I saw the dust start to swirl around in circles. Then those swirls got larger and larger, until I knew for sure that it was a tornado. I sprinted toward the house, the growing tornado just twenty yards behind me. Just as I stepped onto the porch, its roof fell apart above my head, nearly landing on me as I fell to the ground. As I tried to push the roof out of the way, I turned to see the tornado bearing down on me. I realized that I couldn't get inside in time, so I curled up to fight the pain and embrace death....
I have many such dreams. Every once in a while, they involve tornadoes. But usually, they just involved being chased by people who intend to do me harm for reasons unjust and irrational. And usually, the general atmosphere is that I am hunted. In other words, I am pursued by a higher power or government. Regardless of the content, dreams such as these generally follow the same sort of themes: I am trying to escape something that intends to do me harm.
I think that these dreams indicate a predisposition I have. I long for adventure and excitement, but, more than that, I desire adversity and persecution. There's something deep inside me that longs to endure trials of any sort. Something about me wants to fight the storm.
And honestly, I think that's how I'll die. It might not actually be due to a storm or malicious pursuers, but I doubt it will be a natural death. I think I'll die fighting something - whether it's fires, crime, the powers of nature, or a power that wishes dead those who believe a certain way.
And I'm fine with that. I almost welcome it. Somehow, it seems like my purpose. In some ways, I'm living for the storm.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Donnie Darko
Do you ever get that feeling? It's when you're instantaneously inspired to do a million things at once. Your ideas swirl round your mind like a cyclone, and you feel like your only option is to turn on a faucet and watch them pour out like water. It's a feeling that comes out of a time of stagnation and apathy - you realize just how little you've let your mind work lately. As you've guessed by now, that happened to me.
If you've read any of my previous posts (and let's face it - this page doesn't exactly see much new traffic) you've noticed that both the title and background for the page has changed. I feel that, though it will be slightly tangential, I should explain why this is. The new title and background are mainly a tribute to my favorite novel, Fahrenheit 451. I recently reread this book, which was an inspiration to me back in high school, and it once again produced its mystifying effect. The book and the new title ask the question, "Are you a destroyer or a life-bringer, dormant or active? Do you see the world through an all-too-common lens, or do you wear different glasses?" It's a question I don't ask myself enough. But back to the main trail.
I watched Donnie Darko for the first time the other day, and I saw something in the movie that I recognized. Something about the admittedly odd movie (after all - Bunny costumes?) reminded me of Fahrenheit 451, though I'm not sure whether it was the content or something else. It found a very special place in my heart. But it wasn't just that feeling that made the experience interesting. It was what happened after the movie.
I just sat there. I sat there and I thought. I turned over in my mind just how everything in the movie worked. (It had to do with time travel.) In the end, whether the time travel elements made sense or not wasn't important to the point of the movie, and it wasn't important to my experience. After writing notes and drawing doodles, trying to make sense of it all, I realized something. It had been so long since I had thought about something that thoroughly. It's an effect college has on you if you're not careful. You become a zombie, eating all the brains you can find, never using your own. You analyze, you problem-solve, but it's for no other purpose than to pass a class. You become an information-eater. It's something I could rant about for a while (but who wants to hear a rant?). Analyzing that movie pulled me out of my lethargic state. And you know what? I liked it. It was a mission, a task, an endeavor.
"Endeavor" is a word that should initiate associations for anyone who has taken Cornerstone's creativity course. All at once, old ideas became new, pressing against the walls of my mind, threatening to burst out my ears. I thought of new ventures and projects. I remembered my "Idea Book" (otherwise known as a Capture Machine), something I hadn't opened in months. I began to think again. I didn't fall asleep for quite some time after the movie - there was too much thinking to be done, too many ideas to develop. But I did fall asleep.
Thankfully, my slumber was only a physical sleep. I still get ideas, I still process concepts. But I know I'm always in danger of passing into a creative coma. I won't let that happen. I began to read, to write, to think again, and it feels good. I guess I have Frank the Rabbit to thank for that.
If you've read any of my previous posts (and let's face it - this page doesn't exactly see much new traffic) you've noticed that both the title and background for the page has changed. I feel that, though it will be slightly tangential, I should explain why this is. The new title and background are mainly a tribute to my favorite novel, Fahrenheit 451. I recently reread this book, which was an inspiration to me back in high school, and it once again produced its mystifying effect. The book and the new title ask the question, "Are you a destroyer or a life-bringer, dormant or active? Do you see the world through an all-too-common lens, or do you wear different glasses?" It's a question I don't ask myself enough. But back to the main trail.
