Here we are at the end of another year, of another era, of another time. It’s the end of a grade, of [life at] a school, and even of some acquaintanceships, as we are splitting and moving in different directions. In a way, it’s not only an end of all that, but also an end of a part of our lives--for high school is when we have to start making choices for (although I hate to say it) our futures; the end of careless freedom.
It’s funny to sit here and look in both directions: to the past and far to the future. It’s funny to remember how it was when I was half my age now, in second grade, before most of the things that make me who I am had happened--and a little further on, in third grade, trying to make sense of my new place in things in Spectrum--fourth grade, learning about writing and about who my friends are--fifth, trying to reorient (and perhaps I made the wrong choice, but what’s there to do?) “for my better survival in junior high”--sixth, just trying to balance things out…
And then it’s funny to think about 15 years from now, when I’ll be double my age, in my 30s. I wonder will I have figured things out then? And what’s in store between here and there? What will come in the murky depths of the future?
No one can answer that question just now. There is only to wait and hope. But this is a farewell, and all farewells are bittersweet. And every ending must know itself, however hard it is.
There are things I’d like to say, but can’t put into words. The quest of a writer, though, is to try--and so I will. I’d like to say how glad I am that I’ve been here, how glad I am that I’ve done everything I’ve done, and how, even when I felt like it was pointless, I think it turned out well in the end. I want to say how sorry I am that there are people I may never see again, and I want to say that I love you all anyway. I want to say that even though things are ending, they were worth it…I want to say that I have hope for what will happen in the future and that I
And to Mr. T, I wanted to say thanks for everything--the encouragement, the challenge, the random discussions. This year has been amazing in many ways, and I’m…proud of it. Of everything that’s happened. I’ve learned a lot, realized a lot, and I hope some of that will stay with me. Only time will tell.
And so it’s goodbye to another year and another time. Someday I’ll look back on this and wonder what I was thinking, and someday I’ll look back on it with a feeling of reconciliation. Every ending must be understood and every path must be come to terms with…and so it will. Farewell…
(PS I got distracted, so it falls apart a bit...)
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Satisfaction
Triumph is sweet. After 8 months of training, stress, mixed bouts of elation and depression, we’ve gone there and back again from the National Science Olympiad. And we have done all we needed to. After all the time and pain and struggle, we have TRIUMPHED!
2nd place in Bio-Process Lab. FINALLY I’ve earned more than a bronze-colored medal. And it’s absolutely beautiful. And that’s not even mentioning the stunning 5th place in Solar System, a sweet reward after the misery-creating 7th place (one off from medaling) in Reach for the Stars last year. No one who saw us could say that it doesn’t pay off, because it really truly does. Although I didn’t do as well as I wanted to in my other events, I reckon it doesn’t matter. I did my best (although I still think we could have gotten gold in Bio-Process. >> That was my fault for starting at the station just after the microscopes…).
And anyway, it was an amazing trip after all. The sheer smell of the Hershey store might have been enough…but then there was the American Girl store with the creepy look-a-like dolls, the staying up late to talk about philosophical/theological topics with one of my best friends, the amusement of the plane ride home (aka sitting behind a lady with the worst case of BO known to mankind and doing all the things we could to circumvent the terrible smell, including concocting a potent smelling potion), staying up late the other night to be entertained by boys…not to mention the 8th grader Hawaiian and my teammate. :P Now that was a picture.
And then there was everything else. There were the screams of stunned joy as we medaled in Solar System and Write It/Do It. There was the frustration of the mousetraps’ failure in Junkyard Challenge. There was the baking heat of Chicago and the pouring rain we returned to. There was the red-bricked campus and the skyscrapers of the city. Did I mention the Cheesecake Factory (best ever!) and my birthday? Or the Museum of Science and Industry and the Fairy Castle? Absolutely stunning.
Mentioning that fairy castle, I wanted to give a few words on it. Let me just say this--it is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. In the entire museum, after coming out from that room everything else looked bland. That is something that’s truly enchanting. The carefully crafted structures, the beauty, the stories it ties to, and the way things are thought out are poignant and touching. If you get a chance, look it up sometime. It’s amazing.
Anyway, moving on. I’m glad, in the end, after all of this that this happened. Even though sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it, I always know in the end that it is. Maybe it’s like that in life too. Perhaps there’ll be a resolution after the long dark years in the night. We can hope. We can dream. And we can trust. <333333333 to my partners and my teammates--GO FALCONS!
2nd place in Bio-Process Lab. FINALLY I’ve earned more than a bronze-colored medal. And it’s absolutely beautiful. And that’s not even mentioning the stunning 5th place in Solar System, a sweet reward after the misery-creating 7th place (one off from medaling) in Reach for the Stars last year. No one who saw us could say that it doesn’t pay off, because it really truly does. Although I didn’t do as well as I wanted to in my other events, I reckon it doesn’t matter. I did my best (although I still think we could have gotten gold in Bio-Process. >> That was my fault for starting at the station just after the microscopes…).
And anyway, it was an amazing trip after all. The sheer smell of the Hershey store might have been enough…but then there was the American Girl store with the creepy look-a-like dolls, the staying up late to talk about philosophical/theological topics with one of my best friends, the amusement of the plane ride home (aka sitting behind a lady with the worst case of BO known to mankind and doing all the things we could to circumvent the terrible smell, including concocting a potent smelling potion), staying up late the other night to be entertained by boys…not to mention the 8th grader Hawaiian and my teammate. :P Now that was a picture.
And then there was everything else. There were the screams of stunned joy as we medaled in Solar System and Write It/Do It. There was the frustration of the mousetraps’ failure in Junkyard Challenge. There was the baking heat of Chicago and the pouring rain we returned to. There was the red-bricked campus and the skyscrapers of the city. Did I mention the Cheesecake Factory (best ever!) and my birthday? Or the Museum of Science and Industry and the Fairy Castle? Absolutely stunning.
Mentioning that fairy castle, I wanted to give a few words on it. Let me just say this--it is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen. In the entire museum, after coming out from that room everything else looked bland. That is something that’s truly enchanting. The carefully crafted structures, the beauty, the stories it ties to, and the way things are thought out are poignant and touching. If you get a chance, look it up sometime. It’s amazing.
Anyway, moving on. I’m glad, in the end, after all of this that this happened. Even though sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it, I always know in the end that it is. Maybe it’s like that in life too. Perhaps there’ll be a resolution after the long dark years in the night. We can hope. We can dream. And we can trust. <333333333 to my partners and my teammates--GO FALCONS!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Trepidation
Sometimes a realization comes as a shock--just hits you. Sometimes it creeps up on you for a long time before you can finally face it. Well...just like this. Nationals...is next week. We are LEAVING in six days!
And then you suddenly start panicking...
"I am up to the ends of my hair in homework!" says my partner for the triumph, and I wholeheartedly agree. Not only am I worrying about not being ready for Olympiad itself, missing three days of school at the end of the term is a real pain. It forces everything else to get pushed together...rather like the Doppler effect, with it being compressed on this side of Wednesday and rarefied on the opposite side of it. I find it especially convenient that I can rant about my homework while doing it...or some form of it...though.
I can't help looking forward to next weekend. Nationals really is the best ever--5 days with some of your favorite people in the world (well, and maybe a certain person you'd really rather not see...certain readers will know I mean "YKW"), doing all sorts of things you love. I have a feeling that this Nationals trip is going to be better than ever before. Although I've been like a horse digging its heels in, trying (hopelessly, of course, for no one really can) to slow the flow of time, I find myself in an odd sort of peace once more. Once again I've done all I can, and then it'll just be up to the very day of to see what shall happen to all of us.
Still, I'd have to say that trepidation is a good word for my feelings at the moment. My events are such that I actually do have several chances at medals--namely Bio-Process Lab, Solar System, and Experimental Design--and as it's my last year in which going to Nationals is a (almost) certainty. If I don't make something of this chance, then a lot of people (including myself) are going to be very disappointed.
In fact, the worst feeling is that you haven't done anything. This year I'm not really sure what I've accomplished--and this is my last chance for something big this year. It feels like so much hinges on this--even though it's something that we usually don't worry about, just do because it's so much fun. I'm not sure whether my fears or worries are founded or pointless, or whether I should be trying more, or if I'm doing something completely wrong...
Isn't indecision such a funny thing? Or the feeling like you should be doing something but don't know what? There's that old saying about the only thing certain in life being uncertainty (although that's a bit of a contradictory statement in itself). I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and if it's better to be so confident in something or to expect something bad to happen? Is it better for the outcome? Or your feelings after it? We'll see after next week...
And then you suddenly start panicking...
"I am up to the ends of my hair in homework!" says my partner for the triumph, and I wholeheartedly agree. Not only am I worrying about not being ready for Olympiad itself, missing three days of school at the end of the term is a real pain. It forces everything else to get pushed together...rather like the Doppler effect, with it being compressed on this side of Wednesday and rarefied on the opposite side of it. I find it especially convenient that I can rant about my homework while doing it...or some form of it...though.
I can't help looking forward to next weekend. Nationals really is the best ever--5 days with some of your favorite people in the world (well, and maybe a certain person you'd really rather not see...certain readers will know I mean "YKW"), doing all sorts of things you love. I have a feeling that this Nationals trip is going to be better than ever before. Although I've been like a horse digging its heels in, trying (hopelessly, of course, for no one really can) to slow the flow of time, I find myself in an odd sort of peace once more. Once again I've done all I can, and then it'll just be up to the very day of to see what shall happen to all of us.
Still, I'd have to say that trepidation is a good word for my feelings at the moment. My events are such that I actually do have several chances at medals--namely Bio-Process Lab, Solar System, and Experimental Design--and as it's my last year in which going to Nationals is a (almost) certainty. If I don't make something of this chance, then a lot of people (including myself) are going to be very disappointed.
In fact, the worst feeling is that you haven't done anything. This year I'm not really sure what I've accomplished--and this is my last chance for something big this year. It feels like so much hinges on this--even though it's something that we usually don't worry about, just do because it's so much fun. I'm not sure whether my fears or worries are founded or pointless, or whether I should be trying more, or if I'm doing something completely wrong...
