Tomorrow is the second anniversary of my marriage to my wife.
The word, "wedlock" stems from the old English word wedlok. Broken down, you have the terms "wedd" meaning pledge and "lok" meaning activity or state of being. Marriage essentially is a pledge or promise between two people and the state of being in promise for as long as the marriage exists.
From a legal standpoint, marriage is pretty much the same thing. It is a contract between two people, recognized by the relevant municipalities and governments, that gives rise to certain rights and obligations of the parties involved. And the essence of a contract is really just a set of promises given and received.
Marriage is also a building block of family. In the traditional sense, marriage opens the doors to parenthood and creating additional members of the family. It unites two separate groups of people and then builds additional bonds over time. Marriage thus is a connector for community-building and over the generations, the bonds may link together hundreds or even thousands of people.
So that's marriage from the micro to the macro. But this introduction says next to nothing about what marriage is like, nor what it takes to make a marriage a successful one.
In the short-time I have been married, I have learned a few things about the institution of marriage, and they all begin with the letter "M".
M is for Mutality.
Mutuality is the state of giving and receiving. It intimates the idea of equality, because each person is a partner who is at once both benefiting and sacrificing for the other. There is no greater principle of marriage, in my opinion. Every action, taken by either the husband or the wife, if done within the principle of mutuality, will result in the strengthening of the marriage. Those actions taken unilaterally run the risk of damaging the state of mutuality, and thus, hurting marriage.
This is a tough one at times. What exactly does this mean, with respect to daily activities that married people go through? Well, that's thing thing. You have to find perspectives where each person benefits and sacrifices for the other. Let's take the chores of laundry, washing dishes or cleaning the house. In these types of chores, the benefit appears to innure only to the person who doesn't have to do these laborious tasks, while the sacrifice clearly lies with the person who undertakes the tasks. But it doesn't have to be that way. If both people take to making each chore an activity of fun, then it definitely becomes a benefit to do the activity. Both then are sacrificing, and both are enjoying themselves and mutuality is preserved.
M is for Mortality.
Yep, this is another big one. While love may be infinite and indefinite, people are not. We are mortal, and the understanding that we have such a limited time in this universe should give us the proper perspective here. Marriage too is mortal, and can often be an ephermeral thing. Mortality shows us that we are insignificant beings in the grand scope of time, and that we should not place ourselves too high on a pedestal.
This is important because mutuality presumes the equality of the partners. And mortality keeps this in perspective. The poet Shelley gave us this great line from his famous work Ozymandias:
"And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
Even the mighty disappear in the stretch of time, leaving nothing but empty words that are meaningless to those whose lives felt none of the power of those who thought themselves supreme. It is sobering then to see our simple lives. And through this perspective, we should ask ourselves this question if we find ourselves imbroiled in argument: "is not submission the better part of wisdom; is not submission the better part of agreement; is not submission the greater part of partnership, if in the end we will all face the Creator as a speck of sand and not some great statue of power?"
M is for Myth.
Finally, the last M is for Myth. By myth, I mean the ideals and romanticism that surround the institution of marriage. Bright-eyed and full of wonder do people enter into the realm of marriage, often unaware that love, passion and marriage often are not the same.
Human beings are transient creatures, often turning into completely different people over short periods of time. Circumstances often deal people cruel blows, putting difficult obstacles and tragedies in the way of a smooth journey. Children complicate things, sometimes exponentially, and as various familial inter-connections wax and wane, unavoidable stress is introduced into what was once a happy relationship of two.
The reality and impact of love is no myth, and its importance cannot be understated. But love is NOT marriage, and marriage is NOT love. So many people equate the two, and thus when one begins to feel "out of love", then they seek to dissolve the union. And thus the myth prevails while the marriage dies. Love is a sacrifice, but it isn't a benefit. Love doesn't fit the paradigm of mutuality and thus cannot be used to sustain a marriage.
Is love important? Absolutely. It is part of the equation, but it isn't the sole ingredient of marriage, and it certainly isn't a substitute for mutuality, or for self-awareness for that matter.
Genesis 2:24 says this, following the "This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh" speech by man:
"For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother, and be joined to his wife; and they shall become one flesh. "
Man and woman are made into a single entity, not because of love, but because they were made to be together, literally made to be one. The mutuality is evident in Genesis 2:24. Man and woman, joined to benefit one another, and being part of each other, sacrificed individualism for unitarism.
That's about it for the M's. As for what marriage is like, well, that is a post for another time, and in anycase, every marriage is different, unique and special.
Happy Second Anniversary, Hannah. We were made to be one, and partners in this great journey. I love you.
-David
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Thursday, October 19, 2006
The Difference Between Muhaha and Puhaha
I just realized something.
Indulge me for a second. Do a Google search on both muhaha and puhaha.
Do you see anything in common with the search results? Perhaps this post should be about the similarity rather than the difference between the two. I thought it would be interesting to delve into the difference between the two sounds of laughter, but I think I should start out with a preface.
It seems that the vast majority of users of both muhaha and puhaha are Korean-Americans either in highschool/college, or recent grads. I did not know this before I decided on this post topic. What is WITH Korean-Americans, the internet, and their indiscriminate use of phrases indicative of laughter?! Don't they (or don't we) know that language is really an artform, and to blatantly and quite recklessly throw around words is to degenerate art into mere forms of speech?
A short aside about Korean-Americans - I will get into this much greater in future blogs, but as for now, I will say that in my experience (being one, first and foremost), there is no ethnic group greater able to make a positive impact in society, and yet is as insular and cliqueish. We are, as a group, extremely well educated, on the rise in terms of socio-economic strata, the vast majority being indoctrinated in Christian thinking, and extremely adept in adapting to new technology. And at the same time, I see an entire generation of Korean-Americans risking nothing as they inter-connect amongst themselves and live (more or less) happily ever after. Their parents' generation took incredible risks to emigrate to this country, to fight discrimination and to make a new home for themselves and their children. And the values that they passed on were good ones - solidarity with family, Christian belief, education and climbing the economic ladder, and hard work. Yet, the one thing that wasn't passed on was the idea that America isn't just a place to succeed, America is a place to integrate, to learn about those different from yourselves, to participate in the grand experiment in the greatest country in the history of mankind.
Quoting John Winthrop, governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, almost 400 years ago (1630) in his work, “A Model of Christian Charity (City on a Hill),”
"For this end we must be knit together. We must entertain each other in brotherly affection. We must be willing to give up our superfluities to supply others' necessities...We must delight in each other; make others' conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together... So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace."
This might beg the question a bit, because he didn't define "we" to mean just those he cared about. Taking this from the Christian idea of everyman being part of the 'we", the point is that everyone has to take it upon themselves to view their community as being greater than just those who might share the same political ideology, economic strata or ethnic background. America is about EVERYONE, and in this political age of a truly divisive two-party system where both parties seek to divide rather than to unite, Korean-Americans of this generation, with all their resources and windfall, have a unique opportunity to work to create more unity than has ever been seen. And yet, we are more clique-ish and close-minded than any other ethnic group I've witnessed. Ok, more on this in another blog.
Back to muhaha and puhaha. Speech is one thing, and I don't denigrate those whose form of speech is different from my own. How one speaks is by individual choice, and there is no "better" or "worse" than. But language, well, that's another thing entirely. Language is a canvas with a full palette, and like music or visual art, it commands a more discriminate attitude.
MUHAHA.
Muhaha. Say it outloud a few times, really emphasize the MOO part of the word. See how you feel? There is a gutteral element here, something that really pushes your internal organs around to create a resonating sound. What does it mean? It means, "I have something that you do not, and what I have gives me power over you." Muhaha is a power word, and the laughter is akin to flogging the listener with a stick. Muhaha is often used by fiendish evildoers or by criminal masterminds, and they share the megalomania disability that is often their downfall. Muhaha means I am above you, it means that I am laughing at you because you are beneath me and it is my right as a superior being to treat you as sheep.
PUHAHA.
Again, say this aloud, and be mindful of the spittle that should emanate from your mouth. It is a surprise reaction, indicative of a previously unknown quality that, having manifested, forces a bodily reaction in the form of laughter. It means, "I find what you say (or do) to be humorous in a way I had not anticipated, else my laughter would be a chuckle or a quick snort." There is a sense of equality here, a form of peerage that stems from the relaxation of social mores. We are equal because I am laughing at you, lowering (or raising) myself to your level, and we are brothers; my spittle is analagous to a handshake, and we are the same.
**
Of course, if you scan the websites for use of both puhaha and muhaha, you might find that the vast majority of Korean-American blogs and personal websites use muhaha more than puhaha. I find this to be telling.
The next time you find yourself about to laugh, forget the "moo", add the "poo" and treat your audience with some respect and maybe some spittle. I myself use neither, and rather demurely use "hehe" as my phrase of choice. But that too, will be a topic for a future post.
-hehe,
David
Indulge me for a second. Do a Google search on both muhaha and puhaha.
Do you see anything in common with the search results? Perhaps this post should be about the similarity rather than the difference between the two. I thought it would be interesting to delve into the difference between the two sounds of laughter, but I think I should start out with a preface.
It seems that the vast majority of users of both muhaha and puhaha are Korean-Americans either in highschool/college, or recent grads. I did not know this before I decided on this post topic. What is WITH Korean-Americans, the internet, and their indiscriminate use of phrases indicative of laughter?! Don't they (or don't we) know that language is really an artform, and to blatantly and quite recklessly throw around words is to degenerate art into mere forms of speech?
A short aside about Korean-Americans - I will get into this much greater in future blogs, but as for now, I will say that in my experience (being one, first and foremost), there is no ethnic group greater able to make a positive impact in society, and yet is as insular and cliqueish. We are, as a group, extremely well educated, on the rise in terms of socio-economic strata, the vast majority being indoctrinated in Christian thinking, and extremely adept in adapting to new technology. And at the same time, I see an entire generation of Korean-Americans risking nothing as they inter-connect amongst themselves and live (more or less) happily ever after. Their parents' generation took incredible risks to emigrate to this country, to fight discrimination and to make a new home for themselves and their children. And the values that they passed on were good ones - solidarity with family, Christian belief, education and climbing the economic ladder, and hard work. Yet, the one thing that wasn't passed on was the idea that America isn't just a place to succeed, America is a place to integrate, to learn about those different from yourselves, to participate in the grand experiment in the greatest country in the history of mankind.
Quoting John Winthrop, governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, almost 400 years ago (1630) in his work, “A Model of Christian Charity (City on a Hill),”
"For this end we must be knit together. We must entertain each other in brotherly affection. We must be willing to give up our superfluities to supply others' necessities...We must delight in each other; make others' conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together... So shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace."
