There is a time for everything,
and a season (Turn turn turn?) for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace. - Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (NIV)
Are you singing the Byrds yet, because I am.
I have to keep this in mind--there is a season, a purpose to everything, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to be silent and a time to speak--and what season is this? This awkward season, suspended between realization and expectation; between daydreams and wide-eyed reality. I have to keep in mind that the things that happen and change have a purpose--not just random actions and reactions, but a true worthiness and meaning.
If not I may go mad.
To everything...
Monday, February 28, 2005
A Day At the Beach
Caroline and our snowman at the Jersey Shore, where everyone goes when it's 20 degrees in February.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Red Bull and Beef Jerky
I have a whole lot more to say about the Sedition post, which has been rattling my brain for the past three days or so, but right now I'm too distracted and/or caffinated to do much.
Anyway, I'm in Jersey (where that smell comes from) visiting my dear friend from college, Caroline, and two of my friends from forever, Seth and Brandt.
Today Caroline and I decided that we should go to the Jersey shore, as it is February and that is what one should do in February in Jersey.
It shall be an adventure.
Too bad I forgot to bring the Springsteen or Bon Jovi.
Thank you to all I talked to while driving the five hours here last night, the fact that I didn't fall asleep I owe to you, Red Bull and that bag of beef jerky.
Land of Make Believe, Exit 12.
(actual sign)
Anyway, I'm in Jersey (where that smell comes from) visiting my dear friend from college, Caroline, and two of my friends from forever, Seth and Brandt.
Today Caroline and I decided that we should go to the Jersey shore, as it is February and that is what one should do in February in Jersey.
It shall be an adventure.
Too bad I forgot to bring the Springsteen or Bon Jovi.
Thank you to all I talked to while driving the five hours here last night, the fact that I didn't fall asleep I owe to you, Red Bull and that bag of beef jerky.
Land of Make Believe, Exit 12.
(actual sign)
Friday, February 25, 2005
Tradition of Sedition
According to Webster: Sedition: n.
SEC. 2. If any person shall write, print, utter, or publish.... scandalous and malicious writing or writings against the government of the United States...with intent to defame the said government...or to bring them...into contempt or disrepute; or to excite against them, or either or any of them, the hatred of the good people of the United States, or to excite any unlawful combinations therein, for opposing or resisting any law of the United States, or any act of the President...or to resist, oppose, or defeat any such law or act, or to aid, encourage or abet any hostile designs of any foreign nation against the United States... then such person...shall be punished "
Even an utterance of questioning the actions of President John Adams, or Congress could lead directly to deportation (as read in Section 3, which is not quoted in this blog). It's like McCarthyism over a century before the man was born. It was a time of a two-party system, where one party wanted to use fear to control the other party. Newspaper publishers actually spent time in jail for speaking out against Adams' Federalist laws. In 1918, President Woodrow Wilson and Congress passed the Sedition Act of 1918. Part of the Espionage Act, The Sedition Act essentially gave the US Government unlimited power of censorship, under the fear-driven Red Scare of the era. Largely enforceed by Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer, and his assistant J. Edgar Hoover (yeah...THAT guy) to launch campaigns against the so-called radicals, the Sedition Act was used in the arrest of over 1500 people for the suspicion of sympathies toward communist or socialist parties. (At the time, Communism was not what we saw in Russia, China and Cuba later on in the 20th Century. This is not what the ideals of Communism were, and what became of Russia actually shocked and dismayed many who were initial sympathizers). Essentially, it made it a federal crime to criticize the government or Constitution in any way. Spoken opposition or any published form of writing, expressing negative opinions about the war effort, or even opinions against the draft would lead to imprisonment. Even the expression one's own opinions through a private correspondence to a friend or family member was illegal. To quote,
"SECTION 3. Whoever, when the United States is at war...shall willfully utter, print, write, or publish any disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language about the form of government of the United States, or the Constitution of the United States, or the military or naval forces of the United States . . . or shall willfully display the flag of any foreign enemy, or shall willfully . . . urge, incite, or advocate any curtailment of production . . . or advocate, teach, defend, or suggest the doing of any of the acts or things in this section enumerated and whoever shall by word or act support or favor the cause of any country with which the United States is at war or by word or act oppose the cause of the United States therein, shall be punished ..."
