If you can read this...
...then no words are necessary.
Monday, December 12, 2016
Monday, December 5, 2016
A Parting of Ways
Sometimes the time comes to take the road less traveled by. In this case, as I reflect upon the significance of today's date—a significance merely personal with little exception—I find myself ever more aware of the threads of the past leading into the present. For eight years ago today a new-found friend and I drew from the dry pages of history an idea of fresh and exciting proportions with life-altering fruits. Some might have called us fools for leaving behind a stable and secure life to make a pilgrimage on foot from church to church, accepting whatever Providence should grant us along the way, praying with each mile forward toward a known destination and unknown end. Well we were fools—fools for Christ.
I reflect upon these matters today partly because I cannot help but do so. No matter how much I have at times tried to forget things past and not to speak of them, I know that I do not forget; perhaps this is merely human, or perhaps it is the fruit of my personality, which desires—and requires—permanence. In any case, the shadow of the past falls still upon the present with all its goods and ills.
The other day, as I spoke with a dear friend, sharing with her how my Lord had been working through my life, I realized an important truth about the past: I must speak in order to remember. Although I cannot truly forget, I can let things slide into a sort of apathetic knowledge taken for granted. If, on the other hand, I boldly proclaim what I have learned in this earthly pilgrimage, I accept for myself again and again the good that has been given, and perhaps may even shed some glimmer of light into the darkness of a fellow traveler's path.
To that end, I have decided—hesitantly at first—that I must share some more spiritual ponderings with those who care to read. I tend to think of such things as being very personal and meant to be treasured closely in one's heart. There is a certain amount of truth to that view certainly, but it leaves aside a greater truth: that what is given to us is often meant to be shared that it may grow and increase, like the Gospel parable of the talents. What I give to others, I often have in greater degree for myself as well. When I give freely, I let my Lord bless what I offer and multiply it—in this way my life becomes fruitful.
Since the spiritual journey has more direction than mere jibbooms and bobstays, I will keep these two continuing as separate threads. Here I will continue with the randomness and spontaneity originally intended, as time and grey matter allow. If you wish to follow my other journey, you will find that thread here.
I reflect upon these matters today partly because I cannot help but do so. No matter how much I have at times tried to forget things past and not to speak of them, I know that I do not forget; perhaps this is merely human, or perhaps it is the fruit of my personality, which desires—and requires—permanence. In any case, the shadow of the past falls still upon the present with all its goods and ills.
The other day, as I spoke with a dear friend, sharing with her how my Lord had been working through my life, I realized an important truth about the past: I must speak in order to remember. Although I cannot truly forget, I can let things slide into a sort of apathetic knowledge taken for granted. If, on the other hand, I boldly proclaim what I have learned in this earthly pilgrimage, I accept for myself again and again the good that has been given, and perhaps may even shed some glimmer of light into the darkness of a fellow traveler's path.
To that end, I have decided—hesitantly at first—that I must share some more spiritual ponderings with those who care to read. I tend to think of such things as being very personal and meant to be treasured closely in one's heart. There is a certain amount of truth to that view certainly, but it leaves aside a greater truth: that what is given to us is often meant to be shared that it may grow and increase, like the Gospel parable of the talents. What I give to others, I often have in greater degree for myself as well. When I give freely, I let my Lord bless what I offer and multiply it—in this way my life becomes fruitful.
Since the spiritual journey has more direction than mere jibbooms and bobstays, I will keep these two continuing as separate threads. Here I will continue with the randomness and spontaneity originally intended, as time and grey matter allow. If you wish to follow my other journey, you will find that thread here.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Saint Crispin's Day
In honor of this day and by courtesy of William Shakespeare:
KING HENRY V
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more, methinks, would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
A Morbid Sense of Language
I was racking my brain for something less weighty to discuss here when it occurred to me to question that turn of phrase. Why should the verbage that comes to mind draw from an English form of torture? (Even turn of phrase could have such connotations....) Why should I not rather say I was watering my brain or fertilizing the ol' grey cells or some more fruitful idiom?
Of course the obvious answer is that I inherit the language of my predecessors. But what language that is! For racking our brains is only the beginning of it....
If we want to hear someone's idea, we might say, Fire away!
If we find something hilarious, we could say, You're killing me!
Sometimes if someone has done something excellently, we say, You murdered it!
We even draw an arrow to indicate which direction to go.
If someone has a good argument, we say, You have a good point (in other words, no button on the end of your sword, so you could actually kill someone with it).
When someone looks good, we say said person looks sharp.
We execute a plan.
And those are only the ones off the top of my head (does that remind anyone else of scalping?)....
Of course the obvious answer is that I inherit the language of my predecessors. But what language that is! For racking our brains is only the beginning of it....
If we want to hear someone's idea, we might say, Fire away!
If we find something hilarious, we could say, You're killing me!
Sometimes if someone has done something excellently, we say, You murdered it!
We even draw an arrow to indicate which direction to go.
If someone has a good argument, we say, You have a good point (in other words, no button on the end of your sword, so you could actually kill someone with it).
When someone looks good, we say said person looks sharp.
We execute a plan.
And those are only the ones off the top of my head (does that remind anyone else of scalping?)....
Saturday, October 15, 2016
The Eyes of a Young Child
The other day while visiting some dear friends of mine, I found myself the subject of an intensely-interested stare from their little one. That stare intrigued me at first for no other reason than the fact that I could hardly imagine blinking so few times without my eyes becoming dehydrated.
In order to illustrate my point, I offer you a picture of a young child staring:
What innocent joy, eh? Also, now you and I have the same image in our heads for the point I wish to make.
For later, as I reflected upon a baby's stare from another angle, I began to compare its selflessness to my own self-consciousness. A young child has no difficulty staring you right in the eyes for long periods of time, but it makes me uncomfortable.
