I am being given a room of my own. It is by definition a room that is for me to do my work, to bring my passions to life, to be me. This room comes replete with materials to be chosen by me in order to make this place my own. In looking at the design of the room, I have to place the desk by the window. I am a day dreamer, but for me to write and think I need to see the world. I enjoy watching how things move, how the trees change, how the birds maneuver, and how nature plays. I haven't always been this way. It is about mindfully choosing to watch. To see.
Annie Dillard writes in her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek that "seeing is of course very much a matter of verbalization. Unless I call attention to what passes before my eyes, I simply won't see it. It is, as Ruskin says, 'Not merely unnoticed, but in the full, clear sense of the word, unseen'"(30). To see this way is what allows us to understand how the world works and how we work within the world. My children taught me this. They would crouch down and study bugs that I had learned to step over. They would watch as the trees moved and call attention to the birds. My children taught me to slow down.
For this week's blog, I want you to willfully see. Go to a window. Sit and watch. You can pick your window and your subject. (If you choose people, be respectful in that this is a public blog.) Write down what you see. Then, come up with a poem or descriptive prose passage that captures what you see. What have you learned from watching this subject, and how can what you learn be applied to your life at the stage in which you currently reside?
I am looking outside of my back door. I can see the spot where I often sit on the deck during the summer and read. The chair I usually sit in is covered with a tarp so it could withstand the harsh Ohio winters, which we never really ended up getting this year. Beyond my deck, I see the field behind my house. Or rather, what used to be a field. Now what I see is bulldozers, completed houses and shells of houses. I see a bright orange border tarp that shows that the houses will be built right up to my back yard. Soon my view will be the windows of someone else’s house.
ReplyDeleteMy yard, my playground
was never confined to my fence
It was tall green grass
and a creek and a hill
it is no longer there
since the bulldozers came in
It was finding a ladder
now having a way
to always climb fences
and go somewhere
where there are no fences
but now since the people came in
there will be fences
and borders and no open space
And now i can’t see the sunset
because the second story of a house
blocks it
i can’t see the deer running
because the trees and grass they slept among
have been replaced with concrete
i used to watch the snow fall
and settle on the branches of trees
and i would wake up to see only white
i could watch the leaves fall
from an abundance of trees
but those are gone now
and i used to look out my front window and hate what I saw
because the view was houses
and driveways packed with cars
and it was seeing my neighbors houses
which are so so close to mine
but when i looked out my back window
i could pretend
that i was apart
i was far and the only thing anywhere
was just a field and forest
a creek and a hill
and no people and cars and more building houses
but i really shouldn’t kid myself
because the bulldozers only served to remind
that i’m in the middle of suburbia
and i should be thankful
to even have a yard with a fence
The front window of a house.
ReplyDeleteHeat waves rise from the driveway’s grey sedan, allowing the woman in the pink t-shirt gesturing and leaning back into the window opposite of mine to shimmer as if magical. A pickup truck rolls by. Some limp straws in a scarecrow flick lazily in the breeze. The branches of leafless trees vibrate around set points. The atmosphere is fallen and heavy, although not viscous. Everything is tinted slightly yellow, in part perhaps due to the afternoon, close-to-setting sun and in part due to the color of the dry, prickly, dead yellow grass contaminating the mood and perceived color around it. Formless clouds are minding their own business, moving without a word at a pace brisk for clouds. A neighbor’s bulldog barks fiercely in the distance to the right. I can hear the birds singing their sweet songs, the same songs I’ve heard since I was small and childish. The familiar melodies bring up fond remembrances of innocence, of a childish time when time was bountiful and limitless and carefree. Now the wind stops. No movement. Concrete Frozen. Rock-hard. Flawless Picture-perfect.
The wind resumes and the world releases its pent-up breath in a long sigh.
Three trees in my yard. The first is young and sprightly, with smooth, unblemished grey bark and straight branches. It is a happy 17 year-old figure. The second is middle-aged, with roughening bark, some gnarling in the branches, and the same height as the first tree. It is a weathered, 30-year old man. The third is majestic and tall, at about 40 to 60 feet, with straight, but balding branches, and a mossy, decaying trunk. Its age is unknown, but it seems to be over a hundred years old. At least that’s how I remember it. Most of the third tree I see right now is imaginary – where the tree used to reside, only a small pile of sad woodchips remain.
Honestly, I’ve learned nothing new from watching through the window. I’ve watched through all the windows of the house hundreds of times throughout the years (this particular one is next to my piano), and although I occasionally notice something I hadn’t noticed before or think philosophically about my findings, this time isn’t one of those times. Despite this, I’ll still write down my thoughts.
ReplyDeleteThe heat waves from the sedan point to the power of manipulation of nature in industrialization.
The woman in the t-shirt and the rolling pickup truck point to the unmatched beauty of the natural, leisurely order of life which one strives to achieve but which is only achievable for most during childhood, retirement, and possibly middle-age.
The limp, flicking straws point not only to leisure, but to flexibility; the attitude of going along with the flow when necessary.
The vibration of the leafless branches around set points is like prodding a dead body and observing how it moves in response to your finger and then bounces back – it points to the deadness of something that is dead, to the yin and yang of advance and retreat, to an attitude of elasticity.
