Please take one of your journal entries and turn it into a more formal response.
My biggest piece of advice: Think but don't think--first thought, best thought.
I am proud of you all--your thoughts amaze and humble me.
I thank you in advance for all you will teach me.
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22 comments:
And all I can say is two things--"WOW." Your honesty and your words chill and burn, and they are rich with meaning. However, the second word, is dig deeper and find more...explode the thought and let the depth of its meaning come across with your words. Let the details paint a picture, let the picture tell a story, and let the story be holy in its construct and meaning.
Work hard because with hard work comes understanding and ownership. Thank you for going first Ms. Hair.
“I got this heavy debt, I've got nothing left
But this daunting weight slung round my neck
You got the callous mouth, all your endless doubts
We spent this fifteen weeks, trying to work it out
Do think we're getting to something new?”
Something New – The Airborne Toxic Event
This is holy. This is something new. This is you, and this is me. This is, “inspiring fear, awe, or grave distress.” I would tell you the truth but your holy is blocking my heart. You are my holy. You’re “God of Wine” playing in the background everyday that I miss you. I don’t know if this is right but this is my holy. You’re holy when we’re sitting at the beach eating subs from the corner and quoting Scrubs. You’re holy when you held me after mom broke her ankle that summer. You’re holy when you’re the reason I’m doing this stupid thing in the first place. Do you know that?
I don’t know what it feels like to be holy. I don’t know your holy, but I wish you knew mine. If you’re so holy, maybe sometime in the near future you’ll realize how much I miss you. But I doubt it. You’re too holy. I bet Carolina’s your holy, huh? Always keeping you away from me. Does North Carolina know that you’re my holy?
You’re the most holy when it’s just you and me, like it was that summer. When we stayed up late every night because it didn’t matter that you were holy. You’re the most holy when I didn’t have to worry about losing you, because I thought I meant that much to you. You were the most holy before you went off to college.
This is getting stupid and I want something else to be holy. I want more people like you to be around me all the time, picking me up and making me okay. I don’t know if this is what you want, so I’m not going to try to make myself holy to you. I guess I’ll be okay once I find something new. Something like you, except completely different. Maybe I’ll find a holy that will never leave me.
“Inspiring fear, awe, or grave distress.” I suppose that’s what you are to me. You’re holiness is me, holding on too tightly in the fear of losing you. I’m not positive, but I don’t think that’s what holy’s all about. I don’t know for sure, because this is something new. But I don’t think you’re supposed to be my holy if I’m losing you a little bit more every day.
But like I said, I’m not sure. This is something new.
September 20, 2009
We’re entering the third week of school. ‘This is the part’ were I should be settling down, burying myself underneath a mountain of school work. It’s comfortable down there, curled up on my desk chair with book and papers all around me, going through a list of assignment in order. It’s a straight red line, but in the past, it hasn’t bothered me. This year, it makes my skin itch. It’s not that I don’t like my classes. Actually, I pretty much love them. Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact that the year hasn’t quite resolved itself: there are no inside jokes yet, friendships started last year and neglected over the summer haven’t yet thawed, and I have yet to honestly gain my bearings in each of my classes. ‘Yet’ being the key word. If this is the only reason I’m feeling restless, I’ll get over it soon. If it’s more than that, some previously undiscovered desire to get out of here, then, well, there’s a time and place for that, too. I’ll just have to file away all that restlessness for college.
As for this year’s goals: I can honestly say I haven’t thought about them so far this year, as in, at all, since I wrote them. Not to be bitter, but I pretty much wrote them because they were assigned, not because I honestly have any ulterior motives to attending class. The whole idea of choosing goals before learning anything about the class seems a little ridiculous to me. They’re weightless ideas. Like, #1, got to college. This is a long term goal, so I don’t know how I’m doing on that front. #2 is about applying myself to all assignments. Feh. I forgot that I don't like all my assignments. I’m applying myself right now. That should count. Some assignments just don't seem worthy of the effort. #3, learn about history. Check. #4, understand today’s politics. Nope. #5, discuss books in terms of how they apply to me and my life. Most definitely yes. This is probably one of my favorite things that we’ve gotten to do so far in American Studies, and we do it all the time, which is very cool. This wasn’t so much a goal as an expectation for the class. I wish classes were maybe a little more structured. I need some help with the book, particularly reading it in pieces like the class is. If there’s some light at the end of the tunnel, waiting to unravel at the end of a school year like a prematurely-conceived Christmas present at the top of a closet, I have yet to reach it. I need the extra pushes in the right direction.
