I Came, I Saw, I... May Have Not Conquered, But I Survived :)

I guess this is it, isn't it? Our group projects have been presented, our paper topics discussed, and our blogs churned out. We've uncovered epiphanies spanning from 'The Four Quartets' by T.S. Eliot to 'Teaching a Stone to Talk' by Annie Dillard to 'Hamlet' by Sir William Shakespeare. We have immersed ourselves in a heightened sense of being; we have been in it, on the outside, around, through, and far in between. Now, we are moving forward into the unknown, the culmination of this class leading to the beginning of another life ... in our end is always, most certainly, our beginning.

I entered the class with little expectation; I only knew I would be at the hands of one of the most delicious minds at Montana State University (Dr. Michael Sexson) and I was thankful for the opportunity. The last class I had to which I was completely and totally attached was my British Literature Class taught by Kimberly Myers, and now I find myself on the verge of walking away from another class to which I have an attachment. I'm attached to these minds I've shared the space with, I'm attached to the ideas we have been kicking around for the semester, and it makes me melancholy that I will not have the opportunity to meet with this group every week. I know I wrote my final paper on the idea of light epiphanies rising out of melancholy experiences, but I can't help but feel tormented by moving on. Still, I know I have to!

I hope each and every person in the class was able to take away the same things I was able to, and I hope everyone has the chance to appreciate what Dr. Sexson has given us. He has given us new breath, a new way to view the world, and helpful tools which will help us when we feel we are incapable of surviving. I just want to extend a thank you to Dr. Sexson for reaching me in a way that very few Professors have during my six-year stint as an English major. Your passion for literature and for awakening the minds of your students has been an inspiration, a comfort, and also a huge push forward, and I thank you deeply for that. I have been absent at times this semester, both physically and mentally, but I think that is the curse of all the graduating seniors who are spending a lot of time thinking about the future and not so much time thinking about their present lives, something Lisa Meyer explored heavily in her final paper. I'm just thrilled to know that I have a future, and a college undergraduate degree will only push me further into the world and help me do things I had almost given up on doing.

I wouldn't trade the ups and downs and 'back and forths' of this journey for anything. I believe all of my trials, successes, and failures have led me to this moment, at this keyboard, writing these words, and at the end of the day I don't think I would change anything. I've always heard that regret is a wasted emotion, so I am going to let go of regret and only think about what is happening today and what is possible in the future, because that's all I have control over now. I have met some of the most incredible people and been part very special, sacred moments I will always carry with me. Life is full of moments, as we've been learning this semester, and how one deals with and cultivates these moments is part of the fun of living! So, go out and LIVE, English Majors!! I wish you all luck in your pursuits and know, from personal experience, that you are all capable of doing the most amazing things. Like Lester Bangs said in 'Almost Famous', 'You'll meet them all again on your long journey to the middle'. I hope I do. I really hope I do. :)

Thank you, thank you ... a thousand times, thank you, Dr. Michael Sexson. I adore you.

Presentations, Round II

This week, I read a Calvin and Hobbes quote that reminded me of my career as an English major:

CALVIN: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
HOBBES: What mood is that?
CALVIN: Last-minute panic.

This seems to be how I have been feeling as the semester has been winding down! Rather than being 100% productive during the semester to lessen the amount of strain at the end of the semester, I always end up procrastinating and putting things off until I am absolutely frazzled and in a panic.
Still, I feel as though everything is falling into place, a sense only heightened by the presentations I saw today!! I know I have used the word 'brilliant' about three thousand times in my blog this semester, but I am going to use it again. WHAT A BRILLIANT GROUP OF PEOPLE WE HAVE!!!

I found the first groups presentation to be incredibly thoughtful and insightful. I never would have thought to pick out specific parts of blogs to create a story line, but it worked so well! And I found myself sitting there thinking it could be published somewhere; all the ramblings and inner workings of the Capstone Class of 2010. I know I have been blogging about how much I have grown this semester and how much the readings and insights have meant to me, but it really didn't quite hit home until this presentation. Hearing words from each and every blog made me realize EVERYONE has grown this semester, and everyone has been just as impacted in some way or another by the words we have been reading and the things Dr. Sexson has been teaching us. What a beautiful way to present!! The hands were a very nice touch... I tried to pick my own hand out but had some trouble... I just know it was one of the 'Blue' ones. I really liked that they used hands at the bottom of the tree for roots, kind of circling things back in with the idea that 'in our end is our beginning' and from death and decay emerges life! Beautiful, beautiful... and even more touching because it was read by our peers, fellow students. I really enjoyed it.

The second presentation was HILARIOUS! I'm so happy someone referenced Tai's hope that he will have cocaine and Popeye's chicken at his funeral. Good grief, Tai! The brick was absolutely perfect and I don't think anyone could have made a better head dress if they tried. I love that they used bits from the books we've read but incorporated our own Super Senior statuses and our impending graduation into the presentation. This entire presentation was very appropriate considering we are all shedding a past life and moving forward to something new, scary, and foreign. I know now I'm not alone in this and grateful to have these people by my side to tell me that they're all experiencing the same kinds of things I am experiencing!!

I loved the piece from the performances at the Bacchus! I was there in the background as one of the shadow figures behind the wall! Ben is pretty amazing with that camera, isn't he? Everyone did such a nice job! I don't believe I have been this excited about the 'happenings' of a class in a long time. I really enjoy the work we've done!

'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.' -Shakespeare
WELL DONE, EVERYONE!!!

Ponderings...

I have noticed in the past month or so I have been bombarded with the SAME question...
WHAT'S NEXT?
I am finally a graduating senior! Six years have been spent hopping from University to University, hoping I will find some sort of path to follow. Back then, I was sick of people asking me what I was going to do with my life and where I was going to go. Well, now that I've come to the culmination of yet another chapter, I am being asked the very same questions.
What am I going to do?
Where am I going to go?
Do I have any passions driving me in a certain direction?
Am I glad to finally be moving away from Bozeman?
Sometimes I feel like I can't ever answer these questions. I can only say what I hope to do and where I hope to go, and see if I can put together the necessary components to make it happen. All of these questions have made me think about CapStone and everything we have discussed this semester. We've discussed where we've been, what we think, what we know, what we do not know, and the fears we all have about moving forward.
As I give my answers to people asking about my future plans, I find myself asking the very same thing.
What really IS next? Where am I going to go? What does a person do when the thing that has defined them for so long comes to an end and they have to find something else to define them? Once again, I am comforted by the words of Roethke, repeating to myself that 'I learn by going where I have to go' because I MUST. I'm comforted by words of Eliot, knowing that in my beginning is my end, and everything moves in waves and patterns. I'm comforted by things I have learned in this class and I know will take with me no matter where I go or where I end up.
This class has taught me a lot about opening up my mind to more possibilities than I ever imagined and also made me reflect and realize what is important to me. The class has helped me make the big decision of where to go next and has introduced me to some very intoxicating young minds.
For these things, I am grateful. For these things, I am happy.

Presentations - Round I

Reflecting on the first round of presentations is a bit difficult because it feels like it didn't even happen! Everything went by so fast! First, I have to say, both presentations were impressive, both funny and touching on elements of the work we have been delving in to this semester. Let me just say a few things about Group I before I get to the group I presented with:

Group I's play was epecially funny! I really enjoyed how they took Shakespearean characters and gave them a modern day spin. To be honest, I missed some parts of the skit totally because I was laughing so hard. I especially enjoyed the 'Inspiration/Poison' bottle, Adam's at the DUDE, Mick as the super-freakish 'I'm just that great' guy, and Pat's mullet. Everyone did an excellent job of portraying their characters! I really liked how I was able to draw connections between what they were saying and the work we have done this semester. My roommate, Victoria, does an especially funny mock New Jersey accent, and I think she should have used it when she assumed the role as Hamlet's mother. Other than that, a very funny and engaging skit!

Next...my group. What can I say about my group? I am so impressed and inspired by everyone in my group and feel very privileged to have had the chance to work with some of these amazing people. Honestly, when we were assigned these groups, I was a bit intimidated ... I mean, I was put in a group with Kari, Sam, Tai, Doug, Amy, AND Taylor... if that's not daunting, I don't know what is! I was expecting to be overwhelmed with their abilities, and believe me, I have been. But I have also been overwhelmed with gratitude for these people; every single one of them is absolutely brilliant and so unique. It was really a wonder just to watch them give their input for these performances. Usually, group presentations are a little uncomfortable because no one really knows anyone else and not everyone can meet at the same time and things get stressful, but I never felt this way with my group! They were all very easy and fun to work with and I just felt like I was in the presence of greatness the entire time!

