Life in Silence

It has been maybe ten minutes and my mind is still trying to absorb everything from the presentations today, there was certainly a lot to think about. Hopefully at some point this week I will be able to find the time to take each presentation and give it the attention it deserves but at the present moment I can't seem to think of anything else but a quote from Joe:
"We would not know rhythm except for the silence between the beats."
...fuck he has a good point... My whole life it seems that I have heard nothing but the vices of silence. Its a sign of weakness or nervousness or ignorance. Any professional will tell you that an overly prolonged silence is fatal in a presentation. We are told to speak up in class and get noticed, after all no one can write a letter of recommendation for the silent kid in the corner. The quiet souls of this world find their spaces constantly assaulted with social media and the pressure to achieve and succeed, to stand out. Silence does not achieve these goals, ambitions, dreams, futures or expectations. Bull shit.
The parallel I can think to make was already made by John Lennon:
"Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans."
My life right now is full of nothing but plans. I schedule time to study, time to go to class, time to speak to professors, time to apply for graduate school, time to discuss career plans, time to make my time. Yet I ask anyone about how they used their time in college and no one seems to remember much of tests or homework or career paths, however everyone seems to have that memory of streaking at 3 am across campus or that one mind blowing concert experience the night before an 8 am class. The beats are still there certainly, those tests are very much real as any student will attest yet without the silence between the tests it would be meaningless white noise. When was the last time you asked someone their favorite television show and they said the snow from the disconnected channel? Life without silence is not life yet the beats are the only thing we, as a society, seem to care about because those are the moments we think we have control over. A composer, when creating sheet music, controls the tempo and volume of the sounds with notes. He uses pauses sure but it would be hard to imagine that composer creating a song with the sole intent of incorporating pauses. We do not control silence, it envelopes us. We do not control life, we live it.
Now do not mistake me, I am not advocating anyone to renounce all worldly obligations and rename themselves "talks-to-squirrels" because that would not exactly be living either. A song needs both silence and beats, so too do we need both plans and the spontaneous.
I used to look at my childhood with a great deal of embarrassment and disappointment. Silence seemed to be my best friend as I was that shy kid in the corner that no one could get more than a few words out of. I simply did not feel comfortable leaving my bubble and because of that I always felt I had missed out on so many opportunities. Now I see, my silence was simply my observations. My mouth may have been closed but my mind was always open. Every beat I saw, I absorbed. My silence has given me a unique appreciation for the music of others, a gift for which I am incredibly thankful now. It seems contradictory but in my life, silence was never ignorance but knowledge. Something to think about.

Thus far

To begin with Arcadia,

My previous blog on this play pretty much sums up my feelings that I thoroughly enjoyed this piece of writing. Not only did it hit on many issues that I consider very close to home but it approached those issues in such a way that I was forced to look at my aspirations in a new light. Everyone fears the unknown, it a symptom of humanity and seems to always have been. Mistakes make us cringe and shy away from the bold and new if we can feel the embrace of comfort. I think about the future so much more than I ever have in my life and my feelings are as mixed as my ambitions but the one pillar that is always supporting the weight of those thoughts is fear. Arcadia spoke to me about this fear, it did not hide it or deceive the importance of the emotion. It attacked it head on.
"...better to struggle on knowing that failure is final..." 
Is it better? I can only make the argument that the alternative would be to simply curl up and exist, a fate which sounds eternally more damned to me. We are on the march, we cannot stop and looking back does nothing for the view. I guess the only option we really have is that of marching on, to where I do not know.
"But its wanting to know that matters..." Arcadia may have a point there as well. Curiosity certainly is a fantastically fatal motivator but honestly who would be able to not look in that box? (sorry cat) Why are we so curious though? Can we not simply be content to march in our line and keep our heads down? No? Well alright then...what would make you look up? A bird calling? The wind blowing? What about the crack of a gun? I'm pretty sure I would look up for that third one if only by reflex born out of fear. Ha! Fear! What a coincidence... Such a tricky cycle. Our fear makes us curious and curiosity lifts the veil.

