damage of a suicide incurred, is the pain worth the price?
"Think'st thou that duty shall have dread to speak,
When power to flattery bows? To plainness honour's bound,
When majesty stoops to folly. Reverse thy doom;
My life I never held but as a pawn
To wage against thy enemies; nor fear to lose it
Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides."
~ King Lear, by W. Shakespeare
"And the decades disappear
Like sinking ships but we persevere.
God gives us hope. But we still fear what we don't know.
Now Cinderella, don't you go to sleep - it's such a bitter form of refuge.
Why, dont' you know the Kingdom's under siege, and everybody needs you?"
~ "Dustland Fairytale", by The Killers
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A Dream Concerning Drama
I had a dream last night that I've been thinking about all day. I have felt like I need to type it out before it will make sense, but I haven't felt like it's writing material. But I happened across a piece a friend of mine wrote. She started by stating that she hasn't written in a while because she has had nothing to say, and still has nothing to say, but the blank screen in front of her is begging her for words. So she typed, and was honest, and came out with this amazing paragraph or two, the kind that you could print off and put in a scrapbook of inspirational honesty that may be a little cheesy, but the honesty demands you heed the simple wisdom most people forget. So I decided I'm going to write this.
I will be a college freshman in less than a month. It is time for me to choose my courses. I have always imagined myself as more of a math and science person than a creative humanities person. I think I bought into the message society sends, that art is worthless, only proven facts, and by extension the provers of the facts, are worth aspiring to. I've grown to admire artists for not only their talent, but more for their perseverance, expecially in the face of all the competition and obstacles our culture presents for them. I think I've also come to discover a bit of an artist in me, greater than the scientist in me. But I don't believe I have what it takes to be an artist as a profession. I'm not strong enough to be an artist in my world.
I was planning on taking a history class, but none of them fit into my schedule. None of the other pre-reqs I could take fit into my schedule either. As a last resort, I registered for Basic Drawing, thinking it could transfer as an elective. But I have been doubting the wisdom of this decision.
I had a dream last night. It was a rather long dream, so I will only tell the parts that seem relevant. I was in my old school, the one full of people I do not like. In the dream it was set up the way it was before they remodeled it since I've left. Mr. M's drama room was right next too Mrs. L's art room at the end of an offset, ususally empty hallway. For some reason, I was down this hallway and heading back towards the main body of the school. people were bustling about everywhere. Mr. M was talking to another memeber of the staff, but when he saw me walking in the opposite direction, he asked me what was going on, I told him what I knew, then when I started on my way again, he stopped me and said "You better be in my (drama) class this semester." I had the feeling it was my last semester and I'd avoided his class for a while. As I approached his classroom, I tried to see who was inside, who to prepare to meet. I was ready for the worst. I saw many people I've met, all of whom very full of themselves, except one girl who is a year younger than me. I met her at my second high school. We are friends. She bounced over to me through the chattering crowd.
In real life, Mr. M was my drama teacher in seventh and eighth grade, as well as my eighth grade leadership class, which sounds like a lame class but it was actually really good. The last time I was in a play, it was for his class. "Ax of Murder". I was Cassandra Tyree, the "Fortune Teller" who could "sense" where the play responsible for an increasing number of deaths was. I got to do basically whatever I wanted on stage - nothing was too crazy for this character - with a loud, thick German accent. I loved it and I received tons of positive feedback. When my sister was in his drama class, he would torment my sister about me, and people would begin asking about me. My sister reported that he said I could be a professional actress if I wanted to be one. Which carries quite a bit of weight, coming from him.
I would love to perform in a play again. But the thing with plays is that they require so much prep time, and during that prep time you are with your fellow cast members. You become a family with them, or you become a loner by yourself. Obviously, being alone is never fun. And in what I have experienced and observed, I do not like most of the personality types that become involved in drama club. Granted, my experience and observations are limited to Junior high and High School drama clubs.
I have searched for Shakespearean Theaters around where I live. Sadly, I cannot find any.
I have been told a few times by a few different people that I should be a model, a suggestion which I sincerely laugh at - the person I see in the mirror is not fit to be a model. I wonder what they see? But this has happened more than once, so I assume there is something to it.
Earlier this summer, I received a letter in the mail (not from the more common Junior Miss America I receive and ignore every year) that said someone I know thought I was a good candidate and would enjoy being in a pageant. I have no idea who gave them my name. It was not family, because they would have signed my sisters up as well. I gave the decision more thought than I would want to admit, but I ultimately decided against it. The money involved was tempting (I have college to pay for!). I decided that, flattering as it was, I would not model on principle. I believe honest work is the only right way to advance one's self, and I would like to live as unmaterialistically as I can, I will not ask for blinders. Modeling strikes me as a profession of glory without honor. I want the true, beautiful glory of honor. I would still greatly appreciate knowing who thought I would make a good pageant model. Such a mystery!
Back to last night's dream. I was traveling through a doorway in the hallway again, but this doorway looked smaller than the rest of the hall, and it was in fact even smaller than it looked! I barely managed to come out on the other side! While I was struggling to pass through, I heard one of my uncles say something. I don't remember what he said in the dream. But when I was trying to remember what he said in the dream today, I remembered a couple of things he told me in real life: God gave me every talent I have for a reason. "Use it or loose it" applies to them - I have these talents, I am meant to use every single one of them (I'd be surprised what I can get out of them), but it's up to me to exercise them, else they will disappear over time. These things he told me years ago are what I am being reminded of now, at this point in my life.
My mom has told me that she thinks I would make an excellent English teacher/theater director. I'm not so sure. To me it depends more on the people I would be working with, and the age group. But it does sound appealing to me. It bothers me that she always seems to know what decision I am going to make before I do.
The last images of the dream involve standing on top of a mountain overlooking a huge gaping valley. It was an unexpected and glorious image. I was with one guy, who I met on my way there. I was walking out of my old school building, and he was heading into it. He knew where he was going, he'd been there and back many times, but my attitude toward the place was "I am not putting up with this any longer!" while his was "I don't have much of a choice, where else am I going to go?". I stopped to talk to him, and he said he'd escort me until I knew where I was going. somehow, the building merged into a dark brushy place where the doors were supposed to be. We walked, there were some upwards slopes, but it was mostly flat. The small beaten path we were on was surrounded by thick trees and bushes. After the confusing intersection, we decided he did not need to go back. We had a lot of fun as we traveled, we passed many different colored bushes (we called them rainbow bushes) each bearing a different kind of fruit. We were laughing most of the way. And we wanted to leap over the valley when we reached it. It was beautiful. But we could not leap together. It was an unexpected ending to the otherwise directionless journey we made. And the valley from above was a wonderful image to have in my head when I woke up.
"The Men of the East may spell the stars
and times and triumphs mark,
But the Men signed of the Cross of Christ
go gaily in the dark."
~ The Ballad of the White Horse
Faust, Midas, and Myself
By Switchfoot
This one's about a dream
I had last night
How an old man tracked me home
And stepped inside
He put his foot inside the door
And gave a crooked smile
Something in his eyes
Something in his laugh
Something in his voice
It made my skin crawl off
He said, "I've seen you here before
I know your name.
