There is something to be said for glittery things. The simple beauty in the way light reflects off of a drop of water, creating prisms of light; the shine of a newly polished ring upon the hand of a woman who, herself, glitters with joy; the sparkle of laughter that emerges from a place of deep happiness in the heart of a child; these things are all "glittery." They evoke something within us that speaks of goodness and leaves a sweet taste in our proverbial mouths. If life were always honest and straightforward, then glittery, happy, shiny things and moments and opportunities would always be good. But they aren't.
We humans have become experts at covering dirtiness and deception with a little shine so that we may call it clean. We live in a society where a good offer is often a scam, where doctored pictures can make anyone look like a catch on eHarmony, and where cheap fakes of designer brands and quality jewelry are peddled on the streets as great buys! When the gold begins to darken and tarnish and the silver turns our fingers green, we scoff in disappointment that we didn't see it coming.
In his 1596 play, The Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare offered a warning to the cautious listener:
All that glisters is not gold;
Often you have heard that told:
Many a man his life has sold
But my outside to behold:
Gilded tombs do worms enfold
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscroll'd:
Fare you well; your suit is cold
The message is clear: A wise man is not fooled by what looks outwardly good. A foolish man, will sell even his own life for that which seems to have outward value. On the outside, the tomb may be gilded (covered in gold), but inside, there are still worms. While Shakespeare's expression is certainly the most famous, it is hardly the first. French thrologian Alain de Lille said, "Do not hold everything gold that shines like gold," in the 12th century. Thomas Becon repeated the sentiment in 1553, when he remarked, "All is not golde that glistereth." These men understood what some of us clearly fail to grasp - the outside package can hide rather sinister truth.
Perhaps in a more metaphorical nature, Dimmesdale reaches this conclusion at the end of the book. Having planned a "glittering" future for himself, he came to understand that there was actually something better. When he says to Hester, "Is not this better than what we dreamed of in the forest?" we see that he has learned to be, as Shakespeare said, "as wise as bold."
EC - Consider the ending of the book and write a one page, well-supported paper in which you discuss the following prompt:
Why is Dimmesdale's final choice "better than what [they] dreamed of in the forest"? How is this decision a reflection of the idea that "all that glitters is not gold"?
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A Secret and Suffocating Soul
A pillow pushing hard against my face,
To soften my sinful cries.
To cover my pain and disgrace,
And hide away my lies.
Pushing so hard now,
That I can hardly breathe.
Suffocating ever so slowly,
Like every day I lead.
Becoming weak under the pressure,
Too tired to even strive.
So I try and become what I was,
And make my days a 'life'.
It seems hope is really bleak,
Because these walls are closing in.
I'm crumbling under the weight,
Of my every little sin.
These words, penned by an internet poet who calls herself "Torn" seem to be spoken from the very mouth of Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale. As we work our way through The Scarlet Letter, I cannot help but think about the intense suffering of the characters. Each of them is somehow facing "walls that are closing in." Their foundations of security are rattled by shame and loss, unrequited love and unquenchable hate. Through it all, one will become angelic, one will become monstrous, and one will suffer the greatest torment of all, the suffocation that is born of silence that hides a guilty heart.
It is easy to understand the pressure that Dimmesdale faces. He is, after all, the spiritual leader of the entire town and, as such, is expected to be blameless. He should be without sin. That is without question, but is there no redemption for sin? Is there no reconciliation to be had for a man who truly loves God?
Torn writes, "I'm crumbling under the weight of my every little sin." Like Dimmesdale, she says that her own sin is hidden, secret, suffocating. If hidden sin is so capable of breaking us, then why do we not just open ourselves to sharing the truth? Perhaps it is the nature of man to fear openness, to fear transparency, to fear consequences. After all, Adam and Eve hid from God in the Garden of Eden when they knew they had sinned. So we as humans have a long history of hiding from the truth.
Think about it: As children, we hide when we know we have done wrong. By our teens, we are experts at lying to cover our transgressions. Grown men and women create entirely separate identities so that they can live dual lives and cover their many indiscretions. Lest we believe that we humans are alone in this, remember that even dogs cower when "master" yells. We hide ourselves behind webs of deceit for fear of discovery and we slowly die inside. We are all like Dimmesdale in some way or another. His story is so moving, so memorable, so painful to read, because it is so human. We all see ourselves a little bit in him and we understand his suffering. Over the next week, you will see yourself in Dimmesdale, and part of you will hurt. I hope that his story will inspire you to explore your own soul and find your own hiding places so that you may find your way out of them into the open air that brings redemption.
