Merry Christmas! (Or, random thoughts about my dad)

Here I am, with my beautiful new laptop, having beautiful internet in my very own room at home, and sadly my phone has to be plugged in around the corner and so at the moment is more awkward to reach than my computer... but no one is online to talk to me!  

Well, that's not true... the automated moviefone thing is online, as is a person I only knew on the internet except for meeting once randomly in person, but with whom I have not spoken in any context for some time.  And some people have away messages up.

But that's ok, because I have a delightful public-private inner-thoughts-to-outer-world forum to keep me company until my phone gets more charg-y.  Or until I just get sleepy, and forget all the things I wanted to say, which seems to be happening right now.

It's been an interesting time so far.  I spent some time with my dad Saturday and Sunday, and that was good.  It's amazing how I can feel so connected to him in some ways, like when we talk about the big stuff of life and the spirit, which sounds, as such things often do, ridiculous to write down, except that I really mean it... and I feel like we're really sharing something important, and special, and we are... and then I try to tell him what I think about a movie, or what I'm doing next year, and it seems like we're communicating but suddenly he says something that has all the ingredients of what I've been saying, but isn't actually my point at all... and then I look at the picture we took together using Photo Booth, and our smiles do the same thing to our faces, our noses are the same, the stretch of our mouths... or I see him almost-sleeping on the couch and he moves his thumbs against each other restlessly like I know I do, or his feet, absurdly high arch tucked and rubbed against the top of the other foot, and that is just like me.  And somehow all these things, connections, disconnections, awkwardness, alikeness-- come from the same person, in not even 48 hours.  And he tells me he wants to know more about what I like and I am quiet, not knowing what to say.  (We are talking about music, should I give a list?)  And sometimes I think he creates an idea of me quite fully out of pieces of true things, and sometimes I think he knows me in ways I cannot know myself.  

This is ironic, since part of our discussion, a real heart of it, was how you cannot see yourself, how if you look for the self you cannot find it, that self-hood itself (ha) and everything around it is created... but if there is no self, created by whom?  This is one of those statements that should maybe come with warnings, like the Cloud of Unknowing: Don't read me or think about me unless you're way gung-ho about the whole spiritual path deal.  Or maybe I'm just posturing.  (Who is?  Ha.)

He can irritate me intensely, and I am terribly afraid of displeasing him in some small way.  He bought me beautiful shirts-- in size extra-large.  I take a stupid pleasure in being more educated than he is, in thinking silently that I understand more while he speaks.  Especially about eastern religions.

I can see now how crippled he has been, because he is not so big and full of power as he used to be.  When he hugs me, he is still the strongest person in the world, the whole world still goes away.  I think he is trying to protect me from his family, or protect himself through me.  I think he has systematically removed me from their reach... he may be fully conscious of this, or totally unconscious, or I may be incredibly wrong.

I love him.  I can't decide if that statement encompasses all of this I have said before, or not.

So, there's actually a lot more I have to say, about things other than my dad, like... my mom!  ;)  Well, and how Christmas Eve went and how it was singing at Mass and how my extended family is responding to my telling them about Charlotte with a wonderful outpouring of love and support so far... and how I got some cool presents at Jeff's family's party, and... well, but this will all have to wait.

In the meantime, the merriest of Christmases to you all!  I love you!  (Or I don't know you, but you can have some love too, if you want!)

Dreamtime in Examtime

First, I dreamed that I was a teenage girl in a big family with lots of aunts. I'm not sure which of these aunts if any was actually my mother. I think my parents might have been dead. But I kept being surprised at how many aunts we had, of all different ages, some with very unusual names. They were all sisters, I think, as opposed to marrying in or something. Anyway, I had this cousin, a boy my age, but he was in Charlotte's body. We might have even been performing, but it seemed much more real than that. So, this boy reminded me of Jesus, and also the narrator from The Life of Pi, he was just... wise, and kind of otherworldly and sparkling and he seemed to know everything. We went to some kind of public event and somebody there was speaking a Native American language, and he just jumped in and started speaking it too.

We were very close and always hung around together, and I was kind of crazy in love with him. And at some point for some reason things were getting more pressing... one of our aunts had died and there was a funeral, and I don't know if I thought he was going to be taken away or maybe actually harmed or what, but I decided I had to tell him how I felt. It was my suspicion that he wasn't actually blood related to us, but I cared more about that because of other people, not because I was personally terribly worried about the idea of incest. This suspicion arose out of the fact that he had been found in a field as an infant, and all of the aunts assumed he was one of theirs. (I'm sure this came from the Ramayana, in which Sita is found in a field.) But I took him aside and I told him how much I loved him, in this startlingly (to me, anyway) poetic way, and he just sort of smiled his beautiful smile, which I think I took as some kind of assent because I startled making plans for our escape together... I remember I kept going farther that I intended to, and was saying things like "when we're 40 or 50," which I was nervous about because I thought it was weird, but it felt completely instinctive because I was so passionate about him, and also so... natural, it felt so natural to be with him.

