"...all Narnia will...perish in fire and water."

With bowed crown I paced steadily, silent, and alone across the darkened floor.  Bleachers lined the wall to my left. Their complete fall ended at my feet.  To my right was a stage.  Illumined by the only burning light, an artist perched on his platform as he gently sang a song he believed.  It was safe in his voice. 

"It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift..."

Between he and I was a void twice as wide as his audience.  We were more than oceans apart.

"...Well baby, I’ve been here before
I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor
You know, I used to live alone before I knew ya..."

His song was enchantingly somber.  It penetrated my skin, coursed through my veins, dug into my skeleton, invaded my body, attempted to resuscitate the vitals that could call me back. 

"...But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was..."

Those traitors upon which I stand continued their own indifferent beat until they carried me to the center.   I was a specter of the elevated performer; he hunched over his instrument, I over the chasm in my chest.  From my land of shadows I crossed him on his pedestal.  For a moment, we eclipsed.  He struck his crescendo:

"Hallelujah!" : a roaring proclamation. 
"Hallelujah," : a statement.
"Hallelujah..." : a hope.

Trembling from core to cuticle, the song flickered out.  Transparency drowned in my murky, downcast eyes as I turned to ascend the bleachers.

*     *     *

"...Love is not a victory march;
It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night.
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light.
It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.

Hallelujah.
Hallelujah.
Hallelujah."

from my notebook for BIO 1530

"I wanna see the earth start shaking.  I wanna see a generation finally waking up inside."

We're all still waiting for an alarm to go off.  What we don't realize is that we're asleep, we are not fully alive. 

They say the eyes are the window to the soul.  Look deep and hard into every set you have contact with.  Tell me they're all alike.  Tell me they are all equally alert and joyful and suffering and deep and alive.  I dare you.

I'm sitting here with the above lyric chanting in my head and moving in my soul, and I'm wondering what it's going to take.  Does humanity have a breaking point, when all at once a pristine clarity descends on humanity like a fog on the moor?  When will we wake up?

I glanced down at the pen resting in my hand, poised to scar this paper.  For a moment I realized how much power I hold weightlessly in this ten-cent object, daily in my right hand.

In my eighth grade literature class, we read a short story about these people on an adventure for kicks.  They happened upon this valley full of sleeping dinosaurs.  The dinosaurs eyes were rolling under their lids - they were in the middle of REM.  Their sleep was induced, as the humans soon realized.  They'd been sleeping, unnoticed, for thousands upon thousands of years.  The story ended with the ground shaking rhythmically, the people fleeing; millenia later the dinosaurs had finally woken.

"I wanna see the earth start shaking.  I wanna see a generation finally waking up inside."

Silence and Clamor

I walked alone through the automatic doors into the air conditioned, noisy atmosphere as I fought back tears, as I pushed all the baggage down and jumped on the lid yet again.  I'd been fighting with my mom.  She dropped me off where I work in the bakery department of the local grocery store.  I like smiling in general, but especially at work.  I like reminding people that it's possible to be happy, that happiness can be more tangible than a fairy tale.

I hurriedly punched my four digits into the system.  I was late.  I hate being late.  I cantered down the bread aisle to the back corner where I basically live, as I spend at least 30 hours there a week.  I tried to look natural, calm, composed, normal.  I held my voice steady and even managed to smile as I casually greeted my coworkers.  All the while I was shrieking inside.  Civil war was escalating, working its way toward self-destruct.  I felt alone, like there was somewhere more important I had to be, like my body was there and going through the motions as the rest of myself moved and contorted itself in a terrifying combination of rage and fear.  I felt transparent, invisible even as I stood there and they watched my face laugh with them.  

I nearly burst into tears.  I started running around, occupying myself with anything at all so I couldn't interact, to distract my mind, to calm down.  I cried.  People walked by.  I discreetly dried the tears, making it look like an itch or something.  We exchanged words.  They never knew.