This might beg the question a bit, because he didn't define "we" to mean just those he cared about. Taking this from the Christian idea of everyman being part of the 'we", the point is that everyone has to take it upon themselves to view their community as being greater than just those who might share the same political ideology, economic strata or ethnic background. America is about EVERYONE, and in this political age of a truly divisive two-party system where both parties seek to divide rather than to unite, Korean-Americans of this generation, with all their resources and windfall, have a unique opportunity to work to create more unity than has ever been seen. And yet, we are more clique-ish and close-minded than any other ethnic group I've witnessed. Ok, more on this in another blog.
Back to muhaha and puhaha. Speech is one thing, and I don't denigrate those whose form of speech is different from my own. How one speaks is by individual choice, and there is no "better" or "worse" than. But language, well, that's another thing entirely. Language is a canvas with a full palette, and like music or visual art, it commands a more discriminate attitude.
MUHAHA.
Muhaha. Say it outloud a few times, really emphasize the MOO part of the word. See how you feel? There is a gutteral element here, something that really pushes your internal organs around to create a resonating sound. What does it mean? It means, "I have something that you do not, and what I have gives me power over you." Muhaha is a power word, and the laughter is akin to flogging the listener with a stick. Muhaha is often used by fiendish evildoers or by criminal masterminds, and they share the megalomania disability that is often their downfall. Muhaha means I am above you, it means that I am laughing at you because you are beneath me and it is my right as a superior being to treat you as sheep.
PUHAHA.
Again, say this aloud, and be mindful of the spittle that should emanate from your mouth. It is a surprise reaction, indicative of a previously unknown quality that, having manifested, forces a bodily reaction in the form of laughter. It means, "I find what you say (or do) to be humorous in a way I had not anticipated, else my laughter would be a chuckle or a quick snort." There is a sense of equality here, a form of peerage that stems from the relaxation of social mores. We are equal because I am laughing at you, lowering (or raising) myself to your level, and we are brothers; my spittle is analagous to a handshake, and we are the same.
**
Of course, if you scan the websites for use of both puhaha and muhaha, you might find that the vast majority of Korean-American blogs and personal websites use muhaha more than puhaha. I find this to be telling.
The next time you find yourself about to laugh, forget the "moo", add the "poo" and treat your audience with some respect and maybe some spittle. I myself use neither, and rather demurely use "hehe" as my phrase of choice. But that too, will be a topic for a future post.
-hehe,
David
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Is There A Thin Me?
Is there a thin me?
Before I get into the thick of it, the facts.
I am 5 feet, 10 and one-half inches tall (1.79 meters). I weigh about 178 lbs (80.9 kgs). According to the CDC website, this puts me into the overweight category with a BMI (body mass index of 25.2. The normal range for BMI is 18.5 to 24.9. The overweight range is 25.0 to 29.9, and so I am CDC-certified overweight. Of course, if I wanted to be in the middle of the BMI range, at about 21.7 (the mid-point), I'd have to lose nearly 30 lbs. I am not sure if I could lose 30 lbs without looking quite cadaverous!
Still, let's also look at body fat charts. The human body needs a certain level of body fat (called "essential fat"), else the organs will start breaking down in very bad ways - 3-4% body fat is absolutely necessary. According to most health charts, a body fat percentage for males aged 18 to 39 years of age should have between 10 and 20 percent. Ideal for non-professional male athletes is a range from 12-14% My body fat percentage is 17%, putting me in the healthy range but on the high end.
What is interesting about this is that fat people float in water easily, and anyone with body fat below 15% will tend to sink even with a lung full of air (below 13% in sea water). All my life I've always sunk in water (doing the so-called deadman's float), while those around me floated like leaves on a pond. So, I guess I've only recently been creeping upward on the body fat percentage. Not that I have tested my ability to float since I dislike getting wet beyond a driving rainstorm or being in the shower.
So, according to the BMI, I am anywhere from 2 lbs to 30 lbs overweight. According to the body-fat charts, I need to lose anywhere from 3-5% body fat. At 178 lbs, I need to lose anywhere from 5 to 9 lbs of body fat. I guess this would put a target range for my weight to be about 168-172 lbs. Enough of the data! I get it - I gotta lose a bit of weight. Exercise more, eat less, etc. Blah blah.
Back to the question. Is there a thin me? I guess I need to explain the question.
First, many people have commented that weight change can affect everything - their outlook and inlook, their health, their attitudes and how other people view them. If I do lose another 6-10 lbs, will I become a different person? Will others look at me differently? Will I look at myself differently?
This is a difficult question. I think maybe not. There's not much difference here anyway, and I suspect that the physiological differences between 168 lbs and 178 lbs is minor at best in the short run. I'll still wear the same clothes, likely, and just tighten the belt a bit. My suits will hang looser, but not so much that I would have to get them retailored. And given my rather small footprint in other people's lives, I am also guessing that not 1 in 10 people would even notice.
But this doesn't quite settle the question. "Is there a thin me?" has another, slightly different meaning or point. I guess I should rephrase the question - "Is there a different person inside of me, a person that cannot manifest himself without shedding the extraneous fat that surrounds my body?"
Many overweight people say, "I am a thin person trapped in a fat person's body." This is hard to decipher, because I am not sure if they mean that thin or fat, they are the same person? I take them to mean that they have a different person inside of them that cannot be expressed without losing the weight that traps them inside. Now, do I have such a person?
I say above, that I would not change if I lost 10 lbs or so. But, can I be so sure of that? Consider the changes that I would have to make to lose the weight:
1. I would have to include regular exercise in my daily routine. At least 30 mins per day, mixing cardiovascular with resistance or strength training.
Result - I would get off the couch more, resulting in less TV and movie watching, and more outdoor activities. I would become more active, possibly including more people in my life as I interact with others who share the same activities. I would have more energy throughout the day, and might decide to do more with my day than I do presently.
2. I would change my diet to include less carbohydrates, more protein and vegetables. My portion sizes will decrease, possible drastically as I eat less but more frequently. I would eat out less, and spend more time at the grocery store shopping for fresh food, possible decreasing what little free time I do have.
Result - The time I gain by watching less on the couch would be more than taken up by exercise and spending time cooking and shopping for groceries, resulting in less time overall for down-time. How would this affect my psyche and my need for stress-less downtime?
3. These changes would have to be permanent, else I gain the weight back. What are the long term consequences to making permanent changes to my lifestyle?
In the end, this thought exercise is inconclusive. It is fairly difficult to predict everything that would happen. Would I indeed be a different person? Would I like this new person, if such a person would exist after the weight-loss? Would I be happier?
Certainly, the vain side of me wants to look better, and losing 5% body fat would get me far more cut than I am now. I am not sure if I would be more than incremental health benefit, at least in the short term, so this really would be for an internal and external mental benefit.
Is there a thin me? Give me a month or two to find out.
-David
Before I get into the thick of it, the facts.
I am 5 feet, 10 and one-half inches tall (1.79 meters). I weigh about 178 lbs (80.9 kgs). According to the CDC website, this puts me into the overweight category with a BMI (body mass index of 25.2. The normal range for BMI is 18.5 to 24.9. The overweight range is 25.0 to 29.9, and so I am CDC-certified overweight. Of course, if I wanted to be in the middle of the BMI range, at about 21.7 (the mid-point), I'd have to lose nearly 30 lbs. I am not sure if I could lose 30 lbs without looking quite cadaverous!
Still, let's also look at body fat charts. The human body needs a certain level of body fat (called "essential fat"), else the organs will start breaking down in very bad ways - 3-4% body fat is absolutely necessary. According to most health charts, a body fat percentage for males aged 18 to 39 years of age should have between 10 and 20 percent. Ideal for non-professional male athletes is a range from 12-14% My body fat percentage is 17%, putting me in the healthy range but on the high end.
What is interesting about this is that fat people float in water easily, and anyone with body fat below 15% will tend to sink even with a lung full of air (below 13% in sea water). All my life I've always sunk in water (doing the so-called deadman's float), while those around me floated like leaves on a pond. So, I guess I've only recently been creeping upward on the body fat percentage. Not that I have tested my ability to float since I dislike getting wet beyond a driving rainstorm or being in the shower.
So, according to the BMI, I am anywhere from 2 lbs to 30 lbs overweight. According to the body-fat charts, I need to lose anywhere from 3-5% body fat. At 178 lbs, I need to lose anywhere from 5 to 9 lbs of body fat. I guess this would put a target range for my weight to be about 168-172 lbs. Enough of the data! I get it - I gotta lose a bit of weight. Exercise more, eat less, etc. Blah blah.
Back to the question. Is there a thin me? I guess I need to explain the question.
First, many people have commented that weight change can affect everything - their outlook and inlook, their health, their attitudes and how other people view them. If I do lose another 6-10 lbs, will I become a different person? Will others look at me differently? Will I look at myself differently?
This is a difficult question. I think maybe not. There's not much difference here anyway, and I suspect that the physiological differences between 168 lbs and 178 lbs is minor at best in the short run. I'll still wear the same clothes, likely, and just tighten the belt a bit. My suits will hang looser, but not so much that I would have to get them retailored. And given my rather small footprint in other people's lives, I am also guessing that not 1 in 10 people would even notice.
But this doesn't quite settle the question. "Is there a thin me?" has another, slightly different meaning or point. I guess I should rephrase the question - "Is there a different person inside of me, a person that cannot manifest himself without shedding the extraneous fat that surrounds my body?"
Many overweight people say, "I am a thin person trapped in a fat person's body." This is hard to decipher, because I am not sure if they mean that thin or fat, they are the same person? I take them to mean that they have a different person inside of them that cannot be expressed without losing the weight that traps them inside. Now, do I have such a person?
I say above, that I would not change if I lost 10 lbs or so. But, can I be so sure of that? Consider the changes that I would have to make to lose the weight:
1. I would have to include regular exercise in my daily routine. At least 30 mins per day, mixing cardiovascular with resistance or strength training.
Result - I would get off the couch more, resulting in less TV and movie watching, and more outdoor activities. I would become more active, possibly including more people in my life as I interact with others who share the same activities. I would have more energy throughout the day, and might decide to do more with my day than I do presently.
2. I would change my diet to include less carbohydrates, more protein and vegetables. My portion sizes will decrease, possible drastically as I eat less but more frequently. I would eat out less, and spend more time at the grocery store shopping for fresh food, possible decreasing what little free time I do have.
Result - The time I gain by watching less on the couch would be more than taken up by exercise and spending time cooking and shopping for groceries, resulting in less time overall for down-time. How would this affect my psyche and my need for stress-less downtime?
3. These changes would have to be permanent, else I gain the weight back. What are the long term consequences to making permanent changes to my lifestyle?
In the end, this thought exercise is inconclusive. It is fairly difficult to predict everything that would happen. Would I indeed be a different person? Would I like this new person, if such a person would exist after the weight-loss? Would I be happier?
Certainly, the vain side of me wants to look better, and losing 5% body fat would get me far more cut than I am now. I am not sure if I would be more than incremental health benefit, at least in the short term, so this really would be for an internal and external mental benefit.
