Three women made my week.
First, my writing professor has been very encouraging. She's a very special person who actually takes this whole "molding the minds of young, impressionable college students" thing very seriously. She's doing her best to give us the skills to think for ourselves (novel concept, right?). When I approached her about her gift (she gave us all fountain pens... truly a thoughtful gesture), and confessed to her my immature, irrational hang up (the one she gave me writes in blue ink... and I have this block with blue ink... I just can't use it), she was very understanding. She humored me, told me I wasn't strange (see how good she must be?), and gave me a black fountain pen.
Second, my boss has really seen through my tough girl act. She must have sensed how I've been feeling lately, because I didn't offer any information before she made a point to tell me that she appreciates my work, that she is grateful for me. It was a needed boost. This kind person told me, "I do appreciate you. You are a wonderful teacher. You have really helped me out so much just by being here. All the girls here love you. Most of all I have only heard wonderful things from the clients. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you." It's a rare person who can make me cry on a Monday morning.
Lastly, one of my former professors walked into the yoga studio tonight. She was one of the few people I know who seemed to believe in my abilities to write. I can't tell you how good it was to see her, to acknowledge one of my great influences, and to hear her ask me, "You're still writing, right?" Thanks to you and a little help from my loved ones, Professor, yes. I'm decidedly still writing.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday Sabbath: Happy New Year!
(from www.livingnow.com.au)There are numerous sources concerning the Jewish New Year that would surpass anything I might have to say on the subject. I'll leave you some links before I go... but I like the idea of having several "new years" in mind. We engage in raucous parties and drink ourselves silly on December 31st... so, I like considering the new year of other cultures to give myself a new start. I know we say that's "the point" of January 1st of every new secular year, but the world is so busy with its fireworks and kisses at midnight and regular, old-fashioned debauchery. When observing the new year of another culture or religion, while the majority of the neighborhood is quiet, you can really focus on cleaning the proverbial slate.
And maybe these new years come around when you really need a clean slate. This holiday preceeds the Holy Day known as Yom Kippur, The Day of Atonement. On Yom Kippur, many Jews fast and send sincere apologies to those that they feel they have wronged throughout the year.
Just think about that. You get to start off fresh, but to enjoy that ride, you have to consider who you've injured, offended, or treated thoughtlessly throughout the year and tie up your loose ends. I'd normally consider that backwards, that we should apologize and then consider ourselves redeemed. But then again, what do you do when your apology is not accepted? Or even acknowledged? You have until 4pm on Yom Kippur, according to the Talmud, to sort out your differences and both parties should forgive, forget, and move on. But, come now... we're human beings. Surely even the most devout Jew, once every other Yom Kippur or so, is just not ready to let things go.
So, where do you put your heartfelt, thought-out apology?
I guess if you walk into Yom Kippur with this sense of newness, the heaviness lifted, you might have a better chance at withstanding doing what you must no matter what.
I love this idea of this exercise. It asks a lot of us, but it's all very simply done if you just choose to do it. To have to think about your actions. Turn the finger to yourself rather than the insults others have supposedly thrown upon you. What have you done to potentially hurt someone you love (or don't love much)?
Now, as it goes, these apologies are for people with whom you've not reconciled. The practice is not meant to make you wrack your brain about each little indiscretion you've made for the last 365 days. Chances are, even as you read this, you know what your unfinished business must be. If you don't have any, lucky you! Good Yom Tov and pass the apples!
However, for those of us who know there are hurts that need a more active solution to heal, the Jewish New Year is here to inspire you to make good with people in your world.
As for me? I'm going to go make good with the poor unsuspecting new students coming to my Beginner's Workshop tomorrow afternoon... maybe between now and the 28th, I'll find a moment to breathe and reach into myself honestly and see what I can do to stop aggravating any of my problems with others.
(from www.flatchicken.com)Thursday, September 17, 2009
Thursday Kitchen: Eating Meditation
This writing class I'm taking inspires a number of prompts, thoughts, and compositions that I wouldn't have necessarily considered on my own. Among these, one notion has been haunting me since last Monday night.
We're reading an interesting collection of writings entitled ENGAGED SPIRITUALITY; TEN LIVES of CONTEMPLATION and ACTION compiled by Janet W. Parachin. One reads a little biographical information and selections of writings by people like Elie Wiesel, Dorothy Day, Howard Thurman, and Thich Nhat Hanh.