My busy-ness found me in the freezer where we store cakes and other baked goods to keep them fresh before displaying them.  I have thoroughly drawn comparisons between the freezer and Hell:  it is so cold it burns, it is full of temptations, yet nothing can be savored and there is always reason to fear.  Unlike Hell, no one remains in the freezer for more than a couple minutes at a time. 

I let myself go, I cried a bit, and I did not grow cold, surrounded with metal and ice.  But the cold air calmed my nerves and caressed my skin.  I was a powder keg that had been stabilized for the moment.  A moment was all I asked for. 

I walked out of the freezer with my emotions placid enough for me to rationalize.  The battle I've fought so many times before began.  I faced hard questions: Why was I where I was?  What gave me the right?  Why should I not be somewhere more grand?  Why do I exist?  Why do I not forfeit the good fight, the difficult life?  It's a loosing battle anyway, isn't it?  How could it not be?  What am I continuing for?  Tolkien's idea as spoken by his hobbit, Sam, echoed clear and strong in my mind: "Because there is some good in the world, and it's worth fighting for."
Simultaneously an image of the world as a black cloud of a fabric knot held together by a single golden thread woven throughout met my mind's eye.  This is my new image of the world.  Elusive black depending on the strength and symmetry of gold.

I was still running around, putting things away and taking things out.  But I was finally calm.  The turmoil died.  I remembered that I'm free. 


"Suddenly there was a great burst of light through the Darkness.  The light spread out and where it touched the Darkness the Darkness disappeared.  The light spread out until the patch of Dark Thing had vanished, and there was only a gentle shining, and through the shining came the stars, clear and pure.  Then, slowly, the shining dwindled until it, too, was gone, and there was nothing but stars and starlight.  No shadows.  No fear.  Only the stars and the clear darkness of space, quite different from the fearful darkness of the Thing."
~ A Wrinkle in Time, by Madeleine L'Engle

the place that we'd meet

Someone in my fam has been extremely sick in recent weeks. Everyone was crying at the hospital; we didn't think he was gonna make it. He's at least stable for now, thank God. I told only two coworkers. When my other coworkers overheard they started treating me and even acting differently toward me. They had no idea before. I guess it's just a reminder: treat EVERYONE you meet with extra kindness because everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.

* * *

Last night two very different people I know told me things about their past experiences that they are not proud of but have changed them. I never would have guessed either.  They are amazing people. Sometimes it seems like I have a sign on my forehead that reads something like: "If you have something deep and dark to share, tell me!".  Don't misunderstand me:  I'm honored when people reveal to me a bit of their soul.  I know it takes courage.  I'm happy to listen and do what I can for them.  But sometimes it feels too heavy. Today I've been having a difficult time handling it.

I woke up, only because I had to.  I made myself scrambled eggs and toast, my favorite breakfast, because I was hungry.  I ate the slice of toast and a small bite of scrambled eggs. I lost my appetite completely and threw the rest out. I sank to the foot of the stairs and said a prayer. I tried to sedate my emotions and I tried to cry. I finally did cry, but not enough.

All the while the script's line "when your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be" chanting faintly through my head. Random line, right? So I thought, which is why it struck me as strange that the line was so persistant.

"when your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be"

Then a random neuron met another. What if the heart mentioned in the line is that of the Church Militant, and the singer is Christ? As if He's waiting for me to find Him, perhaps on a street corner as in the song, perhaps at the 90 degree angle where the upstairs steps meet the foyer floor in a place similar to where I was in the fetal position at the time.  It fit too well.  And I was finally calm.

I'm still upset even now.  The truth is I probably always will be.  No one wants to accept the darker side of life, we all fight it in our own way.  I think what defines us is the way we fight it. 

Miss Dickinson wrote: If I can stop one heart from breaking / I shall not live in vain. / If I could ease one life the aching, / or cool one pain, / I shall not live in vain.  I believe these verses, they are lines I try to live by.  I want to help the people I know carry their burdens,  even if it's simply encouraging them or helping them remember what it means to be joyful when they forget that they were made to love and be loved.  We were not made to be alone. 