Fears next, then. The first two were about essays- only discussing books to write them, and being bad at writing them. We haven’t written any essays, unless we’re supposed to be handling these entries as essays, which I haven’t been. My third fear is about crumbling under the legendary junior year work load. Yeah, that’s a distinct possibility, but it hasn’t happened yet (thank god) so I’m just trying not to worry about it for now. Failing, but still trying, and hoping desperately that this will be my only failure this year. There seems to be very little to look forward to in the coming months. Just a long stretch of school work. Sometimes while I’m just sitting around, I can’t help but think, wouldn’t it be great it a meteor hit the mid west and the US dissolved into chaos? I expect to achieve a year without incident. I find myself hoping for some sort of divine tragedy.
Road to Somewhere
The first time I heard The Talking Heads, I actually found their music to be annoying. It was over this past winter in early January. I was still taking driver’s ed classes, and I was in the middle of driving with the instructor. To keep a relaxing atmosphere, she usually had us drive with the radio on so we would be more focused. I don’t know if that worked, but it did for me; that’s beside the point.
It was during the middle of this driving session, on some back road, that I heard “Once In a Lifetime” come on the radio. I had never heard it before. I did not know what band it was by, who sang it, or what it was about. All I know is that I really could not stand the song. I hated it. I found it to be very repetitive (which of course it is), and whoever was singing had an annoying voice. I thought it would be awkward to turn off the radio or switch stations (it was one of my first classes) so I just sat through the whole song.
It turns out that this song that was so awful that it really got me interested as to who the hell would ever write such a song. I looked it up and saw that it was by The Talking Heads, which confused me. I had never really heard their music much before, but I had heard amazing things about them. I found it ironic that such a famous band would write such a crap song, but my curiosity led me to listening to the song again, as well as watching the video. That, of course, led me to looking up the lyrics, and I was stunned and amused at how wrong I had been.
I started to like the song. I really liked it. The melody really does stick in your head, but now it was in a good way. I had gotten used to David Byrne’s voice and found it to be uniquely brilliant and powerful. I fell in love with the lyrics, how he sang bluntly and profoundly about vanity and a false sense of possession. My opinion on this song had turned a complete 180 degrees.
I now love The Talking Heads and their music, and “Once In a Lifetime” is a favorite of mine by them. How did this song, once a wretched pile of blabbering, become a powerful ballad? Perhaps the fact that it was so bothering and irritating fueled my curiosity. Perhaps I wanted to find who wrote it just so I could say, “Oh. Of course. That god awful band.” How wrong I was. Being inquisitive opened the way for complete acceptance and even admiration. It had shown me quite frankly how naïve my judgment was. Much like that cold January back road, it had set me on a road to somewhere, to a much more open and wider road.
JAZZ is AMERICA or AMERICA is JAZZ.
Jazz Music resembles America and it's ideas: "life, liberty and pursuit of happiness". The diversity found in "the melting pot", America; is an idea that has never been pursued before. As I have learned, Jazz Music has developed from ranges of genres of music; although it appears to be different than any other type of music. Jazz Music is not a concrete idea; which parallels our definition of Americans.
Our definition for Americans is: self-created, freedom, self-made man, independent, self-educated (auto-didact), is a man with more opportunities, energetic, dynamic, arrogant, brilliant, risk taker, ambitious, original, and successful. Americans are all of these ideas, although in comparison to Jazz Music two of these adjectives stand out to me. AMBITIOUS and SUCCESSFUL. The ambition filled throughout the world is too great for our own good. The ambitious thoughts of "life, liberty and pursuit of happiness" lead to our revolution, to our freedom, to America. Without the ambition success would not exist; this thought is also seen in Jazz. Although the real question is did American's shape Jazz, or did Jazz shape American's?