At times, I find myself wordless in the company of friends or strangers. I have a longing desire to connect deeply, but I cannot find the path. Feeling my own inadequacy, I therefore find myself shying away from meeting the other's eyes, as if I should find therein the same condemnation I find in my own heart.
Yet what if we could truly become like little children? I wonder if we could then find the courage to stare in appreciation of the other's worth and unique beauty, forgetting ourselves....
In order to illustrate my point, I offer you a picture of a young child staring:
What innocent joy, eh? Also, now you and I have the same image in our heads for the point I wish to make.
For later, as I reflected upon a baby's stare from another angle, I began to compare its selflessness to my own self-consciousness. A young child has no difficulty staring you right in the eyes for long periods of time, but it makes me uncomfortable.
At times, I find myself wordless in the company of friends or strangers. I have a longing desire to connect deeply, but I cannot find the path. Feeling my own inadequacy, I therefore find myself shying away from meeting the other's eyes, as if I should find therein the same condemnation I find in my own heart.
Yet what if we could truly become like little children? I wonder if we could then find the courage to stare in appreciation of the other's worth and unique beauty, forgetting ourselves....
Monday, October 10, 2016
Suffering and Surrender
"Don't waste your suffering."
-Giovanni Paolo II
Suffering is an idea I mentioned in a post quite a while ago and it is a subject that continues to haunt my mind. It seems to be an essential part of our lives despite any hedonistic desires to remove it entirely.
It is interesting to me how many things have been created to alleviate suffering and yet these very inventions turn back upon us in some way, creating another form of suffering. We try to escape, but never can. No matter how many doctors and medicines we have, we still lose our health. Although we surround ourselves with friends, at least on social media, we are still lonely. Despite believing that we have advanced far beyond nations of previous centuries, we still cannot solve the daily problems that face us.
As I return to these words I wrote some time ago, I cannot recall precisely the direction I intended to go, but that is no matter. There are many paths I might follow and one lies clearly open before me...
I still grapple with this idea of suffering—with the fear of the Cross—but I am beginning to understand its fruit. In many ways, this last year and more has been a time of loss—the loss of things and people very dear to me. Yet at the same time there have been so many good things that I feel buoyed up to face these losses, and through the inner growth of the seed of faith within, I find little nubs of fruit beginning to form.
So many times I have sought to handle loneliness (as an example of suffering) by fleeing it or filling that emptiness with goods of varying sorts. Yet the void remains. There is nothing that can fill that void fully in this life and that aches. It feels wrong.
My reading lately has been reminding me, however, that we were in a sense created so—created with a vastness capable of embracing only the Infinite—and that we do not need to flee that pain nor cover it up. In the end those efforts are only like trying to use bandaids to staunch the blood from a cut-off limb anyway. They are at least as futile as that analogy...
Yet what if we simply accepted the pain? There is a way to turn yourself upside-down: to turn your whole world upside-down.
As an artist, I find that the pain often impels me to create. When I miss my Nonna or hate my inability to deal with people as perfectly as I expect, I find myself driven to weave words into poetry. When this world fails to live up to my expectations, I want to create theatre to move people's hearts.
Joy can provide a similar drive, but somehow it is less communicable. It does not impel creation in the same way.
This experience of pain does not hold true only for myself. Those writers I love—Dostoevsky for example—write out of suffering and thus touch the depths of the human condition. Where I experience beauty in art and literature, where these speak to my soul, one can find the source in some sort of suffering. We know that truth even when we cannot bear pain in our own lives.
There is left only one thing to do.
When faced with the vastness of the sea, we marvel. We see there the amazing power of something beyond ourselves and we are moved by the beauty. When we gaze at the inner sea that laps against the sands of our self-wrought shores, we might do the same. We might throw out our arms and laugh with joy in the face of the winds that come.
Surrender gives us that power.
Rather than flee the suffering or hide the pain, we can embrace it and surrender to its higher purpose. We can realize that we are not god unto ourselves, that we cannot control the winds that blow against our seas. We can know our place before the starry universe.
That realization has lead some to despair. Those who cannot surrender to a power beyond themselves must despair when they lose their grip on the shifting sands on which they built their homes. Yet what freedom there is in surrender! I taste more and more of that true and glorious freedom as I take each step along this path of surrender. And as I step farther, I begin to see the weaving of threads together into a great rope that pulls me ever higher.
Verso l'alto!
-Giovanni Paolo II
Suffering is an idea I mentioned in a post quite a while ago and it is a subject that continues to haunt my mind. It seems to be an essential part of our lives despite any hedonistic desires to remove it entirely.
It is interesting to me how many things have been created to alleviate suffering and yet these very inventions turn back upon us in some way, creating another form of suffering. We try to escape, but never can. No matter how many doctors and medicines we have, we still lose our health. Although we surround ourselves with friends, at least on social media, we are still lonely. Despite believing that we have advanced far beyond nations of previous centuries, we still cannot solve the daily problems that face us.
*
As I return to these words I wrote some time ago, I cannot recall precisely the direction I intended to go, but that is no matter. There are many paths I might follow and one lies clearly open before me...
*
I still grapple with this idea of suffering—with the fear of the Cross—but I am beginning to understand its fruit. In many ways, this last year and more has been a time of loss—the loss of things and people very dear to me. Yet at the same time there have been so many good things that I feel buoyed up to face these losses, and through the inner growth of the seed of faith within, I find little nubs of fruit beginning to form.
So many times I have sought to handle loneliness (as an example of suffering) by fleeing it or filling that emptiness with goods of varying sorts. Yet the void remains. There is nothing that can fill that void fully in this life and that aches. It feels wrong.
My reading lately has been reminding me, however, that we were in a sense created so—created with a vastness capable of embracing only the Infinite—and that we do not need to flee that pain nor cover it up. In the end those efforts are only like trying to use bandaids to staunch the blood from a cut-off limb anyway. They are at least as futile as that analogy...
