Jesus Shaves

"I accepted the idea that an omniscient God had cast me in his own image and that he watched over me and guided me from one place to the next. The virgin birth, the resurrection, and the countless miracles -my
heart expanded to encompass all the wonders and possibilities of the universe.
A bell, though, that's fucked up." -From "Jesus Shaves" by David Sedaris

         We didn't read this short story for class, but I came across it while flipping through the pages to find a few assignments. Naturally, I chuckled at the title and began to read. I love any type of religious humor, especially when it is done in an appropriate manner, well as appropriate as it can be. Sedaris is hilarious in this piece commenting on the norms of other cultures. It is incredibly easy to look at other's religious traditions and poke fun at how odd they seem to be. I have been guilty of doing this on several occasions. Though, as I have grown older and studied religions quite a bit now I have learnt to both accept and appreciate many religions. Yet, it cannot be denied that Sedaris has a valid point in his claim. As a predominately Christian nation many of us have grown up with the traditional teachings of the church. Sedaris points these teachings out in the above quote. We may have tendencies to look at other religions, point a finger, and laugh, but we must not forget that ours sounds nearly just as bogus as any other religion, this is a valuable lesson to understand.

The World Is Too Much With Us, Indeed

The World Is Too Much With Us

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

          This is one of my favorite poems from the entire term. I tend to love nature writing and anything that points towards our modern obsessions with technology and everything, but the natural world. Being a Religious Studies major I have becoming jaded with my concept of who God is. I was raised Christian, yet I have never had a distinct church to attend. I kind of just bounced around denominations going to whichever one felt appropriate at the time. In doing this I began to see the hypocrisy that existed within these churches and soon I would realize that it existed in not just "my" religion, but every religion. 

              I became disheartened by this fact and pulled away from Christianity altogether and began to search for a more meaningful way to express my faith and what I found was nature. I had always found a solace when taking long walks through the woods near my childhood home and regardless of how terrible my circumstances at that moment, I knew I could count on nature to be there for me. So naturally today, I have in many respects withdrawn from the "world" to rest in nature. Wordsworth is absolutely correct in saying "the world is too much with us". People no longer see the natural world as sacred and something embodying the very being of God himself, and to me this is a great tragedy. We have lost touch with nature and therefore God, becoming too consumed with busy tasks and technology to reconnect with Him. It is a very sad state of affairs if you ask me. 

Is God in Our Brain?

"The Brain- is wider than the sky"

-Emily Dickinson 

          Among all of the poems that we have read in this class, I think this is the one that interests me the most on an intellectual level. Dickinson basically states that the brain is no different from God Himself, perhaps suggesting that God is in our brains. I am a Religious Studies major and for that reason I am constantly searching the spiritual realms for what is "true". Religion is often argued to be a human construct. I cannot argue that it is not, but I believe that in spite of this religion still has much to offer humanity. Dickinson's poem definitely adheres to the claims that religion and God even is a human construct, something made within our brains and then materialized in different ways. This idea is unique and in some respects gives the power of creation and the wold to the human. If God is something that is in our brains, something we conceive, then doesn't that make us the Divine? Perhaps it does if we choose to believe it so. Whether or not I accept this idea or not will be something I continue to research for many years. The below picture is Michelangelo's famous painting The Creation of Adam which seems to depict Dickinson's idea by placing God in what seems to be a brain... 

"Stop All the Clocks..."

"He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong."

- Excerpt from W.H. Auden's "Stop all the clocks, Turn off the telephones" 

          The first heartache is always the worst. I believe that Auden speaks of a torn relationship in this poem. He begins by going through a series of demands that seem quite odd, almost as if someone has died and in some senses this can be argued by the end of the poem. In the second stanza Auden paints a grim picture depicting scenes common of that during a funeral and in the following stanzas we realize the cause of such lamenting. The above excerpt is the third stanza of Auden's poem in which he admits his love for his lover. Auden loves this person so much that he becomes consumed with him and sees nothing else. Love, in its early stages, is much like this. We become consumed and wrapped up with that person and a life without him or her seems nearly inconceivable, it was no different for Auden. In the last stanza his pain is clear and he seems hopeless at the loss of his love. While I think that perhaps Auden was too intense in his relationship with this person, I can relate on some level. While reading his poem I reminded of the first boy I ever loved, who I ended up being with for six years. I absolutely loved this boy and I wouldn't have hesitated to basically sell my soul to please him; though, as it is in many "first love" situations we were broken apart by time and differences. I can easily sympathize with Auden when reading this poem and I believe others can as well, which is what makes this poem so accessible to audiences. 

