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
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