So, I don't really know what happened with that, because at some point it switched and I was more me, and Uncut Pages was putting on a show in a fitness club in Philly, except the room we were in was extremely nice and had beautiful wooden floors. And it was kind of a benefit/revue of various shows we'd done, although I think most of the stuff we were doing was not from any shows we have actually done. It had a lot of dancing in a line, sort of chorus numbers but with plot. The audience was really into it, and suddenly someone was like, "Where's Dilexi?" And we were startled and a little awkward for some reason even though Lilah and I were both there. I think this may have been because we didn't have the cape. I remember thinking that I had considered bringing the cape but then hadn't because it was too big to pack. But Lilah was wearing a shirt with fancy sleeves, and she stepped up and started playing Dilexi. And we were sort of dancing around her, and then she fell backwards behind some kind of tree or bush that was in the room (as part of the bit, I think), and she started crying like a baby... I don't mean a lot, as that phrase usually does, but I mean in the manner of a baby, with her mouth open enormously wide and stuff. And I was so impressed by what she was doing, both the acting ability and the symbolic choice I decided she was making about Dilexi's rebirth or something.

So I went over and was going to hold her head, like I would for a baby. I don't know why that was the thing to do, but she started freaking out because as Dilexi she didn't want to be touched. Anyway, the audience was really responsive, so after we asked them how many had seen Dilexi and/or were previous fans of our work. And a bunch raised their hands... It was like, 30-40% of this random group of people in the health club. I was impressed and sort of baffled, and thinking maybe we should have worked harder to perform in Philly again, because we apparently had such a fan base there.

And that's about when I woke up!

Calling in the Night

Since I last dropped in, my Rumiesque guest house self has entertained many garden variety fears and anxieties, nasty cramps, and recursive thought loops, but also a very beautiful moment of understanding.

The latter is due to a sort of coming together of insights offered by Krsna, Charlotte, Roz's mix cd, and Christ crucified.

Holy Week, here I am. In the midst of the teeth-grinding what comes next day to day terror.

I should sleep. Goodnight.

Some Books + How to Seduce Me With Spam

Today I got an email from "Prodigal G. Wrongheadedness." And I'm looking at it thinking, "Right, that's gonna get me to open the email." But of course... it did. I wasn't expecting much, but sometimes I just can't resist the charmingly ridiculous names. It was an advertisement for some sort of erectile drug. Which... not to say that there's no place for that kind of drug, but I do not think that the place it currently occupies is ideal, to put it mildly. Or, at any rate, it highlights the gross inequities of the pharmaceutical system. So, perhaps Prodigal G. Wrongheadedness is not the wrong name...

Jesus H. Christ, but I can't see anything without analyzing it anymore, can I?

I intended to come on in here and let you all know what fine things I've been reading lately:

*Paradiso by Dante Alighieri
**Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
**In the Theater of Consciousness: The Workspace of the Mind by Bernard J. Baars
The Country Parson by George Herbert
*The Temple by George Herbert
*The Book of Revelations
The First Letter to the Thessalonians
The Second Letter to the Thessalonians
*The Second Letter of Peter
**The Gospel of Mark (as implied in the previous post about it)

I think there might be a couple more, but I'll fill those in as I remember them.

Tart and Startling and Strange

Who am I talking about? Jesus, in the Gospel of Mark. I read it today for Intro to New Testament, and it was so bizarre and interesting... very quick, action-packed, this happened then this happened in style, and Jesus was sort of... brisk and unpredictable and hard to read, but a very compelling presence, at least to me. I am so curious about what the experience of reading this would be if you had no background in the story, and also concretely realizing how much I know the Gospel stories in the chunks they are told in in church, and how little I know the actual Gospels straight through.

I'm also a little confused about all the methods of New Testament criticism. Some of them seem kind of problematic, but maybe I just don't completely comprehend them yet.

Bracing, that's another good word for Jesus-of-Mark. Has anybody else read it? What are your thoughts?

