"A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings:A Tale for Children" by Gabriel Garcia Marques, captivated my attention right from the title. I am an elementary education major so the 'children' part grabbed and pulled me in. This story seemed most applicable to me in a personal way. I read and reread this piece. Each time I reread it, I tried more and more to put myself in a child-like state of mind. I would ask myself, "If I was hearing this as a ten year old little girl, what would I think? What would I think this means? What is the moral of this story?" I also tried to put myself in the position of a future teacher reading this piece to her class. "What would I want my class to take away from this tale? What do I as an educator of young children think about this story?" There are various roads of interpretation that can be ventured on with this piece, so I chose one that I thought most appropriate for me and that I thoroughly enjoyed exploring.
One road on interpreting that I explored in "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings:A Tale for Children" is selfishness. This is a great lesson that elementary age kids should learn. This theme is really apparent in this story and is pretty easy to pick out.
The story starts off with describing how bleak and dismal life is for Pelayo, his wife Elisenda, and their very sick child. "The world has been sad since Tuesday." The continuing storm had been washing crabs into the family's courtyard. Poor Pelayo was constantly picking up the crabs and throwing them back into the ocean because of the awful stench of the rotting crabs. While doing this one day, he stumbled upon a very old man with enormous wings. The description of the sight of the poor old man is quite disturbing; pretty much a dirty, ragged old man with one hair on his head and parasite infested wings. Confused and not knowing what to do, Pelayo and Elisenda asked their neighbor what this sight could be. "He's and angel," she told them. Still not understanding what to do, they put him up in the wire chicken coop.
The next morning their child woke with no fever. They were so happy that they decided to just stick the angel out to fend for himself at sea. But, when they went out to get the poor soul, he was surrounded by the whole neighborhood. Everyone was curious about the angel, but no body treated him like a supernatural being, but treated him like a circus animal.
At one point, Father Gonzaga, the town priest, came to put his two cents in about the creature. He ruled out that he was an angel right away because he could not speak Latin, the language of God. He said that "He is much too human." Gonzaga wrote a letter conferring this matter with his Bishop. Gonzage simply viewed the angel as a pain of the town that should be eliminated.
This old angel did create quite a stir in the neighborhood. Everyone gathered to see what they might get from the angel. Pelayo and Elisenda then got the clever idea to start charging individuals to see the heavenly angel. They quickly made a large fortune. Everyone wanted to take a poke at the winged man and get a blessing in return.
Eventually a traveling carnival came through town and quickly tore the attention of the community off the angel and re focused it to a girl who was turned into a spider because she had disobeyed her parents. Unlike the angel, she was easily understood and had a clear moral. She could talk and would openly answer questions about her condition. People loved her and forgot all about the poor angel man. Besides some weird off beat miracles, he didn't really offer them anything.
Pelayo and his family had made enough money off of him that they could build a new house and purchase extravagant clothing for Elisenda. They made their house crab and angel proof in the process. But they did not bother to rebuild the old worn out chicken coop. They left it in shambles. Eventually, it collapsed and Pelayo offered him the shed. At this point the angel seemed to be in declining health. He would just hobble about from here to there and appear at places randomly.
All the while their child continued to grow and become curious of the old angel. He began to play with him and quickly built a lasting friendship. They even came down with the chicken pox at the same time.
Then the angel started to distance himself as he grew some new feathers and began to regain his strength. And then one day, he flew away. Elisenda watched as she cut onions, the sight of the very old man with enormous wings flying off. She of course breathed a huge sigh of relief.
The themes of selfishness is everywhere in this piece. The first big act of such was in sticking the old man in the chicken coop. Pelayo and Elisenda didn't even care for the old soul. He was considered a hassle, not a blessing.
The next morning after he was found, their child has been healed of whatever infirmity he had had. Instantly Pelyao and Elisenda were so happy that they were ready to send the angel to sea! It seemed to say that they got what they wanted, that is what the angel was probably here for anyway, so he doesn't need to be here anymore. "You gave us what we needed, now it is time for you to get out of our hair!" - is what I could see Elisenda saying. The text says "Then they felt so magnanimous and decided to put the angel on a raft out at sea with fresh water and provisions for three days and leave him to the fate on the high seas." Not very hospitable; kind of selfish. I could see a ten year old saying - "That's not very nice."
But by the time they decided to do that, he was enveloped in a sea of people staring at him. Everyone wanted something; wanted to see what the angel might give them or bless them with. The town had no idea who he was, they didn't understand him, but tey were willing to use him. They didn't even treat him with respect. "But when they went out into the courtyard with the first sight of down, they found the whole neighborhood in the front of the chicken coop having fun with the angel, without the slightest of reverence."
"The curious came from far way." It reminds me of when a car accident slows traffic down because peole are 'curious' and slow down to stare as they drive by the scene. They don't care about the people in the accident, they are just nosy (in most cases that is). Elisenda and Pelayo began charging people money to see the angel. His too was extremely selfish. They give him nothing, and he gives them so much! They put him in a chicken coop and show him off.
"Besides, the few miracles attributed to the angel showed a certain mental disorder, like the blind man who didn't recover his sight but grew three new teeth, or the paralytic who didn't get to walk but almost won the lottery, and the leper whose sores sprouted sunflowers." What the angel did give the community, they didn't appreciate. All the miracles seemed to give off an air of hope, but nobody thought anything of them. He wasn't up to par with angel standards.
Soon after, they lost interest anyway. They all gained interest in the girl turned spider. They could understand her far more than they could understand the angel.
And after all of the money Pelayo and Elisenda made they were able to rebuild their house, and buy Elisenda extravagant clothing. But, they did not bother to rebuild the chicken coop. Instead they made their house crab and angel proof. The angel, who earned them all of this, recieved nothing, not even the slightest gratitude.
I think the most beautiful thing about the story is the ending. After the first selfless act is portrayed, the angel flies. Only one character in the story, the child who had been healed, befriends him; they become close. Then he just flies away one day. The young child and his selfless, nongreedy friendship with the angel seems to corrolate to the angels getting better and growing new wings; it made him stronger. Selflessness is a powerful thing. All of the wrong done to him seems to be redeemed in one act of love.
I thoroughly enjoyed this story and would love to one day read it in my future classroom, and talk about not being selfish and how the most unseemly things in life can bless us if we let them.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Symbolism
Chapter 13 in the text book was about symbolism. It was very interesting. The whole topic of symbols and symbolism is just interesting to me. The book defines a symbol as "something (an object, a word, an image) that is used to suggest a range of associations or feelings. Symbols prompt reflection and inquiry." It also states that symbols are highly personal. The first thing I thought about when reading about symbols was the Bible. Symbols/symbolism is coursing through the Bible. Its everywhere!
Just look at what a parable is! Jesus concealed the hidden message of the kingdom in parables! This is why I speak to them in parables: "Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand. - Matthew 13:13. The Bible has so much depth to it.
And other examples of symbols in the Bible besides parables are the number 7 symbolizing completion, and in Ephesians the man symbolizing the church and how God's love for the church is as a marriage. Look at the book of Hosea. The whole book symbolizes God's relationship with disobedient Israel.
One quote that I loved from the chapter was "symbols force us to grapple with meanings." How true is that! They are intriguing. Sometimes the not knowing, the curiosity, the wonder is what draws us in.
But we also can't get ourselves wrapped up in symbols too much. Sometimes we can dig too far into what things mean and miss the basic message of it all. And tying this into class, we can get so wrapped up in asking what does this mean, and this and this and this, that we can't see the whole picture. This can just make things too complicated. We should make connections without becoming disconnected from the piece.
Symbols really do help us to experience literature in different ways. :) We follow signs everyday of our lives, why not start paying more attention to the ones found in literature?
Just look at what a parable is! Jesus concealed the hidden message of the kingdom in parables! This is why I speak to them in parables: "Though seeing, they do not see; though hearing, they do not hear or understand. - Matthew 13:13. The Bible has so much depth to it.
And other examples of symbols in the Bible besides parables are the number 7 symbolizing completion, and in Ephesians the man symbolizing the church and how God's love for the church is as a marriage. Look at the book of Hosea. The whole book symbolizes God's relationship with disobedient Israel.
One quote that I loved from the chapter was "symbols force us to grapple with meanings." How true is that! They are intriguing. Sometimes the not knowing, the curiosity, the wonder is what draws us in.
But we also can't get ourselves wrapped up in symbols too much. Sometimes we can dig too far into what things mean and miss the basic message of it all. And tying this into class, we can get so wrapped up in asking what does this mean, and this and this and this, that we can't see the whole picture. This can just make things too complicated. We should make connections without becoming disconnected from the piece.
Symbols really do help us to experience literature in different ways. :) We follow signs everyday of our lives, why not start paying more attention to the ones found in literature?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Godot
As I continue to read Beckett's Waiting For Godot, I continue to be confused and amazed. Some things that I have noticed occurring in this play often is repetition, forgetfulness, change, and uncertainty.
GoGo and Didi are constantly finishing each others sentences, or repeating what the other said before. Their conversations repeat themselves all the time. Like when GoGo hurts his foot. They go on and on about it. What is this repetition for? I think some of it has to do with showing how well they understand each other and how well they know each other. They have quite the dynamic relationship.
