I have been listening to the radio. On Tuesday I was eating a sandwich and listening to ‘1370 Connection,’ the local NPR show that plays from 12 to 1, and two area ministers were discussing a recent conference they had been to in DC on the issue of poverty in this nation and around the world. I believe it was organized by the Christian activist organization Sojourners. They were inspired. They were listening carefully to the callers. I decided I wanted to be one of them.
When I got onto the air, I noted something that had been suggested over the course of the hour, but hadn’t been directly addressed: without a doubt, alleviating poverty is going to require massive structural changes across economics, politics, and social policy, and more importantly, it is going to require sacrifice. (Ironically, this is a word never heard from the Bush Administration, unless it falls within the broad context of “please sacrifice your desire to know what’s being carried out in your name and your ability to participate in those pivotal decisions.” We have yet to hear an even half-hearted call to sacrifice our familiar and destructive habits of self-gratifying consumption. Not incidentally, I believe that we, the people are actually starving for a larger vision that demands our participation and action. We’re waiting for the opportunity to make a contribution – if only someone would give us enough credit to ask.)
Of course there are barriers to sacrifice. People are not going to throw down their remotes and plant victory gardens on Obama’s say-so. Even with the starry eyed diagnosis above coming from my own lips, I’m not sure I’m chomping at the bit to give up the ability to walk into Wegman’s and buy whatever my heart desires. I’ll ride my bike there, but I want a selection of rich foreign cheeses that stirs indecision and feelings of inadequacy. Speaking more seriously, it would be difficult to move away from an abundant array of choices in fresh produce when, well, most of the country is under a blanket of sooty snow. Yet that might be one of the 12 steps to becoming recovering petroleum addicts.
Getting back to poverty and these two ministers: what is necessary, then, is a structural adjustment program here within our very borders. But that institutional transformation (or victory garden) won’t happen unless, to use some extremely appropriate language, something or someone ‘changes our hearts.’ Being ministers, I imagined that these gentlemen would be familiar with some of the ins and outs of interior transformation. I asked what ideas or even specific verses from the prophetic tradition of the Bible touches and inspires them in this mission.
Both men spoke about Jesus’s discussion of the Judgement in Matthew’s Gospel. As one put it, on the last day “God is not going to judge nations according to their GDP. The more important matters are ‘did you feed the hungry, help the oppressed, visit the sick and imprisoned?’ And these are the questions we need to be making into priorities here and now.”
The other expounded upon that idea by directing listeners to a nearby passage in which Jesus says that ‘the poor will always be with you.’ He explained that many have used this passage to bolster an argument that poverty will be a perpetual and irresolvable problem, and we should essentially give up. He took a different tack. ‘I myself am convicted by this [convicted – word choice...wow]: I think this means that the poor are always here, and certainly as people who deserve human consideration, but also that the poor are here for us to learn from.’ The poor will always be with us, that we might see God at work and manifest among the most humble, those pushed to the margins. For if those in the gutter are deserving of God’s love and indeed have it showered upon them, are they not worthy of ours?
we are convicted.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Saturday, June 17, 2006
day 32: the end of the world
on 15 june 2006 pilgrims pat o'brien (usa), damien walsh (south africa), and carl adair (usa) drank a bottle of champagne on the rocky outcropping known as cabo de fisterra. more than one thousand years prior to the arrival of the first pilgrims in santiago, celts and other wanderers were following the milky way west to this point where the land still comes down hard into the angry surf. each night the sun falls down below the infinite horizon and i can understand their doubts that it would ever come up again.
it's amazing to think of ourselves as participants in a tradition that has existed for 2 millenia. just as they did, we and the others scattered across the rock in various reflections had made a journey towards...what? the camino seems to have denied us that which we were seeking and showered instead other blessings upon us. the whole process and this ending has so much mystery wrapped up in it: it seems that the most finite moment of the trip, the point at which it is physically impossible to keep walking - the point at which the journey must end - that is also the point at which we recognize the infinite. we have been down to the ocean, we have been down to the sea. i'm telling you, it goes on forever. we're nothing before it. our journey seems like nothing before it - a few steps. but i can't imagine a better feeling to have - a feeling more worthy of 900 km, a more appropriate end for this experience along the camino. i only hope we may keep on.
it's amazing to think of ourselves as participants in a tradition that has existed for 2 millenia. just as they did, we and the others scattered across the rock in various reflections had made a journey towards...what? the camino seems to have denied us that which we were seeking and showered instead other blessings upon us. the whole process and this ending has so much mystery wrapped up in it: it seems that the most finite moment of the trip, the point at which it is physically impossible to keep walking - the point at which the journey must end - that is also the point at which we recognize the infinite. we have been down to the ocean, we have been down to the sea. i'm telling you, it goes on forever. we're nothing before it. our journey seems like nothing before it - a few steps. but i can't imagine a better feeling to have - a feeling more worthy of 900 km, a more appropriate end for this experience along the camino. i only hope we may keep on.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
day 28: santiago de compostela
there are no borders.
there are no boundaries in the land of the living.
there are no boundaries in the land of the living.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
day 21: the microcosm
we're in villafranca, expecting several things:
1) calling home in about an hour
2) our sabbath menú del peregrino: 2 solid courses, dessert, and wine for under €10. t minus 2 hours
3) tomorrow's climb up to O Cebreiro. there's a lot of hype about this climb - apparently from villafranca it's 20 km more or less on the flat, followed by a jack up to 1.297 m in the last 5. we're not worried too about it, we've made it through the meseta. it's amazing how it's easier to get to the top of a mountain that it is to get to the other side of...the earth.
something i need to fill you all in on, today being day 21. on the first day, an extremely challenging 26km through the pyrenees undertaken foolishly after little rest and less food and begun at 2pm from st. jean pied-de-port, Pat and I had a formative discussion about microcosms. specifically, we considered the idea that this first day might be seen as a microcosm for the entire camino, which in turn would be a microcosm for our entire lives. we even expanded it further, conceptualizing each moment of the day as a camino unto itself, and on the expansive end, our lives as microcosms for all human life in all of time. the camino wasted no time in humbling us with a 9:45 pm arrival into roncesvalles having been soaked with rain and even pelted with marble-sized hail, but this microcosm idea has remained around in a different form.
we have been imagining that each day of the camino represents a year of life. our lives. things got off to a rough start - the world out of the womb is an uncomfortable place, and your skin's got to thicken up quick if you've got aspirations beyond the crib. since then we've endured the terrible twos, our first day of school, getting made fun of on the playground, and adolescence. only three days ago we were graduating from high school and going off to college. when you're on the road, the days (years) go slow - but looking back is another story. seems like only 3 days ago i was actually graduating from high school.
anyway, today represents the momentary unity of model and modeled: i'm 21 years old in real life and 21 years old in camino life (which is to say, extremely real life). tomorrow, we march off into the future. here's hoping that O Cebreiro doesn't smack us around too bad, otherwise i'm going back to 19. 19 was great.
twenties: what have you got?
tentative schedule - we're ahead of schedule mileage wise: arrive in santiago 12 june, officially receive half time off in purgatory (score!), hang out that day and the next. 14 june, depart santiago on foot for finisterre, literally 'the end of the earth' - out on the atlantic ocean. frantic waving across that body of water, general rejoicing, frolicking. bus back to santiago 17 june for our flight to london the following day. celebratory fish and chips, pints. 20 june, the camino continues, homeward.
1) calling home in about an hour
2) our sabbath menú del peregrino: 2 solid courses, dessert, and wine for under €10. t minus 2 hours
3) tomorrow's climb up to O Cebreiro. there's a lot of hype about this climb - apparently from villafranca it's 20 km more or less on the flat, followed by a jack up to 1.297 m in the last 5. we're not worried too about it, we've made it through the meseta. it's amazing how it's easier to get to the top of a mountain that it is to get to the other side of...the earth.
something i need to fill you all in on, today being day 21. on the first day, an extremely challenging 26km through the pyrenees undertaken foolishly after little rest and less food and begun at 2pm from st. jean pied-de-port, Pat and I had a formative discussion about microcosms. specifically, we considered the idea that this first day might be seen as a microcosm for the entire camino, which in turn would be a microcosm for our entire lives. we even expanded it further, conceptualizing each moment of the day as a camino unto itself, and on the expansive end, our lives as microcosms for all human life in all of time. the camino wasted no time in humbling us with a 9:45 pm arrival into roncesvalles having been soaked with rain and even pelted with marble-sized hail, but this microcosm idea has remained around in a different form.
we have been imagining that each day of the camino represents a year of life. our lives. things got off to a rough start - the world out of the womb is an uncomfortable place, and your skin's got to thicken up quick if you've got aspirations beyond the crib. since then we've endured the terrible twos, our first day of school, getting made fun of on the playground, and adolescence. only three days ago we were graduating from high school and going off to college. when you're on the road, the days (years) go slow - but looking back is another story. seems like only 3 days ago i was actually graduating from high school.
anyway, today represents the momentary unity of model and modeled: i'm 21 years old in real life and 21 years old in camino life (which is to say, extremely real life). tomorrow, we march off into the future. here's hoping that O Cebreiro doesn't smack us around too bad, otherwise i'm going back to 19. 19 was great.
twenties: what have you got?
tentative schedule - we're ahead of schedule mileage wise: arrive in santiago 12 june, officially receive half time off in purgatory (score!), hang out that day and the next. 14 june, depart santiago on foot for finisterre, literally 'the end of the earth' - out on the atlantic ocean. frantic waving across that body of water, general rejoicing, frolicking. bus back to santiago 17 june for our flight to london the following day. celebratory fish and chips, pints. 20 june, the camino continues, homeward.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
day 16: the 'meseta'
greetings from day 16 of el camino de santiago, where our heroes have just paused at the half-way mark of the camino francès, high fived, and continued on their journey. that half-way point was ensconced in the no-nonsense mini-metropolis of Sahagún, where we visited the Iglesia de San Lorenzo, but were kicked out after a small horde of women finished taking down the decorations from sunday's wedding. we weren't supposed to be there at all, but that's how we roll here in spain - sneaking into every house of the Lord we come across, getting off a few stolen prayers, reading a few illicit psalms, jotting down notes in our journals while looking about mischieviously for spiritual authority figures, or, in yesterday's case, women with brooms.
