John 9: 1-12
It's the story of when Jesus spreads spitty mud on a blind man and heals him. My favorite part is what Jesus says to the people who ask why the man was born blind--if it was due to his sins or the sins of his parents. Jesus said, "He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him."
This is one of those sketchy concepts for people to grasp, I think. The idea of a loving God in a world of suffering.
I think at different parts of my life I can't honestly confront this idea with acceptance and peace. But today I can, and I'm thankful for that.
Everyone has ineptitudes.
Just last week I was talking with one of my close friends, discussing our mutual struggle with emotional instability. What are we expected to do in order to deal with it--if it's even something we should approach as having to be dealt with? Because "naming" it something is easier, sure--it makes it a segment, and not life. But it's also a way of detaching from that dark part of life, which despite its terrors, is also profoundly part of who we are.
A lot of times I write when I'm in those places. I don't write anything profound. I just write because the weight of everything in the whole world is so crushing that I can no longer hold it and it has to escape somewhere and that place just happens to be the page (or the ear of some poor, unsuspecting, sympathetic acquaintance who casually asks how my day is going).
BUT I write and feel better and might return to my brutal honest pages later, in search of truth and reflection.
Maybe that's my redemption.
It's the dirty, spitty mud that leads to healing.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
instants
have you ever had your eyes closed, but thought maybe they were still open?
i was laying in bed last night--the instant between closing my eyes and beginning reflection of the day or speculation about what might be tomorrow, when my mind was truly blank--the contours of my room were still vaguely (falsely) visible...
i actually opened my eyes just to prove they were closed
(if only i could do that more in the emotional realities of my world).
i wish i could bottle that. be able to institute it whenever i wanted.
that instant when i realized that i was falsely seeing reality--
the fleetingness that preceded it, when my mind was suspended between wake and dream... it seems unlimited, doesn't it? there's literally a place that exists that *looks* like real, and while it's still a construction of your mind, it's NOT the product of unconcious images projected during REM, so doesn't that make it more like an impression of reality? Like a bas-relief on your eyelids?
i wish i could interact with that space, which in retrospect seems so uninhibited by my pervasive habit of thinking about everything all the time. what would happen if my mind could just explore without solid direction that i constantly impose? what would happen if i could then remember it?
sure, this seems to be delving into a lot of suppositions involve psychology, freudian theory, oneirology, possibly substance abuse...
and i certainly don't have enough time to follow those rabbit trails.
but, man. it was really cool.
i was laying in bed last night--the instant between closing my eyes and beginning reflection of the day or speculation about what might be tomorrow, when my mind was truly blank--the contours of my room were still vaguely (falsely) visible...
i actually opened my eyes just to prove they were closed
(if only i could do that more in the emotional realities of my world).
i wish i could bottle that. be able to institute it whenever i wanted.
that instant when i realized that i was falsely seeing reality--
the fleetingness that preceded it, when my mind was suspended between wake and dream... it seems unlimited, doesn't it? there's literally a place that exists that *looks* like real, and while it's still a construction of your mind, it's NOT the product of unconcious images projected during REM, so doesn't that make it more like an impression of reality? Like a bas-relief on your eyelids?
i wish i could interact with that space, which in retrospect seems so uninhibited by my pervasive habit of thinking about everything all the time. what would happen if my mind could just explore without solid direction that i constantly impose? what would happen if i could then remember it?
sure, this seems to be delving into a lot of suppositions involve psychology, freudian theory, oneirology, possibly substance abuse...
and i certainly don't have enough time to follow those rabbit trails.
but, man. it was really cool.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Science and Emotion
I just read this fascinating article about expectations.
The basic gist (and the reason it was fascinating) states that: if our expectations are met, we experience a temporary high caused by some chemical release in our brains. If our expectations are over-met, we get more high. If our expectations are not met? Even if we expect x and only receive 0.9x? Our negative feelings are much stronger than the positive ones we would experience--and it's not just that we experience strong negative feelings, but are also plagued by our brain sending out messages of danger or threat.