Our presentation went far better than I think any of us expected! It just came together very nicely and I felt we connected with at least a few people in the audience. At first, some of what we were trying to do was over my head, but as we practiced and I watched the performance play out, everything started to make more sense. There are a few things I liked especially about the presentation:

1. Tai's violin playing. Is there ANYTHING that kid can't do?! I'm very glad I finally got to hear him play and I think the music was a beautiful addition to the presentation. It wouldn't have been the same without it.

2. The petite mandolins! Well done, Amy! They were perfect for the presentation and so tasty.

3. The booklets we passed out at the beginning of the performance were all made by Sam and beautifully done. I loved the seal on each one; very elegant.

4. The interplay between Douglas and Kari was hilarious. Especially when Kari turned to Doug and said, "Douglas...*pause for effect*... it's time for communion. Please have a seat.' I couldn't help but giggle... so perfect! I love Kari!

5. Taylor and I were actually reading Police reports for our part of the 'murmuring', and it turned out very well! I think we incorporated the 'ordinary and mundane' and the 'divine' into our presentation in surprising but fitting ways.

All in all, the first round of performances were very fun! It's not every day a person gets the privilege of being around so many great minds, and I am a bit sad the class is ending because I will not get to see these people every week.
Of course, the class would be nothing without Dr. Sexson. Brilliant and inspiring.

Today's Presentations...

...were all amazing. I'm constantly inspired by the work of my classmates and the ideas they have come up with and come away with in this Capstone class. Today's presenters were as follows:
-Amy
-Adam
-Pat
-Mick
-Victora
Every presentation was thoughtful and different, though I have to say I want to read all of Mick's because he has had just SUCH A GOOD TIME WRITING IT! :) Really, I'm curious to see what he's come up with as far as the final draft.
Adam is always very deeply thought out and well presented... nice job, Adam!
Amy's was very sweet and I liked her ties with her own relationship to literature and what it meant for her as a girl and as a woman.
Pat always blows my mind with his work (I took a creative writing class with him), and it would be fun to read his final paper as well, which I'm sure I will have a chance to do when he posts it to his blog.
And Victora, well, she's just adorable! And I can tell she has put a lot of thought into the sections of her paper. Actually, I know this because I'm her roommate and I have been listening to her ramble about it for weeks!!
Well done, everyone. I'm excited to hear the next round! I had hoped to maybe read something from my paper today, but I will have the opportunity on Friday!
See you all then!

Melancholy... A Necessary Evil

MY PAPER
In order to arrive at what you are not, you must go through the way in which you are not./And what you do not know is the only thing you know/And what you own is what you do not own/And where you are is where you are not. - T.S. Eliot
T.S. Eliot has been speaking to me; in fact, Eliot has been speaking to me for a long time. At first, he spoke to me through a fellow English major talking excitedly about her idea for a new tattoo.
'I've always wanted a tattoo but I don't know what to get,' she said. 'I want The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock tattooed down my spine.'
'Like, the entire thing?' I asked incredulously.
'Yeah, the whole thing. It will hurt like a bitch.'
Funny now to think that one of my first experiences with Eliot came in reference to something 'hurting like a bitch', but such has been my experience in the English Department of Montana State University. Eliot came to me again three years ago in a basic level class for British Literature, telling me to give, have compassion, and have self control in The Wasteland. His words resonated so loudly with me I tattooed them on my forearm. They tell me to push forward; they tell me to be kind. Most importantly, they tell me to take control of life when there is opportunity for control, because most of the time it will be like spinning out with nothing to grasp on to.
Only months ago, Eliot told me that 'to arrive where you are not, to get from where you are not/You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy'. Three years ago, I never would have understood the gravity of Eliot's words or the direction of his musings, least of all how much they pertain to my life and the events which have led me to this time and this moment, a graduating Senior at Montana State University. In a few short words, Eliot describes a state of melancholy one must be consumed with in order to reach an elevated level of being and a deeper understanding of ones circumstance. Often in life and literature, the state of melancholy gives rise to some of the most epiphanical and realized states of consciousness a human being can experience. Little did I know my own moments of melancholy, space in time spent in total darkness, would not be in vain; I would cultivate the melancholy and move to a place of heightened understanding.

Deployed In Constellated Wars
I smiled. I waved. How many times do we smile and wave in a lifetime? So many things can exist in a smile, and I was smiling this time to assure my mother everything would be alright. The truth was, I did not believe it myself. Everything was not going to be alright. Three semesters of college had elapsed and already I was giving up.
'I am just taking a break,' I told my parents. 'It's just for now until I get everything straightened out. I don't feel like I'm in the right place to focus on school.'
And I wasn't. I was only in the right place to do exactly what I had wanted to do from the beginning; immerse myself in ridiculous levels of intoxication and hang out with my friends. I was officially a college dropout, and looking forward only to the next party and having a job to support my habit. Where was Roethke when I needed him? Roethke would have told me to 'learn by going where I have to go' instead of where I wanted to go. We had yet to become acquainted, but I could have used him then.
My habit became dangerous, and for a while it seemed relatively harmless. In my attempt to take 'control' of my life and do exactly what I wanted to do, I was alienating everyone and everything in my life. No matter. Days began to float by as if they never existed; my feelings toward life became something of nonchalance. Motivation to move in any direction except for toward the nearest drink ceased to exist and I was floating. I thought I was doing great, but I was only spiraling to hopelessness.
My intention for leaving school was guided by the my preoccupation with 'getting better'. I knew indulging in alcohol was affecting everything in my life, and only moving away from Bozeman and away from college was going to fix it for me. Moving away from Bozeman only made me miss friends there and freedom to be away from the watchful eye of my parents. The right people to drink with can always be found in a small town, and I found my way to them before anything else. To make matters worse, I was barely speaking to anyone in my family. It was suffocating and liberating all at once.
Without even realizing it, I had reached my lowest point of despair, and now I am grateful for and also horrified by the memory. During this time, I fell into an abusive relationship and lost all control of my life. My family was in ruins, I was addicted to a person who was never honest or kind, and I had enrolled in and quit school for the second time. Words are given to describe a moment, a feeling, an emotion; I still have no words for this period in my life. I was exhausted.

The Laughter In the Garden, Echoed Ecstasy
I was fidgety. Nervous, even. I sat in a small chair by the door clutching my bag, trying to breathe but finding it incredibly hard to without shaking. Inhale, exhale, I thought, smiling as I was reminded of an old Jane Fonda workout video I used to watch incessantly as a kid. What am I doing here? Waiting. My mind raced back and forth between Jane Fonda and the books on the wall. Volumes of poetry, so many volumes of poetry. I love poetry, I thought. I love Eliot. She was teaching us a lot of Eliot this semester. I rubbed my palms on my pant legs and looked at the door, biting my lip. Where is she? She told me to go wait in her office and she would be up in a minute. That clock is too loud, I thought. Obnoxious ticking. Voices. She's here! I feel like I'm going to vomit.
Kimberly Myers stepped into her office and shut the door, turning to me with a familiar, welcoming smile.
'Alright,' she said, sitting down and swiveling her chair toward me. 'What can I help you with today, Rian?'
Oh god, I thought. I could feel my face starting to flush red and my body temperature rising without warning. Is that window even open? I can't even feel a breeze.
'Well,' I stammered, trying to situate my thoughts but finding it hard to focus. 'I just wanted to tell you that I...I...' I couldn't finish. Tears were running down my cheeks in waves and I found myself in a situation I never thought I would find myself in until that day. I was crying in front of a total stranger; having a nervous breakdown in front of my beloved Professor in her office. How embarrassing.
Looking back, I know I was having a surreal moment of epiphany. I had just spent nearly two years in a state of melancholy so bleak I thought I would never return, and now I was crying because I had reached a level of understanding I thought was impossible. As every struggling author needs inspiration for the book that is their own life, Kimberly Myers was my inspiration and the thing that pulled me out of my desperation. My epiphany with Kimberly Myers was seen and felt. I realized all that I had lost and let myself lose before I came back to college and realized all that I wanted to gain. I truly wanted to turn my life around.
On a break from MSU later that year, I visited a place called Vadar, Washington, and the home of Sharon and Leroy. Leroy was a retired English professor and had this incredible writing studio, a little cottage behind the home he occupied with Sharon. In it, there was a desk with a small lamp and all the essentials for a writer, though incredibly out of date, something I thought was charming. Above the desk hung a poem by Theodore Roethke and in that poem Roethke was telling me to 'learn by going where I have to go'. He was not telling me to go where I wanted to go, or felt like going, or even where I desired to go, but where I had to go. You must, he was saying to me. Why? Because you must. I felt like I was having an out of body experience being in that atmosphere with those words giving me some sort of direction. I was only able to learn where I was supposed to go because I had been utterly consumed with melancholy and despair, was still able to find strength and solitude, and out of the muck I was able to rise like T.S. Eliot's lotus.