Again, free speech was not only curbed in wartime, it was silenced altogether.
So why all this history? I mean I know I did well in AP History and all (Damn you Gillespie, damn you and your red beard!) but what does this have to do with now?
The answer is EVERYTHING. If there is one thing I did learn from Redbeard its that history repeats itself in more ways than we often notice outright. In the US we have this history of Sedition, then repression of it. Fear of speaking out, of dissent, of those who don't agree. The whole concept of free speech is difficult--the first Amendment does not just protect those with whom you agree, but those with whom you would spend the rest of your life fighting against. It is for both the pro-choice and the pro-life movements, the gay rights and anti-gay marriage activists, the Christians, the Muslims, the Jews, the Pagans, the Hale Bopp freaks.
Today I was reading Newsweek, where they divulged this information on the CIA's secret 747 that they are using to fly people, w/o due process, to other countries to be held and questioned, without any knowledge of what they are being held for, how long they will be held, or how to contact their families. It could be months of captivity. (article) There are no judges, not juries, no representatives, nothing. The CIA has the power, thanks to that lovely Patriot Act (which makes my blood pressure skyrocket, and is another issue entirely). So what? You say. I'm not a terrorist, I have nothing to worry about. When your government starts snatching people without giving a reason, a warrant, or a trial by jury, you have everything to worry about. Ever read the poem "First They Came For the Jews" about the Holocaust? Eventually, it does become about you. It always comes around.
We must question--it is our duty, our right, or obligation--we must question to keep our government honest. Sedition formed this country, and sedition just may save it. "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time and your government when it deserves it." -Mark Twain
- Conduct or language inciting rebellion against the authority of a state.
- Insurrection; rebellion.
SEC. 2. If any person shall write, print, utter, or publish.... scandalous and malicious writing or writings against the government of the United States...with intent to defame the said government...or to bring them...into contempt or disrepute; or to excite against them, or either or any of them, the hatred of the good people of the United States, or to excite any unlawful combinations therein, for opposing or resisting any law of the United States, or any act of the President...or to resist, oppose, or defeat any such law or act, or to aid, encourage or abet any hostile designs of any foreign nation against the United States... then such person...shall be punished "
Even an utterance of questioning the actions of President John Adams, or Congress could lead directly to deportation (as read in Section 3, which is not quoted in this blog). It's like McCarthyism over a century before the man was born. It was a time of a two-party system, where one party wanted to use fear to control the other party. Newspaper publishers actually spent time in jail for speaking out against Adams' Federalist laws. In 1918, President Woodrow Wilson and Congress passed the Sedition Act of 1918. Part of the Espionage Act, The Sedition Act essentially gave the US Government unlimited power of censorship, under the fear-driven Red Scare of the era. Largely enforceed by Attorney General A. Mitchell Palmer, and his assistant J. Edgar Hoover (yeah...THAT guy) to launch campaigns against the so-called radicals, the Sedition Act was used in the arrest of over 1500 people for the suspicion of sympathies toward communist or socialist parties. (At the time, Communism was not what we saw in Russia, China and Cuba later on in the 20th Century. This is not what the ideals of Communism were, and what became of Russia actually shocked and dismayed many who were initial sympathizers). Essentially, it made it a federal crime to criticize the government or Constitution in any way. Spoken opposition or any published form of writing, expressing negative opinions about the war effort, or even opinions against the draft would lead to imprisonment. Even the expression one's own opinions through a private correspondence to a friend or family member was illegal. To quote,
"SECTION 3. Whoever, when the United States is at war...shall willfully utter, print, write, or publish any disloyal, profane, scurrilous, or abusive language about the form of government of the United States, or the Constitution of the United States, or the military or naval forces of the United States . . . or shall willfully display the flag of any foreign enemy, or shall willfully . . . urge, incite, or advocate any curtailment of production . . . or advocate, teach, defend, or suggest the doing of any of the acts or things in this section enumerated and whoever shall by word or act support or favor the cause of any country with which the United States is at war or by word or act oppose the cause of the United States therein, shall be punished ..."
Again, free speech was not only curbed in wartime, it was silenced altogether.
So why all this history? I mean I know I did well in AP History and all (Damn you Gillespie, damn you and your red beard!) but what does this have to do with now?
