“Sleigh bells ring, are you list’nin? In the lane, snow is glist’nin! A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland…”
In the danger of being Captain Obvious…It’s Almost Christmas!!! Of course you knew that already, but sometimes it’s even better saying it out loud. Everything in these few days just seems to lead straight up to this magical day. The snow, the shopping, the gift-wrapping, the decorations… it all fills the heart with a wonderful feeling.
This season holds so many memories for almost everyone. It’s a time when people get together to share stories, presents, ideas, and memories. It’s a time when the world tries to quiet its hectic, frantic spinning and think of peace, goodness, generosity, giving, and open hearts. With all this, who wouldn’t support Christmas and all it is?
It’s a pity that Christmas isn’t every day of the year. Of course, this would cease to make it different, but the ideals it upholds should be kept year-round. Who knows? It might even do us some good—they stopped fighting for a day in WWI on Christmas. Maybe if we had Christmas for an entire year we’d reconsider what we’re really doing to ourselves and each other. They had Christmas songs, entertained each other…if you think about it, the people you’re fighting probably aren’t bad guys themselves, and are the people you’d like to sit down and have a cup of coffee (or tea, or whatever) with and enjoy a morning with. You’re just two people on different sides, is all…
Christmas is simply full of good times, though. It seems as though the entire world (although that’s not quite true) is caught up in the same mindset, of being good, of caring, of family, and friends too, and a glow of happiness. The things it brings…all through the years of my short life, there is something that stays the same. Our fat old Christmas tree, for instance, which seems doomed to being lost to a new, skinnier, “prettier” tree that can’t hold half the ornaments or memories that our big one we’ve had forever can. The ornaments themselves, all gathered through years of collecting from many places—Crater Lake, Mount Vernon, my dance school, my brother’s college, and more. They’re precious, and each has a little story behind it. Then there’s the cookie baking, ripping open presents, enjoying ourselves, being stupid. I mean, what’s Christmas without a little stupidity between family?
I think it’s true that we really forget these things when it gets to sometime in March. It lingers in our memory for a month or a few, and then it disappears as other things overtake it. But then it grows in our minds again in November. Let’s relax and see how long this Christmas can last. In spirit, perhaps all through the year. Have as much fun as you can, and will, because it’s a blessing every year. And at the end, a new year dawns, just like the blank page full of possibility.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
If You Just Believe...
As Christmas swings around, everyone returns to examine that funny thing called belief again. Including me. It’s one of the most extraordinary things in this world, you know. The simple conviction that something is, or can happen, is what achieves the most amazing things. Without belief in one’s abilities, without belief in good and right, the world wouldn’t be the way it is, and it would be so much worse for it.
Mainly, though, aside from the belief in what you can do, what you can achieve, that lets us create what we can, it’s belief that brings us through tough times. Even if it’s not belief in a higher power, as it often is, and which is powerful in its own way for it, it’s the belief that there are good times ahead, that there’s a sun behind the dark storm clouds, that gives strength and hope beyond what you think can be done.
At times we lose this belief. We stand there under the storm and wonder why we even try. But you have to believe that there really is a light behind the darkness. Because there always is…they who lived long ago in the darkest of times, could they but see where we’ve gotten to they would be stunned, to think that their world could turn into ours. Life goes on. The story goes on. Stories never end…we’re all part of the same one that’s been going on since the beginning of time, the story of our world and our people and our pains and our triumphs. If we could step out of the world and take a look at time flowing by, we’d see that the problems we think are so desperate are really just little wrinkles in the great flow and weave of the pattern of life, fate, and time. We have to be able to step back and realize this, and feel our belief pulsing through us again.
And that’s why we return to the strength of hope and mind every time this year. We look around and we see happy people, joyful celebrations, and they’re more than just a celebration of your religion—they’re also a celebration of life, and the happiness that always exists somewhere, and of hope and love. We take joy in the season, of giving to each other, of returning to this happy time each year, in part because it renews our belief that there are good times after the sad times, that we won’t always be fighting, and that there’s a little something around the corner to make us happy.
So remember to believe. It’s belief that gives us strength, the conviction of something else that we can’t always see. In the dark, try and remember the light that you’ve seen so many times. Because it’s real, and it’s good, and it’s beautiful. If you can believe, you can wipe away the tears, uncover the windows, and let the real light within stream out. Only when you believe can you really live.
Mainly, though, aside from the belief in what you can do, what you can achieve, that lets us create what we can, it’s belief that brings us through tough times. Even if it’s not belief in a higher power, as it often is, and which is powerful in its own way for it, it’s the belief that there are good times ahead, that there’s a sun behind the dark storm clouds, that gives strength and hope beyond what you think can be done.
At times we lose this belief. We stand there under the storm and wonder why we even try. But you have to believe that there really is a light behind the darkness. Because there always is…they who lived long ago in the darkest of times, could they but see where we’ve gotten to they would be stunned, to think that their world could turn into ours. Life goes on. The story goes on. Stories never end…we’re all part of the same one that’s been going on since the beginning of time, the story of our world and our people and our pains and our triumphs. If we could step out of the world and take a look at time flowing by, we’d see that the problems we think are so desperate are really just little wrinkles in the great flow and weave of the pattern of life, fate, and time. We have to be able to step back and realize this, and feel our belief pulsing through us again.
And that’s why we return to the strength of hope and mind every time this year. We look around and we see happy people, joyful celebrations, and they’re more than just a celebration of your religion—they’re also a celebration of life, and the happiness that always exists somewhere, and of hope and love. We take joy in the season, of giving to each other, of returning to this happy time each year, in part because it renews our belief that there are good times after the sad times, that we won’t always be fighting, and that there’s a little something around the corner to make us happy.
So remember to believe. It’s belief that gives us strength, the conviction of something else that we can’t always see. In the dark, try and remember the light that you’ve seen so many times. Because it’s real, and it’s good, and it’s beautiful. If you can believe, you can wipe away the tears, uncover the windows, and let the real light within stream out. Only when you believe can you really live.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Mastery
For thousands of years the other creatures that share our earth have walked its paths in a quest for survival. Battling sickness and Nature and predators and hunger was enough to engage their lives. But when man came along, this wasn’t enough. They settled down and started figuring things out, how to use things to cure sickness, how to grow food instead of search for it. And this was good. Then came modern times…
See, sometimes the human race worries me. All around there are all these new breakthroughs. Something has been invented to do this! Now they’re working on this! What I fear is that we care too much about controlling, about having mastery over things around us. We want to be able to control the wind, the seas, the snow, to our will. We’re interested in discovering how to do everything so we can work less.
But…Nature’s job is to keep the world balanced. Her job is to keep everything right. When a population grows too large, sickness plagues it, or it breaks, and it moves on to a better place. When one selection of creatures is wreaking havoc on others, the others form defense, attack, and things are regulated. But the human race is growing too fast and adapting so quickly that these things cannot help. And our only aim is our comfort, our enjoyment. We fail to see that without the work, we cannot appreciate it. Without the struggle, we cannot see the value in the fruits.
I fear for us. I can envision a time when everything will be controlled. We will raise mountains and drain seas at our will, and the rain will fall when we want it to. Lives will be elongated and there will be too many people, but we’ll build towers as high as the mountain to live in and grow food in our homes, and the blight of this “civilization” will cover the entire earth.
You might imagine the good about this. Rain when the crops need it, suppressed when they don’t so plans aren’t ruined. But the beauty of the rain and the forests and the wind is that…it’s free. It comes and goes as it wishes, and grows and changes to further beauty, to enhance the gentle earth. It brings wonder and awe. If we could control things, what would they be but another toy to play with, another machine, another thing we had to deal with every day and thought no more of?
So again, in another way, we need to move slower. Think of the consequences of our actions not just on us, but on the world. This tired world that has endured so much, that shelters us, that gives us life. It’s more beautiful than we can imagine, holed up in our tiny places who have never seen the hidden wonders that exist. But with our arrogance we would change and destroy it, shaping it to what we think is right, when in reality it is in its own right more stunning than we could even envision. We need to see this truth and think on it, for without thought we are moving into the collapse, the last stand of something that is great and beautiful and vaster than we think, we with our planes and cars and spaceships. Appreciate more what we have, for the more we think we gain, the more we lose, and the more we hunger. It’s a downward spiral…unless you can change it.
See, sometimes the human race worries me. All around there are all these new breakthroughs. Something has been invented to do this! Now they’re working on this! What I fear is that we care too much about controlling, about having mastery over things around us. We want to be able to control the wind, the seas, the snow, to our will. We’re interested in discovering how to do everything so we can work less.
But…Nature’s job is to keep the world balanced. Her job is to keep everything right. When a population grows too large, sickness plagues it, or it breaks, and it moves on to a better place. When one selection of creatures is wreaking havoc on others, the others form defense, attack, and things are regulated. But the human race is growing too fast and adapting so quickly that these things cannot help. And our only aim is our comfort, our enjoyment. We fail to see that without the work, we cannot appreciate it. Without the struggle, we cannot see the value in the fruits.
I fear for us. I can envision a time when everything will be controlled. We will raise mountains and drain seas at our will, and the rain will fall when we want it to. Lives will be elongated and there will be too many people, but we’ll build towers as high as the mountain to live in and grow food in our homes, and the blight of this “civilization” will cover the entire earth.