Isn't indecision such a funny thing? Or the feeling like you should be doing something but don't know what? There's that old saying about the only thing certain in life being uncertainty (although that's a bit of a contradictory statement in itself). I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing, and if it's better to be so confident in something or to expect something bad to happen? Is it better for the outcome? Or your feelings after it? We'll see after next week...
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Thoughts
If time were to stop for a day, and everything in the universe were arrested in place, would we even notice? I guess not. Isn’t that an odd thought? Who knows—maybe there are times where everything is arrested and we don’t know.
Now, now, I know you’re going to be on my case for the ridiculous unlikeliness of this. But wouldn’t that be interesting if it were to happen? In any case, that’s how you need to think if you want to be…a good writer? An imaginative person?
Maybe someone who wants to change the world?
I wonder what the people who turn out to be so amazing think early on. I wonder if they start out with wonderful intentions in mind, or if they start out for themselves. Does it make a difference, whether you do something for yourself or for others? I’d like to say it does, but sometimes I wonder.
Most of all I wonder about writers. Everyone dreams their writing will be a best-seller, I think. I wonder how it comes to them, really, the amazing ideas that turn out to be so much, even a form of sustenance! I know that many writers have their own sites where they try and tell these things, but sometimes I wonder if it can be explained.
I wish that were me. Writing is something I’d love to do—maybe that I’m more passionate about than other things. My mind’s always been rather active, as certain readers will know—all through elementary school, lying in bed at night, trying to bring myself away from reality. Maybe it’s not the best idea—after all, they always talk about facing things, but sometimes there’s only so much you can do. And sometimes it’s just nice to get away.
Books have always intrigued me. I was taught to read at the age of 4, and I loved it at once. According to my mother, I was always the better one with words in our family (although you probably can’t notice it here--this is what happens when I get in a hurry!). And I’ve always been drawn to fantasy and science fiction (although I won’t deny there have been other periods—mystery books in the third grade, horse books like Heartland and Thoroughbred in about the 5th…) because they had so much possibility for other things. You could create any kind of a world—even one in which time stopped for a day without anyone’s notice.
I’m writing a novel, of course, and I know that you can’t really just create anything. There are always rules to follow—and you’re not the creator, you find. You’re just the tool; the recorder; the historian. You see this world and what happens and you write it down for the rest of the world to find. I like to think that those worlds exist somewhere—books are the portals to reach them, and then your imagination can find what follows later.
So I wonder how the big writers feel? How is it, to write and discover every day of your life without having to go too far? That’s always been a dream of mine. Maybe someday…
Now, now, I know you’re going to be on my case for the ridiculous unlikeliness of this. But wouldn’t that be interesting if it were to happen? In any case, that’s how you need to think if you want to be…a good writer? An imaginative person?
Maybe someone who wants to change the world?
I wonder what the people who turn out to be so amazing think early on. I wonder if they start out with wonderful intentions in mind, or if they start out for themselves. Does it make a difference, whether you do something for yourself or for others? I’d like to say it does, but sometimes I wonder.
Most of all I wonder about writers. Everyone dreams their writing will be a best-seller, I think. I wonder how it comes to them, really, the amazing ideas that turn out to be so much, even a form of sustenance! I know that many writers have their own sites where they try and tell these things, but sometimes I wonder if it can be explained.
I wish that were me. Writing is something I’d love to do—maybe that I’m more passionate about than other things. My mind’s always been rather active, as certain readers will know—all through elementary school, lying in bed at night, trying to bring myself away from reality. Maybe it’s not the best idea—after all, they always talk about facing things, but sometimes there’s only so much you can do. And sometimes it’s just nice to get away.
Books have always intrigued me. I was taught to read at the age of 4, and I loved it at once. According to my mother, I was always the better one with words in our family (although you probably can’t notice it here--this is what happens when I get in a hurry!). And I’ve always been drawn to fantasy and science fiction (although I won’t deny there have been other periods—mystery books in the third grade, horse books like Heartland and Thoroughbred in about the 5th…) because they had so much possibility for other things. You could create any kind of a world—even one in which time stopped for a day without anyone’s notice.
I’m writing a novel, of course, and I know that you can’t really just create anything. There are always rules to follow—and you’re not the creator, you find. You’re just the tool; the recorder; the historian. You see this world and what happens and you write it down for the rest of the world to find. I like to think that those worlds exist somewhere—books are the portals to reach them, and then your imagination can find what follows later.
So I wonder how the big writers feel? How is it, to write and discover every day of your life without having to go too far? That’s always been a dream of mine. Maybe someday…
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Thoughts on Art
I am of the opinion that all the fine arts are connected and all help one another.
For instance, just yesterday I performed Lady Macbeth’s monologue at the theater festival. Afterwards, I came home and practiced a session of piano, specifically Chopin’s 1st Concerto. Now, I’d been thinking about ballet as my multi-genre paper for creative writing is closely tied to it. And as I played this giant 50-page piece, I couldn’t help thinking about all the other performing arts I’d ever done. And I came to the conclusion that they help with my music a lot. And, probably, vice versa.
You see, theater helps with music because it helps you learn how to find and express emotion infinitely better. And it helps you take something like a script or notes and turn it into something more, the way a good play or true music will be. You learn to see all the hidden nuances behind the little black marks on the page.
And dance helps with music because you can visualize dancers as you play. Costumes, moves…it helps you see what, perhaps, your audience is seeing, and it reminds you that things have to flow from one thing to another, not suddenly, but with grace, as a dancer does. Swift fingers do dance across the ivory keys, controlled, creating something beautiful.
With the help of other things, the art of music can be furthered in many respects.
It works vice versa, too. The knowledge of music helps you understand and feel when you dance. If you don’t know anything about music, how can you relate and react to it when you dance? And music is often a part in theater…music brings intensity to movies, everything to musicals, interest to plays. And you never know when performing experience comes in dead handy. Dance helps you learn to orchestrate movement in theater and to be on time, precise, and controlled—and theater teaches dancers performing and emotion.
After a while of this, you realize, of course it’s interconnected. All life is interconnected. Everything you do in one walk of life can be transferred to another somehow—because although you learn specific things for each, you also learn lessons about confidence, about learning, about different parts of life and about different kinds of people. You learn how to work with others instead of against them, you learn how to strive for your very best; you learn patience and determination and perseverance.
I guess that’s why I love the arts, even though sometimes they drive me crazy. Art can give meaning to the rest of life. It can enhance the experience we have on earth. Art can drive us to realizations as we explore its mysteries, which we may not fully understand (/reference to a poem from 4th period), but which can stir something inside of each and every one of us. It lends another dimension to the theater of life, something both real and not, something strange and surreal and infinitely beautiful.
For instance, just yesterday I performed Lady Macbeth’s monologue at the theater festival. Afterwards, I came home and practiced a session of piano, specifically Chopin’s 1st Concerto. Now, I’d been thinking about ballet as my multi-genre paper for creative writing is closely tied to it. And as I played this giant 50-page piece, I couldn’t help thinking about all the other performing arts I’d ever done. And I came to the conclusion that they help with my music a lot. And, probably, vice versa.
You see, theater helps with music because it helps you learn how to find and express emotion infinitely better. And it helps you take something like a script or notes and turn it into something more, the way a good play or true music will be. You learn to see all the hidden nuances behind the little black marks on the page.
And dance helps with music because you can visualize dancers as you play. Costumes, moves…it helps you see what, perhaps, your audience is seeing, and it reminds you that things have to flow from one thing to another, not suddenly, but with grace, as a dancer does. Swift fingers do dance across the ivory keys, controlled, creating something beautiful.
With the help of other things, the art of music can be furthered in many respects.
It works vice versa, too. The knowledge of music helps you understand and feel when you dance. If you don’t know anything about music, how can you relate and react to it when you dance? And music is often a part in theater…music brings intensity to movies, everything to musicals, interest to plays. And you never know when performing experience comes in dead handy. Dance helps you learn to orchestrate movement in theater and to be on time, precise, and controlled—and theater teaches dancers performing and emotion.
After a while of this, you realize, of course it’s interconnected. All life is interconnected. Everything you do in one walk of life can be transferred to another somehow—because although you learn specific things for each, you also learn lessons about confidence, about learning, about different parts of life and about different kinds of people. You learn how to work with others instead of against them, you learn how to strive for your very best; you learn patience and determination and perseverance.
I guess that’s why I love the arts, even though sometimes they drive me crazy. Art can give meaning to the rest of life. It can enhance the experience we have on earth. Art can drive us to realizations as we explore its mysteries, which we may not fully understand (/reference to a poem from 4th period), but which can stir something inside of each and every one of us. It lends another dimension to the theater of life, something both real and not, something strange and surreal and infinitely beautiful.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Cleansed by Fire
Fire. An epitome of the duality of nature. On one side, the warming flame that has helped man since the beginning of everything to stay alive. On the other, the burning, raging, destroying inferno that lays waste to our homes and our lands. Balanced in between, it is also cleansing and purifying…the fire of roses.
Since the beginning of our memories, fire has held a sort of sacred place in the legends of mankind. We tell of how the sun is like a great ball of life-giving fire, and fire is indeed almost life-giving. Fire, I am sure, protected early people from wild animals, and it is the basis of civilization, allowing us to cook, fire our tools, and many more things that, although maybe done in other ways now, fire was once essential to. It has a special place in our minds.
Legends involve fire in manifold ways. Fire was once one of the 4 or more elements in different cultures, along with water, stone/earth, and air/wind, at least standardly. It has been embodied and praised as a god or goddess. There are all kinds of stories told about how man acquired fire, how it’s been helpful to us, and more. Fire has also been a symbol of both destruction and purity, both darkness and light. Almost…paradoxical, in a way.
And yet, fire does destroy. Even as we warm ourselves with it, it burns down the candle, the wood, the fuel you throw upon it. Even as it gives, it has to take from something else. What do we sacrifice to give ourselves warmth?