I was sincerely hoping that the article would go on to give scientific wisdom for moderating our attitudes, since half the time I don't know what to expect, which could be part of the cause of my unfortunate mood swings.
The very intelligent authors speculated the pros and cons of both under- and over- expecting, but in the end offered no conclusive method for how to control our emotional reactions (I suppose that's alltogether impossible, anyway).
Ironic that they thoroughly dashed my expectations.
I'll just slip into an all-consuming depression, now.
(kidding)
The basic gist (and the reason it was fascinating) states that: if our expectations are met, we experience a temporary high caused by some chemical release in our brains. If our expectations are over-met, we get more high. If our expectations are not met? Even if we expect x and only receive 0.9x? Our negative feelings are much stronger than the positive ones we would experience--and it's not just that we experience strong negative feelings, but are also plagued by our brain sending out messages of danger or threat.
I was sincerely hoping that the article would go on to give scientific wisdom for moderating our attitudes, since half the time I don't know what to expect, which could be part of the cause of my unfortunate mood swings.
The very intelligent authors speculated the pros and cons of both under- and over- expecting, but in the end offered no conclusive method for how to control our emotional reactions (I suppose that's alltogether impossible, anyway).
Ironic that they thoroughly dashed my expectations.
I'll just slip into an all-consuming depression, now.
(kidding)
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Welcome 2012
(Please excuse the sideways image. New phone--not sure how to properly work all of the apps yet)
This was definitely a strange New Year's Eve.
I thought I would have to work, but miraculously only had to stay until 5pm, leaving me with the opportunity to do what I will. But my closest friends were working, so I went to New Gram's (which I definitely wanted to go, but it was a sacrifice considering the person I most wanted to start the new year with wouldn't be with me).
I spent the countdown with old friends with whom I've not maintained consistent communication, but still like them a lot and it was probably better for me than the alternative.
I shared some regrets, we all shared some regrets, and we screamed "Fuck 2011!" and cheers-ed and toasted to the New Year.
Since coming home for break, any drink I share with my mom is prefaced with, "Wait! Here's to a new, prosperous year! 2012 is going to be our best yet!"
And as I witness people crying in the corner following the new-year-countdown, I think about ritual and what it means for us. Our cultural obsession with a grand-welcoming of a new year, under the assumption that our meager calendar can be labeled as good or bad on the whole, the idea a new year is a new start when really it's just another day.
But it's NOT just another day. It's hope. This ritual fills individuals, rooms, communities, cities with hope. The regrets from the past year matter not anymore. It's newness. A chance for fate to bring something better. A chance to fix ourselves.
And even though many goals aren't attained (at least in my experience), it's like the new year offers forgiveness. Much needed forgiveness.
So, here's to my hope for and belief in a very successful, joyous, prosperous, fulfilling, life-giving New Year.
And here's to my expectation that by this time, next year, I'll look forward to another massive self-forgiveness, and hopefully the regrets I think I need forgiveness from will be minimal and minor, and won't feel the need to send off the previous with curses and exclamations of anger.
Fuck 2011.
To better days, filled with hope.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
post-production
Wrapped on the second shoot of SECOND BEST, my 10-minute narrative film for my cinematography final. Lots more problems, of course. Working with physical film as a medium is ridiculously taxing. And stressful. And rigorous.
I thought that I had completely screwed everything up, loading the film entirely incorrectly the first time through (single perf film loaded upside-down means the claw tears the film...whoops!), and unfortunately I didn't realize that until we had attempted to film about three pages of the script. Therefore, when I eventually *re*loaded the magazine, we had lost almost all light. SO, I ended up filming one roll in daylight. And then by the time I loaded the second mag after the first ran out, it was dark outside...meaning my second two rolls were filmed at night. I've not yet figured out how I'll math the footage just yet.
And, of course, I still loaded the film incorrectly, leaving the last roll of film with a light-leak. Le sigh.