The grass contaminating the rest of the scene points to the idea that oftentimes a single event influences my attitude towards other things, sometimes in a negative, unjust manner, and sometimes in a positive, equally unjust manner. I should let the latter occur when justness is not required.
The clouds minding their own business points to how sometimes, things in life don’t intersect with you very much – a teacher meets a student during a year’s class, and then when the year is over their paths diverge and neither talks much to the either again even though they still see each other’s paths. This is like the clouds and me. I see the clouds, but their path does not intersect mine anymore, so I accept that and continue on with my life never bothering the clouds much even though I see them every day.
The neighbor’s bulldog points to the disconcerting idea that even though my life could be just fine and dandy right now, all around me there are others who could be going through personal crises, or dangers, or trauma. They could be at a point in their path where I’ve already been, or their trauma could be something I have yet to experience in my path.
The bird songs point back to the supreme beauty of leisure and innocence, but they also point to the idea that we enjoy things which are familiar to us – just as I enjoy writing this insanely long blurb. The absence of the wind points to the idea that something which you see in one light can suddenly and easily turn into the opposite. Something which is flowing can readily become static. Someone who is innocent can suddenly become vile.
The three trees decorate the idea of aging and the cycle of life. As one is born, so another declines from its youthful prime, and so yet another becomes a withered old man. As one comes to maturity, another becomes withered, and yet another returns to the soil from whence it came, ready to nurture a new generation. Awareness of this in my decisions and interactions with others will help me feel respect and help me think in the long-term.
As to how the ideas relate to my current stage of life:
ReplyDeleteThe idea of manipulation of nature does not influence my actions in this stage of life. The idea of leisure gives me motivation in my teenage years. It gives me the comforting knowledge that I can focus on my career right now. It gives me the hope that after I finish my career and whatever other contributions I might make to society, I’ll have time to see the world for what it really is, through an unfiltered lens so that I can look at something without thinking about how that something relates to time, efficiency, knowledge, or usefulness.
The attitudes of flexibility, yin and yang, are really multi-purpose attitudes that can be applied to almost everything in life. For example, during a group project, one must not be a domineering force, but rather a balanced, flexible entity that pushes for ideas one thinks is beneficial to the project (yin), and also concedes for other people’s ideas that will allow the team to function as a team (yang). The concept can also be applied to social relationships and career planning.
The idea of clouds and parallel, non-intersecting paths will help reconcile parting with friends and mentors as the senior year ends.
The idea of the bulldog and differing progress in our paths helps me attempt to help others, call on others for help when I need it, and understand that high school is just an obstacle to pass. When I converse with others who have passed through high school and college and amassed career experience, I see that I’m at the beginning of their path. I see that high school and college are not entities which I should rebel against or fight against for their flaws and unjustness, but rather impassable gates in my path which I must pass through to achieve other things in life. If I want, I can come back to fix those gates.
The sudden absences and reappearances of wind teach me to be wary of myself. I can easily turn into an unmotivated wreck without even noticing: with the massive workload and responsibility I’m bearing right now, I must continually check myself to prevent from falling into that.
I’m watching my dogs playing in the backyard, each doing what they enjoy, whether it be sunbathing, exploring, or sitting calmly next to me. They seem happy and carefree, with no worries or stress. They are enjoying life in the now, taking in the nice weather and playing in the grass. Each part of nature that is showing itself for the first time now that spring has nearly begun catches their attention, be it a bird singing, a wind chime chiming, or the warm air blowing in a breeze. They look to me every so often and then go back to enjoying the outdoors. They do not question or object when I stand and call them inside, they simply obey, and do so happily.
ReplyDeleteMy dogs are in the backyard. They wander freely with their tails wagging and their noses in the dirt. When they look at me sitting on the patio and staring at them their ears perk up, their tails move faster, they almost smile. Eventually they turn back to their adventures. One lays on the ground, bathing in the sun. Another is exploring among the plants. The last one is sitting next to me, waiting happily for attention. The wind picks up slightly and the explorer lifts his nose high in the air, closing his eyes, taking in his surroundings. A bird begins to sign and the sun bather lifts his head and perks his ears, listening to the music. I turn to the one next to me, his mouth opens and his tongue falls out into a grin; his tail begins to wag again, hitting a nearby chair with a constant thump thump thump thump. The sun bather stands and stretches his legs, his jaw drops in a yawn and he prances into the grass to meet the explorer. The two greet each other with a bow and a chase starts. Back and forth across the yard the run, barking and jumping, tackling one another to the ground. The other remains by my side, calm and happy. I stand and they all stop and stare at me. I call to come inside and together they run towards the door and enter the house, tails still wagging and jaws still dropped in a smile.
My three subjects all did something different while we were outside, but what each of them did made them happy; each dog was not forced to pursue those actions, they did so because they chose to, they wanted to do what they were doing. As I leave my childhood and move onward through the rest of my senior year and into college as an adult, I tend to think not so much what I want to do, but what I think I should do - based on my surroundings, abilities, opportunities, and so on. Living like this has pushed me to my limits, often times I find myself stressed and unhappy, wanting to do things other than I am doing, but I haven’t been able to find that ability within myself. Seeing my dogs do what I struggle to do (that is do what they want, not what they should) is now my inspiration. Happiness is what matters to me in life, and I don’t want a life that is deemed “great” by society if I am not happy living it. As I enter adulthood I will strive to do what I find enjoyment in, because in the end it is my happiness that means the most to me, not what others think of me.