You might imagine the good about this. Rain when the crops need it, suppressed when they don’t so plans aren’t ruined. But the beauty of the rain and the forests and the wind is that…it’s free. It comes and goes as it wishes, and grows and changes to further beauty, to enhance the gentle earth. It brings wonder and awe. If we could control things, what would they be but another toy to play with, another machine, another thing we had to deal with every day and thought no more of?
So again, in another way, we need to move slower. Think of the consequences of our actions not just on us, but on the world. This tired world that has endured so much, that shelters us, that gives us life. It’s more beautiful than we can imagine, holed up in our tiny places who have never seen the hidden wonders that exist. But with our arrogance we would change and destroy it, shaping it to what we think is right, when in reality it is in its own right more stunning than we could even envision. We need to see this truth and think on it, for without thought we are moving into the collapse, the last stand of something that is great and beautiful and vaster than we think, we with our planes and cars and spaceships. Appreciate more what we have, for the more we think we gain, the more we lose, and the more we hunger. It’s a downward spiral…unless you can change it.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Shattered Glass
I closed my eyes and saw the light
Twixt the lines that brought the truth
Only dark can fence this out
Only light can now break through
Across the endless iron ocean
Across the rolling fields of green
I watched the sun set in a blaze of fire
And I knew
There’s so much more that’s to be held
Break the bonds that hold you tight
Wash the darkness from your eyes
Open up and see the sun on the green, green grass
The world is more than you can know
The sky is wider than you dream
Eternity is there in every glance of tired eyes
So feel the snowflakes on your skin
Breathe the crisp frost in the air
Hear the laughing of the clear cold mountain stream
And hold tight to the things that make this world alive
For without them there is nothing
Touch once more the things that bind you
For without them you are nothing
Only shattered glass
Twixt the lines that brought the truth
Only dark can fence this out
Only light can now break through
Across the endless iron ocean
Across the rolling fields of green
I watched the sun set in a blaze of fire
And I knew
There’s so much more that’s to be held
Break the bonds that hold you tight
Wash the darkness from your eyes
Open up and see the sun on the green, green grass
The world is more than you can know
The sky is wider than you dream
Eternity is there in every glance of tired eyes
So feel the snowflakes on your skin
Breathe the crisp frost in the air
Hear the laughing of the clear cold mountain stream
And hold tight to the things that make this world alive
For without them there is nothing
Touch once more the things that bind you
For without them you are nothing
Only shattered glass
~HRMA
Between the Lines
When you walk around outside, do you see what you are looking at? Do you notice the azure sky, the crisp smell after a cool spring rain, the sound of laughing water? Why is it that there are so many wonders flowing past us that we rarely pay attention to? I’ve seen many beautiful things in my life, and they are part of what makes life good, and rare, and unique, and precious. Some things you’ll never see again in your life. Doesn’t it make sense to look for them? I wonder exactly how many things we pass by as we rush through our daily lives. We need to walk slower, to see everything we can, to actually touch the things rushing by. Because who knows? If we cease to do so, what happens to it? Without regard for the things that make up the world just as we do they will vanish like rain in the parched desert, lost forever beyond reckoning. So many things are being lost, because people don’t watch where they step. We are not blameless ourselves. But we are, as they always say, the future. If we don’t look and see, then we are a downward spiral, for our children will not look if we can’t teach them.
So take things a little slower. Look around and see what you’re living in. Is it really so bland as to be passed by? Here we are taking our focus on things that in the long run probably really don’t matter. Sometimes we feel like we can’t get anything done, like nothing’s important anymore. Because we focus on the unimportant, fence ourselves in with routine and the mundane, we think we can ignore in our little cells all the other things that are happening and think that life is amazing, when we’re missing so much. Remember, although the big things in life are what shape life and shape people, it’s the little things that make or break it. It’s the little things in life that are the sweetest and most precious. Take some time and find them!
So take things a little slower. Look around and see what you’re living in. Is it really so bland as to be passed by? Here we are taking our focus on things that in the long run probably really don’t matter. Sometimes we feel like we can’t get anything done, like nothing’s important anymore. Because we focus on the unimportant, fence ourselves in with routine and the mundane, we think we can ignore in our little cells all the other things that are happening and think that life is amazing, when we’re missing so much. Remember, although the big things in life are what shape life and shape people, it’s the little things that make or break it. It’s the little things in life that are the sweetest and most precious. Take some time and find them!
Sunday, November 29, 2009
RP
This is solely for RP purposes...
Demerole
His great talent is his proficiency with knives. He's mildly insane, for when he was 15 his parents and his beloved baby sister were killed...by orcs? He's a wanderer and shows his talent at odd times. Moody!
Meldorin
Gondorian, Lebennin area. Member of a defunct House, Iselin. Wields a broadsword. Escaped primarily from parents and nagging younger sisters. Has an odd passion for mapping. The most honorable.
Calen
A young man, born by Dol Amroth, raised in Rohan after his mother brought him there upon his father's death. Idealist and the nicest of the guys. Doesn't carry a weapon regularly, but a good shot. Loves horses.
Alardan
He's Alivair's twin brother, but they've been separated since the age of 7 for 15 years. He's the quiet one and prefers not to be in situations, but aids those in need and is fairspoken. Carries a haunted look in his eyes from the past.
Alivair
Alardan's twin. He's rougher and disdainful from his different upbringing (He was abducted by not-so-nice people, and Alardan was found by decent people. Their parents were killed when they were separated). The twins can feel each other if they're close enough, and are still trying to figure things out now that they've met again.
Felderon
Thief. Light-hearted.
Kariel Arenfall
Gentle and mild. She carries a few daggers but dislikes fighting. Her brother was killed as a soldier, and it devastated her. She's in need of comfort and someone to rely on and forget things. She's wandering and wishing for something to happen...
Cristiel
Fiery and strong, has a sword and proud of it. Outspoken and confident. Ranger type, half-elf. Pretty if one would take an interest in her (rare so far).
Jaena Orderon
Brooding type. Elemental/sorceress type deal, you'll see if you ever have to fight her or alongside her. Goes cloaked and in mannish attire. Fights well. Darkest of my girls--the kind to sit in a corner eyeing people.
Rayelin
A young woman from Minas Tirith. She has a brother and father in the Guard. They taught her fist and blade fighting. She's kind at heart and good with horses. She spent time in the Mordor dungeons before Sauron was overthrown.
Allora
She's a Numenorean...adaptable for RP purposes. Loves ships and the sea. Her father went on a journey and never returned, and her mother died of grief. Her younger brother is 8 years younger. They were raised by an old family friend.
Demerole
His great talent is his proficiency with knives. He's mildly insane, for when he was 15 his parents and his beloved baby sister were killed...by orcs? He's a wanderer and shows his talent at odd times. Moody!
Meldorin
Gondorian, Lebennin area. Member of a defunct House, Iselin. Wields a broadsword. Escaped primarily from parents and nagging younger sisters. Has an odd passion for mapping. The most honorable.
Calen
A young man, born by Dol Amroth, raised in Rohan after his mother brought him there upon his father's death. Idealist and the nicest of the guys. Doesn't carry a weapon regularly, but a good shot. Loves horses.
Alardan
He's Alivair's twin brother, but they've been separated since the age of 7 for 15 years. He's the quiet one and prefers not to be in situations, but aids those in need and is fairspoken. Carries a haunted look in his eyes from the past.
Alivair
Alardan's twin. He's rougher and disdainful from his different upbringing (He was abducted by not-so-nice people, and Alardan was found by decent people. Their parents were killed when they were separated). The twins can feel each other if they're close enough, and are still trying to figure things out now that they've met again.
Felderon
Thief. Light-hearted.
Kariel Arenfall
Gentle and mild. She carries a few daggers but dislikes fighting. Her brother was killed as a soldier, and it devastated her. She's in need of comfort and someone to rely on and forget things. She's wandering and wishing for something to happen...
Cristiel
Fiery and strong, has a sword and proud of it. Outspoken and confident. Ranger type, half-elf. Pretty if one would take an interest in her (rare so far).
Jaena Orderon
Brooding type. Elemental/sorceress type deal, you'll see if you ever have to fight her or alongside her. Goes cloaked and in mannish attire. Fights well. Darkest of my girls--the kind to sit in a corner eyeing people.
Rayelin
A young woman from Minas Tirith. She has a brother and father in the Guard. They taught her fist and blade fighting. She's kind at heart and good with horses. She spent time in the Mordor dungeons before Sauron was overthrown.
Allora
She's a Numenorean...adaptable for RP purposes. Loves ships and the sea. Her father went on a journey and never returned, and her mother died of grief. Her younger brother is 8 years younger. They were raised by an old family friend.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Imagination
Imagination. We use it so abundantly as children, and then somehow it seems to slip away some time. I remember many days in elementary in which we ran around, pretending to be this, or that, even believing it to some degree, and creating worlds and people on an everyday basis. It’s such a powerful thing, the imagination, but somehow, at a certain age, it’s like a switch turns it off. Boys start hanging out on the blacktop and playing sports. Girls start sitting on the playground and gossiping. It comes at different times, but eventually seems to happen to all.
Why is this? Looking back, I think I looked forward to recess more, enjoyed our off-time more, than in after days when it wasn’t “cool” anymore. Imagination is becoming a lost art; it seems that at younger and younger ages the switch is turning. And yet it’s such an important thing. For without it, what would we accomplish, or achieve? Without the will to dream of things, we would be nothing. But for some reason we’re moving away from it at an alarming pace.