Is there a thin me? Give me a month or two to find out.
-David
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Why I Write
Let me dispense with the cliche first.
I hope that I am not writing in the hopes that there is one or more persons "out there" who will read what I post and "get" me. I hope that I am not writing to help others understand who I am. What I write may be a part of me, but it is filtered through my perspectives and again through my transient feelings on the day I write. Further, whatever another person reads will be filtered again through their comprehension and once again through whatever real-life experience he or she has had with me. It is a true fool's errand to think that the resulting understanding will even come close to capturing me.
Of course, I've qualified the above with the words "I hope." I have to be careful here, lest I deceive myself into thinking that I am above the common desire held by all those who express their thoughts through the pen, that their audience can share in the feelings held by the writers themselves. I am not above such desire, but that isn't my intended purpose.
I write because I like to express, in both expository and whimiscal styles. It is fun for me to see what comes out of the jumbled head of mine. Imagine taking a bunch of brushes and dipping them in various paint buckets, then throwing the bundle of brushes against a canvas. Every time I put words to page, I get a surprise at what comes out in the end. Not quite the stream-of-consciousness technique, but the result is similar. I get a kick out of reading what I write, amusing myself in the writing and the reading.
Second, I always write with music in the background. The combination of the music and the writing is cathartic. I find myself able to travel worlds and across time with the words I write. Combine that with the appropriate soundtrack to my mind's eye, and you have a Blockbuster (TM) night. I play a lot of different kinds of music, and it is interesting to see whether the music choice affects the mood/tone of the words I choose. For instance, I am writing this particular post to Evanescence - Before The Dawn (from their most recent album, The Open Door). And when I dabble in screen plays, I try to choose Hans Zimmer music, although there is tremendous risk that a dramatic scene turns into a car chase of some sort. (Short aside - I was driving around San Francisco with my wife last week, and we were on top of one of the many steep hills that dot the cityscape. If I had Hans Zimmer playing at the time, I know for sure I would have been tempted to drive like a madman. And as funny as that would have been, my wife would surely have had serious reservations about my mental stability... some things, you just cannot explain adequately to your wife).
So, there is incentive enough for me to write, internal to me and requiring no audience at all.
Yet I think, yes, I would be disingenuous if I were to say that no part of me wishes for someone to someday read what I write and be able to see what I see. My community would then be extended beyond the close company of me, and maybe I wouldn't feel alone.
My fear, then, is pretty obvious. What if someone were to read what I write, completely understand, and then simply say something like, "Ok, but so what?" or "I get what you say, but it's not very interesting or even original." This is why I have to hope that I write for myself and not for others. It would be a tragi-comedy indeed if I held the belief that I was truly unique, and a person much smarter than myself would come back at me with, "uh, you aren't different or supra-normal, you just think you are, like everyone else in the world. The only difference is that others accept their normality and thus have community, where you fail to grasp this and are apart only in your own mind...what a poor joke." I wonder if other writers feel the same way... of course, it is all pure irony in the end. I AM different, and I AM the same, and the only difference between the two lies in my mind. So really, who am I kidding?
Still, to save myself from a stark reality, I choose to write for myself first and foremost, and hold any other potential thoughts hostage in a dark recess of my mind.
-David
I hope that I am not writing in the hopes that there is one or more persons "out there" who will read what I post and "get" me. I hope that I am not writing to help others understand who I am. What I write may be a part of me, but it is filtered through my perspectives and again through my transient feelings on the day I write. Further, whatever another person reads will be filtered again through their comprehension and once again through whatever real-life experience he or she has had with me. It is a true fool's errand to think that the resulting understanding will even come close to capturing me.
Of course, I've qualified the above with the words "I hope." I have to be careful here, lest I deceive myself into thinking that I am above the common desire held by all those who express their thoughts through the pen, that their audience can share in the feelings held by the writers themselves. I am not above such desire, but that isn't my intended purpose.
I write because I like to express, in both expository and whimiscal styles. It is fun for me to see what comes out of the jumbled head of mine. Imagine taking a bunch of brushes and dipping them in various paint buckets, then throwing the bundle of brushes against a canvas. Every time I put words to page, I get a surprise at what comes out in the end. Not quite the stream-of-consciousness technique, but the result is similar. I get a kick out of reading what I write, amusing myself in the writing and the reading.
Second, I always write with music in the background. The combination of the music and the writing is cathartic. I find myself able to travel worlds and across time with the words I write. Combine that with the appropriate soundtrack to my mind's eye, and you have a Blockbuster (TM) night. I play a lot of different kinds of music, and it is interesting to see whether the music choice affects the mood/tone of the words I choose. For instance, I am writing this particular post to Evanescence - Before The Dawn (from their most recent album, The Open Door). And when I dabble in screen plays, I try to choose Hans Zimmer music, although there is tremendous risk that a dramatic scene turns into a car chase of some sort. (Short aside - I was driving around San Francisco with my wife last week, and we were on top of one of the many steep hills that dot the cityscape. If I had Hans Zimmer playing at the time, I know for sure I would have been tempted to drive like a madman. And as funny as that would have been, my wife would surely have had serious reservations about my mental stability... some things, you just cannot explain adequately to your wife).
So, there is incentive enough for me to write, internal to me and requiring no audience at all.
Yet I think, yes, I would be disingenuous if I were to say that no part of me wishes for someone to someday read what I write and be able to see what I see. My community would then be extended beyond the close company of me, and maybe I wouldn't feel alone.
My fear, then, is pretty obvious. What if someone were to read what I write, completely understand, and then simply say something like, "Ok, but so what?" or "I get what you say, but it's not very interesting or even original." This is why I have to hope that I write for myself and not for others. It would be a tragi-comedy indeed if I held the belief that I was truly unique, and a person much smarter than myself would come back at me with, "uh, you aren't different or supra-normal, you just think you are, like everyone else in the world. The only difference is that others accept their normality and thus have community, where you fail to grasp this and are apart only in your own mind...what a poor joke." I wonder if other writers feel the same way... of course, it is all pure irony in the end. I AM different, and I AM the same, and the only difference between the two lies in my mind. So really, who am I kidding?
Still, to save myself from a stark reality, I choose to write for myself first and foremost, and hold any other potential thoughts hostage in a dark recess of my mind.
-David
All The World Is A Stage
This is a difficult post to write, from a self-reflective perspective. Not that I dislike introspection, but anytime I have to be insensitive (least of all, to myself), I'd rather follow the old adage and say nothing at all ("if you can't say something nice..."). Then again, why restrict what I say? From whom am I trying to hide?
So, here it is. I am a hypocrite, more or less. More, because I am comfortable in this act of double living. Less, because I do seek to correct this small tragedy.
The word hypocrisy comes from the Greek word, hypokrisis, which is the act of playing a part on stage. Modern usage can be summed up this way: saying one thing while doing another thing entirely. In both respects, I pretty well cover the definition.
It is difficult to show the true me to people. I think in one respect, I've always felt myself to be unique or different from others. Not just as an individual (like everyone else), but more special or better than others. Not really better in the sense that I am a better person than others, but just apart from everyone else. I have always felt that I am not really like other people, in the way that I see other people being the same. I see others conforming (consciously or unconsciously) and being the same - same in the way they talk, the way they think, the way they dress and act.
Now, there are people who are truly different. They are simply unique individuals who excel in various ways. Some are polyglots who can converse freely in several languages, others who perceive and can utilize their bodies to create music in ways that most cannot. Still others have superior minds or will-power, or have integrity girded in steel. I am not really like those people. I don't have any truly special abilities, not really in the ways that others do. I just see things differently and feel differently about most things. I mean, I am pretty good at most things; I have a fairly high IQ, athletic and above-average at most skill sports and recreational activities, etc. But nothing that makes me different from an outsider's perspective. I am different only in an insider's perspective, my perspective. And this is where Hypocrisy Part 1 comes in.
As most others, I desire community and social structure. Commonality and shared experiences give assurance and satisfies a basic need. But since I feel different from most others, and I know of no others that I see as being the same as me, I have always lacked community. Now, I am not sure what I would do if I met a person who was the same as me (probably, I wouldn't like what I saw), but because of the way I feel, I've always felt alone.
To combat this feeling of alone-ness, I've tried to fit in by being like the others, dumbing myself down and doing what others do. Dumbing myself down often makes me the butt of jokes and ribbing by others, but what else can I do? Either I look like a fool (but a fool that people feel comfortable around) or I look like an arrogant and aloof guy who is bored by the banalities of the social interactions around me. Which is better? Thus Part 1 of my hypocrisy is established and continued at the risk of alienation.
"The Sun shone brightly on this fool
Taking the merry laughter in stride
Frozen in a smile behind clear eyes
No graven-stone was ever so empty."
Part 2 of my Hypocrisy is all internal. It is what I tell myself, and what I do. Physical - I tell myself to be healthier, to work out regularly and quit my bad habits, but my resolutions fall by the wayside as sloth takes hold. Spiritual - I pray to God that I become one worthier of my station and the blessings I have received, and each day my actions and thoughts fall again by the ditch as selfishness and ego destroy the best of intentions. The list can go on and on, and I have only my daily indictment to chastise me.
It is an old story, and probably not new. Where is that young soul that had a fresh slate and nothing but dreams and potential? Why now, in the midst of my burdened body not yet turned to grey and to dust, have I been given the opportunity to see my shortcomings but not given the willpower to truly change? Better than I've not been given the power of perception, and simply lived in ignorance, than to see Dorian's painting before the final brushstrokes are laid to canvas. I mean, the easy answer is simply to put mind over body, isn't it? Where is my mind now, when I am in most in need?
"A long sturdy fence circles the dry meadow,
Holding tight the sheep so clustered from harm
Yet their bleats betray the enclosure that keeps
Them from the nourishing grass on the other side."
The tragedy of this, really, is that none of this is new to me. I guess I just feel more comfortable this way than to change. There are other less likely possibilities, like, maybe I've just not found the right group of people to open up to yet. But as time passes, all I can do is watch the grass on the other side.
-David
(* both above poems are spur of the moment attempts at a more artistic expression, pushing beyond the talky-talky rhetoric and the expository composition)
So, here it is. I am a hypocrite, more or less. More, because I am comfortable in this act of double living. Less, because I do seek to correct this small tragedy.
The word hypocrisy comes from the Greek word, hypokrisis, which is the act of playing a part on stage. Modern usage can be summed up this way: saying one thing while doing another thing entirely. In both respects, I pretty well cover the definition.
It is difficult to show the true me to people. I think in one respect, I've always felt myself to be unique or different from others. Not just as an individual (like everyone else), but more special or better than others. Not really better in the sense that I am a better person than others, but just apart from everyone else. I have always felt that I am not really like other people, in the way that I see other people being the same. I see others conforming (consciously or unconsciously) and being the same - same in the way they talk, the way they think, the way they dress and act.