Perhaps that is why there are so many corners in this world.

Thoughts During PHI 1620

2/23/11

I am sitting in my ethics class.  We are talking about the moral system developed by the author of my text based on the theories discussed in previous class sessions.  I am having a difficult time staying awake.  I keep yawning rather noisily.  The people around me probably think I have some digestive issues or something.  Oh well.  After this semester, I will probably never see any of these people again.  We just spent the last 5+ minutes developing hand cramps, as we wordily wasted ink establishing that this theory is compatible with Kant's idea that people should never be viewed only as a means, but always an end.   Glad that's been established.  Moving on...Oh now we're saying you shouldn't contradict yourself (really?!?!) but don't be rigid in your theory.  Uhm.  get me out of here. 

If you've made two promises but you cannot keep one without breaking the other, what do you do?  Keeping your promises must be too rigid a principle (sarcasm).  Maybe, for some people, the only unbroken promise is the one that is not made.  Perhaps you should not make promises you can't keep.

Oh!  Abortion debate!  pg. 160... "people tend to argue past each other in abortion debates..." I'm actually agreeing with my proff on this one.  "'2.  Human life begins at conception.'  That's the Catholic concept anyways," ...and the only concept science supports!  Biologists define humans by the chromosomes.  Conception is when the 2 sets of 23 chromosomes join to form the 46 chromosomes of the same unique DNA that individual human will have for the rest of his or her life. 
Now he's talking about Roe v. Wade...hmmm...he knows his stuff.
Most of the class looks stiff, legs crossed, leaned back, arms folded.  He goes on about different ways people determine whether people are human, then "Moving on,"  OK then.

Now he's talked for about 3 minutes on solving conflict.  I think.  It's difficult to find the point in all of his ranting.  He just talks.  People are now haunched over their texts.  He must have seen every sort of hair division by this point in his career. 
Now he's discussing the golden rule, and trying to make a joke.  He's moving toward the board.  More notes...
The first point of the author's ethical system involves revering life and accepting death.  "...drink life like water and death like wine," ~Chesterton  sounds good. 
WHAT?!  Well duh, using a respirator is justifiable! 
Even though this proff and I both seem to be native English speakers, there is such a language barrier between us.
How is that first point compatible with consequentialistic theory? 

I like glittery black things.  They are pretty.

Pg. 175.  YES!  Almost the end of the chapter.  He'll probably let us have our break before we begin to review for the midterm, to be taken in two weeks, after break.  I need chocolate. 
"'Living together before marriage'"...here we go.  "Now let's say they're practicing safe sex," ...not gonna say anything.  Not gonna say anything.  Not gonna say anything.
"His other example, is rape."  Wow.  "I think what's wrong with rape is that we aren't respecting another person's autonomy."  Ummmm I think it's a bit more than that (!) .
"Any questions?  Then let's have our break."  No arguments from this end of the room.

BREAK

Went for a little walk.  Used the bathroom.  Got some water in my system.  Sitting and writing this with 5 minutes to spare.  As usual.  Evidently, at least half the class is addicted to nicotine.  It must be an expensive and time consuming addiction.  I think I'll steer clear of smoking as well as coffee.  I'm not gonna eat my chocolate now.  Writing this is effectively keeping me awake.  I'll have an apple when I get home.  The teacher is erasing the board.  I think the kid who just walked into the classroom works at the same place I do.  I wonder how different I look with my hair down.