Some will tell you that it’s because of TV and video games. I wonder, though. When I watch or play those, my imagination is rather fired off rather than diminished. Watching such things stirs me, and brings one to imagine the glory, the adventure, and the deeds (or the love, as the case may be). They were spawned by people who had very vivid imaginings. Why shouldn’t they aid our thoughts?
Whatever the reason, it becomes more important that we can remember how to dream. It becomes more important that we can create and dream of better things, imagine things beyond. Because as far as we seem to advance, if we lose the truths that we bear it is doom that we go to. If we lose our thoughts of freedom and of peace, then we will only sink deeper. For it is this that give us our edge; our ability to remember what we fought for and our ability to dream of even better things. If you can only imagine…and believe.
Because there’s more out there than we think of nowadays. It tears my heart to see the interest of people who just want to “get rich quick”, as they say, going into the stocks and I-banking and all of that just for the money and not because they care. It pains to see scandal and such grace the headlines, because people don’t really care anymore. Most of the young people I know are idealists, but it’s lost as time gets on. Some remove it in tasting the bitterness of their pains. There are some, though, who just dismiss it as a fancy of childhood. Is that what it is? Is that what dreamers are, people who are lost in their youth, wandering and witless among their fantasies? Say not so! For there is the hope and wish of mankind. Remember, as you draw your path through the world, to dream again…
Why is this? Looking back, I think I looked forward to recess more, enjoyed our off-time more, than in after days when it wasn’t “cool” anymore. Imagination is becoming a lost art; it seems that at younger and younger ages the switch is turning. And yet it’s such an important thing. For without it, what would we accomplish, or achieve? Without the will to dream of things, we would be nothing. But for some reason we’re moving away from it at an alarming pace.
Some will tell you that it’s because of TV and video games. I wonder, though. When I watch or play those, my imagination is rather fired off rather than diminished. Watching such things stirs me, and brings one to imagine the glory, the adventure, and the deeds (or the love, as the case may be). They were spawned by people who had very vivid imaginings. Why shouldn’t they aid our thoughts?
Whatever the reason, it becomes more important that we can remember how to dream. It becomes more important that we can create and dream of better things, imagine things beyond. Because as far as we seem to advance, if we lose the truths that we bear it is doom that we go to. If we lose our thoughts of freedom and of peace, then we will only sink deeper. For it is this that give us our edge; our ability to remember what we fought for and our ability to dream of even better things. If you can only imagine…and believe.
Because there’s more out there than we think of nowadays. It tears my heart to see the interest of people who just want to “get rich quick”, as they say, going into the stocks and I-banking and all of that just for the money and not because they care. It pains to see scandal and such grace the headlines, because people don’t really care anymore. Most of the young people I know are idealists, but it’s lost as time gets on. Some remove it in tasting the bitterness of their pains. There are some, though, who just dismiss it as a fancy of childhood. Is that what it is? Is that what dreamers are, people who are lost in their youth, wandering and witless among their fantasies? Say not so! For there is the hope and wish of mankind. Remember, as you draw your path through the world, to dream again…
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Twelve Hours (Part One, missing the point. Wait patiently...)
I couldn’t seem to elaborate on any of the subjects I wanted to address this week, so I will simply write today…
Dong. The bell rolled out one note, a deep, resounding sound, and a cloud of mist rose up and obscured everything. When it cleared, the golden sun looked down from within an azure sky…
A young girl sat in the clean green grass, smelling the wildflowers in the clearing. Her short golden hair was bright as the summer around her, bright as her white smock, bright as the light in her deep blue eyes. Birds sang in the trees, beautiful melodies, and light suffused the clearing. From behind the trees, someone watched her, tenderly and longingly. She stood up and stretched her arms to the sky. Life was beautiful, as new as the reborn world in the spring…
The bells pealed twice.
An older girl stood underneath the gently falling snow. Her eyes held gentleness, borne from her experiences. Her hands folded softly in front of her as she looked down upon the last flower of the autumn, frosted now. Its golden bloom had paled to a wan sort of yellow, but still beautiful in a sad sort of way. It was a reflection of the one who stood looking at it, with her heart full of kindness in sorrow…
Three tones rolled out like a call to remember.
A 16-year-old with long golden hair sat underneath the golden leaves of the silver-barked tree. Her blue eyes watched everything, but where once they could have been lively, they were now dulled in simple acceptance. A watching presence filled the air, but whether with evil designs or with only kindness in mind, one could not have said. She held an ornate silver locket in her hand, looking at the hand-painted portrait inside. A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye…
Bronze bells tolled four times.
A young woman, gold hair cut short, stepped out of a train with her head put down. The bright colors of her scarf and sweater failed to offset the air of sadness she bore at all times. She held a small blue notebook in her hand, with black and gold pen, filled with memories of other times. The eyes that watched her marveled at how fair a beauty seemed to be paled, most with sadness and regret that such should be. They wondered how one who seemed so fair, prepared, and well-off could have the look of long years of pain in her eyes. She did not see any of them, nor notice the whispers that followed her…
Five notes rang out.
A woman stood in a tower looking silently across the pale blue lake, reflecting the light of the argent moon. Her hair fell down and obscured much of her face, but she could see through it all. The notes of a haunting harp melody filtered up through the floor, and the cold starlight seemed to glitter ever more brightly, reflecting off her pale face. Slowly she turned and began to take the long steps down…
Dong. The bell rolled out one note, a deep, resounding sound, and a cloud of mist rose up and obscured everything. When it cleared, the golden sun looked down from within an azure sky…
A young girl sat in the clean green grass, smelling the wildflowers in the clearing. Her short golden hair was bright as the summer around her, bright as her white smock, bright as the light in her deep blue eyes. Birds sang in the trees, beautiful melodies, and light suffused the clearing. From behind the trees, someone watched her, tenderly and longingly. She stood up and stretched her arms to the sky. Life was beautiful, as new as the reborn world in the spring…
The bells pealed twice.
An older girl stood underneath the gently falling snow. Her eyes held gentleness, borne from her experiences. Her hands folded softly in front of her as she looked down upon the last flower of the autumn, frosted now. Its golden bloom had paled to a wan sort of yellow, but still beautiful in a sad sort of way. It was a reflection of the one who stood looking at it, with her heart full of kindness in sorrow…
Three tones rolled out like a call to remember.
A 16-year-old with long golden hair sat underneath the golden leaves of the silver-barked tree. Her blue eyes watched everything, but where once they could have been lively, they were now dulled in simple acceptance. A watching presence filled the air, but whether with evil designs or with only kindness in mind, one could not have said. She held an ornate silver locket in her hand, looking at the hand-painted portrait inside. A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye…
Bronze bells tolled four times.
A young woman, gold hair cut short, stepped out of a train with her head put down. The bright colors of her scarf and sweater failed to offset the air of sadness she bore at all times. She held a small blue notebook in her hand, with black and gold pen, filled with memories of other times. The eyes that watched her marveled at how fair a beauty seemed to be paled, most with sadness and regret that such should be. They wondered how one who seemed so fair, prepared, and well-off could have the look of long years of pain in her eyes. She did not see any of them, nor notice the whispers that followed her…
Five notes rang out.
A woman stood in a tower looking silently across the pale blue lake, reflecting the light of the argent moon. Her hair fell down and obscured much of her face, but she could see through it all. The notes of a haunting harp melody filtered up through the floor, and the cold starlight seemed to glitter ever more brightly, reflecting off her pale face. Slowly she turned and began to take the long steps down…
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Dandelion Wine
I’m almost overflowing with things to write about, after having slowly accumulated them as I write them down. There is a list for my subsequent posts, including such things as belief, willpower, imagination, the end of imagination, and more. Today, however, I am going to talk about the things I got out of the book Dandelion Wine. For those of you who don’t know, it’s a Ray Bradbury book. The basic story is a collection of events, like snapshots of life, detailing the summer of 1928 for a boy and his family and his town. And every day has a bottle of dandelion wine for it, and as the summer dies they can go back and point out the days when things happened.
It is an eventful summer and a beautiful tale, but for me it was also a series of thoughts and realizations. The first of these was about happiness. In the story, one of the characters attempts to make a “Happiness Machine”. After he’s done it, though, he comes to terms with the fact that it’s not really happiness he’s created, because it takes away from the happiness you already have in your own place and time. Happiness—it’s how we make it, and we’ve got to find it where we are, where we make it. It’s all relative, and we’re losing some of it in our apparent quest for happiness that’s right there in front of our faces the entire time.
Next is the thought about what’s past. Reading this kind of a book kind of makes me wish for the days when you knew all of your neighbors, when you could walk anywhere you needed to go, when people had time to relax and be with each other and the world. Sometimes I think we’re going too fast, and our technologies that are supposed to be making things easier are instead making our lives more hectic and crazy. It feels like we’ve gotten too busy to take a day off and sit on the porch watching the grass grow and the clouds move and the bees buzz, totally content. And then it feels like even when we try to take a break, to relax, that we’re so wound up worrying about all the things we’ll have to do the next day that we can’t see it for the goodness it really is. Back when we felt like we knew the world, that it was small, that it was just this town and this sky and these trees and these people, we were more in harmony with everything. Communication, transportation, and machines have somehow disconnected us, in a way, from what’s really out there, even as we feel we uncover more of it every day. Our harmony with the world is dwindling, in a sense, foundering in the waves. It needs to be rescued, I think, or else we’ll lose something important, and maybe a little more.