but my real purpose here is to tell you about la meseta - this utterly flat region of northern spain that does not seem to participate in the space/time continuum with the same strictness as other geographies. to clarify, we get up at 5:30, eat a loaf of bread with jam, then walk 6-8 hours in a straight line through shadeless wheatfields, hunting the horizon. we dream of mountains, of anything at all to break up the endless expanse.
the meseta has presented us with a unique challenge, and i use the past tense because when we reach león tomorrow we will be preparing for mountains again. the meseta, as far as i can tell, is teaching us that there are times when one must become intensely involved in the location of stones scattered across the path in the 2 meters preceding one's forward foot, when the pile of rocks ahead must be a goal whose acheivement can inspire just another 50 meters to the next, when you've got to find a rhythm in your footsteps and your breaths that become a familiar and consoling song. perhaps this is the root of ancient hymns. i find myself humming tunes i thought i had forgotten.
the meseta does not fear us, as we may imagine foolishly that mountains do. the meseta will not be conquered by our strength or youthful brashness: it holds us in its grasp, not merciless for spite, but only because we are weak, and we must face it. the meseta is teaching us what the camino is at the bare bones: a road whose true length is impossible to measure, whose half-way markers have little to give us. the surest stride will never make it across the meseta without a stumble, a look around, a fall of the brow. we have yet to make it to the horizon for all our leaps and scurries. yet it also seems that the span of our journey is never so broad that we cannot cross it with a heavy breath of resignation, a clap on the shoulder, and a single stride that feels beneath it the earth's subtle, dusty curve.
but my real purpose here is to tell you about la meseta - this utterly flat region of northern spain that does not seem to participate in the space/time continuum with the same strictness as other geographies. to clarify, we get up at 5:30, eat a loaf of bread with jam, then walk 6-8 hours in a straight line through shadeless wheatfields, hunting the horizon. we dream of mountains, of anything at all to break up the endless expanse.
the meseta has presented us with a unique challenge, and i use the past tense because when we reach león tomorrow we will be preparing for mountains again. the meseta, as far as i can tell, is teaching us that there are times when one must become intensely involved in the location of stones scattered across the path in the 2 meters preceding one's forward foot, when the pile of rocks ahead must be a goal whose acheivement can inspire just another 50 meters to the next, when you've got to find a rhythm in your footsteps and your breaths that become a familiar and consoling song. perhaps this is the root of ancient hymns. i find myself humming tunes i thought i had forgotten.
the meseta does not fear us, as we may imagine foolishly that mountains do. the meseta will not be conquered by our strength or youthful brashness: it holds us in its grasp, not merciless for spite, but only because we are weak, and we must face it. the meseta is teaching us what the camino is at the bare bones: a road whose true length is impossible to measure, whose half-way markers have little to give us. the surest stride will never make it across the meseta without a stumble, a look around, a fall of the brow. we have yet to make it to the horizon for all our leaps and scurries. yet it also seems that the span of our journey is never so broad that we cannot cross it with a heavy breath of resignation, a clap on the shoulder, and a single stride that feels beneath it the earth's subtle, dusty curve.
Friday, May 26, 2006
day 12: castrojeriz (between burgos and leon)
so we've entered the pre-teen years of our journey, and things are continuing without too many tantrums and we've miraculously avoided the awkward growth spurt. then again, i was kind of a late bloomer.
i have 5 minutes here, so let me spell out for the curious our more or less daily schedule:
5:15 alarm segueing into final preparations for the day: breakfast
6:00 (ideally) rubber on road
6:00 -9:00 follow yellow arrows and signs with seashells along El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route that is older than any of the nations it crosses
9:00 take off our packs, apply sunscreen, eat 4 or 5 muffins and some fruit, stretch
9:00 - until we're tired: one foot in front of the other
when we're tired: take a little break, drink liters of water, stretch
after the stretch: follow yellow arrows (seriously, if a yellow arrow led into a bottomless manhole, i would jump into it without scruples)
we usually arrive into our destination between 12:00 and 14:00, depending on mileage (we're averaging about 27-28 km a day, pushing ourselves up to 36 on one occasion, resting the sore and blistered feets with a 21 earlier in our diaper days)
we then check into the albergue, a variation on a barrack facility, eat our lunch (without fail: bread, cheese, chorizo sausage, fruit), and proceed to afternoon activities.
afternoon activities:
sitting there
sleeping
reading (i'm in the middle of canto VI of dante's inferno in italian and loving it)
stretching, attending to minor medical concerns
hobbling around the town in search of physical sustenance, the silence of church spaces
eating
chatting with our fellow pilgrims in a variety of broken languages and hand gestures
talking about what we want to eat when we get back to AMERICA
8:30-9:30 in bed and excited to be there.
rinse and repeat.
these days are full of reflections on the many blessings in my life, not the least of which that there are people out there who are reading this and thinking of us. thoughts and prayers, to avoid confusion in the vastness of the cosmos and meta-cosmos, should include full names: Carl Claude Adair and Patrick Michael O'Brien.
i have 5 minutes here, so let me spell out for the curious our more or less daily schedule:
5:15 alarm segueing into final preparations for the day: breakfast
6:00 (ideally) rubber on road
6:00 -9:00 follow yellow arrows and signs with seashells along El Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage route that is older than any of the nations it crosses
9:00 take off our packs, apply sunscreen, eat 4 or 5 muffins and some fruit, stretch
9:00 - until we're tired: one foot in front of the other
when we're tired: take a little break, drink liters of water, stretch
after the stretch: follow yellow arrows (seriously, if a yellow arrow led into a bottomless manhole, i would jump into it without scruples)
we usually arrive into our destination between 12:00 and 14:00, depending on mileage (we're averaging about 27-28 km a day, pushing ourselves up to 36 on one occasion, resting the sore and blistered feets with a 21 earlier in our diaper days)
we then check into the albergue, a variation on a barrack facility, eat our lunch (without fail: bread, cheese, chorizo sausage, fruit), and proceed to afternoon activities.
afternoon activities:
sitting there
sleeping
reading (i'm in the middle of canto VI of dante's inferno in italian and loving it)
stretching, attending to minor medical concerns
hobbling around the town in search of physical sustenance, the silence of church spaces
eating
chatting with our fellow pilgrims in a variety of broken languages and hand gestures
talking about what we want to eat when we get back to AMERICA
8:30-9:30 in bed and excited to be there.
rinse and repeat.
these days are full of reflections on the many blessings in my life, not the least of which that there are people out there who are reading this and thinking of us. thoughts and prayers, to avoid confusion in the vastness of the cosmos and meta-cosmos, should include full names: Carl Claude Adair and Patrick Michael O'Brien.
Monday, May 22, 2006
el camino de santiago
greetings from day 8 of el camino de santiago. pat and i are getting kicked around by this ancient trail - we are sunburned and sore, but we are safe and we are keeping our heads up. keeping the eyes and ears open. looking for signs.
i had a dream last night that i was home in fairport and having trouble accessing my email while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. thank you, unconscious, for making it just that much more clear that i am getting ready to be home, and that the strain of this trip has got me craving peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. that being said, the day's reflection warranted this: a lot of the most important things in my life seem to happen when i wish i was already home.
Friday, May 12, 2006
on the move again
i'm under the gun - i have to get to firenze campo di marte and i'm at santa maria novella. i also have to call my host parents and chase bank to straighten some stuff out.
suffice it to say that i have been working on an organic farm for the last week in Castegneto Carducci, which is near the western coast of italy - one afternoon i walked to the top of the nearest mountain, illegally climbed a forest fire lookout, and saw the bright blue against the deep green of the hills that roll right down to the edge.
this organic farm is also a spiritual retreat, run by a wonderful woman named edith who has moved to italy from the states 35 years ago and has established this sustainable farm as an opportunity for people like myself to come and to some work within, some work without. i am bone tired, but i feel refreshed, collected - ready to walk. ready for the long haul. time has begun to stretch out in front of me, which both frightens and inspires me. but the better question than 'what am i supposed to do in all this time?' is: 'what am supposed to be doing right now?'
the answer to that, right now, is to say a quick word of thanks for the myriad blessings in my life, strap on my pack, and get on the road. my love to you all.
suffice it to say that i have been working on an organic farm for the last week in Castegneto Carducci, which is near the western coast of italy - one afternoon i walked to the top of the nearest mountain, illegally climbed a forest fire lookout, and saw the bright blue against the deep green of the hills that roll right down to the edge.
this organic farm is also a spiritual retreat, run by a wonderful woman named edith who has moved to italy from the states 35 years ago and has established this sustainable farm as an opportunity for people like myself to come and to some work within, some work without. i am bone tired, but i feel refreshed, collected - ready to walk. ready for the long haul. time has begun to stretch out in front of me, which both frightens and inspires me. but the better question than 'what am i supposed to do in all this time?' is: 'what am supposed to be doing right now?'
the answer to that, right now, is to say a quick word of thanks for the myriad blessings in my life, strap on my pack, and get on the road. my love to you all.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
5 minutes each
ciao tutti -
as my time in italy is wrapping up (thursday is the last day of this program), i am suddenly struck by the desire to narrate innumerable passing observations from this time as a means of convincing myself that they in fact occurred. that being impossible, i will settle for partiality and offer these 3 or 4 five minute sketches. i'm holding myself to the five minute rule for each - i should be writing a paper about italo calvino, but i'm intimidated by him.