I watched Donnie Darko for the first time the other day, and I saw something in the movie that I recognized. Something about the admittedly odd movie (after all - Bunny costumes?) reminded me of Fahrenheit 451, though I'm not sure whether it was the content or something else. It found a very special place in my heart. But it wasn't just that feeling that made the experience interesting. It was what happened after the movie.
I just sat there. I sat there and I thought. I turned over in my mind just how everything in the movie worked. (It had to do with time travel.) In the end, whether the time travel elements made sense or not wasn't important to the point of the movie, and it wasn't important to my experience. After writing notes and drawing doodles, trying to make sense of it all, I realized something. It had been so long since I had thought about something that thoroughly. It's an effect college has on you if you're not careful. You become a zombie, eating all the brains you can find, never using your own. You analyze, you problem-solve, but it's for no other purpose than to pass a class. You become an information-eater. It's something I could rant about for a while (but who wants to hear a rant?). Analyzing that movie pulled me out of my lethargic state. And you know what? I liked it. It was a mission, a task, an endeavor.
"Endeavor" is a word that should initiate associations for anyone who has taken Cornerstone's creativity course. All at once, old ideas became new, pressing against the walls of my mind, threatening to burst out my ears. I thought of new ventures and projects. I remembered my "Idea Book" (otherwise known as a Capture Machine), something I hadn't opened in months. I began to think again. I didn't fall asleep for quite some time after the movie - there was too much thinking to be done, too many ideas to develop. But I did fall asleep.
Thankfully, my slumber was only a physical sleep. I still get ideas, I still process concepts. But I know I'm always in danger of passing into a creative coma. I won't let that happen. I began to read, to write, to think again, and it feels good. I guess I have Frank the Rabbit to thank for that.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
A Mindless Faith
I love books. I even like many Christian books. But I like books that make you think, not books that allow you to not think. I feel there are a lot of the latter floating around these days. In general, there seems to be a lack of thought in Christian circles.
I haven't read Love Wins yet. I don't view it as imperative - I don't really enjoy falling into the midst of pointlessly heated arguments - but i would still like to read it, because I like questions. It's a part of who I am. Hypothetical scenarios intrigue me; I sometimes take random scenarios much further than makes sense. (For instance: What if I didn't have knees?) So I appreciate any exercise of that way of thinking.
What bothers me isn't that people don't think like me - I'm fine with that. They don't need to love questions. But it's irritating to see outright resistance to any sort of statement that raises questions. And if any such questions are asked (even if in statement form), there's someone with the answer following the first. It's as if people are thrown into distress when they have to question what they assume, so they breathe a collective sigh of relief when somebody tells them "how it is." Christians would often rather have somebody else think for them.
When people look for a church, a commonly used rejection phrase is "I didn't really agree with their views." That's a legitimate concern. It is good to see eye-to-eye with your church, for the most part. However, "I didn't really agree with their views" too often becomes "I disagree with them on such-and-such a topic, and we don't have infinite like-mindedness." When this happens, searching for a church becomes looking for a crowd of mirrors. This person, that person, the pastor think what I think, say what I say, believe what I believe. I am not confronted with opposing ideological views. I bathe in the vanilla pudding that is me. I am safe.
Because of this pudding-loving nature that infects the mind of so many, true debate and discussion is corrupted. Debate becomes a sledgehammer, and discussion a mallet. People wield these blunt ideologies and opinions with no intention of examining their opponent's own weapon. Discussion should be exploration. It should be two or more people, daring to present their opinions without fear of or intent to attack. Instead, debate is raised voices and discussion is elevated heartbeats. The mind cares not about the reasons for believing; it cares only to believe unwaveringly.
Ray Bradbury saw the future. He saw a future where people don't care to think, don't care to analyze, don't care to feel in its truest sense. In some ways, society has progressed toward making him a prophet. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want the mind to disappear, especially for Christians. We have not been called to a mindless faith.