Last of all is a thought on memory. At the end of the summer, the Spaulding boys are looking at the bottles of Dandelion Wine, reviewing the days of the summer. They sit there and remember different incidents from the entire summer, while Grandpa says he only remembers the new kind of grass that didn’t need cutting. The boys stare at him, thinking they’ll remember it forever, but I’ve come to see that we lose a lot. Sometimes something will happen to jog my memory, and I’ll remember something; maybe hearing Nutcracker music will bring everything we did crashing back, maybe a word about an old occasion will bring it back, but through the whole scheme of things it feels like everything runs together, and it makes me sad. I want to be able to remember things, to remember the golden days of my life when I’m old. I guess that’s what diaries and journals are for, but what if you can’t remember them at all? I’m afraid of the days of my life running away like water, without me being able to remember what made me happy, what I learned, forgetting the things that I once prized as the best memories of all.
So there are my musings upon this book. It touched me because recently I never feel like there’s enough time in the world, but I’m yet so tired that I couldn’t possibly cut any sleep. I think we’re doing too much here; one of these days it’ll all crash down on us, the entire system, unless we can find some balance again. Does anyone else feel the same way? Is it just me that wants to find a slow place again?
Comment please…I’m missing comments and I wonder what you think about this and the last two posts. Until next time…
It is an eventful summer and a beautiful tale, but for me it was also a series of thoughts and realizations. The first of these was about happiness. In the story, one of the characters attempts to make a “Happiness Machine”. After he’s done it, though, he comes to terms with the fact that it’s not really happiness he’s created, because it takes away from the happiness you already have in your own place and time. Happiness—it’s how we make it, and we’ve got to find it where we are, where we make it. It’s all relative, and we’re losing some of it in our apparent quest for happiness that’s right there in front of our faces the entire time.
Next is the thought about what’s past. Reading this kind of a book kind of makes me wish for the days when you knew all of your neighbors, when you could walk anywhere you needed to go, when people had time to relax and be with each other and the world. Sometimes I think we’re going too fast, and our technologies that are supposed to be making things easier are instead making our lives more hectic and crazy. It feels like we’ve gotten too busy to take a day off and sit on the porch watching the grass grow and the clouds move and the bees buzz, totally content. And then it feels like even when we try to take a break, to relax, that we’re so wound up worrying about all the things we’ll have to do the next day that we can’t see it for the goodness it really is. Back when we felt like we knew the world, that it was small, that it was just this town and this sky and these trees and these people, we were more in harmony with everything. Communication, transportation, and machines have somehow disconnected us, in a way, from what’s really out there, even as we feel we uncover more of it every day. Our harmony with the world is dwindling, in a sense, foundering in the waves. It needs to be rescued, I think, or else we’ll lose something important, and maybe a little more.
Last of all is a thought on memory. At the end of the summer, the Spaulding boys are looking at the bottles of Dandelion Wine, reviewing the days of the summer. They sit there and remember different incidents from the entire summer, while Grandpa says he only remembers the new kind of grass that didn’t need cutting. The boys stare at him, thinking they’ll remember it forever, but I’ve come to see that we lose a lot. Sometimes something will happen to jog my memory, and I’ll remember something; maybe hearing Nutcracker music will bring everything we did crashing back, maybe a word about an old occasion will bring it back, but through the whole scheme of things it feels like everything runs together, and it makes me sad. I want to be able to remember things, to remember the golden days of my life when I’m old. I guess that’s what diaries and journals are for, but what if you can’t remember them at all? I’m afraid of the days of my life running away like water, without me being able to remember what made me happy, what I learned, forgetting the things that I once prized as the best memories of all.
So there are my musings upon this book. It touched me because recently I never feel like there’s enough time in the world, but I’m yet so tired that I couldn’t possibly cut any sleep. I think we’re doing too much here; one of these days it’ll all crash down on us, the entire system, unless we can find some balance again. Does anyone else feel the same way? Is it just me that wants to find a slow place again?
Comment please…I’m missing comments and I wonder what you think about this and the last two posts. Until next time…
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Who We Are
“If we die, we die as who we are.” This is a quote from Tuon in Knife of Dreams, I think, the 11th book of the Wheel of Time. When I read it, it felt…striking to me, I guess you could say. It’s a powerful thought. In the book, it’s because Tuon was “under the veil”, meaning instead of being recognized as the Daughter of the Nine Moons she was hiding herself and being just the High Lady Tuon, and when they prepared to leave into danger, she decided to remove the veil. But the words itself are rather more than that.
The first thing that comes to my mind, probably the most important, is the part about “who we are”. It implies the words of someone who knows who they are, what their place is, and where they’re going. They have a set course in life. But so often as we grow up, we find ourselves not knowing who we really are. We don’t have children, or a job, or anything like that. We’re simply one of so many attending schools all over. I probably couldn’t tell you who I was if you asked me. Oh, I could tell you my name, who my parents are, where I go to school, what I do for fun. But what about my purpose? It’s so hard to know, isn’t it? Only it feels like everyone should know why they’re here and what they’re going to do. So many people, however, don’t really know, I think. There are far too many of us, even adults, who are still searching because they’re still not sure what they want to do and how they’re going to achieve it. I’d tell you I want to do something worthwhile, want to leave something behind, like a work of mine, writing, something that exhibits some of the truths I’ve known, some of which are chronicled in this blog. And maybe that’s a small piece of who I am, the dreamer, searching for something…different, and wanting to leave something behind. But there are always more facets.
Maybe it’s a gift, as well. If we knew what we were meant for, there would be different problems, like all the ones there are with prophecy; the hero is told what’s going to happen, and nothing’s going to change that, and then there are wrong interpretations, and bad things happen. It’s good not to know everything, but sometimes I wish we could know a little more. Just a little more of what we are, of who we are.
And then if we know, the second thing about those words is dying as who you really are. Not as the person you’ve built up through the years, not as the face and manner you show to others, but the person you are in deepest night when your thoughts blend with dreams and wishes. The person you always wanted to be and the person you never thought you could. At the very last, at least once, you can and must shed off the things you’ve done to fit in, to handle this world, and show, for one moment, the truth inside of you; to show to the world who you were, who you are, and who you always will be. For only then everything can come to be in full.
The first thing that comes to my mind, probably the most important, is the part about “who we are”. It implies the words of someone who knows who they are, what their place is, and where they’re going. They have a set course in life. But so often as we grow up, we find ourselves not knowing who we really are. We don’t have children, or a job, or anything like that. We’re simply one of so many attending schools all over. I probably couldn’t tell you who I was if you asked me. Oh, I could tell you my name, who my parents are, where I go to school, what I do for fun. But what about my purpose? It’s so hard to know, isn’t it? Only it feels like everyone should know why they’re here and what they’re going to do. So many people, however, don’t really know, I think. There are far too many of us, even adults, who are still searching because they’re still not sure what they want to do and how they’re going to achieve it. I’d tell you I want to do something worthwhile, want to leave something behind, like a work of mine, writing, something that exhibits some of the truths I’ve known, some of which are chronicled in this blog. And maybe that’s a small piece of who I am, the dreamer, searching for something…different, and wanting to leave something behind. But there are always more facets.
Maybe it’s a gift, as well. If we knew what we were meant for, there would be different problems, like all the ones there are with prophecy; the hero is told what’s going to happen, and nothing’s going to change that, and then there are wrong interpretations, and bad things happen. It’s good not to know everything, but sometimes I wish we could know a little more. Just a little more of what we are, of who we are.
And then if we know, the second thing about those words is dying as who you really are. Not as the person you’ve built up through the years, not as the face and manner you show to others, but the person you are in deepest night when your thoughts blend with dreams and wishes. The person you always wanted to be and the person you never thought you could. At the very last, at least once, you can and must shed off the things you’ve done to fit in, to handle this world, and show, for one moment, the truth inside of you; to show to the world who you were, who you are, and who you always will be. For only then everything can come to be in full.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Philosophy, Math, Writing, and Knowledge
Philosophy. Math. Writing. Believe it or not, these things are very similar. They all deal with, and transcend, our reality. And true reality. In ancient times, all the mathematicians were philosophers, and vice versa. Math and philosophy are closely related (well, the interesting kind of math. Not the toilsome in-class repetitiveness. I mean the theoretical kind…) and it makes for some very interesting thoughts.
What, you may ask, led me to this intriguing post? Actually, it was Math Circle last Wednesday, combined with a few of my own thoughts and some correlating thoughts from Ancient Greek philosophers presented by the Warnock Chair of Mathematics at the U who has the cool accent. What is math, anyway? It’s actually very hard to define, if you think about it. Physics is the study of why things happen, geography the study of the countries and cultures of the world, but what is math? The dictionary says that math is the study of the relationships among numbers, shapes, and quantities that uses signs, symbols, and proofs and includes arithmetic, algebra, calculus, geometry, and trigonometry. I think math is more than that. Here’s my definition of math: The study of the elements of the world that goes through and around ours, which are represented by numbers, and which we cannot touch save with our minds as an idea, yet which help to shape our reality. Because you see, people only got interested in numbers because they needed something to help them figure out the whys and hows of the world. And that’s where math comes from. But it really was…there, if you know what I mean. People just put…body to it, in our own minds, gave it shape and form. The theories we came up with for it are all part of our quest to understand reality and all that.