Yet what if we simply accepted the pain? There is a way to turn yourself upside-down: to turn your whole world upside-down.
*
As an artist, I find that the pain often impels me to create. When I miss my Nonna or hate my inability to deal with people as perfectly as I expect, I find myself driven to weave words into poetry. When this world fails to live up to my expectations, I want to create theatre to move people's hearts.
Joy can provide a similar drive, but somehow it is less communicable. It does not impel creation in the same way.
This experience of pain does not hold true only for myself. Those writers I love—Dostoevsky for example—write out of suffering and thus touch the depths of the human condition. Where I experience beauty in art and literature, where these speak to my soul, one can find the source in some sort of suffering. We know that truth even when we cannot bear pain in our own lives.
There is left only one thing to do.
*
When faced with the vastness of the sea, we marvel. We see there the amazing power of something beyond ourselves and we are moved by the beauty. When we gaze at the inner sea that laps against the sands of our self-wrought shores, we might do the same. We might throw out our arms and laugh with joy in the face of the winds that come.
Surrender gives us that power.
Rather than flee the suffering or hide the pain, we can embrace it and surrender to its higher purpose. We can realize that we are not god unto ourselves, that we cannot control the winds that blow against our seas. We can know our place before the starry universe.
That realization has lead some to despair. Those who cannot surrender to a power beyond themselves must despair when they lose their grip on the shifting sands on which they built their homes. Yet what freedom there is in surrender! I taste more and more of that true and glorious freedom as I take each step along this path of surrender. And as I step farther, I begin to see the weaving of threads together into a great rope that pulls me ever higher.
Verso l'alto!
Monday, October 3, 2016
Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump, or Not
As a sort of social experiment, I want to see whether the mere mention of politically-charged names like Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump will garner more views to this post. I rather fancy it will. Furthermore, I suspect that despite how many people repeatedly assert that they are sick and tired of hearing about all of this political nonsense, most still flock to the names like moths to a candle.
I also have a point to make. (I am so full of points, in fact, that I shall have to struggle not to become porcupinical, which is a splendid new word I intend to use frequently.) Let us begin with a quotation from that illustrious writer known for his paradoxical statements of pithy truth:
So many people spurn the Ten Commandments as difficult to live by. At least, however, one may know and repeat all of them unlike the ten thousands of laws we have in this country today—or is it millions by now? There is a certain comfort in knowing that there are only ten commands by which to organize one's life and that these can be summarized in two easy statements.
I have always been intrigued by the language of the Ten Commandments also. Someday I will research the original verbage to determine whether the comment I am about to make holds true. For the moment, however, I will rest content with my observation of grammar regarding the commandments people often deem as negative, phrased thus: Thou shalt not....
Now this phrasing has fallen out of use in standard English (a disappointing circumstance that I shall address at some future point), so if we were to translate it, we should have to say either Do not... (as you may expect) or else You will not.... Neither is fully accurate. For shalt not and will not have distinct grammatical use. According to grammar rules rarely heeded these days, in the second and third person (it is the opposite in the first person), will speaks simply of a future happening while shall implies determination, or, in other words, is a stronger way to say essentially the same thing.
In conclusion then, the wording of the Ten Commandments says not so much Don't do all these things but rather it is as if God were saying (in modern parlance), If you love Me, you will not do all these things. If you love, everything else follows as a matter of course.
So let us dare then to let ourselves be governed by the Ten Commandments so that we need not the ten thousand commandments dictated by our nation's rule. Let us, as Chesterton puts it so well:
I also have a point to make. (I am so full of points, in fact, that I shall have to struggle not to become porcupinical, which is a splendid new word I intend to use frequently.) Let us begin with a quotation from that illustrious writer known for his paradoxical statements of pithy truth:
“If men will not be governed by the
Ten Commandments, they shall be governed by the ten thousand
commandments.”
― G.K. Chesterton
So many people spurn the Ten Commandments as difficult to live by. At least, however, one may know and repeat all of them unlike the ten thousands of laws we have in this country today—or is it millions by now? There is a certain comfort in knowing that there are only ten commands by which to organize one's life and that these can be summarized in two easy statements.
I have always been intrigued by the language of the Ten Commandments also. Someday I will research the original verbage to determine whether the comment I am about to make holds true. For the moment, however, I will rest content with my observation of grammar regarding the commandments people often deem as negative, phrased thus: Thou shalt not....
Now this phrasing has fallen out of use in standard English (a disappointing circumstance that I shall address at some future point), so if we were to translate it, we should have to say either Do not... (as you may expect) or else You will not.... Neither is fully accurate. For shalt not and will not have distinct grammatical use. According to grammar rules rarely heeded these days, in the second and third person (it is the opposite in the first person), will speaks simply of a future happening while shall implies determination, or, in other words, is a stronger way to say essentially the same thing.
In conclusion then, the wording of the Ten Commandments says not so much Don't do all these things but rather it is as if God were saying (in modern parlance), If you love Me, you will not do all these things. If you love, everything else follows as a matter of course.
So let us dare then to let ourselves be governed by the Ten Commandments so that we need not the ten thousand commandments dictated by our nation's rule. Let us, as Chesterton puts it so well:
“Break the conventions. Keep
the commandments.”
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Tergiversate
Time for a bit of fun. At least I know it will be for me and I hope it will be for you also. It will if you enjoy discovering unusual words as much as I do.
Have you ever heard the word
tergiversate?
I had not. I ran across it the other
day while I was looking for a synonym for a bit of scriptwork I was
doing. Just the sound of it was so delightful that I had to look up
its precise meaning.
Here is a challenge for you now: try
guessing what it means.
Close your eyes before you see the
meaning below and give a good guess. Don't spoil the game please.
On second thought, I will not even post the meaning below. Instead, let's play this like
Balderdash. In case you are not familiar with that game—and
also for the purpose of how it works here—I will explain.