The answer is EVERYTHING. If there is one thing I did learn from Redbeard its that history repeats itself in more ways than we often notice outright. In the US we have this history of Sedition, then repression of it. Fear of speaking out, of dissent, of those who don't agree. The whole concept of free speech is difficult--the first Amendment does not just protect those with whom you agree, but those with whom you would spend the rest of your life fighting against. It is for both the pro-choice and the pro-life movements, the gay rights and anti-gay marriage activists, the Christians, the Muslims, the Jews, the Pagans, the Hale Bopp freaks.
Today I was reading Newsweek, where they divulged this information on the CIA's secret 747 that they are using to fly people, w/o due process, to other countries to be held and questioned, without any knowledge of what they are being held for, how long they will be held, or how to contact their families. It could be months of captivity. (article) There are no judges, not juries, no representatives, nothing. The CIA has the power, thanks to that lovely Patriot Act (which makes my blood pressure skyrocket, and is another issue entirely). So what? You say. I'm not a terrorist, I have nothing to worry about. When your government starts snatching people without giving a reason, a warrant, or a trial by jury, you have everything to worry about. Ever read the poem "First They Came For the Jews" about the Holocaust? Eventually, it does become about you. It always comes around.
We must question--it is our duty, our right, or obligation--we must question to keep our government honest. Sedition formed this country, and sedition just may save it. "Patriotism is supporting your country all the time and your government when it deserves it." -Mark Twain
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
113 Candles
I'm becoming more and more of a book nerd, as evidenced by my previous posts, in which I got way too excited about seeing a favorite author on a poster and a favorite book in a show. The nerdiness I repressed for years is coming back in full force. Tonight I made a list of books I want to read (not like "Want to read because I should, so as to make me a more well-rounded individual" but "Ooh! That book sounds great! I want to read that!") and good lord it's a long list. Lately I've only been reading non-fiction, which just adds to my nerdy stigma. As I stock up my list, does anyone have any book suggestions? I'm open for ideas.
Books on Lust List:
Queen of Bohemia: The Life of Louise Bryant, by Mary Dearburn
The Virgin of Bennington by Kathleen Norris
Take the Cannoli: Stories From the New World, by Sarah Vowell
Barrel Fever by Dave Sedaris
Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi
Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood by Koren Zailckas
Gathering Moss by Robin Kimmerer (yeah, that's the ESF prof on NYT list!)
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Searching for God Knows What by Don Miller
A Song to Sing, a Life to Live: Reflections on Music as Spiritual Practice by Don and Emily Sailers
(this book is also interesting b/c it is written by the father/daughter duo of Prof. Sailers, a Methodist Minister and prominant professor at Emory University's Candler School of Theology, and Emily Sailers, half of the Indigo Girls. They are doing a week-long seminar at the National Cathedral College in May but it costs too much for me to go. It's an amazing topic regardless of who teaches it)
And there's a bunch more but I'm just embarassing myself now.
Also, February 22 is Edna St.Vincent Millay's birthday. Happy 113th Edna, if you hadn't died in 1950, this would have been quite an event. Go you.
Books on Lust List:
Queen of Bohemia: The Life of Louise Bryant, by Mary Dearburn
The Virgin of Bennington by Kathleen Norris
Take the Cannoli: Stories From the New World, by Sarah Vowell
Barrel Fever by Dave Sedaris
Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi
Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood by Koren Zailckas
Gathering Moss by Robin Kimmerer (yeah, that's the ESF prof on NYT list!)
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Searching for God Knows What by Don Miller
A Song to Sing, a Life to Live: Reflections on Music as Spiritual Practice by Don and Emily Sailers
(this book is also interesting b/c it is written by the father/daughter duo of Prof. Sailers, a Methodist Minister and prominant professor at Emory University's Candler School of Theology, and Emily Sailers, half of the Indigo Girls. They are doing a week-long seminar at the National Cathedral College in May but it costs too much for me to go. It's an amazing topic regardless of who teaches it)
And there's a bunch more but I'm just embarassing myself now.
Also, February 22 is Edna St.Vincent Millay's birthday. Happy 113th Edna, if you hadn't died in 1950, this would have been quite an event. Go you.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Reason #278
And Rory is READING David Eggers' "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius"!
Greatest book EVER!
Rory is also a BFF!