Questions from Harvard

So, before I got sick forever and ever, I made a list of questions that Harvard asked me, on just one side of a little poster posting post. I thought it would clarify why this place is both fascinating and overwhelming:

Need some wheels?
Do I like her... or just admire her?
Does God exist?
How can God allow pain?
Why is religion full of hypocrites?
What is HPV?
What is democratic socialism?
Christianity: Boring, untrue, irrelevant?
Why did Jesus die?
How and why should I pray?
Are you interested in applying your analytical, financial, and programming expertise to a challenging and rewarding career as a Quantitative Equity Analyst?

Pretend it's a survey if you want... maybe I will try to answer one of these questions at a time. I'll start with the last one. The answer to the last one is no.

Not It!

Yeah, I'm bored with surveys about me, and I bet you are too. So this one isn't, in a slightly more deliberate way than Cain on a Fucking Stick. If you get it, good for you, but don't post it and ruin the fun for everybody. Be cryptic! You can tell me, though. It's either obvious or hard, and as usual, I have no idea. You-- things people would probably care to know(65)
-|You, basically|-
Birthday?:	Irrelevant
Birthplace?:	Unknown
Heritage?:	There is a happy land, far far away...
Weight?:	I'm pretty skinny, but there's more to me than you'd think.
Hair color? Hairstyle?:	Currently, blond and longish.
Eye color?:	Currently, green and brightish.
School level, or if done, career?:	I'm a prince!
Piercings? Tattoos? Want any?:	It seems a bit irrelevant. Or... disingenuous, maybe.
Describe your personality:	Scintillating.
-|Favorites|-
Color?:	I like tawny colors. And regal colors. And piercing colors. And black. And white, sometimes.
Animal?:	Lion. I like things a little rough-and-regal.
Music genre?:	Classical. And that sort of disco-pop stuff. And really hard and wrenching music, too.
Movie genre?:	Tragic and long, with men and women in pretty clothes. Or just tragic. Or a musical.
Game(if you swing that way)?:	I don't. But I'd have to say I'm one who likes a gamble.
Store?:	Um... here's a surprise... I like hunting/fishing/camping stores. You know, with lots of guns on the walls and army vests and lumbering men who smell like rubber and pine.
Sport?:	Self-delusion. Also ice-dancing, and wrestling, especially if it involves thighs going out of joint.
Food? Drink?:	Oh, mother, must I? Wait... no.
Season? Holiday?:	I like them all, but perhaps winter's my favorite. And holiday... Easter, really. Really. I know, I'm a piece of work.
Website?:	divineinterventions.com
Place you�ve been to?:	Ambivalent about so many. Fond of the desert. Also Ireland. And India, though sometimes I get overwhelmed there.
Past-time(hobby)?:	What a charming misspelling. Perhaps playing various stringed instruments.
-|Love/Relationships|-
Names of your best friend(s):	They know who they are.
Think you�re a good friend? Why do you think they like you?:	Because I'm charming and occasionally fierce with my love? I think I'm taxing to have as a friend, but also fascinating.
Get along with your parents, the rest of your family?:	Oh. No.
Taken? If yes, what�s their name?:	I call him Mr. Wonderful.
Single? If yes, do you have a crush and if yes, what�s their name?:	I'm singular, not single.
Why do you like them?:	Because he's fucking beautiful. Because I am what I am, and so, more obviously, is he.
Your perfect date?:	I'm not picky. Storytelling, a little music, a little emotional connection, sex that lasts for days...
-|Randoms|-
[Have any] Siblings? Pets?:	Yeah, and that isn't the most healthy part of my life, actually.
Goals you'd like to achieve?:	I dislike this question.
Phobias?:	No.
Special talents or skills?:	This makes me smile.
Guilty pleasures?:	You could say that.
Bad habits?:	Indeed.
Disorders? Other problems?:	In spades.
Relatives that are famous?:	Again, in spades.
[What's] something most people don't know about you?:	I'm very sensitive. It's not convenient.
Your most prized possessions?:	I like my ornaments.
Your style/favorite clothing style?:	There's very little I can't pull off. But let's say old fashioned, or very slutty.
Happiest moment?:	There was this thing with an egg... Jesus fucking Christ.
[What] do you want to do for a career?:	Oh, I don't know, maybe go into politics or something.
(you)Body part or feature do you hate the most? Love?:	Let's just go with the scars. That sounds like I'm some battered teenager overly in love with suffering... ah, wait.
Word or phrase you often say?:	I feel I ought to be more aware of this. What I say, I mean.
Pisses you off or annoys you to no end?:	Prancing M with his blocky ass and his skirts and his foot on my head.
Have you �always wanted to do?�:	I have.
Country would you like to visit most?:	Aslan's country. But really, I don't know.
Would your personal shirt saying be?:	Fucking angel?
[Have you] technically broken the law, but never paid for it(or did)?:	Yes, and did.
Learned another language? Any other(s) you want to learn?:	I'm a polyglot.
Regreted anything?:	Yes. But not always what you'd think.
-|Opinions|-
Abortion?:	It seems futile, to me, somehow. But I think I have an odd perspective.
War?:	It always seems like a good idea at the time. I like the way war breaks bodies, but I hate what it does to souls.
Gay marriage?:	Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.
Death penalty?:	Too often used against the love of your life.
Alcohol/drugs?:	I hate being numb.
Racism?:	I can't hate racists. They suffer from reflections, and they don't even know they are suffering.
Religion?:	That's me in the corner, that's me in the spotlight.
Plastic surgery?:	How could I condemn it? I'm as smooth as a baby's bottom, most of the time.
Animal testing/abuse?:	You have to flick this switch inside of yourself, and then it becomes startlingly easy. Sort of like any abuse, really. Don't believe me? Have a care, in that case.
Suicide?:	The whole concept of suicide being damnable is perhaps the worst catch-22 I've ever come across. Barring one.
Take this survey | Find more surveys You've been totally Bzoink*d

