Tuesday
Tragedy
I’ve been watching several Zhang Yimou movies and I wonder why do all Chinese love stories end in tragedy? The happiest couples end in death together, love consummated in spiritual eternity together. Somehow watching the tragic end of young couples moves us more than watching a couple live together, have children, have fights about toast and doing the dishes, and grow old. These couples eventually leave all drama with years they gain. Slowly they grow accustomed to everything they used to hate about each other. Toilet seats are now left up and toilet paper rolls are never replaced. Car attention lights are ignored and boxes are not flattened. It is all so mundane and boring. Each moment could be beautiful. Moment after moment leads to millions of moments and they all blend together and become unremarkable. But in tragedy, love is confined to only a few moments, so every moment is whirling kisses and dancing under rainbows in fields of poppies. Instead of taxes and grocery shopping, the only moments are those of incapacitating emotion. Beautiful moments are rare moments. If they happened every day, they would be as beautiful as taking the garbage out. But why isn’t taking out the garbage beautiful? Why can’t we slowly gather the plastic bag, then tie it up, hold it together and waltz out into the rain where we will run out to the can, then joyfully fling the bag into the can before we clang the lid down. Garbage duty would then be a wonderful thing.
Monday
Delaware Water Gap
We are off to the Delaware Water Gap!
Tents packed and rusty ancient stove,
Dad stops to buy marshmallows.
We make up songs about
Trash dumps and Jersey,
Driving up to the campsite raked clean
Blue sky and sun grinning
on our noisy machines.
Test driving the Nissan,
“Don't tell Mom!”
We finally settled down after supper
Slowly adults ordered children to bed
Fires began to be shared as adults sat
huddled by the light. My father
noticed me and with a broken promise
I stayed as he retired to the tent
and listened to stories with grave intent.
Free and alone, stranger's faces shone
and embers were almost blue
from heat against the cold night.
Wood burning and flickering light
then I gazed out into the dark
so still, no trucks or traffic distant.
And up above, more bright and clear
stars seemed much more near.
The last two and their homey voices
drift away from my fire.
Feeling the wildest breath of the trees yell at me
Now alone they stop whispering.
The star's stony silence and the trees
shouting in the night.
I sprint to join the wind in battering
the loud leaves and bowing grass
Trunks backed farther away, and when
I fell the earth warmed me from the day
Still I laid and the roaring earth beated out my time
the wind told me secrets from the trees
and then the stars squinted until I stood to see.
Trees quiet for a minute,
the stars tried to wish me near.
But the distance was too far
and the tree-wind fury too fierce.
I danced letting the wind steer
wild whirling in the tree-claimed night
until back to the fire I stared down.
Pounding from the ground.
Trying to be the new wild me.
Bowed head, asking the wind and the earth to let me stay.
Then slowly the stars dimmed with light
The trees were not dark but outlined with gray
The fire was low and the first bird call
heralded first daylight and the death of night.
Then I pulled my sleeping bag to the Nissan
And covered my head in a reclined driver’s seat
and could not dream.
Tents packed and rusty ancient stove,
Dad stops to buy marshmallows.
We make up songs about
Trash dumps and Jersey,
Driving up to the campsite raked clean
Blue sky and sun grinning
on our noisy machines.
Test driving the Nissan,
“Don't tell Mom!”
We finally settled down after supper
Slowly adults ordered children to bed
Fires began to be shared as adults sat
huddled by the light. My father
noticed me and with a broken promise
I stayed as he retired to the tent
and listened to stories with grave intent.
Free and alone, stranger's faces shone
and embers were almost blue
from heat against the cold night.
Wood burning and flickering light
then I gazed out into the dark
so still, no trucks or traffic distant.
And up above, more bright and clear
stars seemed much more near.
The last two and their homey voices
drift away from my fire.
Feeling the wildest breath of the trees yell at me
Now alone they stop whispering.
The star's stony silence and the trees
shouting in the night.
I sprint to join the wind in battering
the loud leaves and bowing grass
Trunks backed farther away, and when
I fell the earth warmed me from the day
Still I laid and the roaring earth beated out my time
the wind told me secrets from the trees
and then the stars squinted until I stood to see.
Trees quiet for a minute,
the stars tried to wish me near.
But the distance was too far
and the tree-wind fury too fierce.
I danced letting the wind steer
wild whirling in the tree-claimed night
until back to the fire I stared down.
Pounding from the ground.
Trying to be the new wild me.
Bowed head, asking the wind and the earth to let me stay.
Then slowly the stars dimmed with light
The trees were not dark but outlined with gray
The fire was low and the first bird call
heralded first daylight and the death of night.
Then I pulled my sleeping bag to the Nissan
And covered my head in a reclined driver’s seat
and could not dream.
Thursday
mango
I hate you most when I remember the day
we laid on the soccer field hands melted together
warm salted skin still sticky
from the bleeding mango juice
when you flayed the fruit,
skin shaved off and
filleted out flesh for me.
I curse you when you said you liked me
And then handed me the knife and
showed me how to stab and slice
down to the pith.
I will rain down fire and ashes to burn
Your blood-juicy body
already empty of the sticky warm water
fed to hungry mother earth.
Empty table sits with my mangoes
waiting for me to feel mango lips
screaming from their orange damp depths.
we laid on the soccer field hands melted together
warm salted skin still sticky
from the bleeding mango juice
when you flayed the fruit,
skin shaved off and
filleted out flesh for me.
I curse you when you said you liked me
And then handed me the knife and
showed me how to stab and slice
down to the pith.
I will rain down fire and ashes to burn
Your blood-juicy body
already empty of the sticky warm water
fed to hungry mother earth.