It's the meditations on Hanh that have been following me. This man is really some kind of saint... the sort of person that can inspire even the likes of me to humor that some men are touched by Gd, by the Divine. I don't know how Hanh thinks about this stuff all the time without crying into every bowl of rice.
This is the mediation based on his writings:
I had to rush to work the day I read this... I brought my "breakfast" with me. As I turned from the light and drove onto 199, I started to tear up and choke a little on the bites of bread. I don't have trouble feeling gratitude... I like this idea of mindfully considering all the effort it takes to make the food we eat...
...but when I think of this, at the moment I'm eating this bread and relieving my hunger, giving myself fuel to go on, that countless adults and children haven't eaten in days... the thought is so overwhelming. Now, I realize that you can only go so far down that tunnel. You can go too far and stop eating yourself because of the guilt... which probably bypasses the point all together.
Because no one should be going hungry. There must be enough food on the planet that everyone should have a reasonable amount to eat. I think about how wasteful we are. In one of the cafés in which I worked, rather than allowing employees to take baked goods that weren't purchased that day home with them, they throw them out. I have a feeling that a number of businesses do this. Look at our own kitchens. How many expired items have been thrown out due to our negligence? We have so much, that we have that luxury to dump food in the garbage. Someone could have eaten days ago on our forgetfulness.
I don't eat but so much as it is, and I doubt that the point of the exercise is to starve yourself. Then that's just one more hungry person in the world. However, I know I could stand to be more realistic when I shop for food supplies so that fresh fruits and vegetables do not have to go to waste. I also try to be careful about how I order things in restaurants. It's easier to order too little and supplement than to put anything you can't finish back (health department codes and all). So, in restaurants, if I know the portion sizes are absurd, I try to make sure I order something that can be eaten for lunch the next day.
I read somewhere, from a female author, that though she cannot solve world hunger on her own, she can donate food to the hungry. If we were all that mindful even once per week, I think more people could be fed and less would be wasted. We mostly consider this during the holidays or when we move. Churches take donations year round, though, and if you're not the churchgoing type, several grocery stores cooperate with donation groups to offer meals to those in need. Obviously, we must sniff these programs out to make sure our donations are actually going to people who truly need them, but I think this is part of what we can get out of this meditation above. Are we at least doing our part by not wasting food or giving what we can?
One way that you can help easily is to visit The Hunger Site or Free Rice. The Hunger Site collects pledges from sponsors who donate a certain amount towards good causes every time someone simply clicks on the donation button. You don't have to do anything but go to the site and click on the button. I try to go every day. You can do a little shopping on the site as well for birthdays and holidays to donate even more. At Free Rice, you just play the game... any Vocabulary or Mathematical or Art History survey you prefer. For every question you answer correctly, grains of rice are donated to the hungry. When you think of the mindless games you play between tasks at work, chores at home, and emails, playing this game would be a constructive and kind way to spend your boredom.
Thinking of all the work that goes into the growing and harvesting of food, I choose to go to Farmers' Markets and support these hardworking families. There I have a chance to look the farmers and harvesters in the eye and thank them for what they do. I assume that the meditation means to guide us toward this mentality... just being aware, to be less wasteful, and to be grateful for what you have. This is probably half the battle towards feeling content as well.
Maybe that's just one facet of Thich Nhat Hanh's ideas for mindful living... putting us in a global mindset so that we can find happiness. Because he also considers the sunlight that triggered the process in the seed, in the soil, mixing with the waters, to perpetuate growth of something that will, when given enough time, turn into something you can have for dinner. You can consider when the seed must have been planted... maybe April? How the sun broke through the clouds enough days to encourage photosynthesis and plant would feed itself. Think about the nights that a storm was too violent and the farmers ran out in the elements to tarp things down? Think about the plant's determination, instinct, to survive, to strive, to wait for the sun to return so it may reach up and soak in the life-giving rays.
So, while I'm sure the economy has placed most of us in a position to be careful about being wasteful, find gratitude in what you have knowing that there is a terrifying number of people with significantly less than you. That plate you're looking at took a lot of work and nature perpetuated to make it so. Protect the earth. Give to humanity. You're the lucky one.