Both of them are forgetful. I would say Estragon moreso than Vladimir. Vladimir comes off stronger and more stoic to me. He states in the begininng that Estragon could not survive without him; he could become a pile of bones. They can't seem to even remember their surroundings. But as I am thinking more and more about it I don't know if it is neccessarily forgetfulness as much as it has to do with change and uncertianty.
Uncertianty comes with the territory of change. Time is the biggest element of change in Waiting for Godot. We aren't told explicitly what the passage of time is, but I think it is a substancial amount. They aren't even certian what they did the day before. It is like they are just being.
And Godot is the biggest element of uncertainty. Who is he? Is he a friend or foe? Has he already come? Will he come? Is he a person? We just do not know. We are completely uncertain. But it is interesting to think about what people are willing to wait for. Like God. We can't see God. We can't touch God. We can't sit down at starbucks and have a conversation with him. Well I guess you could pray at starbucks and techniqually have a conversation with him, but you get my point. Faith requires a certain level of uncertainty. Fiath wouldn't be faith without it. If everything was certian and concrete, we wouldnt need to muster up the faith to believe and jump out into God's arms. When I feel the spirit leading me in a direction, I adjust to that direction in faith, even though I know I could be off, because I am uncertain. God is absolute, but faith is still needed. I hope I am making sense.
So, I think it is interesting reading Waiting for Godot with life in mind. How much of our life is really spent living? How much mindless things occupy our time? What are we waiting on? What are we willing to wait for?
GoGo and Didi are constantly finishing each others sentences, or repeating what the other said before. Their conversations repeat themselves all the time. Like when GoGo hurts his foot. They go on and on about it. What is this repetition for? I think some of it has to do with showing how well they understand each other and how well they know each other. They have quite the dynamic relationship.
Both of them are forgetful. I would say Estragon moreso than Vladimir. Vladimir comes off stronger and more stoic to me. He states in the begininng that Estragon could not survive without him; he could become a pile of bones. They can't seem to even remember their surroundings. But as I am thinking more and more about it I don't know if it is neccessarily forgetfulness as much as it has to do with change and uncertianty.
Uncertianty comes with the territory of change. Time is the biggest element of change in Waiting for Godot. We aren't told explicitly what the passage of time is, but I think it is a substancial amount. They aren't even certian what they did the day before. It is like they are just being.
And Godot is the biggest element of uncertainty. Who is he? Is he a friend or foe? Has he already come? Will he come? Is he a person? We just do not know. We are completely uncertain. But it is interesting to think about what people are willing to wait for. Like God. We can't see God. We can't touch God. We can't sit down at starbucks and have a conversation with him. Well I guess you could pray at starbucks and techniqually have a conversation with him, but you get my point. Faith requires a certain level of uncertainty. Fiath wouldn't be faith without it. If everything was certian and concrete, we wouldnt need to muster up the faith to believe and jump out into God's arms. When I feel the spirit leading me in a direction, I adjust to that direction in faith, even though I know I could be off, because I am uncertain. God is absolute, but faith is still needed. I hope I am making sense.
So, I think it is interesting reading Waiting for Godot with life in mind. How much of our life is really spent living? How much mindless things occupy our time? What are we waiting on? What are we willing to wait for?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Dr. Horrible
Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog was hilarious! Dr. Horrible is a cast aside villain with a heart and Captain Hammer is a loved super hero with a huge ego. AKA he is a massive jerk. There are two big conflicts throughout the blog. The first being Dr. Horrible's quest to get into the Evil League of Evil, and also his fight against Captain Hammer for the girl of his dreams, Penny.
It seemed to be a good versus evil plot. But in my eyes, the line between good and evil was blurred. It was designed for us to love the villain. I loved Dr. Horrible and felt like punching Captain Hammer.
This tragicomedy was definitely more on the comedy side. The comedy enhanced the tragedy. And for me, without the comedy, the plot/story would have been completely stupid and pointless. The humor made the tragedy.
The way that Dr. Horrible was different from what I have read in Waiting For Godot, was that Waiting for Godot was heavier of the tragedy side in my mind. It has more of a sober comedy to it. For example, the part about them hanging themselves, but the weight difference makes it improbable. Vladamir is heavier and would supposedly break the branch and therefore would be alone because he can't hang himself without the branch. "Didi heavy-bough break- Didi alone."
So the humor isn't as in your face as Dr. Horrible.
The ending for Dr. Horrible was also very abrupt; kind of sad. Penny gets killed and Dr. Horrible is blamed. As a result of him being blamed he makes it into the Evil League of Evil. Your not really a villain without killing someone, which Dr. Horrible wouldn't do, so he got credit for a murder he didn't commit, and got into the League.
So in the end did Dr. Horrible get what he wanted? To get into the Evil League of Evil and becoming a true villain. Or is all of that void because the women he loves is dead?
It seemed to be a good versus evil plot. But in my eyes, the line between good and evil was blurred. It was designed for us to love the villain. I loved Dr. Horrible and felt like punching Captain Hammer.
This tragicomedy was definitely more on the comedy side. The comedy enhanced the tragedy. And for me, without the comedy, the plot/story would have been completely stupid and pointless. The humor made the tragedy.
The way that Dr. Horrible was different from what I have read in Waiting For Godot, was that Waiting for Godot was heavier of the tragedy side in my mind. It has more of a sober comedy to it. For example, the part about them hanging themselves, but the weight difference makes it improbable. Vladamir is heavier and would supposedly break the branch and therefore would be alone because he can't hang himself without the branch. "Didi heavy-bough break- Didi alone."
So the humor isn't as in your face as Dr. Horrible.
The ending for Dr. Horrible was also very abrupt; kind of sad. Penny gets killed and Dr. Horrible is blamed. As a result of him being blamed he makes it into the Evil League of Evil. Your not really a villain without killing someone, which Dr. Horrible wouldn't do, so he got credit for a murder he didn't commit, and got into the League.
So in the end did Dr. Horrible get what he wanted? To get into the Evil League of Evil and becoming a true villain. Or is all of that void because the women he loves is dead?
Monday, November 9, 2009
Forgot!
I forgot to include in my last blog entry that I went to Lake Bonny Park for this assignment, and stayed at least 50 minutes. And also that I was reading "The Messenger" by Mary Oliver. :) Sorry !
Lake Bonny
I had quite the experience at Lake Bonny. I went around 10 in the morning when it was cloudy and windy. :) I love that kind of weather and it reminded me of home so it seemed to fit perfectly. I went alone and walked around for quite awhile thinking about where I wanted to sit and quieting my mind. Then I found the dock looking area and went out there.
The whole time I was trying to be really aware of the small beauties of nature without making myself search for them. I let them find me. And that they did. The wind was really starting to pick up, making it hard to read my Mary Oliver poems. In frustration I looked to my right and saw a whole bunch of water plants. They resembled giant grass, I have no clue what the technical term is, but the wind was so strong that it was shaking them violently. This captured my attention for a few minutes. They looked as if they were dancing.
We have been talking in class about taking care of nature and playing our part, but I felt like I was observing the rough side of nature. The water was really choppy, the sky was dark and harsh, the trees and plants were going crazy; it was not a calm morning.
Then oddly I saw a bird eating some type of bug. Doesn't sound all that captivating, but considering my thoughts, it was. But then, the worst part happens.
I am sitting there quietly just observing, and I hear this bird making a weird sound. It was flying right above me. Then :) it pooped all over me. Yes, it pooped on me.
I simply sat there and laughed at myself. What luck. I was the only one in the park that morning, and there was plenty of pooping space all around, but it happened to land on me.
Instead of letting it ruin my time, I collected myself and continued reading and looking around. I love nature and it is still captivating when its blowing your hair all over the place, ripping at your papers, and even when it poops on you. It was still peaceful to me, even amongst the chaos.
Nature does what it needs too. Its beauty never ceases.
"Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is standing still and learning to be astonished."
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Mary Oliver
I really loved the three Mary Oliver poems that we needed to read for class. "Six Recognitions of the Lord" was my favorite! It tied in beautifully with our class discussions about nature.
In "Six Recognitions of the Lord," the opening was perfect. "I know a lot of fancy words. I tear them from my heart and my tongue. Then I pray." I think so many times we cote our true feelings with fancy words to make things sound better. So many times I catch myself at a loss for words because I'm searching for good words, not raw words. I just love the honesty in this poem. In first sentence of the second section she says "Lord God, mercy is in your hands, pour me a little. And tenderness too. My need is great" I love that. To me it just comes across so humble and straight forward. She isn't asking for earthly things.
In the third section she talks so beautifully about what Professor Corrigan was talking about in class. "Then I enter the place of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-wanting." Sometimes it is best just to sit and know that God is God. To not beckon him, to not ask anything, to cease all desire, and just be with him. To sit in his presence in silence of heart, body, and mind. Just be.
At the end of that section she says "Then I go back to town, to my own house, my own life, which has now become brighter and simpler, somewhere I have never been before." Spending time with God simply makes life better. We need His fellowship. Communion with Him makes life brighter and more simple.
And tying this more into our nature theme in class, starting off section four she says "Of course I have always known you are present in the clouds, and the black oak I especially adore, and the wings of birds." I love this :) Out in nature is where I tend to connect with God the strongest. He created this beautiful planet, and we have the opportunity everyday to enjoy it. He is present in it. His fingerprints are on it. When I look at flowers, I am in awe. They are beautiful, and my beautiful God created them. Sometimes that simply thought just blows my mind. We serve such a creative God. His creation is so intricate that it would be a complete waste not to cherish it, not to adore it, not to behold it when it is right in front of us and all we have to do is look. "Slowly appreciation swells to astonishment. And we enter the dialogue of our lives that is beyond all understanding or conclusion. It is mystery. It is love for God. It is obedience."
