Special Post #2

1.     In The Old Man With Enormous Wings, I decided to focus on one of the scenes that most confused me. The part I focused my attention was the scene where the Pelayo and his wife Elisenda first discovered the winged man. In this first scene Pelayo was spending much of his time throwing away crabs that had been stinking up his yard. The rain had been falling for three days and the town they lived in had become very dark and dreary. It is obvious in this scene that Elisenda was caring for their child who was very ill, when Pelayo found an old winged man lying face down in the mud. Frightened by what he just discovered Pelayo ran to get his wife to show her what he had come across. After making many assumptions about what the man was doing in their yard and what creature the man actually was the couple decided to call the neighbor woman to tell them what was wrong. When the neighbor saw the man she knew instantly that the man was an angel.

2.     I decided to interpret this particular text in order to gain a better understanding of the story as a whole. When I first read The Old Man With Enormous Wings, I was not sure what to think of it. I especially never understood the first scene. I truly believe that this scene holds many secrets to the understanding of the entire writing. That is why I would like to dissect this portion of the story in order to gain a better understanding of the meaning of the story as a whole. I believe Marquez hid most of the true meaning of this story and that is why when reading the story for the first time I was unable to think of any deeper meanings that may have been hidden throughout the text.

3.     I believe the work as a whole has a very general meaning, or moral that is simple to understand after one read. It is apparent that the couple did not treat this creature with respect and one day the creature just got up and left. I wonder if the creature had given its life for the sick child. In which case it would have represented the sacrifice that this creature made for someone who didn’t necessarily deserve it. The moral of the story would be to treat others the way you would want to be treated. However, the particular passage that I chose was a little more unsettling to comprehend. The scene begins on a very dark and dreary day. Pelayo is most likely exhausted from working on cleaning up their yard and his wife Elisenda is probably stressed from caring for their sick child. Both husband and wife are probably physically and emotionally drained. It may seem to them like God has forsaken them. The weather combined with their child’s illness is causing them to probably forget about a higher power. I believe God sent them this angel to test them. To remind them that he is real and he is with them. To remind them about what is important. However, I believe God as a sacrifice sent the angel for the child.

4.     I believe this is the what the author meant when writing the story because of the obvious insinuations towards it throughout the plot. When the couple began to think about what this man could be they decided to skip over the wings. They wanted to pretend like the wings weren’t even there. I believe this is an obvious sign that the couple has lost their belief in the unseen. The mystery of a spiritual world. They are so concerned with the now that they can’t even pay attention to the giant white wings that were taking over the man lying in their yard.

5.     I believe my interpretation of the story matters to me or any other readers because it helps to remind us of the beliefs we should have. We should have a childlike faith and we need to believe the unseen. We also need to stop getting so caught up in the here and now. We should remember to keep our eyes open so we don’t miss out on a miracle from God himself. We should be able to look at a man with wings and see him for what he is. An angel. We shouldn’t pretend as if there is nothing unusual with that picture. Instead we should think to ourselves if this is truly something that God may be trying to tell me. I also believe the way the town treated the old man shows how we treat God a lot of the time. As a Christian I know first hand that it is hard to live above the influences of this tempting world. It is hard to not get distracted by something more interesting (spider girl). However as a Christian I know how important it is to follow God in everything you do. To not put him on the back burner and ignore him when he’s not interesting or when God is no longer benefiting you.  We should look at ourselves and make sure that we aren’t treating God like this. If Jesus fell into you’re front yard, helpless, and wounded would you show him the same decency that he has shown us?

The Temple of The Holy Ghost

When I first began reading The Temple Of The Holy Ghost by Flannery O’ Connor I was not sure what to expect. The title gave away little. However, I was curious to see what the story was about and what it would consist of. The first paragraph was written in a way where it subtly gave off hints as to the direction it was headed towards. The story began much like a good movie would. It gave little detail about where it was headed. It just began as if the story had been going on for a while before I picked it up and tuned in. It seemed very well written. It intrigued me to read on. The first characters that were introduced were two girls. These girls were attending a convent that they obviously did not belong to.

The story is told in third person by one of the main characters, a 12 year old girl. She seems to be related to the two 14 year old girls that are staying with her for a weekend. They are her second cousins. She shortly learns after spending time observing them that she doesn’t like them. She’s annoyed by their ignorance. However the child becomes lonely as the two girls begin to hang out with boys in the neighborhood. The cousins attend the fair and the 12 year old girl seems to be left out of the fun.

I’m not sure what this story could represent, however I believe it shows the innocence of a child. I can honestly say I have felt like I have been in similar situations growing up with an older sister and she rarely included me in outings she would go on. This story reminded me of myself as a younger girl. I could see myself in her shoes. I wish I knew what it could represent but I hope to be enlightened in class tomorrow.

The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas by Ursula K. Leguin

After reading The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas I was a little confused. The story focused more on the city Omelas rather then the characters, which were very abstract and somewhat weird. The Omelas lived very happy fulfilling lives. Everything about their city, and surroundings were pleasing to them. The only part that had to be sacrificed for this good fortune was the well being of one very unfortunate child. The child must always be kept living in misery and filth and all of her citizens should be told of this when they come of age. “The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child” (Pearson 93). Most of the citizens initially become disgusted and upset about the ill treatment towards the child. However, somehow the people of the town eventually become okay with the sacrifice they are making for their good fortune. Sometimes the people do not get over it however. Sometimes when the citizens understand what is happening to the child they walk right out of the city. "The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas" (Pearson 94).