The idea of Jazz not being concrete is in the sense that originally nothing was written down, or planned ahead of time; but instead it was created in the moment. Rather than having to portray ideas through lyrics, Jazz Music allowed many interpretations neither wrong or right. Jazz Music can compare to be a revolution or a turning point for Music, since the Music was unheard of at the time. Although Jazz is more than just being different for its time. Jazz defines if not the same but similar characteristics of an American. Jazz values the qualities of freedom, independent ambitious and successful. Although ambitious and successful are two words that really relate to an American and Jazz Music. The characteristics freedom and independent strongly relate to Jazz also. The freedom to create such a master piece of a genre is impressive, especially since it was began in America. The independence in each work sets it aside from other genres, and leaves Jazz almost as a phenomenon of America.
Both Jazz and Americans are a new way of thinking of ideas that already existed before. Jazz is a combination of cultural and emotional idea's that were in the American mindset in the 20th century. Jazz actually can be broken down in to emotions of Americans and the cultural influences in America. Americans though are realistically a more ideological group of people, resembling all different heritages. Jazz Music holds a positive reputation meaning everyone who actually listens, rather than hears the music respects the work of Jazz. Americans also follow this pattern, the American reputation is both positive and negative, although everyone has respect of the fact that America has reached its peak of being the controlling most influential country in the world. Within both ideas respect can be found, along with being influential to America.
The journey of America portrays ambition and success within a whole country. Without the ambition of Europeans to distinguish themselves in the world; and without the ambition for Americans to express/share feelings throughout the country, Jazz may not exist. America is a country dependent on revising upon previous ideas. The American story is: a revised pieced together work, from other countries and cultures stories that have influenced us.
It's taken me a while to understand why I’ve spent so many nights studying beneath the only light turned on in our dark and silent house. I hate the feeling when I’m the last one to go to sleep, with no one to say good night to. Sometimes I wonder why I bother working so hard, that maybe I would be happier if I didn’t. Tonight it’s been incredibly frustrating staring at my blank document for an hour and a half willing myself to write something “WOW” worthy. And maybe I still don’t completely understand why I do this. But I do know that something holy in my life lies within my reason. I thought that education itself was the holiness; and yes, I love to learn. But I don’t think that that is all of it. When I walk into Fogg every morning, occasionally there is the feeling of dread surrounding the test I may not be as prepared for as I would like to be, but more often than not I feel comforted. The holiness could be that feeling of comfort. Although sometimes I wish that I were in college already, I remember every day that I have less than two years left in this environment, and maybe that knowledge is part of what makes it holy. The holiness could be more than that; it could also be the feeling I got my freshman year when on my very last English paper I earned an A, after wanting so badly the entire year to improve from the C+ I received on my first paper. Maybe the holiness is the feeling of accomplishment. Maybe it’s during my guitar lesson when I play a song that I love. Or maybe, when I finally am able to fall asleep at night, the holiness is the feeling of resolution. So I don’t have an exact word or phrase to pinpoint what is holy in my life. But I know there is a certain holiness between 8 AM and 6 PM which makes the late nights worthwhile. There must be something holy in it, because what would be the point if there wasn’t. When I am still thinking about a class discussion as I walk through hallways, run in cross country, and do my homework at night, I know there is something holy about it. Just as Jack Kerouac’s story was a “stream of consciousness”, so is this. And just as Sal is figuring out what is holy to him, I am doing the same. But I think we both know on a subconscious level that there is holiness that is already there.
For all those who have posted thus far--thank you--in my mind you are Prophets of the Wow. Well done and keep them coming.
“In the Universe, your journey will never end.”
Since 9th grade I have had this very strong attachment to symbolism, taking my thoughts and stretching them beyond normal expectations. Symbolism was taking a hold on me and I loved it. Through that whole year I had been creating something, something not of a tangible form but one would think it possible by its close proximity to our existence.
When I am presented with a question:
What is holy to me?
The First thing I put was simply, the Stars.
The beginning of my story lies in the secrets of the universe. It is in a sense like trying to catch a fish in space…Will it ever happen? Will you ever find it? Will you ever be able to catch it? I had finally found something able to carry my weight. The stars themselves tell a story and like them the story of my life grows larger and brighter.
To truly find what you are looking for, you must seek the knowledge, not beg for it to given to you.
I have tried and tried again to understand the real root to the symbolism, is it me? Is there a connection between the two? I believe that I have grown worthy of saying that the stars represent me as a person.