E.C. #1 - "Follow" this blog (you can figure it out!!) and add a comment to this blog post. What do you think about the human desire to hide from truth? Can we find redemption for even the worst sins? Is it better to confess? What do you think about Dimmesdale's situation? Write about whatever you would like in your comment, but make it good! 25 points
E.C. #2 - Read over Torn's poem again and think about how it relates to Dimmesdale. After considering that, write your own poem in the "voice" of one of the main characters (Hester, Dimmesdale, Pearl, Chillingworth) that expresses their struggles. It should be the same length as Torn's (4 stanzas of 4 lines each). Make sure to use poetic form in stanzas with meaningful line breaks. (Don't just write until you run out of space. Decide what each line should say and then break to the next line. This isn't an essay or a paragraph, after all!) Up to 40 points. In ink or typed only.
To soften my sinful cries.
To cover my pain and disgrace,
And hide away my lies.
Pushing so hard now,
That I can hardly breathe.
Suffocating ever so slowly,
Like every day I lead.
Becoming weak under the pressure,
Too tired to even strive.
So I try and become what I was,
And make my days a 'life'.
It seems hope is really bleak,
Because these walls are closing in.
I'm crumbling under the weight,
Of my every little sin.
These words, penned by an internet poet who calls herself "Torn" seem to be spoken from the very mouth of Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale. As we work our way through The Scarlet Letter, I cannot help but think about the intense suffering of the characters. Each of them is somehow facing "walls that are closing in." Their foundations of security are rattled by shame and loss, unrequited love and unquenchable hate. Through it all, one will become angelic, one will become monstrous, and one will suffer the greatest torment of all, the suffocation that is born of silence that hides a guilty heart.
It is easy to understand the pressure that Dimmesdale faces. He is, after all, the spiritual leader of the entire town and, as such, is expected to be blameless. He should be without sin. That is without question, but is there no redemption for sin? Is there no reconciliation to be had for a man who truly loves God?
Torn writes, "I'm crumbling under the weight of my every little sin." Like Dimmesdale, she says that her own sin is hidden, secret, suffocating. If hidden sin is so capable of breaking us, then why do we not just open ourselves to sharing the truth? Perhaps it is the nature of man to fear openness, to fear transparency, to fear consequences. After all, Adam and Eve hid from God in the Garden of Eden when they knew they had sinned. So we as humans have a long history of hiding from the truth.
Think about it: As children, we hide when we know we have done wrong. By our teens, we are experts at lying to cover our transgressions. Grown men and women create entirely separate identities so that they can live dual lives and cover their many indiscretions. Lest we believe that we humans are alone in this, remember that even dogs cower when "master" yells. We hide ourselves behind webs of deceit for fear of discovery and we slowly die inside. We are all like Dimmesdale in some way or another. His story is so moving, so memorable, so painful to read, because it is so human. We all see ourselves a little bit in him and we understand his suffering. Over the next week, you will see yourself in Dimmesdale, and part of you will hurt. I hope that his story will inspire you to explore your own soul and find your own hiding places so that you may find your way out of them into the open air that brings redemption.
E.C. #1 - "Follow" this blog (you can figure it out!!) and add a comment to this blog post. What do you think about the human desire to hide from truth? Can we find redemption for even the worst sins? Is it better to confess? What do you think about Dimmesdale's situation? Write about whatever you would like in your comment, but make it good! 25 points
E.C. #2 - Read over Torn's poem again and think about how it relates to Dimmesdale. After considering that, write your own poem in the "voice" of one of the main characters (Hester, Dimmesdale, Pearl, Chillingworth) that expresses their struggles. It should be the same length as Torn's (4 stanzas of 4 lines each). Make sure to use poetic form in stanzas with meaningful line breaks. (Don't just write until you run out of space. Decide what each line should say and then break to the next line. This isn't an essay or a paragraph, after all!) Up to 40 points. In ink or typed only.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wild Beasts and Wild Men?
William Bradford once called the New World a land of "wild beasts and wild men." It is always interesting to me the ways that we describe people who are different from us. I see it all the time. An Asian student walks into a room and some ignorant child yells out "ching, chung, chang!" A Muslim man walks into a business and people walk to the other side or leave, sure that he is a terrorist. A single woman with three children of mixed race walks down the street and people assume she sleeps around and is probably ghetto and on welfare. Those of you who read The Poisonwood Bible will remember the way that the Prices viewed the Congolese people when they arrived on the "wild, uncivilized" African continent. We are really good at stereotyping. We are really good at making assumptions about people. We are really good at being wrong.
William Bradford was wrong. The "wild" men he encountered, now dubbed Native Americans in a nod to their "first nation" status, were quite civilized. They had families and homes and a functioning society. They were not savages bent on death and destruction. As a matter of fact, they didn't become violent with the settlers until it became clear that the European settlers had no intention of sharing land and food with them. As they lost their land, their families, their food, and their ability to survive, they fought back. For it, they were labeled as ruthless, violent people who murdered for no reason. Their love and compassion, their desire to be providers for their families, and their knowledge of the land and its terrible beauty all went unnoticed.