This story was so obviously symbolic it was hard to miss. Symbolic of what I had to ask myself over and over. Perhaps the city of Omelas represents the earth. Perhaps the citizens of Omelas represents the citizens of the world, and perhaps the suffering child represents Jesus. I can see how the city Omelas can seem nice and sweet. The world seems good on the surface. As Christians it is so easy to assume that the world is not good, however at the same time I find myself constantly trying to sneak a peek at the worlds and everything its made of. The “sweet” life that everyone is partaking in. But Jesus is the one that has to suffer. And in order to be apart of “Omelas” or the world, we have to deny Christ, and satisfy ourselves with the here and now. The sweet satisfaction of the joys of the earth, as charming as it may seem. As Christians we need to cry and mourn for the ill treatment of our Lord Jesus and not stay and accept what has been done to him. We need to pick up our crosses and follow him to a better place. A more magnificent place then we can ever dream.

A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings

After reading A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, I felt very uplifted and almost childlike. Reading about “angels” made me think of many different movies or shows I used to watch when I was little that had to do with belief in angels. Having those thoughts again was refreshing and almost fun. In the beginning of the story Marquez begins talking about this old man that had fallen in the mud and couldn’t get up. It made me think of the symbolism of fallen angels. But not wanting to regard the poem as blasphemous I decided to set my religious beliefs aside, and just continued to read the poem.

One of my favorite lines of the story is located on pg. 96 when Pelayo runs to get their neighbor who “knew everything about life and death.”

It says “’He’s an angel,’ she told them. ‘He must have been coming for the child, but the poor fellow is so old that the rain knocked him down.’” 

 This line warmed my heart when I read it. The way the woman was able to look at the man lying on the ground and know without a doubt that he was an angel and what had happened. The woman could tell he was an angel as if it was completely normal. When I read this a million thoughts crossed through my mind. Knowing that the child was sick made me realize why the angel would be coming for the child and this made my heart hurt in a bittersweet way. However it was hard for me to see past the woman’s childlike belief in an angel showing up in their front yard as if nothing was out of place at all. This is the childlike faith I believe God calls us to have. And when we have it we may be able to have encounters like this and not think anything of it. I believe this is the mistake many Christians make in this day and age. We are so astounded by these events that occurred on a regular basis in the bible but we fail to realize that this really happened. Those angels really do come and give humans messages, or at least they have and they can. It may have not happened in a while but we don’t have that childlike faith to know when something astounding is God. We tend to believe its coincidence. We even write extremely spiritual people off as radicals. Why can’t we stop and believe in the things that children believe in.

Lake Bonny Park

After attending Lake Bonny Park I was able to understand the nature poetry on a deeper level. I sat still for about fifteen minutes allowing the words flowing through my head to settle into complete sentences. The winds were whistling around me. Rain was nearly falling from the dark depressing rain clouds that hovered above my unsettled head. I sat on the ground trying, patiently to arrange my thoughts. I needed to focus on what it was I wanted to say. What I wanted to express. Unable to concentrate on the task itself I pulled out the poems by Mary Oliver. I concentrated on every word trying desperately to find the meaning of each sentence. I finally decided that not all art should be dissected for a deeper meaning, or the authors’ reason for writing the poem. Some poems should just be read. They should be read and understood on a basic level. They should be heard and listened to carefully, letting each word roll off ones tongue. The way the words describe each aspect of Oliver’s thoughts helped me to begin to write my poem of nature. Before I met the paper with my pen I closed my eyes and bowed my head and thanked God for his beautiful creation. Then I asked God to grant me the words he would have me use to describe this indescribable earth that I was encompassed with. I then opened my eyes, read the words that applied to me directly from Oliver.

“I lounge on the grass, that’s all. So simple. Then I lie back until I am inside the cloud that is just above me but very high, and shaped like a fish. Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-wanting. Then the blue jay cries out his riddle in his carping voice, I return.”

I started my poem writing every word that God granted me.

Free To Dance by Kristen DeKlavon

I sat. I listened.

I let the winds cradle me in its gusts,

And whisper in my ear the song of freedom.

I let the fall leaves tiptoe their way around me.

Dancing as they fall to end their lives.

Almost as if they declare to the world their freedom from the life they’ve lived for so long.

However, they fall.

They slowly fall all around me, never to begin again.

Golden in their color they leave behind a beautiful spirit of joy.

Their short lives end.

And they dance in sequence with the wind as they fall to their death,

To their despair.

They don’t seem to mind.

That is how I would like to leave the earth. In a dance,

Without a care in the world,

Declaring to the earth the state of my freedom from he life I lived stuck on this earth.

I’ll be free to reside in the Heavens.

I’ll be free to dance.  

Circle B Bar Reserve

After rereading Robert Hass’s Poem State of the Planet while in the midst of wildlife at its best, I was able to understand his passion for nature. I could sense every word was written with care and thought. As I sat watching the wind thrust the nature around me back and forth I realized that I was living inside Hass’s poem itself. With a Tornado nearing towards Lakeland, Florida I could understand some of the first words Robert used in his poem. “Rain lashing the windshield. Through blurred glass gusts of a pacific storm rocking a huge, shank-needled Himalayan cedar.”