I haven't read Love Wins yet. I don't view it as imperative - I don't really enjoy falling into the midst of pointlessly heated arguments - but i would still like to read it, because I like questions. It's a part of who I am. Hypothetical scenarios intrigue me; I sometimes take random scenarios much further than makes sense. (For instance: What if I didn't have knees?) So I appreciate any exercise of that way of thinking.
What bothers me isn't that people don't think like me - I'm fine with that. They don't need to love questions. But it's irritating to see outright resistance to any sort of statement that raises questions. And if any such questions are asked (even if in statement form), there's someone with the answer following the first. It's as if people are thrown into distress when they have to question what they assume, so they breathe a collective sigh of relief when somebody tells them "how it is." Christians would often rather have somebody else think for them.
When people look for a church, a commonly used rejection phrase is "I didn't really agree with their views." That's a legitimate concern. It is good to see eye-to-eye with your church, for the most part. However, "I didn't really agree with their views" too often becomes "I disagree with them on such-and-such a topic, and we don't have infinite like-mindedness." When this happens, searching for a church becomes looking for a crowd of mirrors. This person, that person, the pastor think what I think, say what I say, believe what I believe. I am not confronted with opposing ideological views. I bathe in the vanilla pudding that is me. I am safe.
Because of this pudding-loving nature that infects the mind of so many, true debate and discussion is corrupted. Debate becomes a sledgehammer, and discussion a mallet. People wield these blunt ideologies and opinions with no intention of examining their opponent's own weapon. Discussion should be exploration. It should be two or more people, daring to present their opinions without fear of or intent to attack. Instead, debate is raised voices and discussion is elevated heartbeats. The mind cares not about the reasons for believing; it cares only to believe unwaveringly.
Ray Bradbury saw the future. He saw a future where people don't care to think, don't care to analyze, don't care to feel in its truest sense. In some ways, society has progressed toward making him a prophet. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want the mind to disappear, especially for Christians. We have not been called to a mindless faith.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanks in the Moment
[Skip to the last two paragraphs for the condensed version]
If rising of the sun could be equated with turning a corner, then Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Not that you need to know that - I just like to point out the obvious. Anyway, it only makes sense that I'd be thinking about thankfulness. I mean, of course I've thought of it in the past, especially around this time of year. But, for some reason, it has been different this year. A few thoughts have passed through my mind, and I thought I'd share a few of the discussions I had with them.
One of my friends wrote in her blog the other say, and one thing stuck with me. It was the idea of being thankful for the details, to really appreciate something in its entirety. It's another kind of thankfulness to appreciate something for even the oddities that make it unique. I'd like to be thoroughly thankful for the blessings in my life (even the little ones).
It's a Wonderful Life is my favorite Christmas movie. It has many of the elements I admire in a movie, one of them being the question, "What if I had never been born?" Any question that begins with "what if...?" is a question I respect. But a small thing that I enjoy about the movie is at the end, when George realizes how much he loves all the things that drove him nuts. I like that. So, I'm learning to be thankful for inconveniences.
A week or so ago, I heard one of the professors from my school speak in chapel. Now, I didn't catch all of it, because his voice is like warm milk. It's not that it's smooth or soothing--it's quite raspy, actually--but it tends to make me drowsy. What I did catch was what he said about food, which is supposed to be a theme this year at Cornerstone. One thing he said, in particular, caught my attention. It was that, though food is lacking in other countries, we shouldn't feel guilty about eating our food. Rather, we should be thankful for all the food we eat. Don't take it for granted. I need to develop an appreciation for the food I eat.
What all this led me to think is this: We treat thankfulness like it's a reflection or a thought. It's a state of mind to adapt every once in a while, something to ponder before and after. But maybe that's not what it should be. Maybe thankfulness should be an experience, an act of the present. Thankfulness is during the meal, when turkey rolls in your mouth and pumpkin pie slides down your gullet. When the birds sing and the sun shines on your face. When your car doesn't start or your computer freezes. We experience these things, but we tend not to be thankful until after they've passed. Our minds are preoccupied with the experience itself.
But what I wonder is this: How much better would that turkey taste if I really appreciate it in the moment? What perspective would I gain if I was thankful for my car's stubbornness as it resisted me? How much more beautiful would the birds sound if I consciously was thankful for them as they sang their melodies? Life is a gift, and it's meant to be lived. How can I adopt a living thankfulness? It's a fuller life that way.