Do they hold my past or my Future? I Believe only time will tell. The light in the Darkness will always find a way to guide me through my life, no matter what kind of path I will take.
“Everything in the Universe is knit together by a thread connecting the stars, giving them life, meaning, purpose, and the strength to continue burning brightly through the everlasting darkness that surrounds us.”
Why us?
I had asked a favor of Trestan by asking him to give me a response to this quote. When he had finished reading through it, I had received a one word answer…He said, “God.”
Then he went on to explain his reasoning behind this response…”Obviously the stars I connected with you, and lying under them all. But I thought of God and how symbolic it is, he is the Stars.”
It may just be me and my crazy fascination and close felt connection to the stars but think about this…
“We are the bright new stars born of a screaming black hole.”- Dave Eggers
The Stars are truthfully the Holiest of holy’s for me
Katadhin, also known as "The Greatest Mountain" the name given by the Penobscot Indians. Boy, does that fit. This past summer I was given the opportunity to climb this beauty. Hiking and Backpacking has always been holy to me, for as long as I have known. From Chocorua with my family to Washington with my friend, nothing compares to the thrill that you get when your on the knifes edge standing 5,000 feet above the world.
More general, hiking makes me feel alive. It is one of the only times that I don't feel like anything. I'm not climbing for my parents, my teachers, my friends. I am hiking for me, this makes it holy. Climbing, Climbing. thinking your at the top just to realize you are merely half way. I live for this. Hiking for me translates into life. If you go to fast, and rush, then you are bound to slip. Maybe you will get lucky and just roll an ankle, but what if you don't? you have no decision on how far you will fall. You have to eliminate those odds, take your time and respect the mountain. Everyone on the trail has their own pace, some are able to walk with pace while others take their time. The trail understands you for who you are. It has no previous information about who you are, or what you have done.
Hike a 5,000 foot mountain...in New England...In the middle of November, then come talk to me. It might be the most physically challenging thing you do and you might want to give up at some points. But as you stand on the top of the world, never forget the journey that you went on getting there. Because getting there is Half the story, and maybe just maybe you will be able to realize what is really holy in life.
“She believed she could so she did” Suzanne Berry
I feel as though people aren’t created I feel that they are molded to what they are faced with. A person is a part of everything that has happened in their life. I myself have changed a lot since I’ve come to Berwick Academy. Most will say it is not possible but I’ve become shyer. A person’s personality is tough at times to completely know; but when faced with tough decisions it usually shows a person’s true personality.
Friends are the ones who mold you. People like certain traits in their friends and typically try to embody that trait within them. Friends have the most influence in your life. I can usually tell when a friend is true. There is a moment where you just know, I find myself saying: wow, I’m glad that this person is in my life. I make friends really easily, if you just spend time with me you’ll find that I am easy to get and that I’m pretty easy to please too; I enjoy the simple things in life. For example this weekend I got some new Pointe shoes and I spend my whole Sunday just walking around in them grinning from ear to ear. My friends that are usually way too good for me; they always end up figuring out my problems before I’ve even ignolaged that they are a problem. My friends are also a big part of my life, they are what keep me sane and impact my life immensely, and even the quote above was given to me from one of my best friends.
Not everyone knows exactly who they are. They just know certain characteristics. I myself know certain traits that always stick out. I am the most caring person; I always put others first and no is the hardest word for me to say. I am especially easy to talk to, people find me trustworthy and not judgmental at all. Also I try to stay as positive as possible, at times it is hard but whenever I see someone I try to smile. Most of my really close friends say that I look weird when I don’t have a smile on my face. I’m that kind of girl who sings along to the radio even though I don’t know the words to the song, I just make them up. Even though my story isn’t finished yet, this is what I do know will be included it and that it will be a pretty extraordinary story too.
A Self-Assessment:
If I had to give myself a grade for American Studies, I suppose I’d choose 84%. That’s a fine number, though just a bit below my expectations. However, a number can never really sum up all the work, effort, and participation one puts into a class, can it? A grade is never a truly perfect representation of a student. Or at least that’s what everyone tells me. “It’s not about the grade; it’s about learning, improving yourself, and achieving your goals”. So, I’m going to hide that rigid, solid, inflexible 84 away for now and review my goals for American Studies.