"Midterm exam review,"  Oh joy.  There'll be a vocab/short answer section and an essay/long answer section.  The girl next to me took her things and never came back from break.  Huh.  Now we are talking about ethnocentrism and tolerance.  Tolerance.  A word very much abused, misused, and misunderstood in this culture.  How sad. 
We should know the criticisms of Utilitarianism.  I wonder what the criticisms of Catholicism would be, were it to be discussed. 
Aristotle and Mill both said that the ultimate end of man is happiness.  I beg to differ. 
I could not be an anthropologist; it requires the descriptive approach to ethics, rather than the prescriptive approach.  Wouldn't work.
We only need to know cultural relativism from Chapter 5!  That chapter was my favorite thus far!
LOL  I love the term "free will problem".  LOL
"Soft determinism is when free will is compatible with determinism."  "I'm sorry, what is free will compatible with?"  Good.  I am glad I'm not the only one having a rough time taking notes when this guy talks. 
Aaaaaand absolute consequentialism makes no sense in practice. 
That chart is not giving me definitions!
YAY!  That's it.  Class dismissed.

Now let's see if I pass...

Re-Posted: Inscription of Hope

I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining.
And I believe in love
even when there's no one there.
And I believe in God
even when He is silent.
I believe through any trial
there is always a way.

But sometimes in this suffering
and hopeless despair
My heart cries for shelter,
to know someone's there.
But a voice rises within me saying
'hold on my child'
I'll give you hope
I'll give you strength

Just stay a little while

I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining.
And I believe in love
even when there's no one there.
And I believe in God
even when He is silent.
I believe through any trial
There is always a way.

May there someday be sunshine.
May there someday be happiness.
May there someday be love.
May there someday be peace.



These words were inscribed on a basement wall in Nazi Germany where Jewish refugees had been hiding from agents of the Holocaust.
~http://theiddblog.blogspot.com/2010/07/inscription-of-hope.html



I hope you found this as incredible and inspiring as I did.

Sonnet LXVI

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
     Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
     Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

~William Shakespeare

To Set The Tone...

I wrote and presented this opening speech on 17 April, 2010 to welcome attendees to the Pro-Life Youth Conference.  I've been wanting to post it for a few days now.  I don't know why.  It is written in a more casual style than I am used to writing in, because it is a verbally given presentation.  The audience was predominantly high school students.  I hope you find it worthwhile.


Hello.  My name is Sarah C- and I am a senior at - - - - - , and also a co-chair for this year's conference.  It is my privilege to be the first to officially welcome each of you to the seventh annual pro-life youth conference here at - - . This year's theme, "The Innocents: Let Their Song be Sung!" was inspired by the Feast of the Holy Innocents.


The Feast of the Holy Innocents calls to mind Herod's soldiers slaughtering the innocent male infants of Bethlehem. He had them murdered because he was told that a King had been born in Bethlehem, and he was afraid of loosing his power and his life of luxury to another king, so he figured the easiest way to continue living comfortably was to get rid of the threat by killing the children, hoping baby Jesus would be among the victims of the small genocide. The conference planners felt that this is an appropriate event to reflect on in this conference because, even though it occurred 2 thousand years ago on the other side of the world, we can see it happening around us, in our times, in our countries, in our own families, in our friend's lives, and in our own lives. Only this time it's not as obvious. There are obviously not soldiers running through our streets on horses, bearing swords and knocking down doors, and the ground beneath our feet isn't literally soaked with the blood of the innocents. We feel like the dramatic, almost theatrical image of this Feast helps awaken a sense of urgency, calling attention to the sacredness of all human life and the respect it deserves, especially the most defenseless and the most innocent among us, from the unborn to the elderly, from the foreigner to the mentally challenged, and from our Hollywood idols to the misfits roaming our school halls. For us, it helps the realities of pain, destruction, and the Culture of Death set in. This feast reminds us that human life is still under attack, but this time the battlefields are the places we live our lives: our schools, our homes, whenever we are in contact with other people we either uphold human dignity or we tear it apart.

