Bull Wrestling

I slept in this morning, making up for my lack of sufficient rest over the last few days. I started the day, after getting dressed etc., with walking the dogs. At the end of our street, or rather across the street at the end, there was a house being torn down by a massive tractor type of machine. I'm not entirely sure why, but it made me stop and stare for several moments as the clawed bucket bit into the walls and ripped out pieces, turning it into more rubble for which the machine could sit on. I was both intrigued and saddened by this. I have no connection or knowledge of that house yet perhaps in my subconscious, it was a metaphor for something larger. It brought to my mind something I read in a novel about a Buddhist belief that everything which is brought together will, in time, fall apart.

I don't think this particular idea is only to be found in Buddhism, since there is the Christian equivilant, "From dust ye are, and unto dust ye shall return." But perhaps it is better said and summarized in their way, or maybe it is a new way for me which drives the point home anew. Either way, the ultimate mortality of everything earthly "hit home."

But, as I walked across campus in search of breakfast, the clouds finally decided to release their burden gently, and it began raining softly. Having no great desire to get wet and being in no rush, I sat down on a bench under a covered walkway and watched as the rain fell softly between the buildings and oak trees. It was one of those simple yet beautiful events, happening entirely by chance, or by God's unknowable design.

I was reminded both of the fact that everything comes to an end (that can be seen), and of the beauty of Creation. I suppose that there must be a certain balance between realization of mortality and cherishing the beauty of the moment. There is always a silver lining, and the rain stopped after a few minutes. I arose from my bench and continued on my search for sustinance, greeting the postal worker I passed.

It is my rather unfortunate habit to say "morning" instead of "good morning" and my habit came through when I greeted Senor Silencio, as I will call him, as I gave my one-worded greeting. He stoically continued on past me without a word, but still I smiled to myself, strangely feeling pleased at greeting a total stranger. It is possible that he will remember me and be compelled to greet another stranger in turn, and maybe his day will be a bit brightened. Or maybe he'll just forget me and continue bearing his burden silently as he makes his rounds.

When I arrived at the street corner near the baker which had been my second destination (after the University cafeteria), I impulsively crossed the busy street ahead of me as the traffic broke momentarily. I decided to head for a small cozy coffeehouse, though I had no intention of actually drinking coffee. That isn't the point though, just background detail really. As I crossed the rain-slick street (which was Montrose), with my journal in hand, I was reminded of the often wet streets of London and smiled, having found a piece of that place and time here.

One day, I will forget my trip to the UK, along with everything else if I am fortunate enough to survive into senile old age, but in the meantime, I will enjoy many more rainy days broken by moments of sunlight. I will live the hell out of life, cherishing and experiencing much. I don't know how yet, but somehow, I will grab the bull that is life by the horns and wrestle it to the proverbial ground. Then, someday, this thing which is my body will dissolve like snow, and the part which is truly "me" will go home. And that's quite alright, because I will do more than just survive during my time here on earth; I will live strongly, love passionately, and laugh heartily.

Inner Animal

Lately I've been in a rather pensive/reflective mood. I've spent quite a bit of my spare time in the last few days contemplating the meaning of all kinds of things, kind of taking a step back from everything and just observing different aspects of life. One thing I've observed about myself is the tendancy to seem rather like an animal sometimes. Perhaps this is nothing new, and I'm just noticing it more now. I've known for a long time that there is a part of any person, including myself, that hasn't developed much since the age of cave men, when we were little different than animals.

However, these days, most people manage to hide that part of themselves and have moved on to more civilized personalities. It's the little things I've been noticing lately about myself, the little things that point toward an animal within myself. One example is that when I become very hungry, I find myself much more inclined toward anger and mood swings. That anger comes out in unpredictable and unintended ways, flashes of intense impatiance and raising my voice over something completely unrelated which normally wouldn't bother me at all. And that's just from being hungry. I wonder what it would take for that animal inside me to be completely unleashed, but most of the time that animal remains dormaint and hidden. This all makes the "inner animal" sound quite monstrous, but really, I don't think it is by nature evil or monstrous unless misused. There have been an occasion or two in my life when I can't honestly say that I had any control whatsoever over that animal, though it was only for a brief moment or two. During that time though, my strength was at least doubled and I was without fear or hesitation. It was like the entire process of considering and weighing actions beforehand was completely done away with and I simply did what needed to be done. I am glad that I did what I did at the time, but I have also been made very well aware of the danger and power of that animal within me.