Certainly, we should have learned better. Certainly we should have stopped making hurried assumptions about people who are different from us. But should is a difficult word. We often choose not to do what we should because it is too difficult, and we suffer for that choice. Just think how much the Europeans could have learned from the Native Americans. Just think of how much we could have learned from non-violent Muslims in the days following 9/11, how much we could have understood about gentle people who didn't condone the violence of a few. Just think of how much knowledge and peace could arise from withholding our judgments based on "race" and language.
Think about what life must have been like for the Native Americans during the 1500s and beyond as their land was taken and they were viewed as evil. How does that mirror life today? For extra credit, write one page(in pen or typed) about a time when either you misjudged/stereotyped someone else or when someone misjudged/stereotyped you. Explain the situation, how you felt, how the truth was revealed and what the experience taught you. Turn in the paper by Thursday, September 1.
William Bradford was wrong. The "wild" men he encountered, now dubbed Native Americans in a nod to their "first nation" status, were quite civilized. They had families and homes and a functioning society. They were not savages bent on death and destruction. As a matter of fact, they didn't become violent with the settlers until it became clear that the European settlers had no intention of sharing land and food with them. As they lost their land, their families, their food, and their ability to survive, they fought back. For it, they were labeled as ruthless, violent people who murdered for no reason. Their love and compassion, their desire to be providers for their families, and their knowledge of the land and its terrible beauty all went unnoticed.
Certainly, we should have learned better. Certainly we should have stopped making hurried assumptions about people who are different from us. But should is a difficult word. We often choose not to do what we should because it is too difficult, and we suffer for that choice. Just think how much the Europeans could have learned from the Native Americans. Just think of how much we could have learned from non-violent Muslims in the days following 9/11, how much we could have understood about gentle people who didn't condone the violence of a few. Just think of how much knowledge and peace could arise from withholding our judgments based on "race" and language.
Think about what life must have been like for the Native Americans during the 1500s and beyond as their land was taken and they were viewed as evil. How does that mirror life today? For extra credit, write one page(in pen or typed) about a time when either you misjudged/stereotyped someone else or when someone misjudged/stereotyped you. Explain the situation, how you felt, how the truth was revealed and what the experience taught you. Turn in the paper by Thursday, September 1.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles
There are some things that you should be told before you travel. Most of them relate to transportation in one way or another, and I am pretty sure that most of them are left unsaid out of some personal sadistic joy on the part of the silent friends. They are adhering to the classic "learn by experience" principle. This is wrong. I seek to enlighten by sharing some of my experiences from the last six weeks.
Planes
1) Prepare yourself for sickness. Seriously, this is the least of your worries, but be ready. I tried to do the math to calculate exactly how many germs were being recycled into my lungs during a 9+ hour flight, but then I remembered why I'm an English teacher and I stopped torturing my brain. Needless to say, there were enough germs to give me the plague.
2) Rows with escape hatches really do have more room. Don't neglect the "choose a seat" option when booking, and look for these. Most people decide window or aisle, but that is simply not enough. I am only 5'6" and my knees battered against the seat in front of me. While I probably have abnormally long, mutant femurs, I can't imagine that any non-mutants of, say, 5'7" or more can live through the contortion required of flying across "the pond" (incidentally, Brits, a lame moniker for something as large as, well, an ocean)! That "escape row" inch or two makes all the world happier.
3) Don't try to sneak into first class or you will get caught. And when you do (Little blonde girl with your snooty escort and ugly headpiece that looks like a twisty black tumor) and they escort you scowling back to your proper seat in my row, I will chuckle internally and grin out the window into the Czech night that hides my glee. Of course, then I will lament that I do not actually have a row to myself. Maybe chuckling was too much.
4) When you fly, know the customs and characteristics of people around you. For instance, you should know that Armenian men, while fit and handsome as youths, often grow portly and smoke too much as they age. To boot, they don't have the same relationship with "Sure" that we do in America, a fact that doesn't keep them from raising their arms. Not a problem until you are squished between two of them, they remove the armrests, and they begin to sprawl. Knowing the country will at least prepare you to take a sedative if needed. Yeah. It was as fun as you imagine.
5) When anyone with an official uniform barks at you in any language, just try to comply while making it clear that you only speak English. Follow this immediately with acute regret that you only speak English.
6) When a nice-looking German man smiles at you more than once while flying home, makes a point of talking to you as you deplane, waits for you at customs, and then invites you to dinner in the airport, you just say, "yes" because there really is no other answer. ;)
Trains
1) When riding a train between countries in Europe, do not believe the "reserved" signs on seats or you won't find one. When you have a Misha to point this out, you get a seat. When you don't, you spend the whole ride in a dining car, smiling at the waiter, making bread and jam and coffee last 2 hours so you can save precious Euros.
