glance
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
glance
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
tick
glance
tick
sigh
tick
tick
tick
glance
double take
thump
thump
thump
embrace
patience September 7, 2010
The faith paradox August 31, 2010
There are some ten thousand extant religious sects–each with its own cosmology, each with its own answer for the meaning of life and death. Most assert that the other 9,999 not only have it completely wrong but are instruments of evil, besides. None of the ten thousand has yet persuaded me to make the requisite leap of faith. In the absence of conviction, I’ve come to terms with the fact that uncertainty is an inescapable crorllary of life. An abundance of mystery is simply part of the essential inscrutability of existence, in any case, is surely preferable to its opposite: capitulating to the tyranny of intransigent belief.
~ Jon Krakauer Under the Banner of Heaven
Faith is such a complex thing. By definition it is illogical and inexplicable. Having faith in something is empowering. By lifting responsibility out of ourselves (like accepting the Higher Power of AA) it seems as if we eliminate a lot of decision making variables. It provides a compass for evaluating behaviour. So often, however, it can become an excuse for irrationality. When I read the atrocities committed by both knights and Saracens during the Crusades, I am appalled that these were people of faith who believed their faith obliged their actions. When a student was murdered and her house burnt down by her father because she wanted to date out of her faith, I wept for the tragedy. When I watched the agony as a couple in love had to walk a tightrope as their parents’ pulled them in different directions, it was crushing. So paradoxically, we pray that unity happens.
The conflicts often break families and destroy faith. Sometimes there is a resolution that finds a medium. The fight becomes irrelevent when the grandchildren arrive, for example, and in loving the children, the parents are both accepted.
Faith is a paradox. God is love and here’s the war to prove it.
It takes a lot of faith to make it through.
Optimism August 25, 2010
“Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.”
~Helen Keller
This was on the white board at Curves today. It made me think of all the people I know with clinical depression, and how they so rarely achieve the things that the rest of us think they are capable of. Depression steals optimism. Pessimism does not breed greatness.
If you have hope, then the pages you write, or the course you take, or the person you call up fit into a possible future that you are willing to trust will be a good one. A depressed person thinks, “Why write it down? It won’t be any good. No one will ever want to read it. No one would buy it.” Words of genius are lost to the world. A depressed person thinks, “I’ll probably fail the course. The prof won’t like me. It’ll probably be boring.” They miss the inspiration and enlightenment of education. A depressed person thinks, “Why call? She’s probably not home. She wouldn’t want to go out with me. I would probably embarrass her.” An opportunity for a new friend or a great romance is lost.
Optimism is just a glimmer of faith that not only will something be fine, but that it might be better than it is. Optimists fuel creativity, exploration, adventure, and thought.
I am optimistic by nature. When I envision a poem, a painting, a needlework, a knitting project, a sewing project, a story or a lesson, I am not expecting failure. This is not to say failure doesn’t happen. I have a lot of unfinished knitting projects around, in particular. However, that fact just makes it more exciting when one finally does get finished!
If I wasn’t optimistic, I couldn’t do the job I do, particularly in the environment I’m in. I have been teaching 18 years. When I started, I never imagined that I would have spent 18 years without belonging to one school, without knowing that the school district valued my labour and creativity enough to attach me to a single school where I could blossom forth brilliance that would make my class one parents encouraged their own kids to take, as the generations wrapped around. One that inspired kids to become teachers or writers. Instead, even after all this time, I can’t even plan a semester in advance. I can’t arrange a terrific field trip to Ashland Shakespeare Festival a year hence, because I don’t know where I’ll be in a year. I can’t invest in products or literature for my classroom, because next semester I might not be in that school. Keeping teachers ‘lean and hungry’ does not make for quality education. I miss the teacher I could be with security.
Still, I’m blessed, because I always find some place that needs my service, and I know even if the students are in different schools around the district, and even if I’m only a semester in a school, that I am inspiring some of those I teach. Just today I had an email from a former student wondering if she could switch into my English 12 class. Ironic, since I don’t know what school I’ll be at this year, let alone what I’ll be teaching. If I wasn’t optimistic I would have curled into a ball and given up a long time ago.
Optimism is the key to happiness and success.
Anti-depressants don’t hurt.
beguiling August 22, 2010
I’m just thinking about the way we sometimes get attached to things that are not good for us. Something tantalizes us and we are drawn, perhaps against our common sense, perhaps completely innocently. Suddenly we are trapped as attachments glue us firmly to the thing that beguiles us.
It might be a person we fall for. It might be a substance. Others can look at us and see the dangers. We are blind to them in the immersion of our delight as the endorphins of discovery flood our senses.
Our intoxication might destroy us, as alcohol, cigarettes and heroin break down those who adore them. In a short time or a long time their impact is always negative. However, what beguiles us might benefit us. While it might fill us with a gleeful obsession for years, it may also act as muse, fueling dreams and imaginings. So while others only noticed irritating dangers looming over us, some take the danger, celebrate it, and turn it into something beautiful.