After you come up with your lovely definition, please post it in the
comments below. (No cheating either: that means no looking it up
online or asking your neighbor's brother-in-law's uncle or any such
nonsense.)
Once you comment with your definitions,
serious or humorous, I will post the actual definition. Jibbooms and
bobstays! I love spontaneous ideas that end up being more fun than
my original intention. I wait in excited anticipation....
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Philosophy of Nomenclature
Names have always fascinated me.
I think of playing Rumpelstiltskin in a play as a child—why I had the privilege of playing that character, I do not recall, as getting angry is not my forte—and how important is the guessing of his name. Years later I played a sort of Rumpelstiltskin character again as myself when asked my middle name, although without the anger when they guessed it at last.
I think of reading Pippi Longstocking and rejoicing in the delightful ridiculous of her full name of "Pippilotta Delicatessa Mackrelmint Ephraim's daughter Longstocking." Fairly recently, I realized that I learned many other things from her as well—my love for idyllic pirates for one—but I digress.
I think of playing the part of Chang in a Chinese tale where I had to repeat the name of my brother, Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Berri Pembo, many times breathlessly to the Old Man with the Ladder so that he should bring his ladder and pull my brother out lest he be drowned in the well. You try saying Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Berri Pembo quickly after running hard for a long time and see how successful you are at pronouncing it clearly. The moral of that story was that the Chinese would never give their first important children long names anymore, as Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Berri Pembo was nearly drowned by the time he was pulled out on account of his long name.
Names have such power. Many writers of fantasy tales (LeGuin for instance) use names as ways for obtaining power over something or someone, following the tradition of ancient cultures. Parents today warn their children against telling strangers their names for the same reason, so it is not only fantasy where this idea holds true.
Yet nicknames have an even greater power, I would argue. After all, what is so powerful about a handle that you pass out willy-nilly to the government or grocer, social media application or bus driver, or any other person you might happen to meet? Thousands of people know your name or at least have access to knowing your name. Although there is some power in their knowing it, the broad use of your given name also weakens that power.
Nicknames, on the other hand, by right belong to a more select group, perhaps even in some cases only to a single person. Thus they have much greater power.
Now when I say power, you may conjure up visions of Hitler and Stalin and the worst dictators you have ever heard of and find my notion of names giving power a frightening concept, but that is not quite what I mean. What I mean might more easily be illustrated by thinking of 24601. When you refer to a person by a number such as that rather than his rightful name (Jean Valjean), you put yourself in power over him—you try to control him—you dehumanize him—but ultimately the effect is much less powerful. When Inspector Javert calls him 24601, Jean Valjean wants only to flee his tyranny. However, his encounter with Monseigneur Myriel has great power. The monseigneur might have called Valjean by his Christian name, Jean, which would have lifted him up—humanized him—but instead he refers to him by a sort of nickname. He calls him my brother and challenges him to live an honest life. Now you may argue that "my brother" is not a nickname, but I would respond that it functions as one and therefore illustrates my point that a nickname has greater power even than one's given name.
Why do I say greater power? Well simply because rather than call him by the moniker given to him at birth by his family, the nickname indicates seeing him more deeply, more humanly. If I call someone by a nickname, I am not merely treating him as any other person in the world—or any other object in the world—by calling him the name I have been taught to call him. Instead I am saying I see you as more than that. I see you for who you are.
Now that is a frightening concept. That is why we cannot stand to stare into each other's eyes for more than a couple of seconds without growing uncomfortable. (Unless we are about to kiss or kill someone, as my professors of theatre instilled in my mind with frequent repetition....)
There is a reason public speaking is people's number one fear. It is because we are afraid of being seen. It may be that we are afraid of looking silly or of making a mistake in front of others, but it goes more deeply than that: we are afraid that we shall be seen for who we are and that it will not be who we want to be.
Nicknames are not nearly as frightening as staring people straight in the eyes. They are a less demanding way of saying what we want desperately to hear: "I see you as you are and I love you for it and don't think any less of you for all your oddities. You're dear to me and I care about you enough to have a special name for you. I want to tell you this every time I say your name." Or something to that effect. Granted, we do not think this consciously every single time we use someone's nickname, but I hope you understand my meaning.
Sometimes a nickname may even say more than that. (As if that was not enough, eh?)
Would you believe that a nickname might have the power to encourage you to rise higher, to become more than you think you can be, and to leap out in faith? That may sound a bit too much to believe. (Although the Monseigneur Myriel example illustrates a quite similar idea.) However, I know a certain person who has a habit of nicknaming friends after saints. Now when you nickname someone after a saint, not only does it say all of the above, but it also binds that saint in a sort of bond of loyalty, one might say—although that is quite a backwards way of expressing it, as usually the saint initiates the bond through various seeming coincidences.... It happens, I promise you.
In any case, it is a connection beyond oneself. It says not only that those for whom you are nicknamed are amazing role models and patrons for you, but also that you are called to follow the path they have already trod, imitating their virtues in your own unique fashion.
Yes, I believe in the power of names. I do believe that people tend to take on characteristics of their namesakes. Furthermore, I am certain that psychological research substantiates my claims. Without resorting to such proofs, however, I will leave it to your good faith to believe me—if not to believe that I speak the truth, at least to believe that I believe it is the truth. (I am rather modest in my requests, I know; I do not like to infringe too much upon my readers' opinions and existing perspectives.)
There is quite good precedence for this claim actually. When people immigrate, they often take—or are forced to take—a new name, which indicates beginning a new life. For a similar reason, religious take new names upon their profession of vows. Also, there are a few certain characters in the Old Testament whose names God changed to signify that they were taking a new direction in their lives: Abram to Abraham and Jacob to Israel just to mention two of the most obvious.
