“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Shannon looked up from the rock she was trying to pry loose from the hard-packed ground.
“Why not?”
Laurie took a moment to phrase her response. “Cause you’ll make a big hole and someone could trip.”
Shannon smiled.
“Perfect.” She went back to her digging.
The rock was approximately three feet across in all directions, and two feet deep. It was a relatively smooth one, and up until Shannon had started digging it had lain flat in the ground, its top parallel to the ground. It had always been one of Laurie’s favorites to hop from. She would try to jump from it to the next nearest rock without letting even a smidgen of earth touch her feet. It was the largest visible rock in the yard.
“Why start with that one, Shannon?” Laurie whined. Really, she would miss it.
“Don’t you ever wonder what’s under it?”
“No!” Shannon had unearthed more than half of the rock by now and Laurie was starting to feel a little hysterical.
“Shannon, wait just a sec, okay. Please? Please?”
Shannon paused once more and Laurie felt a small surge of hope. Maybe should could talk her out of it after all.
“Shannie, it’s just that I really like that rock, you know. And it’s so close to the house; I mean, couldn’t you pick one out by the fence where no one would see it. It’s going to be so ugly!” Shannon stood and placed her dirty hands on Laurie’s shoulders.
“Laurie, it’s… just… one…. rock.” She said the words very slowly, like she was talking to a person that wasn't completely "there." “Once I’m done, you can put it back for all I care.” She bent down and quickly finished the job. With Laurie watching unhappily, Shannon wedged her fingers under the rock, braced herself, and hefted it out of the ground. She rocked it back and forth a couple of times, her arms taut from its weight, and, finally, hurled it as far across the yard as she could. She turned to look back at Laurie who seemed on the verge of tears and put a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“It’s okay. It’s all over.” She guided Laurie back into the house and the two spent the next few hours playing games. Laurie could almost forget it ever happened.
_____
A week after Shannon unearthed that first rock, she went back and took a closer look at the hole she had created. She found, much to her surprise, that there were another two rocks whose edges met in the exact center of the hole. She, of course, couldn’t resist the challenge of digging them up too.
______
Three years later, what had started as a spur-of-the-moment whim, had turned into an obsession for Shannon. The ground around the house was nothing but a series of deeper and deeper holes, for she found, as soon as she dug up one rock, many more were exposed beneath the surface of the old one. The rocks were often bigger and bigger as well. At one point, the holes and rocks were getting so big that she had to buy heavy machinery to do most of the work. In fact, at that point, she found that she was not alone in her fascination with rock digging; she found an entire like-minded crew of people to help her.
Shannon and her team felt a real sense of purpose through their endeavors. The thrill of going deeper and deeper was intoxicating and Shannon doubted she’d ever stop. Sometimes they found real little treasures as they dug. Beautiful rocks. Skeletons of many small creatures. At one point, they even started to find seashells. It was all so worth it.
Of course, Shannon did have to get rid of the house at one point, about five years after that first day. There was just so much ground under it. And Laurie was long gone before that happened. Every once in a while she missed Laurie with an intensity she didn’t understand. But Laurie had been completely incapable of understanding what she was doing. In the early days, Shannon had tried explaining what she was doing many times, but Laurie had just never been able to grasp it.
“Look at all the things we’re finding!” she had shouted the day Laurie had moved out.
“Yes, but that’s not why you’re digging, is it Shannon.” Laurie had replied sadly, and shook her head as she walked away.
“Well at least I had the ambition to do something,” Shannon had yelled after Laurie’s retreating back. “All you ever wanted to do was sit around and look at the dumb scenery! You’re so ignorant!” She got postcards from Laurie from then on, and they were always predictably boring.
All those years later, however, she would still hear Laurie’s voice in her head every once in a while.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Well, you’re not me, Shannon would answer the memory, so you’ve gotta do what you do, and I’ve gotta do what I do. And it was true.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
technology and taking things for granted...
I'm going to put a link to a kind of funny, somewhat negative rant that aired recently. It makes me cringe but also makes me laugh, because I've felt the way he does sometimes, about people and their entitlement in this current world of marvels and technology. I won't embed it here, though... I don't think it's cool enough to deserve placement on this blog. Link, and warning: there is one bleeped out word and a reference to "taking a dump" and he uses the Lord's name in vain... so maybe don't watch it at all, I don't know.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoGYx35ypus
Anyway, it was refreshing to me to see that someone in pop culture feels the way that I do. I'm not completely off base, wacky, Mormon girl who's just angsty about pop culture... it really is a problem that even worldly people notice. If you'd rather not veiw it, the basic upshot of this clip is... we live in this world of amazing technology and the potential for so much good, and what does this generation use it for?
And what have we come to expect, what is our entitlement like?
I was thinking about the previous question. We have so many amazing things in this world, so many technologies that make our lives much easier, save time, make our taskload much smaller. In addition to the phenomenons mentioned in the video, I'm thinking of much more revolutionary things like supermarkets and refrigeration and trucking (you don't have to grow your own food anymore—huge load lightener) telecommunications (including the internet), transportation (he mentioned this, but even trains were huge. When Salt Lake City got the railroad through, that completely changed the city.)
Sometimes these things bring bad along with the good. What do all of you think these technologies are for?
I've been looking for a long time to find a quote I heard once. I think it was by Brigham Young, and the basic point of the quote had to with these labor and time-saving technologies. He inferred that it was to give us more time for temple work, and to find our ancestors and perform their ordinances.
This clip is certainly not an example of godly use of technology itself... the man is entertaining. But I thought it was an apt illustration of how we take what we have for granted. Perhaps this is what leads to improper use of it, and the ability for Satan to turn these things to his purposes?
Thoughts, anyone?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoGYx35ypus
Anyway, it was refreshing to me to see that someone in pop culture feels the way that I do. I'm not completely off base, wacky, Mormon girl who's just angsty about pop culture... it really is a problem that even worldly people notice. If you'd rather not veiw it, the basic upshot of this clip is... we live in this world of amazing technology and the potential for so much good, and what does this generation use it for?
And what have we come to expect, what is our entitlement like?
I was thinking about the previous question. We have so many amazing things in this world, so many technologies that make our lives much easier, save time, make our taskload much smaller. In addition to the phenomenons mentioned in the video, I'm thinking of much more revolutionary things like supermarkets and refrigeration and trucking (you don't have to grow your own food anymore—huge load lightener) telecommunications (including the internet), transportation (he mentioned this, but even trains were huge. When Salt Lake City got the railroad through, that completely changed the city.)
Sometimes these things bring bad along with the good. What do all of you think these technologies are for?
I've been looking for a long time to find a quote I heard once. I think it was by Brigham Young, and the basic point of the quote had to with these labor and time-saving technologies. He inferred that it was to give us more time for temple work, and to find our ancestors and perform their ordinances.
This clip is certainly not an example of godly use of technology itself... the man is entertaining. But I thought it was an apt illustration of how we take what we have for granted. Perhaps this is what leads to improper use of it, and the ability for Satan to turn these things to his purposes?
Thoughts, anyone?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The Door to There
The first time Randy stepped through the door to the other world it looked just like this world. Except there were no people there. Randy’s house was just the same, there was the same food in the refrigerator, the phone worked, but no one to call. Randy spent the day there, a very nice quiet day.
Later in the week Randy had a day off, so he went through the door for a second time. The other world looked the same as this one, and there were no people. Except the morning was much nicer and sunny, and the slightest breeze stirred the leaves. Randy spent a while in the garden, reading, dozing. Then he walked to town, visited the shops, but there were no clerks to pay. No one to steal from.
Randy went often now through the door to the other world. All of the objects there were just like they had been in this world at the time he left it, so he never wanted for anything. There were no people, so he had absolute tranquility, complete privacy. He went everywhere, went into houses, drove cars, swam and played and hiked and napped, and found himself enjoying that world very much--much more than he enjoyed this world.
. . . .
When Randy stepped through the door for the one hundredth time, the other world still looked like this one but something was happening. Stark clouds raced across the sky and a brisk wind blew the trees all about. A storm was brewing. It was the first storm he'd ever seen there, in fact, the first bad weather of any kind. Randy found it unsettling and was about to return home, when he heard music, piano music. It was something beautiful and morose. Was it Kavovsky’s Prelude in C Flat Minor? Though Randy was uneasy, he decided that he must follow the sound, reach its source. If he was not really alone in this world, he certainly needed to know it.
