My friend Noah and I were talking about "writing" one night. We were both educated together for many years, and in our younger days we studied quite a bit of greek literature in which the authors' (usually poets) "Muses" would be invoked to help with the writing of something. This "Muse" idea has stuck with the both of us over the years and we were mulling it over together one night a few weeks ago. This poem comes from that conversation. I dedicate it to him. Love you, Noah.
Ode to Muse.
To speak in candor of her most curious ways,
This muse of mine visits not hither to stay
But her arrival thereupon, whenever occasioned,
From her expressive appeasement, I muster no dissuasion.
Speak must she, 'tis mine merely to acceed
To her inspiration, however may she seem.
An intemperate storm of intellectual leaning,
Self-bruits through me with her relentless meaning.
Obedient am I, if not left always wondering
If someday I may predict her giddy wandering--
If I'll understand her one day, as she fathoms me
Or if a thing predictable a muse cannot ever, ever be.
T. Emerson
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Paradigms.
I just finished reading "The Shack" by William P. Young, which I highly recommend. It blows a lot of "paradigms" out the proverbial window and offers a plentitude of food for thought. Here is just one excerpt amoung many from the title that struck a cord with me.
"Paradigms power perception and perceptions power emotions. Most emotions are responses to perception--what you think is true about a given situation. If your perception is false, then your emotional response to it will be false too. So check your perceptions, and beyond that check the truthfulness of your paradigms--what you believe. The more you live in the truth, the more your emotions will help you see clearly."
A quote chosen by Young placed at the beginning of a chapter:
"Falsehood has an infinity of combinations, but truth has only one mode of being."
-Jean Jacques Rousseau
"Paradigms power perception and perceptions power emotions. Most emotions are responses to perception--what you think is true about a given situation. If your perception is false, then your emotional response to it will be false too. So check your perceptions, and beyond that check the truthfulness of your paradigms--what you believe. The more you live in the truth, the more your emotions will help you see clearly."
A quote chosen by Young placed at the beginning of a chapter:
-Jean Jacques Rousseau
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Thoughts on Painted Deserts and a thing called "Beauty"
It's no secret that I'm a fan of Donald Miller's. I've been accused of being a "crowd follower" for it, but I care not. I've read all that he's published so far and eagerly await the release of his newest endeavor: "Story, Why Some People's Lives Make Sense and Others Don't." His second book "Searching for God Knows What" is probably my favorite, although one must really read "Blue Like Jazz" first, to get a feel for Don. Recently, however I've revisited some of the themes that made me think when I initially encountered them in "Through Painted Deserts", the third release, involving a story of a summer long road trip (or pilgrimage, rather) from Texas to Oregon taking place in Miller's younger epoch. :-)
What I came away with in reading the theologically speckled narrative, was Don Miller's intriguing treatment of the time honored if not wearied "Question" as to why, just why are we here?
His answer, I found, began to come when he talked about his first experience truly witnessing the beauty of nature in Oregon. The guy connects with the outdoors. Or it connects with him, however you want to look at it. I wonder if it's because he grew up in Texas and so he appreciates green when he sees it, or if God just wired him that way. :-) I was moved by his description of some Oregonian mountains at night, as he stood there with his friend observing them, waiting for dawn. The very mountains around which I've spent the sum of my life, and never perceived and appreciated in such a manner:
"The mountains are silhouetted like sleeping dragons. There is a deep, blue coolness at the western edge of the landscape, where a few stars linger, their last flickered flames shimmering. And if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find two strangers in their fences, standing in admiration as a breathing read pours its tinge upon earths shore. These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent to that man's weak praise should be given Gods attention."
I love the metaphor. He elaborates much more throughout the book about the whole idea and the reason that nature answers the great "Why" Question to him (though, do please keep in mind that the book offers 250 or more pages of context to his message that I cannot justly deliver in a blog...):
"I used to have all these theories about life. I thought I had everybody figured out, even God, but I don't. I think the woods, being away from all the clingy soot of commercialism has taught me life is enormous, and I am very tiny in the middle of it yet the chemicals in my brain that make me feel beauty when I look up at the stars, when I watch the sunset, indicate that I must be here for a reason. I think I would sum it up this way: life is not a story about me, but it is being told to me, and I can be glad of that. I think that is the why of life and, in fact, the why of this ancient faith I am caught up in: to enjoy God. The stars were created to dazzle us, like a love letter; light itself is just a metaphor, something that exists outside of time, made up of what seems like nothing, infinite in its power, something that can be experienced but not understood, like God.Its all a metaphor, and the story is about us; its about all of us who God made, and God Himself, just enjoying each other. I think we are supposed to stand in deserts and marvel at how the sun rises. I think we are supposed to sleep in meadows and watch the stars. I think life is spirituality."
These particular excerpts aptly represent more or less a reappearing theme in the story plot: the proposition that God intended to reveal himself to us through His creation, largely through its beauty. I guess it's a new way to look at the whole idea of "natural revelation", huh?
This led me to thinking--naturally--as Don Miller's perspectives generally do. I was thinking about that book called The 5 Love Languages written by Gary Chapman. I had recently read that book as well, and began to try and amalgamate apparent principles from both it and Painted Deserts. In Chapman's book, he describes the five different categories in which humans give and receive love. He categorizes man's demonstrations of love as such: quality time, gift giving, words of affirmation, acts of service, and physical touch.