This poem didn’t speak to me the second time around as much as it did the first time. However, it allowed me to feel what the poet might have been feeling. The inspiration of the natural world around us that’s forgotten and helpless with no one to speak for it. I could understand the poets reasoning more then before.

 After reading Corrigan’s Notes on Nature and Poetry as Spiritual Practices I was able to understand the concept of reading poetry better. I agree with Corrigan when he talked about engaging with poetry and nature as spiritual practice.

“Learn to slow down, and actually slow down. Learn to calm down, and actually calm down. Learn to be present in the moment, and actually become present for a few moments…” This section was somewhat common sense but somehow it made me realize how often I try to slow down, but never slow down, or how often I desperately try to be present in the present moment, and actually become present for a few moments. I find that often I am physically present in a moment but my mind is elsewhere. With the distractions of this world it’s common to find yourself stuck in these moments not actually experiencing all you were meant to experience.

State Of The Planet

After reading State Of The Planet by Robert Hass, my eyes were opened toward literature about nature. When I first glanced at the writing, I was not sure about what I was to encounter. I’m not sure if I just didn’t know what literature about nature would look like or if I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the concept. Nature is anything outside of our doors, buildings, classrooms, offices, and cities. Therefore dissecting such a broad topic like nature seemed impossible to me.

It seemed as if Hass constructed this essay as a diary entry. Something with only one subject but no real structure to the essay. It was hard for me to adjust my reading to understand the work the way it should be understood. It was a difficult read for me. Not because of the vocabulary or the descriptions, but because I was searching for a point the entire essay. I wanted a reason. I eventually understood the work to be artistic literature. It was very much like scattered thoughts however when I looked closer I was able to grasp the artistic structure the essay was in.

Reading State Of The Planet made me think about nature in a new way. Growing up in a suburb of a large city in Florida, I was coincidentally surrounded by nature, however I rarely stepped outside of my air-conditioned car. I can honestly count on my fingers the amount of times I actually spent more than an hour in nature, taking it in, and appreciating everything around me. The passage that got me thinking the most is located on the first page under number two. It reads “Topsoil: going fast. Rivers: dammed and fouled. Cod: about fished out. Haddock: about fished out.” This passage convicted me and made my feel guilty about my lack of empathy for the earth. God gave us this magnificent world. To show him our appreciation we build buildings and destroy the beautiful world he created for us. God created this world. God made the trees and the flowers, the creatures, rivers, and oceans. He handcrafted everything that we so easily destroy. We are replacing magnificent, wonderful creations by God for second rate creations that we make ourselves.

November.

Today I went to a presentation done by Laura Runge a PhD professor from the University of South Florida. She presented one of her many essays of her research and artistic perspective of the Hillsborough River along with photography from her many trips to the river. Laura passionately began the reading with a slideshow of pictures from her trip to the river back in November. Her essay, conveniently enough, was titled November. Laura decided to bring her son on this trip to Hillsborough because he has better eyes. She was also anxious to explore the park and river through his perspective as well. Spencer was eager to explore the river immediately after he arrived. This was not something Laura would normally do, however she followed Spencer in hopes that he would help her to see new things and explore new areas. After arriving at the next park, Laura decided to show Spencer “her rock.” They canoed to an island where they explored and pretended to be pirates on a beach. They found “tree knees” that were taller then Spencer himself. They also found and amphitheater where the steps led to the river. Scattered amongst the steps where hundreds of nuts. Laura and Spencer eventually found themselves kicking all the nuts into the river. They continued to Sergeants park where they watched various birds go about their business as usual. They came across an African American man who was fishing in the river. He eventually caught a large mudfish. They also came across more birds like the solitary and fierce blue hereon and other creatures like turtles and alligators. Eventually they left and drove to Lettuce Lake Park where they came across more animals. They ended their trip at Rotary Park where Spencer walked on the tips of stone pillars that were about three feet long and three feet apart. This trip made Laura think about many aspects of life. Laura was able to use this trip to get a new perspective on life. Watching Spencer play Laura contemplated the concept of movement and play in a natural habitat. We all have a connection to the organic world. This natural habitat is so often forgotten to be our own. However this is the world God created for us. The earth and the trees and the rivers and mountains were all made for us. This world is our natural habitat. It’s hard to think of the organic world while being surrounded by these artificial habitats we’ve created for ourselves. We’ve successfully removed ourselves from the earth itself in a way. Yes we live on the earth but do we live in it? Do we appreciate the nature around us? This trip also conjured up thoughts in Laura of life and death. As morbid as these thoughts were it made her realize that everything dies. Eventually the trees will die, along with the plants and animals just like we will all eventually die. And with death comes new life. Nature is our moral connection to life.

Laura did this project to understand nature deeper then she did before. She repeatedly went to the same five parks every month and wrote about her experience and observations to practice and commit to the surroundings and reflect on contemplative traditions. This project improved her awareness, photography skills, writing skills and reflecting.

Laura decided to begin this project when she realized how out of touch she really was with Florida literature. She found that before this project she knew very little of Florida’s nature and history. This project helped her to improve her knowledge of Florida to eventually improve her understanding of Florida literature.