1. To make it a habit to annotate everything I read, take notes on everything I read, and never have blank pages. I think I’ve ignored that goal a few (well, more like several) times. Still need to work on that. 2. To be an asset to American Studies and participate often. Well, I have been doing more listening than participating in discussions. Sometimes I haven’t had anything to say, but maybe I just need to think more. The idea could be right in front of me, waiting to be absorbed. I’ll work on it. 3. To find the class and most things that we do interesting, valuable, and memorable. Yes. That I have accomplished, but it didn’t take that much effort. 4. To become closer to reaching my full potential as a student of English and History. This is just a way too general, lame goal. I’m sure I’ll improve this year, I already have. 5. To increase my skills as a writer, thinker, reader, analyzer, and student. Again, another lame goal. But, one I’ve already partially accomplished.
These goals are too generic, broad, and impersonal for me. I’ll need to improve them, as well as completely achieve them. Perhaps later this year I’ll erase one that I’ve accomplished and write goals that are filled with more spirit, and meaning to me. I guess at the time I wasn’t feeling very eloquent or creative, but that’s really no excuse.
My attribute that needs work still needs work. Consistency – doing well on all quizzes/assignments, completely reading all the time, annotating everything, and participating every day. Consistency is one of my major flaws as a human already, never mind as a student. But I know I can improve, because I know what the problem is. Identification is the first step; now all I need to do is figure out how to get there from where I’m standing now.
Who Am I?
I am an American. It’s only recently that I’ve realized I am the quintessential American. My belief has always been that I am different than every other American, and that I could never be represented by one country’s image of a citizen. But it’s that thought of individuality that makes the people of America, the idea that every one of us has our own story and our own choices to make. The American’s story is their journey to reach what they believe is holy.
I am a true American, for I do have my own story, formed by the people, and in fact the society that surrounds me. When I was young I looked at the people around me thinking of the ways that I differed from them, and how to me they were the average American, all with the same story. Never once did I put myself in their shoes, and actually think about how they too were different than the others around them as well. I see now that there is not one story that applies to all Americans, but it’s the stories of every American that makes our country what it is; a place where people can find what is holy to them, and pursue it.
I have yet to find that something truly holy to me, but for now my story is of the search and the adventure in that search. My life has had many events shaping who I am today, influencing the choices I make and path I chose to follow. As I see it now, I aim for the journey with most excitement and thrill hoping to find that one something that brings me joy. As my story continues I begin to see traces of the people and places around me, and the effect they’ve had on my story and my character. These factors only slightly affect my life, the real power lies within the hands of the story writer, the writer who the story is about and only I have the will to write this story. It is this story only that will show who I am. I am an American.
this is jordan sanford
What is holy?
To any ordinary audience member in attendance for a live production of a musical or a straight play, they don’t realize how much work goes forward into the production. They don’t know about the long (and sometimes tedious) rehearsals where everyone has to learn the blocking (stage movement), the choreography, their lines, and the music and lyrics.
For the people behind the curtain it’s a whole different story, for they to need to take note of the blocking (and most of the times choreography), learn light and sounds cues, and how to strike and set the props.
I know some people don’t enjoy their jobs, they don’t look at their jobs and judge them as being “fun” or “cool.” But for me, every time I am at the Seacoast Repertory Theatre in downtown Portsmouth I feel as though I have entered a sacred temple. Every time, I am inside the theatre I am reminded of the countless actors, stage crew, and stage managers who have walked on the same stage I do.
While Dean has sex to keep him holy and Sal’s holiness is derived from his travels, I find the Seacoast Repertory Theatre the place that is holy to me. I enjoy the step by step process that goes into pulling a show together. It’s molded to fit within a special place inside of my heart. The people that I have met there have become some of my best friends. I find myself showing up early to rehearsals in order to be able to spend more time with them.
Backstage, life is hectic. I’ve learned that I thrive in this environment. The erratic drum of a heartbeat during a pressured quick change, the millisecond that is allowed to be able to perfectly hit the sound or light cue at the precise moment, and stepping onto the stage during a blackout to strike or set a prop dressed clad in black clothing in order to be nearly invisible to the audience, is the excitement equivalent to being a pitcher who is one strike away from throwing a perfect game.