In her last two sections, Mary paints beautiful images of nature. :) God is so hospitable. He let's us live on His world and has adorned it with such exquisite beauty. How dare we not take care of it. "Everywhere I go I am treated like royalty, which I am not."
In "Six Recognitions of the Lord," the opening was perfect. "I know a lot of fancy words. I tear them from my heart and my tongue. Then I pray." I think so many times we cote our true feelings with fancy words to make things sound better. So many times I catch myself at a loss for words because I'm searching for good words, not raw words. I just love the honesty in this poem. In first sentence of the second section she says "Lord God, mercy is in your hands, pour me a little. And tenderness too. My need is great" I love that. To me it just comes across so humble and straight forward. She isn't asking for earthly things.
In the third section she talks so beautifully about what Professor Corrigan was talking about in class. "Then I enter the place of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-wanting." Sometimes it is best just to sit and know that God is God. To not beckon him, to not ask anything, to cease all desire, and just be with him. To sit in his presence in silence of heart, body, and mind. Just be.
At the end of that section she says "Then I go back to town, to my own house, my own life, which has now become brighter and simpler, somewhere I have never been before." Spending time with God simply makes life better. We need His fellowship. Communion with Him makes life brighter and more simple.
And tying this more into our nature theme in class, starting off section four she says "Of course I have always known you are present in the clouds, and the black oak I especially adore, and the wings of birds." I love this :) Out in nature is where I tend to connect with God the strongest. He created this beautiful planet, and we have the opportunity everyday to enjoy it. He is present in it. His fingerprints are on it. When I look at flowers, I am in awe. They are beautiful, and my beautiful God created them. Sometimes that simply thought just blows my mind. We serve such a creative God. His creation is so intricate that it would be a complete waste not to cherish it, not to adore it, not to behold it when it is right in front of us and all we have to do is look. "Slowly appreciation swells to astonishment. And we enter the dialogue of our lives that is beyond all understanding or conclusion. It is mystery. It is love for God. It is obedience."
In her last two sections, Mary paints beautiful images of nature. :) God is so hospitable. He let's us live on His world and has adorned it with such exquisite beauty. How dare we not take care of it. "Everywhere I go I am treated like royalty, which I am not."
Monday, November 2, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Reading for Transformation
I thoroughly enjoyed our discussion in class Tuesday. It was deep and got me thinking. Is literature more about the reader or the piece being read? Now, both play a huge part, but I'm starting to think that the reader plays a bigger role than the piece does. Why?
Because you can take something away from anything if you try. Especially being a Christian. In class I made the comment that I would like to see more Christian writers and that I don't know of too many Christian poets. Professor Corrigan stated that he would like to see more Christian readers. And that made me understand that a lot of it has to do with perspective and interpretation. The Christian mind thinks differently than a non-Christian one, and therefore would have some amazing perspectives on things. Why do we not see our interpretations? Where are our voices?
Poetry is deep and full of emotion, experience, and thought. How amazing would it be if some Christians got passionate about literature and started interpreting it in a whole new dimension. I could be way off in my thinking here, but I believe that our perspectives are important.
One of my favorite quotes from the essay was " This turn to sacramental categories of understanding reaffirms that poetry, as an event of meaning, potentially serves as a resonant site of Christian self-expression, prayer, and solidarity in community. As texts for prayer, certain poems invite us into liminal spaces of sacred encounter, where God's grace expands our awareness of the holy within ourselves, our relationships, and our natural world."
Poetry is expansive. It opens us if we let it. Thats what lectio devina allows me to do, open myself. Open myself to a possible understanding that I wouldn't reach unless I read for transformation. Its a conscious decision; to decide to take something away from a text.
Because you can take something away from anything if you try. Especially being a Christian. In class I made the comment that I would like to see more Christian writers and that I don't know of too many Christian poets. Professor Corrigan stated that he would like to see more Christian readers. And that made me understand that a lot of it has to do with perspective and interpretation. The Christian mind thinks differently than a non-Christian one, and therefore would have some amazing perspectives on things. Why do we not see our interpretations? Where are our voices?
Poetry is deep and full of emotion, experience, and thought. How amazing would it be if some Christians got passionate about literature and started interpreting it in a whole new dimension. I could be way off in my thinking here, but I believe that our perspectives are important.
One of my favorite quotes from the essay was " This turn to sacramental categories of understanding reaffirms that poetry, as an event of meaning, potentially serves as a resonant site of Christian self-expression, prayer, and solidarity in community. As texts for prayer, certain poems invite us into liminal spaces of sacred encounter, where God's grace expands our awareness of the holy within ourselves, our relationships, and our natural world."
Poetry is expansive. It opens us if we let it. Thats what lectio devina allows me to do, open myself. Open myself to a possible understanding that I wouldn't reach unless I read for transformation. Its a conscious decision; to decide to take something away from a text.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Enemy of the People
I went to the play, Enemy of the People, on Saturday night. The play was great! It was not like the plays that I have been to before. It was a heavy piece. The moral was so interesting!
There was a town in Norway which had a very nice watering/bathing system. It was a system that was expected to draw people for its health properties and in so doing, improve the towns economy. Dr. Stockman had discovered through sound research, that the water was dangerously poisoned. Dr. Stockman received support from many in the beginning, one being Mr. Hovstad, who is in charge of the local paper. But, Dr. Stockman's brother is the major of the town and is completely against him and his findings. The springs are vital to the towns economy. Peter turns everyone against his brother and his findings about the watering system. Hovstad and the Mayor won't even let Dr. Stockman speak at a town assemble that is supposedly informing the people of the circumstances. The town desperatetly wants Stockman out of the town.
Dr. Stockman is now seen as an enemy of the people. He refuses to waver in his beliefs. His family is paying for his this as well. His daughter gets fired, and his sons get beat up at school. But regardless, he remains streadfast and fights for what is right. The people don't realize who the enemy of the people really is.
The whole dynamic of the play was interesting. I found myself wanting to jump out of my seat and scream at all the people and the major. Injustice is so frustrating. Especially when it involves corrupt leaders. I was aggitated. And that is why I love the piece so much. Because I really was frustrated and not happy with the end. The end was realistic and not a fairy tale all-is-well again ending. It was real and it was raw. It really drew me in and I let thinking.
Sometimes doing the right thing may not seem right to anyone but yourself. Will you still stand strong when no one but God supports you?
There was a town in Norway which had a very nice watering/bathing system. It was a system that was expected to draw people for its health properties and in so doing, improve the towns economy. Dr. Stockman had discovered through sound research, that the water was dangerously poisoned. Dr. Stockman received support from many in the beginning, one being Mr. Hovstad, who is in charge of the local paper. But, Dr. Stockman's brother is the major of the town and is completely against him and his findings. The springs are vital to the towns economy. Peter turns everyone against his brother and his findings about the watering system. Hovstad and the Mayor won't even let Dr. Stockman speak at a town assemble that is supposedly informing the people of the circumstances. The town desperatetly wants Stockman out of the town.
Dr. Stockman is now seen as an enemy of the people. He refuses to waver in his beliefs. His family is paying for his this as well. His daughter gets fired, and his sons get beat up at school. But regardless, he remains streadfast and fights for what is right. The people don't realize who the enemy of the people really is.
The whole dynamic of the play was interesting. I found myself wanting to jump out of my seat and scream at all the people and the major. Injustice is so frustrating. Especially when it involves corrupt leaders. I was aggitated. And that is why I love the piece so much. Because I really was frustrated and not happy with the end. The end was realistic and not a fairy tale all-is-well again ending. It was real and it was raw. It really drew me in and I let thinking.
Sometimes doing the right thing may not seem right to anyone but yourself. Will you still stand strong when no one but God supports you?
Monday, October 19, 2009
Wuthering Heights
I chose to read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte for our in class reading assignment. It is quite an enjoyable book, but not the easiest read. Overall the plot is clear, but I get fuzzy with the small details.
Wuthering Heights is about twisted love and revenge. Heathcliff was an orphan who was taken in by Mr. Earshaw. Mr. Earshaw loved Heathcliff more than he did his own son Hindley. Catherine was Mr. Earshaw's daughter who was the only one who liked poor sullen Heathcliff. Heathcliff and Catherine were in love at a very young age. But one night they get into some trouble at the neighboring manor, Thrushcross Grange, and Cathy gets hurt. She is taken in by the Linton's for quite a while and she takes a liking to Edgar Linton. This makes Heathcliff and her relationship very odd. Her affections for him stay strong, and visibly so, throughout the book. Edgar and Cathy marry and Heathcliff runs away for three years.
Heathcliff returns with revenge to dish out to everyone that wronged him. He causes Hindley to go into debt, marries Isabella Linton, Edgars sister so he can inherit Thrushcross Grange, and treats Isabella horribly. Edgar and Heathcliff has a huge disagreement. Cathy then falls very ill, and pretty much goes insane. She gives birth to a daughter and shortly thereafter dies.
Isabella moves to London and gives birth to a son, Linton. Isabella dies, and Linton comes to live with Heathcliff.