Rotating masts of skin,
ReplyDeletein and out of the between
two fixed figures with the red,
red, red.
I sat down in the middle,
beside the melted chlorine clean
and wood, the shaking and kick
of engines, their piston startup coaxes
the birds from their straw and they fly,
fly, fly.
Beside me a sea of seven whitehairs,
spotted with beige, electronics, alloys
of a less cynical nature.
They make idle chatter of their
dwindling moments here:
Politics, God, Labor.
Piles of belly lint, a garden snake
emerges from under, we talk
the responsibility of the self
to that of a former.
Shedding while it speaks, says
something will make a home in the drainage,
what it leaves behind.
I hope that I can say the same.
ReplyDeleteI am settled in my sunroom. My backyard is full of bustling wildlife. Various types of birds are landing on our bird feeder. Squirrels run back and forth from my dad’s corn pile, meant for the deer. The porch swing in the gazebo slowly rocks because of the light breeze. I can see a few houses off in the distance, branched off a neighboring side street. The woods that surround my home are thick and dark during this time of day. Some trees are knocked over dead, and others stand tall. Long vines hang from certain trees. As a kid I always thought the woods went on for miles and we owned every inch of the property. I hope the woods stay here forever.
Rain, sleet, or snow
Find me outside under the gazebo.
My sisters and I prepared for the elements,
Sometimes layered up as wide as elephants.
Games consisting of tag, frisbee, and kickball,
Enjoying ourselves until the last day of fall.
The woods are a place of adventure and discovery,
Also a place of tranquility and recovery.
Trees growing tall reaching up to the sky,
Others fall to the ground to decompose and die.
These woods must continue to prevail,
The land is the local golf courses’ holy grail.
What memories lie within the leaves, grass, and snow,
Only my family will ever really know.
I am sitting on my beanbag chair in my room, staring out the only window which is entirely mine. My view is dominated by trees, their dried leaf litter covering the ground. I’ve never walked back there, ever. Maybe it’s because they aren’t my trees to wander, or maybe because I’ve only been living here for the past two year, and my childlike sense of wonder has long been squashed. At this time of the year, I don’t see much to explore, the trees are stagnant. But, the thing that is always changing is the sky. The sky which I have stared at ever since I wondered what was beyond the stars as a child.
ReplyDeleteGray.
How can I feel any other way,
When you are blank, empty, dull,
The trees scrape up against you,
But you remain untouched, unmoved.
That’s what I like about you,
You follow your own rules.
It’s not always like this,
Last night you showed different colors,
Like you only do after a good day.
Red.
“Red skies at night...red skies in mourning”
I know you’re scared.
It’s not always like this,
You move in different ways,
Telling tales of different times.
Blue.
I learned change from you.
I learned nothing is permanent.
And as the sun sets and erases you’re beautiful colors,
I can’t help but feel the same way.
The sun is setting on this chapter of my life,
And as I don’t want to lose these colors,
I’m excited,
At what my new colors will be.
And now I can hear the rain but I cannot see it.
It’s okay, I’m crying too.
But it’s not always like this,
And that’s why I love you.
In the carbon flare
ReplyDeletelike mistress stains the sheets red
it snows, mount Fuji.
Once a dog laid back
ReplyDeletenecking the space in mud knee
it snows, mount Fuji.
Happened to see her
ReplyDeleteoutside the coffee shop drunk
it snows, mount Fuji.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteIdle chatter of idle lives resting under an idol
ReplyDeletealtar of unflinching time
Blink once to halt us
Twice to slow us down
Three times to send us flying to our deaths
This poem is reflective of how time passes when i'm at work. It is applied to my life because I should probably engage more with things I suppose. At the same time, time is a human construct and everything ends in the void so I'll probably just eat more sandwich.
I am standing behind the counter of a semi-popular eatery. Smells of meat, sweat, and dirty dishes assault my nose. As the door opens and a customer shuffles in, I can smell the wet earth and worms writhing only feet away. Still I am separated from the simplicity by glass, like an animal on display. I pile rotting meat on hastily sliced bread and hand the bag of sustenance to another sack of decaying flesh. Though I am here for a finite amount of time, it stretches on forever and as I struggle to fight off the existential dread another decaying figure shambles in and requests something to stuff his face with. I comply with his demands because my life is ruled by arbitrary things such as time and money and yet I continue with the hopeful idea that one day we will all die and everything we worried about or cared about or loved will fade into ash and be forgotten forever. Eat Arby’s
ReplyDeleteI learned that I really need to stop taking things so seriously and look at the funny things I can find because I have no idea how long I will be on this earth so hating every second I am here seems like a waste, but even if it is a waste it doesn’t really matter.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteScuba dive in my
ReplyDeletedishwater eyes, breathe, it is
snowing on Mt. Fuji.
Chirping off the meat
ReplyDeletegrinder, nerve ending the blue
rain on Mt. Fuji.
Stuck.
ReplyDeleteAll that effort to come down and wind up
Here.
Flat against the glass,
Slowly fading away
Your death makes children laugh joyfully.