Greatest book EVER!
Rory is also a BFF!
Reason #277
Ok, anyone watch the new "Gilmore Girls" tonight? No?
What is that on the wall of Rory's room at Yale? A DAVE EGGERS POSTER!
Only one of my favorite authors EVER.
I mean who doesn't love a show that has an author's poster on the wall and I can get giddy about it?
Reason #277 I love "Gilmore Girls"!
Loreli is my best friend!
BFF!
What is that on the wall of Rory's room at Yale? A DAVE EGGERS POSTER!
Only one of my favorite authors EVER.
I mean who doesn't love a show that has an author's poster on the wall and I can get giddy about it?
Reason #277 I love "Gilmore Girls"!
Loreli is my best friend!
BFF!
Just Enough
I got a Valentine's Day card from my grandmother--not the deaf Swedish one whom I often mention for comic relief, but the other one--this is an event close to a cosmic spectacle. My father's mother, my Nana, intimidates the hell out of me. I wish I could explain my Nana to you and still keep it concise--she can bake birthday cake from scratch over a fire, has her B.S. from University of Michigan, has had a full masctomy and colon cancer, has been to China, Greece and took Girl Scouts backpacking through Europe, had box seats at the Kennedy Center, speaks at least three languages, and I think she may be the person who invented gravity, I'm not sure. She is the most well-read and well-learned woman I have ever met. But I've never been sure if she actually liked me, as I am half of my mother, who I believe my Nana sees as her mortal enemy. Also, I get the distinct impression she doesn't care for my father too much either. When I was a child she saw my father in me and criticized me about it whenever possible. This has made our relationship building rather difficult, to say the least.
So you can see my surprise at getting a Valentine's Day card from her. A sincere, personal, personable card. It's her handwriting too, I checked. And you can share in my surprise at my desire to show her who I am. I wrote her a letter last night. I don't know why I want this--I can feel myself getting set up for a snide remark, dismissal, or outright rejection, but I really do want my grandmother to know me, as I want to know her. I am not my cousins but I'm hoping who I am is enough for her, for now.
--------------------------------------
I've run out of conversation. I've lost my ability to communicate. I'm all jammed up and don't know what's going on. So if I've talked to you recently and seemed sorta distant and/or distracted, chances are I was. It's just where I am.
So you can see my surprise at getting a Valentine's Day card from her. A sincere, personal, personable card. It's her handwriting too, I checked. And you can share in my surprise at my desire to show her who I am. I wrote her a letter last night. I don't know why I want this--I can feel myself getting set up for a snide remark, dismissal, or outright rejection, but I really do want my grandmother to know me, as I want to know her. I am not my cousins but I'm hoping who I am is enough for her, for now.
--------------------------------------
I've run out of conversation. I've lost my ability to communicate. I'm all jammed up and don't know what's going on. So if I've talked to you recently and seemed sorta distant and/or distracted, chances are I was. It's just where I am.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Ser
There is something magical about Sundays.
If I ever think of what I want in my life, I distill it down to a Sunday.
Waking up, coffee and the paper in bed.
Breakfast of eggs, and bacon, toast and juice.
Afternoon naps, Redskins games.
A book, a couch, a loved one, and a silent, private conversation.
A day in half-time.
All the Monday through Fridays of deadlines and commutes, alarm clocks and bites to eat, the Saturdays of errands and to-dos, laundry and lag-time. Chronos. Sunday is Sabbath--the day of kairos, a day of being--the moments that simply are.
I wish I would learn to distinguish my verbs and leave them to their days.
Sunday is the Spanish ser: to be.
"And then there is time in which to be, simply to be, that time in which God quietly tells us who we are and who he wants us to be. It is then that God can take our emptiness and fill it up with what he wants, and drain away the business with which we inevitably get involved in the dailiness of human living." -Madeleine L'Engle
If I ever think of what I want in my life, I distill it down to a Sunday.
Waking up, coffee and the paper in bed.
Breakfast of eggs, and bacon, toast and juice.
Afternoon naps, Redskins games.
A book, a couch, a loved one, and a silent, private conversation.
A day in half-time.
All the Monday through Fridays of deadlines and commutes, alarm clocks and bites to eat, the Saturdays of errands and to-dos, laundry and lag-time. Chronos. Sunday is Sabbath--the day of kairos, a day of being--the moments that simply are.