If rising of the sun could be equated with turning a corner, then Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Not that you need to know that - I just like to point out the obvious. Anyway, it only makes sense that I'd be thinking about thankfulness. I mean, of course I've thought of it in the past, especially around this time of year. But, for some reason, it has been different this year. A few thoughts have passed through my mind, and I thought I'd share a few of the discussions I had with them.
One of my friends wrote in her blog the other say, and one thing stuck with me. It was the idea of being thankful for the details, to really appreciate something in its entirety. It's another kind of thankfulness to appreciate something for even the oddities that make it unique. I'd like to be thoroughly thankful for the blessings in my life (even the little ones).
It's a Wonderful Life is my favorite Christmas movie. It has many of the elements I admire in a movie, one of them being the question, "What if I had never been born?" Any question that begins with "what if...?" is a question I respect. But a small thing that I enjoy about the movie is at the end, when George realizes how much he loves all the things that drove him nuts. I like that. So, I'm learning to be thankful for inconveniences.
A week or so ago, I heard one of the professors from my school speak in chapel. Now, I didn't catch all of it, because his voice is like warm milk. It's not that it's smooth or soothing--it's quite raspy, actually--but it tends to make me drowsy. What I did catch was what he said about food, which is supposed to be a theme this year at Cornerstone. One thing he said, in particular, caught my attention. It was that, though food is lacking in other countries, we shouldn't feel guilty about eating our food. Rather, we should be thankful for all the food we eat. Don't take it for granted. I need to develop an appreciation for the food I eat.
What all this led me to think is this: We treat thankfulness like it's a reflection or a thought. It's a state of mind to adapt every once in a while, something to ponder before and after. But maybe that's not what it should be. Maybe thankfulness should be an experience, an act of the present. Thankfulness is during the meal, when turkey rolls in your mouth and pumpkin pie slides down your gullet. When the birds sing and the sun shines on your face. When your car doesn't start or your computer freezes. We experience these things, but we tend not to be thankful until after they've passed. Our minds are preoccupied with the experience itself.
But what I wonder is this: How much better would that turkey taste if I really appreciate it in the moment? What perspective would I gain if I was thankful for my car's stubbornness as it resisted me? How much more beautiful would the birds sound if I consciously was thankful for them as they sang their melodies? Life is a gift, and it's meant to be lived. How can I adopt a living thankfulness? It's a fuller life that way.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
V & 1984: A Comparison of Evey Hammond and Winston Smith
(To be honest, I have only seen the movie of V for Vendetta; I haven't read the graphic novel. I have only read 1984; I haven't seen the movie. I'm disappointed about the former, but indifferent about the latter.)
There are a number of parallels between V for Vendetta and 1984. Both take place in a dystopian world (both in London, even). Both involve repressive/oppressive governments that monitor their citizens diligently, ferreting out any voice of resistance. Both governments control the media, and enforce their tyrannies with terror-inducing branches of themselves. And, most importantly, both involve an encounter with the horrifying that tests the value of truth. This is embodied in Evey Hammond and Winston Smith. In these two characters, the creator of each story reveals his opinion of the resilience of the human spirit and its thirst for truth. Like I said, there are many parallels between these stories, but it's the differences I find interesting.
The first difference I notice between the two is the intensity of each dystopian world. In V, the United States were in utter chaos and civil war, but that chaos was only just reaching London. In 1984, though, the world was in a state of constant war and living conditions were miserable.
The second difference between the two is the stage at which the government/society has taken control. In 1984, the government has developed to the point where it has eyes and ears nearly everywhere. In fact, its knowledge seems so intrusive that those that seek to keep any resistance in check have been dubbed "the thought police."And it is part of only three societies on earth. In V, it is just England that has dominated the lives of the characters, and "the Finger," while still intimidating, hasn't reached that almost omniscient status.
The final difference is a difference of emphasis in each story which deals with the resilience of human determination.This is typified by Evey Hammond and Winston Smith and their respective torture experiences. Winston, when tortured beyond extreme anguish, turned from what he knew to be true, going even as far as to turn against the one person he held dear. For him, what he faced was worse than denial. Evey, on the other hand, reached a point where her knowledge of what was right and true outweighed any torture or death she might face. For her, denial was worse than death or anything else.