During the run of a show, the cast are more than simply peers or colleagues. We become a family. Thursdays through Sundays the cast and crew spend more time with each other than time shared with our own families. On days where we have both matinees and evening shows, we walk through downtown Portsmouth, in search of interesting places to eat. The conversations become priceless and the laughter is inevitable.
Then everything changes. There’s the closing performance, a standing ovation during the curtain call and the work lights are brought up on the stage to prepare for a full night of strike. As quickly as the cast came together, they disperse. Some leave to go back to New York City, or the towns in which they come from and prepare themselves for their next show. I remember fondly of each and every individual of the incredibly talented casts with whom I’ve worked. Staying in touch with them, by email or phones is never the same as the rush or the thrill of working with them in a show.
P.s. I have to say and admit I am scared out of my mind to post this.
That was Rachel Murphy by the way, I have no idea why it wouldn't let me post as my name I apologise. And the verification word I had last time was: Paradise... How fitting. hmmm
What is holy?
The first thing that comes to mind when I think of the word holy is religion. The word holy and religion hold a strong connection with each other, and “holy” as a word would probably not even have been invented if it wasn’t for religion. The main definition of holy, in several different dictionaries is about strong religious faith, having spiritual views, and being sacred as declared by religious authority. I personally dislike religion, so when the first meaning that comes into your head is all about religion it tends to make me dislike the word and avoid using it.
Another reason I tend to avoid using the word holy is that honestly it scares me. People make it out to be such a passionate and strong word. For something to be holy it has to be past anyone’s perception of amazing or wonderful, it has to step onto that whole new level. What is possibly so great that even people, such as myself, who don’t hold religion and religious views on that high of a pedestal, can’t even fully comprehend? It would be much easier to change the view of the word, and say that because I’m not religious the word holy isn’t special or powerful. It’s unimportant and almost meaningless. Writing about things that are unimportant could be very simple. I am wearing a black t-shirt, and sitting at my desk doing homework. The question “what is unimportant?” is answered so simply. “What is holy?” is a much more complex question.
My attempt to answer this question is this. The only thing in my life that makes sense for the word “holy” to describe would be my friends and the relationships that I have with them. These people, as a whole, not one in particular, would be the most holy thing I know. I have friends who I see once or twice a year, ones who I talk to a few times a week, ones who I have never met personally, and ones who I talk to daily. This then shrinks down to people I consider more family than my blood relatives, then the people who I couldn’t live without, and lastly the friends I have who are the reason I’m living. This is an incredibly small collection of people in comparison to the population of the world, or even just the population of New England, but somehow they have managed to become “holy.” If this is important, I’m not sure. If you need to have something “holy” in your life in order to really live, I’m not sure of that either. I’m assuming, and hoping, that as time goes on these answers will show up in a much greater form of clarity. Although my biggest hope is that the relationships I’ve had, I have, and I will have, will remain on the great level of “holy.”
I look at the ocean and I find comfort. I seek comfort in the rolling waves and the movement of something so large as a whole. I find myself in that movement, I find my family and where I come from in that rough blue, green water. I know who I am when I hear an engine and waves slapping themselves against a bow; I know who I am when I smell the dead fish and poke at their eyes; I know who I am when I can push a lobster trap off into the water and see the splash. Maybe it’s not only because I can feel who I am when I am on the water, but I can see who I am. I look into the water and I see my reflection, I see my shadow, I see some form of me. The salty water calls to me; it screams my name when I stare into its dark abyss. I connect with myself when I am on that ocean, when I can relax and smell a smell of home. When I burry my head into my father’s embrace I smell the salt, the air, the wind and the fish and that is home. That is what is holy to me, that big blue, green ocean.
I could lose myself in that ocean so easily. My lack of comfort on this solid land is not something that I am used to yet. The lack of the unknown and where my path is leading is strange to me. The ocean offers so much promise to me. It offers so much comfort, at times is unbearable. The ocean is where I am happiest, its where my family is happiest. The sparkle in my father’s eye, the seriousness plastered on my brothers face and the relaxation throughout my mother’s body is what the ocean brings to them. To me it brings that comfort of being home. Home, a place where I don’t need to worry about being judged, where I am accepted as I am, for who I am.