           

The Boys Next Door Reread

Attending the field trip to the Alliance For Independence on Tuesday, March 22^nd was a life changing experience. Before we arrived at the cooperation, I was extremely nervous about interacting with adults that were mentally disabled. Much to my surprise I was so encouraged by this trip. I was a little disappointed in the facilities and how outdated they were. My heart hurt for the inconveniences the buildings caused the clients, as well as the employees. I am not exactly sure what I was expecting but I know I was expecting the facilities to be more equipped. The lack of support AFI had made me feel useless and guilty that I do not do anything that would benefit people with mental disabilities. I never really thought about people with mental disabilities before reading the boys next door. I guess this could be because I feel uncomfortable with them all together. When I walked into the facilities and began to interact with some of the clients, I realized more and more that these people are just that, people. They are people with disabilities. But they still have wants, needs, passions, and even attraction to the opposite sex. They were all very welcoming and extremely sweet. Most of them were talkative and selfless. They were constantly complementing my classmates and I. They were so excited to see us; it almost moved me to tears.

The scene in The Boys Next Door that I believe to be the core moment in the play is located towards the end on page 58 and ends at the end of the book. This scene shows the love the boys have for Jack. As confusing as it was, you could really sense the emotions that all the boys were displaying despite their mental disabilities. This scene popped into my head when I was interacting with some of the clients at the Alliance for Independence because of the similarities. The clients, just like the boys in the boys next door didn’t display their feels in the “normal” way of displaying their feelings. The clients had an awkward way of interacting with us. However, I could tell that they were all excited to interact with us and disappointed when we left.  

The Spirit of God Hovered by Steven M. Fetkke

Reading this essay on how the church affects people with mental disabilities, really got my mind digging deeper. Many times while reading this essay I had to stop my thought process from digging too deep. After reading the first page I already began to ponder on thoughts that parents of mentally disabled children probably do often. One question the author asks himself, as well as the reader, that stuck out to me the most, is located on the first page in the middle of the second paragraph. Fetkke asks, “Are the disabled somehow a part of God’s creation story, or have they been disqualified by their conditions?” This question really made my mind wander. I had to ask myself this question over an over until I finally came to the realization that I have no idea. I cannot begin to comprehend the meaning behind a mentally disabled person. I know that God loves all. That is one thing I am certain of. However, when it comes to the meaning of why a mentally disabled person is disabled, I’m at a stand still. There’s the argument that everything happens for a reason and God loves all. But in my mind I can’t seem to satisfy myself with an answer when it comes to who goes to heaven and who goes to hell? Would someone with a mental disability go straight to heaven, just like a child would? Or does it depend on the severity of the mental condition? Why would God do this to someone?

I know that God may use someone with a mental disability for his glory. God may use anyone. It wouldn’t surprise me if God chose to use someone with a disability. But when it comes to the argument of why God would want someone to have that disability, I just don’t know what to think. It’s almost like saying someone can be born gay. It just doesn’t seem like something a loving God would do.

After reading this essay I’m left with extremely deep questions and no answers.

The boys next door Act II

When I began reading act 11 of the boys next door I realized that many changes were soon to come. Barrys dad was coming to visit him and this was very exciting to Barry. Unfortunately barry's father was somewhat rude to him throughout the trip. It definitely struck something in me. It's apparent to how barry's disorder could be worse because of the issues stemming from his father. My heart went out to him. Also, in this act Norman bought sheila her own keys. This was one of my favorite scenes because of the comical instances between him and her. Also earlier in the act sheila asks to see his keys again and he refuses again. Norman's fear of losing his keys made me laugh out loud. Jack finally realizes that he's burnt out by the boys and he decides to leave them. The boys throw him a going away party. This play really stuck me in a new way. Recently my parents adopted three young kids. One of them was diagnosed with autism. Before this I was always slightly uncomfortable around people with mentally handicapped people. But having a brother that I love and cherish before I knew he had any problems has helped me to become more comfortable with them. I love my brother more then I love myself despite is mental problems. He's a person just like the boys in the boys next door. I can't place a label on mentally handicapped people as easily as I used to because of the love I have for my brother.

One of the most heartbreaking scenes was towards the end when Arnold confronts Jack about the fact that he’s leaving.

“Arnold: Jack, you shouldn’t be quitting us. If you quit jack, I’ll hate you.

Jack: I hope not.

Arnold: Are you still quitting us?

Jack: Yes.

Arnold: Then fine I hate you. Curtain up, end of subject.”

The Boys Next Door

Sonny's Blues

After thoroughly reading Sonny’s Blues by James Baldwin, I found myself having a hard time putting it down. This story seems so dramatic and unrealistic at first. However, the more and more I read on, the more and more I found myself able to relate to it. I too grew up not having the best relationship with my sister. My sister went through very similar incidences in her life like Sonny. In one of my blog posts, I posted my own short story, which was somewhat fictional. But the truth is the short story was somewhat fictional, however, most of it was based off of real events that have happened in my life. My relationship with my sister was not that similar to Sonny’s relationship with the narrator, when I was younger. Now that I’ve grown up and lost interest in striving for my older sisters acceptance, I notice her becoming more dependant of me. She has always been depending on others for support because she’s never been able to support herself. She’s also made quite a few bad choices that have caused her, along with my entire family, much pain. Reading this story helped me to shed new light on my personal relationship with my sister. My first instinct is to empathize with the narrator because it is easier for me to relate to the narrator as apposed to Sonny. However, after finishing the story, I am able to say that I have changed my mind. I empathize with Sonny most of all. His difficult struggles and Journey through life, is almost understandable. Now that we’re both older and I’ve grown apart from my sister, I can almost imagine hearing news about my sister from Facebook, or better yet, the newspaper, just the way the narrator heard about his brother being arrested. It brings tears to my eyes when I think about the relationship I have with my sister now, and how if I were a better sister to her I might be able to change the ending to my own Sonny’s Blues.