Sure, one could argue that the first two differences were factors that added to her resolution. Or it could be said that her torture was not as severe. But I think it doesn't matter - to one author, all humans will give up on the truth when pressed. To the other, there are many who will hold onto it. In 1984, there is no hope of revolution. In V for Vendetta, the people rise against tyranny. So which is it? Is there hope for the will of humanity, or will we give in when faced with our own demise? How much does the truth really matter?
One reason this has occupied my thoughts is that, when I read that book or watch that movie, I get a gut feeling that I'll be in the same situation one day. To remain resolute or give in. And I wonder... does it matter?
There are a number of parallels between V for Vendetta and 1984. Both take place in a dystopian world (both in London, even). Both involve repressive/oppressive governments that monitor their citizens diligently, ferreting out any voice of resistance. Both governments control the media, and enforce their tyrannies with terror-inducing branches of themselves. And, most importantly, both involve an encounter with the horrifying that tests the value of truth. This is embodied in Evey Hammond and Winston Smith. In these two characters, the creator of each story reveals his opinion of the resilience of the human spirit and its thirst for truth. Like I said, there are many parallels between these stories, but it's the differences I find interesting.
The first difference I notice between the two is the intensity of each dystopian world. In V, the United States were in utter chaos and civil war, but that chaos was only just reaching London. In 1984, though, the world was in a state of constant war and living conditions were miserable.
The second difference between the two is the stage at which the government/society has taken control. In 1984, the government has developed to the point where it has eyes and ears nearly everywhere. In fact, its knowledge seems so intrusive that those that seek to keep any resistance in check have been dubbed "the thought police."And it is part of only three societies on earth. In V, it is just England that has dominated the lives of the characters, and "the Finger," while still intimidating, hasn't reached that almost omniscient status.
The final difference is a difference of emphasis in each story which deals with the resilience of human determination.This is typified by Evey Hammond and Winston Smith and their respective torture experiences. Winston, when tortured beyond extreme anguish, turned from what he knew to be true, going even as far as to turn against the one person he held dear. For him, what he faced was worse than denial. Evey, on the other hand, reached a point where her knowledge of what was right and true outweighed any torture or death she might face. For her, denial was worse than death or anything else.
Sure, one could argue that the first two differences were factors that added to her resolution. Or it could be said that her torture was not as severe. But I think it doesn't matter - to one author, all humans will give up on the truth when pressed. To the other, there are many who will hold onto it. In 1984, there is no hope of revolution. In V for Vendetta, the people rise against tyranny. So which is it? Is there hope for the will of humanity, or will we give in when faced with our own demise? How much does the truth really matter?
One reason this has occupied my thoughts is that, when I read that book or watch that movie, I get a gut feeling that I'll be in the same situation one day. To remain resolute or give in. And I wonder... does it matter?
Monday, October 24, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Whaddya Want?
I long for a simpler time, when I knew what I wanted and how I felt. When my plans and ambitions were solid, concrete. When what I felt was strong and stable. When options didn't exist beyond two or three. When the future was one road, not thousands. When I got excited, had crushes, felt sad, got angry. When bitterness wasn't something to hold onto for emotions' sake. When specialization was only a word to spell. When all scientists did the same thing. When everything was obvious. When this was right and that was not.
Things are complex now. I can't even figure out what it is I aspire to be. Or whether I want to be with someone, much less who that is. The people in the game of LIFE have it easy - the spin of the wheel determines everything. It's tough when you get to pick the card. "What do you want?" they say. But I don't have an answer. And I refuse to let the major decisions of my life be things that you just do - there's got to be something deeper. If love is just a choice, I want no part in it. I want a vocation that I'm made for, not one I settle into. Where's fate to tell me what to do?
I play my music on shuffle. I use Pandora. Which is closest? What haven't I tried? What makes sense?
I need passion. I need to know what I want.
Things are complex now. I can't even figure out what it is I aspire to be. Or whether I want to be with someone, much less who that is. The people in the game of LIFE have it easy - the spin of the wheel determines everything. It's tough when you get to pick the card. "What do you want?" they say. But I don't have an answer. And I refuse to let the major decisions of my life be things that you just do - there's got to be something deeper. If love is just a choice, I want no part in it. I want a vocation that I'm made for, not one I settle into. Where's fate to tell me what to do?
I play my music on shuffle. I use Pandora. Which is closest? What haven't I tried? What makes sense?
I need passion. I need to know what I want.
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