1. beggars : 18:20
although in greater concentration and better organized among themselves in major cities, there are people here in arezzo who sit on the side of the street with a small dish either in front of them or held out to passersby, sometimes associated with a sign. the signs, without fail, begin with 'sono povero' or 'sono povera.' not to sound heartless - when ever i have change in my pocket i try to pass it out to people who need it, but it sounds like they don't even believe that they're poor. you're begging for money. i'm going to go ahead and make the connection with a less than ideal financial situation.
the problem is that a lot of beggars don't need the money. in major cities, as i alluded to before, there can be networks of beggars working in conjunction with pickpockets. here in arezzo, my favorite beggar is a guy who comes into public places with an electronic keyboard over his shoulder and plays the demo music as he comes around with his hand cupped for your change. his method is so ingeniously lazy, i wanted to give a few centesimi as commendation for guts. but i once saw him doing this routine while eating an enormous sandwich. that ruined it for me. yesterday i saw him walking around town in a new sweatsuit and nike shocks.
2. change 18:25
in the united states i hate having change in my pocket. in italy, it's practically a necessity. first of all, i like to think that some people really need the money, so i put it in their little dishes outside of churches. but beyond that, i'm afraid. afraid of going to the supermarket without change. of course in the states i've been in the situation where the stuff that's rolled off that slick reptilian belt across the laser-beam scanner thing have come to like $5.02. the cashier usually asks, have you got 2 pennies? OR, gift of the gods, there's that little bowl of benificence 'take a penny, leave a penny.' here in italy, there is no such benificence, and the lady is pissed if you don't have exact change for your €3.47 bread, cheese, and beer lunch. so i try to keep a collection of coins of diverse denominations in my pocket, hoping that that mess, that incompleteness will make for a more complete cash drawer (or till, as w.b. yeats likes to call it). so after she flings my receipt at me, i can do my little bow that displays subservience, say 'grazie, arrivederci,' and bolt.
3. gli api 18:32 (damn it)
coming from america, a land where cars have become a sort of meta-accessory with which we match our outfits and even personalities on the road, it is delightful to be walking along the sidewalk and hear the subtle doppler effect of un ape as it passes alongside you. the symbolic significance of this name needs to be pointed out - ape (ah-pay) in italian means 'bee,' and thus it is sonically appropriate that a small tricycle truck (an elongated three-wheeler with an enclosed cockpit and a flatbed behind) should be given this name: as it comes alongside, it is almost possible to imagine a giant hand swatting it into a guardrail, or a stiff wind throwing it dangerously off balance, caterwauling from side to side as the now-wakeful driver overcorrects, pulling on the handlebars like reins on a spooked stallion.
it's a nice commentary on the italians that these gritty workmen in rough shirts and padded jackets can light up a cigarette, spit on the ground, and get behind the wheel of a 50 cc machine that drives along the shoulder at 15 mph, still managing to look like the master of materials and machines.
18:42 - i love gli api - i wanted to do them justice.
i like this format. maybe more to come.
as my time in italy is wrapping up (thursday is the last day of this program), i am suddenly struck by the desire to narrate innumerable passing observations from this time as a means of convincing myself that they in fact occurred. that being impossible, i will settle for partiality and offer these 3 or 4 five minute sketches. i'm holding myself to the five minute rule for each - i should be writing a paper about italo calvino, but i'm intimidated by him.
1. beggars : 18:20
although in greater concentration and better organized among themselves in major cities, there are people here in arezzo who sit on the side of the street with a small dish either in front of them or held out to passersby, sometimes associated with a sign. the signs, without fail, begin with 'sono povero' or 'sono povera.' not to sound heartless - when ever i have change in my pocket i try to pass it out to people who need it, but it sounds like they don't even believe that they're poor. you're begging for money. i'm going to go ahead and make the connection with a less than ideal financial situation.
the problem is that a lot of beggars don't need the money. in major cities, as i alluded to before, there can be networks of beggars working in conjunction with pickpockets. here in arezzo, my favorite beggar is a guy who comes into public places with an electronic keyboard over his shoulder and plays the demo music as he comes around with his hand cupped for your change. his method is so ingeniously lazy, i wanted to give a few centesimi as commendation for guts. but i once saw him doing this routine while eating an enormous sandwich. that ruined it for me. yesterday i saw him walking around town in a new sweatsuit and nike shocks.
2. change 18:25
in the united states i hate having change in my pocket. in italy, it's practically a necessity. first of all, i like to think that some people really need the money, so i put it in their little dishes outside of churches. but beyond that, i'm afraid. afraid of going to the supermarket without change. of course in the states i've been in the situation where the stuff that's rolled off that slick reptilian belt across the laser-beam scanner thing have come to like $5.02. the cashier usually asks, have you got 2 pennies? OR, gift of the gods, there's that little bowl of benificence 'take a penny, leave a penny.' here in italy, there is no such benificence, and the lady is pissed if you don't have exact change for your €3.47 bread, cheese, and beer lunch. so i try to keep a collection of coins of diverse denominations in my pocket, hoping that that mess, that incompleteness will make for a more complete cash drawer (or till, as w.b. yeats likes to call it). so after she flings my receipt at me, i can do my little bow that displays subservience, say 'grazie, arrivederci,' and bolt.
3. gli api 18:32 (damn it)
coming from america, a land where cars have become a sort of meta-accessory with which we match our outfits and even personalities on the road, it is delightful to be walking along the sidewalk and hear the subtle doppler effect of un ape as it passes alongside you. the symbolic significance of this name needs to be pointed out - ape (ah-pay) in italian means 'bee,' and thus it is sonically appropriate that a small tricycle truck (an elongated three-wheeler with an enclosed cockpit and a flatbed behind) should be given this name: as it comes alongside, it is almost possible to imagine a giant hand swatting it into a guardrail, or a stiff wind throwing it dangerously off balance, caterwauling from side to side as the now-wakeful driver overcorrects, pulling on the handlebars like reins on a spooked stallion.
it's a nice commentary on the italians that these gritty workmen in rough shirts and padded jackets can light up a cigarette, spit on the ground, and get behind the wheel of a 50 cc machine that drives along the shoulder at 15 mph, still managing to look like the master of materials and machines.
18:42 - i love gli api - i wanted to do them justice.
i like this format. maybe more to come.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
ok already
sister and brothers -
to briefly venture into an entirely surreal, new-age linguistic landscape: i'm finding myself in a weird emotional 'place.' i don't feel entirely myself these days; i've been experiencing a mini ego crisis; my chakras are out of alignment and my auras are dissonant. i'm out of touch with the gaia life force source; i'm communicating unhealthy energy. i've lost the link to the mothership.
i'm sorry i haven't given you all the update for all this time, this program in arezzo is hanging in that odd end-of-semester equilibrium between winding down and ramping up that makes me think with interest and shame of arranging crystals on my chest. but really, any old rock will do to bash against my forehead.
i have been living with and in an aretine family for the last 5 weeks: a casa Gallo. Giulio and Valeria, my host parents, are the salt of the earth and i am having trouble thinking about leaving them and their most generous hospitality. i have been eating very well. my favorite part of every day is coming home, throwing my coat and bookbag on my bed, and bounding back to the kitchen to help make dinner while we discuss our days, political developments, tuscan curse words, the consistency of perfectly prepared pasta. my host sister cecilia is a frequent presence, and filippo and matteo come home on weekends from their respective residences in aquila and bologna. i am known as the blonde son.
this semester has illuminated to me my real need of constant intellectual stimulation - unfortunately by its absence in our courses here, relative to semesters past. more accurately, i find that i do miss the american university and the freedom allowed and encouraged by its resources - libraries here close at 19:30 and access to books are limited. i miss hanging out in b stacks and just looking at books, making notes in their margins to puzzle over later. i miss my seat, my table, and the people i share it with. in short, i'm looking forward to the fall.
i'm caught: while i'm more than ready for this phase of my academic life to be over, i'm far from ready to leave italy. although i am ready for a change of scenery. i don't know what's going on! - seriously, its my chakras. i am beyond excited to move on to phase 3 of the european adventure starting 15 may, that being el camino di santiago - 900km across the north of spain. 4 weeks on foot, on the road, material possessions manifesting themselves in their most fundamental form as mass upon my back. walking alongside others who are taking the journey seriously, but not themselves. others providing a model for me to live up to.
in the meantime, my family is coming and i couldn't be more psyched to see them in the flesh, to show them around this place that has become somehow mine and yet continues to elude me. after a week with them, i'm thinking i'll head back to taizé for a week of reflection, reorganization, and preparation. something which i'd like to start on right now. and what's stopping me?
to briefly venture into an entirely surreal, new-age linguistic landscape: i'm finding myself in a weird emotional 'place.' i don't feel entirely myself these days; i've been experiencing a mini ego crisis; my chakras are out of alignment and my auras are dissonant. i'm out of touch with the gaia life force source; i'm communicating unhealthy energy. i've lost the link to the mothership.
i'm sorry i haven't given you all the update for all this time, this program in arezzo is hanging in that odd end-of-semester equilibrium between winding down and ramping up that makes me think with interest and shame of arranging crystals on my chest. but really, any old rock will do to bash against my forehead.
i have been living with and in an aretine family for the last 5 weeks: a casa Gallo. Giulio and Valeria, my host parents, are the salt of the earth and i am having trouble thinking about leaving them and their most generous hospitality. i have been eating very well. my favorite part of every day is coming home, throwing my coat and bookbag on my bed, and bounding back to the kitchen to help make dinner while we discuss our days, political developments, tuscan curse words, the consistency of perfectly prepared pasta. my host sister cecilia is a frequent presence, and filippo and matteo come home on weekends from their respective residences in aquila and bologna. i am known as the blonde son.
this semester has illuminated to me my real need of constant intellectual stimulation - unfortunately by its absence in our courses here, relative to semesters past. more accurately, i find that i do miss the american university and the freedom allowed and encouraged by its resources - libraries here close at 19:30 and access to books are limited. i miss hanging out in b stacks and just looking at books, making notes in their margins to puzzle over later. i miss my seat, my table, and the people i share it with. in short, i'm looking forward to the fall.
i'm caught: while i'm more than ready for this phase of my academic life to be over, i'm far from ready to leave italy. although i am ready for a change of scenery. i don't know what's going on! - seriously, its my chakras. i am beyond excited to move on to phase 3 of the european adventure starting 15 may, that being el camino di santiago - 900km across the north of spain. 4 weeks on foot, on the road, material possessions manifesting themselves in their most fundamental form as mass upon my back. walking alongside others who are taking the journey seriously, but not themselves. others providing a model for me to live up to.
in the meantime, my family is coming and i couldn't be more psyched to see them in the flesh, to show them around this place that has become somehow mine and yet continues to elude me. after a week with them, i'm thinking i'll head back to taizé for a week of reflection, reorganization, and preparation. something which i'd like to start on right now. and what's stopping me?