I find it fascinating that every living, breathing human being has a fundamental need for love. I could expound on this to prove why, but I don't think it's necessary. I also find it interesting that we all give and get it in so many different ways.
Likewise, I think that God has all of these love languages, and more. And God's love is perfect, as He mentions once or twice, so He "speaks" all love languages, but Beauty happens to be one of the vast many of these: God gives us beautiful things to love us. That (among other reasons) is why He gave Eve to Adam, as the story goes. That is why He gave us anything beautiful, I think.
In the same way, I think that His earthly and created beauty was originally perfect. His creation was perfect, but the one hole He left--the one that made it all so painful and yet so bafflingly still worthwhile to Him--freewill, screwed it up. And the beauty that we witness in His creation can be a reflection of that. But it's a dim one like Paul discussed. A dim "reflection" of what's to come. The beauty that we behold today in not just "nature," but anywhere, must be flawed, as is our own love and general state of being.
I imagine that as we "see" dimly in the same way that Paul says we love dimly and therefore experience a dimmer beauty as a result. Our general earthly experience here is "dimmer," something C.S. Lewis touches upon in "The Great Divorce". That's a good one, too, by the way. We will see clearly someday, it says. Someday we'll understand true and undefiled love and beauty. But maybe we'll be able to appreciate it more because we will know the difference, too--another point in apology for freewill, I do surmise. Hmm, something to be mulled over a bit further....
So, our love is imperfect. That was quite a realization to me, at one point. I remember reading I Corinthians 13 and getting immensely frustrated with what I thought the message was. One day, while venting to a friend I read off the qualities of love found in the passage: patience, kindness, not ever envious, not boastful, not selfish or rude, always gives the benefit of the doubt, doesnt get angry--and on and on.
I was frustrated because I knew that I loved those around me. I knew what love felt like. I had given it, I had received it, but my life did not, does not, and never will look like that 100%. "If this is what love is supposed to look like" I said, "what the heck is it that we love with?!" She shrugged and said most nonchalantly and ever wisely, "imperfect love."
Duh. Way obvious. Of course--as usual--the idealist in me was assuming that it was all or nothing. If I did not embody this passage of a letter from Paul to the Corinthians of ca. First Century AD I didn't love. Period. Not true, thank God. I have never been aquainted with anyone who lives and loves with every one of these qualities: perfectly. But I know people that love me, and I know that I love them.
So, the question follows: why the imperfection in such a thing as love--so fundamental to our emotional, if not spiritual, health?
Sin is a dysfunctional disease. Its a relational disorder, to be more precise. There is no sin that does not affect somewhere along the line the Ptolemaic Chain of Being-like hierarchy of relationships in which we all exist. There is not way around it: our actions affect others.
So, the fact that we love imperfectly is just one more symptom of this Epic Dysfunction, and how the imperfection of our love manifests itself in our lives, daily or overall (though, can you really separate the two, I wonder?) varies. One may struggle with patience, which may lead to anger and unkindness. Another may struggle more with being insecure and jealous/envious of others or others property--this is one manifestation of selfishness. Anyhow, it all leads back to pride, hands down, for this--I find over and over-- the root of all sin, or rather Dysfunction if you so prefer to label it, just to bring the point back around.
So even as beauty is a perhaps a subcategory of God's love to us, the whole idea of beauty reflects that of love; it kind of works in the same way. Just as we love imperfectly and experience it imperfectly, the beauty we experience is imperfect as well. Both must be pretty awesome in their perfect forms if they're so good even as imperfect as we know them. Someday. Also, we experience love in so many different ways, in different languages as said before, and likewise I believe we also experience beauty in different ways similar to "languages." That's an entire subject in itself. And it's sometimes through beauty/love that He chooses to remind us of the Why, and what "it" is all about.
I've been thinking and probably learning so much on this topic of late, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe I'll have to go back and read the book again, huh? Every once in a while (more often than not, actually) I need a reminder that "life is spirituality" as Don succinctly puts it. It's a beautiful thing. ;-) There's a lot to pursue here, as thematically speaking. I'm sure there's more coming.
What I came away with in reading the theologically speckled narrative, was Don Miller's intriguing treatment of the time honored if not wearied "Question" as to why, just why are we here?
His answer, I found, began to come when he talked about his first experience truly witnessing the beauty of nature in Oregon. The guy connects with the outdoors. Or it connects with him, however you want to look at it. I wonder if it's because he grew up in Texas and so he appreciates green when he sees it, or if God just wired him that way. :-) I was moved by his description of some Oregonian mountains at night, as he stood there with his friend observing them, waiting for dawn. The very mountains around which I've spent the sum of my life, and never perceived and appreciated in such a manner:
"The mountains are silhouetted like sleeping dragons. There is a deep, blue coolness at the western edge of the landscape, where a few stars linger, their last flickered flames shimmering. And if these mountains had eyes, they would wake to find two strangers in their fences, standing in admiration as a breathing read pours its tinge upon earths shore. These mountains, which have seen untold sunrises, long to thunder praise but stand reverent, silent to that man's weak praise should be given Gods attention."