Now, there are people who are truly different. They are simply unique individuals who excel in various ways. Some are polyglots who can converse freely in several languages, others who perceive and can utilize their bodies to create music in ways that most cannot. Still others have superior minds or will-power, or have integrity girded in steel. I am not really like those people. I don't have any truly special abilities, not really in the ways that others do. I just see things differently and feel differently about most things. I mean, I am pretty good at most things; I have a fairly high IQ, athletic and above-average at most skill sports and recreational activities, etc. But nothing that makes me different from an outsider's perspective. I am different only in an insider's perspective, my perspective. And this is where Hypocrisy Part 1 comes in.
As most others, I desire community and social structure. Commonality and shared experiences give assurance and satisfies a basic need. But since I feel different from most others, and I know of no others that I see as being the same as me, I have always lacked community. Now, I am not sure what I would do if I met a person who was the same as me (probably, I wouldn't like what I saw), but because of the way I feel, I've always felt alone.
To combat this feeling of alone-ness, I've tried to fit in by being like the others, dumbing myself down and doing what others do. Dumbing myself down often makes me the butt of jokes and ribbing by others, but what else can I do? Either I look like a fool (but a fool that people feel comfortable around) or I look like an arrogant and aloof guy who is bored by the banalities of the social interactions around me. Which is better? Thus Part 1 of my hypocrisy is established and continued at the risk of alienation.
"The Sun shone brightly on this fool
Taking the merry laughter in stride
Frozen in a smile behind clear eyes
No graven-stone was ever so empty."
Part 2 of my Hypocrisy is all internal. It is what I tell myself, and what I do. Physical - I tell myself to be healthier, to work out regularly and quit my bad habits, but my resolutions fall by the wayside as sloth takes hold. Spiritual - I pray to God that I become one worthier of my station and the blessings I have received, and each day my actions and thoughts fall again by the ditch as selfishness and ego destroy the best of intentions. The list can go on and on, and I have only my daily indictment to chastise me.
It is an old story, and probably not new. Where is that young soul that had a fresh slate and nothing but dreams and potential? Why now, in the midst of my burdened body not yet turned to grey and to dust, have I been given the opportunity to see my shortcomings but not given the willpower to truly change? Better than I've not been given the power of perception, and simply lived in ignorance, than to see Dorian's painting before the final brushstrokes are laid to canvas. I mean, the easy answer is simply to put mind over body, isn't it? Where is my mind now, when I am in most in need?
"A long sturdy fence circles the dry meadow,
Holding tight the sheep so clustered from harm
Yet their bleats betray the enclosure that keeps
Them from the nourishing grass on the other side."
The tragedy of this, really, is that none of this is new to me. I guess I just feel more comfortable this way than to change. There are other less likely possibilities, like, maybe I've just not found the right group of people to open up to yet. But as time passes, all I can do is watch the grass on the other side.
-David
(* both above poems are spur of the moment attempts at a more artistic expression, pushing beyond the talky-talky rhetoric and the expository composition)
Monday, October 16, 2006
Vaya Con Dios
Six plus years ago, NBC aired "Vaya Con Dios", a Law & Order episode that featured a Chilean former general (and Chilean citizen) who is prosecuted by Jack McCoy of orchestrating a murder of an American citizen decades earlier (Season 10, season finale aired May 24, 2000). The episode itself is fairly typical of L&O episodes and Det. Lennie Briscoe gets in a few mild zingers.
The episode is notable for a few reasons. First, this was the last contract appearence of Steven Hill, who played the New York District Attorney, Adam Schiff. Second, the episode itself made little sense or congruity with respect to the law, federal, state or international. This is a bit unusual, because most episodes are written with a fairly benign understanding of the legal system. I say this with some amount of gratitude, because I figured out non-mutual collateral estoppel from an episode of L&O that aired a few hours after my law school Civil Procedure professor obfuscated the entire topic. Third and finally, and the reason why I am writing about this, is the oral argument that exec. ADA Jack McCoy gives before the United States Supreme Court.
The little speech that McCoy offers to the Supreme Court justices is startling in its intensity, in no small part due to Sam Waterston's passioned and powerful delivery. I saw the episode on syndication recently, and had it Tivo'ed so I could transcribe the words for later rumination. It is too bad that I can't find an audio file of the speech, so that I could add it here. Waterston's delivery of the words is masterful as well. If you ever get the chance to see this particular Season 10 finale episode, catch the last 10 minutes or so. It is worth watching.
Jack McCoy, to the Supreme Court:
"May it please the court.
Man has only the rights he can defend. Our most basic right is life. It's enshrined not only in our Constitution, but in the charter of the United Nations. The prohibition against taking a life is found in our most ancient texts and in the statutes of every nation. Every murder, whether in Brooklyn, Santiago, Rwanda or Kosovo, demands punishment by whatever legal means possible. Otherwise, the right to life is just an empty promise. "
(in response to a question from a justice) "On the contrary, Madam Justice, timidity in the pursuit of murderers is no virtue. The Founding Fathers affirmed life as an absolute right. If the laws protecting that right are to have any meaning, they must be given the broadest interpretation.
...The law against murder applies to all. No matter the perpetrator, the victim,or the country where the murder is committed. It is the one moral law that recognizes no national, racial or religious boundaries. It can tolerate no exceptions. There is one law. One law.
And when that law is broken, it is the duty of every officer of any court to rise up in defense of that law, and bring their full power and diligence to bear against the law breaker. Because, man has only those rights he can defend. Only those rights."
**
What strikes poignant is not that some guy is spouting idealistically about there being one law above all others, a law that covers everyone, but that some guy isn't spouting idealistically, but realistically. Let me repeat that in Jack McCoy form - the One Law that covers everyone isn't an idealistic paradise, it is what is real and true. Real and true. The law against murder isn't a common law doctrine or a codified statute, not really. It is something that all mankind instrinsically understands and, with a bit of reflection, we can find the source of that instrinsic knowledge or Truth.
Now, I am going far beyond the character of Jack McCoy at this point, the television character who is agnostic at best, but who cares. Sometimes, television or the movies can get it right. My guess is that CS Lewis would have listened to McCoy give his tear-inducing speech and then say something like, "the idea of One Law that transcends all of mankind, of Right and Wrong, where do you think that comes from, Mr. McCoy?"
It all fits together. The law, what is just, what is right, and God's truth. And we can recognize Truth when we hear it, because without fail it will strike a chord so deep within us that it will resonates in our souls.
All this from an L&O episode? Well, after several hundred episodes, they gotta get at least one thing right.
-David
The episode is notable for a few reasons. First, this was the last contract appearence of Steven Hill, who played the New York District Attorney, Adam Schiff. Second, the episode itself made little sense or congruity with respect to the law, federal, state or international. This is a bit unusual, because most episodes are written with a fairly benign understanding of the legal system. I say this with some amount of gratitude, because I figured out non-mutual collateral estoppel from an episode of L&O that aired a few hours after my law school Civil Procedure professor obfuscated the entire topic. Third and finally, and the reason why I am writing about this, is the oral argument that exec. ADA Jack McCoy gives before the United States Supreme Court.
The little speech that McCoy offers to the Supreme Court justices is startling in its intensity, in no small part due to Sam Waterston's passioned and powerful delivery. I saw the episode on syndication recently, and had it Tivo'ed so I could transcribe the words for later rumination. It is too bad that I can't find an audio file of the speech, so that I could add it here. Waterston's delivery of the words is masterful as well. If you ever get the chance to see this particular Season 10 finale episode, catch the last 10 minutes or so. It is worth watching.
Jack McCoy, to the Supreme Court:
"May it please the court.
Man has only the rights he can defend. Our most basic right is life. It's enshrined not only in our Constitution, but in the charter of the United Nations. The prohibition against taking a life is found in our most ancient texts and in the statutes of every nation. Every murder, whether in Brooklyn, Santiago, Rwanda or Kosovo, demands punishment by whatever legal means possible. Otherwise, the right to life is just an empty promise. "
(in response to a question from a justice) "On the contrary, Madam Justice, timidity in the pursuit of murderers is no virtue. The Founding Fathers affirmed life as an absolute right. If the laws protecting that right are to have any meaning, they must be given the broadest interpretation.
...The law against murder applies to all. No matter the perpetrator, the victim,or the country where the murder is committed. It is the one moral law that recognizes no national, racial or religious boundaries. It can tolerate no exceptions. There is one law. One law.
And when that law is broken, it is the duty of every officer of any court to rise up in defense of that law, and bring their full power and diligence to bear against the law breaker. Because, man has only those rights he can defend. Only those rights."
**
What strikes poignant is not that some guy is spouting idealistically about there being one law above all others, a law that covers everyone, but that some guy isn't spouting idealistically, but realistically. Let me repeat that in Jack McCoy form - the One Law that covers everyone isn't an idealistic paradise, it is what is real and true. Real and true. The law against murder isn't a common law doctrine or a codified statute, not really. It is something that all mankind instrinsically understands and, with a bit of reflection, we can find the source of that instrinsic knowledge or Truth.
Now, I am going far beyond the character of Jack McCoy at this point, the television character who is agnostic at best, but who cares. Sometimes, television or the movies can get it right. My guess is that CS Lewis would have listened to McCoy give his tear-inducing speech and then say something like, "the idea of One Law that transcends all of mankind, of Right and Wrong, where do you think that comes from, Mr. McCoy?"
It all fits together. The law, what is just, what is right, and God's truth. And we can recognize Truth when we hear it, because without fail it will strike a chord so deep within us that it will resonates in our souls.
All this from an L&O episode? Well, after several hundred episodes, they gotta get at least one thing right.
-David
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Three Appetizers
As I mentioned, my wife and I went to Northern California this past week. This post is on three particularly tasty dishes that I was able to enjoy.
Now, I don't normally eat food to enjoy the taste. I've always viewed food as a source of energy and nourishment, and not really for the gastronomical pleasure inherent within. But I make exceptions for the following.
Sandwiched between the awesome coastal masterpiece known as Monterey and the idyllic town of Carmel, we were able to have dinner at a beautiful restaurant known as Tarpy's Roadhouse. I half expected a roughhouse bar and grill with bikers and strippers, given my cinematic knowledge of Patrick Swayze movies, but it was anything but.
With a distinct and soothing Tuscan flavor (delightfully and haphazardly melded with Americana), Tarpy's is perhaps the dining destination for those in the area. I won't go into all the food I gobbled down, but I will mention an appetizer. Now, there are thousands of restaurants that have fried calamari on the menu, and I've tried hundreds of calamari dishes. But this was the first time that I've had fried battered calamari where the squid pieces were actually the filets rather than the rings or tentacles. And what a difference it makes (along with the lime-thai sauce on the side). Absolutely fantastic.