Nelly, the narrator of most of the story, takes care of Cathy's daughter and keeps her from knowing of Wuthering Heights. But one day she is going for a walk and she meets Hareton, Hindleys troubled son. Then young Cathy meets Heathcliff who takes her to visit Wuthering Heights and introduces her to Linton. They fall in love and write to one another. Linton is very sickly and Cathy begins sneaking out at night to nurse him to health. But come to find out, Linton was being pushed by Heathcliff into this romance. He just wanted to own Thrushcross Grange and further seek revenge upon Edgar Linton.
Heathcliff then holds Catherine and Nelly hostage till Catherine and Linton marry. They marry, Edgar dies, Linton dies, and Heathcliff gets what he wanted.
Heathcliff is constantly haunted by the ghost of Catherine. He sees her in everything. His love for her has controlled his life practically all his life.
Wuthering heights is a twisted dark love story. Its very interesting and I would suggest it to anyone who enjoys reading.
Catherine gives birth to a
Wuthering Heights is about twisted love and revenge. Heathcliff was an orphan who was taken in by Mr. Earshaw. Mr. Earshaw loved Heathcliff more than he did his own son Hindley. Catherine was Mr. Earshaw's daughter who was the only one who liked poor sullen Heathcliff. Heathcliff and Catherine were in love at a very young age. But one night they get into some trouble at the neighboring manor, Thrushcross Grange, and Cathy gets hurt. She is taken in by the Linton's for quite a while and she takes a liking to Edgar Linton. This makes Heathcliff and her relationship very odd. Her affections for him stay strong, and visibly so, throughout the book. Edgar and Cathy marry and Heathcliff runs away for three years.
Heathcliff returns with revenge to dish out to everyone that wronged him. He causes Hindley to go into debt, marries Isabella Linton, Edgars sister so he can inherit Thrushcross Grange, and treats Isabella horribly. Edgar and Heathcliff has a huge disagreement. Cathy then falls very ill, and pretty much goes insane. She gives birth to a daughter and shortly thereafter dies.
Isabella moves to London and gives birth to a son, Linton. Isabella dies, and Linton comes to live with Heathcliff.
Nelly, the narrator of most of the story, takes care of Cathy's daughter and keeps her from knowing of Wuthering Heights. But one day she is going for a walk and she meets Hareton, Hindleys troubled son. Then young Cathy meets Heathcliff who takes her to visit Wuthering Heights and introduces her to Linton. They fall in love and write to one another. Linton is very sickly and Cathy begins sneaking out at night to nurse him to health. But come to find out, Linton was being pushed by Heathcliff into this romance. He just wanted to own Thrushcross Grange and further seek revenge upon Edgar Linton.
Heathcliff then holds Catherine and Nelly hostage till Catherine and Linton marry. They marry, Edgar dies, Linton dies, and Heathcliff gets what he wanted.
Heathcliff is constantly haunted by the ghost of Catherine. He sees her in everything. His love for her has controlled his life practically all his life.
Wuthering heights is a twisted dark love story. Its very interesting and I would suggest it to anyone who enjoys reading.
Catherine gives birth to a
His
He was standing there; tall, handsome, his pale face accentuated by his choppy brown hair. He stood tall with an air of confidence; face tense and focused. He was watching; he was waiting for something. His body was strong. His demeanor was proud. His heart was light. His nerves were high; sweat beads forming at his hairline, a slight quake forming in his crossed hands, all while remaining at ease. His green eyes were graceful. Every few moments they would scan the surroundings. Yet, he wasn't seeing anything that day all except for one thing. He would only see what he was waiting for. He was watching; he was waiting.
All of the sudden a melodious tune filled the air. Instantly his back stiffened, and a tiny smile crept into existence upon his face. He looked down, and then looked back up, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve simultaneously. Returning to his prior stance, he watched as a few beautiful women walked by. But then, his heart stops. He sees her. She makes her way gracefully toward him. A tear escapes his masculine heart and eye. Her beauty is captivating him; as it has done every day prior to this. Thoughts of love and adoration flood him; thoughts of moments; the beautiful and the not so beautiful, the talks, the tears, the fears, the years. He drifts back to the moment when it all started.
Stella was only 22 at the time, Marcus was 23. The first time he saw her, it was nothing special. Sitting in the local diner, Marcus was bummed over being ditched by his date for the evening. He was spending the remainder of it sulking over some coffee. The diner only had one other customer tonight besides him, and by this time, it was close to closing. Marcus just couldn't stop the feeling that he would never find a solid girl to spend the rest of his life with in this stupid town of nowhere.
"More coffee sir?"
"Yes Please," said Marcus, not looking up, a little more stern than he would have liked to come across.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you okay? You have been here a while and I can't help but notice that you look kind of troubled."
"Yeah, I guess I am okay. Thanks."
"You might want to stop drowning whatever is wrong in coffee though. You will never sleep tonight," she said with a slight laugh behind her voice.
Marcus sat up a little bit. She was refreshing.
"It has just been a rough day," he said while releasing a sigh.
"Yeah I know how that feels," she said while doing the same.
She preceded to glance around the empty diner to make sure no other customers came in. With the coast clear she sat down in front of him in the booth. She laid the coffee down on the table after topping off his cup.
"I'm Stella by the way" she said with grace and confidence.
Her confidence caught him off guard. He liked it.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Marcus." He reached his hand across the table to shake her hand. Her touch was soft.
They continued talking; just some easy conversation pertaining to each other, the basic questions. As the night grew older, the conversation deepened. Marcus opened up about why his night was so dreadful, and Stella conveyed her frustrations with the opposite sex too. He liked her. She was different. She was oddly open yet reserved. Her spirit seemed genuine and free. He liked talking with her.
"Well I better get to closing the diner," she said with a sigh.
"No," escaped from his lips to quickly. He tried to correct rapidly.
"I mean, yeah I guess you should. I should get going anyway. It was great talking with you Stella."
"Yeah, thanks, it was nice."
"So, we should do it again sometime," he said praying for a positive response.
"We should! I get off around the same time tomorrow. Want to go see a movie of something?"
"I would love too. I'll pick you up here," he said with satisfaction.
He walked out of the diner with a huge smile on his face. She was magnificent. He couldn't wait to find out more about this girl. What made her tick, what made her get up in the mornign and go to bed at night? What did she live for and breathe for? He was curious about everything. What about him made her comfortable to talk to a complete stranger?
He is shaken from this flashback when she arrives before him. Now he seems complete. His deep eyes peer into hers with a gentle love. His quaking hands reaches for hers; his brides.
-------------
She was a mess. Her insides were mush and she couldn't seem to walk straight. Doubts and fears flood her thoughts. But then they were quickly replaced by high hopes and expectations for the future. She grabs her father's arm as she gently kisses him on the cheek.
"It's gonna be okay daddy. I love you," she said with a lump in her throat.
With that she began her gliding through the sea of people. Could this really be true? She could not be happier. Seeing him stand at the other end of the isle melted her heart. He was perfect. How could she have been so fortunate as to marry the most amazing man in the world? She drifted back to that night.
Fed up with life, Stella was anxiously awaiting closing the diner for the night. Customers had been scarce except for this one troubled fellow. She couldn't figure out why he wouldn't leave. he was ordering coffee after coffee, seeming very put out about something. Deciding she wanted to get out early tonight, Stella decided to go over and investigate.
"More coffee sir?" she said hoping for a no.
"Yes please."
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you okay? You have been here for a while and I can't help but notice that you look kind of troubled." She was startled by his handsomeness as he looked up at her with sad eyes.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks."
"You might want to stop drowning whatever is wrong in coffee though. You will never sleep tonight," she said hoping she would be able to hear him laugh. That thought made her nervous and scared all at the same time.
"It has just been a rough day," he said in a saddened tone.
"Yeah I know how that feels." She preceded to look around the boring empty diner and sat down with confidence. She had no clue what she was doing, but decided that she longed for some conversation. The need to leave early quickly slipped out of her mind. This town didn't offer much of a social life. She sat the coffee down after graciously topping off his half full cup.
"I'm Stella by the way," she offered trying to probe the conversation on so she didn't look like a complete idiot. When it came to men, she knew nothing; especially with ones that were complete strangers. But, this stranger didn't seem to feel like a stranger. He seemed sweet. Looks can be deceiving she decided, so she preceded with caution.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Marcus." He then reached his hand across the table to shake her hand. His hand shake was stern and strong.
They continued the night with small talk as time flew by. She loved listening to him. Loving to listen to a stranger was strange to her, but non-the-less she allowed herself too. He was eays going and unafraid. The world shouldn't be afraid to be open she thought. She knew that she had quickly made a friend.
"Well I should probably get to closing the diner," she said not wanting too.
"No."
She couldn't help but smile as he said out loud what he only wanted to be heard on the inside. She giggled.
"I mean, yeah I guess you should. I should get going anyway. It was great talking with you Stella."
"Yeah, thanks. It was nice," she said hoping for more than an abrupt departing of company.
"So, we should do it again sometime."
Her heart leaped. " We should! I get off at the same time tomorrow. Want to go see a movie or something?" She said this praying that she did not come across too desperate.
"I would love too. I will pick you up here then," he said with a smile.
And then he went. She was walking on air the rest of the night. A dull night at work turned into a day to remember. She couldn't help but think that there was something to this chance meeting. Was it coincidence? She didn't think so.