In a way, fire is like the balance of life. When we want something, we have to give something else up. And sometimes, what we want gets out of hand, and we have to start all over at the very beginning. Is this good, or is it bad? Can you really describe nature as good or bad? Everything has a gray area for someone, no matter how white or black it may seem to you. You can’t condemn fire because it destroys, because you rely on it for warmth. Unsurprisingly, this seems to apply to a lot of our world.
It’s like building a tower out of Janga blocks or cards. You work until it becomes exquisite and tall, and then something happens to tip the balance and it all falls down, destroying your entire work and leaving you to start anew. It’s like that in nature as well. Fire gets out of hand when the natural balance has tipped, and it falls upon us and destroys all of it, leaving us to start again. When the natural balance is tipped, we have revolutions, or wars, or plagues. And then, we start over again at the very beginning.
The thing is, even though fire is terrible, even though war is terrible, things always start anew. The lichens return and the forest grows. The people pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start over. After destruction, even by fire, we can rebuild.
Fire…what does it mean to you?
Since the beginning of our memories, fire has held a sort of sacred place in the legends of mankind. We tell of how the sun is like a great ball of life-giving fire, and fire is indeed almost life-giving. Fire, I am sure, protected early people from wild animals, and it is the basis of civilization, allowing us to cook, fire our tools, and many more things that, although maybe done in other ways now, fire was once essential to. It has a special place in our minds.
Legends involve fire in manifold ways. Fire was once one of the 4 or more elements in different cultures, along with water, stone/earth, and air/wind, at least standardly. It has been embodied and praised as a god or goddess. There are all kinds of stories told about how man acquired fire, how it’s been helpful to us, and more. Fire has also been a symbol of both destruction and purity, both darkness and light. Almost…paradoxical, in a way.
And yet, fire does destroy. Even as we warm ourselves with it, it burns down the candle, the wood, the fuel you throw upon it. Even as it gives, it has to take from something else. What do we sacrifice to give ourselves warmth?
In a way, fire is like the balance of life. When we want something, we have to give something else up. And sometimes, what we want gets out of hand, and we have to start all over at the very beginning. Is this good, or is it bad? Can you really describe nature as good or bad? Everything has a gray area for someone, no matter how white or black it may seem to you. You can’t condemn fire because it destroys, because you rely on it for warmth. Unsurprisingly, this seems to apply to a lot of our world.
It’s like building a tower out of Janga blocks or cards. You work until it becomes exquisite and tall, and then something happens to tip the balance and it all falls down, destroying your entire work and leaving you to start anew. It’s like that in nature as well. Fire gets out of hand when the natural balance has tipped, and it falls upon us and destroys all of it, leaving us to start again. When the natural balance is tipped, we have revolutions, or wars, or plagues. And then, we start over again at the very beginning.
The thing is, even though fire is terrible, even though war is terrible, things always start anew. The lichens return and the forest grows. The people pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start over. After destruction, even by fire, we can rebuild.
Fire…what does it mean to you?
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Uncertainty
Where do dreams go? Do they remain, somewhere in the ether of reality, when they have passed? Is there a record somewhere of all the yearnings of mankind through the ages? If one could look into dreams, I wonder, what would one find? Perhaps all dreams have been dreamed before. Perhaps the secret yearnings of our hearts are desperate echoes of other dreams, repeating through the ages.
What are dreams, anyway? Anyone who remembers their dreams remembers the desperation of their real life, the people they think about, but they also remember things so far-gone that they cannot even begin to explain their strangeness. What wanderings in the deepest part of our mind produce these twists—and what do they mean? Are our dreams trying to tell us things?
It is more than likely that they are figments of our imagination, nonexistent, and completely out of our control. But one can’t help wondering what there is in our minds that causes them. It’s mildly unsettling to think that, indeed, we do not have complete control over our mind, that there is something below the level of consciousness. One can’t help thinking … how does it influence us? This subconscious…what does it do? Does it see as we do? Does it think? Is it obedient to our will? Is it, well , benevolent?
So, the depths of it are like science fiction, and perhaps improbable. It’s no secret, though, that we still have much to learn about ourselves. We lack the capacity of using so much of our brains—science has proved that. If we could use it; if we were capable of doing it; if we could only learn to do it; what would change? Would anything change?
Possibility is endless, as it were. Before certainty, imagination fills up the gaps so quickly and voraciously with millions of explanations. Is, then, certainty always better than the unknown? How often has your imagination created hopes of many things only to be surprised (not always pleasantly) when the reality is revealed? Perhaps simply not knowing is better than the absolute certainty.
Yet after all, the uncertainty is one of the reasons why we have wars. If we were certain that something was right (if we were certain of the nature or existence of a higher power!), our lives would be much different, but they would have the potential of being so much better (or worse).
In my understanding, the only thing we can be certain of is that uncertainty is a part of us and shapes our lives, in all its forms: in dreams, in reality, in faith, in hope. We err because we are human. We lack certainty because we are human. And as long as we still continue the search for certainty in the knowledge that we don’t know everything and likely never will, we will continue to be human. The moment we imagine we know more than we do, that we are the masters and not part of everything, is the day we fall into our darkness once more.
What are dreams, anyway? Anyone who remembers their dreams remembers the desperation of their real life, the people they think about, but they also remember things so far-gone that they cannot even begin to explain their strangeness. What wanderings in the deepest part of our mind produce these twists—and what do they mean? Are our dreams trying to tell us things?
It is more than likely that they are figments of our imagination, nonexistent, and completely out of our control. But one can’t help wondering what there is in our minds that causes them. It’s mildly unsettling to think that, indeed, we do not have complete control over our mind, that there is something below the level of consciousness. One can’t help thinking … how does it influence us? This subconscious…what does it do? Does it see as we do? Does it think? Is it obedient to our will? Is it, well , benevolent?
So, the depths of it are like science fiction, and perhaps improbable. It’s no secret, though, that we still have much to learn about ourselves. We lack the capacity of using so much of our brains—science has proved that. If we could use it; if we were capable of doing it; if we could only learn to do it; what would change? Would anything change?
Possibility is endless, as it were. Before certainty, imagination fills up the gaps so quickly and voraciously with millions of explanations. Is, then, certainty always better than the unknown? How often has your imagination created hopes of many things only to be surprised (not always pleasantly) when the reality is revealed? Perhaps simply not knowing is better than the absolute certainty.
Yet after all, the uncertainty is one of the reasons why we have wars. If we were certain that something was right (if we were certain of the nature or existence of a higher power!), our lives would be much different, but they would have the potential of being so much better (or worse).
In my understanding, the only thing we can be certain of is that uncertainty is a part of us and shapes our lives, in all its forms: in dreams, in reality, in faith, in hope. We err because we are human. We lack certainty because we are human. And as long as we still continue the search for certainty in the knowledge that we don’t know everything and likely never will, we will continue to be human. The moment we imagine we know more than we do, that we are the masters and not part of everything, is the day we fall into our darkness once more.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Warnings in the Mist
Stargirl Caraway. Clarisse McClellan. People who made a difference. People who changed a life. They are the most important people, our guiding stars, the people who bring us back to the path we need to take. But if you look at them, who are they? Oddballs. Strangers. They never stay long, and they’re always unexpected. Is this gift going to die out? Disappear? Become rarer and rarer? Will we become the bookburners, the firemen, convinced that we’re doing it for the greater good?
Look at our civilization. We have everything. Technology, comfort, entertainment. But are we truly better than the cavemen playing with fire? Maybe all we are is a different, more advanced kind, and more dangerous. People wrote those books to leave some kind of a warning for the future generations, and yet I watch this generation groan and grumble through them and I fear we are on the train headed straight for that direction with the cliff looming ever nearer as we, still young and ignorant, throw more coal on the engine fire.
We scoff at these words, and in these very actions we show that there is still a reason and a need for these stories, that there is danger in the things we do. If we cannot bring ourselves to understand this, then, indeed, that culture, that repression, will become the fate of our sorry race. We will become the pleasure-seekers, the layabouts, and we will accomplish what? Nothing. Progress without spirit, without soul, means nothing. Technology and all the improvements it has given to our society means nothing if we don’t progress in how we use it. We may say it’s for entertainment, but do we want to end up like Mildred Montag, a videot, engrossed in things that don’t make any sense to her just because they talk to her? “I laugh, they laugh!” Did we come out of the dark ages for this?
We seem to be following some kind of life cycle. After all, how does the human life go? Babies, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, doing everything. Children, bright-eyed and innocent. Teenagers, growing sharp, maybe jaded. Adults, in their prime, capable, working. And then? Elderly, feeble, and falling into the “second childhood”. Well, we had the adult stage, it seems. Days of explorers and people who did things, days of expanding and working and collaborating. Is this the result? Second childhood? Confused and not understanding again?
Let these words serve as a warning. Let these tales serve their purpose. Let them pull us away from the danger of the plunging cliff. It’s not too late. As long as there are willing, ready minds, as long as there are people willing to take a hand in things, as long as there are people willing to be active, and as long as there are people willing to remind us, we can still survive. As long as there is one person left with hope and the fire to do something, there is hope. Let that person be you.
Look at our civilization. We have everything. Technology, comfort, entertainment. But are we truly better than the cavemen playing with fire? Maybe all we are is a different, more advanced kind, and more dangerous. People wrote those books to leave some kind of a warning for the future generations, and yet I watch this generation groan and grumble through them and I fear we are on the train headed straight for that direction with the cliff looming ever nearer as we, still young and ignorant, throw more coal on the engine fire.
We scoff at these words, and in these very actions we show that there is still a reason and a need for these stories, that there is danger in the things we do. If we cannot bring ourselves to understand this, then, indeed, that culture, that repression, will become the fate of our sorry race. We will become the pleasure-seekers, the layabouts, and we will accomplish what? Nothing. Progress without spirit, without soul, means nothing. Technology and all the improvements it has given to our society means nothing if we don’t progress in how we use it. We may say it’s for entertainment, but do we want to end up like Mildred Montag, a videot, engrossed in things that don’t make any sense to her just because they talk to her? “I laugh, they laugh!” Did we come out of the dark ages for this?