You could have your pick
Of pretty things.
You could have it all
Everything at once.
Everything you've seen,
Everything you'll need,
Everything you've ever had in fantasies."
"You've one life,
You've one life.
You've one life left to lead."
I woke up from my dream
As a golden man
With a girl I've never seen
With golden skin
I jumped up to my feet
She asked me what was wrong
I began to scream
I don't think this is me
Is this just a dream
Or really happening?
What direction?
What direction?
I'm splitting up!
I'm splitting up!
This is my personal disaffection
What direction? What direction?
What direction now?
I looked outside the glass
At golden shores
with Golden ships and masts
With golden cords
As my reflection passed
I hated what I saw
My golden eyes were dead
And a thought passed through my head
A heart that's made of gold can't really beat at all
I wanted to wake up again
I wanted to wake up again
Without a touch of gold
Without a touch of gold
What direction?
Death or action!
Life begins at the intersection.
I woke up as before
But the gold was gone
My wife was at the door
With her night robe on
My heart beat once or twice
And life flooded my veins
Everything had changed
My lungs had found their voice
And what was once routine
And what was once routine was now the perfect joy
You've one life
You've one life
you've one life left to lead
I will be a college freshman in less than a month. It is time for me to choose my courses. I have always imagined myself as more of a math and science person than a creative humanities person. I think I bought into the message society sends, that art is worthless, only proven facts, and by extension the provers of the facts, are worth aspiring to. I've grown to admire artists for not only their talent, but more for their perseverance, expecially in the face of all the competition and obstacles our culture presents for them. I think I've also come to discover a bit of an artist in me, greater than the scientist in me. But I don't believe I have what it takes to be an artist as a profession. I'm not strong enough to be an artist in my world.
I was planning on taking a history class, but none of them fit into my schedule. None of the other pre-reqs I could take fit into my schedule either. As a last resort, I registered for Basic Drawing, thinking it could transfer as an elective. But I have been doubting the wisdom of this decision.
I had a dream last night. It was a rather long dream, so I will only tell the parts that seem relevant. I was in my old school, the one full of people I do not like. In the dream it was set up the way it was before they remodeled it since I've left. Mr. M's drama room was right next too Mrs. L's art room at the end of an offset, ususally empty hallway. For some reason, I was down this hallway and heading back towards the main body of the school. people were bustling about everywhere. Mr. M was talking to another memeber of the staff, but when he saw me walking in the opposite direction, he asked me what was going on, I told him what I knew, then when I started on my way again, he stopped me and said "You better be in my (drama) class this semester." I had the feeling it was my last semester and I'd avoided his class for a while. As I approached his classroom, I tried to see who was inside, who to prepare to meet. I was ready for the worst. I saw many people I've met, all of whom very full of themselves, except one girl who is a year younger than me. I met her at my second high school. We are friends. She bounced over to me through the chattering crowd.
In real life, Mr. M was my drama teacher in seventh and eighth grade, as well as my eighth grade leadership class, which sounds like a lame class but it was actually really good. The last time I was in a play, it was for his class. "Ax of Murder". I was Cassandra Tyree, the "Fortune Teller" who could "sense" where the play responsible for an increasing number of deaths was. I got to do basically whatever I wanted on stage - nothing was too crazy for this character - with a loud, thick German accent. I loved it and I received tons of positive feedback. When my sister was in his drama class, he would torment my sister about me, and people would begin asking about me. My sister reported that he said I could be a professional actress if I wanted to be one. Which carries quite a bit of weight, coming from him.
I would love to perform in a play again. But the thing with plays is that they require so much prep time, and during that prep time you are with your fellow cast members. You become a family with them, or you become a loner by yourself. Obviously, being alone is never fun. And in what I have experienced and observed, I do not like most of the personality types that become involved in drama club. Granted, my experience and observations are limited to Junior high and High School drama clubs.
I have searched for Shakespearean Theaters around where I live. Sadly, I cannot find any.
I have been told a few times by a few different people that I should be a model, a suggestion which I sincerely laugh at - the person I see in the mirror is not fit to be a model. I wonder what they see? But this has happened more than once, so I assume there is something to it.
Earlier this summer, I received a letter in the mail (not from the more common Junior Miss America I receive and ignore every year) that said someone I know thought I was a good candidate and would enjoy being in a pageant. I have no idea who gave them my name. It was not family, because they would have signed my sisters up as well. I gave the decision more thought than I would want to admit, but I ultimately decided against it. The money involved was tempting (I have college to pay for!). I decided that, flattering as it was, I would not model on principle. I believe honest work is the only right way to advance one's self, and I would like to live as unmaterialistically as I can, I will not ask for blinders. Modeling strikes me as a profession of glory without honor. I want the true, beautiful glory of honor. I would still greatly appreciate knowing who thought I would make a good pageant model. Such a mystery!
Back to last night's dream. I was traveling through a doorway in the hallway again, but this doorway looked smaller than the rest of the hall, and it was in fact even smaller than it looked! I barely managed to come out on the other side! While I was struggling to pass through, I heard one of my uncles say something. I don't remember what he said in the dream. But when I was trying to remember what he said in the dream today, I remembered a couple of things he told me in real life: God gave me every talent I have for a reason. "Use it or loose it" applies to them - I have these talents, I am meant to use every single one of them (I'd be surprised what I can get out of them), but it's up to me to exercise them, else they will disappear over time. These things he told me years ago are what I am being reminded of now, at this point in my life.
My mom has told me that she thinks I would make an excellent English teacher/theater director. I'm not so sure. To me it depends more on the people I would be working with, and the age group. But it does sound appealing to me. It bothers me that she always seems to know what decision I am going to make before I do.
The last images of the dream involve standing on top of a mountain overlooking a huge gaping valley. It was an unexpected and glorious image. I was with one guy, who I met on my way there. I was walking out of my old school building, and he was heading into it. He knew where he was going, he'd been there and back many times, but my attitude toward the place was "I am not putting up with this any longer!" while his was "I don't have much of a choice, where else am I going to go?". I stopped to talk to him, and he said he'd escort me until I knew where I was going. somehow, the building merged into a dark brushy place where the doors were supposed to be. We walked, there were some upwards slopes, but it was mostly flat. The small beaten path we were on was surrounded by thick trees and bushes. After the confusing intersection, we decided he did not need to go back. We had a lot of fun as we traveled, we passed many different colored bushes (we called them rainbow bushes) each bearing a different kind of fruit. We were laughing most of the way. And we wanted to leap over the valley when we reached it. It was beautiful. But we could not leap together. It was an unexpected ending to the otherwise directionless journey we made. And the valley from above was a wonderful image to have in my head when I woke up.
"The Men of the East may spell the stars
and times and triumphs mark,
But the Men signed of the Cross of Christ
go gaily in the dark."
~ The Ballad of the White Horse
Faust, Midas, and Myself
By Switchfoot
This one's about a dream
I had last night
How an old man tracked me home
And stepped inside
He put his foot inside the door
And gave a crooked smile
Something in his eyes
Something in his laugh
Something in his voice
It made my skin crawl off
He said, "I've seen you here before
I know your name.