I took a lot away from this story. More than I ever thought possible.

My Cemetary Experience

Yesterday I went to the Lakeview, Roselawn and Tiger Flowers cemetery complex for this fieldtrip, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes. I used this experience to dig deeper in to my soul in order to understand the grieving C.S. Lewis experienced on a new, real level. I believe this field trip made me look at death in a new perspective. I had never been to a cemetery before yesterday, especially one as historical and almost creepy as that one. The cemetery was filled with gravestones from the early 1900’s and even the 1800’s. This was surprising for me. Every gravestone looked different. Through this trip I was able to look at death in a very real way. The amount of gravestones scattered throughout the cemetery were numerous. Some gravestones were large and beautiful. Some were small and had little to no engravings at all. Some were covered in flowers and decorations. Some were empty and sad. Looking at these created a very real realization that these gravestones represented people. People who were once breathing like I am now. People who had lives, souls, passions, and feelings. Theses gravestones were not just stones. Not just decorations to remember the deceased. This graveyard was overflowing with people whose lives ended, just like my life will one day. As depressing as this thought is, it almost gives me a sense of peace. Knowing that one day I will eventually die, leave this earth, and travel “alone, into the alone,” I am satisfied with the thought that I will soon be with my savior. I will eventually leave a memory, a grave, this body, behind and travel into the alone with God. That is the place my heart yearns for. As upsetting as leaving the only life I’ve ever known may be, I look forward to spending eternity with my king.

A Grief Observed Chapters 1 and 2

 Since I wasn't able to make it to class on Thursday the 17th. I decided to do the in class assignment on my own. I turned some relaxing music on and began to paint. The words I focused my painting on are located in the first chapter of the book of Joel. It says, "Mighty without number; it's teeth are the teeth of a lion, And it has the fangs of a lioness."

After reading Chapter 1 and 2 of A Grief Observed, it was apparent to me what the author is trying to say. It almost seems as if the author, C.S. Lewis is trying to do exactly what the title implies; observe grieving from his personal perspective. It’s something most people in the world have to go through at least once in their lives. The difference between most people’s perspective of grieving a loss and Lewis’ perspective of grieving his particular loss is his loss was expected. This gives Lewis a perspective of being able to reflect on grieving in a real almost direct way. Many people can’t gather the strength to actually reflect on the pain they are going through. I believe Lewis was able to do this because it was somewhat therapeutically for him to reflect on it. From what it looks like it also made it easier for him to grasp the loss itself.

Lewis reflects on life itself many times throughout the chapters. One part that stuck out to me the most in located on page 9 when Lewis says something most profound. He said, “’ I lay awake all night with toothache, thinking about toothache and about lying awake.’ That’s true to life.” In this passage Lewis reflects on one’s focus of one’s pain. He is hurting. He lies in bed at night thinking about the hurt itself. Not about what it was caused by, but the ache itself. He also focuses on the results of the aching. He lies awake because of the toothache so he thinks about the toothache and the results of the pain it’s causing him. This is life. We do this so very often. We obsess over pain. We consume ourselves with the effect this pain has had on our life. Rarely do we look at the big picture. We focus on the now.

Joel.

        While reading the book of Joel I was struck with the realization that what I was reading was essentially poetry. Whenever I read the bible I normally never consider it artistic, or creative. I normally think of it as the book of rules, or the book of creation. When I read it this time I paid close attention to the way it sounded. I looked for rhythms in the scripture. I paid close attention to the repetition of words and the poetic symbolism. The text was stuffed with symbolic metaphors, and descriptive facts. While rereading the text, I highlighted any of the phrases that stuck out to me.

        The words and phrases I liked the most, purely based off of the sounds these words made when I read them aloud, were:

“What the gnawing locust has left, the swarming locust has eaten; And what the swarming locust has left, the creeping locust has eaten; And what the creeping locust has left, the stripping locust has eaten.“

         This stuck out to me in particular because of the way it pours out of one’s mouth in repetition. I love the word locust. This may be odd to many, however I love the way that word is somehow sweet sounding. However, the meaning of the word is disgusting and dirty. Locusts are, and were considered one of the worst insects that existed. But the word locust somehow brings joy to my ears.

The other word that stuck out to me was the word “zealous.” But why? I can’t necessarily place my finger on why I love this word so much. I think just the way the word rolls off one’s tongue; it’s intriguing and beautiful. As I was reading this over and over again in the passage I thought to myself “what exactly does it mean?”

        After extensive research (google), I realized that zealous means: filled with or inspired by intense enthusiasm or zeal; ardent; fervent. So I read the phrase again inserting the definition into the place where the word was used.

        “Then the LORD will be [filled with intense enthusiasm] for his land and will have pity on his

         people.” 

This definition makes the phrase more exciting. The Lord will be FILLED with INTENSE enthusiasm for his land. This is moving to me.