(from www.spiritualityandpractice.com)
We're reading an interesting collection of writings entitled ENGAGED SPIRITUALITY; TEN LIVES of CONTEMPLATION and ACTION compiled by Janet W. Parachin. One reads a little biographical information and selections of writings by people like Elie Wiesel, Dorothy Day, Howard Thurman, and Thich Nhat Hanh.
It's the meditations on Hanh that have been following me. This man is really some kind of saint... the sort of person that can inspire even the likes of me to humor that some men are touched by Gd, by the Divine. I don't know how Hanh thinks about this stuff all the time without crying into every bowl of rice.
This is the mediation based on his writings:
As you sit down to eat one meal, pause for several minutes to look deeply into your food. Can you see the soil, sky, and water that nurtured it, and the hands that tended and harvested it? Can you be mindful of those who are hungry on this day? In light of this awareness, what would be an appropriate way to show gratitude for what you are receiving to eat?
I had to rush to work the day I read this... I brought my "breakfast" with me. As I turned from the light and drove onto 199, I started to tear up and choke a little on the bites of bread. I don't have trouble feeling gratitude... I like this idea of mindfully considering all the effort it takes to make the food we eat...
...but when I think of this, at the moment I'm eating this bread and relieving my hunger, giving myself fuel to go on, that countless adults and children haven't eaten in days... the thought is so overwhelming. Now, I realize that you can only go so far down that tunnel. You can go too far and stop eating yourself because of the guilt... which probably bypasses the point all together.
Because no one should be going hungry. There must be enough food on the planet that everyone should have a reasonable amount to eat. I think about how wasteful we are. In one of the cafés in which I worked, rather than allowing employees to take baked goods that weren't purchased that day home with them, they throw them out. I have a feeling that a number of businesses do this. Look at our own kitchens. How many expired items have been thrown out due to our negligence? We have so much, that we have that luxury to dump food in the garbage. Someone could have eaten days ago on our forgetfulness.
I don't eat but so much as it is, and I doubt that the point of the exercise is to starve yourself. Then that's just one more hungry person in the world. However, I know I could stand to be more realistic when I shop for food supplies so that fresh fruits and vegetables do not have to go to waste. I also try to be careful about how I order things in restaurants. It's easier to order too little and supplement than to put anything you can't finish back (health department codes and all). So, in restaurants, if I know the portion sizes are absurd, I try to make sure I order something that can be eaten for lunch the next day.
I read somewhere, from a female author, that though she cannot solve world hunger on her own, she can donate food to the hungry. If we were all that mindful even once per week, I think more people could be fed and less would be wasted. We mostly consider this during the holidays or when we move. Churches take donations year round, though, and if you're not the churchgoing type, several grocery stores cooperate with donation groups to offer meals to those in need. Obviously, we must sniff these programs out to make sure our donations are actually going to people who truly need them, but I think this is part of what we can get out of this meditation above. Are we at least doing our part by not wasting food or giving what we can?
One way that you can help easily is to visit The Hunger Site or Free Rice. The Hunger Site collects pledges from sponsors who donate a certain amount towards good causes every time someone simply clicks on the donation button. You don't have to do anything but go to the site and click on the button. I try to go every day. You can do a little shopping on the site as well for birthdays and holidays to donate even more. At Free Rice, you just play the game... any Vocabulary or Mathematical or Art History survey you prefer. For every question you answer correctly, grains of rice are donated to the hungry. When you think of the mindless games you play between tasks at work, chores at home, and emails, playing this game would be a constructive and kind way to spend your boredom.
Thinking of all the work that goes into the growing and harvesting of food, I choose to go to Farmers' Markets and support these hardworking families. There I have a chance to look the farmers and harvesters in the eye and thank them for what they do. I assume that the meditation means to guide us toward this mentality... just being aware, to be less wasteful, and to be grateful for what you have. This is probably half the battle towards feeling content as well.
Maybe that's just one facet of Thich Nhat Hanh's ideas for mindful living... putting us in a global mindset so that we can find happiness. Because he also considers the sunlight that triggered the process in the seed, in the soil, mixing with the waters, to perpetuate growth of something that will, when given enough time, turn into something you can have for dinner. You can consider when the seed must have been planted... maybe April? How the sun broke through the clouds enough days to encourage photosynthesis and plant would feed itself. Think about the nights that a storm was too violent and the farmers ran out in the elements to tarp things down? Think about the plant's determination, instinct, to survive, to strive, to wait for the sun to return so it may reach up and soak in the life-giving rays.