I love the metaphor. He elaborates much more throughout the book about the whole idea and the reason that nature answers the great "Why" Question to him (though, do please keep in mind that the book offers 250 or more pages of context to his message that I cannot justly deliver in a blog...):
"I used to have all these theories about life. I thought I had everybody figured out, even God, but I don't. I think the woods, being away from all the clingy soot of commercialism has taught me life is enormous, and I am very tiny in the middle of it yet the chemicals in my brain that make me feel beauty when I look up at the stars, when I watch the sunset, indicate that I must be here for a reason. I think I would sum it up this way: life is not a story about me, but it is being told to me, and I can be glad of that. I think that is the why of life and, in fact, the why of this ancient faith I am caught up in: to enjoy God. The stars were created to dazzle us, like a love letter; light itself is just a metaphor, something that exists outside of time, made up of what seems like nothing, infinite in its power, something that can be experienced but not understood, like God.Its all a metaphor, and the story is about us; its about all of us who God made, and God Himself, just enjoying each other. I think we are supposed to stand in deserts and marvel at how the sun rises. I think we are supposed to sleep in meadows and watch the stars. I think life is spirituality."
These particular excerpts aptly represent more or less a reappearing theme in the story plot: the proposition that God intended to reveal himself to us through His creation, largely through its beauty. I guess it's a new way to look at the whole idea of "natural revelation", huh?
This led me to thinking--naturally--as Don Miller's perspectives generally do. I was thinking about that book called The 5 Love Languages written by Gary Chapman. I had recently read that book as well, and began to try and amalgamate apparent principles from both it and Painted Deserts. In Chapman's book, he describes the five different categories in which humans give and receive love. He categorizes man's demonstrations of love as such: quality time, gift giving, words of affirmation, acts of service, and physical touch.
I find it fascinating that every living, breathing human being has a fundamental need for love. I could expound on this to prove why, but I don't think it's necessary. I also find it interesting that we all give and get it in so many different ways.
Likewise, I think that God has all of these love languages, and more. And God's love is perfect, as He mentions once or twice, so He "speaks" all love languages, but Beauty happens to be one of the vast many of these: God gives us beautiful things to love us. That (among other reasons) is why He gave Eve to Adam, as the story goes. That is why He gave us anything beautiful, I think.
In the same way, I think that His earthly and created beauty was originally perfect. His creation was perfect, but the one hole He left--the one that made it all so painful and yet so bafflingly still worthwhile to Him--freewill, screwed it up. And the beauty that we witness in His creation can be a reflection of that. But it's a dim one like Paul discussed. A dim "reflection" of what's to come. The beauty that we behold today in not just "nature," but anywhere, must be flawed, as is our own love and general state of being.
I imagine that as we "see" dimly in the same way that Paul says we love dimly and therefore experience a dimmer beauty as a result. Our general earthly experience here is "dimmer," something C.S. Lewis touches upon in "The Great Divorce". That's a good one, too, by the way. We will see clearly someday, it says. Someday we'll understand true and undefiled love and beauty. But maybe we'll be able to appreciate it more because we will know the difference, too--another point in apology for freewill, I do surmise. Hmm, something to be mulled over a bit further....
So, our love is imperfect. That was quite a realization to me, at one point. I remember reading I Corinthians 13 and getting immensely frustrated with what I thought the message was. One day, while venting to a friend I read off the qualities of love found in the passage: patience, kindness, not ever envious, not boastful, not selfish or rude, always gives the benefit of the doubt, doesnt get angry--and on and on.
I was frustrated because I knew that I loved those around me. I knew what love felt like. I had given it, I had received it, but my life did not, does not, and never will look like that 100%. "If this is what love is supposed to look like" I said, "what the heck is it that we love with?!" She shrugged and said most nonchalantly and ever wisely, "imperfect love."
Duh. Way obvious. Of course--as usual--the idealist in me was assuming that it was all or nothing. If I did not embody this passage of a letter from Paul to the Corinthians of ca. First Century AD I didn't love. Period. Not true, thank God. I have never been aquainted with anyone who lives and loves with every one of these qualities: perfectly. But I know people that love me, and I know that I love them.
So, the question follows: why the imperfection in such a thing as love--so fundamental to our emotional, if not spiritual, health?
Sin is a dysfunctional disease. Its a relational disorder, to be more precise. There is no sin that does not affect somewhere along the line the Ptolemaic Chain of Being-like hierarchy of relationships in which we all exist. There is not way around it: our actions affect others.
So, the fact that we love imperfectly is just one more symptom of this Epic Dysfunction, and how the imperfection of our love manifests itself in our lives, daily or overall (though, can you really separate the two, I wonder?) varies. One may struggle with patience, which may lead to anger and unkindness. Another may struggle more with being insecure and jealous/envious of others or others property--this is one manifestation of selfishness. Anyhow, it all leads back to pride, hands down, for this--I find over and over-- the root of all sin, or rather Dysfunction if you so prefer to label it, just to bring the point back around.
So even as beauty is a perhaps a subcategory of God's love to us, the whole idea of beauty reflects that of love; it kind of works in the same way. Just as we love imperfectly and experience it imperfectly, the beauty we experience is imperfect as well. Both must be pretty awesome in their perfect forms if they're so good even as imperfect as we know them. Someday. Also, we experience love in so many different ways, in different languages as said before, and likewise I believe we also experience beauty in different ways similar to "languages." That's an entire subject in itself. And it's sometimes through beauty/love that He chooses to remind us of the Why, and what "it" is all about.
