Before Bed Musings
Jan. 15th, 2012 10:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shadowkat1. Been in a irritable mood of late...although irritable may not be the right word. Words..finding the correct, precise word. And even then..you are never quite certain if the meaning you've attached to this particular word is shared by someone else. Dictionaries while helpful can be useless. I'm actually fairly good at figuring out the meaning of a word - due in part to my dyslexia. People with dyslexia process language differently. We determine the meaning through context. We listen with our whole bodies not just our ears. Watch the face, the hands, the body. The vocal inflection. And within paragraphs or sentences..focus on the surrounding words and how they interact with each other. Not sure why I'm irritable...could be many reasons, but there it is. Am hoping it like all things is temporary. Most likely caused by pent-up frustration.
2. Church...
F: Wait, he practices Hannukkah and he goes to your church and he's Jewish?
Me: Well yes, he practices Hanukkah, like I do Christmas.
F: But the Unitarian Church practices Christmas.
Me: It practices Hannukkah too (along with Passover... and a few neo-pagan celebrations, and we have a Ramadan dinner)
F: Unitarianism is a weird religion.
Today, the sermon gave me a bit of chill up the spine...and brought tears. I didn't think it would.
And we applauded, which we don't generally do. It was a story...about a pilgrimmage to the Underground Railroad, from Ripley, Ohio to Augusta, Kentucky. Stumbling into a park, the minister, who is a bit of a poet, told of how they followed the railroad to a piece of cursed earth, a bright and sunny day turned forbodeing with sudden storm clouds, and up upon the hill in still sunny Ohio stood the house of the abolitionist, Rankin, , and a museum associated with him. They'd traveled across the river from the abolitionist's house to this park in Augusta, Kentucky. And here stood...the slave jail. With a dungeon. And compact cages. It stunk of despair, and pain. The minister asked the woman at the tourist information center, who had fliers about the Underground Railroad if she had any information on this jail. But she did not and sternly stated she knew nothing about it. Nearby there was a pool, tennis courts, playground.. and she, the minister, wondered how this could be? How could people play tennis near this old slave jail? She wandered back across the River to Rippling, Ohio and asked the same questions about the jail at the abolitionist museum. But the woman running the museum and Q&A, the historian there, said she knew nothing about this jail. This jail that sat on the Underground Railroad. Was part of the new historic tour - which all these fliers had been printed up on. The minister asked again. And the woman, sternly, responded, no, I don't have any information on the jail, I've lived in Ripley all my life and I've only been across the bridge to Augusta, Kentucky - three times. It struck the Minister as odd...was their friction or competition between these historians? Did the two town's not like each other? And why no additional information on this slave jail, outside of the fact that it was indeed a slave jail?
And the minister said...it occurred to her that she was on a pilgrimmage of sorts into the past,
with the present pressing upon it. A pilgrimmage mixed with tourism, fliers, and buttons, and t-shirts bought and sold about the Underground Railroad. And she thought...the slave jail needed to be remembered as well, not overlooked. For if we do not reflect on what has gone in the past,
than we cannot fix it in the present and future. We have to look back, reflect on what was done, what happened because of it, see the pain for all it is worth, if only to ensure we learn from it, and do not do it again.
This moved me. The image of this horrible jail, half-forgotten, in the middle of a park. With little information regarding it. And then, I read a description of the novel Abraham Lincoln Vampire Slayer - where the South's defense of slaver is blamed upon a Cabal of Vampires. The vampire a metaphor for the evil that allowed such a thing to exist. A thing that still exists in areas of our world.
Too much sharing happened at church..but it was necessary I think. I've been pondering this..but the problem with interaction with others - is it all occurs on a superficial level. There's no real intimacy. You aren't allowed there. Instead it's banter about sports, weather, etc. 24/7. Those rare moments...where you share your heart...well, you worry afterwards. Did I say too much? Will they judge me harshly for it? There are so many things you can't say. And yet, if only you could - suddenly everything you've said before may make sense. Then again not, for the misinterpretation. So many ways to misunderstand. Aren't there? If you think about it. But it does help if you know where the landmines are. Why your friend can't stand something you may love and sees it differently than you do - may in fact have something to do with something they can't say.
