Edna St. Vincent Millay
Tuesday, May 24
a favorite
Love is Not All
Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
and rise and sink and rise and sink again.
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love a l o n e.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by need and moaning for release
Or nagged by want past resolutions power,
I might be driven to sell you love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be.
I do not think I would
Wednesday, May 18
Let me give you a topic...
I finished a book called "A Prayer for Owen Meany" yesterday. It's by John Irving so it's little bit of a freak show, but I really enjoyed it. It's actually the book that "Simon Birch" (the movie) was based off of, but it takes the story much further.
The book deals with faith and doubt. The book starts off with John, the narrator saying that Owen Meany (simon) is the reason he is a Christian, which makes no sense until the last ten (approximatly) pages of the book. I won't tell you why since i would really like someone to read this book so I can talk about it with them and telling you would really ruin the book.
What really is interesting to me is the vauge but continuous conversation about the interaction of faith and doubt. It is demonstrated when Owen kills John's mother by hitting a foul ball- there is a lot of turmoil (obviously) between the friends about this. The line that I find really interesting is when Owen says "GOD HAS TAKEN YOUR MOTHER. MY HANDS WERE THE INSTRUMENT. GOD HAS TAKEN MY HANDS. I AM GOD'S INSTRUMENT."
There's a quote toward the end of the book (I can't rememeber the author, some philosopher) that talks about how we are all simply instruments in the hands of the one who begins the movement. Without the one who being's the movement, we are simply instruments. It gives me the image of silverware all lying unorganized in a drawer.
The book was a bit difficult to read because John (the narrator) has grown into a bitter person
and we are frequently exposed to his anger. Even he, who claims to be a Christian and a witness to the life of Owen Meany is a purely impotent force in life. It never seems to occur to any of the other characters, that God would use them as tools for good. In fact the book uses that word in an entirely different way- the idea that they are being used (in the wasteful and manipulative sense) is an idea that is brought up toward the end.
(I'm not writing a paper about this book- I do have a point.)
It seems to me that the idea of being "used" is as integral to the point of this story as any of the convresations about faith or doubt. Owen is constantly used (for entertainment, personal advancement, as an icon of superstition) through this story- so what's the differnce between the way the people use Owen, and the way Owen allows himself to be used by God (Owen consistently believes throughout the story that his death will be heroic- and so it is) ? Despite the way that the other characters in the story "use" him, Owen rarely complains much, and never puts up a fight. It is as if Owen has no sense of "self." John, on the other hand has an incredible sense of "self." He defines himself constantly through the book, but he is almost never of "use" to anyone, except at the very end of the book, to Owen.
What keeps us from being "useful" but our own overwhelming sense of "self" that keeps us from seeing the many ways we can be "used" by others and by God?
One of the quotes at the beginning of this book was: "Any Christian who is not a hero, is a pig." (Leon Bloy). Owen says later: "NEVER CONFUSE FAITH, OR BELIEF—OF ANY KIND—WITH SOMETHING EVEN REMOTELY INTELLECTUAL."
This book has made a bit of a muddle of my mind lately and I am wondering what kind of reaction all of this mess in my head might have to all of you.
Chara
The book deals with faith and doubt. The book starts off with John, the narrator saying that Owen Meany (simon) is the reason he is a Christian, which makes no sense until the last ten (approximatly) pages of the book. I won't tell you why since i would really like someone to read this book so I can talk about it with them and telling you would really ruin the book.
What really is interesting to me is the vauge but continuous conversation about the interaction of faith and doubt. It is demonstrated when Owen kills John's mother by hitting a foul ball- there is a lot of turmoil (obviously) between the friends about this. The line that I find really interesting is when Owen says "GOD HAS TAKEN YOUR MOTHER. MY HANDS WERE THE INSTRUMENT. GOD HAS TAKEN MY HANDS. I AM GOD'S INSTRUMENT."
There's a quote toward the end of the book (I can't rememeber the author, some philosopher) that talks about how we are all simply instruments in the hands of the one who begins the movement. Without the one who being's the movement, we are simply instruments. It gives me the image of silverware all lying unorganized in a drawer.
The book was a bit difficult to read because John (the narrator) has grown into a bitter person
and we are frequently exposed to his anger. Even he, who claims to be a Christian and a witness to the life of Owen Meany is a purely impotent force in life. It never seems to occur to any of the other characters, that God would use them as tools for good. In fact the book uses that word in an entirely different way- the idea that they are being used (in the wasteful and manipulative sense) is an idea that is brought up toward the end.
(I'm not writing a paper about this book- I do have a point.)
It seems to me that the idea of being "used" is as integral to the point of this story as any of the convresations about faith or doubt. Owen is constantly used (for entertainment, personal advancement, as an icon of superstition) through this story- so what's the differnce between the way the people use Owen, and the way Owen allows himself to be used by God (Owen consistently believes throughout the story that his death will be heroic- and so it is) ? Despite the way that the other characters in the story "use" him, Owen rarely complains much, and never puts up a fight. It is as if Owen has no sense of "self." John, on the other hand has an incredible sense of "self." He defines himself constantly through the book, but he is almost never of "use" to anyone, except at the very end of the book, to Owen.
What keeps us from being "useful" but our own overwhelming sense of "self" that keeps us from seeing the many ways we can be "used" by others and by God?