Our Only Health is The Disease
What of life without despair? What of experience without disillusionment? To such literary characters as Shakespeare's Hamlet, life without despair would only be disillusionment, as life does not exist without desperation. Hamlet spends nearly four acts of the play focused on melancholy and the evil inner workings of the world, elevated only by his sense of sarcasm and wit that triumphs over nearly every brutal situation. Brutal events leading up to Hamlet's mental breakdown only allow the prince to spend more time seeing the world from a larger perspective, exclaiming:
“How weary, stable, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of the world!”
(I. ii. 133-34)
Human beings often operate under the common misconception that life is inherently good, people are good willed, and a mortal life can be lived without suffering. Hamlet begins to live when he discovers life is not like the proverbial 'bowl of cherries'; it is brief and absolutely filled with suffering, and the detached Hamlet portrayed in part of the play is transcended by the melancholy Hamlet in the next half. At the very least, by immersing himself in his own state of melancholy, Hamlet recognizes the necessity to participate in the world, even if that participation stems from a forlorn and disquieting vantage point. Despair cannot be discounted just as suffering cannot be ignored; existing within the realm of both states is never a choice and darkness, just like lightness, is an undeniable state of being. Hamlet's outrageous and often dramatic view of life is both wonderfully sad and enormously smart.
Characters throughout literary history have given human beings insight on the great inner workings of life, and as the characters all have a story, so do the authors of the great poems so cherished in the literary canon. Kimberly Myers, my beloved professor, never hid her love for the 'melancholy' poets. To her, the work of Wordsworth, Keats, Yeats, and Browning, among many others, was the stuff of genius because it emphasized one of the most important elements of life and literature; melancholy. To John Keats, her favorite, it is far more beautiful to find life in situations where the soul should die rather than flounder in them. In many of his pieces, Keats encourages the reader to find some beauty in a place of sorrow, a place where there is no sweet melody or landscape to drown the sorrow, only the chance to delve deeper into the sadness and find what beauty lies in the abyss. He knows the position; he has been there before. Rather than die in emptiness, a person can always live in sweet sorrow. Keats, like Hamlet, found the ability to exist in something even if that something was dark. The melancholy poets always tell the reader to cultivate the melancholy, and go to a place where that cultivation is possible.
Exemplifying Keats preoccupation with melancholy, 'La Belle Dame sans Merci” uses the intricate life of a lily and a rose to portray the fading vibrancy of the face of his constructed knight at arms. Lilies and roses are both, both willful flowers, each require sunlight and an area with abundant moisture in order to blossom and grow to full potential. The knight in question seems to be a man who needs sunlight himself in all facets of his life, and when faced with a bit of gloomy weather is ready to give up. Keats speaks of the flowers fading in accordance with the spirit of man fading. The flowers expressed are finicky and will die in the midst of a storm, and the poem urges the man not to die like the flowers but to look to something beyond grief, something that will make grief seem beautiful in order to keep his garden in bloom, his sanity intact. Keats also may have been using flowers in reference to the man's face to convey that his soul and brain are a garden to tend to.
Halfway through the poem, Keats changes the focus from the knight he is speaking to over to himself. He sympathizes with the man in question, “alone and pale loitering”, because he has been in a similar situation before. He speaks of meeting a woman, a beautiful woman who captures his heart, speaks of her love for him, and then leaves him suddenly alone. “La Belle Dame sans Merci” means “The Beautiful Women Without Mercy.” After the woman leaves him, he talks of himself walking along the waters edge, though nothing beautiful is growing there and no birds are singing, as if to tell the knight he too has seen this place of despair.
Although Keats has been in the same place as the Knight, the place where nothing beautiful grows and hope is just a glimmer in a very far off distance, he still asks the Knight “Oh what can ail thee, knight at arms,/Alone and pale loitering?” (1.1.899). He knows full well the position the knight is in, but is still asking him why he is allowing his spirit to die in this position.
Where does a person go to be sad? Is there something to gain from going to that place, and, most importantly, can a person return once they've gone to the place of no return? Great authors tell us to imagine the most beautiful thing we have ever imagined in moments of despair to create some sort of comparison; the stark beauty will be a great contrast for the stark ugliness. Sometimes, allowing oneself to be consumed with misery or melancholy can come to a violent and destructive end. Robert Browning, another of the melancholy poets, expresses this violence in his poem 'The Laboratory', a grand illusion of the painful delusion unrequited love can cause.
The woman portrayed in 'The Laboratory' is obviously a woman in distress, so much that she has sought out the help of a chemist to concoct a deadly elixir to poison the mistress of the man she loves. She talks of seeing them together, saying:
He is with her, and they know that I know
Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
Empty church, to pray God in, for them! ----I am here (2.5-2.8)
Only the bleak existence of a scorned woman could paint a picture such as this. It is in this state of mind that some of the darkest places can be entered and frightening behavior can develop, edging on the cusp of insanity. It is frightening because the woman knows well the man she loves just as she knows the woman or women he has been with. It is she who keeps a watchful eye on the pair, and in this state of mind, she thinks almost that the two are together entirely to watch her descent into depression, as she speaks candidly about thinking the two are laughing at her, and blaming them for her state of mind.
There is a place where some minds can relapse if what they long for is unattainable. The lady in question has obviously been thinking about how to get back at the man she wants, but in a gruesome way. She no longer wants to get rid of the woman he is with in order to be with him again, but wants to kill the woman in order to make the man feel the pain she has been experiencing. The feeling of the poem is cold, the woman's movements and wishes calculated.
The most chilling part about the poem is the calm and collected way the woman executes her plan. She talks excitedly about the time her rival will die after receiving the poison, a point in the poem she she is obviously exuberant. Although she seems overly exciting in saying, “Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give/And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!” (6.21-6.22), she is also very cool about it, telling the chemist “grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste/Pound at thy powder, - I am not in haste” (3.9-3.10). Throughout the poem, her urgency can be felt, but the reader can also feel her sense of calm in plotting the murder of another human being, which is in itself a bit disturbing.
There are few things in life that can have the emotional toll unrequited love can have. When love develops with deep passion and cross the line into obsession, things can get dangerous. Fixations cause human beings to lose their sense of identity, sense of self and confidence, and their sensibility altogether. Some say in this frame of mind we are not responsible for our actions, that insanity has taken over our bodies. It is like a drug that causes the human mind to hallucinate, a painful delusion that is hard to overcome.

We, Content At the Last
T.S. Eliot told me to immerse myself in that which I'm not; Roethke told me to 'learn by going where I have to go'. Keats has given me the most beautiful elements of tragedy, melancholy, and despair, while Browning introduced me to some of the most anguishing and horrible. Above all, I have given myself the gift of emergence; I have allowed myself to become re-submerged into memory and the melancholy experiences of my past in order to create a future for myself, and have emerged a much more enlightened, confident, and steady character than the one I was before. I reached a point where I thought I was in my end and would never return to a driven path, but Eliot taught me that 'in my end is my beginning', and there never really is an end. Life, the good and the bad, the light and dark, is cyclical, and every being moving within that cycle is born and born again. For so long, it seemed I was fighting against myself and deliberately pushing down into a tunnel, butting my head up against something hard and never figuring out that all I had to do was turn around. Well, I feel I have finally turned around. Now, my experiences of despair and travesty do not seem worthless; rather, I know these experiences have only pushed me to be the person I am today. I think differently, feel differently, and acknowledge things differently than I did before, and without my melancholy moments, I may never have developed these things I actually like about myself now.
Beryl Markham, a female pilot and brilliant writer, once wrote:
'A life has to move or it stagnates. Even this life, I think. It is no good telling yourself that one day you will wish you had never made that change. It is no good anticipating regrets. Every tomorrow ought not resemble every yesterday.'
Regret is a wasted emotion; life is not a bowl of cherries and never will be. It is, by definition, short and hectic and over sometimes before it has had the chance to begin. Realizing every experience, even the terrible, is important and inherent to human existence is an enormous undertaking; still, it can change one's outlook on life dramatically. I used to be a lot of things before life happened, and now I am a new set of things because life happened, and I don't regret it. Sometimes I miss being very naïve and viewing the world without any criticisms, judgments, or cynicism, but I value the knowledge I've gained and the experiences that have made me who I am. I can never say I have enjoyed or valued the melancholy, the heartbreak, and pain; I would give it all back if I could, but giving it back would mean denying that life exits with these components, and that would be like not living at all.
Roethke once told me to 'learn by going where I have to go', but he also revealed how infinite life is, and how seemingly finite capsules only reveal more infinitude. For him, the world should be seen as a divine play in which we are only lucky enough to participate. In 'The Far Field', Roethke recognizes the beauty of experience and 'the pure serene of memory in one man/a ripple widening from a single stone/winding around the waters of the world'. We are what we experience, and experience is specific to each person; there is no one exactly similar interpretation, in art and in life. If Roethke wants me to learn from going where I have to go instead of where I want to go, I will follow the words of the poet who speaks to me and will continue on the path. I will go with wisdom and experience and be challenged by the thrill of knowing I will never be the person I used to be, but will always be the person I am.

