Sunday, November 20, 2011
Blug.
If I don't see the forest and the starry sky and the open land with clouds to the horizon soon, I think I'll shrivel up and forget myself.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Musings on Religion and Spirituality
I sort of wistfully wish I resonated more strongly with Christianity so that I'd get into the Christmas season with the oomph of some of my family and friends, just because it looks so fun. Fun is important. I was talking to Caspian about it last night. I really, really like the representation and symbolism of old religion beliefs and rituals and their emphasis on peace, thoughtfulness, science and deep respect for natural cycles both small and large - microcosms that we can relate to and use as similes for the macrocosm. Its egalitarianism is also truly beautiful and ultimately lacking in Christianity (and most other religions).
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Goodnight, Goodnight
I say I'm calm and collected now, but I had a sad, sad moment last night, just before bed.
I was standing in front of my bookcase, trying to decide on the next book to read, when I had this horrible feeling of disorientation. I really, really, really missed my grandparents who are dead. Grandpa on one side, grandma on the other.
The Beatles' song Goodnight popped into my mind for the first time in decades, and for a completely different reason than before. This song used to make me mad when I was a little kid, because my dad would sing it to me to remind me that my long day of furious playing was at an end, and now it was time to rest. But last night, it came as a sort of tribute to the night sky and to the stars that used to be fixed there that have since gone out.
It's not like I saw my grandparents often; only twice a year at the very most, usually once, sometimes not at all in certain years. But I miss the certainty that they exist, going about their days, being there, being fixtures or compass points in my mind. No matter how lost I got, how confused I was, I knew that these two people, two old, old and different people who had experienced many things, were breathing and loving me. They were the roots of so many dear memories.
It's almost like the stars in the sky have faded or gone out, and now I have to rely upon my memory to guide me. Have I stopped making experiences that I will look back on with such extreme sentimentality? I guess I'm an adult now at almost 30 and I need to woman-up and mark my own compass points, or accept existing in this flux.
I laid on the bed and cried and Caspian made jokes, which is really the best way to deal with me in that state. Later, lying next to him, I asked him if he ever felt like the stars had gone out and he had no way to navigate, and he immediately understood the context I meant. He said no.
I was standing in front of my bookcase, trying to decide on the next book to read, when I had this horrible feeling of disorientation. I really, really, really missed my grandparents who are dead. Grandpa on one side, grandma on the other.
The Beatles' song Goodnight popped into my mind for the first time in decades, and for a completely different reason than before. This song used to make me mad when I was a little kid, because my dad would sing it to me to remind me that my long day of furious playing was at an end, and now it was time to rest. But last night, it came as a sort of tribute to the night sky and to the stars that used to be fixed there that have since gone out.
It's not like I saw my grandparents often; only twice a year at the very most, usually once, sometimes not at all in certain years. But I miss the certainty that they exist, going about their days, being there, being fixtures or compass points in my mind. No matter how lost I got, how confused I was, I knew that these two people, two old, old and different people who had experienced many things, were breathing and loving me. They were the roots of so many dear memories.
It's almost like the stars in the sky have faded or gone out, and now I have to rely upon my memory to guide me. Have I stopped making experiences that I will look back on with such extreme sentimentality? I guess I'm an adult now at almost 30 and I need to woman-up and mark my own compass points, or accept existing in this flux.
I laid on the bed and cried and Caspian made jokes, which is really the best way to deal with me in that state. Later, lying next to him, I asked him if he ever felt like the stars had gone out and he had no way to navigate, and he immediately understood the context I meant. He said no.
Calm and Collected
Am happy. No particular reason why. It might have something to do with the fact that I made the decision to dance for myself, not for anybody else. Competitions may be in the future, but they're not the main reason why I dance. I feel much, much better about things now and I find it much easier to express myself. Felix was so delighted at our last practice session that he almost cried. Ha!
I also realized with derisive mirth that my fleeting desire to have children pretty much stems from my jealousy of all of the vast quantities of unsolicited attention and support new mothers get from everybody else for no other reason than that they've just produced a new human being... Not a good reason for kids. I have some serious maturing to do before ever making that decision. ;)
Just because it's just the two of us doesn't mean we don't need support and attention.
