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.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
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? ....
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