Ahhh, Shakespeare, You Cease to Amaze Me

"My Mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun" 

         In a society so saturated with flaky ideals of what "true" beauty is, it is quite refreshing to read William Shakespeare's sonnet "My Mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun". While I am not much a fan of Shakespeare I cannot help, but to appreciate this poem for all that it says. We are so inclined to romanticize the object of our love whether that be a person or even object; though, Shakespeare throws reality in our faces by pointing out that his mistress is nothing like the romanticized creature we so often create in our minds. Quite humorously he remarks, "I have seen roses damasked, red and white, / But no such roses see I in her cheeks; / And in some perfumes is there more delight / Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.". We must admire his honesty here. What I love most about this sonnet is that in spite of all of his Mistress' "flaws" or really her human traits he still loves her, And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. This is more beautiful than any overly-romanticized poem that I have ever read about love. 

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you". -Whitman 

          The above lines begin Walt Whitman's piece "Song of Myself". Upon reading this work, which I first read in high school, it comes off as rather egotistical; however, after reading further into the text this was not the case. Whitman argues in his writing that he is connected to everyone, hence why he states that "every atom belonging to me as well belongs to you". In class we didn't have to read the entire piece, but if we had read it the undertones of Whitman's belief in the interconnectedness of the world would become apparent. He isn't literally singing a song in ode to himself but rather everyone because he cannot refer to himself without referring to everyone.

Don't be a Willy, Silly !

"I saw the things that I love in this world. The work and the food and the time to sit and smoke. And I looked at the pen and I thought, what the hell am I grabbing this for? Why am I trying to become what I don’t want to be . . . when all I want is out there, waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am." -Biff from "Death of a Salesman"

          So I have gotten quite a few "looks" from people when I state what I am going for in school, which is Religious Studies/Sociology/& Creative Writing. I chuckle every time I see the look on someone's face when I tell them and the inevitable, "That's nice, but what will you do with that?" question. I laugh because I know who I am, that doesn't doesn't imply that I know where I will be in a year or what job I will have. And that, my friends, is ok. I love what I am studying and I have faith that I will get a job that will both make me happy and provide me with a comfortable life. The above story speaks of a man, Willy, obsessed with the idea of obtaining what he believes to be the American Dream. In the midst of trying to obtain this dream he loses touch with reality and happiness. He becomes so consumed with being "well-liked" and living the American Dream through fancy appliances that he very quickly digresses until he ultimately takes his own life. Willy represents all that is wrong within our society today. People now rely on material things to declare his or her status in society, rather than relying on things of substance such as development of character or virtue. We can't take fancy cars or money to the grave with us. Don't be a Willy, that's all I'm saying people. I've made it my life's goal to never become a Willy .

Today I was a Goose. 

The heater hums and sways with the motion of my tired body. Turning into myself I lower the volume of the voices in the room. Words about Carver's "Cathedral" float above my head. An achy draft slips through a fine crack in the windowsill to caress my fingertips. In the distance I hear faint squawks from a dozen or so half-frozen geese. It seems as though they are headed in my direction. Perhaps they on their way to a warmer destination, California or Arizona maybe, who knows? As they near I rise my chair and slip through that fine crack in the windowsill unnoticed by those in the room. I join the shorter side of the bottomless triangle and chatter with my colleagues as if I'd never left. Freedom glides past my body as I fly. I don't think of anything profound or complex as I soak in the scenery beneath me. I simply breathe, flap my wings, and fly on. 

This reminds me again of Ruthie from Brewer's "20/20". Not taking things too seriously or over-contemplating the world around her, Ruthie found a way to enjoy life and even poke fun at its mundane tendencies. I couldn't help but laugh when she remarked that she had never thought she would see a Big Foot in real life, when in actuality she was just seeing a large post with two red reflectors resembling eyes. Ruthie was content and seemed to really find joy in seeing or more so creating "wonderful sights" with her imagination. Finding ways to cope with life in unique ways is a gift unlike any other and Ruthie seems to have found her own way of coping through both imagination and humor. Perhaps my way of coping is by letting my imagination soar with the geese as they fly over my head at times. 

The Elephant in the Village of the Blind

Once there was a village high in the mountains in which everyone was born blind. One day a traveler arrived from far away with many fine things to sell and many tales to tell. The villagers asked, "How did you travel so far and so high carrying so much?" The traveler said, "On my elephant." "What is an elephant?" the villagers asked, having never even heard of such an animal in their remote mountain village. "See for yourself," the traveler replied.
The elders of the village were a little afraid of the strange-smelling creature that took up so much space in the middle of the village square. They could hear it breathing and munching on hay, and feel its slow, swaying movements disturbing the air around them. First one elder reached out and felt its flapping ear. "An elephant is soft but rough and flexible, like a leather fan." Another grasped its back leg. "An elephant is a rough, hairy pillar." An old woman took hold of a tusk and gasped, "An elephant is a cool, smooth staff." A young girls seized the tail and declared, "An elephant is a fringed rope." A boy took hold of the trunk and announced, "An elephant is a water pipe." Soon others were stroking its sides which were furrowed like a dry plowed field, and others determined that its head was an overturned washing tub attached to the water pipe.
At first each villager argued with the others on the definition of the elephant as the traveler watched in silence. Two elders were about to come to blows about a fan that could not possibly be a pillar. Meanwhile the elephant patiently enjoyed the investigations as the cries of curiosity and angry debate mixed in the afternoon sun. Soon someone suggested that a list could be made of all the parts: the elephant had four pillars, one tub, two fans, a water pipe, and two staffs, and was covered in tough, hairy leather or dried mud. Four young mothers, sitting on a bench and comparing impressions, realized that the elephant was in fact an enormous , gentle ox with a stretched nose. The traveler agreed, adding only that it was also a powerful draft horse and that if they bought some of his wares for a good price he would be sure to come that way again in the new year.