I feel calm and collected and simple and joyful. My parents, my sister and Caspian's parents collaborated to pay for our yuletide flights home, which means a lot of social politicking, but also a lot of fun. I wish our parents lived closer than 40 minutes apart, driving, because we have to constantly travel between them during holidays!
Luckily, I also happen to have three -count them, three! - days off next week, which I will spend writing, writing, writing! I can't wait. Blessed days of wintry weather and coffee and stories.
I also realized with derisive mirth that my fleeting desire to have children pretty much stems from my jealousy of all of the vast quantities of unsolicited attention and support new mothers get from everybody else for no other reason than that they've just produced a new human being... Not a good reason for kids. I have some serious maturing to do before ever making that decision. ;)
Just because it's just the two of us doesn't mean we don't need support and attention.
I feel calm and collected and simple and joyful. My parents, my sister and Caspian's parents collaborated to pay for our yuletide flights home, which means a lot of social politicking, but also a lot of fun. I wish our parents lived closer than 40 minutes apart, driving, because we have to constantly travel between them during holidays!
Luckily, I also happen to have three -count them, three! - days off next week, which I will spend writing, writing, writing! I can't wait. Blessed days of wintry weather and coffee and stories.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Thoughts for a Tuesday
My life will be an expression of me, not you, and I won't envision chains just to strain against them. I will absorb information, and then I will be true to myself.
As much as it sort of shames me and doesn't to say it, I'm not a natural humanitarian. I truly, honestly love animals more than people. One of the highlights of my life was leaving a quiet, air-conditioned government office where I worked 10 hours a day, five days per week working to salvage taxpayers' money for a living, and then finding myself two evenings a week in a loud, smelly cat shelter, holding the tiniest bottle up so that the tiniest kitten could drink from it, cradling that tiny kitten in my hand. I swear to you that the love I felt for that kitten in that moment was more intense than almost any love I have ever felt. I lovingly wiped up feces and vomit and who knows what else, for hours. My hands were made to write/create and to care for animals, truly. Animals are innocent. People - suffering people, oppressed people, young people, old, people, rich and poor and all other kinds - are full of danger and cunning beyond the simple cruelty of nature and beyond my imaginings, and taken as a whole, I often give us up as a lost cause. We are a lost people.
There have been moments in my life when I'd be callous and weary enough to accept a majority of the human population indiscriminately going up in smoke, hopes, dreams and all. To think of the vines and the trees slowly taking it all back. To think of the world in its turning, mind-blowingly slowly and rapidly all in the same moment, forgetting so many of us, so easily. Could you imagine being one of the most beautiful creatures on this earth, a snow leopard, of which an estimated 4 to 6k are still extant? Sometimes I truly believe that our human minds are sacred garbage.
Human killers roam the streets. Animals that escape from refuges to search for food are mercilessly shot down by peacekeepers.
Is understanding necessary for inclusiveness? Nature kills indiscriminately, yet without understanding. Maybe a complete lack of understanding coupled with a complete lack of norms is true equality.
I honestly believe that a fair world is an impossibility; an improbability, rather. It has to do with the very definition of "fair," which is arbitrary. Nature is fair and devastatingly cruel. But only humans enslave other humans and I am doubtful that any voice or group of voices or even an army of futuristic geneticists can change human nature. But what can we change? Is it wrong to focus on the things we can change? Is that "settling" for something less than optimal, or is it truly amassing resources in the most efficient ways and taking full advantage of endlessly varied strengths?
I think it's possible to alleviate, but never cure the ills of the world. And I don't know how fair it is to choose to spend one's time and resources fighting for the poorest of the poor who scrounge for a clean mouthful of water, or those suffering from different forms of complex, lifelong psychological persecution. Maybe we should be fighting against norms themselves, which are interpreted differently by billions of different minds among countless cultures? Perhaps we should devote all of our waking moments to combating all of the evident, real, imaginary, perceived, retroactively recognized and halfway acknowledged injustices in the world?
The sharks are among us; we are the sharks in this bloody ocean. But we are human sharks, and that makes all the difference.