I wish I would learn to distinguish my verbs and leave them to their days.
Sunday is the Spanish ser: to be.
"And then there is time in which to be, simply to be, that time in which God quietly tells us who we are and who he wants us to be. It is then that God can take our emptiness and fill it up with what he wants, and drain away the business with which we inevitably get involved in the dailiness of human living." -Madeleine L'Engle
Friday, February 18, 2005
Crushing Crushing
I think this is the first time in my life I can say I don't really have a crush on anyone. As long as I can remember I've had someone on my mind, someone I was eager to see, someone who made my heart race and my laughter become high-pitched and giggily, and now there's no one. It's not a bad thing, it's a very different thing. In high school and especially college there was this influx of people and ideas and situations that cultivated romantic ideas, or just provided the breeding ground for them. Now, in this post-collegiate world, the influx has dwindled drastically, so I'm not meeting those new faces, I'm not constantly surrounded by groups of my peers. The components of life are so very different, and so I shouldn't be in the least surprised to see that my crushing has gotten crushed in a way. It's kind of a relief to grow out of it.
On a much more dangerous note, today I was doing my own internal debrief of the biography of Edna St.Vincent Millay that I just read (I am an obsessive debriefer. I do this with almost everything. I blame being head OL, working at ALI, and Dr. Julie Rawls White. Drives my friends crazy) because I see some terrifying parallels in my own life and I don't want to self-distruct as she did...though I wouldn't mind that Pulitzer... In her 20s Vincent developed chronic and mysterious pains in her neck and back that left her bedridden for days on end, and, after 30 years of it, found her a serious alcoholic addicted to morphine and other painkillers. She was left physically unable to do the simple actions of those around her, and if the drugs didn't kill her the frustration would have.
I understand why she found her way there. I really do.
Pain can drive the most intelligent beings to the most reckless and stupid actions. And not just physical pain--we want to, need to, dull our way through the sharp angles and edges that pain creates. Ignoring it only works for so long. Prayer works for some, therapy for others, mediation and health food for still more. Any way to numb that pain, to ease it for any amount of time can be well worth it if it is relentless and pressing as chronic pain is. I don't blame her. I worry about my lust for that numbness and how I seek it. I need reprieve, and these icy-hot patches on my back only work for so long. I'm not saying that I'm switching to morphine but I worry about what (and how) I try to lay my burden down.
On a much more dangerous note, today I was doing my own internal debrief of the biography of Edna St.Vincent Millay that I just read (I am an obsessive debriefer. I do this with almost everything. I blame being head OL, working at ALI, and Dr. Julie Rawls White. Drives my friends crazy) because I see some terrifying parallels in my own life and I don't want to self-distruct as she did...though I wouldn't mind that Pulitzer... In her 20s Vincent developed chronic and mysterious pains in her neck and back that left her bedridden for days on end, and, after 30 years of it, found her a serious alcoholic addicted to morphine and other painkillers. She was left physically unable to do the simple actions of those around her, and if the drugs didn't kill her the frustration would have.
I understand why she found her way there. I really do.
Pain can drive the most intelligent beings to the most reckless and stupid actions. And not just physical pain--we want to, need to, dull our way through the sharp angles and edges that pain creates. Ignoring it only works for so long. Prayer works for some, therapy for others, mediation and health food for still more. Any way to numb that pain, to ease it for any amount of time can be well worth it if it is relentless and pressing as chronic pain is. I don't blame her. I worry about my lust for that numbness and how I seek it. I need reprieve, and these icy-hot patches on my back only work for so long. I'm not saying that I'm switching to morphine but I worry about what (and how) I try to lay my burden down.