The wind blew Randy's hair and shirttails around violently as he made his way down Sixth Street to an old house where the music played. The clouds by now were much darker. Hello? Randy called into the house. Inside he could see but little, and the music itself was thick and dark. Randy had to move slowly and deliberately as he made his way through the halls of the mansion--to the music's source. And there, finally, he saw: the music was coming through an open door, but he recognized that kind of door. It was a door that led to yet another world.
Randy stepped through the door into the other world but it did not look like this world, because, as it turns out, it was no world at all, for there was nothing there, nothing to stand on, nothing to hold onto, no way to turn around, no way to step back to the door, nothing there, nothing but the music, and, no, it was not Kavovsky's Prelude in C Flat Minor.
. . .
Randy was not dreaming. He was awake. This is his world. Randy had always imagined it just as he pleased. But today something he himself had not planned had entered into it. How could this happen? Was it a Dream that came into the daydream through that other door? Did it come in much earlier than that stormy day? Was it there hiding, watching, when he first walked to town, when he first sat out in the garden, when he first checked his telephone? When, really, did Randy leave off making his world, and when did the Dream begin making Randy? What was the flaw in his creating that it should all end like this? How could Randy have kept himself safe?
. . .
Randy stepped through the door, and it looked just like his favorite place, and the waves were breaking, the sun was glistening over the ocean, and the others were splashing and calling to him. Come on Randy! The water's not cold!
The first time Randy stepped through the door to the other world it looked just like this world. Except there were no people there. Randy’s house was just the same, there was the same food in the refrigerator, the phone worked, but no one to call. Randy spent the day there, a very nice quiet day.
Later in the week Randy had a day off, so he went through the door for a second time. The other world looked the same as this one, and there were no people. Except the morning was much nicer and sunny, and the slightest breeze stirred the leaves. Randy spent a while in the garden, reading, dozing. Then he walked to town, visited the shops, but there were no clerks to pay. No one to steal from.
Randy went often now through the door to the other world. All of the objects there were just like they had been in this world at the time he left it, so he never wanted for anything. There were no people, so he had absolute tranquility, complete privacy. He went everywhere, went into houses, drove cars, swam and played and hiked and napped, and found himself enjoying that world very much--much more than he enjoyed this world.
. . . .
When Randy stepped through the door for the one hundredth time, the other world still looked like this one but something was happening. Stark clouds raced across the sky and a brisk wind blew the trees all about. A storm was brewing. It was the first storm he'd ever seen there, in fact, the first bad weather of any kind. Randy found it unsettling and was about to return home, when he heard music, piano music. It was something beautiful and morose. Was it Kavovsky’s Prelude in C Flat Minor? Though Randy was uneasy, he decided that he must follow the sound, reach its source. If he was not really alone in this world, he certainly needed to know it.
The wind blew Randy's hair and shirttails around violently as he made his way down Sixth Street to an old house where the music played. The clouds by now were much darker. Hello? Randy called into the house. Inside he could see but little, and the music itself was thick and dark. Randy had to move slowly and deliberately as he made his way through the halls of the mansion--to the music's source. And there, finally, he saw: the music was coming through an open door, but he recognized that kind of door. It was a door that led to yet another world.
Randy stepped through the door into the other world but it did not look like this world, because, as it turns out, it was no world at all, for there was nothing there, nothing to stand on, nothing to hold onto, no way to turn around, no way to step back to the door, nothing there, nothing but the music, and, no, it was not Kavovsky's Prelude in C Flat Minor.
. . .
Randy was not dreaming. He was awake. This is his world. Randy had always imagined it just as he pleased. But today something he himself had not planned had entered into it. How could this happen? Was it a Dream that came into the daydream through that other door? Did it come in much earlier than that stormy day? Was it there hiding, watching, when he first walked to town, when he first sat out in the garden, when he first checked his telephone? When, really, did Randy leave off making his world, and when did the Dream begin making Randy? What was the flaw in his creating that it should all end like this? How could Randy have kept himself safe?
. . .
Randy stepped through the door, and it looked just like his favorite place, and the waves were breaking, the sun was glistening over the ocean, and the others were splashing and calling to him. Come on Randy! The water's not cold!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Communicating with Christ
Is it OK to talk/pray to Christ? I know that we pray to God in the name of Christ and that we can thank God for our Savior and His Atonement, but is there anywhere in the scriptures/modern revelation that tells us we shouldn't talk to Christ?
In Alma 36:16-19 it talks about Alma's experience when he "cried out" to Christ. Alma is telling his son Helaman about his experiences while he was "passed out" for three days.
He says, "And now, for three days and for three nights was I racked, even with the pains of a damned soul. And it came to pass as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.
Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death. And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more."
Alma cried unto Christ within his heart. Alma talked to Christ. And I bet that Alma continued to have some form of communication with Christ for the rest of his life. I'm sure that he wanted to thank Christ for taking his sins away.
My main point is that I'm interested to know what everyone thinks about open communication with Christ. I believe it's a life-long goal to want to have a stronger personal relationship with Christ, and I feel that when I study his life, I'm drawn to want to address him more. I'm not saying that I kneel and pray to Christ, but that I want to speak/address him more frequently.
Thoughts?
In Alma 36:16-19 it talks about Alma's experience when he "cried out" to Christ. Alma is telling his son Helaman about his experiences while he was "passed out" for three days.
He says, "And now, for three days and for three nights was I racked, even with the pains of a damned soul. And it came to pass as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold, I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy unto the people concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a Son of God, to atone for the sins of the world.
Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death. And now, behold, when I thought this, I could remember my pains no more; yea, I was harrowed up by the memory of my sins no more."
Alma cried unto Christ within his heart. Alma talked to Christ. And I bet that Alma continued to have some form of communication with Christ for the rest of his life. I'm sure that he wanted to thank Christ for taking his sins away.
My main point is that I'm interested to know what everyone thinks about open communication with Christ. I believe it's a life-long goal to want to have a stronger personal relationship with Christ, and I feel that when I study his life, I'm drawn to want to address him more. I'm not saying that I kneel and pray to Christ, but that I want to speak/address him more frequently.
Thoughts?
Friday, February 20, 2009
Counterfeit Sweets
So in church on Sunday, the talks were about the Word of Wisdom. Between going in and out of the chapel with a noisy baby, one of the speakers caught my attention. He asked the question (and I think he was quoting someone he knew with this whole idea):
Why don’t vegetables taste better if they’re good for you??
Now, I’ve long held my own opinions on this topic—it’s a question I have woefully considered most of my life. I even proudly came up with the motto “Nothing good was ever easy” to motivate myself because of such unfortunate twists of fate. But the speaker’s response was not what I was expecting!
He said… they do!
His claim was that they do taste good—or at least they did until the adversary’s counterfeit version came around.
When I heard that, I must admit I thought it was rather silly, and I would have been the first to argue that vegetables just don’t cut it. And how could chocolate muffins have been invented by anyone but the kindest person in the world? But throughout the week I’ve been thinking about this idea a little more.
Before processed foods and partially hydrogenated oil and ice cream sundaes, there were fruits and vegetables. Fruits are sweet, undeniably. Pineapple, strawberries, watermelon, oranges. Mmmm. Vegetables make you feel good when you eat them. They add flavor, they satisfy the needs of your body. There are even some vegetables that I am starting to appreciate as I get older (shhh! don’t tell anyone I said that…). But if you are surrounded by donuts and orange soda, it's hard to recognize any of that. It's hard not to be distracted.
I wonder if I would have loved vegetables had I been born in a day and age without Reese’s Pieces??
Yes, I think there is some merit in the idea that Satan is trying to distract us from what our body really needs. More sugar, more fat, more salt, more flavor! He wants us to pay attention to instant gratification when it comes to food, just like when it comes to anything else. And he doesn’t want us to observe the way our bodies feel after we come home from a burger joint and all that fried food is making our stomachs do flips. He doesn’t want us to notice just how many handfuls of snacky items we are shoving into our mouths while staring at a screen.
Josh and I have been trying to listen to our bodies better. We want to eat what our body feels like eating instead of what our taste buds are shouting. I don’t do very well, but I’m going to keep at it. And maybe someday, someday! my taste buds will beg me for a little more zucchini.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Planning in advance to sin and then repent
1) If a person sins (say, for example, he/she steals), planning at that time to later repent of that sin, he/she is committing a second sin also--the sin of planning in advance to sin and repent, and thus, trying to manipulate the atonement to facilitate sinning. This second sin might be harder to repent of than the original sin of stealing--and a person could get caught in a cycle of insincerity, or in ambivalent layers of intention and mis-intention within one's own mind and soul. Now, is such a condition really very unlikely? Isn't it true that most of the time, when we knowingly sin, this is exactly what we are doing?