Stella was then shaken from her memories as she was handed over to the man of her dreams. He was standing there so tall, strong, and handsome. This was their day and all she could see was him. Nothing else seemed to matter. All she could picture was the life she was about to embark on with him, with her husband. A tear ran down her fair cheek. He lifted a finger to her face and wiped it away as he mouthed the words, "I love you." He reached for her hands. She was finally his.
All of the sudden a melodious tune filled the air. Instantly his back stiffened, and a tiny smile crept into existence upon his face. He looked down, and then looked back up, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve simultaneously. Returning to his prior stance, he watched as a few beautiful women walked by. But then, his heart stops. He sees her. She makes her way gracefully toward him. A tear escapes his masculine heart and eye. Her beauty is captivating him; as it has done every day prior to this. Thoughts of love and adoration flood him; thoughts of moments; the beautiful and the not so beautiful, the talks, the tears, the fears, the years. He drifts back to the moment when it all started.
Stella was only 22 at the time, Marcus was 23. The first time he saw her, it was nothing special. Sitting in the local diner, Marcus was bummed over being ditched by his date for the evening. He was spending the remainder of it sulking over some coffee. The diner only had one other customer tonight besides him, and by this time, it was close to closing. Marcus just couldn't stop the feeling that he would never find a solid girl to spend the rest of his life with in this stupid town of nowhere.
"More coffee sir?"
"Yes Please," said Marcus, not looking up, a little more stern than he would have liked to come across.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you okay? You have been here a while and I can't help but notice that you look kind of troubled."
"Yeah, I guess I am okay. Thanks."
"You might want to stop drowning whatever is wrong in coffee though. You will never sleep tonight," she said with a slight laugh behind her voice.
Marcus sat up a little bit. She was refreshing.
"It has just been a rough day," he said while releasing a sigh.
"Yeah I know how that feels," she said while doing the same.
She preceded to glance around the empty diner to make sure no other customers came in. With the coast clear she sat down in front of him in the booth. She laid the coffee down on the table after topping off his cup.
"I'm Stella by the way" she said with grace and confidence.
Her confidence caught him off guard. He liked it.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Marcus." He reached his hand across the table to shake her hand. Her touch was soft.
They continued talking; just some easy conversation pertaining to each other, the basic questions. As the night grew older, the conversation deepened. Marcus opened up about why his night was so dreadful, and Stella conveyed her frustrations with the opposite sex too. He liked her. She was different. She was oddly open yet reserved. Her spirit seemed genuine and free. He liked talking with her.
"Well I better get to closing the diner," she said with a sigh.
"No," escaped from his lips to quickly. He tried to correct rapidly.
"I mean, yeah I guess you should. I should get going anyway. It was great talking with you Stella."
"Yeah, thanks, it was nice."
"So, we should do it again sometime," he said praying for a positive response.
"We should! I get off around the same time tomorrow. Want to go see a movie of something?"
"I would love too. I'll pick you up here," he said with satisfaction.
He walked out of the diner with a huge smile on his face. She was magnificent. He couldn't wait to find out more about this girl. What made her tick, what made her get up in the mornign and go to bed at night? What did she live for and breathe for? He was curious about everything. What about him made her comfortable to talk to a complete stranger?
He is shaken from this flashback when she arrives before him. Now he seems complete. His deep eyes peer into hers with a gentle love. His quaking hands reaches for hers; his brides.
-------------
She was a mess. Her insides were mush and she couldn't seem to walk straight. Doubts and fears flood her thoughts. But then they were quickly replaced by high hopes and expectations for the future. She grabs her father's arm as she gently kisses him on the cheek.
"It's gonna be okay daddy. I love you," she said with a lump in her throat.
With that she began her gliding through the sea of people. Could this really be true? She could not be happier. Seeing him stand at the other end of the isle melted her heart. He was perfect. How could she have been so fortunate as to marry the most amazing man in the world? She drifted back to that night.
Fed up with life, Stella was anxiously awaiting closing the diner for the night. Customers had been scarce except for this one troubled fellow. She couldn't figure out why he wouldn't leave. he was ordering coffee after coffee, seeming very put out about something. Deciding she wanted to get out early tonight, Stella decided to go over and investigate.
"More coffee sir?" she said hoping for a no.
"Yes please."
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you okay? You have been here for a while and I can't help but notice that you look kind of troubled." She was startled by his handsomeness as he looked up at her with sad eyes.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks."
"You might want to stop drowning whatever is wrong in coffee though. You will never sleep tonight," she said hoping she would be able to hear him laugh. That thought made her nervous and scared all at the same time.
"It has just been a rough day," he said in a saddened tone.
"Yeah I know how that feels." She preceded to look around the boring empty diner and sat down with confidence. She had no clue what she was doing, but decided that she longed for some conversation. The need to leave early quickly slipped out of her mind. This town didn't offer much of a social life. She sat the coffee down after graciously topping off his half full cup.
"I'm Stella by the way," she offered trying to probe the conversation on so she didn't look like a complete idiot. When it came to men, she knew nothing; especially with ones that were complete strangers. But, this stranger didn't seem to feel like a stranger. He seemed sweet. Looks can be deceiving she decided, so she preceded with caution.
"Nice to meet you, I'm Marcus." He then reached his hand across the table to shake her hand. His hand shake was stern and strong.
They continued the night with small talk as time flew by. She loved listening to him. Loving to listen to a stranger was strange to her, but non-the-less she allowed herself too. He was eays going and unafraid. The world shouldn't be afraid to be open she thought. She knew that she had quickly made a friend.
"Well I should probably get to closing the diner," she said not wanting too.
"No."
She couldn't help but smile as he said out loud what he only wanted to be heard on the inside. She giggled.
"I mean, yeah I guess you should. I should get going anyway. It was great talking with you Stella."
"Yeah, thanks. It was nice," she said hoping for more than an abrupt departing of company.
"So, we should do it again sometime."
Her heart leaped. " We should! I get off at the same time tomorrow. Want to go see a movie or something?" She said this praying that she did not come across too desperate.
"I would love too. I will pick you up here then," he said with a smile.
And then he went. She was walking on air the rest of the night. A dull night at work turned into a day to remember. She couldn't help but think that there was something to this chance meeting. Was it coincidence? She didn't think so.
Stella was then shaken from her memories as she was handed over to the man of her dreams. He was standing there so tall, strong, and handsome. This was their day and all she could see was him. Nothing else seemed to matter. All she could picture was the life she was about to embark on with him, with her husband. A tear ran down her fair cheek. He lifted a finger to her face and wiped it away as he mouthed the words, "I love you." He reached for her hands. She was finally his.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Desperaux
I thoroughly enjoyed watching the Tale of Despereaux. It was cute and packed full of lessons to be learned. My favorite part of the whole movie would have to be the very beginning. The narrator starts off describing what a rat is and about its mannerisms, but all the while Roscuro the rat is breaking all these norms. He isn't afraid of light, he isn't afraid of humans, and he talks. He breaks the norm of being a rat. Just like Despereaux breaks ever norm for being a mouse. He doesn't cower, he isn't scared of anything, he likes humans, and hes adventurous. I love that Despereaux is told all this life that he isn't what a mouse should be and he is constantly talked down too about who he is, but never once does he questions what he wants. Even after hes banished he doesn't stop finding adventure. Why is it that often times in our society that people tell us all the time to chase our dreams and to be who we are, but discourage us from doing to at the same time? Are some dreams really too big? Too unrealistic?
God created us to dream big dreams. It doesn't matter what the norms of society are. Big dreams make big differences. God will equip us with what we need to succeed. Like Despereaux's big ears for example. What he gives us might not always look like it will help, but there is a purpose. And there will be days when we doubt and take a few steps back, like Roscuro did. But we will always have dreams in our heart even though we may not portray it. Hurt, fear, sorrow, grief, loss, and pride can hide our dreams if we let them.
God created us to dream big dreams. It doesn't matter what the norms of society are. Big dreams make big differences. God will equip us with what we need to succeed. Like Despereaux's big ears for example. What he gives us might not always look like it will help, but there is a purpose. And there will be days when we doubt and take a few steps back, like Roscuro did. But we will always have dreams in our heart even though we may not portray it. Hurt, fear, sorrow, grief, loss, and pride can hide our dreams if we let them.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Art Museum
I have never been to an art museum before our class went. I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. I went back Saturday for two hours with three other friends because I just wanted to see more. It is so easy to get lost in thought while looking at a piece of art. Every piece that I took time to look at, I would ask myself what I thought the artist was thinking at the very moment in time when they started their piece.
I was so captivated. The mind is so magnificent. Some of the pieces of art were odd looking, some breathtaking, some complicated, some simple, some colorful, some bland, each an experience in and of itself; a materialized story brought to life and frozen in time by someone.
The most memorable part of the experience for me was the hall of photographs from all over the world. All were by the same photographer and he would have the family bring their possessions outside, they would pose, and he would capture the moment. He gathered information about each family like income, hours worked, most valued possession, size of their land, and wishes for the future. All the information was posted on a plaque next to each photo. It was a cultural experience and a wake up call of sorts. America was displayed first, each photo that followed broke my heart. We are so blessed. So many people go on missions trip and get a wake up call about how blessed me are, and how we have no need to complain about pointless things, but me, I learned this through art, a photograph.
Just like literature, art is an experience. It all starts with an artist and a story that longs to be told.