A story about the body

Reading “A Story about the Body,” by Robert Hass, was very intriguing. By the title alone, I was already drawn in to the story. I read every word as if I was watching it play out. I slowly read the story as if I was the narrator. It was very effortless for me to understand the story it self. The story was simply written, making it easy to comprehend.  The author spoke as in he was from the outside looking in, about a girl he was infatuated by. The narrator even spoke of love between the young composer and the artist. Robert Hass said, “She was Japanese, a painter, almost sixty, and he thought he was in love with her.” He specifically described the way she moved and worked on her art. He said, so descriptively, ”He loved her work, and her work was like the way she moved her body, used her hands, looked at him directly when she made amused and considered answers to his questions.” I thought the story was very simple, yet it had a very deep meaning. However, the story somehow struck me as odd. The way the author talked about this deep connection the young boy had with the Japanese woman was very clear. The author began the story making it seem to readers that the boy was simply observing the woman from afar. Then further into the story you realize that the young man had already shown her that he was interested in her. Before you know it, the woman suddenly reveals something that was wrong with her body physically, as if she was warning the young man, not even really giving him much of a chance to show her whether or not it affects him. It was almost as if the woman knew what the young man was going to say. It was also deeply surprising to me that the young man was so quick to shut her down. The young man simply replies to her revealing confession, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I could.” Reading this story made me realize how shallow some men can be. How much something so simple that is apart of the female body, can define a person. It made me angry to see how a woman that is so confident and radiant can turn so quickly in the man’s eyes because of something she’s missing physically. Forever this woman will have to live with the fact that she had apart of her body taken away. Apart of what made her a woman was taken from her so she could live and this could be enough for someone to never consider being with her.  

Special Post #1- Short Story

I watched Jessica carefully apply her foundation, blush, and eye shadow. Jessica’s beautiful tan skin covered in foundation seemed to perfectly shine in the sun, which was now pouring in through the giant window sitting right behind the mirror that Jessica was so intently peering into. She looked as if she was in search of a wrinkle, zit, or scar on her perfectly clear face. She would never find one. Jessica slowly applied her blush to each cheek, allowing the definition of her plump cheeks to stand out like a sore thumb. She then defined her perfectly round, hazel eyes with shimmery bronze eye shadow. Lastly she pouted her lips as she applied lip-gloss on her full lips. Jessica took one final glance in the mirror as she grabbed her purse and walked right past me as I sat on the floor hoping she’d give me a reassuring smile or glance. She did neither. Instead she brushed my shoulder with her knee as she rushed by me, almost knocking me to the floor. This didn’t bother me. I held my ground as to not upset her for being in the way of the door in the first place.  I loved watching my sister get ready for dates. Immediately after she rushed out of the house I ran into my room, locked the door behind me and began applying the make-up my mother gave me for playing with a couple years back. I applied it exactly how I’d seen Jessica apply it. First I coated my face in foundation. Next I applied the bright pink blush to my cheeks just as I’d seen Jessica do it. I then covered my eyelids in shimmery gold eye shadow and doused my lips with oily lip-gloss. Finally I stared in the mirror at myself, hoping to see a beautiful girl just like my older sister Jessica. However, I was left with an empty feeling when I saw that all that stared back at me in the mirror was a cheap imitation of a beautiful young woman. As I came to this realization, I watched tears begin to trickle down my pink cheeks, until it dropped off of my chin and finally hit the carpet beneath me. I realized Jessica would never cry about something so petty, so I quickly dried my tears. I found myself in the bathroom scrubbing off all the remains of the make up I had just applied. I hated the thought that I could never be like Jessica. This made me sick.

Four years had past now and I can’t stand myself more than ever. Jessica has grown to hate my annoying habits and I find myself trying to get her horrible comments out of my head. I walked to the kitchen in her hand-me-down sweatpants; ready to grab the ice cream I open the freezer as I see Jessica walk up behind me. Her slender, well developed eighteen-year-old body steps beside me, cutting me off to the fridge. She grabs a water bottle and some grapes, as she peers at my pants through the corner of her eye. As she’s walking away she comments on the fact that the pants I was wearing used to fall of her when she was my age, and they still don’t fit her now that she’s eighteen. After she walked into her room and closed the door, I found myself still sitting in front of the refrigerator with the freezer door still open. I didn’t notice the cold air blowing on me, as I stood there, frozen from the ice-cold words that Jessica just told me. It took everything in me not to break down crying at that moment. I mustered up the courage to shut the freezer door, leaving the rocky road ice cream behind. I walked to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I stared at myself for thirty minutes. Analyzing my body from head to toe. Finally I decided to begin the diet I was contemplating for years. After deciding, I sat in front of the toilet, replaying every comment Jessica ever said to me in my head. I searched through my memories for one moment where Jessica told me she loved me. Unable to find any positive memories of Jessica, I forced my finger down my throat and threw up until everything I had eaten that day was now out of my body. I was on my way to becoming the beautiful younger sister Jessica always wanted.

            Months went by and suddenly I went from a size six to a size three. I loved the immediate results of the weight falling off of my body. My mother seemed to notice, however, Jessica didn’t notice at all. She barely ever talked to me, but when she did it was something about how I will never be as intelligent as she was. I would never have as many friends as she did. Boys would never be interested in me as long she was around. She was beautiful, intelligent, fun, flirty, witty, and courageous. She wasn’t afraid of heights like I was. She never received any bad grades like I did. Jessica was everything I wanted to be and she knew it.