2) Each country, heck, each city has a different definition of "single ride" and "day" tickets for public transport. This is a good lesson to know BEFORE you are pulled off of a tram by ticket checkers who inform you that your "day" ticket was not for 24 hours, but rather expired at 4am. If this does happen to you, smile a lot, be really sweet and explain that you couldn't understand the German writing on the ticket. Then smile more. If you execute this correctly, the nice man will smile back, give you a warning instead of a 40 Euro fine, and give you a free hour to ride the tram so you can finish your trip. (I also got a free 10 Euro credit for my German cell phone this day by smiling and being sweet, but I digress.)
Automobiles
This is easy: People in other countries (read Armenia here) don't actually follow laws or believe that lights mean anything or give the right of way to pedestrians in crosswalks WHO HAVE WALK SIGNALS. They will run you over. They will feel bad about it, but it won't trouble them for long. How dare you walk when the little green man tells you too! They also will make 4 lanes where only 2 exist, pass on curves and with no sight-line, and just generally terrify you every moment that you are on any street in their country. You will love their country anyway, but you will fear. And speaking of fear, I must give a nod to the Germans here: the autobahn is a little scary at 160km/hr.
Happy travels. Start the joyful planning NOW!
Planes
1) Prepare yourself for sickness. Seriously, this is the least of your worries, but be ready. I tried to do the math to calculate exactly how many germs were being recycled into my lungs during a 9+ hour flight, but then I remembered why I'm an English teacher and I stopped torturing my brain. Needless to say, there were enough germs to give me the plague.
2) Rows with escape hatches really do have more room. Don't neglect the "choose a seat" option when booking, and look for these. Most people decide window or aisle, but that is simply not enough. I am only 5'6" and my knees battered against the seat in front of me. While I probably have abnormally long, mutant femurs, I can't imagine that any non-mutants of, say, 5'7" or more can live through the contortion required of flying across "the pond" (incidentally, Brits, a lame moniker for something as large as, well, an ocean)! That "escape row" inch or two makes all the world happier.
3) Don't try to sneak into first class or you will get caught. And when you do (Little blonde girl with your snooty escort and ugly headpiece that looks like a twisty black tumor) and they escort you scowling back to your proper seat in my row, I will chuckle internally and grin out the window into the Czech night that hides my glee. Of course, then I will lament that I do not actually have a row to myself. Maybe chuckling was too much.
4) When you fly, know the customs and characteristics of people around you. For instance, you should know that Armenian men, while fit and handsome as youths, often grow portly and smoke too much as they age. To boot, they don't have the same relationship with "Sure" that we do in America, a fact that doesn't keep them from raising their arms. Not a problem until you are squished between two of them, they remove the armrests, and they begin to sprawl. Knowing the country will at least prepare you to take a sedative if needed. Yeah. It was as fun as you imagine.
5) When anyone with an official uniform barks at you in any language, just try to comply while making it clear that you only speak English. Follow this immediately with acute regret that you only speak English.
6) When a nice-looking German man smiles at you more than once while flying home, makes a point of talking to you as you deplane, waits for you at customs, and then invites you to dinner in the airport, you just say, "yes" because there really is no other answer. ;)
Trains
1) When riding a train between countries in Europe, do not believe the "reserved" signs on seats or you won't find one. When you have a Misha to point this out, you get a seat. When you don't, you spend the whole ride in a dining car, smiling at the waiter, making bread and jam and coffee last 2 hours so you can save precious Euros.
2) Each country, heck, each city has a different definition of "single ride" and "day" tickets for public transport. This is a good lesson to know BEFORE you are pulled off of a tram by ticket checkers who inform you that your "day" ticket was not for 24 hours, but rather expired at 4am. If this does happen to you, smile a lot, be really sweet and explain that you couldn't understand the German writing on the ticket. Then smile more. If you execute this correctly, the nice man will smile back, give you a warning instead of a 40 Euro fine, and give you a free hour to ride the tram so you can finish your trip. (I also got a free 10 Euro credit for my German cell phone this day by smiling and being sweet, but I digress.)
Automobiles
This is easy: People in other countries (read Armenia here) don't actually follow laws or believe that lights mean anything or give the right of way to pedestrians in crosswalks WHO HAVE WALK SIGNALS. They will run you over. They will feel bad about it, but it won't trouble them for long. How dare you walk when the little green man tells you too! They also will make 4 lanes where only 2 exist, pass on curves and with no sight-line, and just generally terrify you every moment that you are on any street in their country. You will love their country anyway, but you will fear. And speaking of fear, I must give a nod to the Germans here: the autobahn is a little scary at 160km/hr.