So, while I'm sure the economy has placed most of us in a position to be careful about being wasteful, find gratitude in what you have knowing that there is a terrifying number of people with significantly less than you. That plate you're looking at took a lot of work and nature perpetuated to make it so. Protect the earth. Give to humanity. You're the lucky one.
(from www.spiritualityandpractice.com) Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday Valuables: You've heard it before, but it really IS in the little things...
(from www.goldcountryartistsgallery.com... Go check this artist out. She's interesting.)Every Wednesday night is Girls' Night. Though all our girlfriends are invited, there is a core of three of us who make a point to make dinner together once a week. Then we watch something silly or play a game or, on the best nights, we can't stop talking.
We've been doing this for maybe 9 or 10 months. We had to move the night around now and again or postpone our evenings, but, largely, our Wednesday nights belonged to our friendships. Lately, it's been harder for me, specifically, to be consistent. I teach in the evenings and often more than one class in a row. I'm also teaching in a hot room, so I sweat out of pores I don't know I have and therefor need the time to shower off after class.
Tonight was one of the tough nights. I have my regular class and then I substituted for another teacher directly after. This caused my time to bleed into the usual hours of Girls' Night. I warned my friends that I would be late, to go to the restaurant without me... I'd meet them there when I could.
It was a great class. Quite a handful of hardworking newcomers and some veterans to the routine mixed in with each other. The energy of each class is very different... sometimes you can tell most people are tired or having a bad day. You can ask people to do something and, sometimes they all move to their own drum... other times, everyone seems to be breathing the same breath and they all move at once. Tonight was special... like a wave. The veterans moved initially all together and the younger newcomers steadily followed. Everyone was putting effort into their practice. Working, but finding joy in the movement. It was just as healing for me to be their guide as I hope it was for them to be in practice.
But, great classes lead to good conversations and open questions. I had a handful of people talk to me, ask me about certain poses, and then after some exchanges of heartfelt gratitude, it was time to mop. One of the interns graciously helped me to clean the room for the next class so I could hop into the shower.
I always forget something which always slows me down. It triggers a seeking mechanism and my brain slows my activities so I can verify where I went wrong (I'm just weird like that). I took my shower as quickly as I could.
Wet hair and all, I ran out to the car. I sent a text message that I was leaving the studio and then I started the engine. The drive back to Williamsburg is sort of... hypnotic? I'm so used to it, I'm on auto-pilot. I don't always know how I arrived back to town.
I called Caro to tell her that I was almost there. She said, "Okay. We'll be waiting for you. We wanted to wait for you before we started dinner."
If something had been anywhere near my car, I would have run into it.
I was just so touched. I would have understood if they had started eating without me... they had been there over an hour before I made it to town. But, no. They voluntarily waited so we could all still eat together despite my circumstances.
It's really very simple to show someone that they mean something to you, that their presence in your life is significant. A spontaneous phone call to let someone know that they were on your mind. Engaging your friends, once in a while at least, in a way that matters to them (playing games they like, going to a movie together even if you didn't want to see it, reading what they write, etc). Sending cards, you know, real ones, in the mail. Smiling at them even when they look like death on a stick (or in a glass, right girls?)... because you're glad that they are there.
Some people have a gift for this. There is a teacher at one of my studios who just injects light and goodness into my bad morning mood (I'm not human until about 11). No matter what sour puss face I'm making, she places a hand on my shoulder and smiles her genuine, warm smile. She's glad to see me. It helps me prepare for class... to give my students the best energy I have to offer when this particular colleague is there to give my batteries a recharge.
This may sound corny... but I don't care... go take care of the people you love. Let them know you're paying attention. Make it obvious that you're happy that they are in your world. It brings people like me, on days like this, out of heartbreak for a glorious little while...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Tuesday Hobbies: Collections
There must be more interesting examples than what I'm about to give, but it seems like most of us have some sort of collection. Even if it isn't porcelain unicorns, many of us have a number of certain things...