2) If, then, when we commonly commit sin, we can't avoid admitting that we aware in advance that we will need to repent later, then aren't we also aware in advance that we will have to face repenting for this second sin, too?--so we are planning in advance to repent of the second sin, as well, when we commit it--and wouldn't we, then, be committing a third sin--the sin of planning to repent of planning to repent of a sin? And can we avoid admitting that we plan to repent of this third sin, and aren't we then committing a fourth sin, that of planning to repent of planning to repent of planning to repent of a sin? And, similarly, aren't we also committing a fifth sin, and in fact an infinite regression of sins? Well, this line of thought seems unrealistic, but it is not too different than some explorations of the idea of self-awareness (I'm aware that I'm aware that I'm aware . . .) which has been thought to be a defining aspect of consciousness. Or it is not too different than some analyses of relationships between two people where an infinite regress is seen as an essential part of the dynamic (I'm aware of you being aware of me being aware of you being aware of me. . . ). Indeed, these types of things might be thought to be a feature of being human, and some say a fundamental difference between us animals, and certainly between us and a computer--the computer will get stuck in an endless loop and cannot process the issue as a whole.
3) Whatever the case may be as regards an infinite regression of sins, it is nice to note that the atonement of Christ is described as an "infinite atonement." (See 2 Nephi 9:7; 25:16; Alma 34:12)
1) If a person sins (say, for example, he/she steals), planning at that time to later repent of that sin, he/she is committing a second sin also--the sin of planning in advance to sin and repent, and thus, trying to manipulate the atonement to facilitate sinning. This second sin might be harder to repent of than the original sin of stealing--and a person could get caught in a cycle of insincerity, or in ambivalent layers of intention and mis-intention within one's own mind and soul. Now, is such a condition really very unlikely? Isn't it true that most of the time, when we knowingly sin, this is exactly what we are doing?
2) If, then, when we commonly commit sin, we can't avoid admitting that we aware in advance that we will need to repent later, then aren't we also aware in advance that we will have to face repenting for this second sin, too?--so we are planning in advance to repent of the second sin, as well, when we commit it--and wouldn't we, then, be committing a third sin--the sin of planning to repent of planning to repent of a sin? And can we avoid admitting that we plan to repent of this third sin, and aren't we then committing a fourth sin, that of planning to repent of planning to repent of planning to repent of a sin? And, similarly, aren't we also committing a fifth sin, and in fact an infinite regression of sins? Well, this line of thought seems unrealistic, but it is not too different than some explorations of the idea of self-awareness (I'm aware that I'm aware that I'm aware . . .) which has been thought to be a defining aspect of consciousness. Or it is not too different than some analyses of relationships between two people where an infinite regress is seen as an essential part of the dynamic (I'm aware of you being aware of me being aware of you being aware of me. . . ). Indeed, these types of things might be thought to be a feature of being human, and some say a fundamental difference between us animals, and certainly between us and a computer--the computer will get stuck in an endless loop and cannot process the issue as a whole.
3) Whatever the case may be as regards an infinite regression of sins, it is nice to note that the atonement of Christ is described as an "infinite atonement." (See 2 Nephi 9:7; 25:16; Alma 34:12)
Monday, February 16, 2009
Re: Zero Population
I read the post about Al Gore's documentary a few days ago and decided that I couldn't let it go without putting my $0.02 in. I typed up this response but it ended up being really long, so I just decided it to post it here. I hope I don't offend anyone!
I'm not sure how much overpopulation has to do with climate change, but I am fairly convinced that it is an important issue facing the world today. John (they guy I'm dating) is working on a masters degree in global health, so we end up talking about issues like this a lot, and he has helped me understand this one from a wider perspective.
First of all, overpopulation is not a problem in the US and other rich countries, especially France--where the population is actually decreasing. (By the way, I haven't seen the documentary. Was Al Gore suggesting that population control be implemented in the US?)
Many babies born in the US are welcomed into the world by loving families. Even when there is an unwanted or teen-age pregnancy, or a baby born to a very poor family, the baby will have somewhere to go, where she can at least receive the bare necessities of life.
Babies born in poor countries don't have it so good. For example: in Asia or Africa, there may be a village of 100 people, and only enough resources to nourish 50 people. What would you do? Feed 50 people and let the others die? Or feed all 100, leaving them all malnourished so that eventually most of them die? And if you decide to only feed 50, which 50 do you choose?
In poor countries in Africa and Asia the population is growing out of control. Sometimes parents will have lots of children to help run the farm. If they have 14 children they will expect 7 to die, leaving them with 7 to run the farm. But when every family does this, the population grows so much that the resources in the village dwindle, and pretty soon there is no more land to farm. Families move (because they have to), going to places where they can't speak the language, and have no way of earning.
In the world today, One billion people live on less than $1 a day, and two billion live on less than $2 a day. In India something like 49% of the children are malnourished. There is just not enough food for everyone. In many African countries, there are no roads, no money, lots of violence, no sanitary drinking water, unstable (if any) government, etc. Just lots and lots of people who don't have food, water, shelter, or safety.
In these places, women are having children left and right, the population is increasing, and the resources are dwindling. Not only are the people malnourished, their opportunities for education and employment are slim. Many girls in these poverty-stricken overpopulated countries end up as prostitutes (and some of the boys too). Parents in the poorest villages in Asia are often deceived into selling their children into slavery as camel jockeys, fisher boys, beggars, house maids, soldiers, and worst of all--prostitutes. Here is one article about it at TIME magazine online. (I read somewhere in this article that there are at least 60,000 child prostitutes in Thailand, though estimates go as high as 200,000.)
Do these things make God happy?
Speaking for myself, I don't exactly know what God is thinking or planning for the Earth's future. But I cannot in good conscience believe that the problems stemmed from overpopulation are of no concern to us.
So, what is the solution? It seems there are two options. The first solution is that we (the rich) do our best to help the poor. What do you suggest? Does anyone know how we can get clean water, food, jobs, education, and medicine to 3 billion people?
The other solution is that we do what we can to support the implementation population control.
I am worried that a lot of us, when the term "population control" is mentioned think of strict governmental laws eliminating your right to choose. I assure you that world leaders are not planning to use force as a means to cure the population crisis. All they are doing is giving people OPTIONS.
Let me explain. Overpopulation in poor countries is due to things like poverty, gender inequality, and unavailability/lack of knowledge of contraception. In many countries (due to economy, culture, religion, or what-have-you) women do not have control over their reproductive systems. Many do not even know what birth control is, and if they did, have no access to it.
Also, women in these countries are often not allowed to make their own decisions concerning their reproductive systems. They are required to have sex with her husbands whenever the husband wishes--often resulting in pregnancy. The woman has NO say in the matter and I assume (perhaps wrongly) that the husband doesn't care.
When Iran, Vietnam, and other Eastern European countries were ruled by communism, contraceptives were free. The availability of these resources stunted population growth. After communism, contraception was no longer free and abortions sky-rocketed. With free contraception there were less abortions and less children. Today Iran requires all couples to enroll in family planning courses before a marriage license is issued. In the US something like 62% of women of reproductive-age use birth control in some form.
Studies are showing that when women and men are given reproductive rights, they usually choose to have less children. Teaching people to have only the number of children they have resources for is the primary goal of population control. And apparently it is also a goal of the LDS church: "Decisions about birth control and the consequences of those decisions rest solely with each married couple.... Husband and wife are encouraged to pray and counsel together as they plan their families. Issues to consider include the physical and mental health of the mother and father and their capacity to provide the basic necessities of life for their children." (taken from lds.org)
The governments of poor countries haven't been able to do anything about population growth because they don't have the knowledge or the money. Organizations such as the UNFPA, FHI, and other NGOs are getting into areas that have high fertility rates and helping governments provide development and reproductive rights to men and women. An agency such as UNFPA will bring experts to an area, provide funding for and train local people to run family planning programs.
Whether LDS or not, millions of children born in Asia and Africa are not being provided with the basic necessities of life. As far as I understand it, population control through family planning and gender equality fits RIGHT IN with God's plan for us. As governments and other agencies provide women and families with options about their reproductive activity, the problems associated with overpopulation will be significantly reduced.
I'm not sure how much overpopulation has to do with climate change, but I am fairly convinced that it is an important issue facing the world today. John (they guy I'm dating) is working on a masters degree in global health, so we end up talking about issues like this a lot, and he has helped me understand this one from a wider perspective.
First of all, overpopulation is not a problem in the US and other rich countries, especially France--where the population is actually decreasing. (By the way, I haven't seen the documentary. Was Al Gore suggesting that population control be implemented in the US?)