Vikings have been immortalized in history as fiercely competent warriors who sailed from frozen lands (modern day Sweden, Finland, Denmark, and northern Germany) and raided sea-side towns and villages in the medieval ages, often without warning, for hundreds of years. They were very effective and powerful, capable of leaving entire towns devastated in a very short time. They came; conquered, looted, and left, killing just about anyone who stood in their way. The most feared and powerful of these fearsomely powerful warriors, known as "Berserkers," were known for their ability to go into a blind rage (i.e. "go berserk") which enabled them to fight and destroy enemies without any regard for their own safety. The Age of the Vikings, barbarians from the frozen north, lasted hundreds of years and influenced the history of dozens of countries. Their greatest weapon was their fierce inner animal.

What makes us human, what sets us apart from the animal kindgom? I think a big part of it is the attempt we make simply to be more than just animals, but we must never cease to acknowledge the existence of that animal, and remember to use it when necessary. The struggle between our inner animal and more human selves must be one of balance and control, neither side should win out completely.

Remembrance

The problem is this: we are all too often forgotten.

We strive all our lives to do important things and have people remember us. We worry about what clothes to wear; what to say, how to act, first impressions, etc., in our striving to be remembered - and not just remembered, but remembered in the way we prefer. Because of this, we are delighted when we encounter someone for the first time in months and they actually remember us. On the other hand, we are often dissapointed when people do not remember who we are when we feel like they should.

Why is this? Why do we attach such feelings and emotions to being remembered (or not)? Do we, as people, base our worth in some way on how well we are remembered by others? And if we do, is that so inaccurate or wrong? Throughout history, people have striven to accomplish great feats, such as conquering all of the known world, just to be remembered and in sense live forever in history. People like Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, and King Alfred the Great did more than any like them had done before. Both of them have the word "great" in their title now ("genghis khan" means "great ruler"). All of them died and left everything they had accomplished behind thousands of years ago. Nothing; no treasure, no territory, nothing, went with them into the "great beyond." So why did they try so hard to be remembered, and why do I?

Perhaps it is simply pleasing to that person to know that one has left their mark. Maybe that's all it is. Or maybe, just maybe, it's something deeper within us. Just maybe it is something in our "programming," something in who we are as humans, that gives us these attachments of feelings and emotions to something as simple as being remembered and thought about. That's what it really comes down to: being thought about. It means that we are important enough to earn a spot in people's thoughts and minds in this busy world we live in. It makes us feel important to be remembered and perhaps that is a problem in that it is basically a false feeling of importance and worth. But maybe it isn't bad at all to feel good when people we care about think about us and remember us, because doesn't that mean they, in turn, feel the same way about us? It means they also care about us, at least in some way, does it not?

So maybe it isn't such a problem that we care about being remembered, and are afraid of being forgotten. I think it is only natural to want to be remembered, however, there are healthy and unhealthy ways to go about it. Maybe the next time we start eating without thanking God for the food, we should think about the fact that God never forgets us, while we forget about Him all the time.

"This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." - Luke 22:19

Poetic Prose

So the main reason I'm writing this, actually there are two main reasons, the first is that I haven't written anything just for fun in a few days (I love writing), and the second reason is to procrastinate doing my college algebra homework (I hate algebra).

I don't know what it is about reading and writing that I love so much. Maybe it's just the creativity involved in writing, and the experience of reading. It is only in the world of creative literature that one may encounter everyday things being described so poetically that if you were to repeat the phrase in conversation, it would likely be too dramatic, flowery, or downright cheesy. For instance, one of my favorite literary quotes describes a rather dreary situation. Poor Oliver Twist has spent the night alone wandering down narrow country roads and crossing desolate meadows and pastures, finally sleeping on the damp ground. When the sky lightens and dawn breaks, Charles Dickens describes it using these words:

"'Twas rather more the death of night than the birth of dawn."

I love that phrase, despite how depressing it seems. I love the way Dickens writes in general, though I've only read one or two of his classics. He usually comes off as dreary and depressing, but there is a certain poetry to be found in his prose which I have rarely found elsewhere.

The main point isn't about his particular style of writing though. I gave the example to show how in writing, we can embelish, refocus, direct, shade, and so forth, far more than we normally can any other way. The English language probably has more words than most, seeing as how it's a combination and blending of many languages, and can be used to work wonders when combined with human imagination.

Writing, and reading, can be a bit like a complicated yet flowing dance. It can take you to any period of time and any place on earth (or beyond), while teaching and revealing countless amounts of knowledge and information. I, for one, have learned most of what I know from reading and writing. I learned to write, in fact, mostly through reading - observing and emulating while giving it my own twist or flavor.

"For one who reads, there is no limit to the number of lives that may be lived, for fiction, biography, and history offer an inexhaustible number of lives in many parts of the world, in all periods of time." - Louis L'amour