Family splintered apart- pieces torn asunder yet
Every few minutes they come together again and sink farther
Closer and closer to that new beginning
Another run of the cycle and the Earth’s work won’t be wasted.
Fate hasn’t been so kind to you- the anomaly that waits here for God to do something because they didn’t teach what to do when physics stopped working
You stick and remain. Stuck.
Reality growing as you shrink-
now is when suicide would starts to become an option again, but thankfully your emotions have already been washed away, leaving only enough room for
You.
The wind blows
And you think of all the people you let down with your pathetic existence
A parasite of disappointment polluting the house for years.
Another gust
Tiny you is all that’s left
Thoughts ideas hopes and dreams all crushed You’d feel worthless but the Doubts failures regrets and guilts are finally gone as well.
Stuck. Nothing.
You let go and
Fall.
Here's a link to see the structure of the poem, as it did not carry over when I published the comment: https://docs.google.com/a/s.bcsoh.org/document/d/1JF6I-LMC1yxme2UEE4JjO5V10hSRTjOKs7HmzoFV3Wc/edit?usp=sharing
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteWind:
ReplyDeletePw = (½)⍴Cpvr2
Where Pw is wind pressure, ⍴ is air density, Cp is the wind pressure coefficient, and vr is wind velocity.
The three stout evergreen trees in my backyard move in the wind, a product of gravity, Bernoulli’s Principle, and countless other interactions.
These same three evergreens are alive because E = hν.
Light refracts as it strikes my window, passes through glass, and enters air once more:
n1sinθ1 = n2sinθ2
n2sinθ2 = n1sinθ1
Where n is the refractive index of the medium (~1 for air, ~1.5 for glass – though it varies for types of glass) and θ is the angle of the light ray to the perpendicular
The same equations govern the light rays as they pass through the water droplets on my window, except nwater ≈ 1.333
The diffraction of light through my window screen could also be represented by formula, but this would be massively complicated with the thousands of openings in the screen.
My house is relatively new, and our yard is covered with straw, which can be approximated as cylindrical entities occupying the space V = 𝜋r2h
Mathematics and physical laws are the essence of truth. I think I’ll learn more.
***Note: formulas have been reformatted and are no longer accurate since blogspot can't handle subscripts and superscripts
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GMs4BnlWco
DeleteAs I sat in my first period journalism class and felt the warm spring-like air, I looked out the open window and saw a courtyard; a courtyard our school does not allow us to go in. As I hop out the window and look closer, I see a beautiful grass area with a gazebo, but I also see wrappers, plastic bags, and water bottles littered about. This is a sight I see all too often, a beautiful outdoor area covered in items that belong in the trash can.
ReplyDeleteMy earth, your planet, our home,
Beauty everywhere you turn,
Birds, flowers, trees, sunshine, bugs, leaves,
Wind, sunshine, rain, snow
My dumping ground, your trash bin, our garbage can,
Wrappers everywhere you turn,
Water bottles, bags, cigarettes, straws, cups, receipts,
Air pollution, water pollution, acidic rain, dirtied snow
When will we learn this planet is not ours to pollute?
We share this Earth; our kids, their kids, animals, plants,
They may never have a chance,
Our world is not a dumping ground
I am sitting in a front room of my house next to the piano. I see my little brothers playing outside. One of them has a lightsaber and is dueling with the other one. They are dueling in front of the flower bed. In a minute they disappear around the corner and a second later my other younger brother comes running around the corner and disappears around the corner again just as quickly as he appeared. The day is rather gloomy with the clouds covering the sun completely. There is a light drizzle and across the street the neighbors are throwing a get together and several cars are coming in. My eyes are drawn to the reflection of the tail lights off of the wet road. Out of the corner of the window view I notice an old couple walking down the street. They look so at peace and calm compared to the rest of the picture that I see out of the window. The trees in my front yard just stand there feeling lifeless completely matching the tone of the cloudless sky.
ReplyDeleteOverall this just made me realize that not all things in my life need to go by so quickly in a fast sprint. Sometimes it is best to just take a deep breath and actually pay attention to the little details in life that pass by you unnoticed when you are just flying through life. At this stage in my life when I'm constantly in a state of hyperactivity due to my life as a student-athlete looking at his future career going into college and eventually my working-class life this hits a strong note. A note that I just need to take some time to think about my future and enjoy life as it goes and not just take it for granted. Sometimes, someone just needs to take a break from all the stress of life and just look outside a window and notice all the small details of the world.
I am sitting on the edge of my bed looking out my window into my backyard. When I moved into my house at the age of five, my parents allowed me to pick which room I wanted because I was the oldest. Despite the fact that this room was smaller than the one down the hall, my five year-old self chose this one simply because the window had a better view. When I looked outside I felt as if I escaped to another world- my backyard was a jungle and I had the perfect view. This is the reason why I chose to observe from my bedroom window. I really enjoyed this blog because it surprised me how much my perspective has changed now that I am eighteen years of age and entering adulthood. This window which I used to spend so much time looking out of and observing the “jungle” from has become a window that I have covered with blinds the majority of the time. Therefore, this blog has taught me to appreciate the beauty of nature more and reminded me to embrace the vivid imagination I once possessed as a child.
ReplyDeleteWhat happened to the jungle?