Monday, March 27, 2006
mi è sbagliato
one of the greatest things about living with a family who speaks another language is the inevitable moment in which one makes a subtle but grievous error. switch some letters around, confuse your vocabulary, experience some maschile-feminile discordance in a high pressure situation: languages can be minefields. but with the right attitude you can also turn yourself into a source of entertainment for those generous enough to invite you into their home. briefly, my top two.
last monday, when i moved in to my new digs in the apartment of i Signori Gallo, i put all my stuff down in my room and then, during the tour, asked if they would prefer if i took off my shoes when i came into the house. or at least that's what i intended to ask. my clothing vocabulary is a little rusty, so in actuality i asked these wonderful retirees if they would prefer, upon entering the house, if i took off my pants. good one.
just tonight - monday is apparently my off-day: at dinner we were talking about varieties of local sausage and i proudly recalled a type that we had shared the week previous - the complex and delicious san budello. but, again, the disconnect between the tongue and a mind overtaken by hubris: what i ended up saying was 'san bordello,' which, after a period of collective and prolonged laughter, my host sister informed me by less-than-subtle circumlocution to mean 'holy whorehouse.'
last monday, when i moved in to my new digs in the apartment of i Signori Gallo, i put all my stuff down in my room and then, during the tour, asked if they would prefer if i took off my shoes when i came into the house. or at least that's what i intended to ask. my clothing vocabulary is a little rusty, so in actuality i asked these wonderful retirees if they would prefer, upon entering the house, if i took off my pants. good one.
just tonight - monday is apparently my off-day: at dinner we were talking about varieties of local sausage and i proudly recalled a type that we had shared the week previous - the complex and delicious san budello. but, again, the disconnect between the tongue and a mind overtaken by hubris: what i ended up saying was 'san bordello,' which, after a period of collective and prolonged laughter, my host sister informed me by less-than-subtle circumlocution to mean 'holy whorehouse.'
Thursday, March 23, 2006
london, paris (part III)
allora, i'm going to be a little more brief for this second half of the spring break highlights, i'm exhausted.
after visiting the arkitektur museet and moderna museet in stockholm i jumped on a bus to the airport, where i jumped on a plane to london. one hour after touchdown, i arrived at my buddy ted's flat with chilled guinness in hand. it was fantastic to see him - ted, my other soulmate tom and i were roommates on the theatre in london program, and ted has remained in london with an internship at parliament. not too shabby. the next morning, we enjoyed together a full english breakfast, which attentive readers may recall had become a veritable institution for room 14 during our january stay in london. with such rocket fuel in my blood, i finished up and mailed out my take 5 application (take 5 is a u of r program that allows students to pursue a course of study novel to them for one year, tuition free - i'm hoping to study german history in the early 20th century). ted and i went for a nice walk in hyde park and shared our deepest secrets. the rest of the day we caught up with other people from the u of r in london and went to various pubs and clubs with them and theirs. we were lucky enough to catch some live irish folk music, which i must say is almost on par with a full english breakfast in capacity for circulatory acceleration.
thursday i went over to the national gallery for the morning and took in the sights of many of the paintings we have been studying in my art history course, specifically piero della francesca and other quattrocento masters. in the afternoon, ted and i went to the novello theatre and saw the royal shakespeare company in a production of As You Like It. it was simply delightful - on the theatre program we had seen the same company in productions of Twelfth Night and A Comedy of Errors and i couldn't have enjoyed more the opportunity to soak in the thematic correspondences with those productions in this, the final play in their comedy season. plus we sat front row centre for 5 pounds. yeah bud. rather, yeah bud. the use of italics is an art i have yet to master.
ted and i left his flat at 03:45 the next morning to walk to waterloo station; from hither we took the train to paris nord, otherwise known (in this sentence) as 'yon.' we strolled around in the morning (arrived at 09:30 local time), including a peak inside sainte chappelle - stained glass like you've never seen, and notre dame. we had a humorous moment of self reflection on our american identities when we overheard a large woman's grotesquely nasal southern drawl resound within the otherwise silent sainte chappelle: y'all wanna go see that big church naow? by big church i can only assume she meant the nearby notre dame, among the world's most recognizeable and well-known monuments to human capacity when creating with an intention toward the divine. i did not appreciate very much this insertion into the silence. oh well, we chuckled about it later.
ted and i then walked through les jardins des tuileries and up the champs-elysees to l'arc de triomphe, where we met our friend rachel. equally fantastic to see her. we bought a quantity of wine and cheese, several baguettes, and spent the afternoon consuming said gifts of gods. that night rachel's friends from her study abroad program in paris came over and then we went to a bar called le piano-vache (the piano-cow - i have no idea, apparently it's famous) for a st. patrick's day pint and then had crepes on the way home. crepes are also gifts of the gods.
the next morning we got up, ate granola, yogurt, baguette, and cheese, and headed out for a stroll. our destination: student protests against the current french legislation that creates an extremely 'precarious' situation for new graduates. as much as i sympathize with the cause and hope that the french government will pursue a lasting solution to these issues, i must admit that if one is going to write a popular polemic, one should find a more forceful title than 'against precariousness.' the article and bulletin that was pressed into my hands several times through the afternoon might have as well been titled: 'yeah, so, like, the way we feel right now - it's not great. we'd prefer to feel otherwise. can we do something about that?'
a brief note on this to put the american post-grad job market into perspective: under the current french law, if you're under 26 it's very difficult to find a job that isn't of a specified and very brief length, for example, 6 months. when you're hired, you know you'll be fired. with an unemployment rate of 20-25% in the 16-26 age demographic, that can't feel great. more importantly as a cause of dis-ease (one might say a feeling of 'precariousness') : if you're under 26, as it stands right now in france you can be fired at any time , and your (former) employer is under no legal obligation whatsoever to give you a reason. i just realized that sentence contains an unintentional but a propos sad face. i was glad to add my presence and voice to the number of protesters. there was some violence and about 100 arrests later in the afternoon, but we had long since gone to experience other aspects of french culture besides popular revolution. namely, montmartre and sacre coeur. on that note, mosaic is the artistic method that is currently most impressive to me.
that night we hung out more with CIEE paris people and did a little dancing at a fun club where the bartenders played cymbals and empty glasses in their spare time. i'm thinking of making that a career goal, but for no more than 6 months. sunday we laid pretty low - ted and i went to a park we thought was closer than it really was (actually in le banlieu - danger will robinson!) and wrote some things down on pieces of paper. on route to the train station, we visited with rachel's family, who had just arrived for a 7-day visit. it was equally lovely and surreal to get together with friends and family in a paris apartment.
i headed to the train station for the final leg of the journey - paris-florence overnight. i spoke a frightening creole of french and italian to the other passengers in my couchette and read the night away. arrived back in arezzo at 09:15 - just in time to wash my face and head to class. va bene.
after visiting the arkitektur museet and moderna museet in stockholm i jumped on a bus to the airport, where i jumped on a plane to london. one hour after touchdown, i arrived at my buddy ted's flat with chilled guinness in hand. it was fantastic to see him - ted, my other soulmate tom and i were roommates on the theatre in london program, and ted has remained in london with an internship at parliament. not too shabby. the next morning, we enjoyed together a full english breakfast, which attentive readers may recall had become a veritable institution for room 14 during our january stay in london. with such rocket fuel in my blood, i finished up and mailed out my take 5 application (take 5 is a u of r program that allows students to pursue a course of study novel to them for one year, tuition free - i'm hoping to study german history in the early 20th century). ted and i went for a nice walk in hyde park and shared our deepest secrets. the rest of the day we caught up with other people from the u of r in london and went to various pubs and clubs with them and theirs. we were lucky enough to catch some live irish folk music, which i must say is almost on par with a full english breakfast in capacity for circulatory acceleration.
thursday i went over to the national gallery for the morning and took in the sights of many of the paintings we have been studying in my art history course, specifically piero della francesca and other quattrocento masters. in the afternoon, ted and i went to the novello theatre and saw the royal shakespeare company in a production of As You Like It. it was simply delightful - on the theatre program we had seen the same company in productions of Twelfth Night and A Comedy of Errors and i couldn't have enjoyed more the opportunity to soak in the thematic correspondences with those productions in this, the final play in their comedy season. plus we sat front row centre for 5 pounds. yeah bud. rather, yeah bud. the use of italics is an art i have yet to master.
ted and i left his flat at 03:45 the next morning to walk to waterloo station; from hither we took the train to paris nord, otherwise known (in this sentence) as 'yon.' we strolled around in the morning (arrived at 09:30 local time), including a peak inside sainte chappelle - stained glass like you've never seen, and notre dame. we had a humorous moment of self reflection on our american identities when we overheard a large woman's grotesquely nasal southern drawl resound within the otherwise silent sainte chappelle: y'all wanna go see that big church naow?
the next morning we got up, ate granola, yogurt, baguette, and cheese, and headed out for a stroll. our destination: student protests against the current french legislation that creates an extremely 'precarious' situation for new graduates. as much as i sympathize with the cause and hope that the french government will pursue a lasting solution to these issues, i must admit that if one is going to write a popular polemic, one should find a more forceful title than 'against precariousness.' the article and bulletin that was pressed into my hands several times through the afternoon might have as well been titled: 'yeah, so, like, the way we feel right now - it's not great. we'd prefer to feel otherwise. can we do something about that?'