I was so captivated. The mind is so magnificent. Some of the pieces of art were odd looking, some breathtaking, some complicated, some simple, some colorful, some bland, each an experience in and of itself; a materialized story brought to life and frozen in time by someone.
The most memorable part of the experience for me was the hall of photographs from all over the world. All were by the same photographer and he would have the family bring their possessions outside, they would pose, and he would capture the moment. He gathered information about each family like income, hours worked, most valued possession, size of their land, and wishes for the future. All the information was posted on a plaque next to each photo. It was a cultural experience and a wake up call of sorts. America was displayed first, each photo that followed broke my heart. We are so blessed. So many people go on missions trip and get a wake up call about how blessed me are, and how we have no need to complain about pointless things, but me, I learned this through art, a photograph.
Just like literature, art is an experience. It all starts with an artist and a story that longs to be told.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
His
He is standing there; tall, handsome, his pale face accentuated beautifully by his choppy brown hair. He stood tall with an air of confidence; face tense and focused. He was watching, he was waiting for something. His body was strong. His demeanor was proud. His heart was light. His nerves were high; sweat beads forming at his hairline, and a slight quake formed in his crossed hands, all while remaining at ease. His green eyes were graceful. Every few minutes they would scan the surroundings. Yet, he was not seeing anything that day except for one thing. He would only be seeing that which he was waiting for. He was watching, and he was waiting.
All of the sudden a melodious tune filled the air. Instantly his back stiffened, and a tiny smile crept into existence upon his face. He looked down, and then looked back up, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve simultaneously. Returning to his prior stance, he watches as a few beautiful women walk by. But then, his heart stops. He sees her. She makes her way gracefully towards him. A tear escapes his masculine heart and eye. Her beauty is captivating him just as it has done every day prior to this one. Thoughts of love and adoration flood him; thoughts of moments; the beautiful and not so beautiful, the talks, the walks, the tears, the fears, the years. He is shaken from these thoughts when she arrives before him. Now he seems complete. His deep eyes peer into hers with a gently love. His quaking hands reach for hers; his brides.
***
I oberserved someone simply sitting in the cafeteria. My thoughts kept jogging towards why they were sitting alone with an abundance of people around? Were they alone or waiting for someone? What would that difference look like? I took from my notes and focused upon the idea of waiting. I ran with the bride and groom scenerio.
All of the sudden a melodious tune filled the air. Instantly his back stiffened, and a tiny smile crept into existence upon his face. He looked down, and then looked back up, brushing the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve simultaneously. Returning to his prior stance, he watches as a few beautiful women walk by. But then, his heart stops. He sees her. She makes her way gracefully towards him. A tear escapes his masculine heart and eye. Her beauty is captivating him just as it has done every day prior to this one. Thoughts of love and adoration flood him; thoughts of moments; the beautiful and not so beautiful, the talks, the walks, the tears, the fears, the years. He is shaken from these thoughts when she arrives before him. Now he seems complete. His deep eyes peer into hers with a gently love. His quaking hands reach for hers; his brides.
***
I oberserved someone simply sitting in the cafeteria. My thoughts kept jogging towards why they were sitting alone with an abundance of people around? Were they alone or waiting for someone? What would that difference look like? I took from my notes and focused upon the idea of waiting. I ran with the bride and groom scenerio.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Character
Oddly enough, I found the first small section of the reading for homework incredibly spiritual. It had some amazing points. It states that "none of us really knows other people. It's a thought everyone confronts and almost no one fully accepts." Can we ever fully know a person? I think the only one capable of truly knowing someone is Christ. He is the only one who can see why a person is they way they are; what shaped their character; what their inner workings and motives are.
Another part of the text says "We use our own experiences and our own feelings as a checkpoint against what we see in others." As soon as I read this statement I thought of checking myself against the character of Christ. In the grand scheme of life, He is the ultimate character in the story. His character is genuine.
Experiences build character. Everyone experiences, everyone has character. "Literary experience is experience; to put it another way, there is no need to distinguish literary experience from "life experience." This gave me a profound revelation on literature. So many times I look at a text and see text; I see a poem, I see a story, I see words, I see a search. I forget that it is an experience. I forget that there is a person behind this experience. A human being with a character, with a story, who wrote 'this' piece as an expression of experience; an expression of character. This just makes reading literature more enjoyable to me.
I also like pondering the thought of if the characters emerged from the story of did the story emerge from the characters? Developing the character is essential. For me, I especially enjoy stories and books where I can connect with the character. "We must want to know about a character." Even in pieces that do not have an evident character, the piece or poem itself has character. It comes down to me asking myself, what is the author trying to say through this character, and what are theses characters telling me about the character of the piece?
I learned quite a bit from this reading. :)
Another part of the text says "We use our own experiences and our own feelings as a checkpoint against what we see in others." As soon as I read this statement I thought of checking myself against the character of Christ. In the grand scheme of life, He is the ultimate character in the story. His character is genuine.
Experiences build character. Everyone experiences, everyone has character. "Literary experience is experience; to put it another way, there is no need to distinguish literary experience from "life experience." This gave me a profound revelation on literature. So many times I look at a text and see text; I see a poem, I see a story, I see words, I see a search. I forget that it is an experience. I forget that there is a person behind this experience. A human being with a character, with a story, who wrote 'this' piece as an expression of experience; an expression of character. This just makes reading literature more enjoyable to me.
I also like pondering the thought of if the characters emerged from the story of did the story emerge from the characters? Developing the character is essential. For me, I especially enjoy stories and books where I can connect with the character. "We must want to know about a character." Even in pieces that do not have an evident character, the piece or poem itself has character. It comes down to me asking myself, what is the author trying to say through this character, and what are theses characters telling me about the character of the piece?
I learned quite a bit from this reading. :)
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Lectio Divina
I thoroughly enjoyed doing Lectio in class Tuesday. It is a practice that I do in my own life when reading the scripture, but it was very effective when put to this type of literature as well. The first words that comes to mind when reflecting on that class period is somber and sobering. The atmosphere, to me, was just intense.
Sonny's Blues can definitely be a spiritual piece. It can relate to us as Christians on so many levels. The main thing that stuck out to me when we were meditating was that I am not alone. My lifesong is similar to many others. One of the sentences that hit me with this revelation was "... That life contained so many others." Our lives carry stories that bear other peoples stories too. We all suffer, we all face trials and tests.
Our testimonies are most effective when connected to someones heart. Just like music was the testimony in Sonny's Blues. "I seemed to hear with what burning he had made it his, and what burning we had yet to make it ours, how we could cease lamenting. Freedom lurked around us and I understood, at last, that he could help us be free is we would listen, that he would never be free untill we did." There is freedom in the testimony that God has blessed us with.
But another thing I learned from meditating on Sonny's Blues was the power of our song in our own lives. Our own testimonies can minister to us. "But the man who creates the music is hearing something else..." Never forgetting where we came from is a song in and of itself. It is a constant reminder of God's grace and mercy. Because it is so personal, of course we hear it differently . That is why it can be so frustrating... " How aweful the relationship must be between the musician and his instrument." People may often times not understand our song the way we want want them too. Sonny was trying, but knew that his brother would not understand his life until he heard his song.
I am going to go off on a little tangent here... That is why I get frustrated with blogging. I am not good at typing out adaquately how I feel. This piece touched me, but I find it hard to sit and type out how it has. So, I sit and I try, hoping it comes out right.
So, my last thoughts on Sonny's Blues are this. Our songs can be conversations; conversations with each other, conversations with God, conversations with the lost. Are we singing? I know in my own life that I haven't been singing as much as I should be.
But....what song is my life reflecting? Is my life reflecting blues, or praise? How can I express praise while my song may be suffering? Is my song releasing freedom? Am I listening to others songs? Or just hearing my own? ....
Sonny's Blues can definitely be a spiritual piece. It can relate to us as Christians on so many levels. The main thing that stuck out to me when we were meditating was that I am not alone. My lifesong is similar to many others. One of the sentences that hit me with this revelation was "... That life contained so many others." Our lives carry stories that bear other peoples stories too. We all suffer, we all face trials and tests.
Our testimonies are most effective when connected to someones heart. Just like music was the testimony in Sonny's Blues. "I seemed to hear with what burning he had made it his, and what burning we had yet to make it ours, how we could cease lamenting. Freedom lurked around us and I understood, at last, that he could help us be free is we would listen, that he would never be free untill we did." There is freedom in the testimony that God has blessed us with.
But another thing I learned from meditating on Sonny's Blues was the power of our song in our own lives. Our own testimonies can minister to us. "But the man who creates the music is hearing something else..." Never forgetting where we came from is a song in and of itself. It is a constant reminder of God's grace and mercy. Because it is so personal, of course we hear it differently . That is why it can be so frustrating... " How aweful the relationship must be between the musician and his instrument." People may often times not understand our song the way we want want them too. Sonny was trying, but knew that his brother would not understand his life until he heard his song.
I am going to go off on a little tangent here... That is why I get frustrated with blogging. I am not good at typing out adaquately how I feel. This piece touched me, but I find it hard to sit and type out how it has. So, I sit and I try, hoping it comes out right.
So, my last thoughts on Sonny's Blues are this. Our songs can be conversations; conversations with each other, conversations with God, conversations with the lost. Are we singing? I know in my own life that I haven't been singing as much as I should be.