BUT, what did turn out does look amazing:
I thought that I had completely screwed everything up, loading the film entirely incorrectly the first time through (single perf film loaded upside-down means the claw tears the film...whoops!), and unfortunately I didn't realize that until we had attempted to film about three pages of the script. Therefore, when I eventually *re*loaded the magazine, we had lost almost all light. SO, I ended up filming one roll in daylight. And then by the time I loaded the second mag after the first ran out, it was dark outside...meaning my second two rolls were filmed at night. I've not yet figured out how I'll math the footage just yet.
And, of course, I still loaded the film incorrectly, leaving the last roll of film with a light-leak. Le sigh.
BUT, what did turn out does look amazing:
Friday, December 2, 2011
a little light
I was reading my book in my bedroom. I was probably 10 or so. Our house was big and a little scary for a girl who had spent the majority of her life in a trailer park. I remember feeling utter terror at the prospect of 1) my room being on the complete opposite side of the house from my parents and 2) the bathroom being all the way downstairs.
But we were here, for better or worse. My fragile sense of security had been compromised, but I was going to make do. Because that's what you do. That's what Mom had always done. I was a big girl. I was not going to cry.
So I calmly read whatever sci-fi book I was no doubt enraptured with at the time. It was probably something by Piers Anthony, if I remember my literature timeline correctly.
And suddenly, my lamp turned off.
"That's strange," I thought. I don't know why I wouldn't assume the lightbulb had burnt out, like a normal person might. I, for some reason, knew that it hadn't. I slowly lifted my arm and reached towards the lamp--but before I could turn the switch, it reilluminated.
I stared for a second. Dismissed it. Returned to my book.
But it happened again.
Disbelieving, I looked at the lamp again, and then once more reached towards it. A second time, before I could touch it, the lamp lit up.
"MOM!" I screamed, running downstairs with terrible fear.
The mystery of the lamp was never solved. And this is not the only strange occurance from our log cabin in the middle of the woods. That's not the point of this story, however.
The eerie light problem has followed me ever since. I never really talked about it--because, really, what can you say? "Oh, hey--just wanted to let you know that wherever I go, lights seem to turn off and on. It's kinda weird." What are people supposed to say to that? It doesn't really mean anything, it's just strange.
But, I mean, seriously. It happens all. the. time. For a while I was texting my friend Ann every time it happened. It got to be a little too much, because without some sort of meaning, she stopped having responses.
Like, streetlights. Parking lights. House lights. Highway lights. Classroom lights.
A few examples:
I parked at the Canton Playhouse. The lamp under which I parked went out as soon as my car came to a stop. And when I left later? It came back on.
When we were at Nationals in LA this past year. The lights in the atrium had gone out. I was judging a round, and when I reentered the common space, the lights all turned back on.
I was walking down the street to the corner store the other day. I passed under a street light and it turned off.
(I know. It gets repetitive. It's not a great story, because it entails, "I was here, the light turned off." Everything about it is predictable. I'm wrapping it up, don't worry.)
Maybe they're just faulty lights... but that's a lot of faulty electricity around.
So a few nights ago I was driving back to Philadelphia from my Thanksgiving visit to Canton. I got lost. Which I thought was ridiculous because I've driven here so many times already and not gotten lost before. Yet it happened, and I found myself somewhere North East of the city. As I grumbled obscenities and turned on my GPS to find my way to my apartment, I was relentlessly questioning everything about my life choices (following an extremely emotional weekend. Ask me about it sometime and maybe I'll go into more detail. Then again maybe I won't, because I haven't felt particularly inclined recently to divulge.). I had just gone through the toll booth, having been forced to dish out the maximum toll amount of $26.25 (and feeling extremely bitter about it), and was seriously debating with myself about my--at the time, interpretation that this was--ridiculous decision to follow what I had deemed so long ago as "A God Thing."
And I was extremely pissed that I was lost and more than a little worried about whether I would make it home safely. And then a light went out.
I don't know why, but it felt very fortuitous. You know, in that "God's presence" kind of way.
I smirked. I blew a kiss to the light, and continued driving and made it home safely.