The one with the river running through the middle,
With the tall trees dressed in vines and leaves,
The one where tigers endlessly roamed.
What happened to the jungle?
The one with the hut on its outskirts,
With the outgrown grass blanketing the ground,
The one where children would play and get lost in.
It’s gone.
It has turned into a waterless retention basin,
Into a sparse treeline with no leaves,
The tiger turned into my neighbor’s housecat.
The hut turned into an abandoned shed,
The grass is cut down and yellowed,
The children are grown and inside.
The jungle is gone.
Good job Faulkner
ReplyDeleteYou’ve noted the persistence of rain’s vertical falling
& while my ears fill with disgusting name-calling
That’s quite a comfort, I see it too.
No critters seem interested in those orange peels I’ve tossed
But the pawprints on my windshield
Suggest there’s no loss,
Everybody’s got a different cup of tea
How am I going to create me?
Plum Creek has flooded again
Young deer are waken and shook from their dens
To find an area a bit more dry.
They’ll be fine and so will I
The leaves still decay
The grass will then green
No need for dismay
It’s not as bad as it seems
I found comfort in willfully seeing the cycle in the world’s natural processes. I feel smothered more often now than usual with the political turmoil and issues that are brought up by it. I am confident, now, that with time and effort more people will heal and abandon their less-than-useful anger, and as a country and as a community faith will be restored; naturally (eventually) we will all find peace.
so happy for you that you get a room to see :-)
ReplyDeleteI look out of my back door. Leaves and bushes scatter across the deck that held late-night summer parties. Flower pots stand idle, waiting to be cared for, and trees stand tall and bare. A barn, full of sharp (and dull) tools, remains locked, casted out until the grass and fruitful trees call out to it. The sky is dark and gloomy. Rain cries across a hopeful ground as birds scurry to gather nesting materials.
ReplyDeleteStaring across an ocean with a view
That you know can only be you,
A reflection is seen.
Revealing inner thoughts
And information unsought.
Nature shows this.
Serenity and hope,
Full of past memories and
Undone actions.
Patience comes with reflections,
And anticipated success.
I am sitting in my bungee chair in my book nook, looking out my front window. It is the early morning, the best time of day to look out my window and I can see the sun rising, the colors just about to light up the sky. Even though it is raining a little, I open the window and let the smells of nature enter in and fill my room. I see the little birds chirping and bouncing on the ground looking for worms, a flock of geese fly overhead. I watch cars pass by- people hurrying on their way to work. It seems relaxed until a car flies by and breaks my focus and concentration.
ReplyDeleteRain.
Falling, aimless, free
Dark, gloomy, soggy
Mud, mold, earth
Sun.
Bright, happy, endless
Light, shining, warm
Color, dazzling, sky
One cannot break through
If there is no challenge.
One cannot overcome
Without a setback.
Rain will always be there
But so will the sun.
Plants need both to grow
And so do we.
If we appreciate the sun,
We must thank God for the rain.
How would we truly know what the sun feels like,
If not for the somber days?
In this stage of my life, I have needed to learn that life is full of difficult choices. Those decisions come with consequences. Sometimes, the rain never seems to end, but I also have options. I can sit there and let the rain fall on me and feel sorry for myself, or I can do something about it. I can choose the sun. It may continue to rain anyway, but I can move towards the light and make my life my own in spite of that. I am working towards the things that make me happy in life, I don’t need permission and I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. The next steps in my life are meant for me to do, even when the rainy days come, it is I who must find the rainbow and follow the light.
Inside looking out
ReplyDeleteBlue sky, sun bright
Yet here we sit
We sit and
Wait
Wait for something to happen.
We move through life
like notes on a sheet of music
Hustling and bustling
Yet
We wait
We sit and wait
While beauty is illustrated before us
We wait
Inside looking out
I’m sitting in my living room and looking out my front window. As I prepare for the end of my senior year and college, I think about how I just go through the motions. I’m always living my life like it was already written for me instead of living every day to its fullest. However, by observing other people in my life and the world around me, they do it too. We always seem to move like robots throughout daily routines. I think as my high school years come to a close, I need to start living every day like its my last. I need to begin going out and doings things instead of waiting for something exciting to happen in my life, even though I ignore all of the exciting little things that happen in my life. I need to start basking in life and the little things that life hands out, but goes unnoticed.
I am sitting at my kitchen table, looking out into my back yard. I begin to notice that most of the objects outside are no longer touched. The swing set that used to be my childhood friend sits lonely in the back of the yard. The pool drained of most of its water, abandoned as of two years ago. The shed and bin that held our toys, has not been touched for years. Now my backyard is only touched by my two dogs that run rampant through the yard chasing after one another getting muddy. The rabbits in their cage hop about enjoying the end of winter. The birds that are flying around above the house in search of food that is kept on the other side. I realize that my sisters and I have grown up and lost touch with the enjoyment that our backyard once held. We no longer play on the trees that stand unclimbed. Through this observation I have realized that as I grew up I lost my sense of looking to nature and the outdoors for fun, instead I search for entertainment through the internet and other forms technology. I have forgotten how it feels to run around outside with bare feet creating games from nothing. The outside world holds so much opportunity that I have chosen to block out. So in a sense I have learned that I wish to regain my connection with nature and the imagination it provided me with.