Empty table sits with my mangoes
waiting for me to feel mango lips
screaming from their orange damp depths.
A Race
What is the color of the sky?
I say “Not blue but gray
With purple and white added up high
today.”
Make me a man in a minute and a half
Call me a monkey
Try to make me just chaff
But I’m too black for you to see
I am black
My mother and sister are white
Two more brothers are Latino
And Dad is frying latkes tonight
When someone calls you dirty
What do you say?
Tuck it tight inside
And walk away.
White mother, try to make me
understand.
White hand in black,
cross the street, hold hands.
Would she lie?
My boy don't cry.
You are mine, toe to nose
and our skin color is just clothes.
Take them off and
we're all the same.
The colors people use
are just a game.
You say I'm white
But look at my skin in the light.
Is it white like paper or clouds?
No it is freckled and really light brown.
Except where you're burnt.
There you are pink
And tan brown where it doesn't hurt.
With a little yellow or orange I think.
So what color are you?
Not black like the cat
But I am brown too,
Just much much darker than you.
In a race someone
wins on a long straight track.
In a maze all are lost until they come
together to the center, coming back.
What is the color of the sky?
I say “No more clouds up high.
Sunset pink, Mom.
Sort of like you.”
I say “Not blue but gray
With purple and white added up high
today.”
Make me a man in a minute and a half
Call me a monkey
Try to make me just chaff
But I’m too black for you to see
I am black
My mother and sister are white
Two more brothers are Latino
And Dad is frying latkes tonight
When someone calls you dirty
What do you say?
Tuck it tight inside
And walk away.
White mother, try to make me
understand.
White hand in black,
cross the street, hold hands.
Would she lie?
My boy don't cry.
You are mine, toe to nose
and our skin color is just clothes.
Take them off and
we're all the same.
The colors people use
are just a game.
You say I'm white
But look at my skin in the light.
Is it white like paper or clouds?
No it is freckled and really light brown.
Except where you're burnt.
There you are pink
And tan brown where it doesn't hurt.
With a little yellow or orange I think.
So what color are you?
Not black like the cat
But I am brown too,
Just much much darker than you.
In a race someone
wins on a long straight track.
In a maze all are lost until they come
together to the center, coming back.
What is the color of the sky?
I say “No more clouds up high.
Sunset pink, Mom.
Sort of like you.”
Return of the Blog Entry
Did she forget about the blog? No. All creative efforts have been focused on a creative writing class and how to survive until the summer. But the summer has now smothered us all and the entries will continue with a vengeance unknown as of yet.
Tuesday
Muffin
I stole a muffin last night
And I’m telling you this morning
Because I thought you might
Notice and wonder where
it went. It didn’t walk away.
It didn’t fall into a refrigerator lair.
I just felt it should play
With me and my appetite
Until it lost to me in a fight
And I ate it up out of sight
Swallowing the evidence.
It was worth stealing.
Maybe I’ll replace it, but
Watch me or I’ll eat that one too
And there will be no muffin for you.
And I’m telling you this morning
Because I thought you might
Notice and wonder where
it went. It didn’t walk away.
It didn’t fall into a refrigerator lair.
I just felt it should play
With me and my appetite
Until it lost to me in a fight
And I ate it up out of sight
Swallowing the evidence.
It was worth stealing.
Maybe I’ll replace it, but
Watch me or I’ll eat that one too
And there will be no muffin for you.
Monday
Keys
Lost again
They treat me like the worst friend
Dumping me and dear john send
And moving around just to confuse
Without a forwarding address
Do they want to me to lose
My mind because I want to find.
Small, they seem to always need to
Be found
But location confounds
Do I not pay enough attention?
Do I abandon and ignore?
This behavior is the typical convention
And attention would be a chore.
Get over it and show yourselves to me
Or I’ll make new copies and you’ll see
Only the inside of a drawer tomb
Until I lose the new ones too.
They treat me like the worst friend
Dumping me and dear john send
And moving around just to confuse
Without a forwarding address
Do they want to me to lose
My mind because I want to find.
Small, they seem to always need to
Be found
But location confounds
Do I not pay enough attention?
Do I abandon and ignore?
This behavior is the typical convention
And attention would be a chore.
Get over it and show yourselves to me
Or I’ll make new copies and you’ll see
Only the inside of a drawer tomb
Until I lose the new ones too.