Earlier that day, we were fortunate enough to stop by Santa Cruz on our way to Monterey, and found this cute little restaurant called The Crepe Place to visit for lunch. By the by, I am not a huge fan of savory crepes (rather than the desserty-type crepes), but the place lived up to its must-taste billing. We shared an appetizer medley of jalepeno poppers, shoestring fried onions and spicy chicken wings.
The wings and poppers were above average, but not worth spending time discussing. It was the shoestring onions that deserve mention. Most fried onions are done in ring form, battered and deep fried. These were cut into thin straight strings, and crispy but not crunchy. The result was the best appetizer that I've ever had (until later that evening when Tarpy's knocked The Crepe Place off of the top pedestal). I was unable to figure out what seasonings or ingredients went into the batter for the shoestrings, but they got it exactly right. If I had even slightly less decorum, I would have licked the crumbs off of the appetizer plate.
Finally, on the day before we left Northern California, we toured the wine country of Napa Valley. In the heart of Napa, surrounded by the pastoral and picturesque plots of Cabernet and Savignon grapes, we were able to secure an outside patio table at the Rutherford Grill, a Tuscan style restaurant with adobe walls and a firepit style kitchen where food is prepared in front of you, should you wish an indoor seat. Now, imagine a beautiful fall day in Napa Valley with a cloudless crystal blue sky disappearing into the purple mountains on the horizon of the valley, and sitting in the shade of olive trees that line the edges of a rippling triplet of fountains. Then imagine watching as a sizzling cast iron skillet being brought before you.
The smell of the cornbread hits you, and it smells like home. The slight tang of jalapenos flitters through your nostrils and then your teeth pushes past the slightly sweet crust.
Combine that with a bottle of a crisp Chardonnay, and you cannot even remember that you have a flight to head back from whence you came.
Food is still just energy, calories and joules for the body to use, but there are times when it transcends mere fuel.
-David
(Honorable mention - the clam chowder at the Fisherman's Wharf (Pier 39) restaurant called Neptune's Palace. Have that with the piping hot sourdough bread, and the day will not have gone to waste).
Now, I don't normally eat food to enjoy the taste. I've always viewed food as a source of energy and nourishment, and not really for the gastronomical pleasure inherent within. But I make exceptions for the following.
Sandwiched between the awesome coastal masterpiece known as Monterey and the idyllic town of Carmel, we were able to have dinner at a beautiful restaurant known as Tarpy's Roadhouse. I half expected a roughhouse bar and grill with bikers and strippers, given my cinematic knowledge of Patrick Swayze movies, but it was anything but.
With a distinct and soothing Tuscan flavor (delightfully and haphazardly melded with Americana), Tarpy's is perhaps the dining destination for those in the area. I won't go into all the food I gobbled down, but I will mention an appetizer. Now, there are thousands of restaurants that have fried calamari on the menu, and I've tried hundreds of calamari dishes. But this was the first time that I've had fried battered calamari where the squid pieces were actually the filets rather than the rings or tentacles. And what a difference it makes (along with the lime-thai sauce on the side). Absolutely fantastic.
Earlier that day, we were fortunate enough to stop by Santa Cruz on our way to Monterey, and found this cute little restaurant called The Crepe Place to visit for lunch. By the by, I am not a huge fan of savory crepes (rather than the desserty-type crepes), but the place lived up to its must-taste billing. We shared an appetizer medley of jalepeno poppers, shoestring fried onions and spicy chicken wings.
The wings and poppers were above average, but not worth spending time discussing. It was the shoestring onions that deserve mention. Most fried onions are done in ring form, battered and deep fried. These were cut into thin straight strings, and crispy but not crunchy. The result was the best appetizer that I've ever had (until later that evening when Tarpy's knocked The Crepe Place off of the top pedestal). I was unable to figure out what seasonings or ingredients went into the batter for the shoestrings, but they got it exactly right. If I had even slightly less decorum, I would have licked the crumbs off of the appetizer plate.
Finally, on the day before we left Northern California, we toured the wine country of Napa Valley. In the heart of Napa, surrounded by the pastoral and picturesque plots of Cabernet and Savignon grapes, we were able to secure an outside patio table at the Rutherford Grill, a Tuscan style restaurant with adobe walls and a firepit style kitchen where food is prepared in front of you, should you wish an indoor seat. Now, imagine a beautiful fall day in Napa Valley with a cloudless crystal blue sky disappearing into the purple mountains on the horizon of the valley, and sitting in the shade of olive trees that line the edges of a rippling triplet of fountains. Then imagine watching as a sizzling cast iron skillet being brought before you.
The smell of the cornbread hits you, and it smells like home. The slight tang of jalapenos flitters through your nostrils and then your teeth pushes past the slightly sweet crust.
Combine that with a bottle of a crisp Chardonnay, and you cannot even remember that you have a flight to head back from whence you came.
Food is still just energy, calories and joules for the body to use, but there are times when it transcends mere fuel.
-David
(Honorable mention - the clam chowder at the Fisherman's Wharf (Pier 39) restaurant called Neptune's Palace. Have that with the piping hot sourdough bread, and the day will not have gone to waste).
Witness
I went on vacation to Northern California this past week. My wife and I were lucky enough to ramble around Monterey, Napa Valley and the great city of San Francisco. It was a fantastic vacation - a tour of some of the grandest sights I've ever seen. For those who haven't been, I can sum it up in a few sentences: in every other place in the world that I have been, people are forced to adapt to their environment in big or little ways. In Northern California, you do not have to adapt to the environment; it is already perfect for you. All you have to do is live.
In this fantasy world of beauty and some of the best food I've ever tasted, I was able to visit my grandmother on her 90th birthday in the serene city of San Francisco. Family and friends gathered to wish the matriarch of my family the best of everything, and my wife and I were on hand to mark the occasion. Only, the day began in a very odd manner.
On this particular day of supposed celebration, my father, my grandmother, my wife and I all went to visit a cemetary. This may seem moribund and not a little odd, but it was a trip made by request by my grandmother. My father had purchased a cemetary plot for my grandmother a while back, and for reasons I won't get into, my grandmother wanted to go out to see it (and see it with her son and grandson).
So, on an absolutely beautiful Northern California day in October, we travelled out to a huge cemetary in Colma, California and spent some time among the dead. Under the brightest blue sky and a golden white sun, we walked amongst the gravestones, mausoleums and carefully manicured lawns. And then, we found the empty spot - Row 1, Plot 24 in a newly terraced area of the giant cemetary.
I didn't know what to say, so I remained quiet as my frail grandmother stepped forward and stooped over to examine the spot. In that moment, I felt the slowing of time and the singularity of the event. My grandmother said nothing, and my dad was quiet as well. What could anyone say, other than to acknowledge the evident? There is a duality to cemetaries, as life and the living surround the memories encased in stone, mahogany and walnut. Where does one begin to examine the strangeness of the finite life meeting the infinite end?
My grandmother has lived an eventful life, having passed through some of the most momentous occasions in the history of the world. An incredible journey she has followed, being first hand witness to the sorrow, chaos and pain of war, and also to the slow solitude of outliving all those of her generation. I could only remain silent as my grandmother closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could sense her passing in the coming future.
**
On on return flight from San Francisco, we received news that one of close friends, in all her pregnant glory, decided together with her unborn child that the time had come. While we were crossing the mighty Mississippi River, our close friend gave birth to her son.
And so life continues on on both sides of the continent. God's gift to us, granted to everyone, cherished by those who can still feel the awesomeness of the power of life. On reflection, I think it is far too grand for me to stand apart and parse. Maybe the best I can do is just to bear witness and give thanks.
-David
On this particular day of supposed celebration, my father, my grandmother, my wife and I all went to visit a cemetary. This may seem moribund and not a little odd, but it was a trip made by request by my grandmother. My father had purchased a cemetary plot for my grandmother a while back, and for reasons I won't get into, my grandmother wanted to go out to see it (and see it with her son and grandson).
So, on an absolutely beautiful Northern California day in October, we travelled out to a huge cemetary in Colma, California and spent some time among the dead. Under the brightest blue sky and a golden white sun, we walked amongst the gravestones, mausoleums and carefully manicured lawns. And then, we found the empty spot - Row 1, Plot 24 in a newly terraced area of the giant cemetary.
I didn't know what to say, so I remained quiet as my frail grandmother stepped forward and stooped over to examine the spot. In that moment, I felt the slowing of time and the singularity of the event. My grandmother said nothing, and my dad was quiet as well. What could anyone say, other than to acknowledge the evident? There is a duality to cemetaries, as life and the living surround the memories encased in stone, mahogany and walnut. Where does one begin to examine the strangeness of the finite life meeting the infinite end?
My grandmother has lived an eventful life, having passed through some of the most momentous occasions in the history of the world. An incredible journey she has followed, being first hand witness to the sorrow, chaos and pain of war, and also to the slow solitude of outliving all those of her generation. I could only remain silent as my grandmother closed her eyes and sighed. Perhaps she could sense her passing in the coming future.
**
On on return flight from San Francisco, we received news that one of close friends, in all her pregnant glory, decided together with her unborn child that the time had come. While we were crossing the mighty Mississippi River, our close friend gave birth to her son.
And so life continues on on both sides of the continent. God's gift to us, granted to everyone, cherished by those who can still feel the awesomeness of the power of life. On reflection, I think it is far too grand for me to stand apart and parse. Maybe the best I can do is just to bear witness and give thanks.
-David
Friday, October 06, 2006
Wachovia, You Rock
Wachovia's customer service rocks.
Not only was the Wachovia customer service rep courteous and patient with me as I explained an issue with a paycheck direct deposit screwup (last time I ask for split checks), but she waived the wiring fee of $22 by crediting it back to me.
She stayed on the phone with me as I got our accounting department on the phone at the same time, and she explained how to do it step by step. In a few minutes, she got done what the accounting department said could not be done.
I've dealt with a lot of banks in my life, and I've NEVER had a bank waive wiring fees when the mistake was on my end. Not only that, she stayed on the phone chatting with me until we got confirmation, and was as nice as apple pie to boot. Imagine that, I felt like I was the only customer she had in the world, and she made sure everything was fine before hanging up.
I was thinking about switching to WaMu (Washington Mutual Bank) based on their free everything policies, but after my happy experience today, I'm a Wachovia man. Of course, if WaMu had a prime rate interest on checking, I'd be tempted to switch again, but that's beside the point.
This blog is in celebration of Wachovia's friendly customer service rep whose name I do not remember.
-David
Not only was the Wachovia customer service rep courteous and patient with me as I explained an issue with a paycheck direct deposit screwup (last time I ask for split checks), but she waived the wiring fee of $22 by crediting it back to me.
She stayed on the phone with me as I got our accounting department on the phone at the same time, and she explained how to do it step by step. In a few minutes, she got done what the accounting department said could not be done.
I've dealt with a lot of banks in my life, and I've NEVER had a bank waive wiring fees when the mistake was on my end. Not only that, she stayed on the phone chatting with me until we got confirmation, and was as nice as apple pie to boot. Imagine that, I felt like I was the only customer she had in the world, and she made sure everything was fine before hanging up.