You could have your pick
Of pretty things.
You could have it all
Everything at once.
Everything you've seen,
Everything you'll need,
Everything you've ever had in fantasies."
"You've one life,
You've one life.
You've one life left to lead."
I woke up from my dream
As a golden man
With a girl I've never seen
With golden skin
I jumped up to my feet
She asked me what was wrong
I began to scream
I don't think this is me
Is this just a dream
Or really happening?
What direction?
What direction?
I'm splitting up!
I'm splitting up!
This is my personal disaffection
What direction? What direction?
What direction now?
I looked outside the glass
At golden shores
with Golden ships and masts
With golden cords
As my reflection passed
I hated what I saw
My golden eyes were dead
And a thought passed through my head
A heart that's made of gold can't really beat at all
I wanted to wake up again
I wanted to wake up again
Without a touch of gold
Without a touch of gold
What direction?
Death or action!
Life begins at the intersection.
I woke up as before
But the gold was gone
My wife was at the door
With her night robe on
My heart beat once or twice
And life flooded my veins
Everything had changed
My lungs had found their voice
And what was once routine
And what was once routine was now the perfect joy
You've one life
You've one life
you've one life left to lead
Friday, August 6, 2010
Twenty-four
The Unwinding Cable Car music video, by Anberlin
I wish I could just melt this world away...
I want to see the floors and the ceilings become one mass of swirling.
I want the opposites to finally meet. To finally collide.
To swirl into each other and become something yet unseen.
I want to watch my world collapse.
Cuz I want to see what's left behind.
I want to see what's left standing when I collapse.
I want to see the framework that lends its form to the swirling mass.
Cuz I want to be a part of the framework that lends its form to the swirling mass.
I don't want to be the swirling mass.
I don't want to depend on the dependent.
I don't want relative terms to define.
I don't want to forget.
I don't want to fear.
I want to become part of the frame.
I want to stand.
Cuz there's strength in loss.
I want existence to be absolute.
Life or Death.
I want to remember.
I want peace.
I want truth.
I want grace.
I want life.
I want love.
I want to love.
I want to know.
Not yet.
Not yet.
"Twenty-four reasons to admit that I'm wrong,
with all my excuses still twenty-four strong.
I want to see miracles,
to see the world change,
to wrestle the angel
for more than a name,
for more than a feeling,
for more than a cause.
I'm singing:
Spirit, take me up in arms with you.
You're raising the dead in me."
~ Twenty-four By Switchfoot
I wish I could just melt this world away...
I want to see the floors and the ceilings become one mass of swirling.
I want the opposites to finally meet. To finally collide.
To swirl into each other and become something yet unseen.
I want to watch my world collapse.
Cuz I want to see what's left behind.
I want to see what's left standing when I collapse.
I want to see the framework that lends its form to the swirling mass.
Cuz I want to be a part of the framework that lends its form to the swirling mass.
I don't want to be the swirling mass.
I don't want to depend on the dependent.
I don't want relative terms to define.
I don't want to forget.
I don't want to fear.
I want to become part of the frame.
I want to stand.
Cuz there's strength in loss.
I want existence to be absolute.
Life or Death.
I want to remember.
I want peace.
I want truth.
I want grace.
I want life.
I want love.
I want to love.
I want to know.
Not yet.
Not yet.
"Twenty-four reasons to admit that I'm wrong,
with all my excuses still twenty-four strong.
I want to see miracles,
to see the world change,
to wrestle the angel
for more than a name,
for more than a feeling,
for more than a cause.
I'm singing:
Spirit, take me up in arms with you.
You're raising the dead in me."
~ Twenty-four By Switchfoot
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Selflessness With a Purpose
"If you want to get out alive
oh-oh, run for your life.
If I stay it won't be long
Till I'm burning on the inside
If I go I can only hope
That I make it to the other side
If you want to get out alive
oh-oh, run for your life."
~ Three Days Grace
The other night, I finally began to release some of the emotional energy I've been unable to release for months, by venting on my sister, who listened more patiently than I could have asked. It's mostly because I'm beginning the process of becoming an adult. I'll be 18 by August, which in itself carries new and foreign responsibility. I'll be attending a college where I expect I will be required to read books I can't stand as well as memorize facts and processes and systems I consider unimportant. I have yet to attain my driver's license, when in no way do I enjoy driving. A large part of me wants to become a 5-year-old again, and remain there. The small part of me that wants to be excited about moving into adulthood knows I'm terrified, and that I want to run. I feel like I need to run. This is how I run: with words and ideas.
The questions I find myself repeating: Seriously, why can I not remain like a five-year-old? Why can't everyone? Why am I expected to grow in a way that will enable me to find a place in this lightning-paced, specialized, pre-packaged, man-made, materialistic, empty monstrosity of a business world whose only goal is "progress", change? It can't be constant, its only aim is itself, it cannot stand, it will not last. I hate it with a furious passion, as I demonstrated with words and volume for my sister. But instead of searching for the answers to begin living, I found myself loudly ranting about what I see and believe has gone wrong, and everyone involved.
I attempted to justify branching off the point in such a way by stating that even though it's too late to erase the present problem, maybe if its cause can be discovered it can be prevented from happening again in the future.
But I crossed the fine line between prudent search with words to angry, blind, directionless stumble when I decided the cause deserved more attention than the solution. When I decided to tear down what I don't believe in, instead of building something better.
Since this release, I have read something that made me question everything I claim is bothering me, because I'm not quite ready to admit what is really going on. I have been wrong. The article I read ended with this quote:
" 'You love your work. God help you, you love it! And that's the curse. That's the brand on your forehead for all of them to see… The substance of them is hatred for any man who loves his work. That's the only kind they fear.'
It's better to be true than to be cool. Be yourself. Do what you love. "
~ "The Only Kind They Fear"
There's something to be said for passion. Even passion for something I don't necessarily agree with. Because passion means turning yourself inside-out, giving everything you have to something or someone you believe in, without considering the cost to yourself. True passion means selflessness with a purpose. Materialism is dangerous because it directs passion toward self-satisfaction before anything or anyone else. It's true deception. Materialism is the snare I feel is the strongest, it is the one I fear most.
I don't agree with many things I see people do and the way I see many people live. What I do and the way I live probably seem totally illogical to them as well. But I believe that every person is more important than I will ever understand. If one person is truly passionate about anything - if they purely and truly love something - I can't hate it.
So yes, I am afraid. I fight this fear with apathy. I'm afraid of not reaching goals, so I don't let myself dream - I can't feel disappointment when I never hoped. I'm afraid of screwing up my life, so I depend on other people as much as possible - I won't feel as responsible when I fail. I'm afraid of failing, so I don't try - I can't fail where I don't attempt to succeed.
I fight my fear with apathy, and I am defeated before I begin. I'm defeated by myself. Apathy does not destroy fear, apathy feeds fear. Passion destroys fear.