The ocean is so holy to me it hurts. It makes me scream in agony when I’m not near it or floating on it. I feel claustrophobic when I can’t see the ocean when I can’t see the long yellow, green seaweed flowing with the movement of the waves. That ocean is my release. I could be the angriest person in the world and just sitting on those rocks that lead to the ocean will make everything drift away. It floats away with the tide, clears my head and relaxes me. I wish I could do it more often, just sit there in silence and think. My busy life leaves no time for the ocean. My homework is never to go home and do something that is holy to you, or something that will make you think. If it was the ocean wouldn’t just be something that I floated on, it would be my place. The place that made me grow up and face the wind and the salt blowing in my eyes, making them sting.
I understand that I am shaping who I am, I am molding myself into the person that I want to be, but the ocean has contributed so much to it. The holiness of the ocean is unbelievable. Its mind blowing how much the ocean plays a part in my life. No one knows how the ocean makes me feel. Everyone sees my home as a solid shingled house, but I see my home through the rolling, unsteady waves. Maybe that’s the key; in order to find what’s holy to us we need to dive into the places that allow us to find our homes, our comfort.
Until about a year and a half ago I was someone for whom the word jazz only brought to mind only one thing, stuffy elevator music. So when my voice instructor brought out a piece called “Stormy Weather” and told me it was a jazz ballad I think she may have seen me gag a little bit. She played it for me and I didn’t start to feel nauseous or have any other sort of allergic reaction to the, genre (granted I wasn’t impressed that that point either) and I agreed to take home a cd and listen through a few times. After having if for a few days I was surprised to find that it had grown on me. There was a freedom to it I was unfamiliar with, where you could pause, hold a note or even change it without ruining the parts of the other instruments. The diction needn’t be perfect so long as you could belt out the full, whole, emotion. I heard combinations of notes that you couldn’t find in classical music from Europe. In that peice I found that Jazz wasn’t something outdated and stuffy, it was something entirely new.
America is made of the same tension, same flow, the same rhythm. You can hear songs like Miles Davis’s Milestones playing in New York City, and I bet if you listen hard enough you can hear it all the way in California too. Sal’s East and Dean’s west have same dissonances and harmony’s as any jazz piece. They are our nations dialogue, where we “tiptoe around each other like heartbreaking new friends ” (4). They have to blend together otherwise the entire thing falls apart. Sal still sees the East and the West as separate, a paradise and a sickness, a future and a past but they need each other as much a jazz song need different parts.
If you want to know what Milestone sounds like here is a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRfdlcQ_MZw
-Katie Gill
Two Things that Are Holy for Me:
David Foster Wallace: Everything that is a failure is a victory.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mVzhhvCRTCo
and
Andrew Bird
Tenuousness: n. something very weak or thinly constructed
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySoOkE92KlY
Thank you,
AK
America has too many expectations of a person, how to do something, when to do it, and to always do it right. This perfection is bound to get to people and sometimes you need that time where you don’t have to think about what the world wants you to do, or how they want you to do it. You need to let yourself break free of that burden that the world puts on top of your shoulders because after all, you can’t carry it all. I think that something holy to you should be important , or something that you want to do in order to benefit yourself, not the world. A person shouldn’t live by the expectations of the world, but rather what they want to do for themselves. I did not always think this way, but I have recently realized its more important of what I think of myself, not what others think. I used to be the type of person that always tried to strive and do what society thought was right, and try not to show my differences. I’ve recently realized that your differences make you unique, and what you want to do with your life, is what makes you holy. I have set goals for myself that are due to my standards, not society’s and I feel so much more comfortable. I feel that this is the way to live because its your life, no one else’s.
Often times, when the frustration of the world comes down on my shoulders, I take out blank pieces of paper and draw, but only with crayola crayons. This is something that’s holy to me because its how I live and take out my frustrations. I don’t know what it is; maybe it’s the different types of designs with the colors that just helps me break free in a constructive way. Whenever I take out a piece of paper I never know what exactly I will be drawing. It is so unpredictable, and that’s what I think life should be all about. It shouldn’t be about someone monitoring how you live your life, its all about you, and how much you expect of yourself.
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