Using myself as the first example, I have a sort of stupid number of books. I have not read them all. I will eventually read what I have, but those books will either be filtered out to other people who want to read them or archived behind the new unread books that will inevitably find their way to my shelves. I have met one other person with a similar, absurd number of books, read and unread. I think I feel cozy being surrounded by them... all these lives and worlds that will speak to me whenever I'm ready or need to run away...
I have a modest collection of teapots. This is mostly due to my Alice obsession... though I don't have as much Alice paraphernalia as some people have NASCAR tokens or comic books trinkets. I have several different editions of Alice, a few figurines (all of them gifts), playing cards, greeting cards, stationary, mugs, tea cups, a tea set, and some T-shirts... all covered in Alice.
I knew someone who had quite the figurine collection... characters from fantasy films or novels, comic book statues, etc... guess he had his share of movie clips, movie articles, movie trivia, etc. I know someone else with quite a liquer collection... and yet another person with two rooms full of hotel souvenirs, winery glasses, free Avon gifts, lent books, memoribilia, and many other things, I'm sure, but I'm too scared to take a really close look.
Some people have tremendous DVD collections (which confuses me... most things we could want to see we can rent, find online, or view on Netflix). I knew a person whose DVD collection rivals my many book shelves. I like the idea of really weird collections... not stamps or coins, but funky things like old cereal boxes or old cartoon character merchandise. I really like the show on Food Network, Unwrapped (you can watch their episodes online, I just now discovered, like this one: http://www.foodnetwork.com/unwrapped6/video/index.html) for these sorts of crazy cooks who have original soda cans/bottles and other such things. There's a museum (Creat-A-bili-Toys) dedicated to food icons such as Tony the Tiger, Captain Crunch, Tucan Sam, Snap (The Original before Crackle and Pop came along), The Jolly Green Giant, and The Trix Rabbit!
There are those who collect animals. I don't get this, even though I have a modest lion collection. Mine is mostly a contiuation of my paternal grandmother's collection... just a way to stay close to her. I had a teacher in middle school who collected cows... and wanted you to know it. She had one hanging from the ceiling, they were all over her desk, dangling from the book shelf behind her desk, etc. I know someone else who had a room completely filled with teddy bears. All kinds of teddy bears. Stuffed, porcelain, little plaster statues, etc. And we all know about cat people...
I wonder from where this compulsion derives? Why do we need or want or crave many, many pieces of the same thing? I can see the hoarding goblin from Jim Henson's Labyrinth in my mind with her pile of stuff clinking and clanging on her back. Did this start at some particular point in history? Is it an American thing? An Egyptian thing? What makes us collect things?
Surely for some people it's a statement. My sixth grade English teacher and her cows for instance; I love cows and that's a part of who I am so like it or get used to it sort of thing. For others, maybe it's just something that makes them impressive. The guy with all the old soda bottles, a collection worth a pretty penny (and maybe even a few ugly ones), can say he has every old soda bottle originally made and that his collection is worth some amazing number of dollars. The Smithsonian calls him daily to see if he's still alive (I'm kidding... would be funny though).
For others, maybe it's a comfort thing. Like my books... I always have a place into which I can disappear. I also am likely to have something to offer someone else making myself useful. Maybe for people who had very little at one point or another, a collection is a way to not have to feel lacking anymore. If you're surrounded by a lot, you don't have to feel the way you did when you had nothing at all.
I know fewer people who have the art of non-collecting than I do those who like to collect something... even if it's not conscious or physical (like collecting useless information or interesting websites)... though I could be cheeky and call that a sort of collection, too. All the same, what is it that they know that we don't? How have the monks of Tibet set themselves free from hoards of stuff?
I guess Thich Naht Hanh (one of my new favorite people) saw more value in things we cannot see (though he has quite a collection of writings, he does not have a collection of frogs or what have you). But, maybe we see a deeper value in our collections, too. Like a museum collection trying to tell us who we are or at least where we came from, maybe we're cataloguing our lives... postcards from trips, little soaps from amazing hotels, pictures that put our minds at peace, things that we liked that are numerous to be dispersed to everyone we ever knew to remind them of us, etc.
One of the most beautiful collections I've ever seen can be found here: Found.com
It's a collection of things people find... literally. One the street, on the floor at work, on the subway, etc... Love notes. Grocery lists. Abandoned drawings. Etc. It's a "feel good" collection of the idiosyncracies, idiocies, and marvels of humanity.
