Hot

A low base bleeds out of the monitor, trickles out across the crowd. Eager am I for this baptism of soul, such complete envelopment.
The drums next, stomping their dull fury. The body-hollowing beats enter me entirely, and I live only as they allow. They are air of lung, growl of belly, beat of heart. Let them be merciful; if they stop, I die.
Scalded fingers over black frets dance. Ear tickled and excited, I am no longer my own. The music takes. Me.
The hot smell of human is everywhere, but we are far and beyond. Sweat runs down the many and one who are music, are me, are everything and nothing.

This is how I am not myself.

It's beautiful.

Reality

Kinda weird to come back down. Or maybe just over, back into the niche that I seem to fill oh-so-much better. Which, admittedly, is frustrating on a few different levels, but mostly just in the fact that, subconsciously, I myself seem to be the biggest advocate for this role - probably to preserve the sense of security (however false) it provides. But playing it safe isn't always a good thing, especially when the concept of safety is so tipsy anyway. I am okay with where I am now, though I don't think it's a particularly eternal state of being.

I don't really know what to call the emotion I've been so taken with of late. Contentment originated in one far deep spot, and sort of permeated the rest of my life. I think I've kind of lost sight of the starting point, but somehow I'm not sad. Dead poets speak with tongues of lovers, and the soft vibrations of steel strings over a hollow body warm my belly.

There was an excitement - which was fun - an anxiety - which served as a reminder that I can still feel wholly - and now a calm - which is good for what it is and what I guess I need it to be.

It's painfully hard, though, for me to come to terms with the concept that the method of connecting with people isn't something that I'm going to discover by burrowing further into myself. Up until now, that seemed like a perfectly viable coping strategy; When the fragile, fragile people all around are so close to breaking, it's easy to duck down behind a barricade of consciousness and give them exactly what they ask for, nothing more or less. But what happens when what they ask for has been with you so long, it's almost a part of you? What happens when they ask you to tear down the wall?

I'm struck a little bit by the irony that I was conceived on November 9th.

Also, I take some twisted comfort in knowing that Pink Floyd understands.

I suppose it has to come down sometime, huh?

Memory

So so so so happy.

:)

Prophecy

On Love
"When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep,
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast. All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, 'God is in my heart,' but rather, 'I am in the heart of God.'
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night,
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."
-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

Religion

The Religion of Literature

I entered the field of literary study simply because I loved it. I had no desire to experience the critical debates that so inspired Gerald Graff, nor did I want to kill the author, “confront greatness,” or actualize my literary-community role in any capacity; the ability to enter a new world was more than enough for me. However, after meeting scoffs and laughter when I proudly announced my decision to study Literature, I began to think that love alone might not be a sufficient basis for a lifelong study. This hesitation prompted me to take the first steps on a path to understanding: I began to ask questions. And in the words of Robert Frost, “That has made all the difference.”

While attempting to justify my choice of study, I found myself justifying the entire premise of my life. “Why do I read?” became synonymous with “Why do I live?” The act of opening a novel became a reenactment of my premortal choice to enter this world. The standards I brought to each work were a perfect copy of those I practiced in my real life. Seeing the literary realm juxtaposed with the physical one highlighted the similarities much more than the differences. It became apparent that, as a creature of both worlds, my choices in one absolutely affected the other.

This concept of our decisions influencing the outcome of a scenario is part of what makes literary studies so unique. Seldom are the results of our work so completely part of us. In mathematics, a problem solved one way or another will equal the same thing. Literature is one of the few fields in which we are given an absolute – a text in print – and then we are allowed to determine what it accomplishes.

Another benefit of experiencing life in two worlds is the potential for progress. We can learn things through literature that would be much harder to learn in reality. For example, by reading something as fantastical as J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, we begin to understand perfectly real problems, such as addiction or betrayal, without a physical jeopardy. That is, we can face dangerous trials from a safe distance. Thus, experiencing a removal from the author (not necessarily an authorial death, but a distinct separation), we are given an agency with the text that mirrors our agency in reality. The ultimate lesson we learn depends entirely on our own decisions.

We need not forget the inherent beauty of good literature. Reading something we find personally inspiring or lovely is as important as reading “the classics.” While the actual definition of “great literature” is completely subjective, the idea that it exists is fairly universal. Many books contain elements of greatness. We shouldn’t operate under the assumption that a book must be completely perfect; those books are few. Rather, we should focus on appreciating the small pieces of beauty that exist in an imperfect text-world, much as we are advised to appreciate the things “of good report or praiseworthy” in the physical world. This task to seek out the good and confront it may seem daunting, but it is also marvelously rewarding.

Why, though, is it so important to study at a university? Reading is a simple enough process, and as previously mentioned, the ultimate take-away is based on personal decisions. The answer, simply, is because one crucial element in literary study cannot be accomplished alone: communication. Upon entering a classroom setting, we are entering into a community of people with the same designs. It provides not only a way to communicate with the texts themselves, but also new methods of communication with other people who appreciate literature. Indeed, our chances of meeting the author of a text are fairly low. Literary communities, then, have the responsibility of actualizing debates. Completely alone, we have a hard time approaching a text with different points of view. With the help of a community, however, we can learn to expand our outlook. Teachers and peers who belong to this literary community present us with new ideas – concepts that we might never have discovered on our own.

It is this development of viewpoint that truly validates the pursuit of literary study. We enter into critical discussions because we desire to grow. As Gerald Graff said, “Nobody lives or thinks in this world without theories.” It is true that theory is inescapable. But by acknowledging our own entrance into the world of discussion, we allow those ideas to work upon us. And ultimately, if we enter the critical debate with an aspiration to grow beyond ourselves, we can create the exact character that we desire: one that functions soundly in both literature and reality.

English Professor Zina Petersen once said, “If someone asks you what you’re going to be with a degree in English, look ‘em in the eye and say, ‘Educated!’” That is precisely what I intend to become. But I am not merely studying literature; I am studying life. An understanding of texts is an understanding of created worlds. In this regard, few other courses of study lend themselves so wholly to the emulation of divinity. This emulation is the greatest thing we can ever hope to achieve. C.S. Lewis wrote, “A mole must dig to the glory of God, and a cock must crow." I would add to that, a student of literature must read, for by reading with the desire to learn, we expand ourselves on every level. I entered the field of literary study simply because I loved it. I stayed because I’m learning to live it.

I think, for the very first time, I truly comprehend what it is I'm doing.

I've been absent from my kingdom for so very long. But words have restored worlds.

It's good to be home.

Truth

In a drowning world of apathy, I search only for feeling.

Happy

This week has been crazy, especially with preparation for finals. But I absolutely subscribe to Socrates' theory of Pleasure and Pain being hung together.

Prof. Westover asked me to stay after class today. He just told me that he's recommended me to the writing center for a job/internship next semester (or next year? I'm not sure). He said that they're losing some of their best writers to graduation, and he felt that I would be a wonderful replacement.

Warm fuzzies. :)

And guess what? I love people, heartfelt connections, and discovery.

Plus, I currently have a pair of french pastries which will be consumed whilst watching The Diving Bell and the Butterfly with a friend that I've taken too long to appreciate.

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." -John Lennon.

P.S. OMD, I've never really gone through that experience, but when I do, it's good to know that you'll be there for me.