Writers have to be particularly careful of names. For instance choosing to name a character Fred Smith will determine an entirely different background, occupation, social circle, and so on than a more exotic choice such as Ebenezer Athanasius Christopher. I tend to hesitate long over name choices for characters for that very reason.
Take the name of this blog for instance. I might have called it by a hundred different titles, but my definite choice has determined its direction in a very real sense. Now some of you might miss the nautical connection—which granted I do myself and since I am no longer a captain without a ship (more on that another time) I hope to return some nautical flair—but frankly it serves as a suitable substitution (I do love alliteration!) for a collection of random items.
The inspiration for this blog title (for those of you who have not the privilege to know) comes from a favorite saying of Captain Nancy Blackett (whose actual name was Ruth, but an Amazon pirate had to be ruth-less) of the good ship Amazon from a lovely series of books known as Swallows and Amazons where she used it quite frequently as an expression of surprise. Hence there may be an element of surprise suggested here too; after all, you never know what subject may next grace these pixels communicated from me to you.
So there you have it, it being my nomenclatural philosophy expounded in many words. If you have read thus far, I congratulate you. Either you have more time than I, or you appreciate what I say to a rare degree that is nigh incredible. But enough of self-deprecatory humor....
Thank you, dear readers, dear friends, dear fellow pilgrims and seekers (and now you know how carefully I choose these titles, these names that signify your relation to me as a group, which—although not as personal as nicknames or even given names—still indicate connection and a sort of power. Reference that Monseigneur Myriel tale if you question this truth.)
Power. We return to the word at last. I hesitate still to use it because it carries with it so many negative connotations, but still it holds truth. For there is a great power in saying, "I know you. I see you for who you are. How wonderful it is that you exist! How shiny that you exist exactly as you are!" It is a power—I hope—that encourages you, empowers you, and lifts you up to the heavens with the last few notes of a song that the Poet always seeks to discover.
That power is stronger than control, which binds and weakens. It is rather the power of vulnerability: the power of opening myself to reach out to you and say that I am at your service—or perhaps, if I may, "As you wish...."
I think of playing Rumpelstiltskin in a play as a child—why I had the privilege of playing that character, I do not recall, as getting angry is not my forte—and how important is the guessing of his name. Years later I played a sort of Rumpelstiltskin character again as myself when asked my middle name, although without the anger when they guessed it at last.
I think of reading Pippi Longstocking and rejoicing in the delightful ridiculous of her full name of "Pippilotta Delicatessa Mackrelmint Ephraim's daughter Longstocking." Fairly recently, I realized that I learned many other things from her as well—my love for idyllic pirates for one—but I digress.
I think of playing the part of Chang in a Chinese tale where I had to repeat the name of my brother, Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Berri Pembo, many times breathlessly to the Old Man with the Ladder so that he should bring his ladder and pull my brother out lest he be drowned in the well. You try saying Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Berri Pembo quickly after running hard for a long time and see how successful you are at pronouncing it clearly. The moral of that story was that the Chinese would never give their first important children long names anymore, as Tikki Tikki Tembo No Sa Rembo Chari Bari Ruchi Pip Berri Pembo was nearly drowned by the time he was pulled out on account of his long name.
Names have such power. Many writers of fantasy tales (LeGuin for instance) use names as ways for obtaining power over something or someone, following the tradition of ancient cultures. Parents today warn their children against telling strangers their names for the same reason, so it is not only fantasy where this idea holds true.
Yet nicknames have an even greater power, I would argue. After all, what is so powerful about a handle that you pass out willy-nilly to the government or grocer, social media application or bus driver, or any other person you might happen to meet? Thousands of people know your name or at least have access to knowing your name. Although there is some power in their knowing it, the broad use of your given name also weakens that power.
Nicknames, on the other hand, by right belong to a more select group, perhaps even in some cases only to a single person. Thus they have much greater power.
Now when I say power, you may conjure up visions of Hitler and Stalin and the worst dictators you have ever heard of and find my notion of names giving power a frightening concept, but that is not quite what I mean. What I mean might more easily be illustrated by thinking of 24601. When you refer to a person by a number such as that rather than his rightful name (Jean Valjean), you put yourself in power over him—you try to control him—you dehumanize him—but ultimately the effect is much less powerful. When Inspector Javert calls him 24601, Jean Valjean wants only to flee his tyranny. However, his encounter with Monseigneur Myriel has great power. The monseigneur might have called Valjean by his Christian name, Jean, which would have lifted him up—humanized him—but instead he refers to him by a sort of nickname. He calls him my brother and challenges him to live an honest life. Now you may argue that "my brother" is not a nickname, but I would respond that it functions as one and therefore illustrates my point that a nickname has greater power even than one's given name.
Why do I say greater power? Well simply because rather than call him by the moniker given to him at birth by his family, the nickname indicates seeing him more deeply, more humanly. If I call someone by a nickname, I am not merely treating him as any other person in the world—or any other object in the world—by calling him the name I have been taught to call him. Instead I am saying I see you as more than that. I see you for who you are.
Now that is a frightening concept. That is why we cannot stand to stare into each other's eyes for more than a couple of seconds without growing uncomfortable. (Unless we are about to kiss or kill someone, as my professors of theatre instilled in my mind with frequent repetition....)
There is a reason public speaking is people's number one fear. It is because we are afraid of being seen. It may be that we are afraid of looking silly or of making a mistake in front of others, but it goes more deeply than that: we are afraid that we shall be seen for who we are and that it will not be who we want to be.
Nicknames are not nearly as frightening as staring people straight in the eyes. They are a less demanding way of saying what we want desperately to hear: "I see you as you are and I love you for it and don't think any less of you for all your oddities. You're dear to me and I care about you enough to have a special name for you. I want to tell you this every time I say your name." Or something to that effect. Granted, we do not think this consciously every single time we use someone's nickname, but I hope you understand my meaning.