I was thinking about switching to WaMu (Washington Mutual Bank) based on their free everything policies, but after my happy experience today, I'm a Wachovia man. Of course, if WaMu had a prime rate interest on checking, I'd be tempted to switch again, but that's beside the point.
This blog is in celebration of Wachovia's friendly customer service rep whose name I do not remember.
-David
Dreams and Dreaming
Apologies to Carl Jung, but I think supra-personal archetypes are inapposite to this world in this time of humanity. (Err... whaaa? Okay, here's a rephase: Jung's theory on dreams doesn't apply to us). I was reading up on some psychology stuff, and I came across a section on dreams. I happen to disagree.
More or less (probably more of the latter than the former), Jung proposed that our minds have an unconscious that regulates and reformulates our feelings and thoughts in the form of archetypes. Those that have a disconnect with their unconscious, that is to say, people who lose their ability to hold onto their archetypes, may succumb to neuroses that lead them to become unbalanced in their lives and relationships. Those that are overcome by their unconscious self might lose perspectives on reality altogether.
Jung devised four basic archetypes, (rather spookily named) the Self, the Shadow, the Anima, and the Animus. Quickly summarizing - the Self is who you are, the totality of you. The Shadow is part of the unconscious that may be repressed and appearing in dreams as you who is impulsive and empathetic. The Anima is the feminine side to a person, part of the inner self and representive of who we really are. Finally, the Animus is the masculine side to ourselves, our outer shell that we show to others and is developed through socialization. (reverse the masc/fem for gender).
In any case, Jung's idea was basically that the unconscious works in concert with the conscious, and our balanced self depends on our ability to utilize our unconscious to keep an even keel. Those obsessed, for example, with their mothers, might have a flooding of their unconscious by their Anima, and a disconnect here would lead to inability to deal with women.
The manifestation of Jung's theory can be found in dreams, where the unconscious comes out to play. Thus, our dreams show us glimpses of our unconscious, and gives us images of how are archetypes are developing (if at all).
I won't argue the psychology here. I'm not in the mood. But I will say this. The rate of images processed by people in the time of Carl Jung is a tiny fraction of what we see today. Americans on average watch about 4.5 hours of television per day. That, plus you have to factor in the commercials we see on billboards, on the internet, in magazines, on subways, innundating us, surrounding us, invading us every where from the bedroom to the office. I would argue that we are no longer forming our own archetypes, as the media interface with our brains is so pervasive that we have lost our ability to control our own unconscious. If Jung's hypotheses were right, perhaps we are all completely neurotic.
Then again, perhaps dreams are just what modern researches propose - our brain trying to relax and put together some coherence between what we see and what we think. To attach more meaning than that, well, it is a wonder we don't go around having consequenceless sex with stick figure models and shooting every guy dressed in black, while chewing Orbit gum and drinking Dr. Pepper. And the vast majority of us do not do such things (or even want to do such things).
I have my own ideas about dreams. I think of dreams to be more like a vast desert that is open to population by our desires, memories and fears. And we have the ability to do what we want with dreams, should we choose to. I'm not sure how this fits in with Jungian psychology, but to me, dreams are really up to us.
We can choose to attach whatever meaning we want to our own dreams. And the act of attaching meaning (not Archetypal meaning) can be based on whatever value system or randomness we want. What I mean is this: we are who we say we are, and we aren't who we say we are not. How does this figure with reality then? I mean, if I say I am Superman, can I then fly? I say, yes. Perhaps not physically by flapping my arms or psychokinesis (is this even a word?) but if the attributes of Superman are honesty, courage, integrity, generosity, kindness, and belief in yourself to do anything, then why not?
Now, Christian history is filled with examples of God using dreams to awaken the individuals to task, to warn, to instruct, to spur forward. I don't see any inconsistency, and I can't find a better method for God to give us help to be more than who we are than through dreams (burning vegetation aside, of course).
I dream what I want to be, and while at times my dreams' conclusions don't turn out how I expect, I am who my dreams are. In the past, I dreamed that I was President of the United States, and trying to broker peace deals in the Middle East. It was a great compromise that I had come up with, basically allowing those countries with a fundamental Islamasist government to develop as they wished, while holding a hard line from a military perspective to protect countries that had secular leadership. The credibility of the US Government was at stake, and the end of the American Hegemony if we didn't work quickly. The vast majority of the dream, however, my draft bills were stuck in Congressional sub-committees and buried under an avalanche of counter-proposals and vote-pedalling. I spent like 3 mins giving a grand speech and months trying to figure out how to get Congress to pass legislation to allow for certain American force activities. (This is what happens if you don't get voted into office with a party majority in both parts of the bi-cameral legislative system. Those Founders sure knew how to screw me over).
I've stopped dreaming of being President recently, and now I am mostly stuck on professional golf and baseball dreams. I'm not a huge fan of baseball, but as a diehard Red Sox fan, I know that one night I will get my beloved Sox beyond the division and ALCS. As a relief pitcher, I don't often play, but maybe I'll get the call tonight and it won't be a game that won't matter. I'll keep you posted.
-David
More or less (probably more of the latter than the former), Jung proposed that our minds have an unconscious that regulates and reformulates our feelings and thoughts in the form of archetypes. Those that have a disconnect with their unconscious, that is to say, people who lose their ability to hold onto their archetypes, may succumb to neuroses that lead them to become unbalanced in their lives and relationships. Those that are overcome by their unconscious self might lose perspectives on reality altogether.
Jung devised four basic archetypes, (rather spookily named) the Self, the Shadow, the Anima, and the Animus. Quickly summarizing - the Self is who you are, the totality of you. The Shadow is part of the unconscious that may be repressed and appearing in dreams as you who is impulsive and empathetic. The Anima is the feminine side to a person, part of the inner self and representive of who we really are. Finally, the Animus is the masculine side to ourselves, our outer shell that we show to others and is developed through socialization. (reverse the masc/fem for gender).
In any case, Jung's idea was basically that the unconscious works in concert with the conscious, and our balanced self depends on our ability to utilize our unconscious to keep an even keel. Those obsessed, for example, with their mothers, might have a flooding of their unconscious by their Anima, and a disconnect here would lead to inability to deal with women.
The manifestation of Jung's theory can be found in dreams, where the unconscious comes out to play. Thus, our dreams show us glimpses of our unconscious, and gives us images of how are archetypes are developing (if at all).
I won't argue the psychology here. I'm not in the mood. But I will say this. The rate of images processed by people in the time of Carl Jung is a tiny fraction of what we see today. Americans on average watch about 4.5 hours of television per day. That, plus you have to factor in the commercials we see on billboards, on the internet, in magazines, on subways, innundating us, surrounding us, invading us every where from the bedroom to the office. I would argue that we are no longer forming our own archetypes, as the media interface with our brains is so pervasive that we have lost our ability to control our own unconscious. If Jung's hypotheses were right, perhaps we are all completely neurotic.
Then again, perhaps dreams are just what modern researches propose - our brain trying to relax and put together some coherence between what we see and what we think. To attach more meaning than that, well, it is a wonder we don't go around having consequenceless sex with stick figure models and shooting every guy dressed in black, while chewing Orbit gum and drinking Dr. Pepper. And the vast majority of us do not do such things (or even want to do such things).
I have my own ideas about dreams. I think of dreams to be more like a vast desert that is open to population by our desires, memories and fears. And we have the ability to do what we want with dreams, should we choose to. I'm not sure how this fits in with Jungian psychology, but to me, dreams are really up to us.
We can choose to attach whatever meaning we want to our own dreams. And the act of attaching meaning (not Archetypal meaning) can be based on whatever value system or randomness we want. What I mean is this: we are who we say we are, and we aren't who we say we are not. How does this figure with reality then? I mean, if I say I am Superman, can I then fly? I say, yes. Perhaps not physically by flapping my arms or psychokinesis (is this even a word?) but if the attributes of Superman are honesty, courage, integrity, generosity, kindness, and belief in yourself to do anything, then why not?
Now, Christian history is filled with examples of God using dreams to awaken the individuals to task, to warn, to instruct, to spur forward. I don't see any inconsistency, and I can't find a better method for God to give us help to be more than who we are than through dreams (burning vegetation aside, of course).
I dream what I want to be, and while at times my dreams' conclusions don't turn out how I expect, I am who my dreams are. In the past, I dreamed that I was President of the United States, and trying to broker peace deals in the Middle East. It was a great compromise that I had come up with, basically allowing those countries with a fundamental Islamasist government to develop as they wished, while holding a hard line from a military perspective to protect countries that had secular leadership. The credibility of the US Government was at stake, and the end of the American Hegemony if we didn't work quickly. The vast majority of the dream, however, my draft bills were stuck in Congressional sub-committees and buried under an avalanche of counter-proposals and vote-pedalling. I spent like 3 mins giving a grand speech and months trying to figure out how to get Congress to pass legislation to allow for certain American force activities. (This is what happens if you don't get voted into office with a party majority in both parts of the bi-cameral legislative system. Those Founders sure knew how to screw me over).
I've stopped dreaming of being President recently, and now I am mostly stuck on professional golf and baseball dreams. I'm not a huge fan of baseball, but as a diehard Red Sox fan, I know that one night I will get my beloved Sox beyond the division and ALCS. As a relief pitcher, I don't often play, but maybe I'll get the call tonight and it won't be a game that won't matter. I'll keep you posted.
-David
Thursday, October 05, 2006
I Am A Soul
One of the most quoted CS Lewis aphorisms is "You do not have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." It is almost as if Mr. Lewis came up with the zinger, and then challenged the world, "chew on that for a while!" So I began perusing various websites and blogs, but was actually fairly disappointed with what I found. Webpage after webpage merely copied this quote without commentary or simply accompanied by the words, "This is my favorite quote." Heh. I get a kick out of people who do this. Maybe they are just being succinct and I am on the other end of the spectrum. Or perhaps CS Lewis' work can be nearly self-explanatory, and in no way in need of further verbal adornment or clarification. But I sincerely doubt the statement's profundity would be diminished by a bit of reflection.
To me, this can be rephrased as follows, "What I am is indestructible; while my body may wither and die, what I am cannot be destroyed. I am invincible and infinite, I am immortal." I would guess that most Christians take this for granted, but the impact of this axiom (and an axiom is what it is) cannot be understated.
1. This is the reason why Christians have joy. We share the promise of everlasting life (John 3:16 "that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life"), that we will not turn to dust as tragically echoed by Hamlet:
"What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?" Hamlet, Act II. 303-9.
The real tragedy of poor Hamlet isn't that he faced betrayal and the loss of everyone he cared about, but that he experienced the existentialist epiphany of being alive knowing he could not help but fail in the end. The consequence of self-awareness was anguish for him, isolated in time against all others, and he could only find solace in his perception that the pain would end with his death. If only he had pushed forward to resolve the question of his soul.