I've been thinking and probably learning so much on this topic of late, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe I'll have to go back and read the book again, huh? Every once in a while (more often than not, actually) I need a reminder that "life is spirituality" as Don succinctly puts it. It's a beautiful thing. ;-) There's a lot to pursue here, as thematically speaking. I'm sure there's more coming.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Mi Manca l'Italia...
I was listening to Rascal Flatts the other day and it reminded me of my summer in Italy.
There's a lot going on in my mind and I'm sorting through some stuff right now, and some of it hurts.
I remember watching the movie Bewitched (cheesy, I know, but hey, it starred Will Ferrell...), and near the end Samantha's dad advises her to "go home" to sort through the stuff that was going on in her life. She was, well, a witch, and reminded her father that she didn't have one. He then told her to go to the place where she was ever felt the most happy.
Not a lot about that flic actually made me think, but that comment did. I realized that after the summer that I spent at the Mulino camp in Caserta, Italy near Naples, going back to Italy will always feel a little bit like going home.
There was a lot about that summer and about being in Italy that was difficult that summer, but overall I never felt more alive than when I was there and with my Italian friends and "family". I was so happy in Italy. By the end of the summer I was ready to sell everything and stay. I almost did. But I finished school instead.
I went there with my aunt and uncle and five of their kids (and a couple of extras) for three months to repair and fix up Il Vecchio Mulino--a summer camp that was flooded that May before we got there. We worked with a couple of Italian churches with which the camp was affiliated and helped with a big international (American/Italian) festival that happened near the end of the summer.
I went to help with the manual labor at the camp and translate. I loved it. My Italian wasn't spectacular when I went, but I learned so much while I was there and never tired of speaking it. I still light up whenever I get the opportunity to converse in it, which is not often.
One of my other duties was to do the dishes for the family everyday, twice a day, by hand. I actually liked it. And everyday, for every meal we would eat out on the patio and listen to country music during the meal. Then, I would do the dishes and listen to Rascal Flatts.
"Fast Cars and Freedom" unfailingly, every time I hear it immediately transports me to the huge kitchen in the Mulino, singing with my aunt and cousin Hannah and enjoying the beautiful Italian summer weather. I was listening to it the other day, and I began to think about Italy. And I haven't stopped thinking about it for the last couple of days.
I guess it's because I'm going through a transition time in life not being in school and wondering what the next adventure is and everything that makes me think back to that time when I was the "most happy" and think back to a place that would be "home" apart from the home in which I grew up. It's a way of wanting to escape difficulty perhaps, I don't know. But, I began to realize once more how much I loved and miss Italy. I began to think of all the things that I miss about it. I can't wait to go back. The following is a list of a number of things I miss about the place.
I miss:
-Simona, Serena, Erica, Roberta, and all of the girls that let me into their lives while I was there.
-All of their families, and more.
-The dumb red chairs at the Casoria church that we had to install on the hottest day of the summer.
-Waiting up until Midnight with my cousin to see the Mafia drive by everynight, and falling asleep to chick flic DVDs.
-Doing the dishes to Rascal Flatts and Lonestar everyday.
-Water fights with Simona.
-Wading chest deep in the creek to clean it out and freaking out whenever we'd see a watersnake.
-The Pund's, the American family that lived full-time at the Mulino.
-The ivy and other greenery that climbed the walls of the 1000 year old building that we lived in.
-Yelling at the neighbor kids in Italian.
-Hanging out on the roof.
-Cramming 11+ bodies in a 9 passenger van.
-Gelato
-Living next door to a Pizzeria.
-Pizza Margherita
-Marco Gemma, the Italian kid that lived with us for a month at the Mulino.
-Playing soccer with the Italians.
-Pasta.
-Singing in church in Italian.
-Caffè all of the time.
-Sleepovers with my Italian girls.
-Peaches and Wine.
-Watching my uncle pause and belt out "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" while working.
-Laughing and laughing and laughing with my cousins (esp. Hannah and Billy....)
-Being dragged all over the place to translate something.
-Sweeping the dusty Mulino ALL THE TIME.
-My cousins making a formation around me and Hannah so the Italian boys couldn't check us out.
-The fresh fruit and hard bread.
-Talks about God with my Italian girls and Cecily Pund. Amazing.
-The passion that I encountered in just about everyone there.
-Heating arguments in Italian.
-My Italian hairdresser. ;-P
-Gaudy jewelry that I would never wear here.
-My Italian tan.
-Pushy street vendors and friday markets.
-The smell of downtown Naples.
-Public transportation in Rome and all the toll booths on the "free"ways.
-Ipercoop.
-Italian potlucks. Mamma Mia!
-Saying "Mamma Mia" all the time.
-Kissing people on the cheek to say hello (most of the time...).
-Day trips on the weekends to Sorrento.
-Getting sick of going to Rome.
-Helping the Pund girls with their homeschool work.
-The Mulino. Everything about it.
I was talking to my aunt the other day about that summer. I think we all miss it. I hope I can go back and live there someday, maybe even at the Mulino. I miss Italy. Or, better put: "Come mi manca l'Italia!!" I can't wait to go "home". Ci ho lasciato il mio cuore in tutto.