Which is why, you know, writing is closely tied to them as well. Every writer is a philosopher, for a writer must, for the time he’s writing, believe in things that mankind has yet to fathom. So they must create (or discover) the truth of the laws of reality, at least for the world they write, and we have only touched at that. Perhaps it’s because we’re not meant to know. Maybe we’re just not ready. And maybe we already do, and we just don’t recognize them for what they are. Because really, what do we know? Perhaps what we think we know is not really what is there. It’s been said that what we see with our eyes is not what is really there, and we are not capable of visualizing what really is. Isn’t that a thought to consider? I think it’s intriguing. Some other important person also said that man is facing a wall, and things happen behind him toward the mouth of the cave. We see shadows and think it’s reality, but reality is actually what’s behind us, making the shadows. We may know far less than we think we do, and there may be more things we have yet to know than we can ever imagine. We will learn what we can, and strive on harder, and brush against what we may. Such is the way of life.
What, you may ask, led me to this intriguing post? Actually, it was Math Circle last Wednesday, combined with a few of my own thoughts and some correlating thoughts from Ancient Greek philosophers presented by the Warnock Chair of Mathematics at the U who has the cool accent. What is math, anyway? It’s actually very hard to define, if you think about it. Physics is the study of why things happen, geography the study of the countries and cultures of the world, but what is math? The dictionary says that math is the study of the relationships among numbers, shapes, and quantities that uses signs, symbols, and proofs and includes arithmetic, algebra, calculus, geometry, and trigonometry. I think math is more than that. Here’s my definition of math: The study of the elements of the world that goes through and around ours, which are represented by numbers, and which we cannot touch save with our minds as an idea, yet which help to shape our reality. Because you see, people only got interested in numbers because they needed something to help them figure out the whys and hows of the world. And that’s where math comes from. But it really was…there, if you know what I mean. People just put…body to it, in our own minds, gave it shape and form. The theories we came up with for it are all part of our quest to understand reality and all that.
Which is why, you know, writing is closely tied to them as well. Every writer is a philosopher, for a writer must, for the time he’s writing, believe in things that mankind has yet to fathom. So they must create (or discover) the truth of the laws of reality, at least for the world they write, and we have only touched at that. Perhaps it’s because we’re not meant to know. Maybe we’re just not ready. And maybe we already do, and we just don’t recognize them for what they are. Because really, what do we know? Perhaps what we think we know is not really what is there. It’s been said that what we see with our eyes is not what is really there, and we are not capable of visualizing what really is. Isn’t that a thought to consider? I think it’s intriguing. Some other important person also said that man is facing a wall, and things happen behind him toward the mouth of the cave. We see shadows and think it’s reality, but reality is actually what’s behind us, making the shadows. We may know far less than we think we do, and there may be more things we have yet to know than we can ever imagine. We will learn what we can, and strive on harder, and brush against what we may. Such is the way of life.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Festive Occasions
Today is October 25, meaning I have two soon-to-arrive occasions to mention. First of all, as many of you may know due to me spouting it worriedly for about two weeks, my older brother is going to be of-age in 5 days. The second of-age. Or the third, counting driving age. (Forgive this mode of talking about reaching age limits; I made up a full system of turning of-ages this morning for my story.) Don’t you think it’s interesting how age matters so much to us? I do. We allow young people to subsequently drive, vote, and have the choice to smoke and drink by age, even though some mature earlier and some much, much later. But what can we do about it? There has to be some way of judging adequacy, correct?
And then there’s the little bit about how adults generally think their intellect is superior to that of young people. No matter that I’ve heard some really ridiculous things out of adults and some very sound things out of kids/teenagers. I happen to think it’s nice that we can be idealist and dream about things that adults dismiss as impossible because they’re too weighed down with all the responsibilities of being adults. Now if the knowledge/experience of the adults could be combined with the idealism of youth…that might produce something productive, wouldn’t you say?
So that’s my small bit of age-talk for today, disregarding the fact that when your only sibling starts to pass milestones you should be very, very worried.
Now, the next occasion is Halloween. I once heard a Brit say that they thought it was strange that kids would go to strangers’ houses and ask for candy and that it sounded like an Americanized form of begging. Did you ever think about how people from far off might think our traditions were totally crazy? I mean, I take Halloween as a fact of October, but apparently that’s not so.
Well, personally I enjoy Halloween, because the candy aspect makes it much easier to forget Halloween is like…a…death…holiday…thing. And it’s nice when you’re little to go around for a night pretending you’re a princess or a Jedi or a ninja dude or a cat. Rudiments of acting, eh? And it feels good to give candy out and make some small child happy. Plus if you know your neighbors it isn’t really to strangers.
On the other hand, when you’re older and you don’t go trick-or-treating and you don’t stay at home handing out candy, what are you to do? It becomes less of a holiday and more of a sit-around-and-be-bored-and-scare-small-children sort of a day. This totally removes the point of it, for the small children at least.
Be as that may, back to the traditions topic. I for one may be going over to the other side of the world over Winter Break. They don’t celebrate Christmas over there! I don’t even know if there’ll be snow! And certainly no Christmas tree, and no fancy-wrapped presents, and no music on the radio. It makes you think about other traditions we don’t know about and how people over the world think our celebrations are weird and us not having some of their holidays is sad. We don’t even know a lot about other people, even in our own countries (I’ve heard some strange things about a certain universal topic for people from our state from people out-of-state). We need to raise cultural awareness so we can be more easily accepting and understand why people have these traditions. I’m opting for a culture class, not just one language with culture (for instance, I take French). I think it would help us all a lot, worldwide. Isn’t that what we want, peace and understanding?
A note to my poor readers…My blog seems to be for thought-producing-exploring purposes. As such, only a few have been really well organized. I apologize for that…I will try to do better in the future.
And then there’s the little bit about how adults generally think their intellect is superior to that of young people. No matter that I’ve heard some really ridiculous things out of adults and some very sound things out of kids/teenagers. I happen to think it’s nice that we can be idealist and dream about things that adults dismiss as impossible because they’re too weighed down with all the responsibilities of being adults. Now if the knowledge/experience of the adults could be combined with the idealism of youth…that might produce something productive, wouldn’t you say?
So that’s my small bit of age-talk for today, disregarding the fact that when your only sibling starts to pass milestones you should be very, very worried.
Now, the next occasion is Halloween. I once heard a Brit say that they thought it was strange that kids would go to strangers’ houses and ask for candy and that it sounded like an Americanized form of begging. Did you ever think about how people from far off might think our traditions were totally crazy? I mean, I take Halloween as a fact of October, but apparently that’s not so.
Well, personally I enjoy Halloween, because the candy aspect makes it much easier to forget Halloween is like…a…death…holiday…thing. And it’s nice when you’re little to go around for a night pretending you’re a princess or a Jedi or a ninja dude or a cat. Rudiments of acting, eh? And it feels good to give candy out and make some small child happy. Plus if you know your neighbors it isn’t really to strangers.
On the other hand, when you’re older and you don’t go trick-or-treating and you don’t stay at home handing out candy, what are you to do? It becomes less of a holiday and more of a sit-around-and-be-bored-and-scare-small-children sort of a day. This totally removes the point of it, for the small children at least.
Be as that may, back to the traditions topic. I for one may be going over to the other side of the world over Winter Break. They don’t celebrate Christmas over there! I don’t even know if there’ll be snow! And certainly no Christmas tree, and no fancy-wrapped presents, and no music on the radio. It makes you think about other traditions we don’t know about and how people over the world think our celebrations are weird and us not having some of their holidays is sad. We don’t even know a lot about other people, even in our own countries (I’ve heard some strange things about a certain universal topic for people from our state from people out-of-state). We need to raise cultural awareness so we can be more easily accepting and understand why people have these traditions. I’m opting for a culture class, not just one language with culture (for instance, I take French). I think it would help us all a lot, worldwide. Isn’t that what we want, peace and understanding?
A note to my poor readers…My blog seems to be for thought-producing-exploring purposes. As such, only a few have been really well organized. I apologize for that…I will try to do better in the future.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Positivity
When faced with much pressure and much to worry about, one wonders how one can hold on to some measure of positivity. And one must also reconcile oneself to the fact that positivity is rather necessary. Without it, how could we ever get things done? It would be a world of grim staring at all the things we have to confront in daily life. I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say they’re quite a bit to handle, if you really truly think about it all as a great clump. And sometimes it’s hard to pry oneself away from thinking of it as a great big suffocating clump about to descend on you.
Goodness, that’s very optimistic of me, isn’t it? Breathe deeply…think of it one at a time. And even then sometimes you can’t get it all done. I both dislike and enjoy procrastinating, but as it piles up it’s hard not to just sit there staring at it, like Psyche with the multitude of grains that Venus told her to sort.
All right, enough of being miserable. I will try to be positive. I’ve heard it works nicely, actually. A friend of mine and I have been practicing it abundantly, and I suspect we will be doing so through May, with extra intensity at the end of March. Positivity can make for determination, as well. We’re convinced we’re going to do well, so we are determined to do well (and to ensure the rest of the team does as well so we can achieve our goal). I suspect it’s part of the reason why being positive works so well.