While we don't want to be the junk lady, hauling around a bunch of useless garbage, I see how we want to remember where we've been...
(from http://images2.fanpop.com)
Using myself as the first example, I have a sort of stupid number of books. I have not read them all. I will eventually read what I have, but those books will either be filtered out to other people who want to read them or archived behind the new unread books that will inevitably find their way to my shelves. I have met one other person with a similar, absurd number of books, read and unread. I think I feel cozy being surrounded by them... all these lives and worlds that will speak to me whenever I'm ready or need to run away...
I have a modest collection of teapots. This is mostly due to my Alice obsession... though I don't have as much Alice paraphernalia as some people have NASCAR tokens or comic books trinkets. I have several different editions of Alice, a few figurines (all of them gifts), playing cards, greeting cards, stationary, mugs, tea cups, a tea set, and some T-shirts... all covered in Alice.
I knew someone who had quite the figurine collection... characters from fantasy films or novels, comic book statues, etc... guess he had his share of movie clips, movie articles, movie trivia, etc. I know someone else with quite a liquer collection... and yet another person with two rooms full of hotel souvenirs, winery glasses, free Avon gifts, lent books, memoribilia, and many other things, I'm sure, but I'm too scared to take a really close look.
Some people have tremendous DVD collections (which confuses me... most things we could want to see we can rent, find online, or view on Netflix). I knew a person whose DVD collection rivals my many book shelves. I like the idea of really weird collections... not stamps or coins, but funky things like old cereal boxes or old cartoon character merchandise. I really like the show on Food Network, Unwrapped (you can watch their episodes online, I just now discovered, like this one: http://www.foodnetwork.com/unwrapped6/video/index.html) for these sorts of crazy cooks who have original soda cans/bottles and other such things. There's a museum (Creat-A-bili-Toys) dedicated to food icons such as Tony the Tiger, Captain Crunch, Tucan Sam, Snap (The Original before Crackle and Pop came along), The Jolly Green Giant, and The Trix Rabbit!
There are those who collect animals. I don't get this, even though I have a modest lion collection. Mine is mostly a contiuation of my paternal grandmother's collection... just a way to stay close to her. I had a teacher in middle school who collected cows... and wanted you to know it. She had one hanging from the ceiling, they were all over her desk, dangling from the book shelf behind her desk, etc. I know someone else who had a room completely filled with teddy bears. All kinds of teddy bears. Stuffed, porcelain, little plaster statues, etc. And we all know about cat people...
I wonder from where this compulsion derives? Why do we need or want or crave many, many pieces of the same thing? I can see the hoarding goblin from Jim Henson's Labyrinth in my mind with her pile of stuff clinking and clanging on her back. Did this start at some particular point in history? Is it an American thing? An Egyptian thing? What makes us collect things?
Surely for some people it's a statement. My sixth grade English teacher and her cows for instance; I love cows and that's a part of who I am so like it or get used to it sort of thing. For others, maybe it's just something that makes them impressive. The guy with all the old soda bottles, a collection worth a pretty penny (and maybe even a few ugly ones), can say he has every old soda bottle originally made and that his collection is worth some amazing number of dollars. The Smithsonian calls him daily to see if he's still alive (I'm kidding... would be funny though).
For others, maybe it's a comfort thing. Like my books... I always have a place into which I can disappear. I also am likely to have something to offer someone else making myself useful. Maybe for people who had very little at one point or another, a collection is a way to not have to feel lacking anymore. If you're surrounded by a lot, you don't have to feel the way you did when you had nothing at all.
I know fewer people who have the art of non-collecting than I do those who like to collect something... even if it's not conscious or physical (like collecting useless information or interesting websites)... though I could be cheeky and call that a sort of collection, too. All the same, what is it that they know that we don't? How have the monks of Tibet set themselves free from hoards of stuff?
I guess Thich Naht Hanh (one of my new favorite people) saw more value in things we cannot see (though he has quite a collection of writings, he does not have a collection of frogs or what have you). But, maybe we see a deeper value in our collections, too. Like a museum collection trying to tell us who we are or at least where we came from, maybe we're cataloguing our lives... postcards from trips, little soaps from amazing hotels, pictures that put our minds at peace, things that we liked that are numerous to be dispersed to everyone we ever knew to remind them of us, etc.