Before Reading My Paper... Read These Poems

55. La Belle Dame Sans Merci by John Keats

Ballad
I.

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! 5
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

III.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew, 10
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

IV.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light, 15
And her eyes were wild.

V.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan. 20

VI.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

VII.

She found me roots of relish sweet, 25
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”

VIII.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore, 30
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

IX.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d 35
On the cold hill’s side.

X.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!” 40

XI.

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

XII.

And this is why I sojourn here, 45
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

The Laboratory by Robert Browning

NOW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy--
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

He is with her; and they know that I know
Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
Empty church, to pray God in, for them! -- I am here.

Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
Pound at thy powder, -- I am not in haste!
Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.

That in the mortar -- you call it a gum?
Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,
Sure to taste sweetly, -- is that poison too?

Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!
To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
A signet, a fan-mount, a filligree-basket!

Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give
And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head
And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead!

Quick -- is it finished? The colour's too grim!
Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim?
Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!

What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me--
That's why she ensnared him: this never will free
The soul from those masculine eyes, -- say, 'no!'
To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.

For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall,
Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does not all!

Not that I bid you spare her the pain!
Let death be felt and the proof remain;
Brand, burn up, bite into its grace--
He is sure to remember her dying face!

Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose
It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:
The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee--
If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?

Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,
You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings
Ere I know it -- next moment I dance at the King's!


AND NOW FOR MY PAPER...

Can I Redeem Myself?

Today's presentation was an enormous failure on my part ... I didn't come to class with something concrete from my paper to present and I whizzed through my presentation only explaining the very basics of what I'm writing about. I was followed by Lisa, Taylor, Sam, and Tai ... how intimidating! Those presentations were amazing and have given me the inspiration to structure my paper a bit differently. On to more editing.

The truth is, I only have about four good pages of material for my paper. The rest is scribbled out in notes or kicking around in my head like it has been for the better part of three weeks. I know what I want to present and how I want to present it, but I keep coming up short. How is it possible to have everything displayed perfectly in your own head and then mess it all up when it comes to actually writing the thing? Anyway, I have to begin in my end (because in my end is my beginning) and go from there. I will talk about my experiences as an English major and everything that has led up to this moment, and then I want to talk about other experiences, like those of Roethke, Hamlet, Eliot, and probably Browning and Keats. I have about four pages of analysis written up on two poems (one by Browning, one by Keats), but I don't want my paper to be completely about analysis. It needs to have more depth and more umph... !

Taylor's paper in it's entirety was inspiring... she has a way with words different from everyone else in the class. I like how she has tied her own experiences in so perfectly with authors and characters from our stories. I always love hearing Sam speak because her words are soft and subtle but the message behind them is always so powerful. Tai is always hilarious... and inappropriate, which is what I love about him. I realized during presentation, though, that while I am very nervous to present something solid, everyone in class is pretty nervous to put themselves out there with something they have created. Such is life. I need to just get it done.

I will have something to READ on Wednesday or Friday, whenever Dr. Sexson will let me go! And I will have my paper posted in it's entirety this evening or day after for everyones viewing pleasure.

Melancholy

I have been getting more and more comfortable with my paper topic as the days go on. Writing 'the best paper I have ever written' is kind of daunting, Dr. Sexson, and I don't know if I'm up to the challenge, but I feel better about it today and here's why...

Yesterday, I found myself in a heated debate with a friend of mine over the topic of my paper! He was trying to tell me (furiously, I might add) that I should not include the idea of melancholy in my paper at all. 'Do away with it completely', he said. I wasn't sure I could defend the point of my paper as well as I did.... but I guess I can! We ended the conversation on the same page and I told him exactly why the idea of melancholy had to be used in my paper. He's a smart cookie... he would have known if what I was saying was complete and utter nonsense. Apparently, it wasn't. This makes me happy. :)

I am presenting my paper on Friday. Hope all goes well! For some reason, standing in front of a classroom of people, I turn in to a fumbling mess trying to present a paper. Hope it doesn't happen on Friday... see you all then!

Inspiration From Essays - 12 April 2010

Today's batch of essays included Kevin, Abby, Joan, Katie, and Ronald ... very impressive! Also, very daunting. I have to present on Friday(?), I believe, and I have to say it's an intimidating group of five to follow!
I couldn't help but notice a correlation among all the presenters; each person there today found the most inspiration talking about their own experiences, things that moved them or jolted them into an epiphanical moment, or the path that led them to the senior capstone in English Literature. Admittedly, my paper will probably follow something of the same outline as I will be chronicling the experiences that have led to my graduation (finally, YES!!) from MSU.

I don't think it would be very honest to write about the idea of epiphany in a senior capstone class without using one's own experiences. How else would you know what epiphany is? In order to know, one has to experience, and sometimes experience several times to come to know something for the first time (something Katie referenced in her paper).
I have had my share of experiences that have led me to this moment, this day, this place in my life. I've been to three different colleges, dropped out of school twice, had experiences (romantic and otherwise) which I would like to forget, and battled alcoholism in my family and my personal life. Somehow, though, I feel like I have wound up in the right place. Melancholy has been the overriding tone for most of my college career, but through those experiences have come wisdom I never thought I would have. I will talk about all of this in my paper... it's all about learning where I HAVE to go and not where I WANT to go. School is winding down and my life is about to change very drastically, and I feel now more than ever that I'm on the track to where I HAVE to go. I know I have to. One of my favorite quotes by Beryl Markham explains this period of transition better than I ever could:

'a life has to move or it stagnates. even this life, i think. it is no good telling yourself that one day you will wish you had never made that change; it is no good anticipating regrets. every tomorrow ought not to resemble every yesterday.'

I feel like this is quite fitting for most of us in the class because we're all realizing this every day; every class we take, every lecture we attend, every book we read (or re-read) tells us that this is the way life is supposed to be. I don't ever want to live in a life that is stagnant, and so I will continue on learning where I have to go. I am in the process of applying for a job position in Guam; it's a world away, and while I am very excited about the prospect of leaving, something inside me doesn't want to go. I want to go back to Red Lodge and be near my family, but I know this will only lead to the kind of stagnation I so badly want to avoid. And so, however melancholy I may feel when I get to where I'm going, I can only be sure that I will come away from the experience with some sort of elevated understanding of myself or the world or both. Whether this will be a 'light' epiphany or 'dark' epiphany, I cannot be sure until I've experienced it, but at least I feel like I know what I have to do.

My Paper Topic - Finally!

Alright, I know I haven't blogged in a long time... like last semester, I'm having trouble keeping up with my blogs this semester. After discussion with Dr. Sexson, I think I have an idea for my final paper.

I took a class from Dr. Kimberly Myers a few years ago (British Literature, I believe?) and she talked a lot about the melancholy poets and how from the awful and divine state of melancholy can spring some of the most epiphanical experiences. In fact, she was more enamoured with the idea of melancholy and poetics than anyone I have ever met. I think I want to focus my final paper on this state of melancholy and the work that has been produced from this state of being or a state of being a direct reflection of the melancholy work.

I hope to focus on Theodore Roethke, citing both 'The Far Field' and 'The Waking' in my paper, and will also focus on Hamlet as one of the most melancholy figures in literary history. I want to draw from some of the poets I touched on with Kimberly Myers, like Keats, Wordsworth, and Yeats, but I haven't sorted all of that out yet.

In many cases, melancholy is a state in which one almost has to exist in order to reach some sort of higher consciousness, found in many characters in literary history and even in the poets doing the writing. It's an awful state because it is one, like Roethke said, where people 'learn by going where they HAVE to go' instead of where they want to go. It's beautiful because there is nothing that exists which is more bittersweet than being in this state of melancholy. I have specific notes at home from Dr. Sexson which I will probably post later.

My paper will probably touch on the same topics as Katie Mason (light epiphanies from dark experiences), but I want to focus more on the dark experiences and dark epiphany. Not all epiphanic experiences can be light, a common misconception.
Honestly, life is short and difficult and slippery and dark ... and the realization of this may open up the mind to more epiphanical experiences than anyone can imagine. Dr. Sexson puts all of this far more eloquently than I can ... bollocks. More later!

