"It can't prove to be true; it can only prove to be not false yet"
"It's wanting to know that makes us matter"The first quote struck me in its accuracy. I like stable and secure things and am slowly starting to realize that nothing of our world is stable or secure; we have only ourselves. And this quote is saying exactly that.
The second quote I quite liked. There may never be an answer, but wanting to know about things makes us who we are. I am curious as to the limits of my physical and mental strength and therefore engage in activities like backpacking and climbing; my sister is curious about how things work and devotes her life to her job as an electrical engineer. Wanting to know makes us us.
Today's presentations also brought some thoughts to my mind. Jonah spoke on freedom, basing his presentation on the The Magus quote "The better you understand freedom the less you possess it." I think it is a great quote; as Jonah said, "Freedom is the act of perception." As soon as you realize this, you realize that freedom is not something that can be possessed; it is something that exists separately from ourselves yet very much within. We all have access to it, but no one is capable of owning it. It is how we look at the "Mona Lisa" and are able to say such contrasting things as, "She looks like she is smiling" as opposed to "She looks sad." It is what enables us to make judgments or decisions, and it is not reserved for Americans or the wealthy or any of that; it is that thing in each of our minds that is with us everywhere we go allowing us to decide what to think and how to react. No government could give us freedom. Nor could any government take it away. What a thought.
I also liked the Conchis quote brought up in class today, "You wish to be liked. I wish simply to be." I think the goal in life (or at least at the stage I am at) is to wish simply to be. Independent of what anyone else thinks or says or does, we need to find out how to be happy just being.
At one point in Katie's presentation, Dr. Sexson brought up the distinction between waking up from a dream versus waking up with a dream. I think this is an important distinction to make being as we spend a large amount of our time in the dream state, and dreams are crazy and absurd and intense. And when things make you feel like that, it's typically a pretty big deal. I have vivid, intense, detailed, action-packed dreams every night. And 95% of the time I remember them. Often I feel the urge to call a person who was in my dream to tell them about it, but when I talk about my dreams to most people I am told, "Oh it was just a dream" and the conversation switches topics. Yes, I know dreams are in our minds and all that, but does that really make them negligible? Dreams are freakin awesome! Most of the time I would much rather hear about someone's absurd dream than about what they actually did in their day. And if our dreams include eroticism or desire of violence or the improbable? Who cares - those are the things that make life interesting; they add a contrast to what we consider appropriate lifestyles. It's like watching a scary movie; the odds are you will never be chased down by a serial killer, but you might as well enjoy the excitement and dread that you get second-hand from the movie. It seems like dreams are where we are most consistently creative and interesting. It seems like they should be given more credit than they are. In honor of Sexson informing the class that Yates said he writes his poetry by simply rearranging dreams, I am going to try writing a poem of a dream I recently had that keeps bouncing around in my mind. Here goes:
In the field behind the farm house,
They made a line of painted glass
Hundreds of hands hurried to grasp
their own; a new addition to each front door.
But one stood back, watching the crowd from a distance
how they scrambled amid the madness
clawing at their neighbors, friends, loved ones
All for a piece of glass.
The feeding frenzy ended,
each clutching their own
and suddenly - stillness.
What were they to do now
that all the glass was gone?
"Bury it!" one yelled, his piece thrust high above his head
And cheers roared all around
As they fought for soil to make a bed
Their precious glass,
swaddled up and buried deep
Finally they could rest.
"Oh no" one girl mumbled
dirt and sadness streaked across her face
"I buried mine without wrapping it first"
her words met with looks of disdain.
They all knew that the spade
would sink through the dirt with ease
and slice straight through her painted glass
she sunk down to her knees
Murmurs all around her confirmed what she knew to be true
The glass was gone forever.
There was nothing she could do.
The one that stood at a distance
came to offer a comforting hand
But was turned away in disgust
for he "didn't understand"
Well. That was interesting. I think I like writing like that... Poetry allows for "holes" or disconnects, which dreams have an abundance of, so it kind of works to transcribe a dream into poem form. Obviously not the greatest poem ever, but I think I will try this again. I quite enjoyed it.
No comments:
Post a Comment