I'm growing up. It is not an overnight process, though it sometimes seems overwhelming. The only way I see to the other side is accepting life (the highs and lows alike), taking it as it comes, savoring every moment, allowing myself to grow every day, trusting that I am growing straight. Not running. My plan is to take each day by itself, and constantly do my best. Consistency will demand discipline, discipline will demand sacrifice, sacrifice will develop into passion, God willing. I'll feel lost in a blur of continual movement, and fear will flee the organized madness that will be my life. I am not ready for this, but peace never followed calm. Fires cannot start in motion.
I am not only escaping burning on the inside, I am not looking to get out just alive. I am finding purpose in self-sacrifice. I will be forfeiting the innocence of youth, leaping, and actively hoping.
Passion.
Passion. For what?
"No passion so effectively robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear."
~ Edmund Burke
oh-oh, run for your life.
If I stay it won't be long
Till I'm burning on the inside
If I go I can only hope
That I make it to the other side
If you want to get out alive
oh-oh, run for your life."
~ Three Days Grace
The other night, I finally began to release some of the emotional energy I've been unable to release for months, by venting on my sister, who listened more patiently than I could have asked. It's mostly because I'm beginning the process of becoming an adult. I'll be 18 by August, which in itself carries new and foreign responsibility. I'll be attending a college where I expect I will be required to read books I can't stand as well as memorize facts and processes and systems I consider unimportant. I have yet to attain my driver's license, when in no way do I enjoy driving. A large part of me wants to become a 5-year-old again, and remain there. The small part of me that wants to be excited about moving into adulthood knows I'm terrified, and that I want to run. I feel like I need to run. This is how I run: with words and ideas.
The questions I find myself repeating: Seriously, why can I not remain like a five-year-old? Why can't everyone? Why am I expected to grow in a way that will enable me to find a place in this lightning-paced, specialized, pre-packaged, man-made, materialistic, empty monstrosity of a business world whose only goal is "progress", change? It can't be constant, its only aim is itself, it cannot stand, it will not last. I hate it with a furious passion, as I demonstrated with words and volume for my sister. But instead of searching for the answers to begin living, I found myself loudly ranting about what I see and believe has gone wrong, and everyone involved.
I attempted to justify branching off the point in such a way by stating that even though it's too late to erase the present problem, maybe if its cause can be discovered it can be prevented from happening again in the future.
But I crossed the fine line between prudent search with words to angry, blind, directionless stumble when I decided the cause deserved more attention than the solution. When I decided to tear down what I don't believe in, instead of building something better.
Since this release, I have read something that made me question everything I claim is bothering me, because I'm not quite ready to admit what is really going on. I have been wrong. The article I read ended with this quote:
" 'You love your work. God help you, you love it! And that's the curse. That's the brand on your forehead for all of them to see… The substance of them is hatred for any man who loves his work. That's the only kind they fear.'
It's better to be true than to be cool. Be yourself. Do what you love. "
~ "The Only Kind They Fear"
There's something to be said for passion. Even passion for something I don't necessarily agree with. Because passion means turning yourself inside-out, giving everything you have to something or someone you believe in, without considering the cost to yourself. True passion means selflessness with a purpose. Materialism is dangerous because it directs passion toward self-satisfaction before anything or anyone else. It's true deception. Materialism is the snare I feel is the strongest, it is the one I fear most.
I don't agree with many things I see people do and the way I see many people live. What I do and the way I live probably seem totally illogical to them as well. But I believe that every person is more important than I will ever understand. If one person is truly passionate about anything - if they purely and truly love something - I can't hate it.
So yes, I am afraid. I fight this fear with apathy. I'm afraid of not reaching goals, so I don't let myself dream - I can't feel disappointment when I never hoped. I'm afraid of screwing up my life, so I depend on other people as much as possible - I won't feel as responsible when I fail. I'm afraid of failing, so I don't try - I can't fail where I don't attempt to succeed.
I fight my fear with apathy, and I am defeated before I begin. I'm defeated by myself. Apathy does not destroy fear, apathy feeds fear. Passion destroys fear.
I'm growing up. It is not an overnight process, though it sometimes seems overwhelming. The only way I see to the other side is accepting life (the highs and lows alike), taking it as it comes, savoring every moment, allowing myself to grow every day, trusting that I am growing straight. Not running. My plan is to take each day by itself, and constantly do my best. Consistency will demand discipline, discipline will demand sacrifice, sacrifice will develop into passion, God willing. I'll feel lost in a blur of continual movement, and fear will flee the organized madness that will be my life. I am not ready for this, but peace never followed calm. Fires cannot start in motion.
I am not only escaping burning on the inside, I am not looking to get out just alive. I am finding purpose in self-sacrifice. I will be forfeiting the innocence of youth, leaping, and actively hoping.
Passion.
Passion. For what?
"No passion so effectively robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear."
~ Edmund Burke
Monday, July 12, 2010
A Response to Jamie T's Blog
Jamie Tworkowski is the person responsible for starting the organization To Write Love On Her Arms. He is also one of my all-time favorite writers, if not my all-time most favorite writer. He is very powerful, and what's more: he's painfully honest.
I read one of his blog entries tonight.
"The kids near us cheered and screamed for reasons unrelated, the surfers surfed and the announcers added noise. She moved slowly across the rocks and at the end, she stopped and threw the flowers to the sea. “Today must be bittersweet for you,” I said, after small talk and some silence. “Every day is bittersweet,” she replied."
Spread the truth. Destroy the lies. Or one by one, we will fall.
I read one of his blog entries tonight.
"The kids near us cheered and screamed for reasons unrelated, the surfers surfed and the announcers added noise. She moved slowly across the rocks and at the end, she stopped and threw the flowers to the sea. “Today must be bittersweet for you,” I said, after small talk and some silence. “Every day is bittersweet,” she replied."
Maybe what Jamie saw Zeke's mom do is what Zeke sees now. I wonder what he thinks of his suicide now, I wonder if he would like others to see his mother's pain. I wonder if he would do it again.
I wonder if Zeke now must watch her, if Jamie saw her, so us readers could see her through his eyes. Maybe we're meant to see his mother's pain. Maybe even more good can still come from it.Spread the truth. Destroy the lies. Or one by one, we will fall.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Less is More
"With people you must become more like yourself to have a good relationship, but with God you must loose yourself first."
It seems I need to define what "good" means in this quote before I can understand what it is saying. I think "good" means something like "of God". If both "yourself"s mean the same thing, the only way I can think of to define "yourself" is with "what you desire to be".
I think it all starts with the second part of the quote. You must give your will to Him entirely, and He'll give Himself to you in return. Then, once you are living in this Love, it is possible for you to truly become all you are meant to be, all you desire to be, through surrender to God. "...plans for welfare and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope..." God will become a part of every relationship you are in, and so they will be good because they will be "of God".
Surrendering to God's will results in growth intrinsically as well as extrinsically, which are both good. It means fulfillment of who you are as a human.
It seems I need to define what "good" means in this quote before I can understand what it is saying. I think "good" means something like "of God". If both "yourself"s mean the same thing, the only way I can think of to define "yourself" is with "what you desire to be".
