I am tiredly relieved.
Rather than wasting my time on manufacturing a synthetic facade of stability, I can devote myself to the arbitrary goals that summer seems to demand. Things like finishing off the plethora of eggs, milk, cheese, and other assorted animal products before June 1 when I will begin my month of vegan-ness. Or getting through 3 books a week. Or doing yoga in the mountains.
I guess Paul Simon said it best:
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Apologies
I have great vision for this blog. I really do.
But when I sit down to write, the incredible vastness of what I want to say hits me in the face and I run out of breath just thinking about it.
Here, for example: I'm reading a book called Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer (because ILL is stupid and instead of sending JM Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians [you know, the novel by the Nobel Prize winning author], they sent me some collection of political essays by a guy named Lapham, so 'til they get me the correct Coetzee book, I'm killing time with books on vegetarianism). It deals a lot with the concept of animal consciousness, definition of self and other (which is part of why I love Jonathan Safran Foer - he brings in Derrida and Kafka, too), and the question of essential mercy (both for animals and human social existence). Which brings up my ever-changing definition of (and relationship to) God. Like, I do believe in a merciful divinity; I feel like I have to. But, goodness, does Romans 9 have to be so harsh? So then I start thinking about the connotations of mercy with the feminine and wonder where the female role lies in the realm of the divine. Does the role really differ all that much? I mean, Christ was a blend of so many traits traditionally classified as "masculine" and "feminine." Am I just missing the mark on a really basic level? Maybe my severely limited human mind is just balking at these concepts that fly so far overhead. The heart of Mormonism, for me, is living a Christlike life. I try to live in a charitable Christian manner, though skewing it sometimes. Until recently, I sincerely valued the existence of others above my own, but a development of more blatant introversion has revealed the flaws of that mindset. I'm starting (well, more than just starting) to understand the magnificence and importance of developed selfhood. Rumi's poetry collection, Feeling the Shoulder of the Lion, has some really good insights on that (on the same level as Gibran's The Prophet). I read some of it yesterday on a hike, and it felt like a huge push (ironically) towards some kind of connection on a very spiritual level. I've started to resurrect my fascination with Transcendentalism recently (did it ever die?), because it feels like an access to some type of holy moment. My coworker James was discussing the need for an appreciation of life for what it is now, the wonder of the present, because you can't hold out continuously for an uncertain result. I agree, and I like that it doesn't need to put morality on hold. If every moment is divine, we still need to live in a way deserving of that divinity, while simultaneously allowing the moment itself to propel us onward and upward. Something along the lines of a perpetual breath of renewal and redemption - helping to actualize while actualizing. And all of that gives so much weight to the little words we speak on a day-to-day basis, because we are identifying (creating?) and uniting the taste of the word on the tongue with its music to the ear and its visual representation for the eye. If we can find beauty in one of those senses, why not all? I've recently started experiencing a strange bloom of euphoria when I hear people say my name. Oh, Bloom. "Being who he wasn't, could be as he wished to be . . . " And unfortunately this blog post has become something akin to Ulysses (though on a pathetically small scale; Joyce, you are still my master).
It's almost terrifying, huh? Everything is so darn intertwined.
Here, accept these as my apology:
But when I sit down to write, the incredible vastness of what I want to say hits me in the face and I run out of breath just thinking about it.
Here, for example: I'm reading a book called Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer (because ILL is stupid and instead of sending JM Coetzee's Waiting for the Barbarians [you know, the novel by the Nobel Prize winning author], they sent me some collection of political essays by a guy named Lapham, so 'til they get me the correct Coetzee book, I'm killing time with books on vegetarianism). It deals a lot with the concept of animal consciousness, definition of self and other (which is part of why I love Jonathan Safran Foer - he brings in Derrida and Kafka, too), and the question of essential mercy (both for animals and human social existence). Which brings up my ever-changing definition of (and relationship to) God. Like, I do believe in a merciful divinity; I feel like I have to. But, goodness, does Romans 9 have to be so harsh? So then I start thinking about the connotations of mercy with the feminine and wonder where the female role lies in the realm of the divine. Does the role really differ all that much? I mean, Christ was a blend of so many traits traditionally classified as "masculine" and "feminine." Am I just missing the mark on a really basic level? Maybe my severely limited human mind is just balking at these concepts that fly so far overhead. The heart of Mormonism, for me, is living a Christlike life. I try to live in a charitable Christian manner, though skewing it sometimes. Until recently, I sincerely valued the existence of others above my own, but a development of more blatant introversion has revealed the flaws of that mindset. I'm starting (well, more than just starting) to understand the magnificence and importance of developed selfhood. Rumi's poetry collection, Feeling the Shoulder of the Lion, has some really good insights on that (on the same level as Gibran's The Prophet). I read some of it yesterday on a hike, and it felt like a huge push (ironically) towards some kind of connection on a very spiritual level. I've started to resurrect my fascination with Transcendentalism recently (did it ever die?), because it feels like an access to some type of holy moment. My coworker James was discussing the need for an appreciation of life for what it is now, the wonder of the present, because you can't hold out continuously for an uncertain result. I agree, and I like that it doesn't need to put morality on hold. If every moment is divine, we still need to live in a way deserving of that divinity, while simultaneously allowing the moment itself to propel us onward and upward. Something along the lines of a perpetual breath of renewal and redemption - helping to actualize while actualizing. And all of that gives so much weight to the little words we speak on a day-to-day basis, because we are identifying (creating?) and uniting the taste of the word on the tongue with its music to the ear and its visual representation for the eye. If we can find beauty in one of those senses, why not all? I've recently started experiencing a strange bloom of euphoria when I hear people say my name. Oh, Bloom. "Being who he wasn't, could be as he wished to be . . . " And unfortunately this blog post has become something akin to Ulysses (though on a pathetically small scale; Joyce, you are still my master).
It's almost terrifying, huh? Everything is so darn intertwined.
Here, accept these as my apology:
Spencer Russell (Mudbison) - Wait For Me from DonaMajicShow on Vimeo.
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