Many babies born in the US are welcomed into the world by loving families. Even when there is an unwanted or teen-age pregnancy, or a baby born to a very poor family, the baby will have somewhere to go, where she can at least receive the bare necessities of life.
Babies born in poor countries don't have it so good. For example: in Asia or Africa, there may be a village of 100 people, and only enough resources to nourish 50 people. What would you do? Feed 50 people and let the others die? Or feed all 100, leaving them all malnourished so that eventually most of them die? And if you decide to only feed 50, which 50 do you choose?
In poor countries in Africa and Asia the population is growing out of control. Sometimes parents will have lots of children to help run the farm. If they have 14 children they will expect 7 to die, leaving them with 7 to run the farm. But when every family does this, the population grows so much that the resources in the village dwindle, and pretty soon there is no more land to farm. Families move (because they have to), going to places where they can't speak the language, and have no way of earning.
In the world today, One billion people live on less than $1 a day, and two billion live on less than $2 a day. In India something like 49% of the children are malnourished. There is just not enough food for everyone. In many African countries, there are no roads, no money, lots of violence, no sanitary drinking water, unstable (if any) government, etc. Just lots and lots of people who don't have food, water, shelter, or safety.
In these places, women are having children left and right, the population is increasing, and the resources are dwindling. Not only are the people malnourished, their opportunities for education and employment are slim. Many girls in these poverty-stricken overpopulated countries end up as prostitutes (and some of the boys too). Parents in the poorest villages in Asia are often deceived into selling their children into slavery as camel jockeys, fisher boys, beggars, house maids, soldiers, and worst of all--prostitutes. Here is one article about it at TIME magazine online. (I read somewhere in this article that there are at least 60,000 child prostitutes in Thailand, though estimates go as high as 200,000.)
Do these things make God happy?
Speaking for myself, I don't exactly know what God is thinking or planning for the Earth's future. But I cannot in good conscience believe that the problems stemmed from overpopulation are of no concern to us.
So, what is the solution? It seems there are two options. The first solution is that we (the rich) do our best to help the poor. What do you suggest? Does anyone know how we can get clean water, food, jobs, education, and medicine to 3 billion people?
The other solution is that we do what we can to support the implementation population control.
I am worried that a lot of us, when the term "population control" is mentioned think of strict governmental laws eliminating your right to choose. I assure you that world leaders are not planning to use force as a means to cure the population crisis. All they are doing is giving people OPTIONS.
Let me explain. Overpopulation in poor countries is due to things like poverty, gender inequality, and unavailability/lack of knowledge of contraception. In many countries (due to economy, culture, religion, or what-have-you) women do not have control over their reproductive systems. Many do not even know what birth control is, and if they did, have no access to it.
Also, women in these countries are often not allowed to make their own decisions concerning their reproductive systems. They are required to have sex with her husbands whenever the husband wishes--often resulting in pregnancy. The woman has NO say in the matter and I assume (perhaps wrongly) that the husband doesn't care.
When Iran, Vietnam, and other Eastern European countries were ruled by communism, contraceptives were free. The availability of these resources stunted population growth. After communism, contraception was no longer free and abortions sky-rocketed. With free contraception there were less abortions and less children. Today Iran requires all couples to enroll in family planning courses before a marriage license is issued. In the US something like 62% of women of reproductive-age use birth control in some form.
Studies are showing that when women and men are given reproductive rights, they usually choose to have less children. Teaching people to have only the number of children they have resources for is the primary goal of population control. And apparently it is also a goal of the LDS church: "Decisions about birth control and the consequences of those decisions rest solely with each married couple.... Husband and wife are encouraged to pray and counsel together as they plan their families. Issues to consider include the physical and mental health of the mother and father and their capacity to provide the basic necessities of life for their children." (taken from lds.org)
The governments of poor countries haven't been able to do anything about population growth because they don't have the knowledge or the money. Organizations such as the UNFPA, FHI, and other NGOs are getting into areas that have high fertility rates and helping governments provide development and reproductive rights to men and women. An agency such as UNFPA will bring experts to an area, provide funding for and train local people to run family planning programs.
Whether LDS or not, millions of children born in Asia and Africa are not being provided with the basic necessities of life. As far as I understand it, population control through family planning and gender equality fits RIGHT IN with God's plan for us. As governments and other agencies provide women and families with options about their reproductive activity, the problems associated with overpopulation will be significantly reduced.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Math Problem
“We start with 20,” said Mr. Phillips, “add 13 and get 33.”
I can do this. I hate math, but I can do this.
“Now if we add 12 to the previous sum, we get 45.”
I can do this. No math anxiety, I can do this.
“Let me write that all on the board:”
20+13+12 =45
Okay, I’ve got that, no problem.
“Now I don’t really need to write out the next part, it's obvious, but I'll write it here anyway:”
45 / x + 19(p / q)(m^2 / n^-14) = e^i / xyz
Wait! Where’d all that come from? She raises her hand. “Mr. Phillips, I didn’t follow what you just did.”
“Okay, Julie, let’s go over it again. See, 20 + 13 + 12 is 45. Of course then
45 / x + 19(p / q)(m^2 / n^-14) = e^i / xyz. That's really all there is to it. Okay, everybody, that’s it for today. Make sure you’re ready for the test tomorrow."
The bell rings but Julie stays after class. I’ve got to figure this out. I can’t fail this class. How I hate math. “Mr. Phillips, I just don’t get it. I understood it at first, but where’d you get all of those numbers and things all of a sudden?”
“Julie, Julie, it’s not that hard. I’m beginning to think that math just isn’t your subject.”
How can you say that? You're supposed to be a teacher. “No, Mr. Phillips, you just go too fast, that’s all. It’s impossible to follow you when you teach!”
“Is that so? Hmmm. . . Well, actually Julie, I appreciate you staying after and making it so easy to identify you all the sooner--it certainly saves us time. It will be all the sooner that we find every last one of you.”
As Mr. Phillips says this he pushes a little green button mounted on the side of his desk. The classroom door opens and two men in lab coats rush in. Mr. Phillips points to Julie and says to one of the men, “8(p xyz / x + 19(p / q)(m^2 / n^-14) = e^i / xyz 2 / n^i p / q)(m^^-1x + 19(p /)!”
The man nods and replies, “5 / x + 2 i / xyz 19(p // n^-14) = e^ q)(m^.),” and the two men grab Julie and carry her away to the ship.
“We start with 20,” said Mr. Phillips, “add 13 and get 33.”
I can do this. I hate math, but I can do this.
“Now if we add 12 to the previous sum, we get 45.”
I can do this. No math anxiety, I can do this.
“Let me write that all on the board:”
20+13+12 =45
Okay, I’ve got that, no problem.
“Now I don’t really need to write out the next part, it's obvious, but I'll write it here anyway:”
45 / x + 19(p / q)(m^2 / n^-14) = e^i / xyz
Wait! Where’d all that come from? She raises her hand. “Mr. Phillips, I didn’t follow what you just did.”
“Okay, Julie, let’s go over it again. See, 20 + 13 + 12 is 45. Of course then
45 / x + 19(p / q)(m^2 / n^-14) = e^i / xyz. That's really all there is to it. Okay, everybody, that’s it for today. Make sure you’re ready for the test tomorrow."
The bell rings but Julie stays after class. I’ve got to figure this out. I can’t fail this class. How I hate math. “Mr. Phillips, I just don’t get it. I understood it at first, but where’d you get all of those numbers and things all of a sudden?”
“Julie, Julie, it’s not that hard. I’m beginning to think that math just isn’t your subject.”
How can you say that? You're supposed to be a teacher. “No, Mr. Phillips, you just go too fast, that’s all. It’s impossible to follow you when you teach!”
“Is that so? Hmmm. . . Well, actually Julie, I appreciate you staying after and making it so easy to identify you all the sooner--it certainly saves us time. It will be all the sooner that we find every last one of you.”
As Mr. Phillips says this he pushes a little green button mounted on the side of his desk. The classroom door opens and two men in lab coats rush in. Mr. Phillips points to Julie and says to one of the men, “8(p xyz / x + 19(p / q)(m^2 / n^-14) = e^i / xyz 2 / n^i p / q)(m^^-1x + 19(p /)!”
The man nods and replies, “5 / x + 2 i / xyz 19(p // n^-14) = e^ q)(m^.),” and the two men grab Julie and carry her away to the ship.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
X is for Xerces
Robert Michael Pyle: one of my favorite people that I have never met.