Christians take it as faith that we will not end with the ending of our brief time suspended in reality. Faith gives us hope, gives purpose and leads to a discovery of a whole new world. Faith pushes us when courage fails upon the overwhelming fear of the unknown. And perhaps the one pillar of all of this, is the axiom that we are souls.
2. There is another consequence. I cringe at the thought of bringing in popular culture here, but the quote is apt: "What we do in life echoes through eternity." Maximus Decimus Meridius, Gladiator (2000). For good or for evil, our actions have consequences not just for the impact they have on other people, but for our own souls. If you hurt someone today, aren't you really damaging your soul? I guess I should back up. The sum of who we are, in this lifetime, can only be made up of what we think, what we feel, what we experience through our senses, and what we do. And if the essence or sum of who we are as individuals can be deemed as being part of (or all of) our souls, then doesn't it follow that our actions as dictated by our minds would be included in that essence?
Imagine a soul made up of destructive or selfish pursuits, full of lies and pain. I think it was CS Lewis who brought up this scenario (although I am probably butchering his words). Now, imagine a room full of this souls. Or a thousand rooms filled with these tortured and twisted souls for eternity. Could you even stand to be in such a place for a few moments? Can this be anything else but hell?
3. Finally, there is another logical extension to this. The dispelling of fear. If we are indestructible, invincible, then what have we to fear? So much of our lives are lived in fear. Fear of nuclear weapons, bio/chem terrorist attacks. Fear of contagious diseases or succumbing to this cancer or that cancer. We have fear of other people taking away the material possessions that we have, or losing our jobs or upcoming promotions. But on the flipside, in the infinite span, I cannot imagine wasting a single moment worrying about things that matter so little.
Live in this world we must, because our souls are here. But live without fear of the trivial.
The impact of being soul is thus noted, acknowledged. We are souls and all of us live now and forever with the consequences of what we do and think and feel. So, back to the axiom now. How can we know we have souls? What if we don't?
Honestly, I don't know the answer. But I can tell you what I know.
I know my mind is more than my brain, and that my heart is more than the organ that beats in my chest. I know that listening to music can bring me to tears, causing feelings of joy or pain. The feeling extends beyond the mere sensation of the physical being. I know this, because it can linger there for years or longer.
I'll give you an example. I have this song that I play from time to time, Day By Day. The chorus runs something like this:
"Cause I'm Goin' wherever you're goin'
Turning faces into the light
And I can't wait to fall at your glory
On my face, God of the morning
You're coming closer day by day."
The first time I heard this song, I nearly burst into tears. The reality of my life is truly that I am heading closer and closer to God, and facing the Infinite One. Everytime I hear the song, my heart aches with trepidation, anticipation. The music lights me afire and I can feel it. More than anything that I do, when I listen to music, I know that I am more than a body, more than just a physical being.
There probably are a dozen quotes I could put in here, but I'll save them for another time.
From one soul to another, I greet you.
-David
To me, this can be rephrased as follows, "What I am is indestructible; while my body may wither and die, what I am cannot be destroyed. I am invincible and infinite, I am immortal." I would guess that most Christians take this for granted, but the impact of this axiom (and an axiom is what it is) cannot be understated.
1. This is the reason why Christians have joy. We share the promise of everlasting life (John 3:16 "that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life"), that we will not turn to dust as tragically echoed by Hamlet:
"What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?" Hamlet, Act II. 303-9.
The real tragedy of poor Hamlet isn't that he faced betrayal and the loss of everyone he cared about, but that he experienced the existentialist epiphany of being alive knowing he could not help but fail in the end. The consequence of self-awareness was anguish for him, isolated in time against all others, and he could only find solace in his perception that the pain would end with his death. If only he had pushed forward to resolve the question of his soul.
Christians take it as faith that we will not end with the ending of our brief time suspended in reality. Faith gives us hope, gives purpose and leads to a discovery of a whole new world. Faith pushes us when courage fails upon the overwhelming fear of the unknown. And perhaps the one pillar of all of this, is the axiom that we are souls.
2. There is another consequence. I cringe at the thought of bringing in popular culture here, but the quote is apt: "What we do in life echoes through eternity." Maximus Decimus Meridius, Gladiator (2000). For good or for evil, our actions have consequences not just for the impact they have on other people, but for our own souls. If you hurt someone today, aren't you really damaging your soul? I guess I should back up. The sum of who we are, in this lifetime, can only be made up of what we think, what we feel, what we experience through our senses, and what we do. And if the essence or sum of who we are as individuals can be deemed as being part of (or all of) our souls, then doesn't it follow that our actions as dictated by our minds would be included in that essence?
Imagine a soul made up of destructive or selfish pursuits, full of lies and pain. I think it was CS Lewis who brought up this scenario (although I am probably butchering his words). Now, imagine a room full of this souls. Or a thousand rooms filled with these tortured and twisted souls for eternity. Could you even stand to be in such a place for a few moments? Can this be anything else but hell?
3. Finally, there is another logical extension to this. The dispelling of fear. If we are indestructible, invincible, then what have we to fear? So much of our lives are lived in fear. Fear of nuclear weapons, bio/chem terrorist attacks. Fear of contagious diseases or succumbing to this cancer or that cancer. We have fear of other people taking away the material possessions that we have, or losing our jobs or upcoming promotions. But on the flipside, in the infinite span, I cannot imagine wasting a single moment worrying about things that matter so little.
Live in this world we must, because our souls are here. But live without fear of the trivial.
The impact of being soul is thus noted, acknowledged. We are souls and all of us live now and forever with the consequences of what we do and think and feel. So, back to the axiom now. How can we know we have souls? What if we don't?
Honestly, I don't know the answer. But I can tell you what I know.
I know my mind is more than my brain, and that my heart is more than the organ that beats in my chest. I know that listening to music can bring me to tears, causing feelings of joy or pain. The feeling extends beyond the mere sensation of the physical being. I know this, because it can linger there for years or longer.
I'll give you an example. I have this song that I play from time to time, Day By Day. The chorus runs something like this:
"Cause I'm Goin' wherever you're goin'
Turning faces into the light
And I can't wait to fall at your glory
On my face, God of the morning
You're coming closer day by day."
The first time I heard this song, I nearly burst into tears. The reality of my life is truly that I am heading closer and closer to God, and facing the Infinite One. Everytime I hear the song, my heart aches with trepidation, anticipation. The music lights me afire and I can feel it. More than anything that I do, when I listen to music, I know that I am more than a body, more than just a physical being.
There probably are a dozen quotes I could put in here, but I'll save them for another time.
From one soul to another, I greet you.
-David
Life In A Lifetime
Not that I am turning into a philosopher, but how else to express my life? Nothing about my life is particularly interesting, except the stuff I think and my thoughts on the things that others think. Existentialist thought tends to boils down reality into logical mush like "man is an island" or "perception is the only reality we can realize." But at times, such thought can be helpful to crystalize the inner desires that we have, and so I utilize what little I know to help me understand my own life.
One existentialist thought revolves around the desperate attempt to capture life in a lifetime. It is almost cruel to think of all the things that people have experienced or seen or felt, and not having the opportunity to have those things for yourself. In my own life, I've often felt this desperation to do or see more, and so I resonate this thought.
More eloquent individuals than me have expressed in fewer words what I am trying to say, but the meaning is the same: we are given a mind that can think of the infinite, and yet our poor bodies have not the time or resources to come close. Some have called this "despair", but I think this is far too defeatist.
I am a romantic, and not just in the episodic duality between lovers, but in the emotive sense of having idealist visions of the perfect song, summer sunset, or the patient snow taking its time to cover all the dirt of the world in silence. So it is with a sense of sadness that I think of the people that have come and gone never to tell their stories to me, their memories of the perfect day or night, speechless witnesses to an idyllic scene.
We are forced into this world without choice, thrust into competition from the moment we are born- could there be a more harsh taskmaster than a laissez faire economy that indifferently crushes as much hope as it creates? Sink or swim, we adapt and learn, but we rarely pause to see. And what is this life but a series of pushes toward self-reliance and the promise of something greater. It is ironic that the "greater" is all around us, and too often we of ignorant minds fail to grasp this truth. There probably should be balance in this, and I'm not sure where I fall on the scale. It is too bad that the mundane world of work and living is far less interesting than the infinite reaches of memory and the mind's eye.
Many summers ago, my friends and I were trespassing on a private beach on that little jut of New Hampshire land that actually touches the ocean. The ground was rapidly cooling from the then-hours ago departure of the the hardworking Sun, but the soft whooshing ocean waters was loathe yet to give up its warmth. We were disappointed at the shyness of the full moon to make its debut on the cloudless midnight blue stage, but we took off our shoes and strolled along the water's edge anyway.
There wasn't much to talk about, and it wasn't worth spoiling the mood with idle chatter. And it became impossible to say anything, as we looked down at our naked feet and saw hundreds of lumninescent sparks dancing with the sea shells. I could not decide which was more beautiful, the purple to blue sky imprinted with its silent stars, or the navy blue water singing its lullaby with its lumniscence. I heard a sharp cry of surprise or pain, and I was shaken out of my reverie. My eyes followed my friend's hand stretched out to the horizon, and I saw something I don't think I'll ever see again: a fireball orange moon as large as a quarter of the sky rising over the ocean horizon. The brilliance of the moon pushed out over the rippling ocean, leaving orange stepping stones from the beach to the thin line that separated sky from water. I think that if I were braver, I would have tried to walk to the moon that was just beyond my fingertips.
No, I don't despair at life. God's gift so cherished cannot elicit rage or pity. I do hold sadness though, as I dream of the lives and places I will never see.
CS Lewis wrote, "When we are such as He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy." The impediment in my life is time, and perhaps we were not meant to be happy in such a way, at least not until we kneel before the Infinite One and cast our mortality aside. I may not be able to capture life in a lifetime, but I am certain that my world is better off knowing the Sadness than being ignorant of it all.
-David
One existentialist thought revolves around the desperate attempt to capture life in a lifetime. It is almost cruel to think of all the things that people have experienced or seen or felt, and not having the opportunity to have those things for yourself. In my own life, I've often felt this desperation to do or see more, and so I resonate this thought.
More eloquent individuals than me have expressed in fewer words what I am trying to say, but the meaning is the same: we are given a mind that can think of the infinite, and yet our poor bodies have not the time or resources to come close. Some have called this "despair", but I think this is far too defeatist.
I am a romantic, and not just in the episodic duality between lovers, but in the emotive sense of having idealist visions of the perfect song, summer sunset, or the patient snow taking its time to cover all the dirt of the world in silence. So it is with a sense of sadness that I think of the people that have come and gone never to tell their stories to me, their memories of the perfect day or night, speechless witnesses to an idyllic scene.