Tuesday
China
far away and surrounded by strangers
a restaurant
sitting with an empty chair is
a reminder of a lost table almost full
my abandoned seat
walking away with box
take out boxes stack in bins
a less intimidating companion than
an empty restaurant chair
staring silently
shamed into loneliness
take out eating in a secret room
curtains pulled
TV blaring foreign blasphemes
chasing away the echoes
a book near enough to hug
fourteen hours from now the abandoned
table will creak with use and
the raucous patter and loving argument
will commence again in front of paper plates
they are in the past
future me will be waking the next day
working without remembering the echo
echoing over to them
a restaurant
sitting with an empty chair is
a reminder of a lost table almost full
my abandoned seat
walking away with box
take out boxes stack in bins
a less intimidating companion than
an empty restaurant chair
staring silently
shamed into loneliness
take out eating in a secret room
curtains pulled
TV blaring foreign blasphemes
chasing away the echoes
a book near enough to hug
fourteen hours from now the abandoned
table will creak with use and
the raucous patter and loving argument
will commence again in front of paper plates
they are in the past
future me will be waking the next day
working without remembering the echo
echoing over to them
Untitled
I wonder in the wandering feet far reaching
Is there a haven I am seeking
Or another sky far distant
Hues hallowed and nonexistent
Dreaming of a lonely figure found
Underneath horizons stretching unbound
A pinpoint to focus all wrapping around
The planes rolling, circling on and on
Until it hits the black unknown beyond
The world and space and time
Empty with echoing silence except a heartbeat, mine
Mingling with the silent center, all in time
With my walking feet and the beat
So loud and solemn there is nothing
And then something more than me and my wandering beat
Still and divine, every moment and line
Frozen, with a breath I finish and slump and sigh
Walking on to see eternity close up
And then run away because I’m shy
Is there a haven I am seeking
Or another sky far distant
Hues hallowed and nonexistent
Dreaming of a lonely figure found
Underneath horizons stretching unbound
A pinpoint to focus all wrapping around
The planes rolling, circling on and on
Until it hits the black unknown beyond
The world and space and time
Empty with echoing silence except a heartbeat, mine
Mingling with the silent center, all in time
With my walking feet and the beat
So loud and solemn there is nothing
And then something more than me and my wandering beat
Still and divine, every moment and line
Frozen, with a breath I finish and slump and sigh
Walking on to see eternity close up
And then run away because I’m shy
Island
I was thinking about family this holiday season. I love my family and I hope to have one eventually. But why are they so necessary to happiness? I am going to spend Christmas morning serving in a homeless shelter. I could spend it with many people who have offered, but I don’t really want to. I feel closer to my family working at a shelter. When I was young, My parents would go every Saturday morning and we were eventually allowed to join helping cook and serve lunch for hundreds of people. We usually had to pour drinks, but that was fine. Rachel and I switched off at who got to go. Yes, going to a homeless shelter was the ultimate treat on Saturday mornings! But I always enjoyed those times just giving juice to people. I brought them a slight amount of happiness with no emotional commitment. That’s probably why I like acting as well: bringing people a slight amount of happiness without any emotional commitment. Just serving on Christmas makes me think that I should have been serving all year. I know there’s usually not enough time to commit during the school year, but I am going to Draper four times a week for three hour long rehearsals each time. It makes me think about how skewed my priorities are. Maybe it was the many years of therapy, but I have looked for ways to make me happy, not as much other people. This is probably because I now know that I have no control over the emotions of others and cannot make them happy no matter how hard I try. I think this belief has lead me to give up trying to make other people happy. I did try to make my Grandmother as happy as possible, but that was because she was sad and dying. Also she liked me to try to make her happy. But I can still make people happy as long as I remember to not try to validate myself through people’s happiness. I now try to validate myself through theatre, which is not good either. But I will not be able to be with my family until Christmas night, if the weather does not delay my plane flight. And my entire family will not be gathered this Christmas anyway. My Dad is in China working and Mario and Will will not be coming. I wonder if they will ever come to another Christmas?
So why does being with my family make life seem more whole? Is it because I grew up with them and childhood years are supposed to be happy? Is it because they are supposed to love me? No, its because they know me. They know the parts of me I don’t like people to know. They know the secrets behind the open book. They know the bindings and the glue the book was made of, hidden underneath. Also, I know them. It is not exactly safe though having people know you. Sometimes they know you and still do not necessarily understand you. They can hurt you more deeply with this knowledge than anyone else could. But still they are people that belong to us. We have a claim over them, and they have claim over us. It is wonderful belonging to people, but at the same time it is horrible. We want to make them happy and we tie ourselves up with them so there is no disentanglement. But as a part of them we are happier and make them happier. No one, besides sociopaths, can exist alone in the world. So, I guess no man is an island, except for people like the Unabomber, who I’m glad is an island.
So why does being with my family make life seem more whole? Is it because I grew up with them and childhood years are supposed to be happy? Is it because they are supposed to love me? No, its because they know me. They know the parts of me I don’t like people to know. They know the secrets behind the open book. They know the bindings and the glue the book was made of, hidden underneath. Also, I know them. It is not exactly safe though having people know you. Sometimes they know you and still do not necessarily understand you. They can hurt you more deeply with this knowledge than anyone else could. But still they are people that belong to us. We have a claim over them, and they have claim over us. It is wonderful belonging to people, but at the same time it is horrible. We want to make them happy and we tie ourselves up with them so there is no disentanglement. But as a part of them we are happier and make them happier. No one, besides sociopaths, can exist alone in the world. So, I guess no man is an island, except for people like the Unabomber, who I’m glad is an island.
Martha
I went to the Christmas Devotional on Sunday with my sister. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to go. I actually wanted to sleep more, but we went. She loves Christmas and everything about Christmas. She loves the decorations, the traditions and the movies. I am not a Scrooge, but I am not nearly as excited about any Holiday as she is. I like the time to relax and be with people, but I never really got as much enjoyment over celebrating Christmas as she did. I probably would have skipped having a tree in the apartment we share, but I don’t think that ever occurred to her. She wouldn’t even let me put up a small fake tree I had. Last week she told me that we had to find a good time to go get a tree. She wouldn’t let me get out of it either. She insisted we go together to get a tree. I think I don’t like celebrating Christmas nearly as much because I am lazier than she is. Or maybe it is because we have different priorities. She values beauty and comfort over things like homework. I am much more obsessive about homework than she is. I like to get things done and accomplish assignments. I usually read books from my reading list for classes before the semester begins. On the other hand, she prepares perfect recipes. She will experiment with baking and spices until she has something perfect. She tastes these small tastes that I often cannot even detect. She likes things to be nicely decorated to her aesthetic taste. I eat food from vending machines and am content with a couch and a computer. I may get better grades, but I’m pretty sure she enjoys life more. People look at us as sisters and think we are almost exactly alike, and the truth is we are very close to opposites. We look similar, talk similarly, tell stories the same way, have a similar sense of humor, but we are very different people. I have more characteristics in common with each of my parents than I have with my sister. But I also get along with her best out of the whole family. We are only nineteen months apart and we are best friends. I was thinking on Sunday as we were going farther and farther the Sacrament meeting time that I am often very similar to Martha, sister of Mary and Lazarus. I am very good at doing things, but I don’t really take time to appreciate the beauty of things. My sister I think is much more like Mary. She loves taking time to appreciate the beauty of life. I wouldn’t have gone to Salt Lake but instead have gone to sleep without her urging me. I would have left the apartment like it was without decorations. I suppose I need to slow down and think about what is more important in life.