Sometimes a nickname may even say more than that. (As if that was not enough, eh?)
Would you believe that a nickname might have the power to encourage you to rise higher, to become more than you think you can be, and to leap out in faith? That may sound a bit too much to believe. (Although the Monseigneur Myriel example illustrates a quite similar idea.) However, I know a certain person who has a habit of nicknaming friends after saints. Now when you nickname someone after a saint, not only does it say all of the above, but it also binds that saint in a sort of bond of loyalty, one might say—although that is quite a backwards way of expressing it, as usually the saint initiates the bond through various seeming coincidences.... It happens, I promise you.
In any case, it is a connection beyond oneself. It says not only that those for whom you are nicknamed are amazing role models and patrons for you, but also that you are called to follow the path they have already trod, imitating their virtues in your own unique fashion.
Yes, I believe in the power of names. I do believe that people tend to take on characteristics of their namesakes. Furthermore, I am certain that psychological research substantiates my claims. Without resorting to such proofs, however, I will leave it to your good faith to believe me—if not to believe that I speak the truth, at least to believe that I believe it is the truth. (I am rather modest in my requests, I know; I do not like to infringe too much upon my readers' opinions and existing perspectives.)
There is quite good precedence for this claim actually. When people immigrate, they often take—or are forced to take—a new name, which indicates beginning a new life. For a similar reason, religious take new names upon their profession of vows. Also, there are a few certain characters in the Old Testament whose names God changed to signify that they were taking a new direction in their lives: Abram to Abraham and Jacob to Israel just to mention two of the most obvious.
Writers have to be particularly careful of names. For instance choosing to name a character Fred Smith will determine an entirely different background, occupation, social circle, and so on than a more exotic choice such as Ebenezer Athanasius Christopher. I tend to hesitate long over name choices for characters for that very reason.
Take the name of this blog for instance. I might have called it by a hundred different titles, but my definite choice has determined its direction in a very real sense. Now some of you might miss the nautical connection—which granted I do myself and since I am no longer a captain without a ship (more on that another time) I hope to return some nautical flair—but frankly it serves as a suitable substitution (I do love alliteration!) for a collection of random items.
The inspiration for this blog title (for those of you who have not the privilege to know) comes from a favorite saying of Captain Nancy Blackett (whose actual name was Ruth, but an Amazon pirate had to be ruth-less) of the good ship Amazon from a lovely series of books known as Swallows and Amazons where she used it quite frequently as an expression of surprise. Hence there may be an element of surprise suggested here too; after all, you never know what subject may next grace these pixels communicated from me to you.
So there you have it, it being my nomenclatural philosophy expounded in many words. If you have read thus far, I congratulate you. Either you have more time than I, or you appreciate what I say to a rare degree that is nigh incredible. But enough of self-deprecatory humor....
Thank you, dear readers, dear friends, dear fellow pilgrims and seekers (and now you know how carefully I choose these titles, these names that signify your relation to me as a group, which—although not as personal as nicknames or even given names—still indicate connection and a sort of power. Reference that Monseigneur Myriel tale if you question this truth.)
Power. We return to the word at last. I hesitate still to use it because it carries with it so many negative connotations, but still it holds truth. For there is a great power in saying, "I know you. I see you for who you are. How wonderful it is that you exist! How shiny that you exist exactly as you are!" It is a power—I hope—that encourages you, empowers you, and lifts you up to the heavens with the last few notes of a song that the Poet always seeks to discover.
That power is stronger than control, which binds and weakens. It is rather the power of vulnerability: the power of opening myself to reach out to you and say that I am at your service—or perhaps, if I may, "As you wish...."
Monday, September 5, 2016
CORAGGIO
Per mia Nonna
Cast out nets, weary though you are, where you would not
Open wide your arms to the washing against your walls;
Reach out grasping hands as you seek to hold the stars
And touch the hearts of neighbors, enemies, those you love.
Go because you do not dare to go. Or do you?
GOD calls, drawing you beyond yourself, transforming dust
Into a soul that shines, a lighthouse in the night.
Oceans of grace will lift you up on wings like eagles.
Wednesday, August 31, 2016
From Brick to Loyalty and Beyond
Once, many years ago, I remember receiving the highest compliment I could ever have received. A friend of mine—for reasons I have since forgotten—said to me, "You're a brick."
I, being terrible at receiving compliments, turned it aside in my customary literal fashion, making some joke about being heavy or not being rectangular or some such nonsense. I have entirely forgotten my exact response, but the memory of the experience remains strong. Why when I received a compliment that warmed my heart to its core would I act as if it meant nothing to me? Why did I not even give the customary "Thank you" that politeness deserved?
We humans are contrary creatures. We want things and then go to great lengths to avoid receiving precisely what we desire. Why? It might be from fear. Or guilt. Or some desperate feeling that we could never be worthy to receive anything good.
Let us return to the idea conveyed through the wonderful compliment I received. Apparently this term has become dated, at least according to the online Oxford dictionary, which defines it as "a generous, helpful, and reliable person." The online Merriam Webster dictionary mentions nothing about its archaic nature, but simply states its meaning as "a good-hearted person." These definitions speak to a meaning you might well guess simply from studying a brick, which has a certain solid quality about it (although their quality may be declining also...). The term implies a certain steadfastness, a reliability, a loyalty.
We do not always find that loyalty, even though we desire it. In the words of Shakespeare (Henry VI, Part II, Act V, Scene 1):
Loyalty certainly seems to be a rare quality these days. Loyal friends are difficult to find, although a great treasure when one discovers them.
Thoughts on loyalty often lead my mind to the haunting lyrics of a song known as "Gollum's Song." I will leave aside any comments on the appropriateness of the title for the sake of the point I wish to make, for that argument would be a lengthy aside. In any case, the line from the song I mention bewails a lack of love and loyalty:
Friendship is a topic I ponder often. Many problems in society and wounds in our own hearts could be healed if friendship were taken more seriously—as seriously as the Hobbits took it.