We are forced into this world without choice, thrust into competition from the moment we are born- could there be a more harsh taskmaster than a laissez faire economy that indifferently crushes as much hope as it creates? Sink or swim, we adapt and learn, but we rarely pause to see. And what is this life but a series of pushes toward self-reliance and the promise of something greater. It is ironic that the "greater" is all around us, and too often we of ignorant minds fail to grasp this truth. There probably should be balance in this, and I'm not sure where I fall on the scale. It is too bad that the mundane world of work and living is far less interesting than the infinite reaches of memory and the mind's eye.
Many summers ago, my friends and I were trespassing on a private beach on that little jut of New Hampshire land that actually touches the ocean. The ground was rapidly cooling from the then-hours ago departure of the the hardworking Sun, but the soft whooshing ocean waters was loathe yet to give up its warmth. We were disappointed at the shyness of the full moon to make its debut on the cloudless midnight blue stage, but we took off our shoes and strolled along the water's edge anyway.
There wasn't much to talk about, and it wasn't worth spoiling the mood with idle chatter. And it became impossible to say anything, as we looked down at our naked feet and saw hundreds of lumninescent sparks dancing with the sea shells. I could not decide which was more beautiful, the purple to blue sky imprinted with its silent stars, or the navy blue water singing its lullaby with its lumniscence. I heard a sharp cry of surprise or pain, and I was shaken out of my reverie. My eyes followed my friend's hand stretched out to the horizon, and I saw something I don't think I'll ever see again: a fireball orange moon as large as a quarter of the sky rising over the ocean horizon. The brilliance of the moon pushed out over the rippling ocean, leaving orange stepping stones from the beach to the thin line that separated sky from water. I think that if I were braver, I would have tried to walk to the moon that was just beyond my fingertips.
No, I don't despair at life. God's gift so cherished cannot elicit rage or pity. I do hold sadness though, as I dream of the lives and places I will never see.
CS Lewis wrote, "When we are such as He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy." The impediment in my life is time, and perhaps we were not meant to be happy in such a way, at least not until we kneel before the Infinite One and cast our mortality aside. I may not be able to capture life in a lifetime, but I am certain that my world is better off knowing the Sadness than being ignorant of it all.
-David
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Skating
Many years ago, I was skating around in a crowded rink during free skate time. I skate fairly well, and I was zipping around various people struggling to move or stay on their feet. I feel free on the ice, with none of the constraints of having to exert effort to move and be balanced as I feel when I am on my own two feet. Some people feel more at home in the water or in the air, but being on the ice feels so natural for me.
Anyway, so this little girl popped out behind another person and immediately I slowed and tried to hold her to prevent her from getting nailed, and to prevent me from skating into any else around me (possibly causing a comedic dominos scenario). Her reaction was to fall back away from me and she landed on her elbow. She started wailing and I knelt on the ice to see if she was okay. It was hard to tell, and to diminish the scene I had caused, I backed away from her and skated away. On my next pass around the rink, she was still wailing. I may have apologized, but I don't remember honestly if I did.
I think this is a good example of how I have lived my life. Skating as though I have no cares in the world (yet only skating in a circular path), avoiding those I can help to avoid, and occasionally running into people. Apologizing for those run-ins is really beside the point. I've not gone anywhere. And, for all the nonchallance and confidence I exude, for all my ability, I am still moving in circles. And while the people get in and out of the ice rink, I remain. New people to avoid, new people to run into, but everything else is the same. I am still trying to live in freedom, reveling in the weightlessness of the ice and my advantage over all others on the ice. Yet for all the passes I make, zipping around like a wily butterfly to a net, I arrive back where I started.
Unforgiveable, in the inexorable stream of time - the one resource I cannot get back and cannot replenish.
Who among us can claim forgiveness for one's own failings? Doesn't it behoove oneself to let go of the past and move forward?
Sartre wrote, “Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself; that he is alone, abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no other aim than the one he sets himself, with no other destiny than the one he forges for himself on this earth.” Does this presuppose the non-existence of God the Mighty, the Omnipresent, the Creator of all? I choose not to take Satre in that way. I honestly don't believe Sartre was talking about Everything, but pointing merely (and yet powerfully) to the freedom of the mind to choose and to believe in one's own existence. Now, as aside Sartre was most certainly an atheist, but his aforementioned premise is not diminished in my eyes by his faulty assumption of lack of a Supreme Being.
I take Sartre to mean the following: the human being must learn to accept the premise that in isolation, apart from God, there is no-thing, no-person that can take responsibility for oneself. God certainly does take responsibility for all, but we as human beings must take responsibility for ourselves. It is under that yoke of responsibility that we sin and do evil, that we fall away from God. We exist first, thus our responsibility for our lives comes before we are ready to accept any of it.
It is a hard lesson. And, the corollary to this is that there is no forgiveness for existence. God may forgive those who believe in Him, believe in the power of repentance for Sin, but not for those who merely by freak occurence exist in this world. We are, first and foremost, and least of all. Sin is that which separates us from God, but our existence predates Sin. And who can forgive ourselves for being who we are? Some folks believe that we have no choice but to forgive ourselves and move on, to simply let go. But whether it is due to my own immaturity or even my extreme idiosyncratic empathy, I've had a tough time doing so.
At some point, I must learn to walk on land and go forward. We do not live on the ice after all, and while there may not be forgiveness for being me, I must move forward.
-David
Anyway, so this little girl popped out behind another person and immediately I slowed and tried to hold her to prevent her from getting nailed, and to prevent me from skating into any else around me (possibly causing a comedic dominos scenario). Her reaction was to fall back away from me and she landed on her elbow. She started wailing and I knelt on the ice to see if she was okay. It was hard to tell, and to diminish the scene I had caused, I backed away from her and skated away. On my next pass around the rink, she was still wailing. I may have apologized, but I don't remember honestly if I did.
I think this is a good example of how I have lived my life. Skating as though I have no cares in the world (yet only skating in a circular path), avoiding those I can help to avoid, and occasionally running into people. Apologizing for those run-ins is really beside the point. I've not gone anywhere. And, for all the nonchallance and confidence I exude, for all my ability, I am still moving in circles. And while the people get in and out of the ice rink, I remain. New people to avoid, new people to run into, but everything else is the same. I am still trying to live in freedom, reveling in the weightlessness of the ice and my advantage over all others on the ice. Yet for all the passes I make, zipping around like a wily butterfly to a net, I arrive back where I started.
Unforgiveable, in the inexorable stream of time - the one resource I cannot get back and cannot replenish.
Who among us can claim forgiveness for one's own failings? Doesn't it behoove oneself to let go of the past and move forward?
Sartre wrote, “Man can will nothing unless he has first understood that he must count on no one but himself; that he is alone, abandoned on earth in the midst of his infinite responsibilities, without help, with no other aim than the one he sets himself, with no other destiny than the one he forges for himself on this earth.” Does this presuppose the non-existence of God the Mighty, the Omnipresent, the Creator of all? I choose not to take Satre in that way. I honestly don't believe Sartre was talking about Everything, but pointing merely (and yet powerfully) to the freedom of the mind to choose and to believe in one's own existence. Now, as aside Sartre was most certainly an atheist, but his aforementioned premise is not diminished in my eyes by his faulty assumption of lack of a Supreme Being.
I take Sartre to mean the following: the human being must learn to accept the premise that in isolation, apart from God, there is no-thing, no-person that can take responsibility for oneself. God certainly does take responsibility for all, but we as human beings must take responsibility for ourselves. It is under that yoke of responsibility that we sin and do evil, that we fall away from God. We exist first, thus our responsibility for our lives comes before we are ready to accept any of it.
It is a hard lesson. And, the corollary to this is that there is no forgiveness for existence. God may forgive those who believe in Him, believe in the power of repentance for Sin, but not for those who merely by freak occurence exist in this world. We are, first and foremost, and least of all. Sin is that which separates us from God, but our existence predates Sin. And who can forgive ourselves for being who we are? Some folks believe that we have no choice but to forgive ourselves and move on, to simply let go. But whether it is due to my own immaturity or even my extreme idiosyncratic empathy, I've had a tough time doing so.
At some point, I must learn to walk on land and go forward. We do not live on the ice after all, and while there may not be forgiveness for being me, I must move forward.
-David
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Introducting...Me!
Greetings!
I am late to the blogging game, but better late than never.
First, introductions.
I am an introverted person, prone to creating shallow stereotypical caricatures of myself for others to "get" me. The real me is much deeper, but in my hubris I decided long ago that most people will not understand where I am coming from. Existing "comfortably" in the social groups that surround me, I've found it necessary to build the requisite strawmen for people to knock.
I grew up in the Northeast, schooled in some of the finest American institutions of learning, from prep school through law school. Sometimes more, sometimes less, I squandered these opportunies for learning, having been far too immature to deal with the masses of goal-oriented individuals. Looking back now, I'm not sure whether it would have been better for me to skip college and law school altogether, but the very question belies my educational background. Suffice it to say, I've had little of the benefits of attending said institutions except for the name value, which has hurt me as much as it has helped.
Second, the "why?"
Having few outlets for expression, I've decided that the confusing dialogue that runs continuously through my head has left enough litter. Better one strand of thought put to page, than a dozen competing thoughts whose battle for "mind-time" has left me scatter-brained.
Finally, a word to readers:
I will make no apologies for my thoughts on this blog. It is merely an avenue for expression, and not a means of communication. As 'mere" expression, the words that I will write have no value except what is intrinsic. Discourse on this page can be entertaining, but this page is for expression and not really for debate or discussion. There are better tools for communication, after all.
-Best,
David
I am late to the blogging game, but better late than never.
First, introductions.
I am an introverted person, prone to creating shallow stereotypical caricatures of myself for others to "get" me. The real me is much deeper, but in my hubris I decided long ago that most people will not understand where I am coming from. Existing "comfortably" in the social groups that surround me, I've found it necessary to build the requisite strawmen for people to knock.
I grew up in the Northeast, schooled in some of the finest American institutions of learning, from prep school through law school. Sometimes more, sometimes less, I squandered these opportunies for learning, having been far too immature to deal with the masses of goal-oriented individuals. Looking back now, I'm not sure whether it would have been better for me to skip college and law school altogether, but the very question belies my educational background. Suffice it to say, I've had little of the benefits of attending said institutions except for the name value, which has hurt me as much as it has helped.
Second, the "why?"
Having few outlets for expression, I've decided that the confusing dialogue that runs continuously through my head has left enough litter. Better one strand of thought put to page, than a dozen competing thoughts whose battle for "mind-time" has left me scatter-brained.
Finally, a word to readers:
I will make no apologies for my thoughts on this blog. It is merely an avenue for expression, and not a means of communication. As 'mere" expression, the words that I will write have no value except what is intrinsic. Discourse on this page can be entertaining, but this page is for expression and not really for debate or discussion. There are better tools for communication, after all.
-Best,
David
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