Happy travels. Start the joyful planning NOW!
Monday, July 18, 2011
Doors Left Ajar
A door left ajar
lets whispering from afar
breath life into... a dream of me and you
I will the spark to die
But still it lights my eye
Still makes me feel that this alone is real
And though I know it
I dare not show it... or let this madness makes a kill
By dwelling on what might have been
Or giving sadness space to fill
I'll balance on the edge a while but won't... fall in
I am sitting in Dresden listening to the rather haunting voice of Silje Nergaard and bemoaning the end of this beautifully lyric summer I have had. In three days, the coach will turn back into a pumpkin and it will all be over. While I deeply love home and my friends there, and I am super excited to meet my new nephew, Jaxon, part of me wants to hole up in a remote corner of Germany and stay. I am aware, even as I type these words, that they sound incredibly selfish, that many people will never have the chance to experience even a small corner of the world, but my desire to exercise humility and gratitude does not cover the truth of the matter.
This world is an expanse of goodness, the kind that swallows you whole. And I, in turn, want to devour it. It really is ravenous, this feeling I have about the world. I want to inhale and embrace and consume every bit of it that I can. It is insatiable, this desire in me. So why, I wonder, can I not actually take the plunge and leave the comfort of home? I often think about teaching in remote regions of the world or working for an NGO for a while or even joining the foreign service (this one is Jay's fault), but when it comes down to it, I "balance on the edge" but don't fall in.
Often, when I am in the mountains, I stand on the edge of cliffs and look over the edge as far as I can without falling. I like the rush of it, the high upness of it, the risk of it. But I always know that I won't go far enough to fall over. Certainly, in the mountains that is wisdom, but in life? Is traveling the world my version of standing on the edge of the cliff? I get the thrill but never have to take the plunge. I think that is it. For all my wandering heart speaks of the world and its greatness, I am still a scared little girl.
This is not easy to admit. I like to believe that I am part super woman, but tonight I was reminded that I am not. Tonight, I allowed a raw edge to be exposed and, while I am better for it, I also am more acutely aware of my fear to take big jumps, to risk when risking matters. I don't know what the future holds. I can barely see beyond today, but I want to be fearless about whatever it is. I want to always leave the door ajar for something greater than I can imagine, even if it lets in memories or sadness or fear. I want to remember that light seen in doorways and through cracks in windows and from around corners is powerful enough to cut the darkness that I may imagine in the idea of change. I have grown so much in the past 6 weeks, but I realize that I am only on the edge of the abyss, looking down, waiting for my wings.
lets whispering from afar
breath life into... a dream of me and you
I will the spark to die
But still it lights my eye
Still makes me feel that this alone is real
And though I know it
I dare not show it... or let this madness makes a kill
By dwelling on what might have been
Or giving sadness space to fill
I'll balance on the edge a while but won't... fall in
I am sitting in Dresden listening to the rather haunting voice of Silje Nergaard and bemoaning the end of this beautifully lyric summer I have had. In three days, the coach will turn back into a pumpkin and it will all be over. While I deeply love home and my friends there, and I am super excited to meet my new nephew, Jaxon, part of me wants to hole up in a remote corner of Germany and stay. I am aware, even as I type these words, that they sound incredibly selfish, that many people will never have the chance to experience even a small corner of the world, but my desire to exercise humility and gratitude does not cover the truth of the matter.
This world is an expanse of goodness, the kind that swallows you whole. And I, in turn, want to devour it. It really is ravenous, this feeling I have about the world. I want to inhale and embrace and consume every bit of it that I can. It is insatiable, this desire in me. So why, I wonder, can I not actually take the plunge and leave the comfort of home? I often think about teaching in remote regions of the world or working for an NGO for a while or even joining the foreign service (this one is Jay's fault), but when it comes down to it, I "balance on the edge" but don't fall in.
Often, when I am in the mountains, I stand on the edge of cliffs and look over the edge as far as I can without falling. I like the rush of it, the high upness of it, the risk of it. But I always know that I won't go far enough to fall over. Certainly, in the mountains that is wisdom, but in life? Is traveling the world my version of standing on the edge of the cliff? I get the thrill but never have to take the plunge. I think that is it. For all my wandering heart speaks of the world and its greatness, I am still a scared little girl.
This is not easy to admit. I like to believe that I am part super woman, but tonight I was reminded that I am not. Tonight, I allowed a raw edge to be exposed and, while I am better for it, I also am more acutely aware of my fear to take big jumps, to risk when risking matters. I don't know what the future holds. I can barely see beyond today, but I want to be fearless about whatever it is. I want to always leave the door ajar for something greater than I can imagine, even if it lets in memories or sadness or fear. I want to remember that light seen in doorways and through cracks in windows and from around corners is powerful enough to cut the darkness that I may imagine in the idea of change. I have grown so much in the past 6 weeks, but I realize that I am only on the edge of the abyss, looking down, waiting for my wings.