a brief note on this to put the american post-grad job market into perspective: under the current french law, if you're under 26 it's very difficult to find a job that isn't of a specified and very brief length, for example, 6 months. when you're hired, you know you'll be fired. with an unemployment rate of 20-25% in the 16-26 age demographic, that can't feel great. more importantly as a cause of dis-ease (one might say a feeling of 'precariousness') : if you're under 26, as it stands right now in france you can be fired
i headed to the train station for the final leg of the journey - paris-florence overnight. i spoke a frightening creole of french and italian to the other passengers in my couchette and read the night away. arrived back in arezzo at 09:15 - just in time to wash my face and head to class.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
20 minutes was not nearly enough (spring break part II)
i have to move on from santa maria degli angeli, but here's a link to a picture of the doors: ready, get set, be moved.
in the afternoon i met up with joe and we ate lunch next to the colosseo. then we walked up towards villa borghese and took pictures of each other overlooking la piazza del popolo and the rest of the roman skyline in the late afternoon sun. in the evening we went out to a lovely dinner with my friend robyn drucker (studying this semester in rome) and mike higgins (among other things: my friend from rochester, fellow fairport alum, member of intramural volleyball powerhouse team discovery channel, robyn's boyfriend). then we hung out a bit at robyn's sweet pad and headed back to the hostel, where we promptly lost consciousness. we had a nice bonding experience with the other 8 people in the room when one of our number was snoring so loudly that everyone else woke up. but, being a hostel, we all chuckled about it until we were able to rouse him long enough to get him on his side. later we learned his name was jason and he is in the 5th month of an 8 month european tour - solo. the thought of that scared me.
saturday i went to the vatican museum, and can i just say, that was bitchin'. i was very excited to recognize and name many of the paintings from our art history class, and i spent most of the morning strolling around documenting the various symbols that accompanied and identified various saints. one of my favorites, san girolamo (st. jerome), is usually pictured with a book to signify that he done learned real good (if memory serves he was the translator of such famous and influential works as...the vulgate), a wide brimmed red hat (to symbolize his leadership role within the church) and a third image, seamlessly linked to the other two - yes, you guessed it, a ferocious lion. i read in one of the little commentaries that san girolamo kindly removed a thorn from a lion's paw - i'm serious, that really happened. i feel like one of aesop's fables treats a similar subject matter, but i can't remember if at the end the lion eats the mouse who helped him or if he sits for a portrait with some cardinal in the desert translating the bible while occasionally beating his breast with a rock.
two images from the sistine chapel: michaelangelo's self-portrait, just down and to the right of the barrel chested Christ the Judge, is holding in his hand a deboned, gutted, and yet entirely preserved human skin. it creeps me out thinking about it. secondly, everyone is ripped. if all goes well with my forearm exercises, this is what i'll look like doing my italian homework by the end of the month. speaking of ripped, i was blown away by Laocoon. even with that resolution, can you see the veins in his quads? from the moment i first saw that picture in a latin book with the caption 'vatican museum,' i was pretty much on my way.
i spoke with my parents on the phone from the elliptical piazza in front of st. peter's, and while i was doing that 4 nuns came up and sat down next to me and busted out 4 pizzas. they were so excited about it!
in the evening joe and i were walking around and happened upon a large demonstration protesting the recent intensification of italian drug laws - specifically, the criminilization of marijuana. we walked along with it for a while and joe took pictures. it was in the national newspaper La Repubblica the next day, but the front page was taken up by a demonstration that had happened simultaneously in milan. neofascists had gotten a permit to have a parade, and a corpus (disjointed, naturally) of anarchists crashed the party. by crashed, i mean arrived in a large number and started throwing rocks. when the police showed up, both youthful extremes of the political spectrum turned their aggression against them. the picture in the paper was of a young man in a ski mask hurling a rock at a police barricade - tear gas in the foreground, car burning in the back. oddly, it was impossible to tell if this young person wanted an all-powerful state or no state at all - it seemed that the political spectrum we usually think of as a straight line with distant poles had horseshoed around so the points nearly touched. these skinheads and 'no global' had more in common than i think they realized. unfortunately, that commonality was violence.
so yeah, back to the idea of home on the road - after we got back from the pot protest we had a little dinner and started talking to these two girls at the hostel. their names were jennie and ulrika, and they were and are beautiful swedish psychology students. we quickly discovered we would be on the same flight to stockholm the next morning. i, never having been to stockholm or flown out in rome before, was extremely excited to have found beautiful natives with whom to travel. we left the next morning and on the flight i read all about the riots in milan, the upcoming debate between berlusconi and his challenger prodi in the april elections, and students in paris taking over the sorbonne. more on that to come.
jennie, ulrika, and i arrived in stockholm around 3 in the afternoon and immediately ate indian food. it tasted good. then we walked around the central shopping area for a while, took a picture in front of the palace, and strolled around the old town. it was 5 below zero, celsius. i was glad that i had brought the stocking cap my mother knit for me last fall - first because it is warm, secondly because it was knit out of love. seriously, love was the raw material carded, spun, and woven into hat form. with a tassel.
i parted ways with the beautiful swedish girls (they were taking an overnight bus north to umea, where they had class in the morning) in the early evening to find my hostel , which was furnished entirely by ikea and was essentially a 3 star hotel for €17 a night. i wrote some things in my journal, read some of the introduction to Ovid's Metamorphoses, written by my latin literature professor here in arezzo, and turned in.
in the morning, i walked around the city of stockholm - saw some beautiful churches, an entire island that is a park (swedish urban planners love green space - white space last week), and the national history museum, which included a large exhibit on vikings, who i like to imagine as my ancestors as they travelled around putting northern europe in its place. i also walked across two frozen rivers and felt like a bad ass. yeah, that's right. i'm a descendent of vikings. i do what i want.
tuesday, prior to departure i visited katarina kyrka and the beautifully designed and linked moderna museet and arkitekturmuseet.
this last 40 minutes has not been enough either. this spring break is apparently serialized. stay tuned for london and paris, losses and gains.
in the afternoon i met up with joe and we ate lunch next to the colosseo. then we walked up towards villa borghese and took pictures of each other overlooking la piazza del popolo and the rest of the roman skyline in the late afternoon sun. in the evening we went out to a lovely dinner with my friend robyn drucker (studying this semester in rome) and mike higgins (among other things: my friend from rochester, fellow fairport alum, member of intramural volleyball powerhouse team discovery channel, robyn's boyfriend). then we hung out a bit at robyn's sweet pad and headed back to the hostel, where we promptly lost consciousness. we had a nice bonding experience with the other 8 people in the room when one of our number was snoring so loudly that everyone else woke up. but, being a hostel, we all chuckled about it until we were able to rouse him long enough to get him on his side. later we learned his name was jason and he is in the 5th month of an 8 month european tour - solo. the thought of that scared me.
saturday i went to the vatican museum, and can i just say, that was bitchin'. i was very excited to recognize and name many of the paintings from our art history class, and i spent most of the morning strolling around documenting the various symbols that accompanied and identified various saints. one of my favorites, san girolamo (st. jerome), is usually pictured with a book to signify that he done learned real good (if memory serves he was the translator of such famous and influential works as...the vulgate), a wide brimmed red hat (to symbolize his leadership role within the church) and a third image, seamlessly linked to the other two - yes, you guessed it, a ferocious lion. i read in one of the little commentaries that san girolamo kindly removed a thorn from a lion's paw - i'm serious, that really happened. i feel like one of aesop's fables treats a similar subject matter, but i can't remember if at the end the lion eats the mouse who helped him or if he sits for a portrait with some cardinal in the desert translating the bible while occasionally beating his breast with a rock.
two images from the sistine chapel: michaelangelo's self-portrait, just down and to the right of the barrel chested Christ the Judge, is holding in his hand a deboned, gutted, and yet entirely preserved human skin. it creeps me out thinking about it. secondly, everyone is ripped. if all goes well with my forearm exercises, this is what i'll look like doing my italian homework by the end of the month. speaking of ripped, i was blown away by Laocoon. even with that resolution, can you see the veins in his quads? from the moment i first saw that picture in a latin book with the caption 'vatican museum,' i was pretty much on my way.
i spoke with my parents on the phone from the elliptical piazza in front of st. peter's, and while i was doing that 4 nuns came up and sat down next to me and busted out 4 pizzas. they were so excited about it!
in the evening joe and i were walking around and happened upon a large demonstration protesting the recent intensification of italian drug laws - specifically, the criminilization of marijuana. we walked along with it for a while and joe took pictures. it was in the national newspaper La Repubblica the next day, but the front page was taken up by a demonstration that had happened simultaneously in milan. neofascists had gotten a permit to have a parade, and a corpus (disjointed, naturally) of anarchists crashed the party. by crashed, i mean arrived in a large number and started throwing rocks. when the police showed up, both youthful extremes of the political spectrum turned their aggression against them. the picture in the paper was of a young man in a ski mask hurling a rock at a police barricade - tear gas in the foreground, car burning in the back. oddly, it was impossible to tell if this young person wanted an all-powerful state or no state at all - it seemed that the political spectrum we usually think of as a straight line with distant poles had horseshoed around so the points nearly touched. these skinheads and 'no global' had more in common than i think they realized. unfortunately, that commonality was violence.
so yeah, back to the idea of home on the road - after we got back from the pot protest we had a little dinner and started talking to these two girls at the hostel. their names were jennie and ulrika, and they were and are beautiful swedish psychology students. we quickly discovered we would be on the same flight to stockholm the next morning. i, never having been to stockholm or flown out in rome before, was extremely excited to have found beautiful natives with whom to travel. we left the next morning and on the flight i read all about the riots in milan, the upcoming debate between berlusconi and his challenger prodi in the april elections, and students in paris taking over the sorbonne. more on that to come.
jennie, ulrika, and i arrived in stockholm around 3 in the afternoon and immediately ate indian food. it tasted good. then we walked around the central shopping area for a while, took a picture in front of the palace, and strolled around the old town. it was 5 below zero, celsius. i was glad that i had brought the stocking cap my mother knit for me last fall - first because it is warm, secondly because it was knit out of love. seriously, love was the raw material carded, spun, and woven into hat form. with a tassel.
i parted ways with the beautiful swedish girls (they were taking an overnight bus north to umea, where they had class in the morning) in the early evening to find my hostel , which was furnished entirely by ikea and was essentially a 3 star hotel for €17 a night. i wrote some things in my journal, read some of the introduction to Ovid's Metamorphoses, written by my latin literature professor here in arezzo, and turned in.
in the morning, i walked around the city of stockholm - saw some beautiful churches, an entire island that is a park (swedish urban planners love green space - white space last week), and the national history museum, which included a large exhibit on vikings, who i like to imagine as my ancestors as they travelled around putting northern europe in its place. i also walked across two frozen rivers and felt like a bad ass. yeah, that's right. i'm a descendent of vikings. i do what i want.
tuesday, prior to departure i visited katarina kyrka and the beautifully designed and linked moderna museet and arkitekturmuseet.
this last 40 minutes has not been enough either. this spring break is apparently serialized. stay tuned for london and paris, losses and gains.