Remember, Remember

As yesterday was November 5th I felt I could not resist providing a bit of a history lesson on the legacy of that particular day.

"Remember, remember the 5th of November,

the Gunpowder Treason and Plot,

I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason

should ever be forgot."

Many of you may recognize these words since they gained such fame in modern pop culture. They come from a move, V for Vendetta, based of a graphic comic and released in 2005. Since then, every November my Facebook has blown up with people quoting this movie and celebrating an idea, yet how much do you really know about Guy Fawkes Day and why it is remembered? For starters, not many know that the quote from the movie is actually just the beginning lines of a poem from an English folk verse in 1870:

  Remember, remember! 
    The fifth of November, 
    The Gunpowder treason and plot; 
    I know of no reason 
    Why the Gunpowder treason 
    Should ever be forgot! 
    Guy Fawkes and his companions 
    Did the scheme contrive, 
    To blow the King and Parliament 
    All up alive. 
    Threescore barrels, laid below, 
    To prove old England's overthrow. 
    But, by God's providence, him they catch, 
    With a dark lantern, lighting a match! 
    A stick and a stake 
    For King James's sake! 
    If you won't give me one, 
    I'll take two, 
    The better for me, 
    And the worse for you. 
    A rope, a rope, to hang the Pope, 
    A penn'orth of cheese to choke him, 
    A pint of beer to wash it down, 
    And a jolly good fire to burn him. 
    Holloa, boys! holloa, boys! make the bells ring! 
    Holloa, boys! holloa boys! God save the King! 
    Hip, hip, hooor-r-r-ray!

Guy Fawkes was born in 1570 in the town of York. His father died when he was 8 years old, after which his mother married a catholic man. Through the teachings of his stepfather, Fawkes eventually converted to Catholicism at a time when the national religion was Anglicism. Guy spent much of his young life abroad fighting in wars soon becoming quite proficient in the art of weaponry and made his living as a mercenary. It was during his travels that he came into contact with Thomas Wintour, a member of a group of conspirators from London led by Robert Catesby. It was Catesby's plan to assassinate the King and raise his daughter, Princess Elizabeth, to the throne thus restoring England to a catholic monarchy. There plan was quite simple, they purchased rent of an undercroft which was located right under the Parliament building and began storing gunpowder in it with the intent of blowing up the entire government along with the King. The conspirators amassed a store of 36 barrels of gunpowder in July but were delayed by the plague. In early November, everything looked to be in place and Fawkes was put in charge of guarding the undercroft. The plan may have worked too it it were not a for a letter the group sent to all catholic members of Parliament warning them to stay away from the building that day. The plot was only to kill those members that were not Catholic after all. One of the members who received such a warning quickly showed it to King who had the tunnels under Parliament searched the night of November 5th. Fawkes was found leaving the cellar with a slow match. He was immediately arrested and tortured until he broke and gave up the whole conspiracy. Afterwards, Fawkes was held in the Tower of London until January 31, 1606 when he and three others were dragged out to the gallows and the fate that awaited him. However, Fawkes took matters into his own hands by leaping from a top the gallows platform and fell headfirst onto the ground, breaking his neck and ending his life. 

Today, the 5th of November is known interchangeably as Guy Fawkes Day, Plot Night or Bonfire Night. After the death of Fawkes, King James I encouraged his subjects to celebrate the day the King was able to escape assassination and keep them from anarchy. Bonfires were lit and accompanied by fireworks. Soon, the tradition grew to burn effigies in the bonfires as well. It was not until 1841 that Guy Fawkes began to make his appearance as a sympathetic character in William Ainsworth's "The Gunpowder Treason". From there and especially since 2005, Guy Fawkes has become a celebrated figure in political culture representing the horrors of oppressive government and a desire rise up and oppose tyranny in any form. 

It is interesting to me how literature and culture can take someone and completely turn their image around from terrorist to hero, not because of what he did but because of what he failed to do...