I think it all starts with the second part of the quote. You must give your will to Him entirely, and He'll give Himself to you in return. Then, once you are living in this Love, it is possible for you to truly become all you are meant to be, all you desire to be, through surrender to God. "...plans for welfare and not for calamity, to give you a future and a hope..." God will become a part of every relationship you are in, and so they will be good because they will be "of God".
Surrendering to God's will results in growth intrinsically as well as extrinsically, which are both good. It means fulfillment of who you are as a human.
"Too cowardly to take a life?"
- "What's the matter boy? Too cowardly to take a life?"
- (lowers sword) "It's not mine to take."
My favorite words from the Disney movie version of Prince Caspian. Peter and Miraz had been dueling. Realizing his helpless position, Miraz calls for respite. Peter chivalrously grants it, but as he turns to walk away, Miraz moves to attack the unarmed Narnian King from behind. After a sequence of largely hand-to-hand combat, Miraz is found on his knees at the feet of Peter, who has the sword poised to administer the fatal slash. No one moves. In the rush of anger and hate and adreneline, in the heat of battle, these words are whispered. Peter would not kill an unarmed man, even one who has destroyed the kingdom Peter has been given and led and loved, and who was ready to kill Peter in cold blood only moments before. Peter holds himself to a higher standard. His body, his emotions, and his mind are swirling, but he has kept a stable truth at the center of every action. He will not kill an unarmed man, even if it seems justifiable. He shows mercy where it wasn't shown to him. And Aslan returns shortly thereafter.
This is Home
by Switchfoot
I've got my memories
always inside of me
but I can't go back,
back to how it was.
I believe you now.
I've come too far.
No I can't go back,
back to how it was.
Oh, oh, oh.
I'm moving forward.
So every day starts with a magic spark
I got my hopes high with the second start
So you give yourself away with your miracle heart
Yeah, just to be alive is a magic art
We are miracles
every breath is magic
Belief over misery
I've seen the enemy
and I won't go back
back to how it was
and I got my heart set
on what happens next
I got my eyes wide
it's not over yet
we are miracles and we're not alone
That's when every day starts with a magic spark
I got my hopes high with the second start
we are miracles, every breath is magic
That's when you give yourself away with your miracle heart.
Yeah, just to be alive is a magic art
We are miracles, every breath is magic.
- (lowers sword) "It's not mine to take."
My favorite words from the Disney movie version of Prince Caspian. Peter and Miraz had been dueling. Realizing his helpless position, Miraz calls for respite. Peter chivalrously grants it, but as he turns to walk away, Miraz moves to attack the unarmed Narnian King from behind. After a sequence of largely hand-to-hand combat, Miraz is found on his knees at the feet of Peter, who has the sword poised to administer the fatal slash. No one moves. In the rush of anger and hate and adreneline, in the heat of battle, these words are whispered. Peter would not kill an unarmed man, even one who has destroyed the kingdom Peter has been given and led and loved, and who was ready to kill Peter in cold blood only moments before. Peter holds himself to a higher standard. His body, his emotions, and his mind are swirling, but he has kept a stable truth at the center of every action. He will not kill an unarmed man, even if it seems justifiable. He shows mercy where it wasn't shown to him. And Aslan returns shortly thereafter.
This is Home
by Switchfoot
I've got my memories
always inside of me
but I can't go back,
back to how it was.
I believe you now.
I've come too far.
No I can't go back,
back to how it was.
Oh, oh, oh.
I'm moving forward.
So every day starts with a magic spark
I got my hopes high with the second start
So you give yourself away with your miracle heart
Yeah, just to be alive is a magic art
We are miracles
every breath is magic
Belief over misery
I've seen the enemy
and I won't go back
back to how it was
and I got my heart set
on what happens next
I got my eyes wide
it's not over yet
we are miracles and we're not alone
That's when every day starts with a magic spark
I got my hopes high with the second start
we are miracles, every breath is magic
That's when you give yourself away with your miracle heart.
Yeah, just to be alive is a magic art
We are miracles, every breath is magic.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Politics over Purpose... Head over Heels
I feel like an idiot. Like I've stood here and watched the world make a fool of me. I feel like I'm lost. I don't feel like I belong here in this place, even though there are many people here I call my family. I feel like I'm expected to compromise everything I am and who I would like to believe I am, to become part of the world. A part of me wants to comply. I've let that part of me lead for a while, and I feel hollow because of it. I am now disappointed in so many things, in the world, in other people who I can now see have given in to the lies I'm now facing, but mostly in myself for so easily letting go of all I've had that's worth clinging to, everything worth dying for. It's certainly worth living for.
I want to fall in love with it all again. I don't want to believe in myself. I don't want to confine myself to me. I want to experience Heaven on Earth, I want to help create it here, building it up out of the rubble of Eden. I want to choose Life. I choose Life over mere existance, no matter what the price. I want to truly remember, and maybe come to know, that the problems and the answers alike are much deeper than the surface, that mere action is never the answer, that without Grace there is no healing, there is no life. I want every day to feel like the miracle it is. I want to see a soul worth the Blood of God in every set of eyes I meet.
But this is only what I want.
There seems to be two highly contrasting images that symbolize power to different people.
The first image is of power, recognition, a finished touch to themselves. This image could involve any number of different goals, but some of the more common ones could include: tall buildings in the middle of the city; people swarming the streets, each always with somewhere else to be, never settled; cars glistening in the lights, whether they be natural or spot; neatly cared for, large, air conditioned homes; carefully pruned and groomed gardens and lawns; personal physical appearance meets the ideal of the current culture.
The second image is something like this: a man on a cross on a hill surrounded by people in a shadow. Blood, sweat, saliva, and tears create the only layer separating Him from His creation. Pain, Abandonment, Fear, Courage, Love saturate the air. It cannot be proven, only experienced.
If you never kneel, you can never receive a Crown.
When I compromise anything that actually matters, and I water it down or bend it or totally break it or simply ignore it, it is impossible for me to actually hold it as the center of my life. If I'm not willing to live for it, I could not be willing to die for it. If I'm not prepared to die for something greater than me, I see only one reason to continue living. The one reason is necessary and it is enough, but more is possible.
So all those "wants" I listed, what will I do about them?
This hole I find myself in begin whens my dream alters to fit this third dimension. When it's lost, you're alone. When it's there, you're empty because all you define yourself by is surrounding you, not inside. The hollow spheres shatter easily, not to mention the inconsistancy of their rolling, should they survive. They are slaves to gravity.
In one blinding and deadly motion, I forfeit the foundation and the structure. Gravity is pressing me, suffocating me. I feel my weakness, and I cave.
Never turn your back on a known enemy.
But what if you find that enemy in yourself?