-T. Emerson
There's a lot going on in my mind and I'm sorting through some stuff right now, and some of it hurts.
I remember watching the movie Bewitched (cheesy, I know, but hey, it starred Will Ferrell...), and near the end Samantha's dad advises her to "go home" to sort through the stuff that was going on in her life. She was, well, a witch, and reminded her father that she didn't have one. He then told her to go to the place where she was ever felt the most happy.
Not a lot about that flic actually made me think, but that comment did. I realized that after the summer that I spent at the Mulino camp in Caserta, Italy near Naples, going back to Italy will always feel a little bit like going home.
There was a lot about that summer and about being in Italy that was difficult that summer, but overall I never felt more alive than when I was there and with my Italian friends and "family". I was so happy in Italy. By the end of the summer I was ready to sell everything and stay. I almost did. But I finished school instead.
I went there with my aunt and uncle and five of their kids (and a couple of extras) for three months to repair and fix up Il Vecchio Mulino--a summer camp that was flooded that May before we got there. We worked with a couple of Italian churches with which the camp was affiliated and helped with a big international (American/Italian) festival that happened near the end of the summer.
I went to help with the manual labor at the camp and translate. I loved it. My Italian wasn't spectacular when I went, but I learned so much while I was there and never tired of speaking it. I still light up whenever I get the opportunity to converse in it, which is not often.
One of my other duties was to do the dishes for the family everyday, twice a day, by hand. I actually liked it. And everyday, for every meal we would eat out on the patio and listen to country music during the meal. Then, I would do the dishes and listen to Rascal Flatts.
"Fast Cars and Freedom" unfailingly, every time I hear it immediately transports me to the huge kitchen in the Mulino, singing with my aunt and cousin Hannah and enjoying the beautiful Italian summer weather. I was listening to it the other day, and I began to think about Italy. And I haven't stopped thinking about it for the last couple of days.
I guess it's because I'm going through a transition time in life not being in school and wondering what the next adventure is and everything that makes me think back to that time when I was the "most happy" and think back to a place that would be "home" apart from the home in which I grew up. It's a way of wanting to escape difficulty perhaps, I don't know. But, I began to realize once more how much I loved and miss Italy. I began to think of all the things that I miss about it. I can't wait to go back. The following is a list of a number of things I miss about the place.
I miss:
-Simona, Serena, Erica, Roberta, and all of the girls that let me into their lives while I was there.
-All of their families, and more.
-The dumb red chairs at the Casoria church that we had to install on the hottest day of the summer.
-Waiting up until Midnight with my cousin to see the Mafia drive by everynight, and falling asleep to chick flic DVDs.
-Doing the dishes to Rascal Flatts and Lonestar everyday.
-Water fights with Simona.
-Wading chest deep in the creek to clean it out and freaking out whenever we'd see a watersnake.
-The Pund's, the American family that lived full-time at the Mulino.
-The ivy and other greenery that climbed the walls of the 1000 year old building that we lived in.
-Yelling at the neighbor kids in Italian.
-Hanging out on the roof.
-Cramming 11+ bodies in a 9 passenger van.
-Gelato
-Living next door to a Pizzeria.
-Pizza Margherita
-Marco Gemma, the Italian kid that lived with us for a month at the Mulino.
-Playing soccer with the Italians.
-Pasta.
-Singing in church in Italian.
-Caffè all of the time.
-Sleepovers with my Italian girls.
-Peaches and Wine.
-Watching my uncle pause and belt out "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman" while working.
-Laughing and laughing and laughing with my cousins (esp. Hannah and Billy....)
-Being dragged all over the place to translate something.
-Sweeping the dusty Mulino ALL THE TIME.
-My cousins making a formation around me and Hannah so the Italian boys couldn't check us out.
-The fresh fruit and hard bread.
-Talks about God with my Italian girls and Cecily Pund. Amazing.
-The passion that I encountered in just about everyone there.
-Heating arguments in Italian.
-My Italian hairdresser. ;-P
-Gaudy jewelry that I would never wear here.
-My Italian tan.
-Pushy street vendors and friday markets.
-The smell of downtown Naples.
-Public transportation in Rome and all the toll booths on the "free"ways.
-Ipercoop.
-Italian potlucks. Mamma Mia!
-Saying "Mamma Mia" all the time.
-Kissing people on the cheek to say hello (most of the time...).
-Day trips on the weekends to Sorrento.
-Getting sick of going to Rome.
-Helping the Pund girls with their homeschool work.
-The Mulino. Everything about it.
I was talking to my aunt the other day about that summer. I think we all miss it. I hope I can go back and live there someday, maybe even at the Mulino. I miss Italy. Or, better put: "Come mi manca l'Italia!!" I can't wait to go "home". Ci ho lasciato il mio cuore in tutto.
-T. Emerson
High Standards (?)
(Written August 2007)
My dad told me once that I had high standards for people. I wondered for a while what exactly he meant by that and wondered if he was right. I asked him about it later and he said that I expected people to live what they believed and back up what they say with their life, because I expect myself to do the same thing. He was right. He also said that not everyone was like that, and to be aware of that. I didn't want to.
My sister once told me that I have a very strong sense of injustice. She threw me off guard when she said it because I instantly knew she was right and I had never before articulated that about myself even cerebrally. My mom was sitting right there and began to nod her head without a moment's hesitation. They're all right, really--My dad, mom and my sister. I'm not sure whether to hate these things about myself or not. I guess the issues of high standards and strong sense of injustice are more than marginally intertwined, eh?