We seem to be following some kind of life cycle. After all, how does the human life go? Babies, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, doing everything. Children, bright-eyed and innocent. Teenagers, growing sharp, maybe jaded. Adults, in their prime, capable, working. And then? Elderly, feeble, and falling into the “second childhood”. Well, we had the adult stage, it seems. Days of explorers and people who did things, days of expanding and working and collaborating. Is this the result? Second childhood? Confused and not understanding again?
Let these words serve as a warning. Let these tales serve their purpose. Let them pull us away from the danger of the plunging cliff. It’s not too late. As long as there are willing, ready minds, as long as there are people willing to take a hand in things, as long as there are people willing to be active, and as long as there are people willing to remind us, we can still survive. As long as there is one person left with hope and the fire to do something, there is hope. Let that person be you.
WE DID IT!
.WE DID IT! WE DID IT! WE WON!
Yesterday marked the 15th year that FFJH has won the State Science Olympiad—in a row! It was a milestone year and a most incredible feeling. Something about being on the team that did it again against ever more increasing odds fills one up with pride. The little bit about getting to be the one who receives the trophy was nice too.
It’s a funny feeling you get right before an eventful day. All day on Friday I was walking down the halls, I was thinking about how the next time I’d show up at school, everything would be different. Well, it was true—but in a good way, not a bad way, thankfully.
Not only that, but on Saturday morning, we couldn’t help imagining what would happen if we didn’t win, if we broke the streak…14 years of Olympians angry at us, a dead quiet bus ride home, a drab ice cream social…but we won.
We won! Two little syllables that mean so much—in this case, at least. Our team has been preparing for this since October, and to know that effort and work have definitely paid off is a rewarding experience, especially as it promises more fun things to come (in the form of Nationals, which happens to span my birthday).
This is good for other reasons, of course, I have to say that I’m glad this happened, because it’ll hopefully get everyone motivated again and “off their rumps”, as someone so kindly put it. There’s nothing like winning to get people psyched, and nothing like a large golden trophy to make people proud of the team. To be honest, I don’t feel that this year’s team is as close as last years, but I’ve no doubt that that will change now.
Personally, I’m proud of myself and the team I coached. I medaled in every event: a set and an almost-set, lacking a bronze. My Experimental Design team (you’re amazing, guys!!) took silver, matching last year when we had a much more competent coach. It was a success in many ways, although I feel a bit like Apolo Anton Ohno—lots of medals, but not the best ones. Apparently my brother had 4 golds his equivalent year.
The best reason to be energized is that we are going to Nationals and my gold medal goal (<3333 “Smartiepants”) has a possibility of realization. And that is much more than exciting. I have a chance to earn the gold medal I know we can make, and maybe even another—I have my eye on something for Experimental Design (6th? Maybe? 10th last year) and Solar System (please tell me we’ll beat 7th).
It was an exciting day all around, though I swear I’m never taking 5 events again. It’s very hectic to have to run from room to room and event to event in a hurry with little time to study and relax. Be as that may, it’s certainly an experience one ought to have as an Olympian. And really, it’s the experience that counts, for everything. So…
GO TEAM!
(This should've been published last week but I forgot to do so after I wrote it. >>)
Yesterday marked the 15th year that FFJH has won the State Science Olympiad—in a row! It was a milestone year and a most incredible feeling. Something about being on the team that did it again against ever more increasing odds fills one up with pride. The little bit about getting to be the one who receives the trophy was nice too.
It’s a funny feeling you get right before an eventful day. All day on Friday I was walking down the halls, I was thinking about how the next time I’d show up at school, everything would be different. Well, it was true—but in a good way, not a bad way, thankfully.
Not only that, but on Saturday morning, we couldn’t help imagining what would happen if we didn’t win, if we broke the streak…14 years of Olympians angry at us, a dead quiet bus ride home, a drab ice cream social…but we won.
We won! Two little syllables that mean so much—in this case, at least. Our team has been preparing for this since October, and to know that effort and work have definitely paid off is a rewarding experience, especially as it promises more fun things to come (in the form of Nationals, which happens to span my birthday).
This is good for other reasons, of course, I have to say that I’m glad this happened, because it’ll hopefully get everyone motivated again and “off their rumps”, as someone so kindly put it. There’s nothing like winning to get people psyched, and nothing like a large golden trophy to make people proud of the team. To be honest, I don’t feel that this year’s team is as close as last years, but I’ve no doubt that that will change now.
Personally, I’m proud of myself and the team I coached. I medaled in every event: a set and an almost-set, lacking a bronze. My Experimental Design team (you’re amazing, guys!!) took silver, matching last year when we had a much more competent coach. It was a success in many ways, although I feel a bit like Apolo Anton Ohno—lots of medals, but not the best ones. Apparently my brother had 4 golds his equivalent year.
The best reason to be energized is that we are going to Nationals and my gold medal goal (<3333 “Smartiepants”) has a possibility of realization. And that is much more than exciting. I have a chance to earn the gold medal I know we can make, and maybe even another—I have my eye on something for Experimental Design (6th? Maybe? 10th last year) and Solar System (please tell me we’ll beat 7th).
It was an exciting day all around, though I swear I’m never taking 5 events again. It’s very hectic to have to run from room to room and event to event in a hurry with little time to study and relax. Be as that may, it’s certainly an experience one ought to have as an Olympian. And really, it’s the experience that counts, for everything. So…
GO TEAM!
(This should've been published last week but I forgot to do so after I wrote it. >>)
Saturday, March 20, 2010
I Should be Working
I Should be Working
I should be working
but
Outside the sky is deep, deep blue
And clean, puffy clouds drift by—
I should be working
but
The grass is so green and new
And the gentle breeze brings
Fresh
new
air.
I should be working
but
Someone’s calling my name out there
And the promise of the day is simply too hard
to resist.
So pardon me, my homework, my grades, my parents—
I can’t refrain
From going out there
Today.
—H R M
I never thought writing about why I didn’t want to do my homework would classify as working, but there you are. Welcome to my blog post about procrastination. Why do we procrastinate? All sorts of reasons. Deadlines don’t look real until they’re right in our faces. We’re tired. We’re lazy. There are other things to distract us. But most of all, we just don’t feel like working.
Unfortunately for us, in this competitive society, always working and being on top of things is one of those things we have to do if we want to make it in the world. Kind of ironic that the thing we’d rather not do is something completely and utterly necessary.
I think we realize this, but as with so many other things, it’s hard to admit to ourselves and others. So, we procrastinate. I’ll admit that I feel like there are so many other things I could be doing (and want to do) that the prospect of spending an hour at the dining table drawing pictures that don’t turn out so well isn’t the most exciting. It’s even worse when someone’s offered to do something, or when the weather is amazing. And, especially when there are several days before it’s due, there’s always the little voice that says, “You’ll be able to do it tomorrow anyway.”
Of course, then we get to “tomorrow” and end up staying up late. Why’s that? It’s a lot of annoyance either way, just postponed. Some people, of course, work better under pressure, but I daresay that’s not all of us. And with less time, we’re more likely to produce a slipshod job and then be frustrated because it doesn’t turn out the way we wanted it to.
But we human beings manage to defy reason every time. That’s why we’re people, not automatons. Reason at all times is reserved for robots. If we always followed reason, well, we’d be predictable—the world might be nice, but then it would be all the same, too.
Does that mean procrastination’s good? Not really. I didn’t honestly mean that. But it’s a fact of life and it proves we’re human and we can make mistakes…even the same ones over and over and over again. It’s just one of those little things that shape us. We shouldn’t do it, but we do. For better or worse, procrastination is pretty much a part of our lives (for teenagers, anyway). With a bit of luck, we manage to get by. Just don’t put it off too far!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be working.
I should be working
but
Outside the sky is deep, deep blue
And clean, puffy clouds drift by—
I should be working
but
The grass is so green and new
And the gentle breeze brings
Fresh
new
air.
I should be working
but
Someone’s calling my name out there
And the promise of the day is simply too hard
to resist.
So pardon me, my homework, my grades, my parents—
I can’t refrain
From going out there
Today.
—H R M
I never thought writing about why I didn’t want to do my homework would classify as working, but there you are. Welcome to my blog post about procrastination. Why do we procrastinate? All sorts of reasons. Deadlines don’t look real until they’re right in our faces. We’re tired. We’re lazy. There are other things to distract us. But most of all, we just don’t feel like working.
Unfortunately for us, in this competitive society, always working and being on top of things is one of those things we have to do if we want to make it in the world. Kind of ironic that the thing we’d rather not do is something completely and utterly necessary.
I think we realize this, but as with so many other things, it’s hard to admit to ourselves and others. So, we procrastinate. I’ll admit that I feel like there are so many other things I could be doing (and want to do) that the prospect of spending an hour at the dining table drawing pictures that don’t turn out so well isn’t the most exciting. It’s even worse when someone’s offered to do something, or when the weather is amazing. And, especially when there are several days before it’s due, there’s always the little voice that says, “You’ll be able to do it tomorrow anyway.”
Of course, then we get to “tomorrow” and end up staying up late. Why’s that? It’s a lot of annoyance either way, just postponed. Some people, of course, work better under pressure, but I daresay that’s not all of us. And with less time, we’re more likely to produce a slipshod job and then be frustrated because it doesn’t turn out the way we wanted it to.
But we human beings manage to defy reason every time. That’s why we’re people, not automatons. Reason at all times is reserved for robots. If we always followed reason, well, we’d be predictable—the world might be nice, but then it would be all the same, too.
Does that mean procrastination’s good? Not really. I didn’t honestly mean that. But it’s a fact of life and it proves we’re human and we can make mistakes…even the same ones over and over and over again. It’s just one of those little things that shape us. We shouldn’t do it, but we do. For better or worse, procrastination is pretty much a part of our lives (for teenagers, anyway). With a bit of luck, we manage to get by. Just don’t put it off too far!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should be working.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Headlines
Headline News! Student stabbed 16 times with a steak knife! Senatorial scandal revealed! Economy makes worst downturn in 68 years! Breakout from prison! Hurricane strikes the southeast of the country: 68 killed!
Sure, maybe it tells you things, but it’s downright depressing.