ReplyDeleteRunning, jumping, having fun
The endless hours wasted in the sun
Swinging on the swings feeling free
Climbing up the highest tree
Where has it gone, this freedom of youth
When everything seemed to be the truth
The wonder of nature is gone
Yet life still continues to carry on
But is it really life when you don’t appreciate
That part of the world that you need to investigate
Becoming nothing more than a machine
That spends its days in front of a screen
Imagination has dwindled down to nothing
Thinking to myself that I must do something
To live my life noticing the world that is around me
Picking up on every detail, no matter how small it may be
Turning the clock back to the time of my childhood
Searching for answers out in the wood
But for now the land will stand alone
Were only muddy paw prints are shown
(Sorry for the awful poem: I am horrible at poetry)
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThe tireless question remains.
ReplyDeleteFrom across the skies barren
To the depths we forget lay beneath
Man treads on.
Toward the maw of his own demise.
His constructs drive on roads cracked.
Roads repaired but not reforged.
Near buildings forged by the heart and avarice
Against the whim of nature’s reclamation.
Buildings built by creatures always crying out,
From within and without,
Against the frivolousness
Of their own existence.
Perhaps our morals steer us forward.
Perhaps we break down.
Perhaps we don’t really care.
Perhaps we realize the question has no answer.
Why does man carry on?
When the only true end is the death of one and all.
Who can ever be sure of man?
The walking contradiction
The lover, the hater
The peacemaker, the warmonger
The religious, the atheistic
Sometimes we see kindness.
Sometimes we see anger.
Yet, sometimes we don’t know what we see.
Humans, so close
And so far all the same.
With all that we know
What have we achieved?
Who is even the one to decide
If it all was worth the price?
Man
Are we ever truly sure?
For we continue to question.
I never understand man, and I truly do not understand myself. We carry on with our days well aware we will all die. At times we are seemingly productive as we drive to work as well as to our homes when the job is done. However, we can also possibly waste our time arguing over the duplicity of parking on a cul-de-sac. I myself am certainly guilty of both, and I long to know why humans do anything. Is out of love for our fellow man that my fellow classmates volunteer despite the hardships in their own lives, or do they volunteer to validate the greatness of their own lives in comparison? Both ideas are just as true as they are wrong. For I wonder if i can ever be sure, and I worry that my inferiority complex is the cause of that query. I often become so overcome at the possibilities that I often try to ignore them and shut down. Was I rude? Was I ignorant? Am I even acting human? Who am i to even ask this? I wish I knew before driving myself in a circle once more. Maybe everything I have written makes sense. Maybe my words obliterate rationality in its entirety. I, for better or worse, seem to relinquish my ability to tell. I am sorry if this was just a waste of anyone's time.
I like this. It's beautiful. You should ditch the last sentence, though.
DeleteI truly enjoyed what you wrote, Nick. Never apologize for your honesty.
Delete“People apologize too much, everyone's afraid of giving offence and it leads to literature being written for babies. Low-brow rubbish." --Sophie Divry
DeleteThis was anything but rubbish!! Don't apologize for your thoughtful contribution.
Thank you. That is all I can say thank you all.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteLooking out my bedroom window
ReplyDeleteShows me more than what I had known
Time can pass and people will go
But what stays the same is my home
A whole eighteen years I have lived
Same backyard with mulch, trees, and grass
But what has been seem to be missed
Are my memories that have past
I look now at the same backyard
Once huge back when I was a kid
Today my sight stretches too far
And what is creative is hid
Not too long my yard will be gone
Will I miss the sight of it all?
Will it be the house, grass, and lawn
Or the memories that I saw?
Every night I come home home to my bed and see through the same window that looks at my backyard. It revels a decent amount of space and on the horizon is a road. This passage made me reflect on what is so normal for me, to come home every night and look out the same window. At this point in my life, college is around the corner and that same view will no longer become a habit. It made me not take for granted the memories I had as a kid in the backyard. Still, I know that however much I will change, this place and the memories I had here will remain.
(PART ONE)
ReplyDeleteJust minutes ago, I returned home from work. After hours of toil, the dingy yellow fluorescence faded to the background as I looked helplessly outward at my destination. We had been begging for hours to leave, and although others barrelled towards the door, I was strangely hesitant to go. The rain was coming down in droves, and still I couldn’t make up my mind as to whether I liked it or not, staring blankly at what was dark in juxtaposition to what was light around me (albeit very cheaply). The sound of the Lord’s teardrops outside was deafening, and although blackness was encroaching, the momentary shimmer of each member of the army of raindrops was still clearly visible. People soon began crowding the front window of this particular Marc’s store, and I embarked on the long journey to my car as my view was obscured. After walking due West about one hundred paces, I stopped and stared again, this time at my far-away vehicle. What had possessed me to park at such a distance? I looked up and grimaced, then quickly scolded myself. I should be strong enough to withstand this without showing cowardice, I thought. The rain had looked and felt and tasted and smelled so very different through the window.