But....what song is my life reflecting? Is my life reflecting blues, or praise? How can I express praise while my song may be suffering? Is my song releasing freedom? Am I listening to others songs? Or just hearing my own? ....
Monday, September 28, 2009
Joel Painting
My painting is very simplistic and literal. My mind just tends to work that way. Each different piece of the painting represents something taken directly from the text.
First, I have Mt. Zion and a sun in the upper left corner. Chapter 2 verse 1 says "Blow a trumpet in Zion; sound an alarm on my holy mountain!" To me this signifies a celebration and a warning. I included the sun to signify the return of the son. I also painted a trumpet to signify the state of alarm and celebration with the 'sound' of Zion coming from it.
Next I included hands in prayer with 'repent' written in the middle of the back side of the hand. One of the biggest aspects of Joel, is repentance. All of Israel is called to it. I think that last days are calling for a spirit of repentance that we have yet to grab a hold of. Chapter 1 verse 14-15 says "Consecrate a fast; call a solemn assembly. Gather the elders and all the inhabitants of the land to the house of the Lord your God, and cry out to the Lord. Alas for the day! For the day of the Lord is near." We have always been in the last days.
Next, I painted a vessel pouring out what looks like water. This of course signifies God's promise of pouring out His spirit upon all flesh. These famous verses are indeed powerful. Chapter 2:28-29 "And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female servants in those days I will pour out my spirit."
The dove at the bottom of the page is the most important part to me. I have the caption "For He is Gracious and Merciful" under the dove. None of Joel would be possible without God's grace. He gives when Israel does not deserve it. We don't deserve Zion, but His love draws us in. He beckons us to repentance and readily extends forgiveness.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Joel revisited
So, today in class was very enlightening. We read to nature, the book of Joel. It sounded to weird at first but when I actually did it, it helped me to understand the piece better. Not that nature spoke to me or anything, but I think your surroundings do play a part in the way you interpret literature. The first time I read the whole book of Joel, I was sitting at my desk where I had been previously working vigorously on other homework and assignments. So my room had an air of stress about it. My mind didn't feel like understanding anything.
But when we were sitting outside I wasn't around anything but the outdoors. I find in my life that I experience God most when I am in nature. It is just a great way to connect with him. So reading His word, while enjoying His beautiful creation was fascinating.
Looking at the book then, it was easy to see it as an end times prophecy. Something I had overlooked before. Its an outcry for God's chosen ones; Israel. It was a call to repentance because the day of the Lord is/was near (vs. 15). I love that the book of Hosea is right before Joel. Hosea is story that portrays Israel as a prostitute, chasing after other loves. But in the end the Lord beckons them to return to Him. Chapter 14 Verse 4 in Hosea says "I will heal their apostasy, I will love them freely, for my anger has turned from them." In chapter one of Hosea God actually calls His people "No Mercy", and " Not My People." The end of verse 8 - " for you are not my people, and I am not your God." His anger rises, but by the end of the book He is calling them back to His side.
Joel seems similar. Joel just takes it farther. I believe that it walks us through the judgment and takes us right to Heaven. Or the new heavens and new earth...I don't know much about end times. But this is my stab at trying to begin to understand the book of Joel. It may be vague, but scripture can be intimidating. Its the word of God. So I do get nervous when trying to figure out things like the book of Joel, that isn't exactly black and white.
But when we were sitting outside I wasn't around anything but the outdoors. I find in my life that I experience God most when I am in nature. It is just a great way to connect with him. So reading His word, while enjoying His beautiful creation was fascinating.
Looking at the book then, it was easy to see it as an end times prophecy. Something I had overlooked before. Its an outcry for God's chosen ones; Israel. It was a call to repentance because the day of the Lord is/was near (vs. 15). I love that the book of Hosea is right before Joel. Hosea is story that portrays Israel as a prostitute, chasing after other loves. But in the end the Lord beckons them to return to Him. Chapter 14 Verse 4 in Hosea says "I will heal their apostasy, I will love them freely, for my anger has turned from them." In chapter one of Hosea God actually calls His people "No Mercy", and " Not My People." The end of verse 8 - " for you are not my people, and I am not your God." His anger rises, but by the end of the book He is calling them back to His side.
Joel seems similar. Joel just takes it farther. I believe that it walks us through the judgment and takes us right to Heaven. Or the new heavens and new earth...I don't know much about end times. But this is my stab at trying to begin to understand the book of Joel. It may be vague, but scripture can be intimidating. Its the word of God. So I do get nervous when trying to figure out things like the book of Joel, that isn't exactly black and white.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Joel
The book of Joel isn't the happiest book of the Bible. Not much in known about Joel, who is one of the minor prophets. Not many people quote scripture from the book of Joel, except for 2:28-29, which is a very powerful piece of scripture. "And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female servants in those days I will pour out my spirit." Every pentecostal loves a good Jesus outpouring.
But I think that most people overlook the power of this book. Its packed with redemption. Chapter one starts with an invasion of locusts and moves into a call for repentance in the land. Not much is really known about Joel. But at the end of chapter two the Lord shows pity. Verse 18 says "Then the Lord became jealous for His land and had pity on his poeple." He then declares that he will send them grain, wine, and oil; he will satisfy them. How beautiful is that! We don't deserve squat. But yet he simply calls us to him, there may be correction involved, but regardless, the fact that he even wants us is amazing. The whole flow of the book just reaveals a lot about God.
Another thing I love about Joel is that it reassures that the true Christian walk is not a simple one. We will, without a doubt face trials and hard times. Chapter 2:12 "Yet even now, declares the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; and render your hearts and not your garments." This goes hand in hand with "work out your salvation with fear and trembling." The fact of the matter is that God is an angry God, AND a loving God. He is just as much the lion as He is the Lamb.
But I think that most people overlook the power of this book. Its packed with redemption. Chapter one starts with an invasion of locusts and moves into a call for repentance in the land. Not much is really known about Joel. But at the end of chapter two the Lord shows pity. Verse 18 says "Then the Lord became jealous for His land and had pity on his poeple." He then declares that he will send them grain, wine, and oil; he will satisfy them. How beautiful is that! We don't deserve squat. But yet he simply calls us to him, there may be correction involved, but regardless, the fact that he even wants us is amazing. The whole flow of the book just reaveals a lot about God.
Another thing I love about Joel is that it reassures that the true Christian walk is not a simple one. We will, without a doubt face trials and hard times. Chapter 2:12 "Yet even now, declares the Lord, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; and render your hearts and not your garments." This goes hand in hand with "work out your salvation with fear and trembling." The fact of the matter is that God is an angry God, AND a loving God. He is just as much the lion as He is the Lamb.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
When Lylacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd
But yet it seems like, with the symbolism in the lilac, that it brings hope. One of my favorite lines was in section 7: "O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies, But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first." No matter what, spring always comes back, and the lilac will always grow. Cover death with life.
But I must say that my favorite part in the whole piece are a few lines in section 13 :"You only I hear-yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart) Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me." This line shows how much Whitman mourned over Lincoln. It holds so much respect and honor. The stars, to me, symbolize Lincoln. Lincoln was an extremely influencial man. Whitman can't change the fact that the star has fallen. He must remember the lilac; the fragrance of hope.
Towards the end you can sense Whitmans acceptance of Lincolns death. My second favorite challenging part was in the very last section. "Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves, I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring." I feel like he is accepting the death here, but remembering the memories. Every springtime, the memory of Lincoln will return with the lilacs.
I can relate this piece to my life in the way of embracing hope in the hard times. Life would be so much more difficult and miserable without hope. We should always be looking forward to the springtime, a new season.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Darkness
In class on Thursday we read the poems dealing with heavy, dark things. I had the pleasure of reading After Her Death by Mary Oliver. It was an interesting poem. From what I understood of the text it was about the passing of a dear friend. The person that experienced the loss of course was deeply wounded from the loss. They are trying to find relief, they are trying to find answers, trying to find light in the midst of all the tragedy. They seek for these things in the Bible that a church gave to them. They find themselves turning to the Book of Matthew, turning to anywhere just for some type of answer to anything.
I like this poem so much because it is easy to relate to if you have ever lost a loved one. When my grandmother passed away I was angry for a while. It didn't make sense. I kept asking God why. But slowly I started to realize that death happens. It isn't always fair, but God doesn't do it to be cruel or anything of the sort. Death causes us to appreciate life more.
I think that's why darkness is not always necessarily a bad thing. It certainly doesn't feels like it while we are walking through something extremely difficult, but looking back on my life, I thank God for the hard times. My lif would not be where it is today without them. In James, God tells us to be joyful in trials, and to remain strong because the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. My faith always arises when I think upon what Paul went through, and how he kept pushing toward the goal of Christ. I can persevere through anything with Christ in me. He is the only thing I need, no matter how bleak life may look at times, He is always there, being my biggest fan cheering me on to the finish.
I like this poem so much because it is easy to relate to if you have ever lost a loved one. When my grandmother passed away I was angry for a while. It didn't make sense. I kept asking God why. But slowly I started to realize that death happens. It isn't always fair, but God doesn't do it to be cruel or anything of the sort. Death causes us to appreciate life more.