Do you ever think how nice it would be instead of seeing all that on the front page, we had things like…The first rainfall in 16 years leaves a town in the Sahara Desert celebrating in joy! 2 captured endangered species survive in the wild! After the fire 14 years ago, forest covers 6 acres of the devastated park! A cancer patient recovers from the brink of death!
Maybe it doesn’t draw people in, drive them to know exactly what happened, make them talk in the streets worriedly, but it gives a lighter tone to things, and you know what? It should. We should be just as concerned to hear about the great things that have happened in our world as hearing about the bad things. Reading the newspaper, you’d think that nothing good ever happened in the entire world. Perhaps they think to make us try and find the good things in our own lives and then alert us to the bad things, but a better balance would be nice.
And what’s with the reports on scandal and all that? Sure the general populace enjoys that kind of stuff…just like people in a crowd are idiots compared with people on their own. The general IQ of a crowd is about the average of everyone in it minus about 30 or 40 or more points. People turn into mobs that way. If you’re going to report the darker side of things, at least you could report things that affect people, rather than things that make nosy people opinionated about others.
At least, though, the focus of newspapers ought to be more balanced. Some good things, some bad things, interspersed throughout the paper—both on the front cover instead of the darkest things taking up most of the front page. Perhaps you could divide it into two parts, and have one happy thing and one direr thing per page. Uplifting and educating at the same time. To remind us that all is not hopeless, that good things still happen, but that we need to do things to preserve them as well, that bad things do happen, and that maybe we have a chance of righting them.
If we could only communicate with everyone else in the country and the world, if we could only find a way to show everyone that we’re all on the same side, that we’re not enemies, but friends, the same people, part of the same clan—one earth, children of the same planet that shelters us, no matter what else we might believe in. The concerns of one people are of all people, but the joys of one people are also of all people. And all are equally important. If everyone could realize, there wouldn’t be a need to talk about war or destruction or misery, and we could show all the other things in every issue, everywhere.
That’s not likely to happen anytime soon. But we can always hope, can we not? We can always try and hope and work for it, and then we wouldn’t need to worry which to focus on. <3
Sure, maybe it tells you things, but it’s downright depressing.
Do you ever think how nice it would be instead of seeing all that on the front page, we had things like…The first rainfall in 16 years leaves a town in the Sahara Desert celebrating in joy! 2 captured endangered species survive in the wild! After the fire 14 years ago, forest covers 6 acres of the devastated park! A cancer patient recovers from the brink of death!
Maybe it doesn’t draw people in, drive them to know exactly what happened, make them talk in the streets worriedly, but it gives a lighter tone to things, and you know what? It should. We should be just as concerned to hear about the great things that have happened in our world as hearing about the bad things. Reading the newspaper, you’d think that nothing good ever happened in the entire world. Perhaps they think to make us try and find the good things in our own lives and then alert us to the bad things, but a better balance would be nice.
And what’s with the reports on scandal and all that? Sure the general populace enjoys that kind of stuff…just like people in a crowd are idiots compared with people on their own. The general IQ of a crowd is about the average of everyone in it minus about 30 or 40 or more points. People turn into mobs that way. If you’re going to report the darker side of things, at least you could report things that affect people, rather than things that make nosy people opinionated about others.
At least, though, the focus of newspapers ought to be more balanced. Some good things, some bad things, interspersed throughout the paper—both on the front cover instead of the darkest things taking up most of the front page. Perhaps you could divide it into two parts, and have one happy thing and one direr thing per page. Uplifting and educating at the same time. To remind us that all is not hopeless, that good things still happen, but that we need to do things to preserve them as well, that bad things do happen, and that maybe we have a chance of righting them.
If we could only communicate with everyone else in the country and the world, if we could only find a way to show everyone that we’re all on the same side, that we’re not enemies, but friends, the same people, part of the same clan—one earth, children of the same planet that shelters us, no matter what else we might believe in. The concerns of one people are of all people, but the joys of one people are also of all people. And all are equally important. If everyone could realize, there wouldn’t be a need to talk about war or destruction or misery, and we could show all the other things in every issue, everywhere.
That’s not likely to happen anytime soon. But we can always hope, can we not? We can always try and hope and work for it, and then we wouldn’t need to worry which to focus on. <3
Sunday, March 7, 2010
A Fable
(...So I thought I published this ages ago but apparently I didn't hit the button. >.< I added lots more on since, so...I'll publish it as one big thing!)
Is it better to be ruled by logic, or by feeling?
Once upon a time there were two brothers. The first was a very logical man. He prided himself on his coldness and his ability to judge everything objectively and rationally. He was so logical, he said, that he could follow connections between objects that would lead him straight back to the original object. He could invent an explanation for everything that was based on pure logic and the simplest explanations. The second brother was ruled by his emotions. He did things on the spur of the moment depending on how he felt. He would feel sorry for the little birds in the winter and give them his dinner bread, and have none himself and feel sorry later. He felt for everything however they deserved and went through every span of emotion there was, sometimes in the course of just a single day.
One day the two brothers decided to go out into the world and seek their fortunes. They came to a fork in the road. “Which way shall we go?” asked the second brother. “I’ll choose the left-hand way,” said the first brother. “It goes downwards, and everyone knows you must go down before you can come up. Furthermore, downward-running roads often lead to streams, for water always runs at the lowest point, and streams will run out to the plains and the sea.”
The second brother took a look at both of them and frowned. “I’ll take the right-hand side—it is lighter and brighter there. The birds sing more beautifully. I feel sure that the right-hand path will bring me good fortune.”
“Farewell, then, brother,” said the first one, and went on his path.
“Farewell,” said the second brother, not without feeling, for although they were very different, he loved his brother very much. He, too, set out on his path.
We shall follow the second brother first. He walked through the forest with a light heart, for the trees were thin and the sun shone down. “Surely I have picked the better way,” he exclaimed. “It is bright and beautiful here. I think I will lie down and have a small nap.” And he did so.
When he woke up, it was full dark. An eerily bright crescent moon lit the forest up. “Oh no!” he said with more than a touch of fear. “I slept too late, and now I shall never find my way out!” And he began to weep inconsolably. Never a thought occurred of getting out, following the road that was still there, or even of sleeping until morning and going on. Neither did a darker thought of what might be out there occur.
Soon enough he felt a touch on his shoulder. He jumped up immediately. A figure dressed all in glowing white was standing in front of him. “Who…are you?” he asked, now entranced by the mysteriousness.
“Who I am is not important. Would you like me to show you the way out?” replied the figure in an ethereal voice. The second brother nodded vigorously. He followed the figure, who said no more, until it led him out onto a plain facing a castle on the other side, then vanished.
The second brother immediately went straight to the castle town. “Where am I?” he inquired of all the people he could.
“In His Majesty’s town, of course. Would you like to buy a meat pie?” replied a hawker. It smelled delicious, so he bought it, leaving only a few silver pieces left in his pocket.
Having nowhere else to go, and mindful of the figure who had led him there, he went up to the gates of the castle and knocked. Surprisingly, they opened, and a suspicious-looking man stuck his head out. “Whaddayawant?”
The second brother took offense at this. “Why, to marry your princess, of course!” he said rudely, thinking of the most outrageous thing he could. However, the doorman simply blinked. “All right, come along then,” he beckoned.
Completely bewildered, the second brother followed him.
And now let us return to the first brother…he had followed his path, which indeed led downward, but unlike his brother’s, his path was dark and overshadowed and he was soon lost. He bit his lip and kept going. “Surely after this is must get better,” he muttered.
Soon enough he was lost inside the forest. Being very logical, he went to look at the trees, for he knew that moss grew on the north side. “I was traveling east when I entered, and that will be the shortest way out.” He quickly found the way he thought was best and followed it.
It led out to the same open ground his brother had found, and he, too, went straight to the town. He refused the offerings of food and went straight to the center of the town, where he found an announcement.
His Majesty’s Subjects:
The good King’s eldest daughter, fair Rosalind, has come of age and is ready to be married. Whosoever shall come and who can prove themselves worthy shall have her hand.
Now, the first brother thought that it was high time he obtained a wife, and so directed his footsteps to the castle, where he met the same greeting as his brother had and the same question. “I noticed an announcement about the princess’s marriage,” he said courteously. “Might I present myself as a suitor?” The doorman drew his head inside and beckoned.
When the second man saw his brother led into the great chamber, he was overjoyed. “My dear brother! What brings you here?”
The first brother raised his eyebrows. “Did you not see the announcement regarding the King’s daughter?” The second brother shook his head. “Certainly not, but I’m glad you are here with me.”
Before they could say any more, the princess entered the room. Both were stunned. The first brother recovered first. “Fair lady…” he said softly. The second just gazed at her.
“Welcome,” she said. Her voice was musical and added to the enchantment of her appearance. “You seek my hand?” Both brothers nodded. “Then, one will show you to your rooms tonight. There are tasks you must do. The first night you may not sleep or take any rest, no matter how weary you may be. A shape shall appear and entreat you to sleep, but you must not. Come to me tomorrow morning.” And she dismissed them.
The brothers were led to adjacent rooms and ushered to bed. “Good night,” they said to each other, and without further ado, they entered their rooms.
The second brother sat awake on the bed, the only furniture that could accommodate sitting, wondering what would happen that night. It was only to be expected that he felt a thrill of confusion. Who knew what he would see? In the next room, his brother sat calmly, awaiting what would happen, sure he could handle it.
The clock struck 9…10…11…both their eyelids began to droop, though they fought, until…
Dong….dong…dong…the clock struck twelve.
Suddenly soft, eerie music began to play. The first brother stoically refused to listen to it. The second brother was entranced. He rose and looked out of the window, searching for the source of the beautiful, ethereal sound. The moon appeared especially bright, as it had the last night, and a faint silver glow suffused the air.
Suddenly, a bright figure appeared behind the second brother. He realized it to be the one he had met the other night, and instantly turned toward it.
(TBC)
Is it better to be ruled by logic, or by feeling?
Once upon a time there were two brothers. The first was a very logical man. He prided himself on his coldness and his ability to judge everything objectively and rationally. He was so logical, he said, that he could follow connections between objects that would lead him straight back to the original object. He could invent an explanation for everything that was based on pure logic and the simplest explanations. The second brother was ruled by his emotions. He did things on the spur of the moment depending on how he felt. He would feel sorry for the little birds in the winter and give them his dinner bread, and have none himself and feel sorry later. He felt for everything however they deserved and went through every span of emotion there was, sometimes in the course of just a single day.