Just minutes ago, I remembered when I was four years old, on the soccer field in the pouring rain, arms outstretched, dancing, never feeling more alive than at that moment. When I was five years old, cuddling my horrified golden retriever scared of the lightning and thunder the storm brought with her when she knocked at our doorstep. When I was eight years old, trapped at camp and damning the flood. When I was eleven years old, singing along with Taylor Swift and believing that I, too, could be fearless and dance in the rain in my best dress, if only I ever got the chance. When I was thirteen years old, and my only solace was the pitter-patter on my window pane to help me escape consciousness and find sleep. When I was fourteen years old, staring point blank into the void with another lost soul and for once in our lives we were honest about who we were and how we felt about that, with individual droplets first hitting our frames one by one yet eventually pooling into a kaleidoscopic armageddon of our vision. When I was fifteen years old, with the little kids asking simply what made me happy and my answer, without hesitation, being warm rain. When I was seventeen years old, responding the same way when asked about my favorite kind of precipitation, recalling with a lusty nostalgia the goosebump-eliciting, arm hair-raising sensation it can bring at just the right moment.
(PART TWO)
ReplyDeleteJust minutes ago, I got out of my car. Windshield, windows, and sunroof were exposed; windows all around. Through every crack and crevice, droplets of the most quintessential element of life were eeking, yet with all their might the glass partitions fought against. On the road, they clouded my vision, attempting to shy away the falling lifeblood that was inhibiting my ability to see. Yet now, I believe I see clearly. On the way to my car, I realized something. Try as I might, I couldn’t be truly fearless. I grimaced. I wasn’t dancing in the rain, as I thought I could. I did not shed my fear of getting wet in order to live in the moment and fully embrace the sensation. Something about the dampness and the chill etched their way into my heart, and for whatever reason I was unable to feel any kind of release. Upon sitting in the car, I was disappointed in myself. But I think, maybe, that’s the point. The rain had meant so many different things to me at so many different times, there was no way for me to release all of my emotional baggage and simply appreciate the moment for its own sake, in its simple beauty. And perhaps it wasn’t beautiful at all. Maybe the lack of warmth, the lack of passion, or the lack of people failed to elicit those same feelings within myself. I’m not certain whether or not this is negative, or a potential personal failure on my part, but I do believe the rain meant the most to me when others were present to help it mean anything at all.
I spent all of my energy
ReplyDeleteOn trying to remember you a certain way.
I tried to forget your crying face-
Your lips curling into the widest smile is all I see
I tried to remember the time you smelled
So good
While you were twirling me around in your kitchen,
Rather than the time we sat on the street
With pain
Our quivering voices.
It was more bad than good,
But my denial and love has brainwashed me to
Nearly forget all the moments that make my heart rip out of my chest .
So instead of thinking about the morning I was in so much pain,
I wasn’t even aware of my
Screams
Or the mess,
I tell all my friends about how intelligent and deep you were.
And sometimes I still call you,
Because I convince myself I won’t allow hatred in my heart.
And when you don’t answer,
I convince myself you’re busy.
But how twisted.
You’re the cheater who gets to pretend they’re king
And I just sit here and write shitty poems about it.
This is all I see now.
I know the prompt was supposed to be about the physical things we saw while looking out a window, but this is more of the feeling I get when you've been staring at something for so long and your mind starts to wonder back to everything that's bothering you. So this is whats bothering me. I guess if you were looking for more visuals, this is what the inside of my mind looks like.
During my more than four hour journey to Miami University the other day, I had plenty of time to watch out the window (and write this blog). Here are some of the things I noticed during our rainy expedition:
ReplyDeleteTorrential rain
Blurring the lights of the traffic.
It’s hard to see what is in front of us,
Especially since the sun is setting.
The familiar suburbia
Morphs into only naked trees rushing past us
As we swerve through traffic,
Going roughly fifteen over the speed limit.
Pretty soon,
Stalemate makes traffic seize.
Four lanes packed full of tires
Going in the same direction,
But all getting nowhere fast.
Isn’t it funny
How it is during rush hour
That it is hardest to move?
We envy the easy flow
Across the median.
Torrential rain
Seems less chaotic
When you aren’t moving so fast,
Or when a bridge
Provides refuge,
Even if only for a moment.
Once wheels turn freely again,
Uninterrupted by brake lights,
And the cruising
And the cursing
Are more controlled,
Sailing seems smoother.
Torrential rain
Making me think
Of its symbolism in literature,
And wondering
If that same symbolism
Could ever transcend past just the art we consume.
Whenever it rains, I can’t help but be drawn to a window, so I wasn’t upset that I got plenty of time to willfully watch the rain fall on this day. I’m envious of the way it unapologetically and so beautifully moves across a pane of glass in an unpatterned way, and I wish I could embrace imperfection like that. While I could contently watch the rain for hours on end, it does make driving really difficult. This teaches me that sometimes, seemingly good things are better from a distance and aren’t meant for you to be fully immersed in. Watching the scenery change so much from point A to point B on our road trip reaffirms the beauty of diversity, and the suddenness of heavy traffic going the same direction as my car reminds me of the commonalities that we all share. The frustrating turtle pace of this rush hour traffic teaches me that there will always be times when things happen to you that are completely out of your control. However, without some bumps in the road, we would never learn or become better people. There will be times when neither speeding up nor slowing down will help the situation, and when that happens, perhaps we should learn to enjoy the ride and dance in the rain instead of wishing the time away. Furthermore, when there are those moments in our lives when hardships rain down on us in the most unmanageable and unrelentless ways possible, slowing down, looking at it from a new point of view, and taking a deep breath can make it better. And for the times when we can’t carry our own umbrellas, there will always be a person willing to save you from the storm, like the bridge did for our car.