Head Over Heels (In This Life)
By Switchfoot
Head over here and take me
Head over heels I'm aching
When I told you I was yours
I was yours
In this life, you're the one place I call home
In this life, you're the feeling I belong
In this life, you're the flower and the thorn
You're everything that's fair in love and war
I'm coming down like a gunshot
In all these battles I've fought
You're the mark I'm aiming for
I was yours
Head over heels
In this life I'm stubborn to the core
In this life I've been burning after more
We both know what these open arms are for
You're everything that's fair
In this life, you're my only one
I want to fall in love with it all again. I don't want to believe in myself. I don't want to confine myself to me. I want to experience Heaven on Earth, I want to help create it here, building it up out of the rubble of Eden. I want to choose Life. I choose Life over mere existance, no matter what the price. I want to truly remember, and maybe come to know, that the problems and the answers alike are much deeper than the surface, that mere action is never the answer, that without Grace there is no healing, there is no life. I want every day to feel like the miracle it is. I want to see a soul worth the Blood of God in every set of eyes I meet.
But this is only what I want.
There seems to be two highly contrasting images that symbolize power to different people.
The first image is of power, recognition, a finished touch to themselves. This image could involve any number of different goals, but some of the more common ones could include: tall buildings in the middle of the city; people swarming the streets, each always with somewhere else to be, never settled; cars glistening in the lights, whether they be natural or spot; neatly cared for, large, air conditioned homes; carefully pruned and groomed gardens and lawns; personal physical appearance meets the ideal of the current culture.
The second image is something like this: a man on a cross on a hill surrounded by people in a shadow. Blood, sweat, saliva, and tears create the only layer separating Him from His creation. Pain, Abandonment, Fear, Courage, Love saturate the air. It cannot be proven, only experienced.
If you never kneel, you can never receive a Crown.
When I compromise anything that actually matters, and I water it down or bend it or totally break it or simply ignore it, it is impossible for me to actually hold it as the center of my life. If I'm not willing to live for it, I could not be willing to die for it. If I'm not prepared to die for something greater than me, I see only one reason to continue living. The one reason is necessary and it is enough, but more is possible.
So all those "wants" I listed, what will I do about them?
This hole I find myself in begin whens my dream alters to fit this third dimension. When it's lost, you're alone. When it's there, you're empty because all you define yourself by is surrounding you, not inside. The hollow spheres shatter easily, not to mention the inconsistancy of their rolling, should they survive. They are slaves to gravity.
In one blinding and deadly motion, I forfeit the foundation and the structure. Gravity is pressing me, suffocating me. I feel my weakness, and I cave.
Never turn your back on a known enemy.
But what if you find that enemy in yourself?
Head Over Heels (In This Life)
By Switchfoot
Head over here and take me
Head over heels I'm aching
When I told you I was yours
I was yours
In this life, you're the one place I call home
In this life, you're the feeling I belong
In this life, you're the flower and the thorn
You're everything that's fair in love and war
I'm coming down like a gunshot
In all these battles I've fought
You're the mark I'm aiming for
I was yours
Head over heels
In this life I'm stubborn to the core
In this life I've been burning after more
We both know what these open arms are for
You're everything that's fair
In this life, you're my only one
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Let Me Know
The other night, I couldn't sleep. My body would not shut down and neither would my mind. I was running on thoughts. I realized that I have never made a particular statement. Since that sleepless night, it has occured to me that even though the statement is true, I have no right to make it.
I've noticed that the stereotypical 4-year-old girl is dressed as a princess, waving her wand, keeping her kingdom in order. The stereotypical 4-year-old boy would be wearing a red firefighter's helmet, pushing a matching toy fire engine. In his imagination, perhaps he's climbing the ladder to reach the top floor of the burning building and snatch a trapped soul away from the flames. I can't help but think of the prince, waking Aurora from the spell in the tallest tower, as she lay helpless and cornered by the fire-breathing dragon. C.S. Lewis's Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve were kings and queens, they were children, and Narnia experienced peace and joy during their reign. At the sight of a tiara, there's something inside every female that always leaps toward it, while the rest of her holds her back. There's something about the idea of living in a palace that is attractive, thus we see mansions continue to appear in rather obscure locations as well as in everyday scenery, and always, always in the stories of the culture. The average American's house is more luxurious than the homes of most of the Kings of the world. Does this knowledge cause you to look at your home any differently? At your lifestyle any differently? At your life any differently?
Every human being is in fact royalty. We are born believing it, but we are taught to compare ourselves to the people around us. We allow ourselves to be jaded into living as if we're all the same. But we were made for more than what we know.
We begin to judge ourselves by what we own, where we come from, where we're going, our intelligence, our habits, what we do, who we know, what other people say or think about us, etc. And we continue to judge others and judge ourselves, and create an image for who we want to become. We forget who we are now, and how to see that it is good. We forget what good looks like. And we wonder why we are not content. And our attempt to create happiness for ourselves continues.
"As time rolls by
my dreams have become
that which is attainable:
not what I'm looking for!"
~ "Company Car"
There's a scene in the movie "The Little Princess" where Sarah, the rich motherless girl from India, argues with Miss Minchin, the head of the boarding school to which Sarah was sent by her father when he enlisted. He has since gone missing in action. Miss Minchin has just mocked Sarah's stories she would tell the other girls of being an Indian princess, as Sarah is currently a servant, dressed in poor clothes, living in a drafty attic, not allowed to socialize with anyone. The following is Sarah's response to Miss Minchin's stinging insults: "I AM a princess! ALL girls are. Even if they're dressed in rags, even if they aren't pretty or smart or young, they're still princesses! All of us. Didn't your father ever tell you that? DIDN'T HE?"
In "Braveheart", there's a scene where the Prince bribes Wallace to end the crusade he began against oppression, tyranny, and injustice, by offering him lands, the title of a Noble, whatever he may ask for. Wallace turns around and responds: "Now tell me, what does that mean to be Noble?"
It's not titles, or property, or power. It's none of these materials we fill our loveless and numbered days with. It's none of the pursuits I see in the lonely and lost eyes of the wandering people in this city, as they spin, victimized in the circles they themselves create. The desire is there, the fulfillment is not. The desire to be something, or someone, greater.
Man has declared the pursuit of happiness a right. Because the pursuit of true happiness means the pursuit of the right to say "I am a Prince." or "I am a Princess." Not a Prince or Princess in the sense of paparazzi, and scandal, and fleets of jets, and diamond adornments in every crack and crevice of the body. No, a true royal would see that less is more, they would not think it below themselves to become a servant. Willing self-surrender and honor are inseparable. Similar to God and freedom. No one can earn the right to claim to be a true Princess or Prince, because it's a gift freely received, and the price was the highest.
I am pursuing the right. I know I'll never deserve it. But I know there's better than what I see. And if there's not, I would rather spend my life pursuing this dream than settling for this otherwise lifeless world.
"Let me know that You hear me.
Let me know Your touch.
Let me know that You love me,
and let that be enough."