20 minutes of spring break
hello all, it's been too long. i've got 20 minutes before class starts, so i thought i'd pump out a quick overview of what went down on my 10 day tour of european capitals, also known as spring break '06.
my buddy joe bell and i left arezzo at 6 am on friday morning 10 march, hopping a train to rome. we arrived at termini station around 08:30 and went directly to our hostel to check in and drop off our stuff, which for both of us because as americans we understand well that stuff is baggage. not only in the literal sense that would seem most appropriate in this travel context, but in the spiritual sense. i was carrying the weight of exactly one black jansport backpack (in italian, zaino - great word) upon my soul. while giving our information to the proprieter and taking a look around hostel freestyle (now apparently closed), a tall redheaded youth stepped out of one of the hostel rooms in regal pyjamas and rubbed his eyes. it was none other than reid williamson, a friend of mine and my sister ellie's from our community college italian courses last summer. i had known that he was in perugia this spring and had been trying to set up a time to get together, but apparently our destiny was to meet rather at 08:30 in a 4 room hostel in rome. such meetings, i have come to believe, are beautiful reminders that the idea of 'home' rests much more securely in people that crop up along the way than in a concrete locale. home can come on the road with you; home can sneak up behind you; home can duck under a doorway in pyjama pants and rub its eyes, then rub its eyes again in surprise that you have found it.
after a communal caffé and catching up, i spent the morning at Santa Maria Degli Angeli e dei Martiri, known to its previous occupants (roman citizens, also women and slaves) as the Baths of Diocletian. the history of this place is simply ridiculous. originally built as an enormous bath complex, a feat of roman engineering perhaps yet to be duplicated in the last two millenia, it was ridiscovered (still standing in beautiful condition after nearly 1200 years of total neglect) by Michaelangelo, who suggested to the pope that the frigidarium (the largest, fairly cavernous room with a fantastic triplex vaulted roof) be transformed into a place of worship, which it had most certainly been for its original designer. the transition from pagan/political to christian(/political) was executed masterfully.
but i spent most of my time meditating on the new bronze doors of the church (installed 28 february). the enormous doors, which were the essence of gravitas, were designed and sculpted by igor mitoraj, whose previous work dealt primarily with the use of classical themes reinterpreted along existentialist lines. this personal artistic history, included and transcended in the sacred subjects depicted on the doors - the Annunciation and the Resurrection - had a fascinating and moving resonance with the tranformation of the structure itself from temple of intellectual mastery of material by the inbreathing of spirit. and the doors themselves are challenging - challenge those entering to reconsider of their understanding of their faith: the annunciation pictures a fractured, headless Virgin and the resurrection has a Christ striding out from the plane of the door, the cross carved into his very chest.
my buddy joe bell and i left arezzo at 6 am on friday morning 10 march, hopping a train to rome. we arrived at termini station around 08:30 and went directly to our hostel to check in and drop off our stuff, which for both of us because as americans we understand well that stuff is baggage. not only in the literal sense that would seem most appropriate in this travel context, but in the spiritual sense. i was carrying the weight of exactly one black jansport backpack (in italian, zaino - great word) upon my soul. while giving our information to the proprieter and taking a look around hostel freestyle (now apparently closed), a tall redheaded youth stepped out of one of the hostel rooms in regal pyjamas and rubbed his eyes. it was none other than reid williamson, a friend of mine and my sister ellie's from our community college italian courses last summer. i had known that he was in perugia this spring and had been trying to set up a time to get together, but apparently our destiny was to meet rather at 08:30 in a 4 room hostel in rome. such meetings, i have come to believe, are beautiful reminders that the idea of 'home' rests much more securely in people that crop up along the way than in a concrete locale. home can come on the road with you; home can sneak up behind you; home can duck under a doorway in pyjama pants and rub its eyes, then rub its eyes again in surprise that you have found it.
after a communal caffé and catching up, i spent the morning at Santa Maria Degli Angeli e dei Martiri, known to its previous occupants (roman citizens, also women and slaves) as the Baths of Diocletian. the history of this place is simply ridiculous. originally built as an enormous bath complex, a feat of roman engineering perhaps yet to be duplicated in the last two millenia, it was ridiscovered (still standing in beautiful condition after nearly 1200 years of total neglect) by Michaelangelo, who suggested to the pope that the frigidarium (the largest, fairly cavernous room with a fantastic triplex vaulted roof) be transformed into a place of worship, which it had most certainly been for its original designer. the transition from pagan/political to christian(/political) was executed masterfully.
but i spent most of my time meditating on the new bronze doors of the church (installed 28 february). the enormous doors, which were the essence of gravitas, were designed and sculpted by igor mitoraj, whose previous work dealt primarily with the use of classical themes reinterpreted along existentialist lines. this personal artistic history, included and transcended in the sacred subjects depicted on the doors - the Annunciation and the Resurrection - had a fascinating and moving resonance with the tranformation of the structure itself from temple of intellectual mastery of material by the inbreathing of spirit. and the doors themselves are challenging - challenge those entering to reconsider of their understanding of their faith: the annunciation pictures a fractured, headless Virgin and the resurrection has a Christ striding out from the plane of the door, the cross carved into his very chest.
Monday, February 27, 2006
et al
good afternoon to all for whom it is in fact morning:
i've had a few flattering requests for a more basic overview of life in italy, so i will try to do that concisely and yet with an eye to the depth of each day in a culture that becomes slightly less strange every day. but if you could truly understand the fearless popularity of the mullet here in italy, you would understand how it remains still quite strange even after more than one month.
my friend lee mazur and i share room number 3 at La Terrazza, (http://www.iltrovavacanze.it/vacanze/album23/B_e_B_la_TERRAZZA_di_Arezzo.htm), and my friend joe bell lives next door. every night, joe and i agree to run the next morning at 07:15, and that happens rougly two thirds of the time. after a shower and a quick breakfast, which consists of coffee we make ourselves on the stove from a mocha and CAKE that Signora Paola makes for us every day, i awkwardly greet the other guests (up to 5, sometimes none), and am on my way.
after my experiences in taizé, which in hindsight were a culmination of previous thoughts and trends and a beginning of new trends, i am pleased to have gotten into the habit of daily silent prayer in a nearby church, San Giuseppe del Chiavello. i find the atmosphere delightful on several levels.
1. San Giuseppe is the italian equivalent of a storefront church - it's on a residential street and has nothing that denotes it as a church other than a modest mass schedule on the double wooden doors. the interior is decorated in baroque finery that seems far too opulent for an iconoclast such as myself, although, speaking somewhat objectively, no more than 50 people could fit in there at a time. much too shiny for only 50 people to see it.
2. there are nuns, for whom i have become a curious fixture in their daily routine. i'm usually there from about 08:40 until 9:00, at which time between 3 and 5 elderly women are entering the church for a prayer service. i don't think these women appreciate my presence very much, as one time i was detained by an interesting flyer in the vestibule on my way out, and as soon as i left, there was many angry italian words exchanged between them. however, since that time i have befriended one of the nuns, who seems to have intervened on my behalf in that social sphere. i don't know her name and now i don't know how to ask, but she gives me a big smile every day and often comes up behind me and startles me by putting both her hands on my face, physically turning my eyes toward the Madonna col Bambino above the altar, and saying 'Gesù ti darà la forza!' and other imperatives towards the priesthood. she also gives me printed prayers to read, which i always do immediately, partly because i am sort of afraid of this 60 year old woman but mostly because i'm moved by her compassion for the samaritan in the temple.
after chillin' with the religious, i'm off to school, although i often stop off for a caffé on the way and scan the headlines of the newspapers. monday, tuesday, and thursday, the academic day starts with italian, and on monday and wednesday that moves into art history. thursdays we have 3 hours of italian, straight until lunch. tuesdays we have 3 hours of italian history, which i enjoy because we look at history through the lens of novels. although i'm frustrated that we are reading them in translation. not that i'm capable at this point of reading long selections in italian with any expediency (or much comprehension, for that matter), but i wish i was spending less time in the english universe and more in the italian.
everyone on this program (all 9 of us) eat luch at 'Bar Centrale,' where i do my best to speak my best italian to the multitude of women who work behind the counter and in the kitchen, with my ultimate goal being to be able to casually flirt with them. the food is delicious.
every other afternoon we have another class taught by visiting u of r professors in their area of interest as it relates to italy. i'll speak more about this when i get the opportunity to write out here my reflections on this weekend's trip to ROME, which was other-worldly. on 'off' afternoons i get together with two italian students, erika and elena, and i help them decode videotaped interviews with american students studying in italy so they can write italian subtitles as part of their work on their final undergraduate thesis. they are both very nice and we have fun, and i am challenged both by the opportunity to provide an explanation of funny english idioms like 'i worship the ground she walks on' and the frequent need to apologize for the behavior and attitudes of the students being interviewed. it is a fascinating and sometimes painful look at how other americans perceive and perceived their time abroad.
currently, we are able to use the internet from 16:00 until 18:00. it's been very interesting to feel just how reliant i am on computers: for communication, for a sense of connection to the events of the world, and for writing. no one else can read my handwriting, so i have to use my time wisely if i want to turn in legible papers.