Oh... and I think my title will be 'I Learn By Going Where I Have to Go', referencing Theordore Roethke, of course. And I will probably come back round to the beginning of my paper in the end. In my end of my beginning. I'll be referencing T.S. Eliot quite a bit, as well. Obviously. :)

Has Virginia Woolf shown me how to live, what to do?

I'm a fan of Virginia Woolf. I think that woman has a backbone. I have read 'The Lighthouse', 'A Room of One's Own', various essays and critiques, and even 'The Virginia Woolf Writers Workshop' by Danell Jones. I enjoy her very much and applaud her for her courageous efforts with words. She did things in her time women were never doing, and gave a strong and critical voice to females everywhere. I adore her.

But, has she shown me how to live and what to do with her work in 'To the Lighthouse'? I'm not sure how to answer this question. Is it possible for an author to show us how to live and what to do with their work, or can they merely give us one example out of many, one experience to rest our heads on, find comfort in, or find a common bond with? Do writers ever really show us HOW to live?

I think Virginia Woolf has shown me the way I want to VIEW things, but not the way I want to live. She leaves a lot of room for interpretation in 'To the Lighthouse', and I think she encourages readers to grasp hold of that and own that element of the text. Still, I think some of the characters in her novels show me how I don't want to live and what I should avoid!

I read 'To the Lighthouse' for the first time in a class with Susan Kollin and didn't find there was much to it, but I think I either wasn't looking or was being one of the boring readers and just not caring enough to get anything out of it. I do remember, though, the first day of discussion, Susan Kollin told us about her experience with 'To the Lighthouse'. She read it for the first time when she was 19 years old and she WAS Lily! She said everything about Lily spoke to her and who she wanted to be and she felt the urge to break free of her constraints like Lily and just be an artist! Years later, she came back to the text and was able to relate more with other characters than with Lily, but she said we all should do that with different texts; revisit them.

Texts need to be revisited because there are always epiphanies to be found, and those change with time, wisdom, and experience. T.S. Eliot might argue with me and tell me time and experience do not matter, but I think they do. And I think they shape how we view the world and how we view literature, one reason why Susan Kollin was able to find something new each time she read 'To the Lighthouse'. She would read the novel, put it down for a years, and then read it again... each time she found the text was different because she was, in fact, different.

Oh, the things to think about....

Sexsonisms 10 March 2010

'The notion of epiphany has to do with works of art that, when you behold them, read them, encounter them, engage them...they change the way you look at the world.' - M.S.

'How time flies when you're WHAT? READING VIRGINIA WOOLF!' - M.S.

In Memory

I have been meaning to blog about this for about a week now, so I guess I will finally get down to it...
A memory keeps coming back to me, prompted by the day in class when Sexson was talking to Lisa of the Little Legs about a childhood memory still logged in her subconscious. She talked about her best friend, Katey Crystal, and what she was wearing on a specific day... a happy day. That day in class, I thought about Lily, and have since been thinking about her probably every other day. I guess reading the name 'Lily' over and over again in 'To the Lighthouse' does something for the memory, too.

Lily was my best childhood friend. She lived right across the way, about two backyard spans and an alley's width away from my house, and when I was five years old I spent every waking minute with her. For some reason, this memory out of all my childhood memories is one that remains most clear in my head. I remember when I met her... I thought she was beautiful. She looked like a little pixie... very tiny with short, choppy bleach blonde hair and blue blue eyes. She was always smiling, always very friendly, and the most adventurous spirit I had met outside my own family. Lily was six and in kindergarten (I wasn't old enough to go), so I would wait during the week until she was out of class for our adventures to begin. I have about four or five very specific memories of her that I probably will never forget.

She went on a road trip with her family to California, I think, and ended up coming back with this enormous turtle. Apparently their dog found the turtle injured on the beach and Lily just couldn't part with it. Her dad was a biology teacher and they cared for the turtle and nursed it back to health. I think when she ended up moving away they still had it... I remember her compassion. At age 5, I remember her compassion. That seems so strange to me, but I don't think we can ever know what will touch us and what will stay with us, or at what capacity we can consider things at different ages.

I also have a memory of hurting her. We each got a pair of scissors from my moms house and decided we were going to cut the grass on the front lawn ourselves. The grass was pretty tall and as we were going along busily cutting everything up, I accidentally chopped into her finger. I remember her bleeding and running home and how bad I felt about hurting my friend. Not sure why that's still logged in the memory, but it is.

Another memory, my most fond, is of her all in white. Lily and I used to take 'naps' together if our parents would let us. I remember being under white covers and laughing and laughing with her. She was, perhaps, the first woman I ever fell in love with ha ha :). Mostly, though, her mother made her come home for naps, and I would have to take that time to find something else to do. One day I ran over to her house to see if she wanted to play, unaware that it was 'nap time'. It was very strange, but her mom asked me if I wanted to come in and look at her while she was sleeping. She said she looked like an angel and if I wanted to peak in, I could. I went to Lily's room and I remember very specifically the way she was positioned. She was lying directly in the middle of the bed with the comforter pulled up to her rib cage and her arms resting on top. She was wearing white and the comforter was white and she was surrounded by white stuffed animals. They were resting on her sides and all around her head. She looked like she was something in a shrine or some sort of mummy. Now, when I think about this experience, I am a bit put off by it, but then I just remember looking at her and thinking she was an angel. At that moment, in my five-year-old head, I thought we would surely be together forever. I really did love her.

Of course, life happened and Lily moved away with her family. Her mom got a job in the Flathead and she disappeared. We tried to keep in touch, but that faded away. She wrote me once when I was in junior high school and sent me pictures... she was so vastly different at that point that it made me sad, because I still had this image of the little pixie haired angel in all white. This reminds me of the 'life in death' situation I blogged about last time, because people go through little 'deaths' all their lives. Birth exists and death exists, but there is also the death of a past life, a stripping away of who we used to be and accepting and growing into who we become (and this happens several times in one lifetime). I had to deal with the death of my old friend and try to adjust to the new, and I was unable to do it. Actually, I haven't had contact with Lily in over 10 years and probably never will again. It's funny how someone so logged in my memory can be so absent from my life.

Next up...blogging about the BIG picture... has Virginia Woolf shown me how to live and what to do?

To the Lighthouse 5 - (well, 2 really)

Our assignment this week is to blog about 5 existing moments of epiphany in Woolf's To the Lighthouse. I have already blogged about the epiphany of sudden death, which is to say death brings about moments of clarity unlike any other experience, not just for the dying but for the grieving. There is a certain life in death... the life that happens afterward, the moments of pause and reflection, picking up the pieces, making sense of it all, putting things back together and continuing on with something of a 'normal' life again. This is an overriding theme in To the Lighthouse, and after GOOGLE-ing around a bit, I found out that the novel is based largely on Virginia Woolf's personal experience with the idea of life IN death and life after death (specifically related to her own family). Conflicts between the characters apparently mirror conflicts within Woolf's own family.

Perhaps one of the most obvious moments of epiphany is the one that comes to Lily at the end of the novel, prompting her to make the last brush stroke and complete her painting. Lily experiences some sort of vision that leaves her thinking about the world and her 'final destiny'... full of compassion and void of the suffering of man-kind. In the last paragraph of the novel she seems to come sudden divine manifestation of her work, the meaning of her work, and the way some things may be more finite than she will ever be.

'Quickly, as if she were recalled by something over there, she turned to her canvas. There it was - her picture. Yes, with all its greens and blues, its lines running up and across, its attempt at something. It would be hung in attics, she though; it would be destroyed. But what did that matter? she asked herself, taking up her brush again. She looked at the steps; they were empty; she looked her at canvas; it was blurred. With a sudden intensity, as if she saw it clear for a second, she drew a line there, in the centre. It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision.'

Lily Briscoe made a surreal connection between her existence in the present, the finiteness of her own being, and how lasting her own work would be. Even if the painting would spend its days living in an attic and ultimately destroyed, it was important that she knew at that moment it was finished. It was finished for her, and she could move on. Isn't that how everything works in life? Often times, SOMETHING has to tell us we're finished with one thing in order to move on to another. It's not always presented to us clearly; sometimes it's not even fully understood, but it has to happen. Perhaps she is able to find comfort in knowing that eventually everything will 'lay at length up on the earth'. Even her. Even her painting. Everything.