           I like to think of this tale as a metaphor for the experience that separate individuals have when reading the same piece of literature. When reading a piece of literature it becomes easy to assume that the way in which you interpret it is the same that way another does. Though, this is rarely the case. Take for example, the Bible. For hundreds of centuries this book has been read and re-read and read again by millions of people. The ways of interpreting this one text is nearly innumerable. The same can be said of works throughout all of literature. That is what makes the study of literature so unique and beautiful. Peeling back the layers of a text is like peeling back the layers of an onion, endless. 

          I see myself in Ruthie from Linda Brewer's "20/20". While Bill plays the role of a rigid realist who enjoys theoretical arguments, Ruthie is quite opposite. She sees the world much differently than Bill, as Bill says later near the end of the story she is, "capable of seeing wonderful sights". As the two drive along Ruthie takes in the scenery and imagines things like Big Foot and UFO's in the landscapes they pass through. Ruthie doesn't seem to be interested in theoretical debate, but rather takes pleasure in the simplicity of the moment. Like Ruthie, I attempt to never take things too seriously. While theoretical debates can be fun and at times good for the heart, they too cause a lot of negative energy and hold us back from just enjoying life as it is. Things must not always be debated, sometimes we gain more from sitting back and "letting it ride".

“If someone isn't what others want them to be, the others become angry. Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.” 

― Paulo Coelho 

          In Elementary I had one friend, her name was Chylyn Martin. She was short with a little extra love around her waist. Chylyn was like me, an "out-cast" in our fourth grade society. Attached at the hip we did everything together and vowed to always love and respect each other forever and ever. In many ways Chy-bug (as I referred to her) saved my life as a young girl. You see, I grew up in a home plagued with drug addiction and abuse. When getting ready for school each day I would grab the cleanest garment in the heaping pile of worn clothes in my room and throw it on. I'd go to school, never understanding why I didn't have more friends. Perhaps it was my poorly matched outfit, but more likely it was my smell or the bruises that lined my arms each day; which ever it was it broke my heart. For years I was judged without having the chance to speak for my self. 

         While I was reading through Carver's "Cathedral" today I was reminded of how I was so often judged as a little girl. We assume that because a person is poor or homeless or a drunk that he or she should be and act a certain way. Society slowly dehumanizes people with stereotypes. The Narrator in "Cathedral" serves as a perfect example of the dehumanizing process that many of us tend to go through. Before meeting Robert the Narrator sees him as a "typical" blind man who wears dark glasses and prowls around creepily. When he first meets Robert the Narrator is taken back by how normal he seems to be. Robert smokes, has a long beard, and does not wear glasses at all. As the night progresses the men learn more about each other through conversation. By the end of the night the Narrator is enlightened by Robert. After the two draw a Cathedral together the Narrator sees Robert as a person for the first time. He no longer just sees him as a "blind" man, but for who he is. Too often we get caught up in what the world or society pegs as "normal" instead of seeing people for who they truly are. 

Today I went to China. Yesterday I was walking along the streets of Dublin. I am not sure where I will end up in the morning, but wherever it is, for God's sake let it be warm! 

          I've always been "different" I suppose. From the time I was a young girl in grade school till now I've always stood-out for one reason or another. Standing-out became my "thing", its what made me cool through high school and through the early years of my college experience. Though, I've come to realize that while I tried so hard to be "different" I was missing out on a lot of who I was. I spent so much time trying to choose the exact opposite of what everyone else did and do odd things to stand-out when really all I ever needed to do was... be myself. Heck, I'm different, or shall I say weird, enough to share some with everyone who comes along. 

          When I was in high school I took a Creative Writing class to fill the void in my class schedules. Not really thinking much of it I went into the class expecting to squeeze by with a B and leave every bit of alliteration talk at the door when I left the classroom. Yet, this was not the case. I first fell in love with the writing of William Wordsworth. His poetry sang to me and lured me into the fantastic world of nature writing. I have always loved exploring forests and parks, but I had never written or read anything that matched my sense experiences every time I set out on an exploration. Wordsworth's words flow in tune with the river when he speaks of the river and too his words whisper like the wind on a cool autumn day. When I read his work its as if I am in that moment with him observing the earth from his view. Reading the work of Wordsworth is purely spiritual for me, I connect with it as I connect to nature. He once remarked in his poem "Lines" that, "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her", and yes my friend she never has. When reading a piece of poetry or literature becomes more than just reading words off a page, the sense of wonder is restored within us. May the words we encounter each day restore the wonder within us all