Syriana, or This is My Brain on Western Guilt and Human Fear, or Even the Hour When Wings are Frozen

Hah, I got my font back! And apologies to anyone who saw my blog yesterday/this morning, when it apparently gotten eaten by Vixen the reindeer. I had to try and delete Vixen three times before I got anywhere with it.

So, last night I went with Nathaniel and Rachel and Patrick and Mary, the latter two of whom I have not seen since summer, to see Syriana. We ended up with a choice between that, Memoirs of a Geisha, and Brokeback Mountain. While I did want to see Syriana, I was a little disappointed to be with a group of people for whom "gay cowboys" was not an immediate trump card in movie selection. I think Charlotte would classify it as one of those "not at Bryn Mawr anymore" moments. However, as I seemed to be the only one whose ears (and libido) were perking up at the concept, Syriana it was.

I'm not sure how to classify my response to this movie. It was... exhausting on many, many levels. I don't know if I've spent a more tense two hours in my life. My whole body was totally wired the entire time, and every scene, almost, I was waiting for someone to blow up or shoot someone else, or whatever. Which is kind of interesting, because that actually did not happen many, many times... it's just that the atmosphere was one of incredible tension almost all the time. More than in a fantastic movie, even, because here there was this incredibly palpable edge of reality to the horror. So it was physically and emotionally frightening, and also required rather intense intellectual attention to figure out what the hell was going on in the plot and with all the different characters. To be honest, I never figured out exactly when this was supposed to be going on. For some reason I had assumed it was in the recentish past (like, somewhere between 1980-2000, probably), and was therefore surprised when they made a brief reference to 9/11. Anyway...

It definitely impacted me, but I can't decide if it's somehow more or less of an impact because I was in such tension and terror throughout. Because of those very factors, I think I remained a little bit separate through most of it, holding myself tightly (so tightly-- my shoulders ached by the end), and therefore holding myself, not going into or merging with the story the way I did with something like Capote. It was so intense. There was just this sense of terror, tension, impending explosions pervading the whole thing. And it made me realize again the incredible importance of understanding history, and how little even the excellent instruction I received in school has given me even a semi-complete perspective on the forces and ideas that do shape the world, every day. I just don't know these things, and everything I learn about them makes me realize how much more I don't know, and on the other side how important it is to know. One thing that totally frightened me... one of the plotlines was about two big oil companies trying to affect a merger, and when they did manage to do that, they became the 25th largest economy in the world, or something like that, bigger than many countries. I know people have said things like this many, many times... but this made it make sense to me, the power of corporations, the way corporations are a potent force in the world. I found it chilling, though I'm not intellectually certain why it should be frightening to me for a corporation to have such power, while the (also intially arbitrary) concept of national sovereignty seems basically good. Or, maybe it does. I assume it does. I assume too much. This movie certainly showed me that. But I am not sure what to do. There was a website at the very end of the credits about changing oil dependency or something... maybe I can find that. I feel rather overwhelmed. Like I am part of a whole system of destructive power that I never understood, because it is not openly taught about. How are we supposed to actually be informed citizens if we are not taught basic things about the way the world is run? I see this insane dependency on oil, and I feel like whoa, we just have to stop using it right away... because it's bullshit, it's such bullshit that any substance, any thing should create such an economy of instability and need and death. But I can't do that, at least not if I wish to continue to participate in society in the ways I am accustomed to doing. What does it mean to be a part of an unjust structure? To me, as a person? How much do I have to question and fight before I can... I don't know, just rest, like I want to, and enjoy my life, enjoy that it is luxurious? Which makes it sound like I'm engaged in some kind of titantic struggle against the powers that be... I'm not! Just thinking about it exhausts me. But the situation is not right. What did they say in the film, we have, I don't know 5% of the population and spend 50% of the world's military budget, along with making 50% of its garbage?