I see now, in retrospect, things and people that have happened in my life that prove both my "high standards for people" and this apparent "strong sense of injustice". I'm beginning to see now as well how some frustrations in my life right now have to do with that, and I don't know how to change it.
Why can't people just do what they say they will? Why can't they just live by their ideals? Or, at least, admit it when they fail and then get back up again and keep trying. I guess that's most important to me: the effort to make one's words and ideals correlate with his/her actions on a day to day basis or a verbal acknowledgement of failing whenever it occurs.
However, In my "defense" I guess you could say, I do tend to assume the best about people at first. I don't just expect them to be/do what they say, but I assume that they do. And then I often get disappointed. And/or hurt. But I assume the best about others (or try to) because I would want them to do the same for me. So, for me not to do so would be hypocritical of myself.
So I willfully remain naive about many people, for such reasons. But I do fail sometimes. Actually often. Sometimes I don't give people the benefit of the doubt when I should. But when I do, I want to be called on it. I want those around me to tell me when I'm being hypocritical because I don't want to be that way. Friends want friends to become better people, right? But never does this mean that one doesn't love them implicitly--warts and all. I need help, and expect those closest to me to give input.
So then comes the part when I assume that everyone else has the same "benefit of the doubt" philosophy for others in life and get hurt when the reality that my dad warned me about hits. A lot of people say one thing and do another. We all do. This sucks.
We're flawed. We're a freaking flawed race. It's heartbreaking. Everywhere, if one pauses long enough, I think that we can all see the way some, if not a lot of things should be and aren't. Things "should be" one way and then you throw people in the mix and it screws everything up. We screw everything up because we can't be what we want to be. Or we are what we want to be, and what we want to be is utterly all about us. Did that make sense?
There are two types. There are those whose ideals and/or belief systems say to put others first. Because, in reality, if life were all about each one of us and each one of us only, it just wouldn't work because our lives are so intricately intertwined and webbed, really. Our actions DO, in fact, affect others and it's impossible to not live with ramifications of that fact. Impossible.
Then there are those that ignore such a little reality and proceed to live their lives looking out for "1" at all times and mow through life, sometimes at the expense of others--plowing down those around them.
I realize that these are two extremes, and maybe we all have moments in either category, but these different poles of life philosophies must be considered. Self-examination must occur to make this world a better place. It starts with me. It starts with you. It starts with the individual. Is anything ever truly corporate if every last individual does not participate? Everyone must do their part. And it's frustrating because there's no way to make that happen. Which end of the life philosophy spectrum do I fall on today? Yourself?
We're flawed. We can't judge one another about it either, because we're all that way. I believe it pretty strongly.
It's ugly isn't it? I just think that it would be a lot better place if we could all assume the best about one another because then I think we'd all desire more to live up to that....I may have high standards, but I'm still not so sure that they're too high.
I know this sounds incredibly idealistic. And perhaps this is written with more Pathos than Logos, but I'm throwing it out there for discussion. And thought. I guess I'll keep brewing this one...
My dad told me once that I had high standards for people. I wondered for a while what exactly he meant by that and wondered if he was right. I asked him about it later and he said that I expected people to live what they believed and back up what they say with their life, because I expect myself to do the same thing. He was right. He also said that not everyone was like that, and to be aware of that. I didn't want to.
My sister once told me that I have a very strong sense of injustice. She threw me off guard when she said it because I instantly knew she was right and I had never before articulated that about myself even cerebrally. My mom was sitting right there and began to nod her head without a moment's hesitation. They're all right, really--My dad, mom and my sister. I'm not sure whether to hate these things about myself or not. I guess the issues of high standards and strong sense of injustice are more than marginally intertwined, eh?
I see now, in retrospect, things and people that have happened in my life that prove both my "high standards for people" and this apparent "strong sense of injustice". I'm beginning to see now as well how some frustrations in my life right now have to do with that, and I don't know how to change it.
Why can't people just do what they say they will? Why can't they just live by their ideals? Or, at least, admit it when they fail and then get back up again and keep trying. I guess that's most important to me: the effort to make one's words and ideals correlate with his/her actions on a day to day basis or a verbal acknowledgement of failing whenever it occurs.
However, In my "defense" I guess you could say, I do tend to assume the best about people at first. I don't just expect them to be/do what they say, but I assume that they do. And then I often get disappointed. And/or hurt. But I assume the best about others (or try to) because I would want them to do the same for me. So, for me not to do so would be hypocritical of myself.
So I willfully remain naive about many people, for such reasons. But I do fail sometimes. Actually often. Sometimes I don't give people the benefit of the doubt when I should. But when I do, I want to be called on it. I want those around me to tell me when I'm being hypocritical because I don't want to be that way. Friends want friends to become better people, right? But never does this mean that one doesn't love them implicitly--warts and all. I need help, and expect those closest to me to give input.
So then comes the part when I assume that everyone else has the same "benefit of the doubt" philosophy for others in life and get hurt when the reality that my dad warned me about hits. A lot of people say one thing and do another. We all do. This sucks.