Oh, and what about positive vibes being catching? I wonder if it works if you just think it, or if you have to say and act positively. That would be an interesting experiment, I think. It’s quite obvious it would work if you went around smiling brightly and convincing everyone it would be great, I think. People start to catch it; if you smile enough at someone they’ll smile back, unless they’re really horrible or you’re playing that one game involving not smiling. But you know, just the brain? There are so many, many things we have yet to learn about involving the human brain. So much intriguing mystery. There’s another question for you; how many long years until we know even twice as much as we do now? I notice that every time we seem to solve something, it simply raises more questions. Including now, when I’m just thinking a little. Already there are 5 question marks in this one post.
And there, yet again, let’s be positive. Maybe it won’t be so long. Maybe we will find out things much quicker. Yes…that’s right…be positive……………………………………….
Okay, so pardon for that totally ridiculous and not-making-much-sense post. My brain seems to run in circles around me; I think it can feel the anticipation for the SO year building. Though I sound quite ridiculous, I do indeed mean to be positive. This year will be our year. I promise it.
Goodness, that’s very optimistic of me, isn’t it? Breathe deeply…think of it one at a time. And even then sometimes you can’t get it all done. I both dislike and enjoy procrastinating, but as it piles up it’s hard not to just sit there staring at it, like Psyche with the multitude of grains that Venus told her to sort.
All right, enough of being miserable. I will try to be positive. I’ve heard it works nicely, actually. A friend of mine and I have been practicing it abundantly, and I suspect we will be doing so through May, with extra intensity at the end of March. Positivity can make for determination, as well. We’re convinced we’re going to do well, so we are determined to do well (and to ensure the rest of the team does as well so we can achieve our goal). I suspect it’s part of the reason why being positive works so well.
Oh, and what about positive vibes being catching? I wonder if it works if you just think it, or if you have to say and act positively. That would be an interesting experiment, I think. It’s quite obvious it would work if you went around smiling brightly and convincing everyone it would be great, I think. People start to catch it; if you smile enough at someone they’ll smile back, unless they’re really horrible or you’re playing that one game involving not smiling. But you know, just the brain? There are so many, many things we have yet to learn about involving the human brain. So much intriguing mystery. There’s another question for you; how many long years until we know even twice as much as we do now? I notice that every time we seem to solve something, it simply raises more questions. Including now, when I’m just thinking a little. Already there are 5 question marks in this one post.
And there, yet again, let’s be positive. Maybe it won’t be so long. Maybe we will find out things much quicker. Yes…that’s right…be positive……………………………………….
Okay, so pardon for that totally ridiculous and not-making-much-sense post. My brain seems to run in circles around me; I think it can feel the anticipation for the SO year building. Though I sound quite ridiculous, I do indeed mean to be positive. This year will be our year. I promise it.
Friday, October 9, 2009
A Hodgepodge of Something More Mundane
After a few weeks of high and lofty topics, I decided to tone it down a bit this week (actually it was because I didn’t have any amazing revelations this week, but…) and talk about more mundane things. A summary of important things, I guess.
First of all, for instance, I finally overcame my writer’s block for real. I wrote 3 pages today at various times in school, which is rather impressive for me I think. I’m bursting with ideas and I think they’ll last another few chapters. I hope. I’ll probably get bogged down again around the time they reach a city, but oh well. Maybe my luck will hold! Dovie’andi se tovya sagain—It’s time to Roll the Dice. That’s the motto of Shen an Calhar, or the Band of the Red Hand, led by Matrim Cauthon, in the Wheel of Time. I just think it’s snazzy.
Secondly, I’m in rather a bit of a dilemma at the moment. I’m sure all of you know how many things I’m involved in. Well, there’s a certain organization that wants me on their team, and I was considering it earlier in the year until a certain other that takes higher priority said I couldn’t be on both. Well, recently, I was informed by an important person that if I did want to be on the first-mentioned organization, something could be worked out with the second-mentioned one. The thing is, because I was told I couldn’t be on it, I decided to do a certain other thing, which conflicts with this team. And I’m sort of worried about exploding from stress. Most of all I hate having to decide like this, because I was on the team last year and so I do feel loyalty toward it. Lastly, I’m kind of worried about the voices asking why I get an exception. I guess, looking at it, there are more arguments against it than for it. Ah well, I’ll decide this weekend and hope for the best.
Hmmm….what else of interest? I’m rereading a large series of books right now, in preparation for the release of the next one on October 27. As you may know, I make a rather big deal of them. I think they’re helping me with my writer’s block as well. When you can look at a book, see how a master can begin the series, each book, have climaxes for each book, manage characters, change the characters (even if the changes make me sad…I don’t like Rand being so hard), end books and chapters, switch between characters, places, and points of view, and end the series (though this one of course is not there yet), it helps very much indeed. I’d advise anyone trying to write to read thoroughly and then try and get things from it. Not just themes and truths of life and all, but about writing and little tricks and tips. There are quite a lot of them once you start looking.
I guess that about sums up my thoughts at the current moment, disregarding the bit about me being ecstatic at not having a boatload of math homework over the weekend and glad I don’t have much from other classes as well. I’m in a conflicting state of mind right now, I guess. Happy and sad and confused and thoughtful. And with some very interesting dreams to go along with it. That’s life, I guess. Fraught with so many things.
First of all, for instance, I finally overcame my writer’s block for real. I wrote 3 pages today at various times in school, which is rather impressive for me I think. I’m bursting with ideas and I think they’ll last another few chapters. I hope. I’ll probably get bogged down again around the time they reach a city, but oh well. Maybe my luck will hold! Dovie’andi se tovya sagain—It’s time to Roll the Dice. That’s the motto of Shen an Calhar, or the Band of the Red Hand, led by Matrim Cauthon, in the Wheel of Time. I just think it’s snazzy.
Secondly, I’m in rather a bit of a dilemma at the moment. I’m sure all of you know how many things I’m involved in. Well, there’s a certain organization that wants me on their team, and I was considering it earlier in the year until a certain other that takes higher priority said I couldn’t be on both. Well, recently, I was informed by an important person that if I did want to be on the first-mentioned organization, something could be worked out with the second-mentioned one. The thing is, because I was told I couldn’t be on it, I decided to do a certain other thing, which conflicts with this team. And I’m sort of worried about exploding from stress. Most of all I hate having to decide like this, because I was on the team last year and so I do feel loyalty toward it. Lastly, I’m kind of worried about the voices asking why I get an exception. I guess, looking at it, there are more arguments against it than for it. Ah well, I’ll decide this weekend and hope for the best.
Hmmm….what else of interest? I’m rereading a large series of books right now, in preparation for the release of the next one on October 27. As you may know, I make a rather big deal of them. I think they’re helping me with my writer’s block as well. When you can look at a book, see how a master can begin the series, each book, have climaxes for each book, manage characters, change the characters (even if the changes make me sad…I don’t like Rand being so hard), end books and chapters, switch between characters, places, and points of view, and end the series (though this one of course is not there yet), it helps very much indeed. I’d advise anyone trying to write to read thoroughly and then try and get things from it. Not just themes and truths of life and all, but about writing and little tricks and tips. There are quite a lot of them once you start looking.
I guess that about sums up my thoughts at the current moment, disregarding the bit about me being ecstatic at not having a boatload of math homework over the weekend and glad I don’t have much from other classes as well. I’m in a conflicting state of mind right now, I guess. Happy and sad and confused and thoughtful. And with some very interesting dreams to go along with it. That’s life, I guess. Fraught with so many things.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Musings on Writing and Reality
As enigmatic as the title seems, it’s really not so bad. What I mean is that this post will be one of perhaps several collections of thoughts, probably slightly disjointed, and maybe not getting anywhere much. As the title suggests, this one will be some thoughts I had about writing and reality. Warning to readers: It’s going to be rather hypothetical. You’ll see what I mean by that. Well, if you’re ready (or have quit reading already, whichever it might be), here goes…
First of all, a bit of thought on writing. I myself am writing a novel, I guess, and was recently in a bit of a block on about page 32 over a battle scene. I’d been thinking about what I wanted to happen and I realized something about the style of writing, or what was being told, wasn’t quite right, or didn’t give the right feeling away. I thought about it for a while, and then just as I was reading my book (I’m on the Wheel of Time series right now, excellent series everyone, you should read it), I think I figured out what was wrong. They always tell you, “Show, don’t tell.” Oh, I’d been having a lot of detail and all, but as I was reading I realized the more effective method that Jordan uses. He tells everything from the character’s point of view, even though it’s written in 3rd person. Something about showing emotions and reactions the way that character sees it and feels it gives some more life to the thing, and more reality to the people. That’s what I’d been doing wrong—I’d been writing more from an outside perspective, as a bystander would see it, and trying to communicate emotion by expression and how the people said things. While that is effective at times, somehow just showing how one person sees, and feels, and the reasons for their actions, gives a depth and reality to it that can’t be paralleled by simply telling how it looks.
And, of course, fiction needs to seem so much like reality that you can’t tell it much apart, or it should in my perspective. I say this for two reasons. The first is that I read fiction pretty much just to get away from RL. To read about a different place, a different time, a different world, to lose myself in it, is the purpose of this pastime. Maybe I’m a bit too daydreamy, but that’s the way it goes. The day I stop would be the day I find answers, or finally settle down in life, I guess. Maybe.