It reminds me of this thought I keep having, with all the things I've been buying lately... like, the other day, I went to get a sandwich at this little deli, and I had to go get cash, because they didn't take a card. So I'm walking down the street with my ATM card, and I started thinking, geez, I have this card that symbolizes all the money I have. So I have this card that symbolizes paper money, that symbolizes gold which may or may not exist, that in turn symbolizes... what? My worth, I think, my worth in society. It's so odd. It's the oddest system. But it's true. I have worth in society because I am not poor. I can go and do the things I want, eat, buy clothes, whatever, because I have money as my passport. It's not true of everything, but in a large sense it is true. And that's... arbitrary and fucked up. It's totally ridiculous and impersonal. I receive personal courtesy, in places I go to, because of an assumption of my impersonal monetary worth, because I look... not rich, but like I have enough to buy what I need. And I do. So they'll be nice to me in big hotels and fancy stores, even if I don't buy anything, because I have that potential. But if I was a street person, I'd probably be back out on my ass. When, in that case, I would really need somewhere to be, if only for a little while. But the thing is... and I want to make this very clear... I love having money, I love that I make enough to buy myself things that I want, get hardcover books without flinching, buy lots of Christmas presents, or drop $50 on dinner and not panic. I want to have more... I want a truly rich and luxurious life. But... at the same time... there is so much injustice, and I am struggling hard to reconcile it all in my own mind, my own life. I do not want to feel that every time I have something lovely, somebody had to work in some degrading and ridiculous manner to make it for me, or that because I am eating a luxurious meal, someone else is starving. Which I think maybe is my fundamental problem with the mental conception of this whole thing: it isn't because of, or not directly because of. But it is while. Not because I am eating the meal, but while I am eating the meal. I think I'm struggling with this especially because of all the Christmas presents I've bought... and loved buying, I've had a wonderful time. This whole thing has produced such a feeling of competence and pride in me... like, look at what I have done for myself, look at what I am able to afford for you, I am doing a good job in the world. But I meant to give money to the Pakistani earthquake victims, I keep trying to budget it in and squeezing it out again, thinking, well, I'll wait until this and that and the other thing are paid for, and then I will write my check. And every time I go to do it, there's some other expense coming up, something I am nervous about not having enough for. So I have this sense, that people are freezing to death because I didn't put myself out to help them. I don't know if this is legitimate, or if it's a disordered way of looking at the situation. I do know that guilt doesn't help me get anything done, but I don't know how to avoid it. At the same time, guilt is a convenient veil between me and the truth, whatever that may be. Because I can stay behind my guilt and, shrouded in the unpleasant fogged feeling, not perceive with any clarity what I wish to do. Perhaps for Christmas I want some clear-seeing. Clear-seeing, and a nice dress.... it's funny, I read an article where George Clooney talks about this dilemma too, talks about the luxurious lifestyle that he loves, and talks about the desire he has to be socially just... maybe that's why his movie made this issue so present to me.