We're flawed. We're a freaking flawed race. It's heartbreaking. Everywhere, if one pauses long enough, I think that we can all see the way some, if not a lot of things should be and aren't. Things "should be" one way and then you throw people in the mix and it screws everything up. We screw everything up because we can't be what we want to be. Or we are what we want to be, and what we want to be is utterly all about us. Did that make sense?
There are two types. There are those whose ideals and/or belief systems say to put others first. Because, in reality, if life were all about each one of us and each one of us only, it just wouldn't work because our lives are so intricately intertwined and webbed, really. Our actions DO, in fact, affect others and it's impossible to not live with ramifications of that fact. Impossible.
Then there are those that ignore such a little reality and proceed to live their lives looking out for "1" at all times and mow through life, sometimes at the expense of others--plowing down those around them.
I realize that these are two extremes, and maybe we all have moments in either category, but these different poles of life philosophies must be considered. Self-examination must occur to make this world a better place. It starts with me. It starts with you. It starts with the individual. Is anything ever truly corporate if every last individual does not participate? Everyone must do their part. And it's frustrating because there's no way to make that happen. Which end of the life philosophy spectrum do I fall on today? Yourself?
We're flawed. We can't judge one another about it either, because we're all that way. I believe it pretty strongly.
It's ugly isn't it? I just think that it would be a lot better place if we could all assume the best about one another because then I think we'd all desire more to live up to that....I may have high standards, but I'm still not so sure that they're too high.
I know this sounds incredibly idealistic. And perhaps this is written with more Pathos than Logos, but I'm throwing it out there for discussion. And thought. I guess I'll keep brewing this one...
Monday, September 10, 2007
Juste une petite prière pour l’été
Chèr Seigneur,
Comme Tu sais tres bien, Seigneur mien, ce boulot me "work over" à l'instant. Toutes ces choses, et je veux bien dire toutes choses pour le moment me font chier. J'ai un capot qui me monte au nez, l'autre me plait trop et cela c'est un autre issu tout entier.
Les guests sont ennuyeux, pour m'exprimer avec un peu de politesse. Ils sont gros et vieux, prèsque tous qui descend le train, le tout petit train où je travaille. Ce qui m'ennuie le plus Seigneur, c'est que ils ne sont plus des individus à moi, ils sont plutôt comme des vaches! On les assemble en troupeau sur le train, leur fait manger, et puis les rassemble en troupeau pour le descendre encore--et puis on le fait tout de nouveau! Trois fois par jour!
Et j'adore les gens. Je déteste avec d'une grande passion que je ne puisse pas les connaitre plus loin de ce qu'ils veulent manger, et s'ils veulent peut-être aussi du dessert. Je me sens que j'ai de la chance si je peux même leur parler un peu d'où viennent-ils. C'est tout trop pour moi: "je ne vais pas blaguer!"
Quoique toute chose m'agace pour l'instant, ce n'est point niable que j'ai beaucoup appris et découvert sur moi-même dans cet expérience.
D'abord, j'ai aperçu que j'ai besoin d'avoir un métier ou je puisse investir en les autres avec lesquels je travaille. Je veux les bien connaitre avant d'avoir "fini" avec n'importe qui arrive dans ma voie professionelle. Est-ce que c'est egöiste vouloir changer les gens, les influencer pour le mieux? Cela me "pleint"--pleint mon âme si on peut le dire, lorsque j'arrive à pouvoir faire cela avec quelqu'un. Vouloir faire penser à des gens à travers un bon rapport ou paroles parlées dans le contexte de bonnes et même parfois profondes conversation, c'est ce que j'adore.
Cela ne me parait pas a se passer présque jamais. Sauf avec ceux avec qui je travaille. J'éspère vraiment que je garderai des amitié que j'ai fait ici, quelques-en en tout cas.
J'ai bu plus cet été que j'ai jamais bu dans ma vie. Et j'ai fumer peut-être même plus. Zut. Et ce que je ne regrette pas, c'est que je ne le regrette pas vraiment, et je le ferais encore. C'est quoi, ça? Qu'est-ce on y fait, Dieu? Comment serai-je changée lorsque je rentre? C'est pour le mieux? Je suis "grandie" un peu, je le sais, mais, certainement non spirituellement. Mais cela viendra, non, Père? Je te prie que oui. Tu me manques un peu, mais j'ai une idée que le rapport avec Toi à l'avenir sera tout mieux à cause de ce que j'ai experimenté ici. Ce n'est pas que je ne t'ai pas du tout "connu" cet été, c'est juste que je n'ai pas été si proche à Toi que j'aurais préféré être. Tu le sais bien, Seigneur.
Il y a certes des "thèmes" pour l'été, et je dirai, Seigneur, et la patience en serait un. Tu veux non seulement que j'aie de la patience avec des gens que je sers, mais aussi avec ce que Tu fais toi dans et avec ma vie. Zut, cette "patience" particulière dont je parle est vachement difficile pour moi, non? Je dois toujours te comprendre quand je veux ou je suis conne de tout! Et j'en suis desollée. Aie de la patience avec moi. Je sais que je ne dois pas la demander, Tu en es. Merci de ça. Est-ce que je comprendrai un jour...? Est-ce je ferai grande faute? Comme je fais chaque jour maintenant, je suppose. Mais est-ce que je vais faire des choses que je regretterai pour toute la vie qui reste? Aide-moi, ah mon Seigneur! J'en ai tant besoin.... Tu le sais mieux de toute autre personne....