One of the most beautiful collections I've ever seen can be found here: Found.com
It's a collection of things people find... literally. One the street, on the floor at work, on the subway, etc... Love notes. Grocery lists. Abandoned drawings. Etc. It's a "feel good" collection of the idiosyncracies, idiocies, and marvels of humanity.
While we don't want to be the junk lady, hauling around a bunch of useless garbage, I see how we want to remember where we've been...
(from http://images2.fanpop.com) Monday, September 14, 2009
Monday Review: 9
(from www.revolutionsf.com)The power of 9 is wielded by it's simplicity within a moderately complicated set of ideas. We've reached the destruction of mankind by man's own machinery used to protect himself. No humans are left and the victorious machines still hum and stir. The audience is introduced to the nine sack creatures who are the only speaking characters in the movie. You simply watch them finish off the machine that obliterated life on earth.
But throughout the need to bring the monster machine down, the sack creatures learn about themselves and from whence they came. Each sack person is addressed by the number the scientist who made them placed on their backs... presumably in the order in which each one was created. 9 is the most thoughtfully crafted and the last one in the line of sack people left to reclaim the planet from the machines.
Later in the film, you find out that the scientist that made the sack creatures also made this dangerous machine that is responsible for crafting more and more machines programed to search and destroy. Once 9 returns to "the source" (the room where he woke up), he finds a message that the scientist left for him. The scientist reveals how he created the machine and the 9 creatures. The machine possess the intellect of the scientist whereas the 9 creatures were infused with his soul. To create 9, the scientist sacrificed himself that his creation might live and save the decimated world and prepare it for regeneration.
I like any film that attempts to warn the rising generations of where we might be headed if we lose our hearts, our humanity. Even that completely wretched film that came out in my childhood, Fern Gully, children audiences follow a shrunken human into the rain forest. The film teaches awareness for preserving our last wild and natural areas on earth (which makes up for how bad the movie is...) Miyazaki makes wonderful films that seem to reach out to children to give them awareness about how to treat the environment, to respect all living things, to honor your duties. In this tradition, I feel that 9 has put its two cents into the pot of lessons for the generation to come, and I find that courageous and admirable.
There's also this vein of departing from "the old ways" to make room for "new innovations." 1 is the leader of this group who insists that the creatures wait in hiding until all the machines have run down and silenced themselves. Once 9 is awakened, he is determined to fix things in a more proactive way. Ultimately, the combination of these two approaches saves the day. I'm not sure if that's meant to be a commentary on what's going on in our current political climate, but I think it would work in most scenarios.
Obviously we can derive some spiritual tones in the elements of "the creator" and "the created." The scientist acts as the Divine giving life to his creation... but the Divine was also responsible for the evil in the world and barely leaves enough evidence behind to help the "good" defeat the "evil." This is probably the only element of the film that helps us relate to the sack creatures. They don't have names, they don't have much dialogue or time to establish interests or hobbies... but they are searching for what made them and a reason for why they're here. They also have the instinct to survive... so we can ultimately see ourselves in the sack creatures' roles.
As anyone could see from the previews, this movie is a visual feast. While the images are grim, colors are muted, and you're looking at the ruins of society (even a few dead bodies), the camera angles, the shot choices make the ruins breathe. The machine monsters are also just gorgeous... I haven't been so enamored of a monster since the creepy monster in Pan's Labyrinth who had eyes in the palms of his hands that he had to hold up to his head to see. My favorite monster in 9 is this snake robot that the "brain" machine creates to round up the sack creatures and destroy them, too. The gears slither in a long sack, then the arms fold to hold up the corpse of 2 ("killed" at the beginning of the film) who has been equipped with a hypnotic light shooting from his eyes making anyone looking at him faint. Then the sack opens to reveal a doll head with two different eyes and another set of arms to tie the body up and then place inside the sack with the rest of its innards... I couldn't find a good picture to place here on the blog... but it's beautifully terrifying.
I think this is a movie worth watching and even purchasing for home. I agree with another reviewer that the film is a little short (80 minutes), but I don't feel like there's anything missing from the story, so, maybe I'm just used to being bombarded with two hour films. I don't think this is a good one for little kids (it is PG-13 after all... too bad I didn't remind the people in front of us who had more than one child under the age of ten with them).