There are other things from the movie I want to talk about... like the horrible, horrible torture I definitely did not watch most of. It was so frightening... so, so frightening. The stuff leading up to it was terrifying. They grabbed George Clooney's character, Bob, and put a black sack over his head, and just that image, of him with the hood over his head was so terrifying, and then there was this shot where we saw everything through the fuzzy black. It was excruciatingly horrifying. I could just imagine it, this sudden feeling of being totally unable to tell what is happening around you, with people who are going to hurt you. And then when the Mussawi (probably not how it's spelled) guy started describing the options of torture I thought I would... I don't know what. It was just viscerally, horribly scary. I mean, having your fingernails pulled off. God. And then I wasn't really looking, just hearing these horrible noises and every now and then glancing up and seeing blood or something... but I heard Mussawi saying he was going to cut off his head, and even though I knew he wouldn't it was like everything just went blank inside me. I don't know how to describe that feeling. I had my hands over my face and it was like something shut off, I was still terrified but in addition there was this blankness. And I was imagining what it would be like, to have my head cut off, but imagining this in a very serious way... like, how would I deal with that, how could I deal with that? It's rather ridiculous, but I had this whole idea... which actually I have had before... that maybe my whole fear of decapitation actually means that somehow I will eventually die that way. I never take it too seriously, this idea, but when I am forced to deal with decapitation in some direct fashion it often comes back to me. So I was thinking, I would have to keep my dignity, but I don't know if I could, in that terrible, terrible moment when you are waiting for the blade to come down. I would want so much to be brave, because my own composure would be the only thing I had left in myself to have sovreignty over, but I don't know if I could be, if I could help begging for my life. I became a bit obsessed with the idea of one of those cyanide tablets that I read about in Gone to Soldiers, because taking my life would also be an act of sovreignty and I could avoid that most horrible moment. And, when this idea happens, I worry about the people I love, that they will find out how I died and it will be terrible, because they will know how much I hated the idea of having my head chopped off. I think that it's even more important that I make sure to stay calm and dignified so that they can have some peace. Wow, I'm realizing how bizarre this whole negative fantasy sounds. I don't know why I get this way about this particular form of execution. And torture in general... I don't know if I could stand it. I have no conception of how I would be in such a situation, none. That disturbs me. It's possible that I would be brave... it's possible that I would try to give up even people I love to make it stop... it's possible that I would die of fear or pass out or leave my body until it was over. Aside from my personal fixation on the head thing... it's all disturbing because I can do everything I want to make myself a strong, good person, and I will still never know how I would be in this circumstance, what it would take to make me betray myself and others. Not that I want to know, or to be put in a position where I have to know... but it bothers me nonetheless.

The last few days of Advent... I've done so little Advent-related this year. I didn't even get out my book. But I have had a certain favorite Advent song in my head, and I feel like it will help me close this entry:

O come, O come Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here,
until the Son of God appear.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come thou dayspring from on high,
Who orders all things mightily,
To us the path of Knowledge show,
And teach us in Her ways to go.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

What does it mean if Emmanuel comes to us? I think it's interesting that for some reason Jesus is never actually called or named Emmanuel, even though it is stated clearly that he will be called so. Emmanuel... God with us. There was a line in Syriana, something like, "If we're really made in God's image and likeness, God must be fucked up." God with us... God in us? Truly, I don't know. I don't know, and I don't know if I want God to be with/in me. I mean, Jesus, that could change everything. Or it could not, but it could change me, I guess is the point. I don't know if or how this relates to the state of the world, the terrifying and destructive state of the world... I had this whole stark moment where I really felt, during the movie, that we were going to self-destruct, that the Earth would end through human folly and evil. I don't know if somehow, having Emmanuel will change that, or what I want or expect or need. Can real truth be found in a strange system of beliefs? Not just religious beliefs... all beliefs. I don't know... I just don't know. Again, in the movie, there was a subplot about a young man who becomes a suicide bomber. He is a Pakistani living in Iran, and the idea of sacrificing his life for what is great in the next life appeals to him very much. He sort of gets involved in the whole Islamic school/movement that encourages these acts because of his poverty, because they get good food at the school, and he and his father have lost their jobs thanks to the aforementioned merger, and are in danger of losing their immigration permits. His father always talked about the snow-covered mountains in Pakistan, and I found the images of snow really powerful. I really loved the young man's parts of the story... his face was gentle and interesting... and I was so appalled by the scenes leading up to his actual death. Saying goodbye to his father, when his father had no idea of what he was about to do, and especially the image of him on the boat with his partner, getting ready to blow up this big oil tanker... seeing how he went from no, I don't want to do it, to yes, I am going to do it, to this expression of peace and transcendance at the moment of impact. I think... many, many people want something, be it religion, another person, an idea or something to work on, that they can give themselves completely to, essentially making a sacrifice of themselves to this thing. It's a strong urge. It can accomplish good or bad things... but is it ever good for the person? And why do we want to do this?

Clearly that song did not help me end this. I don't know if anything really can end this, so much as pause it so that I can get on with living. But here's another try, in the name of mystery:.

People, look East, the time is near
Of the crowning of the year.
Make your house fair as you are able,
Trim the hearth and set the table,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Guest, is on the way.

Furrows, be glad, though Earth is bare,
One more seed is planted there.
Give up your strength, the seed to nourish,
That in time the flower may flourish,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Rose, is on the way.