Friday
Where am I?
No light but up as we stare at the starry blue blue sky
And wonder why we haven’t a care why
Controlling fears still tears fill ears with lies
But for us it is hard to hear over the buzzing of the flies
Only the drably neglected even try
For we live with the wettest leaves that make a sidewalk soft
Wispy wind and rain that we shake and quake aloft
The call of unnameable colors and kindly quiet
But blare the busy frogs in the half light
Shouting ever echoed jumping to the stars
Swearing my allegiance to bright reddish Mars
Song the silence, light, then darkness drips
In piled-up purplish patches of puddles
To jump in and sit until drying they go
Away where all the lilacs jump and scream
Telling the darkest secrets of the world and
All manner of undisclosed dreams
Moving mountains cover careless truths
Daisies dance to the Muses' wild wind
Dancing barefoot on mountains I commune
Earth warm and coolly moist makes my feet
Tingle with the turfy secrets underneath
Or left my hair wallowing without a hope
a care a prayer as breeze whispers in my ears
Grass slowly going speaks of something knowing
Reaching to the diamond heaven's sea
That is where I find my soul
Wandering within and without
Stealing stealthily siren to my senses
Again tonight too late I will not wait
And wonder why we haven’t a care why
Controlling fears still tears fill ears with lies
But for us it is hard to hear over the buzzing of the flies
Only the drably neglected even try
For we live with the wettest leaves that make a sidewalk soft
Wispy wind and rain that we shake and quake aloft
The call of unnameable colors and kindly quiet
But blare the busy frogs in the half light
Shouting ever echoed jumping to the stars
Swearing my allegiance to bright reddish Mars
Song the silence, light, then darkness drips
In piled-up purplish patches of puddles
To jump in and sit until drying they go
Away where all the lilacs jump and scream
Telling the darkest secrets of the world and
All manner of undisclosed dreams
Moving mountains cover careless truths
Daisies dance to the Muses' wild wind
Dancing barefoot on mountains I commune
Earth warm and coolly moist makes my feet
Tingle with the turfy secrets underneath
Or left my hair wallowing without a hope
a care a prayer as breeze whispers in my ears
Grass slowly going speaks of something knowing
Reaching to the diamond heaven's sea
That is where I find my soul
Wandering within and without
Stealing stealthily siren to my senses
Again tonight too late I will not wait
Thursday
Nature
How many times are we still? How often do we appreciate the small things? I was falling asleep standing up last night and I was trying to keep active so I would stay awake. I needed to be constantly active. I am often like that even when I am not in danger of falling down from exhaustion. I need to be constantly doing something or thinking about something. Zen Buddhism emphasizes staying still and trying to sense the world around us. As college students we put more trust in multi-tasking. We have so little time that is not going to be used in studying or sleeping that there is no time left for stillness. And often when I do have time to just be still without falling asleep, I feel it is wasted time. Yesterday I was walking from campus to my car. The sky was beautiful with a deep, deep cerulean sky and white clouds reflecting gold sun all over the sky. The mountains behind were lit and I was able to see all the rough ground and shrubbery on the mountains. It was the kind of beauty I have never been able to capture fully on film. If I take a picture it always seems to be a pale reflection of what I have seen. I have tried to manipulate the saturation and color levels. I have also made it a high dpi with digital or used a telescopic lens, but nothing ever really helps. I have so little time to really enjoy the beauty and majesty of nature except for walking to campus from where I parked and driving home from work in the morning. It really makes me wonder about the values we have been taught by our society. We learn that we need to work hard to succeed with the result that people are working as hard as they can. Seldom do we have time that we take to just ponder. Even when I am reading my scriptures I seldom leave time to think about what I am reading. Praying for me has become hurried as I have less and less time. I begin to wonder what I am planning after college. Will I be working as hard as I am now and will I ever have the time I want to enjoy the world around me. The last time I went camping I was 14 years old. By the end of high school I was skipping camping and other family trips to work or do school work. This Thanksgiving I worked and I caught up on school work. I just wish that I could go and spend time outside or go hiking. Maybe I will have time this Christmas break before I start getting ahead of my reading for next semester. In this busy world I keep putting simple things aside in order to 'get things done.' I wonder what I will remember more as I get older: what I got done or what I really experienced. Experiences take time and are not always necessary except for our souls and the development of keener insight and understanding.
This world is a creation and is full of beauty. I feel very ungrateful because I don't take the time to appreciate it more fully. The world is alive and as much a part of the creation and the plan of happiness as we are.
This world is a creation and is full of beauty. I feel very ungrateful because I don't take the time to appreciate it more fully. The world is alive and as much a part of the creation and the plan of happiness as we are.