One day the two brothers decided to go out into the world and seek their fortunes. They came to a fork in the road. “Which way shall we go?” asked the second brother. “I’ll choose the left-hand way,” said the first brother. “It goes downwards, and everyone knows you must go down before you can come up. Furthermore, downward-running roads often lead to streams, for water always runs at the lowest point, and streams will run out to the plains and the sea.”
The second brother took a look at both of them and frowned. “I’ll take the right-hand side—it is lighter and brighter there. The birds sing more beautifully. I feel sure that the right-hand path will bring me good fortune.”
“Farewell, then, brother,” said the first one, and went on his path.
“Farewell,” said the second brother, not without feeling, for although they were very different, he loved his brother very much. He, too, set out on his path.
We shall follow the second brother first. He walked through the forest with a light heart, for the trees were thin and the sun shone down. “Surely I have picked the better way,” he exclaimed. “It is bright and beautiful here. I think I will lie down and have a small nap.” And he did so.
When he woke up, it was full dark. An eerily bright crescent moon lit the forest up. “Oh no!” he said with more than a touch of fear. “I slept too late, and now I shall never find my way out!” And he began to weep inconsolably. Never a thought occurred of getting out, following the road that was still there, or even of sleeping until morning and going on. Neither did a darker thought of what might be out there occur.
Soon enough he felt a touch on his shoulder. He jumped up immediately. A figure dressed all in glowing white was standing in front of him. “Who…are you?” he asked, now entranced by the mysteriousness.
“Who I am is not important. Would you like me to show you the way out?” replied the figure in an ethereal voice. The second brother nodded vigorously. He followed the figure, who said no more, until it led him out onto a plain facing a castle on the other side, then vanished.
The second brother immediately went straight to the castle town. “Where am I?” he inquired of all the people he could.
“In His Majesty’s town, of course. Would you like to buy a meat pie?” replied a hawker. It smelled delicious, so he bought it, leaving only a few silver pieces left in his pocket.
Having nowhere else to go, and mindful of the figure who had led him there, he went up to the gates of the castle and knocked. Surprisingly, they opened, and a suspicious-looking man stuck his head out. “Whaddayawant?”
The second brother took offense at this. “Why, to marry your princess, of course!” he said rudely, thinking of the most outrageous thing he could. However, the doorman simply blinked. “All right, come along then,” he beckoned.
Completely bewildered, the second brother followed him.
And now let us return to the first brother…he had followed his path, which indeed led downward, but unlike his brother’s, his path was dark and overshadowed and he was soon lost. He bit his lip and kept going. “Surely after this is must get better,” he muttered.
Soon enough he was lost inside the forest. Being very logical, he went to look at the trees, for he knew that moss grew on the north side. “I was traveling east when I entered, and that will be the shortest way out.” He quickly found the way he thought was best and followed it.
It led out to the same open ground his brother had found, and he, too, went straight to the town. He refused the offerings of food and went straight to the center of the town, where he found an announcement.
His Majesty’s Subjects:
The good King’s eldest daughter, fair Rosalind, has come of age and is ready to be married. Whosoever shall come and who can prove themselves worthy shall have her hand.
Now, the first brother thought that it was high time he obtained a wife, and so directed his footsteps to the castle, where he met the same greeting as his brother had and the same question. “I noticed an announcement about the princess’s marriage,” he said courteously. “Might I present myself as a suitor?” The doorman drew his head inside and beckoned.
When the second man saw his brother led into the great chamber, he was overjoyed. “My dear brother! What brings you here?”
The first brother raised his eyebrows. “Did you not see the announcement regarding the King’s daughter?” The second brother shook his head. “Certainly not, but I’m glad you are here with me.”
Before they could say any more, the princess entered the room. Both were stunned. The first brother recovered first. “Fair lady…” he said softly. The second just gazed at her.
“Welcome,” she said. Her voice was musical and added to the enchantment of her appearance. “You seek my hand?” Both brothers nodded. “Then, one will show you to your rooms tonight. There are tasks you must do. The first night you may not sleep or take any rest, no matter how weary you may be. A shape shall appear and entreat you to sleep, but you must not. Come to me tomorrow morning.” And she dismissed them.
The brothers were led to adjacent rooms and ushered to bed. “Good night,” they said to each other, and without further ado, they entered their rooms.
The second brother sat awake on the bed, the only furniture that could accommodate sitting, wondering what would happen that night. It was only to be expected that he felt a thrill of confusion. Who knew what he would see? In the next room, his brother sat calmly, awaiting what would happen, sure he could handle it.
The clock struck 9…10…11…both their eyelids began to droop, though they fought, until…
Dong….dong…dong…the clock struck twelve.
Suddenly soft, eerie music began to play. The first brother stoically refused to listen to it. The second brother was entranced. He rose and looked out of the window, searching for the source of the beautiful, ethereal sound. The moon appeared especially bright, as it had the last night, and a faint silver glow suffused the air.
Suddenly, a bright figure appeared behind the second brother. He realized it to be the one he had met the other night, and instantly turned toward it.
(TBC)
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Love or Perish
With Valentine’s Day tomorrow, the ideas of love and romance grow on everyone’s mind. We think about roses, chocolates, perfume, and all the other things that characterize this time. What we don’t think about, though, is everything that we miss every day of the rest of our lives. Our culture, despite having a holiday that celebrates it, has managed to suck a lot of real love from our lives, substituting it with artificial things that don’t give us what we truly need.
Take a look around, if you will, and see what we embrace. Look at our music, our movies, and our books. Many of them have ties to love and romance, and we attach ourselves to them like barnacles, as if hearing and seeing perfect stories could make our own lives much better. We accept them as supplements for what we want in our own lives and sadly lack. Instead of finding and giving support and love to our friends and those close to us, we desperately cling to unreal echoes of what we really need and somehow cannot get.
After all, when there are so many other things to focus on than helping and loving other people who need it, how could you? Money, personal gratification, work, advancement, staying ahead of everyone else and making more money and more profits and more things than what everyone really needs. Our culture has made it so that love is a little thing by the wayside and everything else comes on top, or else you can’t succeed. It’s made it so that too many things inhibit what we feel translating to how we act.
Even the words we use have made a change in things. Words like “love” and “hate” are bandied around like snowballs in a field full of kids and new snow. Exaggeration makes it hard, I think, to say what we really mean when it’s something really big. “______? I love him,” is something you hear often that means nothing of the serious sort. “He’s awesome,” or “He’s so much fun,” or “He’s a good friend,” would fit the job just as well, but the amount of times you hear the first, at least with modern teens, equals the amount of times you hear the rest of them.
And the thing is, the topic is nothing to be thrown about so easily. Love is a real thing that so many people, even those that are considered “fortunate” and “happy”, lack. It’s something that people do crazy things for and are constantly hurting for, and are definitely not getting. Our culture isn’t helping. Ask yourself, “Am I really happy? Or am I lacking something? Could I use more love?” Chances are the answers to the last two questions will be a yes. Everyone could use more love.
So when you’re there on Valentine’s Day, surrounded by flowers, hearts, chocolate, love songs, and wishes, think about giving more love than you’re getting. Think about how everyone’s hurting for love just as much as you are, and how glad they’d be to get some. Think about how much you need and want it, and open up to the rest of the world. Everyone’s stuck inside his or her own mind watching everyone else. Anytime you make someone less alone is a beautiful thing.
And if you do have a special someone, show them. Maybe they’re just waiting for you to say it.
Take a look around, if you will, and see what we embrace. Look at our music, our movies, and our books. Many of them have ties to love and romance, and we attach ourselves to them like barnacles, as if hearing and seeing perfect stories could make our own lives much better. We accept them as supplements for what we want in our own lives and sadly lack. Instead of finding and giving support and love to our friends and those close to us, we desperately cling to unreal echoes of what we really need and somehow cannot get.
After all, when there are so many other things to focus on than helping and loving other people who need it, how could you? Money, personal gratification, work, advancement, staying ahead of everyone else and making more money and more profits and more things than what everyone really needs. Our culture has made it so that love is a little thing by the wayside and everything else comes on top, or else you can’t succeed. It’s made it so that too many things inhibit what we feel translating to how we act.
Even the words we use have made a change in things. Words like “love” and “hate” are bandied around like snowballs in a field full of kids and new snow. Exaggeration makes it hard, I think, to say what we really mean when it’s something really big. “______? I love him,” is something you hear often that means nothing of the serious sort. “He’s awesome,” or “He’s so much fun,” or “He’s a good friend,” would fit the job just as well, but the amount of times you hear the first, at least with modern teens, equals the amount of times you hear the rest of them.
And the thing is, the topic is nothing to be thrown about so easily. Love is a real thing that so many people, even those that are considered “fortunate” and “happy”, lack. It’s something that people do crazy things for and are constantly hurting for, and are definitely not getting. Our culture isn’t helping. Ask yourself, “Am I really happy? Or am I lacking something? Could I use more love?” Chances are the answers to the last two questions will be a yes. Everyone could use more love.
So when you’re there on Valentine’s Day, surrounded by flowers, hearts, chocolate, love songs, and wishes, think about giving more love than you’re getting. Think about how everyone’s hurting for love just as much as you are, and how glad they’d be to get some. Think about how much you need and want it, and open up to the rest of the world. Everyone’s stuck inside his or her own mind watching everyone else. Anytime you make someone less alone is a beautiful thing.
And if you do have a special someone, show them. Maybe they’re just waiting for you to say it.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Success
(I have a point. Bear with me.)
Rain in the winter doesn’t fit, somehow. Washing it away—for what? Dry, yellow grass. Nothing to want in the slightest.
Why is it that what’s such a blessing in the summer is torture in the winter? In the summer we’re desperate for a drop of that life-giving liquid that’s so precious to break the endless heat. In the winter, we look upon it dully and wish that it were snow.