~ "Let That Be Enough"
I've noticed that the stereotypical 4-year-old girl is dressed as a princess, waving her wand, keeping her kingdom in order. The stereotypical 4-year-old boy would be wearing a red firefighter's helmet, pushing a matching toy fire engine. In his imagination, perhaps he's climbing the ladder to reach the top floor of the burning building and snatch a trapped soul away from the flames. I can't help but think of the prince, waking Aurora from the spell in the tallest tower, as she lay helpless and cornered by the fire-breathing dragon. C.S. Lewis's Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve were kings and queens, they were children, and Narnia experienced peace and joy during their reign. At the sight of a tiara, there's something inside every female that always leaps toward it, while the rest of her holds her back. There's something about the idea of living in a palace that is attractive, thus we see mansions continue to appear in rather obscure locations as well as in everyday scenery, and always, always in the stories of the culture. The average American's house is more luxurious than the homes of most of the Kings of the world. Does this knowledge cause you to look at your home any differently? At your lifestyle any differently? At your life any differently?
Every human being is in fact royalty. We are born believing it, but we are taught to compare ourselves to the people around us. We allow ourselves to be jaded into living as if we're all the same. But we were made for more than what we know.
We begin to judge ourselves by what we own, where we come from, where we're going, our intelligence, our habits, what we do, who we know, what other people say or think about us, etc. And we continue to judge others and judge ourselves, and create an image for who we want to become. We forget who we are now, and how to see that it is good. We forget what good looks like. And we wonder why we are not content. And our attempt to create happiness for ourselves continues.
"As time rolls by
my dreams have become
that which is attainable:
not what I'm looking for!"
~ "Company Car"
There's a scene in the movie "The Little Princess" where Sarah, the rich motherless girl from India, argues with Miss Minchin, the head of the boarding school to which Sarah was sent by her father when he enlisted. He has since gone missing in action. Miss Minchin has just mocked Sarah's stories she would tell the other girls of being an Indian princess, as Sarah is currently a servant, dressed in poor clothes, living in a drafty attic, not allowed to socialize with anyone. The following is Sarah's response to Miss Minchin's stinging insults: "I AM a princess! ALL girls are. Even if they're dressed in rags, even if they aren't pretty or smart or young, they're still princesses! All of us. Didn't your father ever tell you that? DIDN'T HE?"
In "Braveheart", there's a scene where the Prince bribes Wallace to end the crusade he began against oppression, tyranny, and injustice, by offering him lands, the title of a Noble, whatever he may ask for. Wallace turns around and responds: "Now tell me, what does that mean to be Noble?"
It's not titles, or property, or power. It's none of these materials we fill our loveless and numbered days with. It's none of the pursuits I see in the lonely and lost eyes of the wandering people in this city, as they spin, victimized in the circles they themselves create. The desire is there, the fulfillment is not. The desire to be something, or someone, greater.
Man has declared the pursuit of happiness a right. Because the pursuit of true happiness means the pursuit of the right to say "I am a Prince." or "I am a Princess." Not a Prince or Princess in the sense of paparazzi, and scandal, and fleets of jets, and diamond adornments in every crack and crevice of the body. No, a true royal would see that less is more, they would not think it below themselves to become a servant. Willing self-surrender and honor are inseparable. Similar to God and freedom. No one can earn the right to claim to be a true Princess or Prince, because it's a gift freely received, and the price was the highest.
I am pursuing the right. I know I'll never deserve it. But I know there's better than what I see. And if there's not, I would rather spend my life pursuing this dream than settling for this otherwise lifeless world.
"Let me know that You hear me.
Let me know Your touch.
Let me know that You love me,
and let that be enough."
~ "Let That Be Enough"
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Little by Little
The school year is over. High school is over. I am not sure what I am feeling right now. I am 17. I am expected by some to know how I will be spending my life in a quarter of a century. It seems I am supposed to be confident in the decisions I am making right now, but these are the first decisions of this size that I am making. And only I can make them. And they will determine the rest of my life.
Maybe I'm taking it too seriously.
Maybe I'm not taking it seriously enough.
High school didn't teach me how to make decisions. High school taught me to not take myself too seriously, because I have no idea what I'm doing. High school taught me to not take what other people say and do too seriously because they're just as clueless as I am. High school taught me that the people in charge, the people running the show, don't know the plot themselves. For all of their directions and advice and demands, they're trying to come up with a story as they go. High school has taught me that the story of the play they are trying to direct is written as it's performed, by the actors, the students.
High school has taught me that no one really knows what they're doing. And that's ok.
So we fill our days with worksheets and the memorization of facts that are relevent to little, each of us trying to write our own stories line by line, letter by letter, little by little.
High school has taught me that life is lived little by little.
Now about those life-altering decisions...
"Today is ours,
condemned to be free.
I'm free to keep breathing..."
~ "Sooner or Later"
Maybe I'm taking it too seriously.
Maybe I'm not taking it seriously enough.
High school didn't teach me how to make decisions. High school taught me to not take myself too seriously, because I have no idea what I'm doing. High school taught me to not take what other people say and do too seriously because they're just as clueless as I am. High school taught me that the people in charge, the people running the show, don't know the plot themselves. For all of their directions and advice and demands, they're trying to come up with a story as they go. High school has taught me that the story of the play they are trying to direct is written as it's performed, by the actors, the students.
High school has taught me that no one really knows what they're doing. And that's ok.
So we fill our days with worksheets and the memorization of facts that are relevent to little, each of us trying to write our own stories line by line, letter by letter, little by little.
High school has taught me that life is lived little by little.
Now about those life-altering decisions...
"Today is ours,
condemned to be free.
I'm free to keep breathing..."
~ "Sooner or Later"
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
what's in a name, really?
The fall of every great nation has begun with the disregard for human life. History proves it. People are meant to come before anything else in this material life. Becuase people are more than material. Much, much more.
I was daydreaming the other day. I was looking out the front window, at the leaves and grass and trees and road and houses and lake across the street. I was watching the leaves and grass especially. When the wind blew, only the leaves that trapped themselves between the blades of grass didn't move. The rest easily floated on the ground, above the grass, continually moving, without rest, freely lending themselves to the unknown and the uncontrolled. Those leaves could easily be moved from one side of the yard to the other, in no time at all.
I have this symbolic visual of the world/my world in my head. The Earth is normal - universe, clouds, sky, atmosphere, forests/cities/mountains, ground, core of earth. This is as the world should be, everything about it works with the rest to support life. It makes the most sense, with gravity being the foundation of the entire order. Humanity, in our fallen state, desires more, or what we perceive to be more. We decide that we are not content with the ground beneath our feet, we want the clouds beneath us. We attempt to defy gravity like the clouds, but our weight keeps us safe un the ground where we can't fall any lower. We jump till we're upside down, the world turns inside out, it goes flat, and most of us are lost. People can be seen drifting off into nothing, because they succeeded in defying gravity. Not everyone is lost in nothingness, though. Some people clung to the poles penetrating every layer of the world just before it flipped, the poles that hold everything together, the poles working for gravity, because they are part of gravity. When gravity releases the world and leaves humanity to deal with what we do, these poles, these constants remain. Only the people ready in the moment of world transformation are safe. The constants are the absolute truth, what is essential to Life in every sense, what will never change. There will always be suffering. There will always be sacrifice and pain of every kind. The power struggles will continue, and the common, plain, everyday people will always exist. Within these people lie the force of the world. Unfortunately, these individuals are silenced by the powers that be, because they are individuals. Unity is powerful. Fear is paralyzing. Life always finds a way to continue. Death continues to find a way to leech.
"Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?"
Suffering, pain, smallness, individuals, plainness, commonness, death are the constants of life. These instill fear, but they are the sources of our strength. They are our constants. They are true. When the world forgets itself, these become the new desire and the new hope. They preserve life.
Spirit
By Switchfoot
Spirit, fall fresh on me (2x)
Hear my cry, fill my life
I won't need anything but You
I found all that I want, all that I longed for in You (2x)
Wasted time, is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You
Spirit, come be my joy (2x)
Be my song, fill my lungs
I wont need anything but You
I found all that I want, all that I longed for in You (2x)
Wasted time, is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You (2x)
Wasted time is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You
All that I want, all that I long for in You
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You (2x)
I've found all that I want, all that I long for is You
Yes, You're all that I want, all that I long for is You
I was daydreaming the other day. I was looking out the front window, at the leaves and grass and trees and road and houses and lake across the street. I was watching the leaves and grass especially. When the wind blew, only the leaves that trapped themselves between the blades of grass didn't move. The rest easily floated on the ground, above the grass, continually moving, without rest, freely lending themselves to the unknown and the uncontrolled. Those leaves could easily be moved from one side of the yard to the other, in no time at all.
I have this symbolic visual of the world/my world in my head. The Earth is normal - universe, clouds, sky, atmosphere, forests/cities/mountains, ground, core of earth. This is as the world should be, everything about it works with the rest to support life. It makes the most sense, with gravity being the foundation of the entire order. Humanity, in our fallen state, desires more, or what we perceive to be more. We decide that we are not content with the ground beneath our feet, we want the clouds beneath us. We attempt to defy gravity like the clouds, but our weight keeps us safe un the ground where we can't fall any lower. We jump till we're upside down, the world turns inside out, it goes flat, and most of us are lost. People can be seen drifting off into nothing, because they succeeded in defying gravity. Not everyone is lost in nothingness, though. Some people clung to the poles penetrating every layer of the world just before it flipped, the poles that hold everything together, the poles working for gravity, because they are part of gravity. When gravity releases the world and leaves humanity to deal with what we do, these poles, these constants remain. Only the people ready in the moment of world transformation are safe. The constants are the absolute truth, what is essential to Life in every sense, what will never change. There will always be suffering. There will always be sacrifice and pain of every kind. The power struggles will continue, and the common, plain, everyday people will always exist. Within these people lie the force of the world. Unfortunately, these individuals are silenced by the powers that be, because they are individuals. Unity is powerful. Fear is paralyzing. Life always finds a way to continue. Death continues to find a way to leech.
"Is there any honest song to sing besides these blues?"
Suffering, pain, smallness, individuals, plainness, commonness, death are the constants of life. These instill fear, but they are the sources of our strength. They are our constants. They are true. When the world forgets itself, these become the new desire and the new hope. They preserve life.
Spirit
By Switchfoot
Spirit, fall fresh on me (2x)
Hear my cry, fill my life
I won't need anything but You
I found all that I want, all that I longed for in You (2x)
Wasted time, is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You
Spirit, come be my joy (2x)
Be my song, fill my lungs
I wont need anything but You
I found all that I want, all that I longed for in You (2x)
Wasted time, is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You (2x)
Wasted time is when I'm far from Your truth
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You
All that I want, all that I long for in You
I've found all that I want, all that I long for in You (2x)
I've found all that I want, all that I long for is You
Yes, You're all that I want, all that I long for is You
Saturday, February 27, 2010
A Thought On Song
When I listen to some songs, I want to vomit. In these, I hear deceit, pain, fear, the cry of the lost, despair convinced it's found life in emptiness. There is no beauty to be found in these, no art, no love, no life.
When I listen to other songs I get a headache because they have no true substance, yet have the following of nations bc of the name or company backing them, they would never thrive even if they did manage to survive in the music market for the songs themselves.
When I listen to other songs, I start laughing bc they view a serious or ordinary object or action in a completely unconventional yet truthful light that makes it seem totally different. The idea would be considered insane if the song didn't explain it, but even after the song ends the conventional continues unphased.
When I listen to other songs, I start daydreaming and I allow the music to carry me somewhere I've never been.
When I listen to other songs, I begin to think and question and doubt enough to not feel secure in what I take for granted, they point me back toward what I value, toward death and love and life and suffering, toward the unseen realities. They remind me to remind myself of the significance of existance and what it all comes down to, what matters most.
Then there are songs that cause me to forget how to breathe. These are the songs that capture a moment of beauty and convert it into an auditory portrait that leaves me wishing it possible to jump into the canvas of soundwaves, leaving the world behind forever, living in that moment of relative bliss. Is it possible?
"It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. 'Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars.'
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness."
~ twloha.com
Is it possible?
When I listen to other songs I get a headache because they have no true substance, yet have the following of nations bc of the name or company backing them, they would never thrive even if they did manage to survive in the music market for the songs themselves.
When I listen to other songs, I start laughing bc they view a serious or ordinary object or action in a completely unconventional yet truthful light that makes it seem totally different. The idea would be considered insane if the song didn't explain it, but even after the song ends the conventional continues unphased.
When I listen to other songs, I start daydreaming and I allow the music to carry me somewhere I've never been.
When I listen to other songs, I begin to think and question and doubt enough to not feel secure in what I take for granted, they point me back toward what I value, toward death and love and life and suffering, toward the unseen realities. They remind me to remind myself of the significance of existance and what it all comes down to, what matters most.
Then there are songs that cause me to forget how to breathe. These are the songs that capture a moment of beauty and convert it into an auditory portrait that leaves me wishing it possible to jump into the canvas of soundwaves, leaving the world behind forever, living in that moment of relative bliss. Is it possible?
"It hits me that she won't see this skyline for several weeks, and we will be without her. I lean forward, knowing this will be written, and I ask what she'd say if her story had an audience. She smiles. 'Tell them to look up. Tell them to remember the stars.'
I would rather write her a song, because songs don't wait to resolve, and because songs mean so much to her. Stories wait for endings, but songs are brave things bold enough to sing when all they know is darkness."
~ twloha.com
Is it possible?
Monday, February 22, 2010
The Manhattan Declaration
please read and sign this if you are so inspired.
Sorry it's been a while since I've posted anything. I guess I haven't been too inspired to write on any one specific topic. Many little inspirations, but none complex or involved enough to blog about. :)
Check out the above link. This was sent to me in January, but I didn't actually take the time to read the email or facebook links, so my bad. I signed it today. It still needs many signatures to reach the goal of 1 million, so sign and send to other people so the goal can be reached - every signature counts.
peace to you
sarah
Sorry it's been a while since I've posted anything. I guess I haven't been too inspired to write on any one specific topic. Many little inspirations, but none complex or involved enough to blog about. :)
Check out the above link. This was sent to me in January, but I didn't actually take the time to read the email or facebook links, so my bad. I signed it today. It still needs many signatures to reach the goal of 1 million, so sign and send to other people so the goal can be reached - every signature counts.
peace to you
sarah
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