Tuesday
Directing
I am directing a short play for a theatre class. I have stage managed, run shows, and been an assistant director, but I have never actually directed a play. The responsibility doesn’t scare me and the fact that we are being graded doesn’t bother me. What is bothering me the most is putting my trust in the actors that are performing. We are performing on Friday and while they are coming along well in rehearsal, I am worried. They all have a tendency to laugh when kissing (yes there is kissing in the play). But we have a preview tomorrow for the TA and then one more rehearsal I will be at before Friday’s performance. Of course this week I also have a final dress rehearsal for the play I am acting in which opens on Friday at Provo Theatre Company. I’m only acting in that so I’m not nearly as worried. I am not the best at trusting people. In High School I would take over and do almost everything in any group projects I was involved in when I did not trust the other people in the group. I didn’t trust many of my classmates in High School. My group projects at BYU have been better since I trust the people more; but I still volunteered to be director of this play. I felt I had the most experience. But now in this project I am going to be giving all the control of it over to the actors. Before yesterday night’s rehearsal, this fact was scaring me. The rehearsal went well, but we didn’t have one of our actresses. I am stressing out just a little. I’m sure they will do the best they can. I hope they don’t screw up. But in the end I will have no control over what they do onstage. The performance is in their hands. I have never put something as important as a final grade in the hands of other people before.
This whole situation reminds me of the fact that Heavenly Father trusts us. I suppose our parents feel similar trepidation at watching their children move away and knowing that they will be nowhere near them if they need help. But Heavenly Father has put the power of agency in our hands. Even more than just agency he has given us the Gospel and with it the power to know where we are and what we are supposed to be doing. He knows that we will screw up, but he still trusts us to figure out what we should be doing. And he has given us the power to right our mistakes through the Atonement. He has put us down here on this vast stage with an outline of a plot and it is up to us to perform our lives. We have help, but in the end everything that really matters to us is in our hands. He helps us with direction, but it is up to us to follow that direction. It is up to each of us to earn that final grade.
I’ve told the actors everything they should do. I’ve told them to memorize lines and cues, project, and pick up the pace. I’ve told them where to go and which ways to turn, but as I watch them slowly improve, they are making each of the characters and the entire play uniquely their own. This would not be the same play without them. This wouldn’t be the same play without any one of the people involved. It is no longer just a play it is our performance. And tomorrow they will perform in front of our TA. I hope they don’t laugh and completely mess up the wonderful performance I’ve seen. I hope the same thing when they perform in front of 100+ people on Friday. But other than hope, pray and remind them again of everything they need to remember before they go on, there is nothing more I can do.
This whole situation reminds me of the fact that Heavenly Father trusts us. I suppose our parents feel similar trepidation at watching their children move away and knowing that they will be nowhere near them if they need help. But Heavenly Father has put the power of agency in our hands. Even more than just agency he has given us the Gospel and with it the power to know where we are and what we are supposed to be doing. He knows that we will screw up, but he still trusts us to figure out what we should be doing. And he has given us the power to right our mistakes through the Atonement. He has put us down here on this vast stage with an outline of a plot and it is up to us to perform our lives. We have help, but in the end everything that really matters to us is in our hands. He helps us with direction, but it is up to us to follow that direction. It is up to each of us to earn that final grade.
I’ve told the actors everything they should do. I’ve told them to memorize lines and cues, project, and pick up the pace. I’ve told them where to go and which ways to turn, but as I watch them slowly improve, they are making each of the characters and the entire play uniquely their own. This would not be the same play without them. This wouldn’t be the same play without any one of the people involved. It is no longer just a play it is our performance. And tomorrow they will perform in front of our TA. I hope they don’t laugh and completely mess up the wonderful performance I’ve seen. I hope the same thing when they perform in front of 100+ people on Friday. But other than hope, pray and remind them again of everything they need to remember before they go on, there is nothing more I can do.
Monday
Sleep Deprivation
I was thinking about sleep deprivation over the holiday. Yes, I was thinking about the deprivation I will experience next week as I was catching up for the past few weeks. In the world today it is harder and harder to treat our bodies like temples when we are expected to stretch them to the utmost of their capacity. We are supposed to be studying, reading, working, volunteering and somehow also finding time to take care of our bodies. I have been neglecting caring for my body lately because it does not come at the top of my priority list. But where should caring for our bodies come on our priority list? It can’t come before studying scriptures or praying. I don’t think it should come before school work either. The only other thing I have that fills my schedule is theatre, which is something I am very passionate about. Should taking care of my body come before my passion? Probably, but I still sacrifice sleep as I near an opening night this Friday. And I will be sacrificing more sleep next semester when I stage manage Pirates of Penzance. Of course most of this sleep deprivation is made possible through my job at night. It provides a great time to do homework and reading for classes, but it makes sleeping more than 4 hours at a time a challenge. I have allowed myself to put my passion before sleep. I know I can only do this for so long before my body loses some of its youth and demands more sleep. I suppose I won’t give up theatre because I’m worried I won’t have it for very long. Most married people I know don’t have the time that they had when they were single to commit to theatre. So if I ever get married, I’m worried about giving up something I feel so passionately about. I know of a couple that met in a theatre and continues to be heavily involved in theatre, but that is one couple out of many. I remember the wife having morning sickness and almost being late to dress rehearsals.
We are supposed to find joy in life but at the same time we are supposed to live in moderation. Moderation between what makes me happy and what I know is good for me is a hard choice. I think it is most important that I still pray about my choices and do listen to guidance on my decisions. I haven’t been told to not do theatre, but if I am ever told that I know I will listen. I may sulk but when Heavenly Father tells me what to do, I usually listen. Our bodies are important but our spirits are equally important. The spirit affects the body and without happiness and passion I do not find the same joy in life. I know what truly brings me happiness is the Gospel and the scriptures. At the same time I know what I am passionate about and while it may only give happiness for a short time, it is something I am talented in and something I will try to use for the benefit of people around me. I suppose that is the most I can hope for anything I do.