One of the quotes at the beginning of this book was: "Any Christian who is not a hero, is a pig." (Leon Bloy). Owen says later: "NEVER CONFUSE FAITH, OR BELIEF—OF ANY KIND—WITH SOMETHING EVEN REMOTELY INTELLECTUAL."
This book has made a bit of a muddle of my mind lately and I am wondering what kind of reaction all of this mess in my head might have to all of you.
Chara
Monday, May 16
I hate research!
BUT I"M DONE WITH IT!
Hooray!
We finally finished all of the data analysis for ou research study. I'm not sure if we found anything useful or interesting, but I do know how to navigate my way around excel like a complete pro.
When I took my not-so-great grade in stats just before I graduated from Freed-Hardeman, I thought it was no big deal. I just wanted to graduate and move on. When was I ever going to need to know that much about statistics anyway?
Well, three years and a gradute degree later, I wish I had paid better attention to the SPSS program and al the complicated little things that we were learning.
But now I am done and I REALLY don't need statistics anymore!
YAY!
Chara
Hooray!
We finally finished all of the data analysis for ou research study. I'm not sure if we found anything useful or interesting, but I do know how to navigate my way around excel like a complete pro.
When I took my not-so-great grade in stats just before I graduated from Freed-Hardeman, I thought it was no big deal. I just wanted to graduate and move on. When was I ever going to need to know that much about statistics anyway?
Well, three years and a gradute degree later, I wish I had paid better attention to the SPSS program and al the complicated little things that we were learning.
But now I am done and I REALLY don't need statistics anymore!
YAY!
Chara
Tuesday, May 10
Another poem
What's in My Journal
Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.
By William Staford
A little personal introspection
I realized the other day that I have not been able to actually make myself sit down and listen to the tape I made of my final performance for my independent study. I hate listening to myself on tape. I'm not sure if it is because my voice sounds so strange to me or because of my own unwillingness to accept my true voice.
Up until last summer I wan't able to listen to my own voice at all (my internal voice) and it wasn't until Carol Birch (funny how the tiny ones are always the most firey) told me to Claim My Space that I realized that I wasn't. And now... Now I realize that in many ways I still do not claim my space. I do not proclaim my own voice. I do not recognize myself, and thus I sound foreign to myself.
I had this really wonderful two hour long talk with Loryn Longbrake (one of the other ST students, she's from California) about the process we have both been through in the last two years. She's lost an enormous amount of weight over the last two years and she really is a much differnt person. I have been thinking about how I might have changed over the last two years. I am much more confident and social than I used to be. I actually enjoy being in front of people now. I cry more- and less. I am looking toward such an uncertain future, with trepidation, but excitement- something I didn't used to be able to handle at all. My body has changed a lot. This is something I am exceedingly aware of, and I wish I weren't. I wish I could be more aware of the wonderful ways I have changed who I am, and not what I look like, but as Loryn said, "Because we are women, and we are encouraged to be 'pretty things,' who we are does change when what we look like changes."
I am not sure what all of this is about. I have had a strange, let-down kind of feeling over the last few weeks. You would think that graduating and finally being done would give me quite the opposite reaction. I am looking forward to summer- things being warm and alive again. I can go camping with Josh and in July (12th -17th ) I am going to the NSN conference as a "New Face" and I am presenting my research in a forum.
Why so much introspection now? I don't know.
Chara
Up until last summer I wan't able to listen to my own voice at all (my internal voice) and it wasn't until Carol Birch (funny how the tiny ones are always the most firey) told me to Claim My Space that I realized that I wasn't. And now... Now I realize that in many ways I still do not claim my space. I do not proclaim my own voice. I do not recognize myself, and thus I sound foreign to myself.
I had this really wonderful two hour long talk with Loryn Longbrake (one of the other ST students, she's from California) about the process we have both been through in the last two years. She's lost an enormous amount of weight over the last two years and she really is a much differnt person. I have been thinking about how I might have changed over the last two years. I am much more confident and social than I used to be. I actually enjoy being in front of people now. I cry more- and less. I am looking toward such an uncertain future, with trepidation, but excitement- something I didn't used to be able to handle at all. My body has changed a lot. This is something I am exceedingly aware of, and I wish I weren't. I wish I could be more aware of the wonderful ways I have changed who I am, and not what I look like, but as Loryn said, "Because we are women, and we are encouraged to be 'pretty things,' who we are does change when what we look like changes."
I am not sure what all of this is about. I have had a strange, let-down kind of feeling over the last few weeks. You would think that graduating and finally being done would give me quite the opposite reaction. I am looking forward to summer- things being warm and alive again. I can go camping with Josh and in July (12th -17th ) I am going to the NSN conference as a "New Face" and I am presenting my research in a forum.
Why so much introspection now? I don't know.
Chara
Wednesday, May 4
This is me, telling again. I had a really long talk with David Novak about this story after I told it that night and some things about it changed for me. The story is about a crane who want to thank a man for his kindness and so she transforms herself into a girl and lives with him as his daughter, weaving for him when she can so that he and his wife have money in their old age. But the relationship is ened when the wife breaks her promise and peeks in on the crane while she is weaving and sees her true form.
It's about keeping a part of you to yourself... I haven't told it agian since that night, but I think that any time I do from now on, I will have to read this poem when I am done.
Bluebeard
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see... Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place.
Edna
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