I've recently spent some time delving into the feminist blogosphere, and despite resonating with so many ideas and opinions expressed there by a thousand intelligent people, the very milieu, the medium, the words themselves - the very orientations of the words upon the screen! - were hostile and crass and almost endlessly tedious. My poor, open mind is raw. It's not nearly as unnatural and alarming as fundamentalist drivel, but it was still distasteful. I was taught new ways to feel offended, taught that I should be so, so offended, as a feminist upholding feminist principles. I should be so offended at not being offended enough! I'm not being a good queer because I didn't keep up with all of the super-inclusive lingo that just came out. Hell, did I just accidentally offend myself? Can I prorate my offendedness to make up for that lost time not being offended? I don't think I'm meeting my offendedness quota; I must be a horrible feminist.
The huge flaw I saw in this particular piece of the feminist milieu (can't speak for the whole thing) that I partially explored was the complete lack of connection. It's one way or another, and if you disagree, fuck you and you're wrong, a pack of wolves alternately howling at the moon together, singing the same song, and then snapping at each other's flanks. Don't you have to connect to change a mind, even if it means compromise, hearing an opposing viewpoint? If somebody disagrees with you, how are you going to change a mind by telling them to fuck off because they're "wrong?" Maybe the whole concept of compromise grates, and it does, yes, because it's "unfair," but it's effective. "Communication" implies that a message was sent by one party, and received by another. "Rapport" implies that the message was understood, and if one wants to develop rapport, it is a tribute to one's skill as a communicator and diplomat that she or he is able to make him/herself understood by somebody who is completely different.
But is it always possible to create rapport? I doubt it, and I guess that's where the fighters come in to knock some heads together and rage, rage, rage until the light dies. Did they even see any light? . . . did they want to?
Is it better to fight the darkness, or spread the light? Are they one and the same?
If your greatest happiness is living a life that is a battle well-fought, I have no criticisms to offer you. But really, it's not for me, I'm no good at being offended. Life is a sunbeam well-soaked-up, a galaxy well-spun. A small gift well-given, a hand well-clasped in silence. A tiny twinkle well-appreciated on a dark night.
As much as it sort of shames me and doesn't to say it, I'm not a natural humanitarian. I truly, honestly love animals more than people. One of the highlights of my life was leaving a quiet, air-conditioned government office where I worked 10 hours a day, five days per week working to salvage taxpayers' money for a living, and then finding myself two evenings a week in a loud, smelly cat shelter, holding the tiniest bottle up so that the tiniest kitten could drink from it, cradling that tiny kitten in my hand. I swear to you that the love I felt for that kitten in that moment was more intense than almost any love I have ever felt. I lovingly wiped up feces and vomit and who knows what else, for hours. My hands were made to write/create and to care for animals, truly. Animals are innocent. People - suffering people, oppressed people, young people, old, people, rich and poor and all other kinds - are full of danger and cunning beyond the simple cruelty of nature and beyond my imaginings, and taken as a whole, I often give us up as a lost cause. We are a lost people.
There have been moments in my life when I'd be callous and weary enough to accept a majority of the human population indiscriminately going up in smoke, hopes, dreams and all. To think of the vines and the trees slowly taking it all back. To think of the world in its turning, mind-blowingly slowly and rapidly all in the same moment, forgetting so many of us, so easily. Could you imagine being one of the most beautiful creatures on this earth, a snow leopard, of which an estimated 4 to 6k are still extant? Sometimes I truly believe that our human minds are sacred garbage.
Human killers roam the streets. Animals that escape from refuges to search for food are mercilessly shot down by peacekeepers.
Is understanding necessary for inclusiveness? Nature kills indiscriminately, yet without understanding. Maybe a complete lack of understanding coupled with a complete lack of norms is true equality.
I honestly believe that a fair world is an impossibility; an improbability, rather. It has to do with the very definition of "fair," which is arbitrary. Nature is fair and devastatingly cruel. But only humans enslave other humans and I am doubtful that any voice or group of voices or even an army of futuristic geneticists can change human nature. But what can we change? Is it wrong to focus on the things we can change? Is that "settling" for something less than optimal, or is it truly amassing resources in the most efficient ways and taking full advantage of endlessly varied strengths?
