Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Plato, Dalai Lama, Kawabata


For some reason or another I often have these massive upsurges of optimism where I believe that I can solve all of the worlds problems easily.  I seem to believe that numerous world leaders have overlooked some key thing that I somehow am aware of... I know that this is quite childish but maybe it is exactly  what the world needs? When I was little I remember asking my dad why we had money. I thought that if every human got everything that they wanted for free, and would do their job for free also, then there was no need for money.
 
Now,  I realize that there is no way that this system could ever work because of human nature. The elements of greed, a lack of moderation, and a mastery of moderating our pleasures and desires have all been present in humankind, at least humans as they exist within society, for thousands of years. Plato's description of the phenomenon of moderation is entirely applicable to modern society. Summarized (and boiled down) from Plato's Republic: Moderation is a kind of order. It is a mastery of pleasures and desires. Man can be stronger or weaker than himself. The soul is divided into a rational and irrational part, the irrational part is divided into desire and impulse. . . As soon as I write this I can apply it to so many typecasts of people in our society. Waiting in line the day the new iphone comes out. Needing to have a certain type of car, clothing, to be seen at a certain place. It is so disappointing the extent to which members of society (especially in the middle class) feel the need to keep up appearances. . .
Lately, I have been thinking that if people spent 15 minutes a day simply reading the latest headlines of the world's news the world would be a much better place. I honestly believe that if every human being on our planet considered themselves a citizen of the world- before they considered themselves a human of a certain race, a certain gender, a certain religion- then a great amount of the planet's troubles would be eradicated.
Now, to the point and finally getting this overdue blog published . . .
 Last fall I was given an assignment to write a vignette in the style of Yasunari Kawabata in my writing class at Berklee. We were supposed to write about a single moment in time or single experience. The class had just finished discussing the Dalia lama's essay "The ethic of Compassion" and I was thoroughly absorbed in it still while walking down a busy Boylston street to get to work. The vignette that resulted describes this walk from my classroom at Newbury and Mass ave to my office. It is entitled "pedestrian". However before I include it I will also include a quote:
"World peace must develop from inner peace. Peace is not the absence of violence. Peace is the manifestation of human compassion.-Dalai Lama"
"pedestrian" -Jenn Allen 10/2008


the girl was not thinking so much as she was living. as she walked down the street she pondered the world.
     oftentimes, while walking, she attempted to answer impossible questions by using her thoughts. the problem she often encountered with this was that the city was mostly full of life, of colorful things that often caught her eye and caused her to forget her present thoughts. thus, the girl never did think so much as she became caught up in the happenings around her.
     the girl was sensitive, but was shy about her sensitivity. she had encountered conflict and anger while a small child, and as a result whenever she experienced either she would usually react by feeling sick to her stomach and crying numerous tears. after enough  exposure to conflict in her life, the girl had so many scars from previous wars that she eventually grew a shell to conceal her vulnerability from the whole world. because of this shell, she never let another human see her shed even a single tear, determined to never let anger have its victory. she lived constantly in a mindset of cheerfulness, and was attempting to think through how she could learn to be unconditionally kind to all beings.
     on this particular day her thoughts were almost entirely unfocused. the weather was partially to blame, it was pleasant for late autumn. she had worn her rain coat because before the day had grown warm, before sunshine greeted her unlined eager face, there was a cold fog over the entire city.
      so without thinking, she had began to cross a street a little too late, and she found her self stranded in the middle of a busy intersection. at this moment, her world, that most always had a general air of cool calmness about it, became a little frantic. if she had been thinking more than she was living she may have altogether avoided the situation.
     looking to her left, the girl saw a large white van, one side was painted to indicate that the van carried medical supplies. seeing this van, she made an assumption, however afterwards it turned out to be drastically incorrect. she had assumed, seeing the van, that a transporter of items that could potentially save lives would kindly let her cross the street- and postpone their own travels for her sake.
     she could not have been more wrong in her assumption. the driver revved his engine and the van lurched forward. the girl met the gaze of the driver and was surprised to read on his face a look of pure rage. she stepped back to avoid being hit by his van, only to see the driver abruptly halt. she rushed across the street, looking apologetically to the driver.
     after crossing the street, she breathed in some warm air and sighed. just as her body was nearly returned to its present state, she heard a screech of tires and saw the van turn onto the street that she was now walking alongside. as he passed the girl, the driver opened his passenger’s window and shouted at the girl angrily.
     the driver’s shouting simultaneously reminded the girl of every single time she had been shouted at in her entire life. this effected her like she was a tree that had been grabbed by the trunk and shaken until all of its leaves were on the ground.
     she pretended not to have even heard the driver and continued her walk. thinking that feeling nothing would be better than feeling insulted and hurt.
     the girl sighed, and realized that refusing to recognize all powerful emotions just because there were some that were painful was not as good of a survival strategy as she had thought originally.
 


Friday, August 21, 2009

Whether or not words speak louder. . .

Whether or not words actually do speak louder than actions, they are still very powerful.

Though the 21st century is slowly ushering in a new era- of over-sized, interactive, colorful advertisements and people: not enough time to call, so they text: not enough time to type three letters, so they type one- I still love embarking on a journey throughout most anything that a writer has given a deal of thought to.

As a child I would journey to the library on a hot summer's day and check out as many books as my young arms could hold. Then I would pile into the back of my mom's jeep. I would spend the rest of the entire day reading in my tree fort until all of the books were through. There was many a time when I would find myself making my way through several books at once. I have always loved a good story.

Though my life in 2009 is much more demanding than as a child, I still find time for words. I mostly find myself aching to discover poetry that I never knew existed, and searching for poems I haven't read or better translations of poems that I have read by some of my favorite writers. Some of these are: D.H. Lawrence, Pablo Neruda, e.e. cummings, Gustavo Adolfo Becquer, T.S. Elliot, Mona Van Duyn, Joseph Brodsky, H.L. Mencken, Langston Hughes, Jack Kerouac, and many, many others. . .

My goal in writing this is to share a small, medium, or large snippet of carefully put together words on a near-daily basis. Maybe if I am brave I will even share some of my writing. I think it is fitting if the first poem posted is the one that this blog takes its title from, which is a poem by D.H. Lawrence called "Under the Oak". To me, the speaker of this poem seems to be addressing a young lover any type of acquaintance. The young person's response "the night is wonderful" is incredibly naive and ignorant of all the terrible things predicted by the stars. The line, "but who are you twittering to and fro beneath the oak" is brilliantly juxtaposed with the heavy urgency and importance of lines preceding it. Anyways. . . Here it is!


YOU, if you were sensible,
When I tell you the stars flash signals, each one dreadful,
You would not turn and answer me
“The night is wonderful.”

Even you, if you knew
How this darkness soaks me through and through, and infuses
Unholy fear in my vapour, you would pause to distinguish
What hurts, from what amuses.

For I tell you
Beneath this powerful tree, my whole soul’s fluid
Oozes away from me as a sacrifice steam
At the knife of a Druid.

Again I tell you, I bleed, I am bound with withies,
My life runs out.
I tell you my blood runs out on the floor of this oak,
Gout upon gout.

Above me springs the blood-born mistletoe
In the shady smoke.
But who are you, twittering to and fro
Beneath the oak?

What thing better are you, what worse?
What have you to do with the mysteries
Of this ancient place, of my ancient curse?
What place have you in my histories?