For fear of...so many things.
Today at church, I said it. In order to share our spiritual selves, to share on that level of intimacy...you have to feel safe with that person. Not fear their judgment, their criticism,
their rejection. I hate to use these two words...but they seem to be the most fitting in this context: Rejection Sensitivity. What an interesting phrase. It has been used as weapon - towards me - "you are rejection sensitive" or "too sensitive" - build thicker skin. But with thick skin comes armor and shields. And hardened hearts. You stop letting people in. You stop caring. Me against the world. Rejection Sensitive..ity. You feel it online - when people blast you. And I remember ages ago..someone turning to me and saying, well, don't you reject people too? People you aren't certain of? And here's the thing? I do. I'm ashamed to say. And have. And yet, in the past they have become my friends. So now, I stop myself. I think...see past that first impression,
see past that first reaction...give the person the benefit of the doubt. See what happens.
3. Been reading interesting posts on my flist about an essay on Sherlock Holmes, which I can't really read since it contains spoilers for S2 of the series. And that doesn't air here until February. But what I've managed to grab from the essay is this small bit of wisdom. Labeling writers or works as feminist or non-feminist, particularly fictional stories...is a bit problematic. Since most stories, if they are well told, do not fit into such neatly defined categories. And even if the story does come across as feminist or the characters do, and can be defended as such - this does not mean the writer is. Any more than it means the writer isn't feminist or is a misogynist, if the story and characters are perceived to be, shall we say, in that derogatory light. People aren't that black and white unfortunately. In all honesty? I really can't tell you whether Joss Whedon is a feminist or not. Or even Stephen Moffat for that matter. I don't know. I can speculate. But not with any clarity. Any more than I can tell you if TS Eliot was or for that matter Keats, CS Lewis, Byron, or any number of people. As for their stories? They can be perceived in multiple ways. For me, now, as an adult, the Chronicles of Narnia seem to be incredibly sexist, but as a child of 10, I adored them and did not see that at all. Who knows which version of me was right. And does it matter? I know why I don't like Whedon's work post Buffy the tv series, and post Angel that much...but explaining why...well, not sure it matters, but it's complicated. And I've found I don't have the words. Half of you understand. Half of you don't. It feels a bit like politics or religion actually.
4. The Good Wife was quite good tonight. A puzzle box, layers within layers. Once Upon a Time was too, although...not as good. But it's late and I didn't plan on staying up til 12 writing this. So going to bed am I.
2. Church...
F: Wait, he practices Hannukkah and he goes to your church and he's Jewish?
Me: Well yes, he practices Hanukkah, like I do Christmas.
F: But the Unitarian Church practices Christmas.
Me: It practices Hannukkah too (along with Passover... and a few neo-pagan celebrations, and we have a Ramadan dinner)
F: Unitarianism is a weird religion.
Today, the sermon gave me a bit of chill up the spine...and brought tears. I didn't think it would.
And we applauded, which we don't generally do. It was a story...about a pilgrimmage to the Underground Railroad, from Ripley, Ohio to Augusta, Kentucky. Stumbling into a park, the minister, who is a bit of a poet, told of how they followed the railroad to a piece of cursed earth, a bright and sunny day turned forbodeing with sudden storm clouds, and up upon the hill in still sunny Ohio stood the house of the abolitionist, Rankin, , and a museum associated with him. They'd traveled across the river from the abolitionist's house to this park in Augusta, Kentucky. And here stood...the slave jail. With a dungeon. And compact cages. It stunk of despair, and pain. The minister asked the woman at the tourist information center, who had fliers about the Underground Railroad if she had any information on this jail. But she did not and sternly stated she knew nothing about it. Nearby there was a pool, tennis courts, playground.. and she, the minister, wondered how this could be? How could people play tennis near this old slave jail? She wandered back across the River to Rippling, Ohio and asked the same questions about the jail at the abolitionist museum. But the woman running the museum and Q&A, the historian there, said she knew nothing about this jail. This jail that sat on the Underground Railroad. Was part of the new historic tour - which all these fliers had been printed up on. The minister asked again. And the woman, sternly, responded, no, I don't have any information on the jail, I've lived in Ripley all my life and I've only been across the bridge to Augusta, Kentucky - three times. It struck the Minister as odd...was their friction or competition between these historians? Did the two town's not like each other? And why no additional information on this slave jail, outside of the fact that it was indeed a slave jail?