The next day I felt little better. I was extremely stressed out about an assignment that I had no idea how to complete, worried about my film that is likely to turn out terribly, and on top of everything we went to a screening for my class and no one sat next to me and I felt extremely stupid and worthless and unwanted.
So on the walk home, needless to say, I was feeling fragile and emotionally wane. I was taking a secret pathway between the septa station and my house through a soccer field and basketball court. I was weeping relentlessly.
Two giant court lights right next to the path went out at once.
I stopped and laughed.
But we were here, for better or worse. My fragile sense of security had been compromised, but I was going to make do. Because that's what you do. That's what Mom had always done. I was a big girl. I was not going to cry.
So I calmly read whatever sci-fi book I was no doubt enraptured with at the time. It was probably something by Piers Anthony, if I remember my literature timeline correctly.
And suddenly, my lamp turned off.
"That's strange," I thought. I don't know why I wouldn't assume the lightbulb had burnt out, like a normal person might. I, for some reason, knew that it hadn't. I slowly lifted my arm and reached towards the lamp--but before I could turn the switch, it reilluminated.
I stared for a second. Dismissed it. Returned to my book.
But it happened again.
Disbelieving, I looked at the lamp again, and then once more reached towards it. A second time, before I could touch it, the lamp lit up.
"MOM!" I screamed, running downstairs with terrible fear.
The mystery of the lamp was never solved. And this is not the only strange occurance from our log cabin in the middle of the woods. That's not the point of this story, however.
The eerie light problem has followed me ever since. I never really talked about it--because, really, what can you say? "Oh, hey--just wanted to let you know that wherever I go, lights seem to turn off and on. It's kinda weird." What are people supposed to say to that? It doesn't really mean anything, it's just strange.
But, I mean, seriously. It happens all. the. time. For a while I was texting my friend Ann every time it happened. It got to be a little too much, because without some sort of meaning, she stopped having responses.
Like, streetlights. Parking lights. House lights. Highway lights. Classroom lights.
A few examples:
I parked at the Canton Playhouse. The lamp under which I parked went out as soon as my car came to a stop. And when I left later? It came back on.
When we were at Nationals in LA this past year. The lights in the atrium had gone out. I was judging a round, and when I reentered the common space, the lights all turned back on.
I was walking down the street to the corner store the other day. I passed under a street light and it turned off.
(I know. It gets repetitive. It's not a great story, because it entails, "I was here, the light turned off." Everything about it is predictable. I'm wrapping it up, don't worry.)
Maybe they're just faulty lights... but that's a lot of faulty electricity around.
So a few nights ago I was driving back to Philadelphia from my Thanksgiving visit to Canton. I got lost. Which I thought was ridiculous because I've driven here so many times already and not gotten lost before. Yet it happened, and I found myself somewhere North East of the city. As I grumbled obscenities and turned on my GPS to find my way to my apartment, I was relentlessly questioning everything about my life choices (following an extremely emotional weekend. Ask me about it sometime and maybe I'll go into more detail. Then again maybe I won't, because I haven't felt particularly inclined recently to divulge.). I had just gone through the toll booth, having been forced to dish out the maximum toll amount of $26.25 (and feeling extremely bitter about it), and was seriously debating with myself about my--at the time, interpretation that this was--ridiculous decision to follow what I had deemed so long ago as "A God Thing."
And I was extremely pissed that I was lost and more than a little worried about whether I would make it home safely. And then a light went out.
I don't know why, but it felt very fortuitous. You know, in that "God's presence" kind of way.
I smirked. I blew a kiss to the light, and continued driving and made it home safely.
The next day I felt little better. I was extremely stressed out about an assignment that I had no idea how to complete, worried about my film that is likely to turn out terribly, and on top of everything we went to a screening for my class and no one sat next to me and I felt extremely stupid and worthless and unwanted.
So on the walk home, needless to say, I was feeling fragile and emotionally wane. I was taking a secret pathway between the septa station and my house through a soccer field and basketball court. I was weeping relentlessly.
Two giant court lights right next to the path went out at once.
I stopped and laughed.
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