Today's attacks are a very real thing. These empty seats are reserved for our peers who have fallen victim to abortion. They would be our peers, our friends, or classmates, teammates, bandmates, boyfriends, girlfriends, and our neighborhood hangout buddies. One fourth of our own generation are the casualties of this war. In some way, every person in existence participates in the conflict between the culture of death and the individual human being, and we affect it in three basic ways: our words, our choices, and our prayers. It's too easy to forget how powerful our words can be. Our words can cut through a person until they wish their heart would be ripped out to end the pain we have inflicted, and other times a comment we make is what gives a person the strength they need to get through the day. We may dare to discuss the heavy things that are generally avoided and offer a point of view that someone had never realized existed or they'd never really thought of before, And it may cause them to approach a question differently, and they may gain some sort of new understanding as a result. This is the way our words have the power to convert a mind. The second way we engage in the conflicts hiding around us, is in our choices and what we do in our everyday lives. We can scowl at people or we can talk to them. We can help our neighbors or we can pull pranks on them. You could donate a weekend a month to some movement you are passionate about, maybe join an organization here today or become involved in your own style, maybe create a blog or a website, start a group, write a song: whatever action makes the most sense to you to defend life. Or we could spend every weekend briefly entertaining ourselves at the movies, and allowing our views to affect only ourselves. We could encourage a friend in a crisis pregnancy situation to choose life and actually LIVE what we believe and what we take from here today, or we could passively accept their decision to abort, as if their decision only affected themselves.

Finally, praying is probably the most powerful thing we can do to defend the innocents. Prayers affirm our personal beliefs and convictions on an individual basis, and it calls a higher power than any of us to become an active participant among us in the fight for the culture of life. We recognize that we are only instruments and that Prayer is the power behind everything we do. Through our words and choices and lives, our prayers can come alive and take on some perceivable, tangible form. So our words, choices and prayers are all ways we reveal the side we choose to live for: the Culture of Life or the Culture of Death.

Every soul is precious. Every individual person is meaningful. Every action of ours, no matter how small it may seem, counts a lot. Because in some way, it accepts or rejects life.

One final thing I would like to point out is that everyone in this room has the support of Building Bridges and many others in your efforts to uphold the dignity of human life. When you act on behalf of life, you are never alone. It’s impossible to be alone. Because you have many friends in this room, and the Song of the Innocents will continue long after this conference ends today, and long after we all go to sleep tonight. Life has already triumphed and Love hasn't ended yet.

So today from our speakers, you will be offered a ton of information, you will hear some incredibly personal and moving stories, you will be given ideas. At the booths in the back, you will be offered opportunities to become involved with various organizations and you will be given resources. And throughout the day, you will also have the opportunity to participate in the Sacrament of Reconciliation until we say the Rosary and celebrate Sunday Mass later this afternoon.

On behalf of the planners, all I would like to request of each of you today is that you keep your heart and your mind open, and that you become an active participant in this day as we attempt to let the Song of the Innocents be sung.


"It's no accident we're here tonight.  We are once in a life time."
~ Needle and Haystack Life

Unaltered In-Class Assignment

23 September, 2010

What is it that makes humans, human?

To put it simply and concisely, people (humans) have souls. Humans have the ability to feel pain before the cause of pain has actually happened, because humans have the ability to understand that pain is coming in the near future. Humans have the ability to believe that not everything in existence is seen, and even that there is a very real interaction between the abstract and the concrete. Human beings have a choice, they have the ability to always choose to do or not do something, even something their reason and/or instinct refuses to condone. Humans have the ability to be inspired by other humans. We have the capacity and, I think, the necessity to find reasons for action outside of our own personal survival. Human beings do more than survive. We thrive. Because we take the most simple and basic of what we have at our disposal, mix it all together, and create something completely new with a new meaning and purpose. We are driven (generally) by ideas more than our desires. Humans have found ways to connect the abstract with the concrete through creativity and chosen action, rather than instinctually driven action.

The Final Fight

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.

...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

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.

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

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

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

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

Sub Niveus Rosa

Check out my new blog under my profile!

Re-posted Reminder

We are all going to die.
Just a heads up.

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

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."

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.