Imagine him, with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard, sitting on an airplane as it crosses the Atlantic ocean. He's busily sketching on a stray piece of paper, in the precise way of a scientist who is used to diagramming and dissection. It's a logo-- a butterfly, superimposed over a large X.
X is for Xerces-- a Persian king, and a butterfly.
Why, Pyle wondered to himself, is there no society for the protection of endangered insects? Insects are a very important part of our ecosystem. And even if they did little to add to the circle of life so crucial to the health of our environment, insects deserve protection just as much as an endangered cetacean or falconiform.
He called some of his insect-loving friends to see what they thought, and they shared his enthusiasm. Thus, the Xerces Society made its beginning.
The Xerces butterfly became extinct officially in the early 1940's, but the population of this genetically unique species was noticeably reduced as early as the late 1800's. These insects had an extremely limited habitat--the sand dunes of the San Franciso peninsula. The females laid their eggs only on plants that were native to this habitat.
This is a common conundrum when dealing with butterfly population disruption. When you reduce the butterfly's native habitat, you are not only reducing the number of resources available to adult butterflies, you also tend to wipe out the types of plants that the caterpillars live on, and the plants that female butterflies lay eggs on. Because butterfly plants tend to be looked upon as "weeds", they are typically cleared out even before the area is taken up with buildings and other expansionist endeavors. The interesting thing about the Xerces and its rapid extinction, which went almost unnoticed and un-commented-upon, is that it is amazingly symbolic of the development of the area itself.
San Francisco was nothing more than a few, dry, windy sand dunes before the Spanish-American war. The modern site of Presidio at Lobos Creek was originally a Xerces blue habitat. Today it is an area that is saturated with golf courses and expensive restaurants. The development was a gradual thing: Lobos Creek became an American military base in the mid-1800's. Soon afterward, gold was discovered. Because of the ripple effect of the huge population boom during the 49'er gold rush, The Americans maintained this base on a minimal scale until the late 1800's when a major program of expansion and construction began.
A decade or so later, the Americans began fighting the Indian wars, and this base played an important role. After the wars ended, an attempt at conservation was begun, involving the creation Yosemite, Sequoia and General Grant national parks. But it was already too late for Xerces.
Herman Behr stated in 1875 that the Xerces butterfly was all but extinct.
The story continues for a few more decades. There were rare sightings of this butterfly all the way until the early 1940's. The butterflies remained until the last of its major habitats, including Lake Merced, Lobos Creek and the west side of Twin Peaks, were covered in suburban sprawl; stripped their natural vegetation.
So, what do we have now? I could write all about the inundation of the west side of twin peaks.
Or about the desecration of Lake Merced.
Or even about the deflowering and then refurbishment of lobos creek.
What is San Francisco now? A human habitat, supposedly. Is this really what we human beings call our native habitat: cement and skyscrapers?
The Xerces Blue was an ecologically fragile species. There were only a few small populations at the time they were first identified, and the populations seemed to be completely separate. They were a prime candidate for human-sponsored natural selection.
Welll, here we are, rebuilding lost dunes, creating the dioramas of our nostalgia. Breathlessly breeding things back into existence. Studying black and white pictures and trying to add the right amount of color to them-- but nobody alive still remembers the exact shade of blue.
"With a resolute whisper, Lobos Creek flowed past our home on its mile-long journey to the ocean. It was bordered, at times covered, with watercress and alive with minnows, tadpoles, and a variety of larvae. Water bugs skimmed the open surfaces and dragonflies darted above the stream bed. In spring, flowers were rampant and fragrant. In heavy fog the creek was eerie, rippling out of nowhere and vanishing into nothingness. I explored every foot, tunneling thruugh the thick brush and following the last small canyons in the clay strata before it met the Pacific. The ocean was too cold for swimming, so I would skirt the wave-foamed edge and follow the rocky shore to Fort Scott to the east or climb along the rugged cliffs to China Beach to the west. These cliffs were dangerous, but I was light and strong and could pull myself by my fingertips over minor chasms.
"A beautiful stand of live oaks arched over the creek. In about 1910, the Army Corp of Engineers, for unimaginable reasons, decided to clear out the oaks and brush. My father was out of town when the crime was committed. One of his favorite walks was through these glades to Mountain Lake in the nearby San Francisco Presidio; on his return, he became physically ill when he witnessed the ruthless damage."
--Ansel Adams
Imagine him, with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard, sitting on an airplane as it crosses the Atlantic ocean. He's busily sketching on a stray piece of paper, in the precise way of a scientist who is used to diagramming and dissection. It's a logo-- a butterfly, superimposed over a large X.
X is for Xerces-- a Persian king, and a butterfly.
Why, Pyle wondered to himself, is there no society for the protection of endangered insects? Insects are a very important part of our ecosystem. And even if they did little to add to the circle of life so crucial to the health of our environment, insects deserve protection just as much as an endangered cetacean or falconiform.
He called some of his insect-loving friends to see what they thought, and they shared his enthusiasm. Thus, the Xerces Society made its beginning.
The Xerces butterfly became extinct officially in the early 1940's, but the population of this genetically unique species was noticeably reduced as early as the late 1800's. These insects had an extremely limited habitat--the sand dunes of the San Franciso peninsula. The females laid their eggs only on plants that were native to this habitat.
This is a common conundrum when dealing with butterfly population disruption. When you reduce the butterfly's native habitat, you are not only reducing the number of resources available to adult butterflies, you also tend to wipe out the types of plants that the caterpillars live on, and the plants that female butterflies lay eggs on. Because butterfly plants tend to be looked upon as "weeds", they are typically cleared out even before the area is taken up with buildings and other expansionist endeavors. The interesting thing about the Xerces and its rapid extinction, which went almost unnoticed and un-commented-upon, is that it is amazingly symbolic of the development of the area itself.
San Francisco was nothing more than a few, dry, windy sand dunes before the Spanish-American war. The modern site of Presidio at Lobos Creek was originally a Xerces blue habitat. Today it is an area that is saturated with golf courses and expensive restaurants. The development was a gradual thing: Lobos Creek became an American military base in the mid-1800's. Soon afterward, gold was discovered. Because of the ripple effect of the huge population boom during the 49'er gold rush, The Americans maintained this base on a minimal scale until the late 1800's when a major program of expansion and construction began.
A decade or so later, the Americans began fighting the Indian wars, and this base played an important role. After the wars ended, an attempt at conservation was begun, involving the creation Yosemite, Sequoia and General Grant national parks. But it was already too late for Xerces.
Herman Behr stated in 1875 that the Xerces butterfly was all but extinct.
The story continues for a few more decades. There were rare sightings of this butterfly all the way until the early 1940's. The butterflies remained until the last of its major habitats, including Lake Merced, Lobos Creek and the west side of Twin Peaks, were covered in suburban sprawl; stripped their natural vegetation.
So, what do we have now? I could write all about the inundation of the west side of twin peaks.
Or about the desecration of Lake Merced.
Or even about the deflowering and then refurbishment of lobos creek.
What is San Francisco now? A human habitat, supposedly. Is this really what we human beings call our native habitat: cement and skyscrapers?
The Xerces Blue was an ecologically fragile species. There were only a few small populations at the time they were first identified, and the populations seemed to be completely separate. They were a prime candidate for human-sponsored natural selection.
Welll, here we are, rebuilding lost dunes, creating the dioramas of our nostalgia. Breathlessly breeding things back into existence. Studying black and white pictures and trying to add the right amount of color to them-- but nobody alive still remembers the exact shade of blue.
"With a resolute whisper, Lobos Creek flowed past our home on its mile-long journey to the ocean. It was bordered, at times covered, with watercress and alive with minnows, tadpoles, and a variety of larvae. Water bugs skimmed the open surfaces and dragonflies darted above the stream bed. In spring, flowers were rampant and fragrant. In heavy fog the creek was eerie, rippling out of nowhere and vanishing into nothingness. I explored every foot, tunneling thruugh the thick brush and following the last small canyons in the clay strata before it met the Pacific. The ocean was too cold for swimming, so I would skirt the wave-foamed edge and follow the rocky shore to Fort Scott to the east or climb along the rugged cliffs to China Beach to the west. These cliffs were dangerous, but I was light and strong and could pull myself by my fingertips over minor chasms.
"A beautiful stand of live oaks arched over the creek. In about 1910, the Army Corp of Engineers, for unimaginable reasons, decided to clear out the oaks and brush. My father was out of town when the crime was committed. One of his favorite walks was through these glades to Mountain Lake in the nearby San Francisco Presidio; on his return, he became physically ill when he witnessed the ruthless damage."