Another moment of epiphany is when Lily sits bolt upright in bed and asks 'What does it mean then, what can it all mean?' I kind of laughed at this particular part because I swear I have had so many moments like this one... not being able to sleep, thoughts racing chaotically through my head without a single 'off' switch in sight. It's those moments of epiphany that scare me, in a way, because all you come up with is that you don't know what you thought you did and you will never know what you hope to know and it's terrifying. Truly. You spend a majority of that time trying to come up with an answer that you know you will never come up with, and all you can do is finally make peace with your own mind, if only for a second, or until the next time you have one of those moments again. I can never tell when it's going to happen, but when it does it seems like the universe opens itself up and wants me to grasp something and I never can. I just think about how infinite things are... how small I am... and how scary the 'unknown' of death is.

I think I'm done with 'To The Lighthouse' for the day, but I'm sure I'll have some more ramblings to post after Wednesday's discussion. And more Sexson-isms, of course. :)

Equilibrium

I read 'To the Lighthouse' by Virginia Woolf last semester and I'm trying to re-read it again this semester. What a snooze (and I hate saying that because I absolutely adore Virginia Woolf and usually read everything she has with enthusiasm). I have been thinking a lot about the notion of identity and the equilibrium that exists between all human beings, one of the defining characteristics of 'To the Lighthouse'. Let me explain...
Equilibrium, by definition, is the condition of equal balance between opposing forces; that state of a material system in which the forces acting upon the system, or those of them which are taken into consideration, are so arranged that their resultant at every point is zero. (oed)
In every physical phenomenon exists an example of equilibrium, some more prominent than others. Equilibrium often defines the relationship between two entities, and the effects of that relationship on the surrounding world become the subject of analysis. Woolf represents the system between a married man and woman, their children, and the weight a married couples places on one another.
Virginia Woolf gives equilibrium definition by examining a relationship between a husband and wife and their eight children. While living under a slightly faulty system, the characters portrayed in the novel are decidedly happy. Hosting a number of guests at any given occasion, adhering to a strict familial guideline, and trying to satisfy the whims of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Ramsay are together an entity holding the rest of their constructed world in place. Mrs. Ramsay is represented as a woman of incredible kindness and strength, seemingly the stronger half of an equal entity. Primarily, Mrs. Ramsay keeps the household livable, her husband tolerable, and her children at bay. Mr. Ramsay comes across as almost Mrs. Ramsay's ideal opposite, always ill tempered, selfish, and engrossed in life outside of his family.
As the definition of 'equilibrium' describes, the two opposing forces of this material system have to merge to ensure a positive level in the household. Curiously, Mrs. Ramsay seems to be the driving force behind the neutrality, a force Mr. Ramsay depends on for his own peace of mind, represented in the following passage:
'It was sympathy he wanted, to be assured of his genius, first of all, and then to be taken within the circle of life, warmed and soothed, to have his senses restored to him, his barrenness made fertile, and all the rooms of the house made full of life' (87).
Mr. Ramsay's insecurities are brought to life in this passage and his female counterpart has to bear the weight of his ongoing neurosis. Without Mrs. Ramsay to make him feel level, Mr. Ramsay would withdraw far within himself and possibly never re-emerge. The woman in the system of 'husband and wife' acts as the catalyst for everything to keep the natural level of the household at a relative zero.
The men in To the Lighthouse are all given an incredibly strong voice, their problems and issues some of the most speculated in the novel, especially those of Mr. Ramsay. His issues are always a catalyst in the novel, and Mrs. Ramsay is always the form of resolution. While the men in this novel are given a more prominent direct voice, the women in the novel emerge as the stronger characters, especially the character of Mrs. Ramsay. She acts almost as if she believes she has to protect the opposite sex. She believes men have to carry the burden of the outside world and their work is of great importance, leaving them in an extremely vulnerable position amongst their families. Mrs. Ramsay finds strength and resolve in the fact that she can carry the burden for her husband and she can manipulate the system however she desires. The characters abrupt death in the novel is the defining, disturbing force that interrupts the equilibrium and makes the lives of all the characters unstable.
I suppose this is more analytical than any blog I have ever written, but I do have a point in all of this. Perhaps some of the most important moments of 'epiphany' in life are those realized in relation to other human beings. 'To the Lighthouse' plays on the forces existing between men and women, husbands and wives, parents and children. Perhaps the epiphany does not come until death interrupts or halts life. I know I talk a lot about the notion of 'death' in my blogs, but it seems there is nothing in this world that compares to the closeness that exists between human beings and what happens to the mind when death intervenes. It is a sudden and often brutal form of epiphany, because men and women the world over exist on the pendulum I base this blog around.

Random Sexson-isms!! (since I haven't blogged in a coons age)

'If you think any of your teachers are clear, concise, and organized, get them in a bar on a Friday night and they're just as confused as everyone else.' - M.S.

'We happen to be very young and wild!' - M.S.

'9 minutes? WATCH ME GO!' - Sexsons response to how much time was left in the hour

'We need to spend more time with the negative. If we don't we will never have a fully developed idea of what epiphany is.' - M.S.

'We should be continually responsive to the presence of the world.' - M.S.

'I KNOW BECAUSE I'M OLD!' - M.S.

'When your life comes together in interesting ways it is also coming apart in other, more interesting ways.' - M.S.

'It is not so much important to visit a place as to RE-VISIT a place.' - M.S.

'Nothing is ever lost. It is just hiding, waiting there for the great, aesthetic hero to bring it back to you' - M.S.

'What happened to twenty minutes?! It all went into a cup of tea?!' - M.S.

Like Roethke, 'I take my waking slow'

Dr. Sexson told me to read 'Total Eclipse' because something would jump out at me, specifically for me. Earlier this semester, I blogged about a poem by Theodore Roethke called 'The Waking' and the experiences I have had since discovering the poem. Annie Dillard references the poem and Roethke in 'Total Eclipse', saying 'Like Roethke, I take my waking slow'. I think I may have fallen in love with Annie Dillard, and she plays with the idea of 'The Waking' throughout the entire piece. I am happy to see that someone else was touched by that particular Roethke poem and even more thrilled that Dillard mentions it in her work. As Sexson would say, 'This is good stuff, IS IT NOT?' :)

Roethke says, 'I wake to sleep and take my waking slow'. Dillard talks about this act of moving through life in a specific pattern, habitually and wholly unaware of what is actually going on around us. We have talked a lot in this class about the idea of time and experience and the importance of experience in the span of human life. Is experience useless, because, as Helena mentioned in her blog, we never really learn how to fully incorporate these experiences into our lives? I think Dillard is trying to say that each day we begin again, waking slow to our own actuality, but never really being able to understand. Dillard says 'we live half our waking lives and all of our sleeping lives in some private, useless, and insensible waters we never mention or recall'. We are constantly told and taught to 'wake up!' and 'pay attention!', but what exactly are we paying attention to? Why is it important to pay attention when most of our experience is lost or forgotten? In death, experience ceases to matter. Dr. Sexson said once that we should all be optimally receptive to everything in the world, but are we capable of doing that? No matter how traumatic, wonderful, frightening, or memorable an experience, does it REALLY matter?

At the end of the piece, Dillard says 'From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounch back and hurry for the latitudes of home'. It's as if Dillard is saying we are constantly teetering on the edge of 'knowing' and 'seeing' in a different way than we are accustomed and just when we have a 'sudden manifestation of something divine', we retreat. We always retreat. To Dillard, it 'is everlastingly funny that the proud, metaphysically ambitious, clamoring mind will hush if you give it an egg'. This is what human beings do. We so quickly replace one experience with a different experience, and what are we left with? Am I making any sense? Maybe not...

Tintern Abbey

FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view 10
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, 20
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.

These are only the first few lines from Tintern Abbey, but the entire poem rests upon the idea of revisiting something, whether physically revisiting a place from the past or coming back to it in memory. Wordsworth describes the scenery of the place he knows so well and how each entity that makes up the scenery has some sort of effect on him. His senses seem to be overwhelmed with the place he has come back to.

So many things can happen when revisiting a place in memory. Wordsworth talks about the realization that human beings move on from what they once were into the person they have become, and it continues to happen that way throughout life. With every passing moment the present moves into the past and the future moves into the present. It's a cyclical process that is hard to even process because it takes place so rapidly; it is and then it is gone and human beings often miss it.

He also talks about the serenity of being able to revisit something special in memory. He talks about this revisitation as an act of making the heart grow fonder, as he discusses the ability to be away from something for an extended period of time and being able to come back to it with more love for it than when it was left. Memories, moments, time, and the soul are discussed heavily in Wordsworth's work. It is as if he is telling the reader to take comfort and feel safe within the realm of memory because that is what it's there for; I have found often that a memory can be a cruel thing, but I think that more often than not, memory serves as a unique way of preserving moments.