            One day when I was throwing up into the toilet, my mother rushed in thinking I was sick. When I explained to her I was fine, she understood what it was I was doing. I felt so shameful as my mother held me in her arms as if I was dying. Seeing how greatly my behavior was hurting my mother I realized that what I was doing to my body was unhealthy and I stopped myself. I gave up on trying to become Jessica. I just allowed myself to be me.

            A couple months later Jessica graduated from high school. She made plans to leave home and attend an out of state college. This hurt to know that I would rarely every see Jessica from that point on. After she packed her boxes into her car and cleared her room completely she sat outside the house waiting for everyone to tell her goodbye. As my family stood outside watching her get ready to leave she went around to each family member and hugged him or her. As she approached me she simply held out her hand to high-five me. After eighteen years of living under the same roof, all Jessica could do was lift her hand to high-five me. My mother didn’t accept this form of goodbye, so she forced Jessica to hug me. As warmly as she could Jessica stretched out her arms and took me into her embrace. As we stood in the front lawn, awkwardly hugging, I heard Jessica whisper into my ear three simple words. She whispered, “I love you.” This was all it took for me to completely break down inside. I love you. I. Love. You. My heart screamed back, “I love you too,” however, all I could do was turn my face to hide the tears. I walked into my house and as soon as the door shut behind me I fell to the ground, sobbing with everything in me. My sister loves me. Jessica loves me.

Twinkle

      While re-reading “This Blessed House,” by Jhumpa Lahiri, I decided to focus all of my thoughts on the character, Twinkle. As I read I examined Twinkle’s every movement. I examined all the little personal habits of Twinkle that the author subtly snuck in throughout the story. I also highlighted anywhere she spoke throughout the story. I noticed that the author focuses much of the story on Twinkle. However, she focuses on the way Sanjeev, views Twinkle. The story almost seemed biased in some areas when describing Twinkle. It seemed like Lahiri wanted her audience to read the story through Sanjeev’s point of view. Somehow this makes it not as difficult to relate to Sanjeev as it would be if the story were written through Twinkle’s point of view.

     On another note, I found it very interesting that the author starts the story off with Twinkle speaking first. The story begins and Twinkle speaks first saying, “Guess what I found?” Already it was easy for me to see the type of person Twinkle was. She asked Sanjeev to “guess” what it is that she found. Before I even continued reading, I could almost imagine the type of personality Twinkle had through that one phrase. As I read on the author developed the personality of Twinkle so well, I found it easy to project the type of wife she was. Throughout the opening scene between Twinkle and Sanjeev, I was able to note that Twinkle was carefree and practical. She insisted on keeping the items throughout the house that she found because in her eyes she found it useful. She said, “but I can cook something with the vinegar. It’s brand-new” (Lahiri pg.136). 

     After reading the on I was able to start to really develop who the author was making Twinkle out to be. Twinkle was a fun, carefree imaginative sort of soul. She was young at heart and really new how to make people love her. She was extremely considerate of others, however, she was not going to let anyone override her. Twinkle knew how to really appreciate the little things in life. She was confidant in who she was and didn’t really care what anyone thought about her. “She was like that, excited and delighted by little things, crossing her fingers before any remotely unpredictable event, like tasting a new flavor of ice cream, or dropping a letter in a mailbox” (Lahiri 142). I believe the author constructed Twinkle’s character to a “T,” making it very easy for readers to grasp the extreme differences in Twinkle and Sanjeev.

This Blessed House

I enjoyed “This Blessed House,” thoroughly. I thought the writer had a very simple yet unique style of writing. The author wrote in third person, while switching constantly from a narrator perspective to the perspective of Sanjeev, the main character. The author developed the characters very well. I was able to feel the way Sanjeev felt about Christianity, as well as how he felt about his wife Twinkle. It was obvious throughout the story that Sanjeev was slowly but surely getting irritated more and more with Twinkle. This is apparent when the author reflects on Sanjeev’s thoughts on page 142. The author, Lahiri, writes, “Now in the second month of their marriage, certain things nettled him – the way she sometimes spat a little when she spoke, or left her undergarments after removing them at night at the foot of their bed rather than depositing them in the laundry hamper” (Lahiri 142). I was also able to grasp Sanjeev’s emotions toward his arranged marriage. Although I did not exactly agree with the thoughts of Sanjeev, I completely understood how he felt.
When I first began living in the dorms at Southeastern University, I was struck with the concept of living with a complete stranger, before I could wrap my mind around the fact that I was now on my own. Before classes even began I was trying to get to know my roommate as well as I could. While doing this, I was forced to accept the personal habits of my roommate as well. This became extremely difficult to juggle when classes began. However, I soon was able to love my roommate and accept her the way she was. I believe Sanjeev also goes through something similar to what I went through my first semester of college. I can see how Jhumpa Lahiri's, life would relate to this story considerably.