I think that's why darkness is not always necessarily a bad thing. It certainly doesn't feels like it while we are walking through something extremely difficult, but looking back on my life, I thank God for the hard times. My lif would not be where it is today without them. In James, God tells us to be joyful in trials, and to remain strong because the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. My faith always arises when I think upon what Paul went through, and how he kept pushing toward the goal of Christ. I can persevere through anything with Christ in me. He is the only thing I need, no matter how bleak life may look at times, He is always there, being my biggest fan cheering me on to the finish.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Theme
I never thought about the possibility of theme hindering what the text might mean to the reader. The way my brain works, I realize that this may be one of the reasons I struggle with interpreting texts. Usually when I read a piece, the first thing I do is search for a theme, and since my mind is slightly one track, once I have a meaning and or theme stuck in my head it is hard for me to expand to what else it could mean. I keep trying to expand on that one idea instead of what else could be an interpretation. I am a literal person so I often get stuck in the interpreting literally.
For example : My mind on "Little Red Riding Hood." When I think of that story I think 'don't talk to strangers' and that's about it. After reading the homework, I see that even the simplest story or pieces can have more than one meaning. I never knew that the intended moral of that store was for young women to watch out for the flattery of charming men. Kinda lost me with the talking wolf playing the charming man part. But it could also mean a million different other things. I think it could be a parental lesson. My mom would have never let me walk in the woods, by myself, carrying food, all the way to grandma's house. That just spells stupid. So moral of the story: Don't let your children walk in the woods alone for long distances, they, and their grandma, will get eaten by talking wolves in nightcaps.
I really liked the other two pieces we read for homework that kind of made fun of "Little Red Riding Hood." Even though it is a childrens story, it is slightly ridiculous. At least I think so. But I guess that is why most versions add the lumberjack killing the wolf at the end instead of it eating her. I never thought of this story so much before. Sort of enlightening.
For example : My mind on "Little Red Riding Hood." When I think of that story I think 'don't talk to strangers' and that's about it. After reading the homework, I see that even the simplest story or pieces can have more than one meaning. I never knew that the intended moral of that store was for young women to watch out for the flattery of charming men. Kinda lost me with the talking wolf playing the charming man part. But it could also mean a million different other things. I think it could be a parental lesson. My mom would have never let me walk in the woods, by myself, carrying food, all the way to grandma's house. That just spells stupid. So moral of the story: Don't let your children walk in the woods alone for long distances, they, and their grandma, will get eaten by talking wolves in nightcaps.
I really liked the other two pieces we read for homework that kind of made fun of "Little Red Riding Hood." Even though it is a childrens story, it is slightly ridiculous. At least I think so. But I guess that is why most versions add the lumberjack killing the wolf at the end instead of it eating her. I never thought of this story so much before. Sort of enlightening.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Things They Carried
The Things They Carried. "The things they carried were largely determined by necessity... To carry something was to "hump" it...What they carried was partly a function of rank, partly of field specialty...plus the unweighed fear... They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried...What they carried varied by mission... They all carried ghosts...The things they carried were determined to some extent by superstition...Some things they carried in common...They shared the weight of memory...They took up what others could no longer bear...Often they carried each other, the wounded or weak...They carried infections... They carried the land itself...the place, the soil...They carried the sky... They carried gravity... just humping...Because it was automatic....Their prinicples were in their feet... They carried their own lives....They would never be at a loss for things to carry."
"For the most part they carried themselves with poise, a kind of dignity...They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die...Greif, terror, love, longing...They carried their reputations....the blush of dishonor...By large they carried these things inside, maintaining the masks of composure..."
These are all the sentences run together from the piece that stuck out to me the most. They paint vivid pictures for the reader to understand what it was that they carried. They carried the unimaginable.
My dad's brother Bob died as a result of the vietnam war; because of Agent Orange. I was probably five or six at the time. Bone cancer slowly took him from us. It was the first time I ever saw my Father cry. Bob had a loving wife and children that cared for him. I know they miss him deeply. It took our family a long time to recover, as with most grieving. I can't imagine what my Uncle Bob went through, or what he carried during that war. But I must thank him for carrying what he did to save the lives of many other people. I also find myself stopping to thank the people that helped him carry burdens during the war. The brave men and women that were family to him during that time.
Thinking about the men and women that serve our country puts a knot in my stomach. I can't imaging how hard it must be. I am ashamed to say that I don't know if I could ever do it. I don't think my heart could take being away from my "Martha" so to speak. I could not handle seeing people around me fall boom-down. I could not handle memories. The things they carried.... I dont think I could carry.
"For the most part they carried themselves with poise, a kind of dignity...They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die...Greif, terror, love, longing...They carried their reputations....the blush of dishonor...By large they carried these things inside, maintaining the masks of composure..."
These are all the sentences run together from the piece that stuck out to me the most. They paint vivid pictures for the reader to understand what it was that they carried. They carried the unimaginable.
My dad's brother Bob died as a result of the vietnam war; because of Agent Orange. I was probably five or six at the time. Bone cancer slowly took him from us. It was the first time I ever saw my Father cry. Bob had a loving wife and children that cared for him. I know they miss him deeply. It took our family a long time to recover, as with most grieving. I can't imagine what my Uncle Bob went through, or what he carried during that war. But I must thank him for carrying what he did to save the lives of many other people. I also find myself stopping to thank the people that helped him carry burdens during the war. The brave men and women that were family to him during that time.
Thinking about the men and women that serve our country puts a knot in my stomach. I can't imaging how hard it must be. I am ashamed to say that I don't know if I could ever do it. I don't think my heart could take being away from my "Martha" so to speak. I could not handle seeing people around me fall boom-down. I could not handle memories. The things they carried.... I dont think I could carry.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
What We Talk about When We Talk about Love
What We Talk about When We Talk about Love is a very interesting piece. I love the debate in it. The core question, in my mind, is 'What is true love?', and 'Does true love exist, is there really such a thing?'
Mel and Terri are a married couple that sit and debate about Terri's past abusive lover Ed. Mel is convinced that there is no way that Ed loved Terri. He not only verbally abused her but he hit her. Terri was convinced otherwise. She thought that Ed truly loved her. She went so far as to think that he killed himself all in the name of love for her.
I tend to agree with Mel. I believe that if you truly love someone that you can't imagine verbally or physically abusing them. Abuse does not exist in true love. Another interesting topic talked about regarding love, was remarrying.
Mel tells of his experience. He claimed he truly loved his ex-wife, hates her now, and truly loves his current wife. Can true love come and go? Can it be found more than once? I full heartedly believe in true love, but I also believe that there is more than one person in this world that I can whole heartedly love.
Mel finishes out the story with an account of an elderly couple. This couple got into a car accident that landed them in critical condition. The husband began to get very depressed simply because he could not see his wife's face while in recovery. To Mel, this was an expression of true love. Even though seemingly drunk by the end, Mel proves a great point, true love does exist, but he lets us draw our own conclusions.
Mel and Terri are a married couple that sit and debate about Terri's past abusive lover Ed. Mel is convinced that there is no way that Ed loved Terri. He not only verbally abused her but he hit her. Terri was convinced otherwise. She thought that Ed truly loved her. She went so far as to think that he killed himself all in the name of love for her.
I tend to agree with Mel. I believe that if you truly love someone that you can't imagine verbally or physically abusing them. Abuse does not exist in true love. Another interesting topic talked about regarding love, was remarrying.
Mel tells of his experience. He claimed he truly loved his ex-wife, hates her now, and truly loves his current wife. Can true love come and go? Can it be found more than once? I full heartedly believe in true love, but I also believe that there is more than one person in this world that I can whole heartedly love.
Mel finishes out the story with an account of an elderly couple. This couple got into a car accident that landed them in critical condition. The husband began to get very depressed simply because he could not see his wife's face while in recovery. To Mel, this was an expression of true love. Even though seemingly drunk by the end, Mel proves a great point, true love does exist, but he lets us draw our own conclusions.
My earliest memories of literature start with Kindergarten. The class would have story time every morning. We would sit in a circle, listening intently to the teacher read a story. I do not really remember the stories specifically, but I do remember anticipating story time every day. I would be excited to hear about things I only dreamed of experiencing. That is why I love literature so much. I enjoy reading. It gives me an escape from reality. It began with reading about princes and princesses as a young child, getting ready to drift off to sleep, to being a young adult reading about passionate romance wishing that a prince charming, of dreams so long ago, would appear.
That is why I believe literature matters so much. It is often times unrealistic and fascinating, full of passion and hate, love and war, politics and government, relationships and break ups, comedy and woe. Literature can teach us so much if we open up to it.
My favorite pieces of literature are the works of Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book with Sense and Sensibility ranking second. I love them because of the hope they inspire in common people. Jane Austen was a fascinating woman and author.
If I connect with the piece it make it so much easier to understand. Some literature isn't the easiest to understand. For example, medieval literature is not exactly my cup of tea. But, I have no problem digging into a piece and attempting to solve it. That is another beautiful thing about literature, interpretations vary between person to person, and that is okay. :)
That is why I believe literature matters so much. It is often times unrealistic and fascinating, full of passion and hate, love and war, politics and government, relationships and break ups, comedy and woe. Literature can teach us so much if we open up to it.
My favorite pieces of literature are the works of Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite book with Sense and Sensibility ranking second. I love them because of the hope they inspire in common people. Jane Austen was a fascinating woman and author.
If I connect with the piece it make it so much easier to understand. Some literature isn't the easiest to understand. For example, medieval literature is not exactly my cup of tea. But, I have no problem digging into a piece and attempting to solve it. That is another beautiful thing about literature, interpretations vary between person to person, and that is okay. :)
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