We are supposed to find joy in life but at the same time we are supposed to live in moderation. Moderation between what makes me happy and what I know is good for me is a hard choice. I think it is most important that I still pray about my choices and do listen to guidance on my decisions. I haven’t been told to not do theatre, but if I am ever told that I know I will listen. I may sulk but when Heavenly Father tells me what to do, I usually listen. Our bodies are important but our spirits are equally important. The spirit affects the body and without happiness and passion I do not find the same joy in life. I know what truly brings me happiness is the Gospel and the scriptures. At the same time I know what I am passionate about and while it may only give happiness for a short time, it is something I am talented in and something I will try to use for the benefit of people around me. I suppose that is the most I can hope for anything I do.
Saturday
Black Friday
I was driving home from work yesterday morning, Black Friday, and I saw this old man walking. He had a heavy coat and plastic bag. He may have been poor or homeless or just someone walking around at 7 am the day after Thanksgiving. I had been watching guests at the hotel where I work getting up early since 3 am to go shop. They will be standing in lines and braving large angry crowds to buy merchandise at rock bottom prices. It makes me wonder what the Millennium will really be like when there will be no rich or poor. How different it will be when we will all have what we need and no more. I have so much right now that I really don't need. Christmas is coming and we all seem to have wish lists. We don't really need most of the things we want. There is a book I love which has photos of families from all over the world outside of their homes with all of their belongings. The families in Ethiopia and Mali had so little. The house in Mali was made of dried mud. The family in Ethiopia had a two room mud house. These people represented the average income for people in their countries.
Life changes. The housing crisis has now spread and has become an economic crisis. Life is much less stable than it was a year ago or even six months ago. We are still far above most of the countries in the world, but we are not headed in a good direction. But if we are to have no rich or poor among us, then we will have much less than we have now. I myself have to become used to having less. Maybe not having a car and less clothes. I think the worst thing for me will be fewer books, dvds and no cable. We didn't have cable when I was growing up. We didn't get a dish until I was seventeen, so when I got my own job and my own place to live, we had cable. I did grow up with thousands of books. The first nursery was in a small apartment of my parents and one wall of it was covered in stacked colorful books and they somehow squeezed a crib in there. I keep thinking how hard it would be to sacrifice my books. But then I think of that old man I saw walking home. Are my books more important than food for other people or heat? No. If I miss them, I'll just have to write others. I can make up enough stories in my head to entertain myself, so I could always write them down.
Life changes. The housing crisis has now spread and has become an economic crisis. Life is much less stable than it was a year ago or even six months ago. We are still far above most of the countries in the world, but we are not headed in a good direction. But if we are to have no rich or poor among us, then we will have much less than we have now. I myself have to become used to having less. Maybe not having a car and less clothes. I think the worst thing for me will be fewer books, dvds and no cable. We didn't have cable when I was growing up. We didn't get a dish until I was seventeen, so when I got my own job and my own place to live, we had cable. I did grow up with thousands of books. The first nursery was in a small apartment of my parents and one wall of it was covered in stacked colorful books and they somehow squeezed a crib in there. I keep thinking how hard it would be to sacrifice my books. But then I think of that old man I saw walking home. Are my books more important than food for other people or heat? No. If I miss them, I'll just have to write others. I can make up enough stories in my head to entertain myself, so I could always write them down.
Friday
Thanksgiving
My family is slowly moving to China. My father has been there less than a week. He finally got a call through last night from the international phone card information I emailed him on Tuesday. Of course he called at 1:30 am when I am at work since I work nights. But it was good to know he is surviving the culture shock so far. My father is not one of those über-social people but when he is stranded in a culture full of people he cannot understand and who do not understand him, he needs to talk to his family much more than usual. We had a very long email from him Tuesday morning (Hong Kong time which was late Monday night here), which told us everything he had done so far and told us he was unable to call us from his cell phone. We are a family you have to read between the lines to understand. I emailed him back soon to let him know I would buy an international phone card tomorrow and email him the details. He missed us and speaking to people in English since he doesn’t know Chinese. It reminded me of how lonely we can sometimes feel in this big world. What would we do without families?
I have two brothers who grew up for a long time in an orphanage after their father died. Watching them try to be normal is almost frightening to see how much influence having a family can have. They did have a family but it was very dysfunctional and then they were in an orphanage for a few years and these experiences have disrupted their lives so much that they will never be normal. The eldest of my brothers has finally spoken to my father again after not speaking to either of my parents for three or four years. He didn’t call my father when he had been shot in Iraq and was transferred to a hospital in Germany. The hurt these two boys have experienced is incredible. They don’t even want an emotional connection with people because of the possible pain it could cause. They don’t trust people.
On the other hand misery loves company and my brothers have hurt my mother in a way I didn’t think was possible. The most loving, kind and forgiving parent, she has not been able to forgive my brothers. My sister has been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder from things she has witnessed from my brothers. My mother is also not able to forgive herself. She sees herself as partially to blame for not observing more closely what was happening and allowing them as much leeway as she did. So, despite giving us a foundation and a place of belonging in the world, families are also those who can hurt us most.
The holiday season has begun and families gather. My family will not be gathering this year. We have not been entirely together for many years and with my father in China we will not even have both parents together this season. I have been telling some pretty sorry stories about my family, but the truth is that despite their problems and separation, my family will always by very important to me. How important I don’t realize until I see my brothers trying to cope with a world they cannot entirely deal with. The family is divinely instituted and my family, as crazy and as messed up as they are will be together after we die. We have been sealed together and will be together forever. I’m not sure how that will work, but I’m hoping divine help will be given. I have faith and hope that Heavenly Father knew what he was doing when he told my parents to adopt my brothers and we will be able to see the importance one day as well. Until then I am just grateful that some of my family supports me and are faithful members of the church. I am also grateful that living with such a challenging family has made me much stronger than I ever wanted to be.