Reading for Transformation through the Poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins

Reading for Transformation through the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins by Francis X. McAloon SJ was an interesting read. As I began reading this essay I somehow was caught up in relational thoughts to the author. I completely understood where he was coming from and this is what intrigued me to read the essay, paying attention to every detail. It was very easy for me to relate to McAloon in the very beginning of the writing when he said, “Along with others in my class, I struggled to comprehend his difficult syntax and obscure vocabulary, as in the opening line of his sonnet ‘The Windhover’: ‘I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-/dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon. . . .’ Sure it sounded marvelous, but what did it mean” (McAloon 1)? McAloon begins the essay with his thoughts of Gerard Manley Hopkins poetry, when he was just an undergraduate. He was once a college student reading deep complex poetry, not understanding it as much as he could. This I can relate to completely. I feel that many college students eventually go through something similar to what McAloon went through in those four years of college. It intimidates many of us who didn’t come from deep, literary backgrounds. Most high schools don’t require their students to really dissect complex literature like college would. For many of us we’re caught off guard when we enter into college and are required to read, no, feel poetry or literary works that we’ve never encountered before. This initial reacting McAloon has to Hopkin’s writings is the reaction many student have when reading complex literature. They will read the literature, as it is required for class, not really, truly thinking about what it is they are reading. Then the students usually put it down and never again go back to really read it at all. Throughout the rest of their lives they’ll hear of certain literature by specific authors that may have turned them off during college and they immediately have a negative reaction to it. I’ve been in that position many times throughout my life. I was never as open to literature as I needed to be until I really got into reading for pleasure during high school. However, I am cured of bypassing good literature on the first read.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver

The story “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love,” is one of the weirdest short stories I’ve ever read. I could see where the author was going with it; however, it mostly seemed like scattered thoughts. The author jumped from dialogue to descriptions to thoughts of the narrator, making it difficult to follow. It seems like the author’s purpose in the structure of the short story was to list the events in sequence. The random thoughts of the narrator where scattered amongst descriptions and stories being told by the characters. The fact that the characters were mostly drunk and jumping from subject to subject seemed a little too realistic. I feel like the author may have been intoxicated while writing this. I also feel like some of the scenarios in this story where unrealistic. It was hard to relate to the different stories. It was also difficult for me to feel empathy for the characters. I felt like the characters were not developed well enough. Because the story began with the story of Terri being abused by a man who promised he loved her, it just struck me as shocking rather then making me feel any empathy for her. The way Terri viewed the extreme actions of her ex-boyfriend as a sign of love for her, made me sick. It’s hard to feel empathy or even a relation to someone who would be stupid enough to view a psychotic man as someone who loved her deeply. I think many times people confuse obsession, infatuation and lust with love. It is very obvious to me that none of these characters understand what love really is. I feel like this may be why the divorce rate is so high these days. People are so quick to get married and they don’t even know the true meaning of love. It’s sad to see the world become so meaningless. I believe the story was porely structured and difficult to grasp the meaning.

"What you get out of what you read is determined by how you read"

While reading the essay “Active Reading of Literature,” I realized that I have come across similar writings on the same subject. It is very easy to read something and not take in fully all the author is portraying. It’s like when the author says,
“Although people are surrounded by music much of the time, they don’t always listen to it. When the radio is on in the backround- in the cafeteria, in the car, at the gym, at home- people rarely really pay attention to the music. They are aware of it, but they don’t appreciate it fully.”
Information like this is very helpful for people who have a low reading comprehension level. When I was younger I hated reading. My reading comprehension level was always average. I would read words off of a page while allowing my mind to wander in many different directions. I found it difficult to pay attention to what I read. I wasn’t stupid. If I really wanted to read something I could read it properly. However, if something I was reading was not interesting to me it was hard for me to understand what I was reading because I wasn’t really reading. There is a big difference between reading the words off of a page and really reading words off of a page. I was able to get over this, as I matured and began to appreciate reading, through guidelines like the guidelines given in this essay. That is why I believe the statement “what you get out of what you read is determined by how you read,” is completely accurate. For instance, I may read a statement and believe it is a literal statement, but my peer may read the same statement and believe it is a metaphorical statement. There are different ways to read things. It all depends on the person and their perspective.

My Literary Profile

Some of my earliest literary experiences began when I was just an infant. My mother was, and still is, a die heart fan of literature. She loves a good book. Therefore, my house in south Florida is packed with books. Every bookshelf is barely holding the hundreds and hundreds of books my mother refuses to get rid of. Literature has been a part of my life ever since I was born. One of my favorite books I read when I was just a toddler was "The Giving Tree." I would look at the pictures in this book until I was capable of reading this book to myself. I loved literature so much that I began working at Barnes and Noble when I turned 18. Being surrounded by literature made me feel at home. Some of my most recent memories of literature would include winter break of 2009, when I saw "Twilight" for the first time. I thought the movie was alright, however, I was raised believing that movies that are based off of books are never as good as the book itself. Immediately after watching the movie I borrowed the book from a friend, and read the entire thing in 2 days. It wasn't the best literature I ever read, however it was intriguing enough for me to finish all four books by the end of that week. One of the most significant literary texts I've ever read was "A Room With a View" by E.M. Forster. This book is significant to me because of the way it drew me in. It is very rare for me to find a book that keeps me interested throughout the entire book. I was able to put myself in the characters shoes and feel what they were feeling and it was hard for me to put this book down. Needless to say this book inspired me.


My initial thoughts about Corrigan’s Essay are that Corrigan would confirm the way I view literature as a part of life. I'm excited for this course because I love literature.