Birds, though you long have ceased to build,
Guard the nest that must be filled.
Even the hour when wings are frozen,
God for fledging time has chosen,
People, look East, and sing today,
Love, the Bird, is one the way.

--Eleanor Farjeon

I Like Eggs Better When I'm Not One.

...and I figured I'd just go crazy and publish 4 times in one day. Except now it's several days later, but I think it will still post in the other day. And even if it doesn't, it will still make 4 times today, I think.

When I was very, very small, I had a dream, one of the first dreams I remember. I was standing on a stage, and there were cool lights shining on the stage, but I had no awareness of an audience. Rather there was a sort of echoing emptiness all around. On the stage with me were enormous, pastel colored eggs. I knew that there were other people like me in those eggs, and that it was time for them to hatch and come out, or they would rot inside. I tried to wake them up, and get them to come out, but they wouldn't. I don't know if I was frightened, but I was alone. At the same time, I knew that I had done what I needed to do. That dream has never really left me, and I've found it many times since.

When I first saw the Matrix, in the scene where Neo realizes what is going on and sees all the little pods that everyone is "sleeping" in.

And now this, which I just stumbled upon... if the religious language is kind of a block, try it anyway... it still says what it says:

That scripture where Jesus says, “You should be perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect” kind of makes me squirm a little bit. So we interpret it to mean “mature,” or something doesn't require anything quite as radical as “perfect.”

But Jesus was pretty radical, actually. I think he’s talking about the whole change. C.S. Lewis had a good illustration; he said, “It’s hard for an egg to turn into a bird, but it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while it was still an egg!”

And for now, we’re like eggs, and we can go on indefinitely just being an ordinary decent egg. OR, we can turn to Jesus to perfect us and make us into radically different people.

We have to be hatched... or go bad.

Right now I feel confined, and I don't know quite why, or by what. I feel like I panic much more easily than I should, that there's a basic unease moving around inside of me. I don't think I should panic over little things like... well, one day it was just walking home. Or the GRE, or the mice in our house, or grad school... I don't know about being at work, about this job. I seem to be anxious and unproductive here. But then, I feel that way almost everywhere.

Is it time to hatch? Why? Where am I going?

I want to be certain of something, and wrap my hand around it.

Anxiety, Compassion, Mardi Gras Beads

Here are some people I saw today:

Coming into work, I passed this shirtless man. His chest was handsomely contoured, but sort of a pale, ashen color, which seemed different from the rest of his skin. He seemed to have some nicks or cuts on his body, but I couldn't tell if he had been hurt externally or if this was some kind of disease. He lurched when he walked. He seemed tired. I was struck by him. I thought he was in trouble. I sort of stopped, uncertain of what to do. Everyone kept moving, including me and him. We were going in opposite directions. I thought about going back, and asking if he needed help. I kept looking back as he got farther away. Almost as soon as he was too far to go back to, I became convinced that this is what I should have done. I prayed that he would find help if he needed it, and that I would get another chance...

Then, I had to go to Rite Aid on my lunch, and I passed this old, scrawny guy sitting on one of the planters near there. He had pink feathers and Mardi Gras beads around his neck, and some ratty, dirty shirt and shorts on his body. I think he was sort of talking to himself. I was struck by him, too.

On the way back to work, I passed this tall black guy selling flowers. He had roses this time, lovely red roses. He says he's homeless and trying to earn money honestly. I've bought flowers from him a couple of times before. I said I had to go to work. He said he could walk right with me, I didn't have to slow down. He follows you with this hangdog hopeful look that will instantly turn to disappointment and disillusionment if you say no. I didn't want to buy them and take them into work. I wanted to get away this time, and I did.

Michael let me out of work early. We were watching the Sopranos all day. Violence and heart, and I don't know which there is more of. Anyway, I was gonna come down here to this cafe to use the internet where it's cool. And on my way I pass this guy sitting there with his cardboard sign, and his head is down over his hand, and his face is crumpled like he's in despair. He looks sorta young, like maybe when he lifts his head he will be handsome. And I think fuck, I just can't, I just can't go by while somebody looks like that. I think maybe he'll be handsome when he looks up. I read his sign. It doesn't make much sense. Something about a train he needs some money for, his dead father, some aunts in Connecticut, he's so depressed, he had to spend his money on two days of sugar medication, please, please. So I go off, thinking I'll get him some food and bring it back. I walk halfway down the street, and I don't see anything but McDonalds. I'm thinking, what if he hates McDonald's. What if he's a vegetarian. What kind of thing is it to get somebody food without knowing what they want. Besides it's sort of near Bally's and I don't want to risk running into Rashool.