The second reason is something a little harder to understand, even for me. (It’s where the “hypothetical” comes in.) I always like to think of the worlds in books as real, in a way. Untouchable except through books, and authors and their writings the link between, and the authors historians rather than imaginers. Only perhaps these worlds don’t exist until they think of them, but once they do they are fully fleshed, and the people, and then suddenly it’s real and the author can only gaze down and wait for things to unfold. That would be an interesting explanation for all those times when authors say they didn’t know who was going to die only then when it happened they knew that was how it had to be. And then how long the world lives depends on how many people believe in it, or at least are drawn to it. The thing is, we never really have any way to prove anything. Apart from our senses and what we communicate with each other, and who’s to say our senses aren’t lying? And what does it mean to be real—and how can we even know the world we live in is real the way we think it is?
I guess I shouldn’t branch out so much to create strange paradoxes. It’s just entrancing to think that there’s something more out there than what we see. Likely all of this is just fancy, but it’s nice to think, what if? At times. And indeed, what if? There is so much we still do not know about, well, everything, and so it will be for a long time, I think. When the world still holds so many secrets, why not let your daydreaming run wild? It is part of what makes us human, after all. We have done it for thousands of years. Remember not to fall so far from our beginnings that you lose your wonder. As was once said, “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.” Let your dreams run.
First of all, a bit of thought on writing. I myself am writing a novel, I guess, and was recently in a bit of a block on about page 32 over a battle scene. I’d been thinking about what I wanted to happen and I realized something about the style of writing, or what was being told, wasn’t quite right, or didn’t give the right feeling away. I thought about it for a while, and then just as I was reading my book (I’m on the Wheel of Time series right now, excellent series everyone, you should read it), I think I figured out what was wrong. They always tell you, “Show, don’t tell.” Oh, I’d been having a lot of detail and all, but as I was reading I realized the more effective method that Jordan uses. He tells everything from the character’s point of view, even though it’s written in 3rd person. Something about showing emotions and reactions the way that character sees it and feels it gives some more life to the thing, and more reality to the people. That’s what I’d been doing wrong—I’d been writing more from an outside perspective, as a bystander would see it, and trying to communicate emotion by expression and how the people said things. While that is effective at times, somehow just showing how one person sees, and feels, and the reasons for their actions, gives a depth and reality to it that can’t be paralleled by simply telling how it looks.
And, of course, fiction needs to seem so much like reality that you can’t tell it much apart, or it should in my perspective. I say this for two reasons. The first is that I read fiction pretty much just to get away from RL. To read about a different place, a different time, a different world, to lose myself in it, is the purpose of this pastime. Maybe I’m a bit too daydreamy, but that’s the way it goes. The day I stop would be the day I find answers, or finally settle down in life, I guess. Maybe.
The second reason is something a little harder to understand, even for me. (It’s where the “hypothetical” comes in.) I always like to think of the worlds in books as real, in a way. Untouchable except through books, and authors and their writings the link between, and the authors historians rather than imaginers. Only perhaps these worlds don’t exist until they think of them, but once they do they are fully fleshed, and the people, and then suddenly it’s real and the author can only gaze down and wait for things to unfold. That would be an interesting explanation for all those times when authors say they didn’t know who was going to die only then when it happened they knew that was how it had to be. And then how long the world lives depends on how many people believe in it, or at least are drawn to it. The thing is, we never really have any way to prove anything. Apart from our senses and what we communicate with each other, and who’s to say our senses aren’t lying? And what does it mean to be real—and how can we even know the world we live in is real the way we think it is?
I guess I shouldn’t branch out so much to create strange paradoxes. It’s just entrancing to think that there’s something more out there than what we see. Likely all of this is just fancy, but it’s nice to think, what if? At times. And indeed, what if? There is so much we still do not know about, well, everything, and so it will be for a long time, I think. When the world still holds so many secrets, why not let your daydreaming run wild? It is part of what makes us human, after all. We have done it for thousands of years. Remember not to fall so far from our beginnings that you lose your wonder. As was once said, “I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean.” Let your dreams run.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
A Long-Expected Party (Slightly Belated)
As those of you who know me well know, I have a fond liking for The Lord of the Rings (hereafter known as LotR) and everything to do with it. It’s one of my only serious obsessions. Its meaning, its characters, its story, its writing…I could go on for days, but that really isn’t the point. Today I mean to exonerate just a few of the characters and a bit of the story (though knowing how I ramble, it may…branch out, if you take my meaning).
The reason for this is that Tuesday, September 22, was, as we Ringers call it, Tolkien day, the birthday of the two most adored Bagginses, Frodo and Bilbo. The Bagginses’ birthday is a milestone event every year, and I’ve heard that many really obsessive people (that’s right, I’m only the tip of the iceberg) hold parties on it. So, I guess it’s all right for me to write this blog post to celebrate it.
I’ll start off with a bit of rambling on my thoughts about the two. Each has starred in his own story, Bilbo in his (relatively) small adventure and Frodo in his monumental one. Of course, both had a fair amount of help, Bilbo the dwarves (Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Glòin, Òin, Bombur, Dori, Ori, Nori, Bifur, and Bofur, I believe) as well as Gandalf, and Frodo had the Fellowship (Gandalf, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and Boromir) but mostly and paramountly he had dear Sam. Oh, I’m not saying that Gandalf’s wisdom and Aragorn’s sword and Legolas’s bow and Gimli’s axe and all that didn’t help, at least for the first part, but it is Sam’s steadfastness and loyalty that sticks in our minds as the thing that helped Frodo most. It’s one of the books’ greatest themes, I think, that of a friend resolving to be true no matter what, even as he watches Frodo sink under the Ring’s influence. However, as has been said many times, no matter how much Sam could help the burden was still Frodo’s to bear, and it was still his courage that saved Middle-Earth (even though it wasn’t really him who managed to destroy the Ring in the end). I’m one of those of the mind that Sam probably couldn’t have carried the Ring all the way to Mordor if he’d been the one. Frodo is unique in the characteristics he possesses—a Halfling with other stuff than food and gaiety on his mind (which seem to be the hobbits’ happiest delights), but still after peace, not arrogant, only wanting to get the job done, hardy, courageous, and much more. Coupling this with his background and the way he came into his task, it becomes plain that this was fate, as far as that goes. And the chance that the Ring and the task of bearing it would fall into his hands was a miracle for that world.
Of course, it was indeed by means of his cousin Bilbo that Frodo had it. Bilbo’s courage in this matter was of a different sort. When he first had it, he did not know it was much more than a ring with the power to make one unseen, which he found very useful. But as the years went by, and Sauron stirred, and the Ring responded, it was him that was affected. “Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread,” he said. But he went on hardily as it took its toll, and when the time had come, he managed to give the Ring away, to break the bond. Such courage, both of theirs, is worth much more than many men’s swords.
And what courage they had is what made them so great. Though the victory of the forces of good over Sauron’s evil was not solely theirs, theirs was the main quest, to bring the Ring to Mount Doom, Orodruin, Amon Amarth. And they did it.
I’ve only mentioned a slight part of the epic, a slight part of the characters, and the tiniest bit of meaning contained in the trilogy in this post. I’ll probably write more about these books this year. Truly, though, if you want to know more, if it draws you, as it should, just get out there and read the books. You won’t regret it.
The reason for this is that Tuesday, September 22, was, as we Ringers call it, Tolkien day, the birthday of the two most adored Bagginses, Frodo and Bilbo. The Bagginses’ birthday is a milestone event every year, and I’ve heard that many really obsessive people (that’s right, I’m only the tip of the iceberg) hold parties on it. So, I guess it’s all right for me to write this blog post to celebrate it.
I’ll start off with a bit of rambling on my thoughts about the two. Each has starred in his own story, Bilbo in his (relatively) small adventure and Frodo in his monumental one. Of course, both had a fair amount of help, Bilbo the dwarves (Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Glòin, Òin, Bombur, Dori, Ori, Nori, Bifur, and Bofur, I believe) as well as Gandalf, and Frodo had the Fellowship (Gandalf, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and Boromir) but mostly and paramountly he had dear Sam. Oh, I’m not saying that Gandalf’s wisdom and Aragorn’s sword and Legolas’s bow and Gimli’s axe and all that didn’t help, at least for the first part, but it is Sam’s steadfastness and loyalty that sticks in our minds as the thing that helped Frodo most. It’s one of the books’ greatest themes, I think, that of a friend resolving to be true no matter what, even as he watches Frodo sink under the Ring’s influence. However, as has been said many times, no matter how much Sam could help the burden was still Frodo’s to bear, and it was still his courage that saved Middle-Earth (even though it wasn’t really him who managed to destroy the Ring in the end). I’m one of those of the mind that Sam probably couldn’t have carried the Ring all the way to Mordor if he’d been the one. Frodo is unique in the characteristics he possesses—a Halfling with other stuff than food and gaiety on his mind (which seem to be the hobbits’ happiest delights), but still after peace, not arrogant, only wanting to get the job done, hardy, courageous, and much more. Coupling this with his background and the way he came into his task, it becomes plain that this was fate, as far as that goes. And the chance that the Ring and the task of bearing it would fall into his hands was a miracle for that world.
Of course, it was indeed by means of his cousin Bilbo that Frodo had it. Bilbo’s courage in this matter was of a different sort. When he first had it, he did not know it was much more than a ring with the power to make one unseen, which he found very useful. But as the years went by, and Sauron stirred, and the Ring responded, it was him that was affected. “Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread,” he said. But he went on hardily as it took its toll, and when the time had come, he managed to give the Ring away, to break the bond. Such courage, both of theirs, is worth much more than many men’s swords.