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Time of My Life
We're coming home tonight, singing together,
coming home by white moonlight.
These words were penned in the early 1900s by Daniel Varoujan, an Armenian intellectual who would lose his life in 1915 during the Turkish conflict. Nearly 100 years later, I have walked in his footsteps, coming home in white moonlight. Last night, as I returned to Jay's apartment for the last night of my visit, I was bathed by the full moon in a clear Armenian sky. It was appropriate that the moon should light so bright a path over such a beautiful city that has left a little more light in my heart. This country, its people, and the amazing Jay Treloar have made the last week one of great adventure and great joy. I am left a little tired from it, but I simply don't care.
Jay and I spent my last night in Armenia driving back from Gyumri after a long day with director Braden King. Braden and his wife were easy to talk to and the day was a success, even if they did have to rewind 7 reels of film by hand and nothing ran on schedule. The people of Gyumri were alive with questions for Braden and they were openly moved by an American film showcasing their beautiful country. They understand the richness of this nation, even if most of the world does not. After the screening and Q&A, we decompressed with pizza and began the long drive home. That's when the real fun started!
Jay and I came home singing and dancing (maybe safer when NOT driving, but whatever), carried our singing into the streets of Yerevan and capped off the evening at the magical fountain in Republic Square that dances to music on its own with colorful lights. It really is a show. It was a joyous night. And so is all my time with Jay. I really appreciate those people in my life with whom I can have serious conversations and still be an absolute goof. I am so glad that I came here to see my friend. Our visit alone would have been worth the journey, but Armenia offered me so much.
I have spent the last week laughing and dancing (until almost 5 in the morning), meandering through streets filled with history, standing in darkened doorways of monasteries that dot the country, and listening to a people who remember the pain of the past but are so filled with hope for the future. These are a kind people, and even though they are prone to rather uncomfortable bouts of staring, they are open and hospitable and welcoming to strangers, which is great since I couldn't communicate! I quickly became painfully aware of how bad my Russian is when I realized that I don't even remember the letters. I could have survived here with Russian, even knowing no Armenian, but alas, it was not to be. Eva Eikhorn, my college Russian professor, would be so disappointed. I was forced to get by with smiles and the kind help of people I met in the street or on my tours.
Tours are something new for me. I never do tours when I travel, as they are usually expensive and slow and crowded. None of this was true here. With Jay gone most of the time at work, I had to occupy myself. This proved a little more difficult in Armenia than in Germany, so I turned to the Hyur tour group. I purchased two 8-hour English language tours for only $18 each (WOW) and got to see beautiful Armenia outside of Yerevan. I am so glad that I did it. Not only did I see a lot of breathtaking country and explore beautiful monasteries, I also met some travel companions, particularly a husband and wife from Lebanon who danced with me by a river to live music and helped me go shoe shopping (I broke my good ones). They were long and wonderful days.
Add to that a hike to Havuts Tar Vank with Jay, the exquisite Garni Temple (and Juliete), the Symphony of Stone, a seriously crazy birthday party, a lot of music, a lot of dancing, a little U.S. Women's Soccer (hooray!), an art market, a fruit market, a visit to an Armenian home, a film festival, more apricots and cherries than any human should consume in a week, new foods, new friends, and a delicious fish named Hripsime. Yup, it was an eventful week. I leave it all with a song dancing in my head (dirty bit) and prepare myself for a few days in Prague.
More good things to come if I can survive an 11+ hour layover in Kiev, Ukraine. Here goes nothin'! Goodbye Armenia. Goodbye Jay. I will miss you both very much.
coming home by white moonlight.
These words were penned in the early 1900s by Daniel Varoujan, an Armenian intellectual who would lose his life in 1915 during the Turkish conflict. Nearly 100 years later, I have walked in his footsteps, coming home in white moonlight. Last night, as I returned to Jay's apartment for the last night of my visit, I was bathed by the full moon in a clear Armenian sky. It was appropriate that the moon should light so bright a path over such a beautiful city that has left a little more light in my heart. This country, its people, and the amazing Jay Treloar have made the last week one of great adventure and great joy. I am left a little tired from it, but I simply don't care.
Jay and I spent my last night in Armenia driving back from Gyumri after a long day with director Braden King. Braden and his wife were easy to talk to and the day was a success, even if they did have to rewind 7 reels of film by hand and nothing ran on schedule. The people of Gyumri were alive with questions for Braden and they were openly moved by an American film showcasing their beautiful country. They understand the richness of this nation, even if most of the world does not. After the screening and Q&A, we decompressed with pizza and began the long drive home. That's when the real fun started!