I know I enjoyed it! Go see it... now.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sunday Reflections: She's still in here somewhere
You must have felt as though you were born under a tree; tangled in the roots unable to get a clear view of the sunlight that nourished you. You could hear the children laughing, without seeing what was so funny. You could sway to the music not understanding how they could keep themselves from dancing. You wanted to understand what caused this dizziness as the world revolved. There were no older siblings to make you wish you were anyone other than you.
You must have dug your way back to the surface; frustrated with your youthful limitations you turned to books, to stories, to the theater. You walked among the dead a living sprite determined to engage the world more meaningfully than your peers. You had a need to loudly reach beyond any obstacles, distracting the adults with your little girl smile, your little girl strands of soft, straight hair, your little girl legs that still wobbled upon the ground. They never noticed the old woman scrutinizing the world behind your eyes.
You must have climbed too high into the branches; running away from the confusion caused by the gds of your world. You wanted to be like them, the grown ups, but they could be so cruel, so strange. Betrayed by your brightness, some ignored you. You could take care of yourself after all. You braved your emotions and listened more carefully when they weren't talking to you. You wanted to gather all the information you could to better plan your escape, to better discover the distance you could place between your life and your broken heart.
You must have fallen from the very top of your tree; the rushing of experience and thought so exhilarating and over too quickly. You took your observations with you and didn't bother to look back, knowing what you would see if you tried. You smiled and laughed genuinely, finally discovering what you found funny, what you treasured, how to have joy. You made no apologies for your differences, you inability to "be like everyone else." You fell as though in love with the moment, the you-ness of it all.
You must have died one day; because I let you. I punished those who didn't look after you, didn't converse with you, didn't keep you from the deadly drop. I blamed him or her or whoever for letting this happen, for leaving you so alone. What good has it done? Would you ever return to me? Knowing where I've been, who I've become, would you trust me if I were so trite as to offer you my love again? Am I the sort of grown up who would have seen the old woman chuckling behind your little girl brown eyes?
You must see straight through me on days like this. You are probably somewhere laughing as I ponder your death. You are probably much older than I feel and much wiser than I'll ever be. You've strung your daisy chain and hummed your favorite songs and you most likely care nothing for the retributions I sought. I'd feel too ashamed to ask you what you know, to stop me from being myself. Still, like all good gddesses, you've shown me something towards which I must strive.
You must have dug your way back to the surface; frustrated with your youthful limitations you turned to books, to stories, to the theater. You walked among the dead a living sprite determined to engage the world more meaningfully than your peers. You had a need to loudly reach beyond any obstacles, distracting the adults with your little girl smile, your little girl strands of soft, straight hair, your little girl legs that still wobbled upon the ground. They never noticed the old woman scrutinizing the world behind your eyes.
You must have climbed too high into the branches; running away from the confusion caused by the gds of your world. You wanted to be like them, the grown ups, but they could be so cruel, so strange. Betrayed by your brightness, some ignored you. You could take care of yourself after all. You braved your emotions and listened more carefully when they weren't talking to you. You wanted to gather all the information you could to better plan your escape, to better discover the distance you could place between your life and your broken heart.
You must have fallen from the very top of your tree; the rushing of experience and thought so exhilarating and over too quickly. You took your observations with you and didn't bother to look back, knowing what you would see if you tried. You smiled and laughed genuinely, finally discovering what you found funny, what you treasured, how to have joy. You made no apologies for your differences, you inability to "be like everyone else." You fell as though in love with the moment, the you-ness of it all.
You must have died one day; because I let you. I punished those who didn't look after you, didn't converse with you, didn't keep you from the deadly drop. I blamed him or her or whoever for letting this happen, for leaving you so alone. What good has it done? Would you ever return to me? Knowing where I've been, who I've become, would you trust me if I were so trite as to offer you my love again? Am I the sort of grown up who would have seen the old woman chuckling behind your little girl brown eyes?
You must see straight through me on days like this. You are probably somewhere laughing as I ponder your death. You are probably much older than I feel and much wiser than I'll ever be. You've strung your daisy chain and hummed your favorite songs and you most likely care nothing for the retributions I sought. I'd feel too ashamed to ask you what you know, to stop me from being myself. Still, like all good gddesses, you've shown me something towards which I must strive.
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