It’s the same with other things, I find. In the summer I’m desperate for something to happen because it’s so monotonous. However, in the winter when everything’s piling up, I’m desperate to get out. It’s never been as bad as this year. I don’t feel prepared for anything and if I could just let everything go I probably would.
How can something be such a blessing and such a curse? It’s supposed to be great to be involved and to be able to do so many things and have opportunities. Somehow, the reality doesn’t look anywhere near that good. Why do we do what we do?
They always give you answers. “College. Money. Support yourself.” But if you’re always working for something that never really comes…in college it’ll be “good grades, good job.” When you’re working it’ll be “Money, promotion.” When you get there, you don’t have time to enjoy it. Why do we force ourselves so hard? In another century will we start school at age 2 and have it all year long until we’re 24, then throw ourselves into a horribly competitive workplace? If that’s where this is going, what good will it do any of us?
But people will always say, “Well, if that’s what you need to do to succeed.” What is “succeeding” in this case? I think that succeeding should honestly be making a difference. It doesn’t matter how many degrees or money or anything you made if you didn’t make a difference for people and for the world. When you’re dead, will it say “S/he made a lot of money and spent it all on their house, got 10 degrees, and sat at home all day”, or will it say “S/he didn’t make a lot of money, but s/he was the greatest parent, community person, friend, and gave everything s/he had to help others”?
What is the point of forcing yourself to the brink in something that won’t matter in the course of the thing?
I think we really need to change this. In Lewis Carroll’s Sylvie and Bruno, there is a section where the mysterious figure Mein Herr tells all about another planet where competitive examinations ran wild. “Teach them everything that’ll be on the examination and don’t bother about letting them learn anything else. It won’t be useful. As long as they can answer all the questions right, they’ll be good and successful and so will you as a teacher.” Will that be our goal? Just to learn everything on the examination and ignore everything else because the examination is what matters?
Don’t let this happen. Make it your quest to succeed because you know and you understand and you can apply it to the rest of your world, however small or large it is. I think that’s the measure of success (even if I meandered on the way to getting there!)
Rain in the winter doesn’t fit, somehow. Washing it away—for what? Dry, yellow grass. Nothing to want in the slightest.
Why is it that what’s such a blessing in the summer is torture in the winter? In the summer we’re desperate for a drop of that life-giving liquid that’s so precious to break the endless heat. In the winter, we look upon it dully and wish that it were snow.
It’s the same with other things, I find. In the summer I’m desperate for something to happen because it’s so monotonous. However, in the winter when everything’s piling up, I’m desperate to get out. It’s never been as bad as this year. I don’t feel prepared for anything and if I could just let everything go I probably would.
How can something be such a blessing and such a curse? It’s supposed to be great to be involved and to be able to do so many things and have opportunities. Somehow, the reality doesn’t look anywhere near that good. Why do we do what we do?
They always give you answers. “College. Money. Support yourself.” But if you’re always working for something that never really comes…in college it’ll be “good grades, good job.” When you’re working it’ll be “Money, promotion.” When you get there, you don’t have time to enjoy it. Why do we force ourselves so hard? In another century will we start school at age 2 and have it all year long until we’re 24, then throw ourselves into a horribly competitive workplace? If that’s where this is going, what good will it do any of us?
But people will always say, “Well, if that’s what you need to do to succeed.” What is “succeeding” in this case? I think that succeeding should honestly be making a difference. It doesn’t matter how many degrees or money or anything you made if you didn’t make a difference for people and for the world. When you’re dead, will it say “S/he made a lot of money and spent it all on their house, got 10 degrees, and sat at home all day”, or will it say “S/he didn’t make a lot of money, but s/he was the greatest parent, community person, friend, and gave everything s/he had to help others”?
What is the point of forcing yourself to the brink in something that won’t matter in the course of the thing?
I think we really need to change this. In Lewis Carroll’s Sylvie and Bruno, there is a section where the mysterious figure Mein Herr tells all about another planet where competitive examinations ran wild. “Teach them everything that’ll be on the examination and don’t bother about letting them learn anything else. It won’t be useful. As long as they can answer all the questions right, they’ll be good and successful and so will you as a teacher.” Will that be our goal? Just to learn everything on the examination and ignore everything else because the examination is what matters?
Don’t let this happen. Make it your quest to succeed because you know and you understand and you can apply it to the rest of your world, however small or large it is. I think that’s the measure of success (even if I meandered on the way to getting there!)
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Beginning
(Aka Idle Thoughts)
Twice rang the bells, for death, for birth,
Twice the shining flare of light,
Twice read the story of all the world,
And the lightened soul burst into flight.
I have here a tome. Black as night, bound with silver, with hints of red. It is only so tall, and so wide, as you can see, and just so thick. It is not very large, indeed, for a volume of its destiny…
For it is the fate of the world.
The silver key enters the lock, and turns. Slowly the dark, dark cover lifts and the pages begin to fly, faster and faster, until they stop abruptly. The single cream page grows larger and larger, and the flowing script and misty drawings consume everything…
The candle sputtered, and the small pool of light it spread across the loose pages of the notes wavered slowly. It was almost dawn, and gray light filtered through the windows of the small room. Still, Cairon checked it nervously, fearful of its extinguishment but worrying about notice.
His fine pen skated across the page, recording his thoughts and observations. It had been a fine night for it. Cool, dim, quiet, without the noises he’d heard from the other day. The Lords must have done something to suppress them. They often had to nowadays, but they always did. It was one of the unchangeable facts of the world.
Except, then, what was he doing here at this time of night with only the light of a candle? At the least he should have a glowlamp, but he had been afraid of being…well, discovered. The light would have attracted a Watcher, who would have intruded and asked him what he was doing at 6 after Blacknight…and he would have been questioned. In this place of unchangeable, unquestionable things, what was Cairon Elarind doing here tonight doing a very questionable thing?
It had started not long ago. An urge, a whispering, to go outside when there was no one and no task to be done, to find out what things were like that he’d never been able to see. It was an honest feeling, and an excusable one. In the daylight there were always tasks, but at night there was no one, as everyone was lawful. Everyone except Cairon Elarind.
What would his parents have thought? He had never known them, being orphaned at a young age. According to custom he had been fostered and sent immediately to a school to find out his strengths. At 15 years, he was hard on the track to being a talented architect, or so his Masters told him. His aptitude for design and aesthetics had combined to create a wonderful mind for it, one that would help the community, they always said on his portfolios. It was what was expected.
He stacked his pages, finished for the night, and extinguished the candle, using the gray dawn-light to make his way back to his quarters. He stretched out on his bed, exhausted, trying to catch an hour of sleep before morning Calling.
They came for him that day.
Twice rang the bells, for death, for birth,
Twice the shining flare of light,
Twice read the story of all the world,
And the lightened soul burst into flight.
I have here a tome. Black as night, bound with silver, with hints of red. It is only so tall, and so wide, as you can see, and just so thick. It is not very large, indeed, for a volume of its destiny…
For it is the fate of the world.
The silver key enters the lock, and turns. Slowly the dark, dark cover lifts and the pages begin to fly, faster and faster, until they stop abruptly. The single cream page grows larger and larger, and the flowing script and misty drawings consume everything…
The candle sputtered, and the small pool of light it spread across the loose pages of the notes wavered slowly. It was almost dawn, and gray light filtered through the windows of the small room. Still, Cairon checked it nervously, fearful of its extinguishment but worrying about notice.
His fine pen skated across the page, recording his thoughts and observations. It had been a fine night for it. Cool, dim, quiet, without the noises he’d heard from the other day. The Lords must have done something to suppress them. They often had to nowadays, but they always did. It was one of the unchangeable facts of the world.
Except, then, what was he doing here at this time of night with only the light of a candle? At the least he should have a glowlamp, but he had been afraid of being…well, discovered. The light would have attracted a Watcher, who would have intruded and asked him what he was doing at 6 after Blacknight…and he would have been questioned. In this place of unchangeable, unquestionable things, what was Cairon Elarind doing here tonight doing a very questionable thing?
It had started not long ago. An urge, a whispering, to go outside when there was no one and no task to be done, to find out what things were like that he’d never been able to see. It was an honest feeling, and an excusable one. In the daylight there were always tasks, but at night there was no one, as everyone was lawful. Everyone except Cairon Elarind.
What would his parents have thought? He had never known them, being orphaned at a young age. According to custom he had been fostered and sent immediately to a school to find out his strengths. At 15 years, he was hard on the track to being a talented architect, or so his Masters told him. His aptitude for design and aesthetics had combined to create a wonderful mind for it, one that would help the community, they always said on his portfolios. It was what was expected.
He stacked his pages, finished for the night, and extinguished the candle, using the gray dawn-light to make his way back to his quarters. He stretched out on his bed, exhausted, trying to catch an hour of sleep before morning Calling.
They came for him that day.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
I am
I am
sunlight
glowing in the west
just beyond the far edge
of
Everything.
I am
starlight
glimm’ring on the sea
So close, so real, yet untouchable
The measure of
Eternity.
I am
summer rain
cooling, gentle, clean
Breathing life into the stillness
with whispers of love.
I am
snowfall
purity, and silence
Reflection, and grace
rebirth.
I am
music
symphonies of sound,
Truth that’s held in
understanding
Beyond sight, far in thought.
I am
the story
of everything I love,
Everything I’ve seen,
Everything I’ve touched.
I am the wind in the trees,
The laugh of cool waters,
Sweet morning dewdrops,
The smiles of the world.
I am life.
I am…
me.
Note: This really should be in a different, centered format, but I can't do tabs here, so this is what you get. ^^
We are intriguing things, us human beings. We are who we are because of what we've seen and done, because of what's touched us beyond all. Somewhere we retain a memory and a thought and it changes what we do and how we act. By the time we die, we're a collection of scenes from many places, the good and the bad, the sweet and the sad, the dark and the light. We become something more than just us--we're also what's shaped us, created us, everything that's ever mattered to us in our lives. We become our friends and our families and our teachers, keeping a little part of them locked inside us forever. We become everything that nature has to give and we have to receive. We are like written books, books of everything and anything we may have encountered. If we could open others up and read their stories, perhaps there wouldn't be so much pain and darkness in the world--perhaps we could understand each other, by seeing the wheres and hows and whys of each other.