I have two brothers who grew up for a long time in an orphanage after their father died. Watching them try to be normal is almost frightening to see how much influence having a family can have. They did have a family but it was very dysfunctional and then they were in an orphanage for a few years and these experiences have disrupted their lives so much that they will never be normal. The eldest of my brothers has finally spoken to my father again after not speaking to either of my parents for three or four years. He didn’t call my father when he had been shot in Iraq and was transferred to a hospital in Germany. The hurt these two boys have experienced is incredible. They don’t even want an emotional connection with people because of the possible pain it could cause. They don’t trust people.
On the other hand misery loves company and my brothers have hurt my mother in a way I didn’t think was possible. The most loving, kind and forgiving parent, she has not been able to forgive my brothers. My sister has been diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder from things she has witnessed from my brothers. My mother is also not able to forgive herself. She sees herself as partially to blame for not observing more closely what was happening and allowing them as much leeway as she did. So, despite giving us a foundation and a place of belonging in the world, families are also those who can hurt us most.
The holiday season has begun and families gather. My family will not be gathering this year. We have not been entirely together for many years and with my father in China we will not even have both parents together this season. I have been telling some pretty sorry stories about my family, but the truth is that despite their problems and separation, my family will always by very important to me. How important I don’t realize until I see my brothers trying to cope with a world they cannot entirely deal with. The family is divinely instituted and my family, as crazy and as messed up as they are will be together after we die. We have been sealed together and will be together forever. I’m not sure how that will work, but I’m hoping divine help will be given. I have faith and hope that Heavenly Father knew what he was doing when he told my parents to adopt my brothers and we will be able to see the importance one day as well. Until then I am just grateful that some of my family supports me and are faithful members of the church. I am also grateful that living with such a challenging family has made me much stronger than I ever wanted to be.
Sunday
gaze
Bereft of looks
Mirrored gaze
I thought it meaning
Something more than
Melon colored mornings
and musky chocolate dusk
Into eyes staring deep
deeper than eyes bore
Drilling under skin to heart
To find the soul misplaced
out of body, gaze set free
Taking to the air
Flying far from here
to youthful leafy trees
swaying hammock
Sailing in pure breeze
Now lost to age's looters
pure joy no longer a friend
now enamored of passing fancy
Passing preferred
No lingering, no staid
permanence, but a flight
breathless over my body
looking up again, eyes still
stare, but then away
as mirrored eyes finish
.And return I to flesh
farther from which I went
Knowing nothing more than
the dream my soul sees in
eyes
looking.
Aching for permanence.
Mirrored gaze
I thought it meaning
Something more than
Melon colored mornings
and musky chocolate dusk
Into eyes staring deep
deeper than eyes bore
Drilling under skin to heart
To find the soul misplaced
out of body, gaze set free
Taking to the air
Flying far from here
to youthful leafy trees
swaying hammock
Sailing in pure breeze
Now lost to age's looters
pure joy no longer a friend
now enamored of passing fancy
Passing preferred
No lingering, no staid
permanence, but a flight
breathless over my body
looking up again, eyes still
stare, but then away
as mirrored eyes finish
.And return I to flesh
farther from which I went
Knowing nothing more than
the dream my soul sees in
eyes
looking.
Aching for permanence.
Saturday
Finger Bowls
I remember one time in the Minneapolis Museum of Art I was looking at one of Monet's Haystacks. I love impressionists and just looking at the paint strokes, oil paint so thick it was probably still drying, made me tear up a bit. Just seeing that beauty and realism captured in paint moves me in a very strange way. Religious art has never touched me as much as impressionists. We are told to seek after everything lovely. Monet is beautiful to me. Of course Kandinsky is too beautiful to me too, but not in the same moving and tearing way that touches my soul. Going to the exhibit of religious artwork in the Museum of Art was nice but having studied art for a while in a non-religious institution I am influenced too much by historical contexts and painting styles. I thought one of the pieces of art was very reminiscent of paintings of Arthurian legends from the same time period. The piece of art in the entire exhibit that moved me the most was the painting of the three bowls containing blood, water and spirit entitled The Third Triptych. These bowls at once reminded me of finger bowls we used in my family for hand washing at various Jewish celebrations. They were passed around the table for ritual hand washings. My parents had to explain the symbolism of cleansing ourselves before God. Like every child, symbolism had to be learned. My mother explained Catholic beliefs and symbols and my father took Jewish. The hand washing always seemed a little excessive to me as a child, but when we occasionally skipped it after I was older and we had many more kids and less time, I felt that something was missing. We may be taught symbols, but growing up we have our own symbols we have gained from learning and our families. I was taught different symbols from people who were born and raised only Mormon, but Mormons are taught different symbols from other religions. This painting did not make me cry over the technical details such as Monet did. This painting moved me because of the symbolism and how I connected with those symbols. One of the paintings had a prayer shawl hanging in the background. It also had lilies and other symbols, but I connected with the prayer shawl. Prayer shawls means sabbath to me and going to synagogue on some holiday or something.