Petrarca’s obsession is a case in point. Sure his adoration of Laure endured for decades, well past the time she was moldering in her crypt in Avignon. The poetic expression of his obsession has lasted even longer, coming onto seven centuries. Petrarca prayed to be released from it, to be free to focus his adoration on his God. The writings at the end of his life suggest he felt he reached the stage of relief eventually, but thankfully the hundreds of poems about her remain as a testimony to the benefits of obsessive adoration and addiction to an ideal.
anniversaries August 17, 2010
Today should have been a wedding anniversary. Sometimes things in our lives don’t work out as planned. It is interesting to imagine what ‘might have been’ but it offers some dangers. Every decision we make changes our course a little, but sometimes they travel us in a circle that leads back to where we’re supposed to be. It does no good to get lost in nostalgic ‘what ifs’ because that can never change what was or what is. We are where we are now, for better or worse.
However, if we look to the future and our ‘what if’ opens dreams of possibility, then it can be the fuel for wonderful explorations and adventures.
Happy ‘could have been’ anniversary. Joyous ‘this is it’ and Good luck on ‘I wonder what will be?’
remainders August 4, 2010
(For Sue).
.
My heart twinkles like the refracted light
on the floor of the rink
from the disco ball overhead.
You hold my hand and we whirl in circles.
I want nothing more than you.
.
The Earth turns.
Time passes.
.
My heart is fractured like the light
weeping to the floor
from the disco ball.
You raise your hand and my world spins in circles.
There is nothing left of you
.
except a folding chair,
the oil stain in the drive way,
and our little girl.
decorating August 3, 2010
This is a draft that I think will turn into something else later. However, at the moment, it is this! lol
.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She was the only child of doting parents. She was happy. She was admired. Her life was perfect.
The little girl grew up, and as she grew, she was happier. She liked herself. The curves of womanhood were celebrated. The eyes were admired. Everything she saw in the mirror was satisfying. She was thoroughly proud of every part of herself.
Except her nose.
She disliked the round nose with the ski jump and the tip that bounced when she talked.
“There’s nothing wrong with it!” assured her mother.
“It’s just like mine!” bragged her father.
The girl looked at her father’s large hook nose that tilted off to the side to show that he’d been a boxer in his youth and tears came to her eyes.
“If you really hate it,” remarked her best friend, “you can always go to a plastic surgeon and get it fixed.”
And so the girl pondered. She thought. She mulled. She studied. She considered. What nose would she have if she had a perfect nose? She knew exactly what she’d trim, and precisely where she’d tip. She visualized her face with this perfect nose, and realised there was a problem.
She knew how proud she was of herself, and she realised that if her nose was to her liking, she would feel beyond beautiful. She knew her head would fill with herself (and being an only doted upon child, it was already quite full of satisfaction). She would become too pompous for other people to be around. She had obviously been created with this unattractive nose to protect her from vanity. It was the only tether to humility she had. She had to keep it.
Years went by. If anything, the nose began to resemble the father’s even more. The grown girl, now a woman, despaired of it, but determined to celebrate the source of her humility. She adorned the dreaded nose with a jewel, that caught the sun and twinkled merrily. Whenever she caught sight of the glinting gem she smiled to herself, and thanked heaven for her distinctive nose.
possibility August 1, 2010
Possibility.
Within each glimmer of it
Dreams are born
Ventures are launched
Hope is the fuel for the journey.
Whether it brings victory or defeat
There is always
‘Next time…’
‘maybe…’
and
‘If…’
The true you July 28, 2010
So who is real? Is it that person you show to the outside world: positive, inspiring, encouraging, or is it that person at your house, who is easily irritated, critical of others, and unforgiving? Is it the self-controlled person people see in the community, or is it the ranting lunatic at home?
Someone today was commenting about a mutual acquaintance and observing to me that we are all probably two people- the public person and the private person. She theorized that how genuine we are is revealed by how similar those manifestations of ourselves are.
The more disparate the identities, the more difficult it is for the others who have to live with us. They can feel like there is no consistency when they’ll be loved or attacked. Isn’t it odd that someone can have no respect for clients, but be able to be very courteous with them, and yet come home and be cruel to those that s/he apparently loves? I have had people point out how loved and admired they are in the community, but I have also seen their unadmirable cruelties at home. Is the public self our idealized vision of who we want to be, and the private or family self is the imperfect, obnoxious reality? We are angel and demon in one.
Wouldn’t it be nice if we treated the people we live with, with the same respect, courtesy and consideration we afford to strangers? I think we should wear out our criticism of those we love with long walks, work outs at the gym or journals set to burn. We should be building up our spouses and kids, not ripping apart their self-worth.
May our public and private selves be one.
Sonnet for Grace 2 July 24, 2010
Your eyes awaken tender dreams in me
That call across mere lifetimes to the past
Revealed as twinkling stars in skies so vast:
A universe that’s less than we can see.
Beyond the Earth the roof of Heaven glows;
Beneath the ground the molten rivers glide,
Yet in your love securely I abide.
Without you Hell is close, but Heaven knows
That love like ours parades across all time,
Encircling all who come within its arms.
No sorrow can hold long against a joy
entreating me to fill the world with rhyme.
We rise on love above all Earthly harm
For death has lost its power to destroy.
.
.
.
Persona of Ben writing about Grace again. Poor guy. He’s got it bad.
(I really do need to work on proper sonnet structure that incorporates a volta. You don’t see one in this, do you? No? I didn’t, either. Sigh.)
Shawn L. Bird 