Je t'aime. Et je veux apprendre t'aimer avec toute ma pauvre vie.
-T. Emerson, celle qui veut vivre une folie plus ou moins logique.
Comme Tu sais tres bien, Seigneur mien, ce boulot me "work over" à l'instant. Toutes ces choses, et je veux bien dire toutes choses pour le moment me font chier. J'ai un capot qui me monte au nez, l'autre me plait trop et cela c'est un autre issu tout entier.
Les guests sont ennuyeux, pour m'exprimer avec un peu de politesse. Ils sont gros et vieux, prèsque tous qui descend le train, le tout petit train où je travaille. Ce qui m'ennuie le plus Seigneur, c'est que ils ne sont plus des individus à moi, ils sont plutôt comme des vaches! On les assemble en troupeau sur le train, leur fait manger, et puis les rassemble en troupeau pour le descendre encore--et puis on le fait tout de nouveau! Trois fois par jour!
Et j'adore les gens. Je déteste avec d'une grande passion que je ne puisse pas les connaitre plus loin de ce qu'ils veulent manger, et s'ils veulent peut-être aussi du dessert. Je me sens que j'ai de la chance si je peux même leur parler un peu d'où viennent-ils. C'est tout trop pour moi: "je ne vais pas blaguer!"
Quoique toute chose m'agace pour l'instant, ce n'est point niable que j'ai beaucoup appris et découvert sur moi-même dans cet expérience.
D'abord, j'ai aperçu que j'ai besoin d'avoir un métier ou je puisse investir en les autres avec lesquels je travaille. Je veux les bien connaitre avant d'avoir "fini" avec n'importe qui arrive dans ma voie professionelle. Est-ce que c'est egöiste vouloir changer les gens, les influencer pour le mieux? Cela me "pleint"--pleint mon âme si on peut le dire, lorsque j'arrive à pouvoir faire cela avec quelqu'un. Vouloir faire penser à des gens à travers un bon rapport ou paroles parlées dans le contexte de bonnes et même parfois profondes conversation, c'est ce que j'adore.
Cela ne me parait pas a se passer présque jamais. Sauf avec ceux avec qui je travaille. J'éspère vraiment que je garderai des amitié que j'ai fait ici, quelques-en en tout cas.
J'ai bu plus cet été que j'ai jamais bu dans ma vie. Et j'ai fumer peut-être même plus. Zut. Et ce que je ne regrette pas, c'est que je ne le regrette pas vraiment, et je le ferais encore. C'est quoi, ça? Qu'est-ce on y fait, Dieu? Comment serai-je changée lorsque je rentre? C'est pour le mieux? Je suis "grandie" un peu, je le sais, mais, certainement non spirituellement. Mais cela viendra, non, Père? Je te prie que oui. Tu me manques un peu, mais j'ai une idée que le rapport avec Toi à l'avenir sera tout mieux à cause de ce que j'ai experimenté ici. Ce n'est pas que je ne t'ai pas du tout "connu" cet été, c'est juste que je n'ai pas été si proche à Toi que j'aurais préféré être. Tu le sais bien, Seigneur.
Il y a certes des "thèmes" pour l'été, et je dirai, Seigneur, et la patience en serait un. Tu veux non seulement que j'aie de la patience avec des gens que je sers, mais aussi avec ce que Tu fais toi dans et avec ma vie. Zut, cette "patience" particulière dont je parle est vachement difficile pour moi, non? Je dois toujours te comprendre quand je veux ou je suis conne de tout! Et j'en suis desollée. Aie de la patience avec moi. Je sais que je ne dois pas la demander, Tu en es. Merci de ça. Est-ce que je comprendrai un jour...? Est-ce je ferai grande faute? Comme je fais chaque jour maintenant, je suppose. Mais est-ce que je vais faire des choses que je regretterai pour toute la vie qui reste? Aide-moi, ah mon Seigneur! J'en ai tant besoin.... Tu le sais mieux de toute autre personne....
Je t'aime. Et je veux apprendre t'aimer avec toute ma pauvre vie.
-T. Emerson, celle qui veut vivre une folie plus ou moins logique.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Poem: Impressionism
Tis not the time of life
To be merely suffered through
Tis rather to be savoured--
Every moment known as true.
The Painter has a vision
To which the Canvas is not privy,
Tis only for the Canvas,
Her postion to go on living.
She wimpers all the while, impatient
Wondering what the Painter sees
He smiles and continues, just pliant
He to has plead with her to be.
He talks her, from time to time,
To remind her that He loves her
This small creation in the making,
Forgets often that she's authored.
Adoring ever is this Painter,
More so than his subject
Who forgets to love the process
Of becoming what she is to be.
T. Emerson
To be merely suffered through
Tis rather to be savoured--
Every moment known as true.
The Painter has a vision
To which the Canvas is not privy,
Tis only for the Canvas,
Her postion to go on living.
She wimpers all the while, impatient
Wondering what the Painter sees
He smiles and continues, just pliant
He to has plead with her to be.
He talks her, from time to time,
To remind her that He loves her
This small creation in the making,
Forgets often that she's authored.
Adoring ever is this Painter,
More so than his subject
Who forgets to love the process
Of becoming what she is to be.
T. Emerson
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