ReplyDeleteI liked the idea of it raining on my way to visit the college I will be attending this fall. Rain is cleansing, a symbol of rebirth, and I can’t wait to have a fresh start in such a place.
I see that big red barn
ReplyDeleteThrough the thin patch of woods
In the drizzle of the rain
I see that big red barn
I envy the flowers for being bold
I appreciate the woods for being a home
The deer that graze through my yard
The subtle roar of a passing car
When you look and see
All of the possibilities
Of a greater life
Will you strive to make it better?
I look at that big red barn
I see it as a home
Or just a place to be
I see it as a possibility
To create a life
Better for me
Part One
ReplyDeleteI am not sure why I am doing this
I might regret my words
But the truth of my sorrow is this
The question may gnaw at me
As I peer through the glass
Yet the worst visage I see
Is the caged animal I call “me”
I live and breath as anyone else
Yet I defile my worth at each turn
I say “you could be me” to show stupidity
You could be the idiot caged in spirit
You could be the one incapable of saying
A compliment to those you adore or revere
Or your views without apologizing
Where others live and breath
You stare out from the prison of your own mind
Too scared to speak
Too scared to act
All that remains is the wallow in your own hatred
Hatred of yourself
You who could not speak
Not to someone in the hall
Not to someone at your table
Without fear of failing
To be polite
To add to the discussion
To even speak english properly
To be an actual human being
You hate yourself.
You hate your existence.
You’ve even felt that your mere existence was an affront
Not just to your friends but to one you looked up to
One who you adored
But felt every word only annoyed them
With you incipient presence
I want to live life like everyone else
But I really don’t know how.
I let myself be overcome by possibilities
Whereupon I latch onto the worst
If I should speak I must have been rude.
If I was to think I must be incapable of matching
The wits of my heroes
The theme of the novel
The discussions of others
I sit here typing this wanting to hate myself.
Who am I to complain about my life when everyone else suffers?
I believe I am a failure
I believe that I appear horrendous
I believe that the moment I mess up
Or believe I mess up
That I become worthless.
Less than dirt
So I apologize
For my existence
For my stupidity in acting this way.
For my faults
To myself
To you
And to the world
So many times have I wished I could end it
All of them born from that feeling of failure
That feeling of being an afront
It occurs in a split second
Without warning
Without remorse
Without empathy for myself
Yet once again who am I to complain
Born to a middle class family
Not in poverty
Not to divorced parents
Under little to no abuse
Who am I to let one failure in my life spiral to this
Where one little thing as not talking or complimenting
Leads to an intense hatred for myself
I wish I knew how humans worked
Then I could finally dissect myself.
Without the fear of failing to be concise
I long to be free of seeing myself in the mirror and detesting what I see
I long to be free of worrying of what I do and don't do
I long not to go zero to a hundred over the most frivolous of things
And tomorrow will be as it was today
I’ll calm down, look over my life and repeat what has been said
The moment I fail or believe I have failed
Soon I’ll calm down and see in the window just a face
A defeated face
But with some happiness at the same time
For I have a lot to be proud and happy of
From the great people I have met
What I have achieved
But what does the latter matter when I am only a failure
Of having lived life
Of being truly happy
Of actually searching for love
I want to condemn myself
I feel I need to condemn myself
Who am I to complain when others are abused externally
Who am I to abuse myself.
Yet I don’t know why I do it
I feel I do it to keep my empathy
To keep myself from being arrogant
But as such with humanity
I truly don’t know
And I want it to end
I want the maw of madness to stop churning
For the wheel of suffering to stop spinning
So I can live my life without so much as a minute longing to end it all
For simply failing to compliment someone beautiful.
For knocking over Mrs. Meyer’s podium
For making a darn joke
It's maddening it really is
I don’t want to feel I need to die anymore
I don’t want to cry anymore
But i'm the failure writing this
When there are far better people suffering
Under worse repression
With worse injuries
Part two
ReplyDeleteYet I continue to feel this way
Caged in my own mind
So that I suffer
By my own will or not.
As I sit here looking at the reflection
Of a creature driven in circles at his own stupidity
Incapable of overcoming it
Only able to ever hide it
To run from it at every turn
Until it returns
Receding my sanity
My self worth
And the worth of my life.
For tommorow I will wake up
Finally calming down
Be “content” with my life
That is until I fail again
As I have with every other day
Often only in my head
Though I suffer forever in its stead
Heed the words of the defeated
Do not be me
Do not drive yourself in circles
Do not deprive yourself of living life
Because you hate yourself
Because you refuse to always love yourself
Always leading
Towards the self crucifixion
Of “A Clockwork Orange.”
You will live longer
And happier
Were you to never be like me.
Note this passage was born out of the memory of some of my most extreme bouts of anxiety that have become much less frequent as well as lasting at smaller intervals each time. However, the scars still lay bear as to the memory of the worst.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteSam: It's like in the great stories Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end it's only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come, and when the sun shines it'll shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were too small to understand why. But I think Mr. Frodo, I do understand, I know now folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going because they were holding on to something.
ReplyDelete-J.R.R. Tolkien