I doubt we would be celebrating his image as widely today if he had actually succeeded in blowing up the Parliament building and killing the King. Think Osama Bin Laden and you would be pretty close to how history would have viewed him. 

Arcadia, Day 2

As someone with a vested interest in history, this play seems to speak of topics that are "right up my alley". How much of history do we really understand to be factual? How many of our cultural foundations could be based on nothing more than "Bernardian assumptions"? These questions meander through my mind every time I pick up a book or look at a historical primary source. There are simply too many variables when it comes to the study of history but, in a way, that's what makes it such a dynamic field as opposed to the stagnate pursuits of librarians everyone equates historians to be. I applaud Tom Stoppard in presenting my favorite aspects of historical research in a light that makes it relevant for the pop culture. If it had not already been done this would have been a great idea for a final project...ah well. Here are a few quotes that really stood out to me while I was staring into the speaker:

...the snowflake and the snowstorm...
...the future is disorder...

-These passages spoke to my scholarly soul in a variety of ways. The first paints the bleak picture of what one must always keep in their mind whenever they read an account of a historical event. It matters not whether that event took place in Ancient Greece or 1920s New York City, the account is simply a snowflake in a snow storm. Was it written by a single person or a group? Where was this individual born? What are their political ideologies? Were they involved in a war? How close in time and space were they to the event they are trying to describe? What type of schooling did they receive? Are they writing during a time of war or peace? A single snowflake is a marvel to be hold under a microscope, each unique in design and dimension, but if one only focuses on the singular event think of how many other snowflakes they would lose sight of in the storm. Now imagine trying to capture the power of that storm when only a few, tiny flakes are available to share their knowledge. As for the future, how can it not be anything but disorder? No one can say when an earthquake or other natural disaster may be fall us. Will global warming push us into a catastrophic event we are not prepared for? Unanswered questions, yet only by studying history can we gain a scope to prepare for those future events. History: future disorder through the human scope.

...the best time to live...is when everything you knew is wrong...

-I could not help but remember that passage from The Four Quartets:
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
-Which parallels nicely into the next quote:

...you could not see to look before...

-scope and proximity-

...enough time and paper and boredom...you'd have to have a reason for doing it...
...the questions you are asking don't matter...

-Once, again Stoppard captures my passion for history perfectly. My view of the world has always been held through the context of time, paper and boredom yet there would be no view with reason and questions. However, all questions matter. If I were to ask you what you had for breakfast this morning and write down your answer then seal that response in a time capsule you make think me crazy and extremely bored. Yet those are the types of questions historians can make the most of. For example, say you had eggs, toast and a glass of milk (not too far out there for a breakfast choice), someone studying that response in the future would have quite a bit of information about you if they looked closely enough. You obviously had money for those supplies and the means to cook them. Those particular eggs and milk had to have come from somewhere and processed in some manner, thus giving a picture of food standards and dietary supplements. The animals and crops for those items had to have been readily available (would those same breakfast items be found in Greece or Tibet?) thus a picture of the geography and location. You had those particular items for breakfast but why not lunch or dinner or as a midnight snack? Possibly the work of social integration and propaganda? (what is the first thought that comes to mind when someone says eggs? what time of day you picture? why?) Every question matters.

...like travelers who must carry everything in their arms...we die on the march...

- We cannot carry every book or paper written on our history and culture yet we carry them with us none the less. One does not have to have seen Star Wars to recognize the music and plot from the film. (as we have proven) I doubt anyone can tell me the life story of Levi Straus yet most of us wear his legacy everywhere we go. What we carry is what we deem most important. Culturally, socially, personally. We do not take our houses and money with us when we die, we take only what can fit on us and within us.