And what courage they had is what made them so great. Though the victory of the forces of good over Sauron’s evil was not solely theirs, theirs was the main quest, to bring the Ring to Mount Doom, Orodruin, Amon Amarth. And they did it.
I’ve only mentioned a slight part of the epic, a slight part of the characters, and the tiniest bit of meaning contained in the trilogy in this post. I’ll probably write more about these books this year. Truly, though, if you want to know more, if it draws you, as it should, just get out there and read the books. You won’t regret it.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Good Fiction
The list of books I’ve read in my life is extensive. The list of books I count as my favorites is smaller, yet still extensive. But a thought came to me yesterday (while speaking with a friend, actually). The list of books that made me cry is much shorter. And perhaps is a more accurate judge of the elusive title of “good fiction”. Closer, at least, I think.
Now, I don’t intend this to be confused with “well-written” or “with good plot” or anything like that. True, much of what comes under “good fiction” probably does have those characteristics. But then, many books do. The thought that struck me, though, is this… “Good fiction” is that which made an impact on you. Fiction is our way of communicating truth in a more creative way. A book I recently read mentioned the difference between being “truth” and being “truthful”. Nonfiction, historical accounts, those are “truth”. Fiction is, or at least should be, “truthful”—a message of truth in a body that may not be true. Good fiction is that which contains fundamental messages of truth—the ones that remind us of life, death, and what matters in between. Good fiction is that which contains such powerful examples of what’s important to everyone that it touches you deeply. In my case, anything that touches me deeply is very likely to make me cry. The books I’ve read that have small, wrinkled, circular deformations (in other words, tearmarks) on their pages bear some of what I think are the most important themes in human life, history, and mind. Isn’t that what good fiction is? It should teach us, remind us through our wonder and excitement that what holds in the world it describes also holds for us here. Good fiction is that which makes us better, more understanding, kinder people—closer to our own truths—through stories.
You know, stories have always held power. The title of this blog itself is “Truth, Myth, Legend”—commemorating how legend surrounds a seed of truth, and how that seed transforms into a legend. Every culture has its own stories. Since ages ago stories have been used to teach the young their principles. And they still teach older people, in different forms, a constant reminder; they use different images, but many of the messages are still the same. It reminds me of what I just read in Dan Brown’s new book The Lost Symbol, how the ancients knew what people are rediscovering today. The view through the eyes of children, what seems long ago, is often more pure and right than that is seen later in life; things happen, those views get twisted, doubts surface. Stories remain as guideposts from the people that rediscovered it themselves to bring you back on the path, to help you rediscover what you’ve known all along.
And that brings me back to the main subject of this entry. They’re still stories, yes, still fiction, still created by the imagination (or perhaps, as I may discuss in a later entry, recorded by an eye that sees farther than the mind can believe); but they have truth, and power. And good fiction is that which has both the right truth, and the right power. It’s that which reminds you of things forgotten so forcibly that it brings tears to your eyes—tears of pain, tears of remembrance, tears of memory, tears of joy. Good fiction holds at least some of the keys to our search for innate peace.
Now, I don’t intend this to be confused with “well-written” or “with good plot” or anything like that. True, much of what comes under “good fiction” probably does have those characteristics. But then, many books do. The thought that struck me, though, is this… “Good fiction” is that which made an impact on you. Fiction is our way of communicating truth in a more creative way. A book I recently read mentioned the difference between being “truth” and being “truthful”. Nonfiction, historical accounts, those are “truth”. Fiction is, or at least should be, “truthful”—a message of truth in a body that may not be true. Good fiction is that which contains fundamental messages of truth—the ones that remind us of life, death, and what matters in between. Good fiction is that which contains such powerful examples of what’s important to everyone that it touches you deeply. In my case, anything that touches me deeply is very likely to make me cry. The books I’ve read that have small, wrinkled, circular deformations (in other words, tearmarks) on their pages bear some of what I think are the most important themes in human life, history, and mind. Isn’t that what good fiction is? It should teach us, remind us through our wonder and excitement that what holds in the world it describes also holds for us here. Good fiction is that which makes us better, more understanding, kinder people—closer to our own truths—through stories.
You know, stories have always held power. The title of this blog itself is “Truth, Myth, Legend”—commemorating how legend surrounds a seed of truth, and how that seed transforms into a legend. Every culture has its own stories. Since ages ago stories have been used to teach the young their principles. And they still teach older people, in different forms, a constant reminder; they use different images, but many of the messages are still the same. It reminds me of what I just read in Dan Brown’s new book The Lost Symbol, how the ancients knew what people are rediscovering today. The view through the eyes of children, what seems long ago, is often more pure and right than that is seen later in life; things happen, those views get twisted, doubts surface. Stories remain as guideposts from the people that rediscovered it themselves to bring you back on the path, to help you rediscover what you’ve known all along.
And that brings me back to the main subject of this entry. They’re still stories, yes, still fiction, still created by the imagination (or perhaps, as I may discuss in a later entry, recorded by an eye that sees farther than the mind can believe); but they have truth, and power. And good fiction is that which has both the right truth, and the right power. It’s that which reminds you of things forgotten so forcibly that it brings tears to your eyes—tears of pain, tears of remembrance, tears of memory, tears of joy. Good fiction holds at least some of the keys to our search for innate peace.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
A Reflection
As you all know, yesterday marked the 8th anniversary of Patriot’s day, more infamously known as 9/11. On September 11, 2001, terrorists hijacked and crashed airplanes into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. They killed everyone on board, and many, many more died inside the buildings. Another plane hit the Pentagon and the last crashed in Pennsylvania.
The sole purpose in what terrorists do is, put simply, to cause terror. They do what they do to cause destruction, fear, terror, and pain, usually in complete knowledge of what they do. Oh, they may have other ideas of what they are doing, and may believe they are dispensing justice. Some do it for religious purposes, citing their holy works. But in the end does it make it any different? They killed almost three thousand people, including themselves. Families were ripped apart. Children orphaned, having to hear a stranger tell them mommy or daddy is never coming home. Thousands of innocent lives obliterated or damaged for far distant peoples’ ideals. It is impossible to justify.
We know this, but we also must learn a lesson. We were attacked by hate, but this reminds us that we cannot respond with hate, lest we be just as bad. We must show that their purpose has been deflected; where met with hate we must show compassion, and courage, and unity. United we stand, divided we fall; united we can repair the damage that was done physically, rebuild the towers, rebuild the damaged lives with love and hope and aid. We can never replace those who died, but we can go on, taking strength from their courage, their memory. We can face those who did it with justice, with right anger, but not with hate, which will burn and twist as many lives as it did ours. We are Americans and proud of it; of our progressiveness in being free and just and equal. Let us show the same progressiveness in NOT showing hate, in NOT seeking revenge of the same kind, and removing our prejudice against the innocents from THEIR countries who have as little part in what they do as we have in what they blamed us for. Though it has been 8 years since it happened, the memory lives on as burned in our minds, and problems still exist, and the possibility of something like it still exists.
This is what Patriot’s Day means to me—a reminder of what happened, a warning against the forces of terror, a reminder that there are still people out there who would oppose what we believe and that, truly, we pay prices for what we have here. We must still uphold the ideals of the American dream. And, perhaps one day, we’ll have a world where things like this don’t happen, where children can grow up safe and supported, where the whole world is at peace. And when that happens, every sacrifice that people have made over the years may finally be justified.
The sole purpose in what terrorists do is, put simply, to cause terror. They do what they do to cause destruction, fear, terror, and pain, usually in complete knowledge of what they do. Oh, they may have other ideas of what they are doing, and may believe they are dispensing justice. Some do it for religious purposes, citing their holy works. But in the end does it make it any different? They killed almost three thousand people, including themselves. Families were ripped apart. Children orphaned, having to hear a stranger tell them mommy or daddy is never coming home. Thousands of innocent lives obliterated or damaged for far distant peoples’ ideals. It is impossible to justify.
We know this, but we also must learn a lesson. We were attacked by hate, but this reminds us that we cannot respond with hate, lest we be just as bad. We must show that their purpose has been deflected; where met with hate we must show compassion, and courage, and unity. United we stand, divided we fall; united we can repair the damage that was done physically, rebuild the towers, rebuild the damaged lives with love and hope and aid. We can never replace those who died, but we can go on, taking strength from their courage, their memory. We can face those who did it with justice, with right anger, but not with hate, which will burn and twist as many lives as it did ours. We are Americans and proud of it; of our progressiveness in being free and just and equal. Let us show the same progressiveness in NOT showing hate, in NOT seeking revenge of the same kind, and removing our prejudice against the innocents from THEIR countries who have as little part in what they do as we have in what they blamed us for. Though it has been 8 years since it happened, the memory lives on as burned in our minds, and problems still exist, and the possibility of something like it still exists.
This is what Patriot’s Day means to me—a reminder of what happened, a warning against the forces of terror, a reminder that there are still people out there who would oppose what we believe and that, truly, we pay prices for what we have here. We must still uphold the ideals of the American dream. And, perhaps one day, we’ll have a world where things like this don’t happen, where children can grow up safe and supported, where the whole world is at peace. And when that happens, every sacrifice that people have made over the years may finally be justified.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
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