Back to the man with the cardboard sign. I see myself in the window. You don't look as hot as you think you do, in that skirt. I see myself, bending down to him, before I get there. I am very aware of my skirt. It's pretty. I am becoming, maybe, a girl who wears clothes that other people admire. I have, maybe, earned admittance into the female club. Or maybe it's the money club, or the make-up and plucked eyebrows club, in which case I am out.

"Hey," I say. "Hey." He looks up at me. He is not handsome. His face is full of troubling angles. His eyes are red, bloodshot. He is not ok. I don't think I ask. "Hey, are you hungry? Are you thirsty?" His mouth spills words. Words about getting out of here, about how excited he is, just needs the 8 dollars. I lie and tell him I don't carry cash money. I ask, where is your train. I offer to go with him to 30th St. and get his ticket. He says somebody will give him the money, whatever. He voice is confused. It wanders around, trailing his meaning behind it, in tatters. His voice is not hopeful. It is not excited, when he says he is excited. "Listen, I bet you're hungry. Thirsty. Why don't I get you something to drink?" Ok maybe Pepsi. "Ok, you stay here. I'll go get it, I'll be right back."

Back on over to Rite Aid. I find about a million kinds of Pepsi. It is dazzling. Lime and lemon and diet and vanilla and one calorie and caffeine free. I pick caffeine free. I decide to get some food. There's a sale on cereal. I pick a heart healthy bran thing. I think that means love, and caring. When you give somebody nourishing food, and not candy or something. When you know it's probably the only food they have right now. Maybe he will think it's stupid. At the counter, it turns out that you have to buy the two cereals to get the discount. It is only 70 cents less to get the one than it would be to get two. I feel I am in the hands of destiny, a bit trapped by logic. I go back and get cornflakes with bananas already in them. I didn't know that was an option. My bill is $6 something.

The man is still bent over himself when I arrive again. I think about how I would feel in the heat, how crazy I felt when there was no air conditioning yesterday. I bend down and say I got him Pepsi and cereal, too. He doesn't want the cereal. He says he would only want the cereal with milk, anyway he's going to be on the train for like 4 days. So take it, I say, to eat on the train. No, honey, you keep it, it's better you keep it. Only enough medicine for two days anyway and then when I run out I can't eat. Keep it, I say. For those two days. Ok? Maybe you will get hungry. I take out the heart healthy one. You take this one. You keep this one. Ok? Good luck. Thank you, he mumbles. I do not know what our eyes said together, his and mine. He bent back over his body.

I straightened up. I wondered what the man across the way is thinking of us. Does he think I am a good person? Does he think I am a foolish person? A little white girl who thinks she's some kind of angel?

I am afraid of these things... I am afraid I am a fool. I am afraid I do not understand the world, or that I understand too much. I never know what to do, and I do not approve of other people nor of myself.

But I am trying to see him. Because he said he would be there. And I am afraid, I am afraid of leaving him on the street, alone, because he was wearing pink feathers and had sores or a crazy drugged brain. I am afraid that I am already like them, already crazy. I do not consider that I too have that face within my face.

I see you hungry all the time. I see you mad and frightening, with your signs all full of words. I am full of words too. I am frightened of you, and of myself.

O Lord come back, and this time...

Redemption? I kept the cornflakes with bananas. I too am a child of God.

Does anybody else think about this stuff?

With a Little More Substance

I suppose it's time to make a real post to this journal that as of yet no one really knows exists. Nonetheless, I feel some amorphous obligation to say something beyond how much time it took to set up this blog. I'm mostly sort of curious as to why I have actually decided to set one up, or... what kind of space this will turn out to be. Like, will I be seduced into laying bare all sorts of dark and hidden secrets, because of the illusion of privacy laid over a very public forum? Or is it the very fact that it is not private but not... with any direct, specifically intended recipient that makes it appealing? I think that may be the case. I can be more forthright than I actually would be to a specific face... or, even if not more forthright, at least more.... long winded! And yet it isn't just me, there's at least a charming possibility of communion.

*chuckles* Which brings us straight back to my web address name, doesn't it? Transubstantiated chicken... named in honor of the fact that as a child I assumed that if I simply knew the words the priest said over the host at Mass, I too would be able to transubstantiate any food into the Body of Christ. I was quite captivated by the idea of presiding over entire dinners all made of the Real Presence, perhaps keeping this a secret from the other guests.

So that's a good place to end the beginning, I think. Welcome to my charming possibility. Tell me what you find, what you think. I can be the amorphous partner for you also. :)