Apology in Absence

A friend asked me once why I always preferred the backwards method of handwriting my essays and papers before retyping and submitting them for classes. At the time I found that I had no answer for her, it was simply the way I had always wrote and never gave a second thought to it. Yet this question stuck in my mind and, just for my own curiosity, the next time I wrote a paper I tried to jump right into the typing portion and skip the hand writing. You know what I discovered? I hated it.
It was not that the paper was any more difficult to write than any previous one or that I received a worse grade, the problem was it simply was not...enjoyable. To stare at a computer screen is to stare at the world in all its immensity. The internet, computer games, facebook: distractions, unknowns, fears, hopes, expectations, questions. One click and all is laid bare. My mind buzzes too loudly, its voice too soft.
A piece of paper, now there is my sanctuary. There is nothing on it, a blank space, no expectations, no future plans, no distractions, just my pen strolling along on its less traveled path. It is the journey of writing that I seek, not the concluding word. My mind wanders while my hand follows, page after page. My sanctuary, my wooded cove. For me, there is very little else as peaceful and freeing as the simple act of writing, I can only hope I never lose my way.

I titled this blog Apology in Absence because I felt that it has been entirely too long since my last blog. I could say that it was because of my entirely too hectic schedule but something pulls me away from that excuse. More so, I think, it is that my thoughts have been unwilling to be written. As a senior, it is becoming increasingly clear that this world I have constructed for myself here at MSU is quickly coming to an end. My own apocalypse draws near and eventually I must lift my veil and look upon the world beyond these mountains. What will I take with me?

Last week I had the tremendous opportunity of being able to interview Senator Jon Tester about his views on climate change policy for another seminar I am taking. It was an eye opening experience for me in so many ways that I am still contemplating my paradigm shift. Here I am, asking a United States Senator about what he believes are our chances of preventing wide spread destruction and misery while really wondering if he has ever heard of a Nicholas Urfe. Why that particular thought was in my mind I could not honestly tell you but there it was none-the-less. It is an interesting feeling being able to passively dissect the questions of man's mortality and the roles of gods in the same classroom as the one I had just beheld the secular gods of our possible destruction, mother nature and man's ignorance. I struggle to find the bridge that I know must link the two but how does one look past the ridiculous notion that I equate to reciting a Shakespearean sonnet on the congress floor during a debate on climate change? Again, what do I bring with me?

Answers are death, I am alive, therefore I have nothing with me but questions and nothing but the future ahead of me. Perhaps Mother Nature looms there and nothing I do now can ever take away the fears and apprehensions that come with that thought yet, for now,....there are still golden leaves on the trees.

"I asked the leaf whether it was frightened because it was autumn and the other leaves were falling. The leaf told me, 'No. During the whole spring and summer I was completely alive. I worked hard to help nourish the tree, and now much of me is in the tree. I am not limited by this form. I am also the whole tree, and when I go back to the soil, I will continue to nourish the tree. So I don't worry at all. As I leave this branch and float to the ground, I will wave to the tree and tell her 'I will see you again very soon.'" - Thich Nhat Hanh

It has everything...

I'll admit when we first started this book I was a little skeptical when Dr. Sexson told us that this book is the closest to having "everything". I kept wondering, what did he mean by everything? Did it contain all the answers to questions one would ask themselves throughout their lives or maybe it just contained all the questions one ought to ask themselves. Also, how could it have everything in it that I was searching for? I have to imagine that everyone's everything is slightly different just as we are all leading slightly different lives down slightly different paths. Was this book a generic frame of what the path would probably look like? I had no idea but I figured the only way to find out was to simply jump right in and read. That is what I did.

It did not take long before I began to figure out what "everything" meant. Actually, it only took until page 63. Last week, the discussion of death we were having had been weighing constantly on my mind and my thoughts. Jonah's blog described how we are all enduring suicide in one way or another which I was very adverse to at first given the heavy connotations of the word. I had had a family member take his own life at around the same age I am now and to see the ripple effects that act has had on my entire family has been sobering to say the least, anyone would recoil from that thought after that experience. Yet it seemed I could not escape that word for there it was, in black ink on white paper: suicide, page 63. I read these pages with perverse fascination, it seemed so suddenly that Nicholas descended to the point of contemplating this end. I always had the assumption that the descent was more of a spiral than a straight plummet. The way he thought about his suicide, cold and calculating almost as if it were being planned by someone else and he simply accepted that this was the way it was supposed to be now. Then "the balance tipped".