Jay and I came home singing and dancing (maybe safer when NOT driving, but whatever), carried our singing into the streets of Yerevan and capped off the evening at the magical fountain in Republic Square that dances to music on its own with colorful lights. It really is a show. It was a joyous night. And so is all my time with Jay. I really appreciate those people in my life with whom I can have serious conversations and still be an absolute goof. I am so glad that I came here to see my friend. Our visit alone would have been worth the journey, but Armenia offered me so much.
I have spent the last week laughing and dancing (until almost 5 in the morning), meandering through streets filled with history, standing in darkened doorways of monasteries that dot the country, and listening to a people who remember the pain of the past but are so filled with hope for the future. These are a kind people, and even though they are prone to rather uncomfortable bouts of staring, they are open and hospitable and welcoming to strangers, which is great since I couldn't communicate! I quickly became painfully aware of how bad my Russian is when I realized that I don't even remember the letters. I could have survived here with Russian, even knowing no Armenian, but alas, it was not to be. Eva Eikhorn, my college Russian professor, would be so disappointed. I was forced to get by with smiles and the kind help of people I met in the street or on my tours.
Tours are something new for me. I never do tours when I travel, as they are usually expensive and slow and crowded. None of this was true here. With Jay gone most of the time at work, I had to occupy myself. This proved a little more difficult in Armenia than in Germany, so I turned to the Hyur tour group. I purchased two 8-hour English language tours for only $18 each (WOW) and got to see beautiful Armenia outside of Yerevan. I am so glad that I did it. Not only did I see a lot of breathtaking country and explore beautiful monasteries, I also met some travel companions, particularly a husband and wife from Lebanon who danced with me by a river to live music and helped me go shoe shopping (I broke my good ones). They were long and wonderful days.
Add to that a hike to Havuts Tar Vank with Jay, the exquisite Garni Temple (and Juliete), the Symphony of Stone, a seriously crazy birthday party, a lot of music, a lot of dancing, a little U.S. Women's Soccer (hooray!), an art market, a fruit market, a visit to an Armenian home, a film festival, more apricots and cherries than any human should consume in a week, new foods, new friends, and a delicious fish named Hripsime. Yup, it was an eventful week. I leave it all with a song dancing in my head (dirty bit) and prepare myself for a few days in Prague.
More good things to come if I can survive an 11+ hour layover in Kiev, Ukraine. Here goes nothin'! Goodbye Armenia. Goodbye Jay. I will miss you both very much.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Curiosity minus the cat
Whoever first said, "Curiosity killed the cat," must have had a truly boring existence. Surely it was some adult's idiomatic way of telling a child to stop being nosy. Yes, this is what we do in America; we threaten the death of cute animals to children whose minds are full of wonderment! Now, I don't believe that anyone is really advocating felinicide, but are we still squelching the truly probing minds of children? If there is anything that I have learned since arriving in Europe, it is that curiosity and wonder are the centerpiece of a happy existence.
I realize that, to some people, wandering a city where no one speaks your language and you resort to poor renditions of charades to communicate does not sound like a good time, but for me, it represents a certain freedom. It also pushes me to be a better communicator and a more patient person. These are such good things. E.E. Cummings once said, "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." I have learned, more than ever in the last two weeks, that I believe in myself and my ability to take risks that free my spirit.
Where Nicaragua taught me such love for humanity and such compassion for others, Europe has taught me a self-sufficiency that has made me stronger and more open to the world. In Nicaragua, I spoke the language and understood the culture. I felt a communal bond with the people that I don't always feel in Europe. Here, I have been challenged by different personalities and different customs. I have learned to enjoy the adventure of getting lost and rely on my own reasoning to find my way again. I guess there really isn't much choice but to become self-sufficient when you are in country after country where few people speak your language and you know nothing of theirs. Traveling alone like this has brought out the phlegmatic in me. I have always known the sanguine part of my spirit, and I think that it is also obvious to those around me, but being here, wandering, has revealed to me a level of self-content that I am not sure I knew before. Some of the most beautiful moments of this trip have been those I have spent completely alone - watching the Elbe flow beside me as I took the train to Prague, meandering slowly toward the Blue Wonder (bridge) along Dresdner StrasBe (this is my attemt to make a letter that isn't in English), and today, walking, completely lost, toward an apt I only barely remembered through alleyways and crooked streets.
I have discovered how happy I am to sit on a corner absorbing the sights and sounds of cities around me. I have found such beautiful music in the words that float effortlessly in the air above me. I have discovered that pain and anger and joy and love are not contingent upon understanding another's language. They are the expressions that transcend, and in the last few weeks, I have shared smiles and laughs and knowing glances with people who are so very different from me yet, at the core, still so infinitely human.