I think it's possible to alleviate, but never cure the ills of the world. And I don't know how fair it is to choose to spend one's time and resources fighting for the poorest of the poor who scrounge for a clean mouthful of water, or those suffering from different forms of complex, lifelong psychological persecution. Maybe we should be fighting against norms themselves, which are interpreted differently by billions of different minds among countless cultures? Perhaps we should devote all of our waking moments to combating all of the evident, real, imaginary, perceived, retroactively recognized and halfway acknowledged injustices in the world?
The sharks are among us; we are the sharks in this bloody ocean. But we are human sharks, and that makes all the difference.
I've recently spent some time delving into the feminist blogosphere, and despite resonating with so many ideas and opinions expressed there by a thousand intelligent people, the very milieu, the medium, the words themselves - the very orientations of the words upon the screen! - were hostile and crass and almost endlessly tedious. My poor, open mind is raw. It's not nearly as unnatural and alarming as fundamentalist drivel, but it was still distasteful. I was taught new ways to feel offended, taught that I should be so, so offended, as a feminist upholding feminist principles. I should be so offended at not being offended enough! I'm not being a good queer because I didn't keep up with all of the super-inclusive lingo that just came out. Hell, did I just accidentally offend myself? Can I prorate my offendedness to make up for that lost time not being offended? I don't think I'm meeting my offendedness quota; I must be a horrible feminist.
The huge flaw I saw in this particular piece of the feminist milieu (can't speak for the whole thing) that I partially explored was the complete lack of connection. It's one way or another, and if you disagree, fuck you and you're wrong, a pack of wolves alternately howling at the moon together, singing the same song, and then snapping at each other's flanks. Don't you have to connect to change a mind, even if it means compromise, hearing an opposing viewpoint? If somebody disagrees with you, how are you going to change a mind by telling them to fuck off because they're "wrong?" Maybe the whole concept of compromise grates, and it does, yes, because it's "unfair," but it's effective. "Communication" implies that a message was sent by one party, and received by another. "Rapport" implies that the message was understood, and if one wants to develop rapport, it is a tribute to one's skill as a communicator and diplomat that she or he is able to make him/herself understood by somebody who is completely different.
But is it always possible to create rapport? I doubt it, and I guess that's where the fighters come in to knock some heads together and rage, rage, rage until the light dies. Did they even see any light? . . . did they want to?
Is it better to fight the darkness, or spread the light? Are they one and the same?
If your greatest happiness is living a life that is a battle well-fought, I have no criticisms to offer you. But really, it's not for me, I'm no good at being offended. Life is a sunbeam well-soaked-up, a galaxy well-spun. A small gift well-given, a hand well-clasped in silence. A tiny twinkle well-appreciated on a dark night.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Stuff and Things
Reeling from this week's realizations. Maybe they were more like... Acknowledgments. But my concept of self has been severely shaken and I'm just now starting to feel normal again.
My life is better because of all of it.
I watched Constantine last night with Caspian, which got horrible critical reviews... But, I rather liked it! Good acting, neat and dynamic characters, fun effects (for 2005). When Keanu Reeves plays Keanu Reeves, he does a bang-up job. The vile, seedy old Lucifer was a nice touch, and so was the overly-dramatic, androgynous, misanthropic angel Gabriel. One of my favorite scenes featured s/he explaining to the main character (Keanu) why he was going to hell, searching his face lovingly, then finishing with a trite, British, "You're fucked." And what?! Gavin Rossdale as demon chic? I didn't even know he was an actor!
I must have been more affected by it than I'd thought, because I dreamed relentlessly about it all night.
My life is better because of all of it.
I watched Constantine last night with Caspian, which got horrible critical reviews... But, I rather liked it! Good acting, neat and dynamic characters, fun effects (for 2005). When Keanu Reeves plays Keanu Reeves, he does a bang-up job. The vile, seedy old Lucifer was a nice touch, and so was the overly-dramatic, androgynous, misanthropic angel Gabriel. One of my favorite scenes featured s/he explaining to the main character (Keanu) why he was going to hell, searching his face lovingly, then finishing with a trite, British, "You're fucked." And what?! Gavin Rossdale as demon chic? I didn't even know he was an actor!
I must have been more affected by it than I'd thought, because I dreamed relentlessly about it all night.
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