Walter Pater

A counted number of pulses only is given to us of a variegated, dramatic life. How may we see in them all that is to to be seen in them by the finest senses? -Walter Pater

We have been discussing Walter Pater's Renaissance. Pater talks of experience and the intensity of that experience is one of the only things that matters. This quotation above explains this perfectly, as Pater talks about not being able to experience all that exists because our senses are limited. We can only exist under a number of experiences, and the intensity of the experience is a gauge for its importance.
Here is the conclusion of Pater's Renaissance:
http://www.subir.com/pater/renaissance/conclusion.html
In her blog, Sam points out Pater's belief that all art aspires to the condition of music. Seems interesting to think about after the blog I posted previously about my experiences with music. Everything connects....

'Good poets borrow, great poets steal'

I came away from the class presentation today thinking about the T.S. Eliot quote mentioned and was able to write a few words connecting my Capstone class to my Critical Theory class. I thought I would share what I produced for todays blog.

‘The Anxiety of Influence: The Anxiety of Criticism’
I came across a long heralded quote today in my literary Capstone class; ‘Good poets borrow, great poets steal’. T.S. Eliot’s words seem to highlight the very section I will be discussing; pages 5-9 in ‘The Anxiety of Influence’ by Harold Bloom. Throughout the introduction, Bloom suggests that while other critics have argued that poetic influence, or ‘borrowing’, is absolutely detrimental to the work of the poet and allows no room for natural passions or creative originality, he believes that poetic influence does not make poets less original. Rather, ‘[poetic influence] makes them more original, though not therefore necessarily better’ (7).
Bloom’s work attempts to dismantle the existing truths about poetic influence and the weight placed on the influence of existing poetry on poetics and artists. On page 5 in the introduction, Bloom claims that ‘poetic history […] is held to be indistinguishable from poetic influence, since strong poets make that history by misreading one another, so as to clear imaginative space for themselves’. Blooms suggestion in the first pages of the introduction is reminiscent of the aforementioned Eliot quote. Great poets steal ideas from other artists, but not necessarily the idea specific to that artist, therefore creating an entirely new space in literary history. Everything that is only exists as an extension of everything that was.
Of course, Bloom only concerns himself with ‘strong poets’. Strong poets realize if they lack the strength to overcome the anxiety of influence, like Oscar Wilde. According to Bloom, ‘weaker talents idealize; figures of capable imagination appropriate for themselves’ (5). Influence is something that exists within the realm of creativity, and just as Bloom suggests that every disciple takes away something from his master, he focuses on that fact that it is almost impossible to be wholly original.
Pages 8-9 in Bloom’s introduction discuss the element of wisdom in poetic influence; who has it, who lacks in it, and who are condemned or strengthened by it. Bloom’s argument for ‘The Anxiety of Influence’ is that strong poets are condemned to certain amount of ‘unwisdom’, the creative minds protest against the element of death and loss of time. Artists are able to create and in that realm of creation often lose touch with the reality of death, time ending, and new time beginning again. Geoffrey Hartman, as referenced by Bloom, states that ‘art fights nature on natures own ground’, a premise for the introduction and the book as a whole.
Artists dismiss the idea of death and loss just as some critics dismiss the idea of poetic influence having little positive effect on the originality of the poet. Perhaps Bloom is trying to point out that while artists often dismiss the affects of time and reality, opting to create their own sense of reality, literary critics like to dismiss the idea that originality can exist alongside poetic influence. Most importantly, Bloom emphasizes that originality has to exist alongside poetic influence, because it cannot exist any other way.

Red Into Grey and Tumble Down - East Coker Presentation

Above are the images from our East Coker presentation! My group includes Sam, Tai, Taylor, Amy, Doug, Kari, and myself... interesting group of characters!! For our presentation, we agreed on blowing up the pages of East Coker and each giving a cyclical discussion of our section, and I think it turned out well! We each brought in images we thought would aid in our discussion and further explain the deeper meaning locked within the pages of The Four Quartets.

I was so nervous when I got up to present that I nearly knocked over the poster board...twice! I know we all felt like 50 minutes wasn't enough and we had so many more things to discuss, but I think we did the poem a little bit of justice in discussing it's cyclical patterns and the element of life in death and death in life and the way one entity in life lends itself to another entity.

Well done, group! The posters turned out well and the images from the presentation are pretty neat. I am lucky to be a part of such an amazing crew!

Soul Music

So, my pursuit of getting through 'The Dead' is not going so well. Actually, every time I pick it up I find myself putting it down to find something more stimulating. When I did the same thing this afternoon, I began to ask myself a question:
What IS it I do find diamonds in? When are the moments in my life when I find those small (or large) diamonds? Where do moments of epiphany lie for me, most often?
The answer to that question is simple; in music. Music has constantly been a source of awe and inspiration for me; I got to music when I feel sad, happy, angry, hopeful... there really isn't an emotion I can't heighten, intensify, or downplay with the right music. I'm something of a music junkie, which is my dad's fault.

Ever since I was a small girl, I have been listening to the sounds of James Taylor, The Beatles, Tony Bennett, Frank Sinatra, Harry Connick, Jr., all the classic rock greats, and even The Beach Boys. These artists remain among some of my favorites because memories always come flooding back for me when I hear their music. My dad used to be a singer, but suffered from terrible stage fright. He has one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard live, and I used to be able to catch him singing when he didn't think I was around. I would hide at the top of the staircase and listen to him singing along to the 'Singers and Standards' station. He instilled a love of music in me that no one can ever take away.

There is one particular night I will never forget, involving music and my dad. Every night before I went to sleep, I used to put on the Donny Hathaway version of 'A Song For You' before I went to bed. It made me very calm before I went to sleep and helped me rest peacefully through the night (on most occasions). One night just when I'd started the song, my dad walked in and was surprised I was even listening to the tune. It was originally sung by Leon Russell, and my dad admitted it was lyrically one of his favorite songs. He started singing along with the music coming from the stereo, and it put me in a trance! I felt tears come to my eyes and I just sat there staring at him and crying and feeling very lucky to have my family. It was one of the most epiphanical moments of my life, though I can't even explain the epiphany that had come to me. It was something I shared with my dad, just me and him, and I will never forget it. Here are the lyrics to that song:

I've been so many places in my life and time
I've sung a lot of songs I've made some bad rhyme
I've acted out my love in stages
With ten thousand people watching
But we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you

I know your image of me is what I hope to be
I've treated you unkindly but darlin' can't you see
There's no one more important to me
Darlin' can't you please see through me
Cause we're alone now and I'm singing this song for you

You taught me precious secrets of the truth witholding nothing
You came out in front and I was hiding
But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding

I love you in a place where there's no space or time
I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you

You taught me precious secrets of the truth witholding nothing
You came out in front and I was hiding
But now I'm so much better and if my words don't come together
Listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding

I love you in a place where there's no space or time
I love you for in my life you are a friend of mine
And when my life is over
Remember when we were together
We were alone and I was singing this song for you
We were alone and I was singing this song for you

These days, I feel most uplifted when I'm listening to soul music, from old soul to the newer artists in the neo-soul category. Artists like Maxwell, John Legend, Jill Scott, Amel Larrieux, Anthony Hamilton, and many others give me peace every single day, and I think there is something to be said for being able to have those little moments every day. Life is never easy and peace is sometimes hard to find, but in music I can always find some sort of serenity. It gets me through.

The Uncovered Dead Diamond

'The Dead' by James Joyce. Woofta. We were supposed to read this little number and come up with some sort of 'diamond' to present to the class, something we found in the reading to be particularly epiphanical. Well, I procrastinated and went to the first round of these 'diamond' presentations without actually having found one of my own, thinking it would be easier to find one after hearing what other people had to say. Well, it's not any easier. In fact, I don't feel like I can find one at all.

For one, I can't find anything someone else hasn't already mentioned, and I don't want to mention something someone has already mentioned. Also, I have been having quite a difficult time getting through the text as it is. What a BORING piece of literature! I know, I know... literature is never boring, only people are boring. I don't want to be boring! I have to find some way to get through 'The Dead'. That's the next assignment I'm giving myself.

Sexsonisms 1/27/2010

'In many of these stories the realization has some sort of dark element to it because you see something about yourself that is often not very pretty' - M.S.

'Has anyone ever had a trivial conversation with someone else? Don't answer that.' - M.S.

The Grandeur of God

This is my three-year-old, paint program interpretation of God's Grandeur.
Hope you like it. :)

Sexsonisms 1/25/2010

'Our brains are organized in such a way that we don't pay attention to all things. If we did [...] we would be dysfunctional' - M.S.