I want to say thank you, I think, to everyone that's done something that I held onto, everything I remember. Without others, we are nothing, in several ways. People who touch others' lives give them the greatest gifts of all--themselves. When you touch someone else's life, no matter what way, you teach them something about themself, and help them to find their way and place in our crazy world. No matter if it's positive or negative, people need them both, need them all, in order to really learn who they really are. In every year of their lives, there is something important, no matter how young or how old. Remember that, well, everything you do influences the ones involved. We are the greatest gifts we can give to each other--the lessons we can teach, the things we can help with, the love we can give, and the knowledge of oneself and each other. It is a priceless thing, to be able to know our place. We give it to each other.
sunlight
glowing in the west
just beyond the far edge
of
Everything.
I am
starlight
glimm’ring on the sea
So close, so real, yet untouchable
The measure of
Eternity.
I am
summer rain
cooling, gentle, clean
Breathing life into the stillness
with whispers of love.
I am
snowfall
purity, and silence
Reflection, and grace
rebirth.
I am
music
symphonies of sound,
Truth that’s held in
understanding
Beyond sight, far in thought.
I am
the story
of everything I love,
Everything I’ve seen,
Everything I’ve touched.
I am the wind in the trees,
The laugh of cool waters,
Sweet morning dewdrops,
The smiles of the world.
I am life.
I am…
me.
Note: This really should be in a different, centered format, but I can't do tabs here, so this is what you get. ^^
We are intriguing things, us human beings. We are who we are because of what we've seen and done, because of what's touched us beyond all. Somewhere we retain a memory and a thought and it changes what we do and how we act. By the time we die, we're a collection of scenes from many places, the good and the bad, the sweet and the sad, the dark and the light. We become something more than just us--we're also what's shaped us, created us, everything that's ever mattered to us in our lives. We become our friends and our families and our teachers, keeping a little part of them locked inside us forever. We become everything that nature has to give and we have to receive. We are like written books, books of everything and anything we may have encountered. If we could open others up and read their stories, perhaps there wouldn't be so much pain and darkness in the world--perhaps we could understand each other, by seeing the wheres and hows and whys of each other.
I want to say thank you, I think, to everyone that's done something that I held onto, everything I remember. Without others, we are nothing, in several ways. People who touch others' lives give them the greatest gifts of all--themselves. When you touch someone else's life, no matter what way, you teach them something about themself, and help them to find their way and place in our crazy world. No matter if it's positive or negative, people need them both, need them all, in order to really learn who they really are. In every year of their lives, there is something important, no matter how young or how old. Remember that, well, everything you do influences the ones involved. We are the greatest gifts we can give to each other--the lessons we can teach, the things we can help with, the love we can give, and the knowledge of oneself and each other. It is a priceless thing, to be able to know our place. We give it to each other.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Author's End Note
Author’s End Note
Dear readers. I have not written “The End” here, nor will I ever in any tale of mine. For, you see, stories never have an ending. Our part in them may come to a close, but the mantle is always there for another to take up and bring to new light. It is part of the world, part of creation, part of the endless cycle. We are all part of the same story that has gone on since the beginning of time.
In a way, reader, everything you do is part of a story, whether you think it or not. And stories are powerful. I hope that you have found something of yourself and the world reflected back at you in this one of mine. Words are precious things; they can give wings to thought and make it fly, open your eyes, show you things you’ve never seen or even dreamed of imagining. The world of thought and story is full of infinite possibilities. It is limited only by the walls you yourself have created in your mind. If you let go, why, who knows what you may discover? It is not all about creation; story is a journey of discovery. You may surprise yourself.
I hope this child of the journeys of my thought has given you some hope, some happiness, some understanding, and some laughter as you have perused it. It was all I ever wanted, to make something to leave behind and bring joys and lessons to those who come after. Everyone yearns to leave a legacy, some mark on the world. This is mine, the child of my imagination and what I believe I have learned.
Take what you will from it. To every face it is a different lesson, a different feeling, the same words with different meaning. Find what it is to yourself, whether a lesson, or an amusement, or something to turn to in a dark hour or a light one. I will never forget what stories brought to me through all the times of my life, and still do. I hope I have returned some of that to the next generation of those to come. I hope you will find some starlight pushing through the cracks of velvet night in it.
Until next time.
That is what I would like to see at the end of my work, to motivate me to continue and create. This is why I continue. That's what I want to accomplish--to create something that can mean something to others like the books I love meant to me. There is nothing like what story can do, where it can take you, and what it can teach, barring the limited actual experiences we can receive. Somehow, in the dark of the night, it is story that returns and brings messages to me. So this, I guess, is what I want to achieve for myself and for the future, to leave behind something worthwhile to all.
Dear readers. I have not written “The End” here, nor will I ever in any tale of mine. For, you see, stories never have an ending. Our part in them may come to a close, but the mantle is always there for another to take up and bring to new light. It is part of the world, part of creation, part of the endless cycle. We are all part of the same story that has gone on since the beginning of time.
In a way, reader, everything you do is part of a story, whether you think it or not. And stories are powerful. I hope that you have found something of yourself and the world reflected back at you in this one of mine. Words are precious things; they can give wings to thought and make it fly, open your eyes, show you things you’ve never seen or even dreamed of imagining. The world of thought and story is full of infinite possibilities. It is limited only by the walls you yourself have created in your mind. If you let go, why, who knows what you may discover? It is not all about creation; story is a journey of discovery. You may surprise yourself.
I hope this child of the journeys of my thought has given you some hope, some happiness, some understanding, and some laughter as you have perused it. It was all I ever wanted, to make something to leave behind and bring joys and lessons to those who come after. Everyone yearns to leave a legacy, some mark on the world. This is mine, the child of my imagination and what I believe I have learned.
Take what you will from it. To every face it is a different lesson, a different feeling, the same words with different meaning. Find what it is to yourself, whether a lesson, or an amusement, or something to turn to in a dark hour or a light one. I will never forget what stories brought to me through all the times of my life, and still do. I hope I have returned some of that to the next generation of those to come. I hope you will find some starlight pushing through the cracks of velvet night in it.
Until next time.
That is what I would like to see at the end of my work, to motivate me to continue and create. This is why I continue. That's what I want to accomplish--to create something that can mean something to others like the books I love meant to me. There is nothing like what story can do, where it can take you, and what it can teach, barring the limited actual experiences we can receive. Somehow, in the dark of the night, it is story that returns and brings messages to me. So this, I guess, is what I want to achieve for myself and for the future, to leave behind something worthwhile to all.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Dust in the Wind
“All we are is dust in the wind.”
In the grand scheme of things, we really are just tiny specks swirling in the great wind of time and space. We live, love, laugh, cry, and then, well, we die. In the long run, you’re just one of many.
So why does it matter? Why do you try?
It all comes down to two things, really. Do you try for yourself, or do you try for others? People who try and gain power, money, recognition, they do it to…be remembered. Somewhere in the back of our minds, we recognize that the only people they talk about in history are those who did something memorable. The people who ruled for a long time, who conquered, or who created. Is that what you seek, though? Just to be remembered by people who won’t care who you were, what you were inside, only hate you or love you for what they thought you did? History is a fickle thing.
Or you can make the other choice. Live for yourself and the people who care who you are and what you are. What you do doesn’t matter to everyone else. Ten years will go past and they won’t even remember what gave you such embarrassment or pride on that one day. It won’t matter if you bombed that math test or if you won the mile. What matters is how you helped people, how you made life better, how you made the best of something bad. How you rescued a friend, how you prevented a depression, how you pulled through yourself despite everything against you, how you made a difference… and what you did for the secret self inside of you that’s begging to be heard.
Do we care about what others think too much? How much of what you do is to please other people, to fit in? How has this become such a large thing for us? Why is it our nature to care what other people want and be what others want of us? Is it so different to want to be who we are for ourselves.
Of course, they say that without a listener, words are nothing. But don’t do everything to be heard; or all you do is build up a mask around you. Keep to your inner truth, because otherwise you’ll never find the inner peace we search for.
What kind of a legacy will you leave? One of hope and peace and joy and caring for the people who loved you and cared about you and those who come after? Or one you left so that you would be remembered to the whole world, who won’t care? It’s your choice: to the few who it will matter to or to try for the greater. Because we live such fleeting lives, the difference is for yourself.
In the grand scheme of things, we really are just tiny specks swirling in the great wind of time and space. We live, love, laugh, cry, and then, well, we die. In the long run, you’re just one of many.
So why does it matter? Why do you try?
It all comes down to two things, really. Do you try for yourself, or do you try for others? People who try and gain power, money, recognition, they do it to…be remembered. Somewhere in the back of our minds, we recognize that the only people they talk about in history are those who did something memorable. The people who ruled for a long time, who conquered, or who created. Is that what you seek, though? Just to be remembered by people who won’t care who you were, what you were inside, only hate you or love you for what they thought you did? History is a fickle thing.
Or you can make the other choice. Live for yourself and the people who care who you are and what you are. What you do doesn’t matter to everyone else. Ten years will go past and they won’t even remember what gave you such embarrassment or pride on that one day. It won’t matter if you bombed that math test or if you won the mile. What matters is how you helped people, how you made life better, how you made the best of something bad. How you rescued a friend, how you prevented a depression, how you pulled through yourself despite everything against you, how you made a difference… and what you did for the secret self inside of you that’s begging to be heard.
Do we care about what others think too much? How much of what you do is to please other people, to fit in? How has this become such a large thing for us? Why is it our nature to care what other people want and be what others want of us? Is it so different to want to be who we are for ourselves.
Of course, they say that without a listener, words are nothing. But don’t do everything to be heard; or all you do is build up a mask around you. Keep to your inner truth, because otherwise you’ll never find the inner peace we search for.
What kind of a legacy will you leave? One of hope and peace and joy and caring for the people who loved you and cared about you and those who come after? Or one you left so that you would be remembered to the whole world, who won’t care? It’s your choice: to the few who it will matter to or to try for the greater. Because we live such fleeting lives, the difference is for yourself.
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