To be sure, I have also shared incredibly beautiful moments with friends. I have laughed at a restaurant with Kris and Conny, two beautiful Germans I met more that 3 years ago when they wandered through Gainesville. I have sat across from my arrestingly lovely friend Cindy (de Chile) at a cafe in Berlin, just enjoying the precious moment of reunion (we haven't see each other in more than 3 years). I have gone to the opera (there are no words for the beauty of Carmen) and wandered the beautiful, misty city of Dresden with Micha, my dear friend who has taken such good care of me and drugged me with love of Dresden. I met my Lithuanian Doppelganger, made a new Finnish friend, and visited the beautiful German countryside to see Mutti and the rest of Micha's lovely family. And now, just today, I am reunited with my friend Jay, one of my favorite people and the only person other than my dad who gets away with calling me Heath. I have felt welcomed and loved and warm despite the rain, and it has all deepened my understanding of how blessed I am as a human being. My life is so small but so rich with beauty and meaning.
I feel very much like Cummings must have when he wrote, "The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful!" Covered in dirt in Nicaragua, walking through rain in Berlin, breaking bread with great friends in Dresden, being barked at by an official in Prague, getting shocked (badly) in Kiev, trying to find my way through back streets in Yerevan - all of it, every tiny moment, is absolutely stealing my breath away. I hope that these blogs, in even the smallest measure, are conveying that, because I feel absolutely lost for words.
I realize that, to some people, wandering a city where no one speaks your language and you resort to poor renditions of charades to communicate does not sound like a good time, but for me, it represents a certain freedom. It also pushes me to be a better communicator and a more patient person. These are such good things. E.E. Cummings once said, "Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." I have learned, more than ever in the last two weeks, that I believe in myself and my ability to take risks that free my spirit.
Where Nicaragua taught me such love for humanity and such compassion for others, Europe has taught me a self-sufficiency that has made me stronger and more open to the world. In Nicaragua, I spoke the language and understood the culture. I felt a communal bond with the people that I don't always feel in Europe. Here, I have been challenged by different personalities and different customs. I have learned to enjoy the adventure of getting lost and rely on my own reasoning to find my way again. I guess there really isn't much choice but to become self-sufficient when you are in country after country where few people speak your language and you know nothing of theirs. Traveling alone like this has brought out the phlegmatic in me. I have always known the sanguine part of my spirit, and I think that it is also obvious to those around me, but being here, wandering, has revealed to me a level of self-content that I am not sure I knew before. Some of the most beautiful moments of this trip have been those I have spent completely alone - watching the Elbe flow beside me as I took the train to Prague, meandering slowly toward the Blue Wonder (bridge) along Dresdner StrasBe (this is my attemt to make a letter that isn't in English), and today, walking, completely lost, toward an apt I only barely remembered through alleyways and crooked streets.
I have discovered how happy I am to sit on a corner absorbing the sights and sounds of cities around me. I have found such beautiful music in the words that float effortlessly in the air above me. I have discovered that pain and anger and joy and love are not contingent upon understanding another's language. They are the expressions that transcend, and in the last few weeks, I have shared smiles and laughs and knowing glances with people who are so very different from me yet, at the core, still so infinitely human.
To be sure, I have also shared incredibly beautiful moments with friends. I have laughed at a restaurant with Kris and Conny, two beautiful Germans I met more that 3 years ago when they wandered through Gainesville. I have sat across from my arrestingly lovely friend Cindy (de Chile) at a cafe in Berlin, just enjoying the precious moment of reunion (we haven't see each other in more than 3 years). I have gone to the opera (there are no words for the beauty of Carmen) and wandered the beautiful, misty city of Dresden with Micha, my dear friend who has taken such good care of me and drugged me with love of Dresden. I met my Lithuanian Doppelganger, made a new Finnish friend, and visited the beautiful German countryside to see Mutti and the rest of Micha's lovely family. And now, just today, I am reunited with my friend Jay, one of my favorite people and the only person other than my dad who gets away with calling me Heath. I have felt welcomed and loved and warm despite the rain, and it has all deepened my understanding of how blessed I am as a human being. My life is so small but so rich with beauty and meaning.
I feel very much like Cummings must have when he wrote, "The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful!" Covered in dirt in Nicaragua, walking through rain in Berlin, breaking bread with great friends in Dresden, being barked at by an official in Prague, getting shocked (badly) in Kiev, trying to find my way through back streets in Yerevan - all of it, every tiny moment, is absolutely stealing my breath away. I hope that these blogs, in even the smallest measure, are conveying that, because I feel absolutely lost for words.
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