What balance? What was Nicholas trying to weigh? I remember all these questions in my head as we discussed our own eventual demise in class trying to discern any other hint of a reference to the balancing act in life. Could life and sanity be so fragile as to be walking on a tight rope between what is real and is unthinkable? The way he borrowed the gun from the gatekeeper as casually as buying a piece of bread from a local store disturbed me. Did he have no thought for how the gatekeeper would feel when his gun was discovered next to this corpse? Would the gatekeeper blame himself for not seeing the signs in time and trying to stop him? Would he too plummet into a depression? All unanswerable questions but ones that warrant a reference none-the-less. Heedless, seemingly, of any other notion Nicholas set off into the woods. A place that had provided him with such relief and solitude only weeks before would now serve as his waterloo. I found it interesting that on his way to his end he chose to only mention those sights and sounds around him that would normally paint a very comforting picture in anyone else's mind. The luminous sun, the warm air, the bells from the herds of goats. Interesting. He selected his spot by comparing it to relieving one's self, a very interesting metaphor choice. It was as though this sort of thing happens everyday and, indeed, was simply a natural chore to be done. No questions, no surprises. Cold and calculating, he set about making sure his death would be achieved in the most efficient way by the optimal angle. A good death should not be done rashly after all.

I wonder what Nicholas felt when he actually rehearsed his death...

Then, it was all over. Where images of beauty and warmth could not save him, the voice of mystery and sorrow could? (wtf to that) He waited for his moment but it never came. The spontaneous singing seemed to ruin the moment. This was not a romantic death, there would be no songs or elegies created to remember this lone man in the woods with his gun....He had missed, it seems, everything.

Dr. Sexson said in one of our classes a while back that it is almost sadder for animals and babes that suffer death so soon. They, who have no knowledge nor faults yet take the ultimate burden, should be pitied above all else. I may have to disagree with this point for though their deaths are incredible tragic, it was not a death obliterate. There would be no whispered questions at their funerals..."Was it something the parents did wrong, did they not love them enough?"..."Should we have been able to see the signs to prevent this"..."How could they choose this"... The parents of a dying babe may try to blame themselves in some way but deep down they would have to know that those accusations had no ground, it was simply fate. The parents of suicide victim afford themselves no such luxury.

"Did you kill anything?"
"One shot, I missed."

.Death obliterate.

It Startled Me to Read...

“Does anyone believe the galaxies exist to add splendor to the night sky over Bethlehem?”

A simple question that Dillard poses yet one that is so very difficult to answer. The figures Dillard gives to precede this question state there may be as many as eighty billion galaxies in existence, each housing at least one hundred billion suns. They are also over thirteen billion years old…how’s that for perspective. We are such a proud species with our technology and scientific progress yet what do we really know? We, who occupy one planet orbiting one sun and only have for such a short period of time yet we have the audacity to proclaim we know the secrets of the galaxy and secrets of God, who made us in his own image? How? How can we stand so tall on that pedestal? Could we even handle the alternative? Dillard proves nothing else in her book if not that life is fleeting and fragile. 138,000 living, breathing people can disappear in a single moment and did on April 30, 1991 almost one year exactly before I was born. It did not matter how rich or powerful they were how much “stuff” they owned; they were all equal in death. But then what is the point? What do we work so hard for? Why do I spend hours of my short time on this planet in a state of high stress over a tiny black letter on a piece of paper? Do the stars truly shine only for us? But then…maybe that’s the answer: the stars. Something so vast, so awesome and so completely unknown yet we appreciate them above all else for their beauty. Each of those stars could have their own earths with their own intelligent masses and we may never know but we do know what a starry night looks like. Is that enough for you? I think it may be enough for me yet how can one truly conceptualize that eternity? Dillard seems to offer only clouds and numbers as sources of solidarity. Startling and stark. All I have at this point is questions but for now that will be enough, questions and stars.