And the minister said...it occurred to her that she was on a pilgrimmage of sorts into the past,
with the present pressing upon it. A pilgrimmage mixed with tourism, fliers, and buttons, and t-shirts bought and sold about the Underground Railroad. And she thought...the slave jail needed to be remembered as well, not overlooked. For if we do not reflect on what has gone in the past,
than we cannot fix it in the present and future. We have to look back, reflect on what was done, what happened because of it, see the pain for all it is worth, if only to ensure we learn from it, and do not do it again.
This moved me. The image of this horrible jail, half-forgotten, in the middle of a park. With little information regarding it. And then, I read a description of the novel Abraham Lincoln Vampire Slayer - where the South's defense of slaver is blamed upon a Cabal of Vampires. The vampire a metaphor for the evil that allowed such a thing to exist. A thing that still exists in areas of our world.
Too much sharing happened at church..but it was necessary I think. I've been pondering this..but the problem with interaction with others - is it all occurs on a superficial level. There's no real intimacy. You aren't allowed there. Instead it's banter about sports, weather, etc. 24/7. Those rare moments...where you share your heart...well, you worry afterwards. Did I say too much? Will they judge me harshly for it? There are so many things you can't say. And yet, if only you could - suddenly everything you've said before may make sense. Then again not, for the misinterpretation. So many ways to misunderstand. Aren't there? If you think about it. But it does help if you know where the landmines are. Why your friend can't stand something you may love and sees it differently than you do - may in fact have something to do with something they can't say.
For fear of...so many things.
Today at church, I said it. In order to share our spiritual selves, to share on that level of intimacy...you have to feel safe with that person. Not fear their judgment, their criticism,
their rejection. I hate to use these two words...but they seem to be the most fitting in this context: Rejection Sensitivity. What an interesting phrase. It has been used as weapon - towards me - "you are rejection sensitive" or "too sensitive" - build thicker skin. But with thick skin comes armor and shields. And hardened hearts. You stop letting people in. You stop caring. Me against the world. Rejection Sensitive..ity. You feel it online - when people blast you. And I remember ages ago..someone turning to me and saying, well, don't you reject people too? People you aren't certain of? And here's the thing? I do. I'm ashamed to say. And have. And yet, in the past they have become my friends. So now, I stop myself. I think...see past that first impression,
see past that first reaction...give the person the benefit of the doubt. See what happens.
3. Been reading interesting posts on my flist about an essay on Sherlock Holmes, which I can't really read since it contains spoilers for S2 of the series. And that doesn't air here until February. But what I've managed to grab from the essay is this small bit of wisdom. Labeling writers or works as feminist or non-feminist, particularly fictional stories...is a bit problematic. Since most stories, if they are well told, do not fit into such neatly defined categories. And even if the story does come across as feminist or the characters do, and can be defended as such - this does not mean the writer is. Any more than it means the writer isn't feminist or is a misogynist, if the story and characters are perceived to be, shall we say, in that derogatory light. People aren't that black and white unfortunately. In all honesty? I really can't tell you whether Joss Whedon is a feminist or not. Or even Stephen Moffat for that matter. I don't know. I can speculate. But not with any clarity. Any more than I can tell you if TS Eliot was or for that matter Keats, CS Lewis, Byron, or any number of people. As for their stories? They can be perceived in multiple ways. For me, now, as an adult, the Chronicles of Narnia seem to be incredibly sexist, but as a child of 10, I adored them and did not see that at all. Who knows which version of me was right. And does it matter? I know why I don't like Whedon's work post Buffy the tv series, and post Angel that much...but explaining why...well, not sure it matters, but it's complicated. And I've found I don't have the words. Half of you understand. Half of you don't. It feels a bit like politics or religion actually.
4. The Good Wife was quite good tonight. A puzzle box, layers within layers. Once Upon a Time was too, although...not as good. But it's late and I didn't plan on staying up til 12 writing this. So going to bed am I.