That truth leaves me with many questions. Why, for instance, do men and women seek so desperately to find their partners and then cut themselves off from anyone who might be there to support them along their journey when the relationship gets tough? Why must a close friendship automatically be required to be sexual? Why does society regard friendship so poorly?
Throughout my life I have been blessed with many wonderful friends—some of which amaze me still by their beautiful loyalty—and there are few things I value more highly than friendship. I have grown so much through those friendships.
I am myself, if I may boast a little, loyal in my friendships. Sometimes I wonder if I am too loyal.
Loyalty seems a difficult quality to have in excess and yet perhaps it is possible after all. Sometimes it can mean clinging to the past, holding onto the nostalgia of past experiences, and longing for the continuance of old friendships. It can become controlling, needy, and desperately afraid to lose the good of the past and accept the gifts of the present. One desires of course that all good things remain, but in reality they must ultimately come to an end, as that trite expression reminds us.
Sometimes one must say goodbye. Sometimes one must let friends follow other paths as distance, physical or mental, broadens the gap between them. Sometimes one must let go for his own sanity.
Yet the loyal heart lets go only with difficulty. The loyal friend desires to be there when the going gets tough, even if the other withdraws.
As one committed to loyalty, I assure you that I am here if you need me. Despite my own flaws and failings, I will remain as true to you as I know how. I will reach out to you even if years have passed since we last spoke and I think you no longer care to continue our friendship. I will call you on your birthday just so you know you are loved. I will write you a letter to know I am thinking of you. If I happen to be in your region of the world, I will let you know. Time may be lacking these days, but the desire for friendship and the will to be loyal are not.
In the end, perhaps true loyalty lies deeper. Perhaps one must be courageous enough to let go even of what seems to be the loyal response so that the friendships may continue into eternity.
I, being terrible at receiving compliments, turned it aside in my customary literal fashion, making some joke about being heavy or not being rectangular or some such nonsense. I have entirely forgotten my exact response, but the memory of the experience remains strong. Why when I received a compliment that warmed my heart to its core would I act as if it meant nothing to me? Why did I not even give the customary "Thank you" that politeness deserved?
We humans are contrary creatures. We want things and then go to great lengths to avoid receiving precisely what we desire. Why? It might be from fear. Or guilt. Or some desperate feeling that we could never be worthy to receive anything good.
Let us return to the idea conveyed through the wonderful compliment I received. Apparently this term has become dated, at least according to the online Oxford dictionary, which defines it as "a generous, helpful, and reliable person." The online Merriam Webster dictionary mentions nothing about its archaic nature, but simply states its meaning as "a good-hearted person." These definitions speak to a meaning you might well guess simply from studying a brick, which has a certain solid quality about it (although their quality may be declining also...). The term implies a certain steadfastness, a reliability, a loyalty.
We do not always find that loyalty, even though we desire it. In the words of Shakespeare (Henry VI, Part II, Act V, Scene 1):
O, where is loyalty?
If it be banished from the frosty head,
Where shall it find a harbor in the earth?
Loyalty certainly seems to be a rare quality these days. Loyal friends are difficult to find, although a great treasure when one discovers them.
Thoughts on loyalty often lead my mind to the haunting lyrics of a song known as "Gollum's Song." I will leave aside any comments on the appropriateness of the title for the sake of the point I wish to make, for that argument would be a lengthy aside. In any case, the line from the song I mention bewails a lack of love and loyalty:
"No loyal friend was ever there for me...."By contrast, Tolkien himself proposes a beautiful and keen insight into what true loyalty and friendship are through the mouth of the Hobbits in The Lord of the Rings:
“But it does not seem that I can trust anyone,' said Frodo. Sam looked at him unhappily. 'It all depends on what you want,' put in Merry. 'You can trust us to stick with you through thick and thin—to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours—closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo.”
Friendship is a topic I ponder often. Many problems in society and wounds in our own hearts could be healed if friendship were taken more seriously—as seriously as the Hobbits took it.
That truth leaves me with many questions. Why, for instance, do men and women seek so desperately to find their partners and then cut themselves off from anyone who might be there to support them along their journey when the relationship gets tough? Why must a close friendship automatically be required to be sexual? Why does society regard friendship so poorly?
Throughout my life I have been blessed with many wonderful friends—some of which amaze me still by their beautiful loyalty—and there are few things I value more highly than friendship. I have grown so much through those friendships.
I am myself, if I may boast a little, loyal in my friendships. Sometimes I wonder if I am too loyal.
Loyalty seems a difficult quality to have in excess and yet perhaps it is possible after all. Sometimes it can mean clinging to the past, holding onto the nostalgia of past experiences, and longing for the continuance of old friendships. It can become controlling, needy, and desperately afraid to lose the good of the past and accept the gifts of the present. One desires of course that all good things remain, but in reality they must ultimately come to an end, as that trite expression reminds us.
Sometimes one must say goodbye. Sometimes one must let friends follow other paths as distance, physical or mental, broadens the gap between them. Sometimes one must let go for his own sanity.
Yet the loyal heart lets go only with difficulty. The loyal friend desires to be there when the going gets tough, even if the other withdraws.
As one committed to loyalty, I assure you that I am here if you need me. Despite my own flaws and failings, I will remain as true to you as I know how. I will reach out to you even if years have passed since we last spoke and I think you no longer care to continue our friendship. I will call you on your birthday just so you know you are loved. I will write you a letter to know I am thinking of you. If I happen to be in your region of the world, I will let you know. Time may be lacking these days, but the desire for friendship and the will to be loyal are not.