--Ansel Adams
Monday, February 9, 2009
Zero Population
"Zero population is the answer, my friend!" --Saturday's Warrior
Last week we watched Al Gore’s Nobel Prize - winning documentary on global warming. I thought there were some very interesting, important ideas in it. Although I have to say that I truly hated the way it portrayed Bush and made Al Gore’s noble, noble character such a martyr. No but really, couldn’t we have left politics (and all those hundreds of shots of Gore gazing solemnly into the wilderness) out of the documentary and focused on the actual subject: global warming? Anyway, all that aside, I have been thinking about one subject that he mentioned:
Population control.
Gore talked about rising populations being one of the causes of global warming. He also mentioned that this is a bigger problem in the poorer countries of the world. I can see how large populations combined with mismanagement of resources are causing lots of problems. I think that’s a valid point.
He also showed a graph with pretty much a straight line in the population over so many years of people being on the earth and then a colossal, mind-boggling jump in population starting around the time of Christopher Columbus and then the Declaration of Independence. (Interesting! God is sending down way more of His children now that the gospel has been restored…) Too many people at once! Too much strain on the environment.
Gore added that we are recently making great strides in population control. He gave us the reassurance that today in
But… is the problem really that we are having too many children? Is the answer really to prolong our own lives and have less posterity? Seems like kind of a selfish attitude to me.
Now, I know that Al Gore doesn’t have the benefit of the gospel in his life. But God’s plan is for His spirit children to come down to earth and receive a body and go through the mortal experience. That is why we are encouraged to have families and bring down those spirits in a righteous atmosphere, right?
So what is the answer? I don’t know, but I don’t believe it is to have less children. Instead of encouraging people to reproduce less, what if we focused our energies on making the world a better place for all those children? What if we figured out a way for our abundant resources to feed and take care of the needy? We are who the earth was created for, after all, and God has said that there is enough for all the spirits born here.
But maybe it’s just easier to control the population than to try to solve mankind’s tendency to be selfish with our resources...
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Musical spiritual roots
God is the greatest musician of all times, the greatest composer. (Karlheinz Stockhausen, Towards a Cosmic Music, p.114)
Many preachers of the day have said that fiddling and music came from Hell. But I say that there is no fiddling or music in hell. There is not a fiddler in hell or any music of any kind. Music belongs in heaven to cheer God, angel and man. If we could hear the music there is in heaven, it would overwhelm mortal man. The Lord gave us that organ that makes music so delightful to man and the Devil has stolen music, and many other things that were ordained of God for the benefit of man, and has turned them to an evil use. Brigham Young (Staker, Waiting for World's End, p. 158)
. . . The more esoteric theology explored by Brigham Young, the Pratt brothers, and B.H..Roberts holds the promise of an aesthetic sensibility even more deeply rooted than premortal intimations of the celestial. Either as eternally self-existent consciousness or upon the immensely distant “dawning of conscious life,” individual spirits are possessed of the “power of deliberation . . .the ability to appreciate seems inextricably bound up with the abilities to perceive and judge.” The recognition and love of beauty, in other words, may be a fundamental and timeless ingredient of the eternal human soul. (Terryl Givens, People of Paradox, 2007, P. 341)
What do you think?
God is the greatest musician of all times, the greatest composer. (Karlheinz Stockhausen, Towards a Cosmic Music, p.114)
Many preachers of the day have said that fiddling and music came from Hell. But I say that there is no fiddling or music in hell. There is not a fiddler in hell or any music of any kind. Music belongs in heaven to cheer God, angel and man. If we could hear the music there is in heaven, it would overwhelm mortal man. The Lord gave us that organ that makes music so delightful to man and the Devil has stolen music, and many other things that were ordained of God for the benefit of man, and has turned them to an evil use. Brigham Young (Staker, Waiting for World's End, p. 158)
. . . The more esoteric theology explored by Brigham Young, the Pratt brothers, and B.H..Roberts holds the promise of an aesthetic sensibility even more deeply rooted than premortal intimations of the celestial. Either as eternally self-existent consciousness or upon the immensely distant “dawning of conscious life,” individual spirits are possessed of the “power of deliberation . . .the ability to appreciate seems inextricably bound up with the abilities to perceive and judge.” The recognition and love of beauty, in other words, may be a fundamental and timeless ingredient of the eternal human soul. (Terryl Givens, People of Paradox, 2007, P. 341)
What do you think?
Friday, February 6, 2009
Air
Santiago reached into his bag and pulled out a faded red handkerchief. He used it to wipe the sweat trickling down his forehead and then shoved it into his pocket. He looked around him at the barren landscape and sighed cheerfully to himself. He had never disliked the desert. Even now, with miles to go before he reached the road, he only felt mild irritation at the sun beating down and the dirt swimming in the air, making its way into his respiratory system like a thick gas. Dirt was dirt, and the sun was the sun, and neither had anything personal against him, so why hold them responsible for his current discomfort?
He began to move forward again, taking calm, measured steps, one foot in front of the other. As he walked he sang a little song in his head, his feet plugging out a ponderous rhythm.
When I was a baby I cried for my mom
And then she would feed me or sing me a song
And now that I’m grown I am always alone
No mother to soothe me out here on the road
Santiago enjoyed making up little songs as he walked. He would sing this one for a while, and then, when it lost its charm, he would make up a new one. Sometimes other noises, besides the shuffle of his two feet, would add a little something to his song. A desert bird, chirping in time, or the heat waves along the horizon dancing like sweet violin voices in front of his eyes. This latest song, in particular, had a certain lilt to it that seemed to welcome accompaniment. But he wouldn’t miss it when it drifted from his memory; a new melody would come like a gift and he’d like it just as much.
-----
Twilight came and went quickly as Santiago continued across the flat desert floor, and before he knew it the sun was gone completely. His steps began to slow as the moon grew bright above him, until he came to a stop in front of a large rock. The rock was a little taller than him, and twice as long, nicely rounded except for a relatively flat surface on its top. Santiago hefted himself up onto the top of the rock and lay staring up at the sky. There were stars up there, of course, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Stars were stars, and, pretty as they were, he just couldn’t get excited about them. It was the same with the moon. Bold and bright, but just the moon after all. What Santiago looked at was the air.
Nearly black, the spaces between the stars and moon were fascinating. So was the air he could feel touching his nose and hands; it lay against his forehead and arms. He reached a hand up and tried to take a handful of it, but, as always, when he brought his hand back down, it was empty. Not empty, he told himself, just invisible to my eyes. For there it was, when he looked hard enough, sitting in his palm like a precious jewel, a trembling, living piece of… space. Now that was beautiful.
He fell asleep wrapped in a blanket of it.
-----
By the following afternoon, Santiago had reached the road. It was a dirt road- really, not much more than a track- not used very often. But he could never have missed it; it was too familiar to him.
For the first time since his journey began, Santiago turned from the straight line he had been tracing through the desert and began to follow the road. Now his songs were more buoyant, jubilant even.
Little Lana Lopsytipple
Went west to climb a tree
Fell into an ol’ goldmine
Broke her arm and scraped her knee
Broke her arm and scraped her knee
And:
Tuesday drags
Wednesday trickles
Out by the old brick wall
Thursday I’ll be far away
And Friday will be nevermore
It’s Monday Monday Monday
He chuckled as he repeated the little ditty, his feet kicking up big puffs of dust on the last line. Inside his head, his voice began to grow louder with each step. The sound of small rocks hitting each other or the ground as he knocked them out of his way was a loud and glorious percussion, the crescendo of a victor’s final fanfare. He alternated between marching, skipping, and striding, his arms pumping in the air. Ah, the air. Although he couldn’t see it like he could at night, he knew it was there. Knew it was dancing in circles around him and through the dust. Pushing at his back and bouncing under his feet. He was almost there.
-----
The path stopped. So did Santiago. Standing about four feet in front of him was a sturdy-looking post with a box secured to its top. The mailbox. Santiago walked forward, for once his mind completely void of all thought or sound, save one… He had made it; he was here. He reached a steady hand out and opened the little door on the front. Inside was a letter. On the front it read:
Santiago
All the Way Out Here
The Middle of Nowhere
He slowly tore open the flap on the other side of the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper. The paper made a slight crinkling sound as he unfolded it. It had only a few words on it and no signature. He read. It said:
"Santiago,
Go home. Get over it. Get real."
He read it again. And again. And again. He tried reading it backwards, and then through the opposite side of the paper, the sun filtering through the thin sheet. He tried translating it into another language and then back again. He counted where each letter stood in the alphabet, added them all together, and then divided by 2, 4, 6, and 8. His forehead was creased and his lips were pursed. He put the paper back in the envelope, back in the mailbox and closed the door. He took it out again, opened it back up, and read it again. But it still said the same thing. “Go home. Get over it. Get real.”