we eat dinner at santa caterina, a nearby girl's boarding school housing approximately 90 girls ages 14-22. there are 5 guys on this program - it's a little weird. we are definitely on display, a factor which we try to exploit for maximum comic effect. when i'm a little wound up, i sometimes sit down at a table of 4 middle school girls and try and keep up with their conversation. i've found this is the best way to acheive maximum exhaustion in miminal time. on more than one occasion, i have started sweating. the food could be better, but the social interaction is priceless.
after our dinner we head back to la terrazza and make coffee, do some homework, watch some olympics (italian coverage of the games has been CRAZY - italian television itself is often hilarious, but, coming from the athletic dominance of the united states, no self-respecting nation should get that excited about a bronze medal), and crash around 11. sleep like i've never slept before.
in the coming days: ROMA extra, extra, read all about it.
i've had a few flattering requests for a more basic overview of life in italy, so i will try to do that concisely and yet with an eye to the depth of each day in a culture that becomes slightly less strange every day. but if you could truly understand the fearless popularity of the mullet here in italy, you would understand how it remains still quite strange even after more than one month.
my friend lee mazur and i share room number 3 at La Terrazza, (http://www.iltrovavacanze.it/vacanze/album23/B_e_B_la_TERRAZZA_di_Arezzo.htm), and my friend joe bell lives next door. every night, joe and i agree to run the next morning at 07:15, and that happens rougly two thirds of the time. after a shower and a quick breakfast, which consists of coffee we make ourselves on the stove from a mocha and CAKE that Signora Paola makes for us every day, i awkwardly greet the other guests (up to 5, sometimes none), and am on my way.
after my experiences in taizé, which in hindsight were a culmination of previous thoughts and trends and a beginning of new trends, i am pleased to have gotten into the habit of daily silent prayer in a nearby church, San Giuseppe del Chiavello. i find the atmosphere delightful on several levels.
1. San Giuseppe is the italian equivalent of a storefront church - it's on a residential street and has nothing that denotes it as a church other than a modest mass schedule on the double wooden doors. the interior is decorated in baroque finery that seems far too opulent for an iconoclast such as myself, although, speaking somewhat objectively, no more than 50 people could fit in there at a time. much too shiny for only 50 people to see it.
2. there are nuns, for whom i have become a curious fixture in their daily routine. i'm usually there from about 08:40 until 9:00, at which time between 3 and 5 elderly women are entering the church for a prayer service. i don't think these women appreciate my presence very much, as one time i was detained by an interesting flyer in the vestibule on my way out, and as soon as i left, there was many angry italian words exchanged between them. however, since that time i have befriended one of the nuns, who seems to have intervened on my behalf in that social sphere. i don't know her name and now i don't know how to ask, but she gives me a big smile every day and often comes up behind me and startles me by putting both her hands on my face, physically turning my eyes toward the Madonna col Bambino above the altar, and saying 'Gesù ti darà la forza!' and other imperatives towards the priesthood. she also gives me printed prayers to read, which i always do immediately, partly because i am sort of afraid of this 60 year old woman but mostly because i'm moved by her compassion for the samaritan in the temple.
after chillin' with the religious, i'm off to school, although i often stop off for a caffé on the way and scan the headlines of the newspapers. monday, tuesday, and thursday, the academic day starts with italian, and on monday and wednesday that moves into art history. thursdays we have 3 hours of italian, straight until lunch. tuesdays we have 3 hours of italian history, which i enjoy because we look at history through the lens of novels. although i'm frustrated that we are reading them in translation. not that i'm capable at this point of reading long selections in italian with any expediency (or much comprehension, for that matter), but i wish i was spending less time in the english universe and more in the italian.
everyone on this program (all 9 of us) eat luch at 'Bar Centrale,' where i do my best to speak my best italian to the multitude of women who work behind the counter and in the kitchen, with my ultimate goal being to be able to casually flirt with them. the food is delicious.
every other afternoon we have another class taught by visiting u of r professors in their area of interest as it relates to italy. i'll speak more about this when i get the opportunity to write out here my reflections on this weekend's trip to ROME, which was other-worldly. on 'off' afternoons i get together with two italian students, erika and elena, and i help them decode videotaped interviews with american students studying in italy so they can write italian subtitles as part of their work on their final undergraduate thesis. they are both very nice and we have fun, and i am challenged both by the opportunity to provide an explanation of funny english idioms like 'i worship the ground she walks on' and the frequent need to apologize for the behavior and attitudes of the students being interviewed. it is a fascinating and sometimes painful look at how other americans perceive and perceived their time abroad.
currently, we are able to use the internet from 16:00 until 18:00. it's been very interesting to feel just how reliant i am on computers: for communication, for a sense of connection to the events of the world, and for writing. no one else can read my handwriting, so i have to use my time wisely if i want to turn in legible papers.
we eat dinner at santa caterina, a nearby girl's boarding school housing approximately 90 girls ages 14-22. there are 5 guys on this program - it's a little weird. we are definitely on display, a factor which we try to exploit for maximum comic effect. when i'm a little wound up, i sometimes sit down at a table of 4 middle school girls and try and keep up with their conversation. i've found this is the best way to acheive maximum exhaustion in miminal time. on more than one occasion, i have started sweating. the food could be better, but the social interaction is priceless.
after our dinner we head back to la terrazza and make coffee, do some homework, watch some olympics (italian coverage of the games has been CRAZY - italian television itself is often hilarious, but, coming from the athletic dominance of the united states, no self-respecting nation should get that excited about a bronze medal), and crash around 11. sleep like i've never slept before.
in the coming days: ROMA extra, extra, read all about it.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
venice et al
ciao tutti -
it's been a while since i last posted, i apologize for the delay. as always, i'm like a starving man torn between two plates at equal distances: on the one hand, i want to go out and live live live, soak it all up, and on the other hand i want to take time to reflect, to write, to place those experiences in a larger context that could be shared with others, with you. i've been doing a lot of the first, i need to do a better job of the second.
last weekend we went to venice. let me say, venice is beautiful. it's about 4 hours away by train, and after my extensive experience with american rail, i never cease to be amazed by the quality of european rail, notwithstanding odd ideas like having 6 stangers sleep together in a small closet moving at 60 mph. but these were day trains of a more standard and less intimate configuration.
the beauty of italy is at times overwhelming, in two senses: it can reach out and smack you between the eyes in a single moment, but its omnipresence can also be numbing after a while. venezia was the intrusion of a moment of this first type into what had become the surreally everyday. we walked out of the train station and looked out across the grand canal and i was pretty much speechless. i'm very excited to one day spend time in venice with a beautiful woman that i passionately love. it's that kind of city.
aside from the fantastic art (we visited the accademia, la scuola di san rocco, and the peggy guggenheim collection) and getting lost, we had the peculiarly venetian experience of visiting the workshop of Tramontin & Figli (www.tramontingondole.it). Signor Tramontin is the last remaining craftsman of handmade gondolas in all of Venice. His great-grandfather started this business, and while the workshop once was able to turn out 21 handmade gondolas in a single month (only 3 men working together), Signor Tramontin now works alone, making about 1 gondola a year. i must say: they are so choice, if you have the means, i highly recommend picking one up. about 35,000 euros for the basic model, and of course you can opt for extras.
Interesting things about gondolas!
as we left, i made a point to thank Sgr. Tramontin in my best italian and shake his hand. he had the firm grip that i expected, but that final interaction left something to be desired, although it was an appropriate end to our time in the workshop. wrapped up in a conversation with someone else, Sgr. Tramontin looked at my hand long enough to guide his into it, and then back to his discussion. he never looked at me. he saw my hands - saw that they aren't used to long, hard labor, and moved on to more important things. while he generously offered us his time and a look at his workshop, he's not impressed by the tourist market. i'm glad.
it's been a while since i last posted, i apologize for the delay. as always, i'm like a starving man torn between two plates at equal distances: on the one hand, i want to go out and live live live, soak it all up, and on the other hand i want to take time to reflect, to write, to place those experiences in a larger context that could be shared with others, with you. i've been doing a lot of the first, i need to do a better job of the second.
last weekend we went to venice. let me say, venice is beautiful. it's about 4 hours away by train, and after my extensive experience with american rail, i never cease to be amazed by the quality of european rail, notwithstanding odd ideas like having 6 stangers sleep together in a small closet moving at 60 mph. but these were day trains of a more standard and less intimate configuration.
the beauty of italy is at times overwhelming, in two senses: it can reach out and smack you between the eyes in a single moment, but its omnipresence can also be numbing after a while. venezia was the intrusion of a moment of this first type into what had become the surreally everyday. we walked out of the train station and looked out across the grand canal and i was pretty much speechless. i'm very excited to one day spend time in venice with a beautiful woman that i passionately love. it's that kind of city.
aside from the fantastic art (we visited the accademia, la scuola di san rocco, and the peggy guggenheim collection) and getting lost, we had the peculiarly venetian experience of visiting the workshop of Tramontin & Figli (www.tramontingondole.it). Signor Tramontin is the last remaining craftsman of handmade gondolas in all of Venice. His great-grandfather started this business, and while the workshop once was able to turn out 21 handmade gondolas in a single month (only 3 men working together), Signor Tramontin now works alone, making about 1 gondola a year. i must say: they are so choice, if you have the means, i highly recommend picking one up. about 35,000 euros for the basic model, and of course you can opt for extras.
Interesting things about gondolas!
- Tramontin Gondolas are made from 8 different kinds of wood, used very specifically according to their different properties.
- Tramontin Gondolas are custom-made according to the weight of the gondolier.
- Gondolas are asymmetrical, very asymmetrical.