Intelligence and Design
Over and over again these thoughts on creation, creationism, big bangs, invisible beginnings, intelligent design--The Scopes Monkey Trial, bloggerized. Anyway, about ten minutes after I got back into VA my father and I somehow fell into one of those typical father-daughter conversations dealing with the aforementioned topics of creation, science; faith and fact. We are so similar in almost every way, except I am a Christian and he's a rather adamant agnostic. It was a great conversation nonetheless. I finished my biography of Edna Millay (very tragic) and while home my father gave me another book to follow it up. Well it doesn't really flow nicely after the biography of a jazz-age poet-morphine addict but it does stay along that vague non-fiction line. I just started A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. I guess creation is not something I've ever poured over in any sort of detail, more so along the lines of "Did it happen?" "How did it start?" and "According to evolution, are Rush Limbaugh and an opinionated hippo really that far apart?" I studied science--I am not a strict creationist, nor I am a hardcore big bang theorist. I am somewhere in the grey. At least I think I am. Now to bring facts and concepts into the frame--I am humbled and silenced. Sizes of things that are 10^-43. Can something come from nothing? Where did the nothing come from? How did space and gravity and heat and atoms swirl and coalesce into this?
Rush to an opinionated hippo? I'd say like two or three steps. Maybe a walrus or drunk ape in between.
Rush to an opinionated hippo? I'd say like two or three steps. Maybe a walrus or drunk ape in between.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
LoCo Ladies
LoCo Ladies Luncheon on Valentines Day at Natalie
and Mikes! Left to Right: The Tres Amigas Kristina,
Maskey and Hatcher, Natalie, Libby and Michelle.
Yay for salads, brie, mimosas, and Pink Cake!
Monday, February 14, 2005
Hypo-Hyper-Hypo
I'm a rather serious hypochondraic and fully believe I will die tragically young of a rare and yet heroic condition/disorder. Always have.
Why? I have no idea. It's ridiculous.
I'm also a hyperactive hypoglycemic, like Phil, Mike Myers' character on SNL who wore the helmet and was harnessed to the jungle gym. Yeah, that's me. Laugh it up. (Basically this combo means I eat sugar, get twitchy and talk too fast, pass out in mid-sentence and then blame it on something rare and tragic, rather than the fact that I'm irresponsible and ate too much sugar)
Today I had lunch with the LoCo Ladies (with Nat, Michelle and Libby) and on the way home I suddenly felt the left side of my neck become incredibly tender and swollen. It suddenly became strangely painful and/or difficult to swallow.
"Food allgery!" I thought (though I don't have any known ones).
Clearly it's anaphylaxis.
That's it, I'm dying.
I'm here to tell you that I love you all, life was sweet, enjoy everyday, good-bye cruel beautiful world bla bla bla.
Whatever.
So I have no idea what it is, but it hurts to all hell and I don't want to take benedryl b/c it makes me fall asleep. But that doesn't sound too heroic, so maybe I will take some.
Why? I have no idea. It's ridiculous.
I'm also a hyperactive hypoglycemic, like Phil, Mike Myers' character on SNL who wore the helmet and was harnessed to the jungle gym. Yeah, that's me. Laugh it up. (Basically this combo means I eat sugar, get twitchy and talk too fast, pass out in mid-sentence and then blame it on something rare and tragic, rather than the fact that I'm irresponsible and ate too much sugar)
Today I had lunch with the LoCo Ladies (with Nat, Michelle and Libby) and on the way home I suddenly felt the left side of my neck become incredibly tender and swollen. It suddenly became strangely painful and/or difficult to swallow.
"Food allgery!" I thought (though I don't have any known ones).
Clearly it's anaphylaxis.
That's it, I'm dying.
I'm here to tell you that I love you all, life was sweet, enjoy everyday, good-bye cruel beautiful world bla bla bla.
Whatever.
So I have no idea what it is, but it hurts to all hell and I don't want to take benedryl b/c it makes me fall asleep. But that doesn't sound too heroic, so maybe I will take some.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Open-Ended
I don't particularly like to make Meandering Thoughts into Meandering Political Thoughts, but those of you who know me well know that I can only remain a-political for about five minutes, then it somehow seeps out. I can't help it; I'm opinionated (ok maybe an understatement). Well today kids is going to be slightly political, so brace yo'self, you red state-ers.
I'm just about finished with Savage Beauty, a biography of my favorite poet, Ms. Edna St. Vincent Millay. I love her. She lived what might be one of the craziest lives I've ever had the privilege of reading about and was a Pulitzer-winning poet. She was also fairly political and the views that she took are now wildly considered to be "right" in the context of history: she was "right" to fight against the isolationism in America before WWII, "right" to worry about the dangers of Hitler, "right" to be arrested protesting for a women's right to vote. Today we champion those views; at the time they were considered radical and often subversive.