For the first time since his journey began, Santiago felt himself getting angry. He felt- before he realized what he was doing- his hand contract into a fist and the paper crumple against the folds of his fingers and palm. He quickly opened his hand and tried to smooth the paper out. He put it carefully back into its envelope again, and placed it gently on the ground. Then, making sure he was a few feet away, he stomped his right foot once, hard. Then again. Then the left foot. Harder. Then he jumped once, making sure both feet came down with full impact. Then he sank to his knees, and pounded his fists on the packed earth. He glanced at the letter and pounded his fists again, even harder this time. Again.
Santiago felt something warm and sticky, wet and clingy, drip once and fall into the dirt. He glanced down. A little bit of blood was dripping from his right hand, down his wrist and onto the ground. He stared, incredulously at the blood and then down at the brown earth beneath him. He wondered why the earth had done that to him, had made him bleed. His scowl deepened. He thought about how stupid the dirt was, how hard and unyielding. He looked back at his hand and noticed the blood was already drying. That’s when he noticed the sun for the first time that day. The stupid sun. He thought about how it hadn’t even given him a chance to get out his handkerchief to wipe off his hand and how angry that made him. He realized he hated the dirt and the sun. He hated the desert and the ugly brown colored dust that made him choke and wheeze. He hated the blaring sun and its unforgiving heat; that one big staring eye, unblinking, sizzling him with its scrutiny. Even when descending into the horizon, like it was now, the sun taunted him with its unmerciful intensity.
Then it hit him. Not only were the sun and earth stupid, but his body was too. He hands hurt. As if they had anything to complain about, he thought in disgust. He looked at his hands again, still clenched into balls, and wished he could chop them off. He thought about how ugly his skin looked, blood and dirt and sweat all mixed together- he couldn’t even tell what he looked like underneath all those layers. Yes, his body was stupid and he hated it. He wished it would all just go away.
-----
Santiago spent the next twelve days finding different things to hate. He hated the little rocks on the ground that got into the cracks of his shoes and made his feet ache. He hated the rises in the ground that he didn’t see coming that made him stumble. He hated the stupid desert birds that would chirp until his ears felt like they were going to explode. He hated his red handkerchief because it was dirty and could never wipe all the sweat from his face. He even hated the stupid air that he had used to find so much to wonder about. It’s just air, he told himself grimly, and there’s nothing more to it. At night he would try to grab pieces of it to recapture some of the old magic, but he had to acknowledge that he had been fooling himself all along; he couldn’t hold the air any more than he could get one of those stupid birds to shut up. There was nothing that he didn’t hate.
Out of all the things Santiago realized he hated in those twelve days, there were two things he hated the most. He couldn’t stand the stupid sturdy little mailbox with its dumb little door that opened and closed. And most of all, he hated the letter. That stupid stupid letter.
-----
Now, Santiago either went home or he didn’t. If he did, he may have begun making up little songs in his head again as he went. A song he could have made up if he did go may have sounded like this:
Oh where do the dogs in the street go
When I’m drifting fast into sleep
Are they singing to heaven when howling and barking
Can dogs hear a song in return?
Oh howl little dog if it makes you feel good
Though I have a few doubts on that score
To me you sound sad or unwell or insane
And I’m counting the hours till you’re done
He probably would laugh at that one and think it was one of his more clever ones. And he’d probably walk a little faster, to get the beat right.
If he did, in fact, go home that is.
If he didn’t, he must still be out there, finding more things to blame his unhappiness on. For one thing’s certain: his current predicament couldn’t possibly be his fault.
If he’s still out there, that is.
He began to move forward again, taking calm, measured steps, one foot in front of the other. As he walked he sang a little song in his head, his feet plugging out a ponderous rhythm.
When I was a baby I cried for my mom
And then she would feed me or sing me a song
And now that I’m grown I am always alone
No mother to soothe me out here on the road
Santiago enjoyed making up little songs as he walked. He would sing this one for a while, and then, when it lost its charm, he would make up a new one. Sometimes other noises, besides the shuffle of his two feet, would add a little something to his song. A desert bird, chirping in time, or the heat waves along the horizon dancing like sweet violin voices in front of his eyes. This latest song, in particular, had a certain lilt to it that seemed to welcome accompaniment. But he wouldn’t miss it when it drifted from his memory; a new melody would come like a gift and he’d like it just as much.
-----
Twilight came and went quickly as Santiago continued across the flat desert floor, and before he knew it the sun was gone completely. His steps began to slow as the moon grew bright above him, until he came to a stop in front of a large rock. The rock was a little taller than him, and twice as long, nicely rounded except for a relatively flat surface on its top. Santiago hefted himself up onto the top of the rock and lay staring up at the sky. There were stars up there, of course, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Stars were stars, and, pretty as they were, he just couldn’t get excited about them. It was the same with the moon. Bold and bright, but just the moon after all. What Santiago looked at was the air.
Nearly black, the spaces between the stars and moon were fascinating. So was the air he could feel touching his nose and hands; it lay against his forehead and arms. He reached a hand up and tried to take a handful of it, but, as always, when he brought his hand back down, it was empty. Not empty, he told himself, just invisible to my eyes. For there it was, when he looked hard enough, sitting in his palm like a precious jewel, a trembling, living piece of… space. Now that was beautiful.
He fell asleep wrapped in a blanket of it.
-----
By the following afternoon, Santiago had reached the road. It was a dirt road- really, not much more than a track- not used very often. But he could never have missed it; it was too familiar to him.
For the first time since his journey began, Santiago turned from the straight line he had been tracing through the desert and began to follow the road. Now his songs were more buoyant, jubilant even.
Little Lana Lopsytipple
Went west to climb a tree
Fell into an ol’ goldmine
Broke her arm and scraped her knee
Broke her arm and scraped her knee
And:
Tuesday drags
Wednesday trickles
Out by the old brick wall
Thursday I’ll be far away
And Friday will be nevermore
It’s Monday Monday Monday
He chuckled as he repeated the little ditty, his feet kicking up big puffs of dust on the last line. Inside his head, his voice began to grow louder with each step. The sound of small rocks hitting each other or the ground as he knocked them out of his way was a loud and glorious percussion, the crescendo of a victor’s final fanfare. He alternated between marching, skipping, and striding, his arms pumping in the air. Ah, the air. Although he couldn’t see it like he could at night, he knew it was there. Knew it was dancing in circles around him and through the dust. Pushing at his back and bouncing under his feet. He was almost there.
-----
The path stopped. So did Santiago. Standing about four feet in front of him was a sturdy-looking post with a box secured to its top. The mailbox. Santiago walked forward, for once his mind completely void of all thought or sound, save one… He had made it; he was here. He reached a steady hand out and opened the little door on the front. Inside was a letter. On the front it read:
Santiago
All the Way Out Here
The Middle of Nowhere
He slowly tore open the flap on the other side of the envelope and took out a single sheet of paper. The paper made a slight crinkling sound as he unfolded it. It had only a few words on it and no signature. He read. It said:
"Santiago,
Go home. Get over it. Get real."
He read it again. And again. And again. He tried reading it backwards, and then through the opposite side of the paper, the sun filtering through the thin sheet. He tried translating it into another language and then back again. He counted where each letter stood in the alphabet, added them all together, and then divided by 2, 4, 6, and 8. His forehead was creased and his lips were pursed. He put the paper back in the envelope, back in the mailbox and closed the door. He took it out again, opened it back up, and read it again. But it still said the same thing. “Go home. Get over it. Get real.”
For the first time since his journey began, Santiago felt himself getting angry. He felt- before he realized what he was doing- his hand contract into a fist and the paper crumple against the folds of his fingers and palm. He quickly opened his hand and tried to smooth the paper out. He put it carefully back into its envelope again, and placed it gently on the ground. Then, making sure he was a few feet away, he stomped his right foot once, hard. Then again. Then the left foot. Harder. Then he jumped once, making sure both feet came down with full impact. Then he sank to his knees, and pounded his fists on the packed earth. He glanced at the letter and pounded his fists again, even harder this time. Again.
