Wednesday, April 13, 2005
This is for anyone who has smirked or rolled their eyes or looked away when I've described myself as spiritual but not religious.
I don't know why it's particularly comforting to know that I'm not the only one with that philosophy. I guess it's just that everyone seems to be waving a flag for something, whether it be Catholicism or paganism or Judaism or Islam or atheism, and I seem wishy-washy from all directions when someone asks me what I am and I can't find one word that will explain concisely so that people can pigeonhole me and move on with their lives.
Last semester I was sitting in the back of a car with some friends in the seats in front of me, almost dozing, while they talked about their religions and their beliefs and their reasons for choosing the paths that they have. And I wanted to speak, and say that I was not empty of faith, that I had a sort of nameless collection of things around which I built my understanding and imagining of the world, but I could not. I meant afterwards to at least write down what I wanted to say, and I can't recall now if I did. It certainly didn't make it to the internet, but perhaps it is buried in a journal somewhere. Or perhaps I put it off and off and off until the memory of even wanting to do it escaped me.
But it is there, just hard to pin down and talk about. This excerpt from "Sunday Morning" by Wallace Stevens is just about the closest thing I've found to a real description of it.
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.
I don't know why it's particularly comforting to know that I'm not the only one with that philosophy. I guess it's just that everyone seems to be waving a flag for something, whether it be Catholicism or paganism or Judaism or Islam or atheism, and I seem wishy-washy from all directions when someone asks me what I am and I can't find one word that will explain concisely so that people can pigeonhole me and move on with their lives.
Last semester I was sitting in the back of a car with some friends in the seats in front of me, almost dozing, while they talked about their religions and their beliefs and their reasons for choosing the paths that they have. And I wanted to speak, and say that I was not empty of faith, that I had a sort of nameless collection of things around which I built my understanding and imagining of the world, but I could not. I meant afterwards to at least write down what I wanted to say, and I can't recall now if I did. It certainly didn't make it to the internet, but perhaps it is buried in a journal somewhere. Or perhaps I put it off and off and off until the memory of even wanting to do it escaped me.
But it is there, just hard to pin down and talk about. This excerpt from "Sunday Morning" by Wallace Stevens is just about the closest thing I've found to a real description of it.
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.
Monday, April 4, 2005
For some reason there are few things I find more soothing than water. The falling of rain, the flowing of a river, or the lapping of the ocean have a way of making me feel incredibly peaceful and happy. I love boating and swimming, and as far as weather and natural disasters are concerned, intense thunderstorms, torrential downpours, and flooding are by far the most exciting.
Of course I'm sure I wouldn't be thrilled about flooding if it involved an actual river whose anger would destroy houses and things, but when it involves the little creek that runs through my college, how can it be anything but exciting and fun? And that's what happened this weekend. Water, everywhere, falling from the sky, rushing across campus, filling up the lawns, stranding trees and buildings and cars in deep pools, and making both me and my roommate incredibly giddy. And because I'm overly excitable about such things I took pictures!
Of course I'm sure I wouldn't be thrilled about flooding if it involved an actual river whose anger would destroy houses and things, but when it involves the little creek that runs through my college, how can it be anything but exciting and fun? And that's what happened this weekend. Water, everywhere, falling from the sky, rushing across campus, filling up the lawns, stranding trees and buildings and cars in deep pools, and making both me and my roommate incredibly giddy. And because I'm overly excitable about such things I took pictures!