Being the self-obsessed person that I am this had me wonder, what sorts of opinions that exist now will be considered "right" 50, 75, 100 years down the road? What sorts of battles will we look back on and say, "Oh gosh I can't believe we fought for/against that. How ignorant/intolerant/cynical/optimistic/greedy/generous were we?"
This morning in the Washington Post there was an article sort of answering my simmering rhetorical question. This editorial of course dealt with the big issue of today, gay marriage. I recommend reading it, as it makes valid comparisons between the struggle for interracial marriage and the struggle for gay marriage. (link is attached)
"Almighty God created the races, white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."
When was this said? 1959. My father was nine years old. In Alabama? Nope, Virginia. By whom? A high-ranking judge. This was less than 50 years ago, and now a-days we sigh and say, "Well we really didn't believe that. I mean we all know that it was nonsense. We're smarter than that now." But are we? How? Is it right because it's a popular view, or is it right because it is what should be intrinsically? I can't say I know, I only question.
"If we maintain the open-mindedness of children, we challenge fixed ideas and established structures, including our own...We don't find demons in those with whom we disagree...If we are open, we rarely resort to either-or: either creation or evolution, liberty or law, sacred or secular, Beethoven or Madonna, we focus on both--and are fully aware that God's truth cannot be imprisoned in a small definition. Of course, the open mind does not accept everything indiscriminately....It does not absorb all propositions equally like a sponge; nor is it soft...the open mind realizes that reality, truth and Jesus Christ are incredibly open-ended." -Brenan Manning Ragamuffin Gospel
I'm just about finished with Savage Beauty, a biography of my favorite poet, Ms. Edna St. Vincent Millay. I love her. She lived what might be one of the craziest lives I've ever had the privilege of reading about and was a Pulitzer-winning poet. She was also fairly political and the views that she took are now wildly considered to be "right" in the context of history: she was "right" to fight against the isolationism in America before WWII, "right" to worry about the dangers of Hitler, "right" to be arrested protesting for a women's right to vote. Today we champion those views; at the time they were considered radical and often subversive.
Being the self-obsessed person that I am this had me wonder, what sorts of opinions that exist now will be considered "right" 50, 75, 100 years down the road? What sorts of battles will we look back on and say, "Oh gosh I can't believe we fought for/against that. How ignorant/intolerant/cynical/optimistic/greedy/generous were we?"
This morning in the Washington Post there was an article sort of answering my simmering rhetorical question. This editorial of course dealt with the big issue of today, gay marriage. I recommend reading it, as it makes valid comparisons between the struggle for interracial marriage and the struggle for gay marriage. (link is attached)
"Almighty God created the races, white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix."
When was this said? 1959. My father was nine years old. In Alabama? Nope, Virginia. By whom? A high-ranking judge. This was less than 50 years ago, and now a-days we sigh and say, "Well we really didn't believe that. I mean we all know that it was nonsense. We're smarter than that now." But are we? How? Is it right because it's a popular view, or is it right because it is what should be intrinsically? I can't say I know, I only question.
"If we maintain the open-mindedness of children, we challenge fixed ideas and established structures, including our own...We don't find demons in those with whom we disagree...If we are open, we rarely resort to either-or: either creation or evolution, liberty or law, sacred or secular, Beethoven or Madonna, we focus on both--and are fully aware that God's truth cannot be imprisoned in a small definition. Of course, the open mind does not accept everything indiscriminately....It does not absorb all propositions equally like a sponge; nor is it soft...the open mind realizes that reality, truth and Jesus Christ are incredibly open-ended." -Brenan Manning Ragamuffin Gospel
Tuesday, February 1, 2005
Need Need/Hubris
I have an over-abundance of strong female mentors and role models. Every good thing in me can probably be traced back to a lesson, a prayer or insight from the Natalies, Ruths, Joans, Ginnys and Michelles in my life (among others) and I love that about me. I talked to Michelle today, who is my third big sister in a way. We got to talking about relationships and, long story short, I again learned something. I was moaning about a certain relationship and she called me out in a way that I hadn't even considered. She said, "You and I are the same; we want to feel wanted; we need to be needed. Sometimes its a good thing, but most often its not. You are carrying another's burdens in a way you shouldn't--you aren't guarding your heart. You need to end that."