Anyway, back to the painting I really liked. The water, blood and spirit all portrayed as being in finger bowls, which we use to cleanse ourselves and bring ourselves nearer to God, was simple in a way but very meaningful. In the New Testament times, they did not wash as frequently as we do, so hand washing was probably much more needed. Foot washing was probably the same. Peter asked when Jesus was cleaning his feet if he could clean every part of him, but Jesus replied that only the feet were needed. Now we still symbolically wash our hands, but because of our knowledge of Christ, washing our hands in the finger bowls has changed to not just being a symbol of cleansing ourselves so we can be nearer to God, but also symbolizes the Atonement and how Christ cleansed us all. The symbol of washing our hands is the same, but the meaning behind it has expanded to encompass more that it used to. So now the body of Christ is displayed in the three bowls, the same type of bowls we use to symbolize the cleansing power of the Atonement. His body cleansed us and saved us from sin.
Anyway, back to the painting I really liked. The water, blood and spirit all portrayed as being in finger bowls, which we use to cleanse ourselves and bring ourselves nearer to God, was simple in a way but very meaningful. In the New Testament times, they did not wash as frequently as we do, so hand washing was probably much more needed. Foot washing was probably the same. Peter asked when Jesus was cleaning his feet if he could clean every part of him, but Jesus replied that only the feet were needed. Now we still symbolically wash our hands, but because of our knowledge of Christ, washing our hands in the finger bowls has changed to not just being a symbol of cleansing ourselves so we can be nearer to God, but also symbolizes the Atonement and how Christ cleansed us all. The symbol of washing our hands is the same, but the meaning behind it has expanded to encompass more that it used to. So now the body of Christ is displayed in the three bowls, the same type of bowls we use to symbolize the cleansing power of the Atonement. His body cleansed us and saved us from sin.
Tuesday
Trials
Trials are never fun. My sister's car died this morning and is too expensive to fix. My car needed 500 dollars worth of work to keep it running last week. My sister is flying to Minnesota to drive a car of my parents back this weekend. My family is moving to China. I am broke. My car, even with the 500 dollars I spent on it may not last very long. My grades are not the best because I am working a full time job at night. My hair is messy today but I think I may want to go to an audition. Yes, another audition. I know I'm crazy. Life is crazy and I occasionally feel more at home with the craziness of life than the structured, normal times. But when the trials are really bad, after the initial breakdown, all I can think is that God must love me a lot to make me suffer this much. I know Jesus loves me because my life totally sucks. It's strange logic, but to the masochistic half-Jew, it completely makes sense. If I was having a good life, I would start to wonder about my decisions and if they were really in line with God's will. Maybe because I'm so busy dealing with the latest crisis or bit of bad news, I'm not worrying about my standing with God. My thought is: would he be giving me this many trials if he didn't know I could handle them with His help? Probably not? If I wasn't at least sort-of on the right path, I'd be punishing myself with unhappiness, so I'm going to be happy about the trials. My mother would always say: no one's dead, no one's in prison, so we're okay. Of course sometimes when she would say that Uncle Scott was still in prison, but I think she was just referring to the immediate family. Of course there was that time that Dad was in prison, but she wasn't in town for that.
Anyway, the point of this entire diatribe on trials is that in reading the account of John, I am reminded that Jesus knew what trials were coming and he still continued to help others and fulfill His mission. I suppose I shouldn't be amazed by this, but he knew what trials were coming. Greater trials than any other man had had to endure, and he was still helping other people through their trials. He was comforting his disciples after enduring in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was looking out for his mother when he was on the cross. He was forgiving people while he was suffering more than any mortal man could endure. How was he so good? He was the Son of God, and a God himself. He was at one with the father's will. How could we possibly be like him? I don't even know where to begin. But reading the Gospel of John, my favorite gospel, he is showing us in every word how to be more like Him. Examples are given, but more important to me are the words, the commands he gives. He is the light and life of the world. He is our example and has given us the light of the everlasting gospel to be our guide. We have to keep trying everyday. We have to keep trying, not only because He wants us to and has commanded us to, but because we really can't make it through trials on our own without that Spirit that comes from keeping his words and regarding them as our salvation. We have to keep going no matter what because it will never be so bad that we can't go on without his help. We are all stronger than each of us realizes. We are strong as keepers of the commandments and we are strong as those who can have the Spirit to be with them. And we have to keep going on, because the world is only going to become harder to endure, not easier. And to look at the highlights today no one is dead and no one is in jail. And more importantly I know that trials is one way I can become closer to my Savior; to become more like He is and wants me to be.
Anyway, the point of this entire diatribe on trials is that in reading the account of John, I am reminded that Jesus knew what trials were coming and he still continued to help others and fulfill His mission. I suppose I shouldn't be amazed by this, but he knew what trials were coming. Greater trials than any other man had had to endure, and he was still helping other people through their trials. He was comforting his disciples after enduring in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was looking out for his mother when he was on the cross. He was forgiving people while he was suffering more than any mortal man could endure. How was he so good? He was the Son of God, and a God himself. He was at one with the father's will. How could we possibly be like him? I don't even know where to begin. But reading the Gospel of John, my favorite gospel, he is showing us in every word how to be more like Him. Examples are given, but more important to me are the words, the commands he gives. He is the light and life of the world. He is our example and has given us the light of the everlasting gospel to be our guide. We have to keep trying everyday. We have to keep trying, not only because He wants us to and has commanded us to, but because we really can't make it through trials on our own without that Spirit that comes from keeping his words and regarding them as our salvation. We have to keep going no matter what because it will never be so bad that we can't go on without his help. We are all stronger than each of us realizes. We are strong as keepers of the commandments and we are strong as those who can have the Spirit to be with them. And we have to keep going on, because the world is only going to become harder to endure, not easier. And to look at the highlights today no one is dead and no one is in jail. And more importantly I know that trials is one way I can become closer to my Savior; to become more like He is and wants me to be.
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