Santiago felt something warm and sticky, wet and clingy, drip once and fall into the dirt. He glanced down. A little bit of blood was dripping from his right hand, down his wrist and onto the ground. He stared, incredulously at the blood and then down at the brown earth beneath him. He wondered why the earth had done that to him, had made him bleed. His scowl deepened. He thought about how stupid the dirt was, how hard and unyielding. He looked back at his hand and noticed the blood was already drying. That’s when he noticed the sun for the first time that day. The stupid sun. He thought about how it hadn’t even given him a chance to get out his handkerchief to wipe off his hand and how angry that made him. He realized he hated the dirt and the sun. He hated the desert and the ugly brown colored dust that made him choke and wheeze. He hated the blaring sun and its unforgiving heat; that one big staring eye, unblinking, sizzling him with its scrutiny. Even when descending into the horizon, like it was now, the sun taunted him with its unmerciful intensity.
Then it hit him. Not only were the sun and earth stupid, but his body was too. He hands hurt. As if they had anything to complain about, he thought in disgust. He looked at his hands again, still clenched into balls, and wished he could chop them off. He thought about how ugly his skin looked, blood and dirt and sweat all mixed together- he couldn’t even tell what he looked like underneath all those layers. Yes, his body was stupid and he hated it. He wished it would all just go away.
-----
Santiago spent the next twelve days finding different things to hate. He hated the little rocks on the ground that got into the cracks of his shoes and made his feet ache. He hated the rises in the ground that he didn’t see coming that made him stumble. He hated the stupid desert birds that would chirp until his ears felt like they were going to explode. He hated his red handkerchief because it was dirty and could never wipe all the sweat from his face. He even hated the stupid air that he had used to find so much to wonder about. It’s just air, he told himself grimly, and there’s nothing more to it. At night he would try to grab pieces of it to recapture some of the old magic, but he had to acknowledge that he had been fooling himself all along; he couldn’t hold the air any more than he could get one of those stupid birds to shut up. There was nothing that he didn’t hate.
Out of all the things Santiago realized he hated in those twelve days, there were two things he hated the most. He couldn’t stand the stupid sturdy little mailbox with its dumb little door that opened and closed. And most of all, he hated the letter. That stupid stupid letter.
-----
Now, Santiago either went home or he didn’t. If he did, he may have begun making up little songs in his head again as he went. A song he could have made up if he did go may have sounded like this:
Oh where do the dogs in the street go
When I’m drifting fast into sleep
Are they singing to heaven when howling and barking
Can dogs hear a song in return?
Oh howl little dog if it makes you feel good
Though I have a few doubts on that score
To me you sound sad or unwell or insane
And I’m counting the hours till you’re done
He probably would laugh at that one and think it was one of his more clever ones. And he’d probably walk a little faster, to get the beat right.
If he did, in fact, go home that is.
If he didn’t, he must still be out there, finding more things to blame his unhappiness on. For one thing’s certain: his current predicament couldn’t possibly be his fault.
If he’s still out there, that is.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
By The Window Two Birds Sing
There was once a boy who lived in a room, alone. No one ever came to visit him, and he was very lonely. Then one morning he heard two birds calling through his window. "Kwu, kwu," they called. The boy ran to the window. But when he got there, they stopped singing and he saw them flying away, over the rooftops. "Come back!" the boy cried, but the two birds kept flying, and were gone. The next morning the boy heard the two birds again calling, "Kwu, kwu," but when he ran to the window, they flew away again. He cried, "Come back!" but they were gone. The next day, and for many days after that, the same thing happened: in the morning the two birds came, calling "Kwu, kwu"; the boy ran to the window; but the birds flew away.
Years passed, and the boy grew into a young man, and more years passed, and the young man grew into an old man, and still the birds came and called "Kwu, kwu"; and the boy who was now an old man ran to the window and cried, "Come back!" but the birds were gone. And then one morning the old man became very old, so old that he couldn't get up out of his bed any more. The two birds called, "Kwu, kwu," but the very old man did not run to the window; instead he said, "I'm sorry, my dear birds, but I'm too old to come to the window now. And if I did, you would just fly away anyway." And he sighed.
But the two birds did not fly away this time. Instead, they flew through the window right into his room, and landed on the very old man's chest. "Kwu, kwu," they called, and the very old man turned from very old, to just old. And then they called again, "Kwu, kwu," and the old man turned into a young man. They called again, "Kwu, kwu," and the young man became a boy again. And the boy said to the two birds, "Now I know why you always fly away. So I will keep calling you back again." And then suddenly the birds flew out the window, and the boy lept out of his bed and ran to the window, crying, "Come back!" but the birds flew over the rooftops, and were gone.
There was once a boy who lived in a room, alone. No one ever came to visit him, and he was very lonely. Then one morning he heard two birds calling through his window. "Kwu, kwu," they called. The boy ran to the window. But when he got there, they stopped singing and he saw them flying away, over the rooftops. "Come back!" the boy cried, but the two birds kept flying, and were gone. The next morning the boy heard the two birds again calling, "Kwu, kwu," but when he ran to the window, they flew away again. He cried, "Come back!" but they were gone. The next day, and for many days after that, the same thing happened: in the morning the two birds came, calling "Kwu, kwu"; the boy ran to the window; but the birds flew away.
Years passed, and the boy grew into a young man, and more years passed, and the young man grew into an old man, and still the birds came and called "Kwu, kwu"; and the boy who was now an old man ran to the window and cried, "Come back!" but the birds were gone. And then one morning the old man became very old, so old that he couldn't get up out of his bed any more. The two birds called, "Kwu, kwu," but the very old man did not run to the window; instead he said, "I'm sorry, my dear birds, but I'm too old to come to the window now. And if I did, you would just fly away anyway." And he sighed.
But the two birds did not fly away this time. Instead, they flew through the window right into his room, and landed on the very old man's chest. "Kwu, kwu," they called, and the very old man turned from very old, to just old. And then they called again, "Kwu, kwu," and the old man turned into a young man. They called again, "Kwu, kwu," and the young man became a boy again. And the boy said to the two birds, "Now I know why you always fly away. So I will keep calling you back again." And then suddenly the birds flew out the window, and the boy lept out of his bed and ran to the window, crying, "Come back!" but the birds flew over the rooftops, and were gone.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
First Post
Some thoughts from my mission:
"Today I complete a year in the mission. I feel great as a missionary... The hard part is strict obedience. When I break a rule I feel terribly & unbelievably weighed down. Going to bed at 10:31 is a sin. Sleeping 5 minutes longer is a sin. Singing a song from the radio is a sin. Thinking about a boy is a sin. Eating something cooked by someone who is not the pensionista is a sin. Never sinned so much in my life!-- Even though I'm living a life much more righteous than ever before. Temptation seems to beset me more than ever before. Little things always come up & I fall. I don't fall far but the important thing is that I fall. I want to be perfect. I want to obey every rule ever written. But if I really had the desire, I'd do it...
"...They say that a true desire is always possible to accomplish. If I had the true desire to accomplish 100% obedience, would I achieve it? Was Christ's desire what made His life different? Overcoming physical urges for spiritual needs is what God wants-- the purpose of life. What is it about having a body & learning to control it with the spirit that makes a God?
"...How does one know if she is being obsessive-compulsive or being righteous? If only one could stop sinning for good & yield herself completely to God & pass the test with an A+ 100%. But thinking this denies the power of the atonement. If it were possible, we wouldn't need Christ. Thus, it ISN'T POSSIBLE.
"Why is temptation so tempting? Why is the world so worldly? Why is the darkness so dark? Why don't more people search for the truth? Why are the distractions so distracting?"
"Today I complete a year in the mission. I feel great as a missionary... The hard part is strict obedience. When I break a rule I feel terribly & unbelievably weighed down. Going to bed at 10:31 is a sin. Sleeping 5 minutes longer is a sin. Singing a song from the radio is a sin. Thinking about a boy is a sin. Eating something cooked by someone who is not the pensionista is a sin. Never sinned so much in my life!-- Even though I'm living a life much more righteous than ever before. Temptation seems to beset me more than ever before. Little things always come up & I fall. I don't fall far but the important thing is that I fall. I want to be perfect. I want to obey every rule ever written. But if I really had the desire, I'd do it...
"...They say that a true desire is always possible to accomplish. If I had the true desire to accomplish 100% obedience, would I achieve it? Was Christ's desire what made His life different? Overcoming physical urges for spiritual needs is what God wants-- the purpose of life. What is it about having a body & learning to control it with the spirit that makes a God?
"...How does one know if she is being obsessive-compulsive or being righteous? If only one could stop sinning for good & yield herself completely to God & pass the test with an A+ 100%. But thinking this denies the power of the atonement. If it were possible, we wouldn't need Christ. Thus, it ISN'T POSSIBLE.
"Why is temptation so tempting? Why is the world so worldly? Why is the darkness so dark? Why don't more people search for the truth? Why are the distractions so distracting?"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)