'One of his issues was that he was mentally unbalanced, but this poet gave us the motto for this institution; Mountains and Minds!' - M.S.

'Isn't it great that the motto for this institution was given to us by a mentally unbalanced, British poet?' - M.S.

Love Epiphany

Has anyone ever experienced love? Not the love of a 'loved one', but the love of a 'lover'? James Joyce talks about the overwhelming experience of falling in love (or falling in lust). More importantly, he talks about one of the most painful kinds of 'epiphany' a person can have; the realization of unrequited love. In definition, unrequited love is love that is not openly reciprocated, even though reciprocation is usually deeply desired. The beloved may or may not be aware of the admirer's deep affections. 'Araby' in James Joyce's 'Dubliners' discusses this theme at length (or not so much, as the story is only 5 pages long). Still, his portrayal of the narrators love for Mangans sister is heart breaking in a way. For the narrator, his life in Ireland is frustrating. The mundane 'comings' and 'goings' seem impossibly boring, until he has an epiphanic moment in which he experiences the feelings of infatuation and admiration. His unreciprocated love affair with a woman he barely knows, much less talks to, is an incredibly common theme in literature, art, poetry, and real life alike.
He comes into this experience thinking a love has actually blossomed between him and the woman, and at the end of the story is angered and embarrassed by his own vanity (at least I think that's what Joyce is trying to tell me).
I don't know if anyone else has ever experienced unrequited love before, but quote frankly, it is AWFUL. A character in one of the most adorable (not prominent, but adorable) movies ever made once said, '[What could be] worse than the total agony of being in love?'. I think this question is quite appropriate. The only thing worse than the total agony of being in love is the total agony of unrequited love. The narrator finds himself staring at her longingly from windows, memorizing small things about her, and thinking about her every second of his day. It consumes him totally. At once, the narrator in Joyce's story finds himself in this state:
'I was not beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to be child's play, ugly monotonous child's play'
(17).
Some other quotes from Joyce's work highlights the narrators agony and ecstasy.

'I had never spoken to her, except a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood' (16).

'I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires' (16).

Love seriously scorches the senses. Often times, when someone has such a moment of epiphany and realizes they are in love (or what they think is love), the person can literally lose all realm of intelligent, logical thought. People in love can be amorous idiots... I can say so because I have been there myself. In my opinion, a 'love epiphany' is unlike any other, though probably one of the most agonizing of the experiences a person can have. Don't misunderstand me... I believe in love. And I love to believe in love. And I love the IDEA of being in love, but unrequited love is just painful. I guess, however painful they are, I have to love the agonizing aspects of it is well, because where would love be without heartbreak?

Sexsonisms 1/22/2010

'Remember, Wikipedia is NOT there to educate you.' - M.S.

'To stand in awe of someting is to experience two things at once; that which is positive and that which is negative.' - M.S.

'It's a Googleable word. I never thought I'd use that word. GOOGLEABLE. It's a Googleable phrase.' - M.S.

Fruition, Fulfillment, Security, Affection, A Good Dinner...

Let me just say, I agree very much with Abby about 'FOOD' epiphanies. She explained in class about how a meal literally changed the way she felt about what she wanted in her future, and I feel the very same way! I have an Italian father who absolutely lives for good food and great wine, and one of my absolute favorite pasttimes is going to eat with dad... to see him get excited about food reminds me of growing up and makes me happy. Over the holidays, my parents collaborated and put together three evenings with a very specific menu and beer and wine to boot. The food was utterly some of the best food I have ever had and our relationship to food and wine and having a good dinner with friends has always bonded all of us. I know in my life I simply have to have those things; good food, good wine,and people to share that experience with. Is there anything in the world more important than that? I don't think so.

Today Dr. Sexson said that when you're trying to talk about the best things, words fail you, and I couldn't stop thinking about it after class. Why IS it that words fail you just when you need them the most? Hmm... obnoxious! I have been talking to other people about these subjects and my friend Melissa said this:
'When you're talking and you can't think of words or the right words or the words you're looking for it's likely because your brain is overactive (or underactive) and can't focus in on one idea'...I had to laugh because that's just so very mathematical of her.
Also this:
'An epiphany may (in theory) occur when your brain "stops" and takes a breath and realizes an idea that you have been scratching the surface of but haven't been able to "focus" on'
I find it very interesting to talk to non-English majors about their ideas of the word 'epiphany' and if they have had any experience with it. They often times seem confused as to why we would obsess about what an 'epiphany' is. There is a definition for it in the dictionary and that's what it is and why would we give it another moment's thought? Makes me laugh!
I was thinking today about the possibility of explaining an epiphany to someone who hasn't expierence it and it reminded me of this T.S Eliot quote:

'It is obvious that we can no more explain a passion to a person who has never experienced it than we can explain light to the blind.'

Is this the same for the idea of epiphany? When we feel like we have had a profound experience and are at a 'loss for words', is it really worth explaining to someone else if they have never experienced it? Would they understand? And if they did understand, would they draw the same feeling from it that you have? All things to think about, I guess...

Sexsonisms 1/20/2010

'Epiphanies tend to be, in their final moments, a showing of experiences and not the telling of those experiences.' - M.S.

'There is no reason we can't have an epiphany when we think really highly of ourselves for knowing something!' - M.S.

'We all need to hear the music. The hidden music.' - M.S.

'Chapter 7 in the Wind in the Willows is one of the great chapters of literature. Who says so? I say so! Why? Because I have the authority to do that!' - M.S.

'Oh Oh Oh!' & 'Ah Ah Ah!'

Dr. Sexson said in class today that epiphanies don't necessarily have to do with things of passion, and there are two types of epiphanies the 'Oh!' (smaller epiphany) and the 'ah!' kind (larger, more realized epiphany). For the most part, I would say I have experienced many little 'oh' epiphanies, but I do recall as an English major having a big 'AH!' experience, which led me down the path I am still on today.
I have dropped out of college...twice. For some reason I thought it would be more convenient for me to have more freedom and not be under the strict, watchful eye of my parents (the ones helping me pay for college, rent, etc.). I came to realize being out of school and on my own was not as glamorous as I had hoped. I had no direction; I felt completely lost and like I would never find a path. Anyway, after much thought on my own and the encouragement of my parents, I decided to re-enter school, but I hated being there. I thought all my teachers were mindless and the fact that they actually wanted me to think and work made me want to do less, be lazy. I used to joke about spending tons of money to be a part of the 'MSU Book Club'. I was completely closed off and had a terrible, terrible frame of mind. Last semester, Dr. Sexson told me that no situation can be boring; only people are boring. I was right there, being boring because I was too close minded to find something special in anything. Until I met Kimberly Myers. She came into class and literally blew me away with her passion for teaching and passion for the material she was teaching. We were only in a 200 level class, but she expected the best out of us made me want to be passionate about something again. She made me realize how wonderful the melancholy poets were and I had a newfound respect for poetry, literature, and educators. She was just wonderful! She spent a lot of time teaching us about T.S. Eliot, which is why I was so excited to begin this class with Eliot. I actually have a tattoo on my forearm of three lines from Eliot's 'The Wasteland'. DATTA. DAYADHVAM. DAMYATA. Give. Have compassion. Have self control. It was what the thunder said. I got the lines tattooed so I would always remember the way she made me feel and the things she taught me. I also like the meaning of the words; it's a constant daily reminder to try to live by those guidelines. The self control part is always interesting, but I think I do pretty well with the other two :). Halfway through the semester with Kimberly Myers I had this huge epiphany that I wanted to be an educator like her; I wanted to give to students what she had given to me. She was also my advisor and when I went to her office for my advising appointment, I was so overwhelmed by emotion that I actually broke down in tears in her office. After feeling so lost for about three years, I finally felt some stability in my life again. She gave that to me through her words and the words of the poets she adored.
Epiphanies can be:
1) Said or Heard
2) Done of Performed
3) Seen
My epiphany with Kimberly Myers was seen and felt. I realized all that I had lost and let myself lose before I came back to college and realized all that I wanted to gain. I truly wanted to turn my life around. This passage from Chapter 7 of the 'Wind in the Willows' reminds me of this experience:
'As they started blankly, in dumb misery deepening as they slowly realized all they had seen and all they had lost, a capricious little breeze,dancing up from the surface of the water, tossed aspens, shook the dewy roses, and blew lightly and caressingly in their faces, and with its soft touch came instant oblivion.'
Maybe Kimberly Myers was my 'capricious little breeze'. Perhaps I will be an educator like her. I am currently applying for a teaching position in Guam and am hoping for the best. No matter the outcome, I know I'm so far from where I used to be, and I owe that in part to my professor. In some ways, she brought me back to life.