In the end, perhaps true loyalty lies deeper. Perhaps one must be courageous enough to let go even of what seems to be the loyal response so that the friendships may continue into eternity.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
The Food of Inspiration
Let me introduce you to the most amazing food for inspiration (although not by its proper name, as then you couldn't eat it—see Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll if you are not familiar with that reference). Perhaps you have already guessed what it is. If not, give it a try. Hint: it actually is not chocolate.
In any case, and without further ado, except a brief imaginary drum roll....
The food of inspiration is ice cream.
My grandmother has repeatedly assured me that ice cream is brain food. The brain typically provides the functions necessary for inspiration, so it makes perfect sense.
Rather than draw my conclusion from the above syllogism, however, I pull it from personal experience.
I was at a bit of an impasse with a writing project. Some might call it writer's block, but I tend to dislike that term—more for reasons of contrariness than anything else, I suppose (although I may one day address this idea in more suitably rational form). I digress. My point is that I was doing just about anything I could to avoid trying to work on said writing project. After all, there is no fun in gazing at the computer while that powerless feeling of despair at ever being able to get any further grows and grows....
It is amazing all the things one can do to avoid working on a writing project. Even the things that I would naturally avoid—like cooking for instance—suddenly seemed far more important than working on that dreaded project. Time slips away very quickly in this fashion. I believe in most circles they call this procrastination.
Then—lo and behold!—my mother returns from the store and offers me an ice cream bar. I accepted of course—who would say no to ice cream?
As I enjoyed the delicious crunch of the chocolate coating and the soft cold cream of the vanilla ice cream, I found my mind relaxing. The thought of the play I had been avoiding came to mind. Then—voila!—all of a sudden I knew what to do with it.
So if ever you find yourself lacking in inspiration, you may consider learning from my example. All your practiced efforts to defeat writer's block may be of no use. You may just need some ice cream.
Warning: Do not try this at home without supervision from a qualified health professional unless you possess sufficient willpower to prevent excessive intake which can lead to side effects such as obesity, diabetes, heart disease, and inability to be productive without ice cream.
In any case, and without further ado, except a brief imaginary drum roll....
The food of inspiration is ice cream.
My grandmother has repeatedly assured me that ice cream is brain food. The brain typically provides the functions necessary for inspiration, so it makes perfect sense.
Rather than draw my conclusion from the above syllogism, however, I pull it from personal experience.
I was at a bit of an impasse with a writing project. Some might call it writer's block, but I tend to dislike that term—more for reasons of contrariness than anything else, I suppose (although I may one day address this idea in more suitably rational form). I digress. My point is that I was doing just about anything I could to avoid trying to work on said writing project. After all, there is no fun in gazing at the computer while that powerless feeling of despair at ever being able to get any further grows and grows....
It is amazing all the things one can do to avoid working on a writing project. Even the things that I would naturally avoid—like cooking for instance—suddenly seemed far more important than working on that dreaded project. Time slips away very quickly in this fashion. I believe in most circles they call this procrastination.
Then—lo and behold!—my mother returns from the store and offers me an ice cream bar. I accepted of course—who would say no to ice cream?
As I enjoyed the delicious crunch of the chocolate coating and the soft cold cream of the vanilla ice cream, I found my mind relaxing. The thought of the play I had been avoiding came to mind. Then—voila!—all of a sudden I knew what to do with it.
So if ever you find yourself lacking in inspiration, you may consider learning from my example. All your practiced efforts to defeat writer's block may be of no use. You may just need some ice cream.
Warning: Do not try this at home without supervision from a qualified health professional unless you possess sufficient willpower to prevent excessive intake which can lead to side effects such as obesity, diabetes, heart disease, and inability to be productive without ice cream.
Sunday, August 14, 2016
You Must Say "Yes!"
A little while ago, I was ushering for an Improv show at a local theatre and—per my instructions—stood in front of a door curtained off where the audience was not supposed to go. The purpose of my standing there, as I understood it from my previous time ushering, was to keep the audience members from wandering backstage.
So as I stood there trying not to look completely stupid, the owner of the theatre happened to come along and mention that I did not really need to stand there, as the door really went nowhere. It turns out, there was a bunch of junk behind the curtain now, so no audience members would go through it.
As I stood there, watching her walk away and feeling superfluous, my thoughts took a strange turn. Rather than feel stupid, I decided to say yes to superfluity. I would stand there in all my superfluousness and be the best superfluous-usher-standing-in-front-of-an-unusable-exit that I could be. So I owned my superfluity.
That is what Improv teaches. "Say, 'Yes!'" you are told. Actually to say, "Yes, and...." but that is a topic for another day.
What a perspective it is to say yes to the most foolish things, eh? Instead of feeling like a failure, or feeling guilty, or feeling like one ought not to belong to society or existence of any of those ridiculous negatives, one can own even the ridiculousness and superfluity.
I guess this is what people mean when they say snidely, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
In conclusion: say "Yes!" And be superfluous if you cannot be useful. A toast to superfluity!
So as I stood there trying not to look completely stupid, the owner of the theatre happened to come along and mention that I did not really need to stand there, as the door really went nowhere. It turns out, there was a bunch of junk behind the curtain now, so no audience members would go through it.
As I stood there, watching her walk away and feeling superfluous, my thoughts took a strange turn. Rather than feel stupid, I decided to say yes to superfluity. I would stand there in all my superfluousness and be the best superfluous-usher-standing-in-front-of-an-unusable-exit that I could be. So I owned my superfluity.
That is what Improv teaches. "Say, 'Yes!'" you are told. Actually to say, "Yes, and...." but that is a topic for another day.
What a perspective it is to say yes to the most foolish things, eh? Instead of feeling like a failure, or feeling guilty, or feeling like one ought not to belong to society or existence of any of those ridiculous negatives, one can own even the ridiculousness and superfluity.
I guess this is what people mean when they say snidely, "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."
In conclusion: say "Yes!" And be superfluous if you cannot be useful. A toast to superfluity!
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