* * * * * * * * * * * *
And that's as far as I got. I started that post two or three days ago, as the weight was just being rested on my shoulders. The prospect of literally cutting a relationship out of a life because it is unhealthy...mindboggling. Heartbreaking. I know I have to; she's right. She saw what I can't see. The clutch it was next. I have tried and tried to figure out how to express it, what to write, how to write it, what even I am. I can't. I haven't. 10,000 song lyrics but no words of my own. I do have this overwhelming need to be needed, a complex codependency in its own way. I don't know if its a female thing or just a me thing, but it is something with which I subconsciously struggle and if I am to ever be freed of it, this severing is the benchmark. It will leave a void.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Three times in one day the word hubris came up, and thus I, who needs to read into everything as if the world is written in code just for me, saw it as a sign of sorts. It's not a good sign, I must say. Hubris (it's excessive arrogance, pride or presumptuousness so you can stop navigating away to go look it up and pretend you knew it all along, you walking SAT prep book you)? Why hubris? Is there pride in my inability to make a clean break from this relationship? Is it as much me fearing failure as me fearing heartbreak as me fearing me? Hubris, the destroyer of all things.
The ultimate self-consciousness.
Self-consciousness to self-annihilation.
Also, good name for a cat.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
And that's as far as I got. I started that post two or three days ago, as the weight was just being rested on my shoulders. The prospect of literally cutting a relationship out of a life because it is unhealthy...mindboggling. Heartbreaking. I know I have to; she's right. She saw what I can't see. The clutch it was next. I have tried and tried to figure out how to express it, what to write, how to write it, what even I am. I can't. I haven't. 10,000 song lyrics but no words of my own. I do have this overwhelming need to be needed, a complex codependency in its own way. I don't know if its a female thing or just a me thing, but it is something with which I subconsciously struggle and if I am to ever be freed of it, this severing is the benchmark. It will leave a void.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Three times in one day the word hubris came up, and thus I, who needs to read into everything as if the world is written in code just for me, saw it as a sign of sorts. It's not a good sign, I must say. Hubris (it's excessive arrogance, pride or presumptuousness so you can stop navigating away to go look it up and pretend you knew it all along, you walking SAT prep book you)? Why hubris? Is there pride in my inability to make a clean break from this relationship? Is it as much me fearing failure as me fearing heartbreak as me fearing me? Hubris, the destroyer of all things.
The ultimate self-consciousness.
Self-consciousness to self-annihilation.
Also, good name for a cat.
Outside My Eyes
The cold does something to me; makes me more creaky and old, stiff to the whims of the wind and weather. Today has been especially painful--my back has been so tight I cannot breathe. For the past few days I have been in so much pain I have had trouble remembering to do basic things, like eating, or sleeping, or writing. I can't sit up, I can't walk, I can't stand, I can't lay down, I can't I can't I can't. It detaches me from the rest of the world; prevents me from thinking about things outside of myself, as I simply cannot hear anything outside my own body's cries. It breeds loneliness. I don't like to dwell on it too often, as much for the readers as for the writer.
Today I vented to a friend about it, as I was trying desperately to have some emotion about a situation and couldn't muster the energy to care deeply. I apologized for my lack of compassion, and she expressed a desire to help me in some way. I appreciated her empathy, and it got me thinking about those situations that cannot be easily solved, that have no clear ending or victory. She can't help me--my back problems befuddle everyone.
I know from experience how frustrating it is to watch a loved one experience pain or suffering in a way that I was inept to help. That inability is overwhelming. It is amazing isn't it; the powerlessness of being human? It is times like this when I realize how small I am; how little my hands and heart can do for myself or anyone else.
Today I vented to a friend about it, as I was trying desperately to have some emotion about a situation and couldn't muster the energy to care deeply. I apologized for my lack of compassion, and she expressed a desire to help me in some way. I appreciated her empathy, and it got me thinking about those situations that cannot be easily solved, that have no clear ending or victory. She can't help me--my back problems befuddle everyone.
I know from experience how frustrating it is to watch a loved one experience pain or suffering in a way that I was inept to help. That inability is overwhelming. It is amazing isn't it; the powerlessness of being human? It is times like this when I realize how small I am; how little my hands and heart can do for myself or anyone else.
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