- The paddle stroke used by gondoliers cuts the water 'like salami' (how apropos of Sgr. Tramontin to use this metaphor - his solid and substantial frame suggested that he was as familiar with the intricacies of Venetian cuisine as he was with the tools on his own workbench). This technique, which keeps the paddle blade in the water continuously unlike the English variation (think rowboat), works with the water to minimize turbulence around the blade and thus maximize efficiency. A gondolier paddling at 5 km/h expends no more energy than a tourist strolling across a campo.
as we left, i made a point to thank Sgr. Tramontin in my best italian and shake his hand. he had the firm grip that i expected, but that final interaction left something to be desired, although it was an appropriate end to our time in the workshop. wrapped up in a conversation with someone else, Sgr. Tramontin looked at my hand long enough to guide his into it, and then back to his discussion. he never looked at me. he saw my hands - saw that they aren't used to long, hard labor, and moved on to more important things. while he generously offered us his time and a look at his workshop, he's not impressed by the tourist market. i'm glad.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
my address
if the desire strikes you to write me a real live letter, here's my permanent address in Arezzo.
carl adair
c/o Accademia Brittanica Toscana
Vicolo Pietro da Cortona 10
52100 Arezzo, Italy
working on some spring break plans. tenative itinerary: stockholm, london, paris. just beginning plans, though.
carl adair
c/o Accademia Brittanica Toscana
Vicolo Pietro da Cortona 10
52100 Arezzo, Italy
working on some spring break plans. tenative itinerary: stockholm, london, paris. just beginning plans, though.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
taizé reflection part III (of III)
another journal excerpt:
21.01.2006 Taizé, St. Etienne Gardens, late afternoon.
i went down to the edge of the little pond and i threw in five stones. after i threw in each stone i waited until i became the ripples and then i waited until i could no longer tell which ripples were mine, were i, and which ripples were the ducks', the ducks. then i threw in another stone. the last two stones i looked at, and i brushed off some of the red and yellow french sand off of them - they had come from the middle of the little path and were covered with the path, having been in fact a part of it so soon before. i rubbed off the sand and thought, 'what is a rock but sand?' but i kept on, and i got down to the really hard sand that was pressed in the heat and the weight of the earth that bears my feet and this little pond. i think they were metamorphic rocks, which means they were changed in some moment when they thought they were still only sedimentary, still only sand and little rocks pressed together very tight. then i threw in these last two rocks. i waited for the first rock to become the ripples and for the ripples to become indistinguishable, unintelligible, unknown from the ducks or the wind, but a friendly dog came up and licked my hand so i missed that moment when all was transformed into reflections of itself. then i threw the last stone in after i had rubbed all of the parts of itself that only wished they had been transformed in the heat and the weighing down of the earth, but were only pressed on by the very little weight of my feet and other peoples' feet and glued by the very little rain from the day before.
21.01.2006 Taizé, St. Etienne Gardens, late afternoon.
i went down to the edge of the little pond and i threw in five stones. after i threw in each stone i waited until i became the ripples and then i waited until i could no longer tell which ripples were mine, were i, and which ripples were the ducks', the ducks. then i threw in another stone. the last two stones i looked at, and i brushed off some of the red and yellow french sand off of them - they had come from the middle of the little path and were covered with the path, having been in fact a part of it so soon before. i rubbed off the sand and thought, 'what is a rock but sand?' but i kept on, and i got down to the really hard sand that was pressed in the heat and the weight of the earth that bears my feet and this little pond. i think they were metamorphic rocks, which means they were changed in some moment when they thought they were still only sedimentary, still only sand and little rocks pressed together very tight. then i threw in these last two rocks. i waited for the first rock to become the ripples and for the ripples to become indistinguishable, unintelligible, unknown from the ducks or the wind, but a friendly dog came up and licked my hand so i missed that moment when all was transformed into reflections of itself. then i threw the last stone in after i had rubbed all of the parts of itself that only wished they had been transformed in the heat and the weighing down of the earth, but were only pressed on by the very little weight of my feet and other peoples' feet and glued by the very little rain from the day before.
Monday, January 30, 2006
taize reflection part II (more crying - i am such a WUSS)
journal 22.01.2006 Taizé 11:45
perhaps the most beautiful thing i have ever seen.
today in the morning celebration of the Eucharist i was kind of crouched on the ground not knowing if i should sit all the way back down or what while others were receiving communion. There was some commotion behind me and to my right, where two brothers of taizé were distributing the sacrament. A small girl from town, about 8 years old, was standing between them holding a candle. The commotion had been caused by the boy receiving. He and 3 others are part of a French group of severly mentally and physically handicapped people who have been here since thursday night. they have lent a unique quality to common prayer times, as they often cry out or make noises, trying to communicate, to make their presence felt. or maybe they just do that. i don't know.
when i turned around to look, the action had already happened, and it looked as if the brother had placed the wafer in the boy's mouth, and in attempting to chew it, it had fallen out onto the ground. what i witnessed was the confused moment in which the brothers looked at each other and at the volunteer holding the boy, trying to figure out what to do. another volunteer came around awkwardly from behind (causing even more commotion as several of these in line were in wheelchairs) and picked up the host off of the floor and held it in his palms reverently.
then everyone just stood there for a moment. all of this was sort of obscured in my sight, so maybe the woman who was literally holding this boy upright was simply preparing to move him back to their place. but in that moment of stillness, i saw how the brother who had administered this lost host was looking at this boy. i'm sure that as a Eucharistic minister he was aware of the incredible sacrality of the consecrated host, and the myriad of technicalities that might be required of him to somehow atone for this profanation, but if any of that crossed his mind in that instant, he seemed totally unconcerned about it. in the moment i focused on his face, he was simply pouring out onto this boy a patient and overflowing love that knew nothing of regulations or restrictions, of purity or some sort of externally defined holiness. it was simply the human manifestation of the love symbolized in the body of Christ he was offering.
i was completely overcome in this moment - i feel so often like this boy - unable to move myself without another bearing almost all my weight, crying out into a sacred silence with nonsensical sounds that don't communicate anything, and when i'm allowed to participate in the most sacred of symbolic rites, i somehow manage to screw it up. the odd and unexpected realization of this week has been the power of paul's idea that God loved us 'while we were still sinners.' I haven't by anymeans become preoccupied with sin, and no guilt has been instilled or renewed in me. but i have been so moved by this idea that God's completeness, God's wholeness does not reject our brokenness, does not demand anything at all from us - any purification, any prerequisite understanding. God says yes to us in our human frailty, tempermentality, and even in the cruelty we show to those who preach only the radical extremes of inclusion and love.
and the other complementary realization and charge of this week has been that, like that brother, we must be the face of God's yes to others, to all others in the world. we must say yes, even to the last consequence to our brothers and sisters in brokenness.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
taizé reflection part 1
i don't know exactly how to approach this past week in taize, especially from the angle of writing about it in this blog. i guess i'll start with the facts and, as seems inevitable, reflections will edge their way into the picture. i took the bullet train from london to paris on sunday morning the 15th. that was just freaking cool. we were doing 90 mph easy, the cars on the parallel highways were no match for our razor cut through the northern french countryside. i also couldn't help thinking of mission: impossible. no helicopters in the chunnel, though. as far as i know.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taizé, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped taizé into what it is, most specifically the death of fr. roger, the founding brother in august. he was killed by a mentally disturbed woman from romania during one of the common prayer times. despite his relation of these disturbing events, johan was a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taizé at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taizé that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taizé, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taizé for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer. these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith.
there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. less than 30) where i often went to pray in the down-time before dinner. i have never experienced such silence. i hesitated even to breathe, as even the slightest sound fairly resounded in this space. it was there on wednesday night that i had what i would call the most important conscious realization of the week.
as i mentioned before, moments of exterior silence througout the week often only highlighted the clamor of my interior. i felt and feel like my mind creates a static that obscures and scrambles any opportunity for supra-intellectual reflection. on wednesday i became, as usual, frustrated by this static and that was compounded by frustration at being unable to communicate with the many young people from Germany in their own language. i hate that english has become a sort of lowest common denominator in the international community. anyway, i said to myself in anger 'i can't understand! - i can't understand german - i cannot understand at all!' in this moment, i got the shivers and immediately started seriously disturbing the silence with the sniffles and even a few choked sobs.
i hesitate to admit this. i feel like i'm stretching this medium and perhaps showboating a bit. but i think it's worth it to make the force of this realization real. i can never understand all of what God is. God is beyond my understanding.
however, far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our ability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.' so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taizé, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped taizé into what it is, most specifically the death of fr. roger, the founding brother in august. he was killed by a mentally disturbed woman from romania during one of the common prayer times. despite his relation of these disturbing events, johan was a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taizé at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taizé that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taizé, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taizé for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer. these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith.
there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. less than 30) where i often went to pray in the down-time before dinner. i have never experienced such silence. i hesitated even to breathe, as even the slightest sound fairly resounded in this space. it was there on wednesday night that i had what i would call the most important conscious realization of the week.
as i mentioned before, moments of exterior silence througout the week often only highlighted the clamor of my interior. i felt and feel like my mind creates a static that obscures and scrambles any opportunity for supra-intellectual reflection. on wednesday i became, as usual, frustrated by this static and that was compounded by frustration at being unable to communicate with the many young people from Germany in their own language. i hate that english has become a sort of lowest common denominator in the international community. anyway, i said to myself in anger 'i can't understand! - i can't understand german - i cannot understand at all!' in this moment, i got the shivers and immediately started seriously disturbing the silence with the sniffles and even a few choked sobs.
i hesitate to admit this. i feel like i'm stretching this medium and perhaps showboating a bit. but i think it's worth it to make the force of this realization real. i can never understand all of what God is. God is beyond my understanding.
however, far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our ability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.' so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
notes on taize
i don't know exactly how to approach this past week in taize, especially from the angle of writing about it in this blog. i guess i'll start with the facts and, as seems inevitable, reflections will edge their way into the picture.
i took the bullet train from london to paris on sunday morning the 15th. that was just freaking cool. we were doing 90 mph easy, the cars on the parallel highways were no match for our razor cut through the northern french countryside. i also couldn't help thinking of mission: impossible. no helicopters in the chunnel, though. as far as i know.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taize, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped tiaze into what it is. he was also a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taize at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taize that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taize, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taize for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer.
these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith. there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. <>never understand all of what God is. for God is beyond our understanding.
but far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our inability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.'
so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
i took the bullet train from london to paris on sunday morning the 15th. that was just freaking cool. we were doing 90 mph easy, the cars on the parallel highways were no match for our razor cut through the northern french countryside. i also couldn't help thinking of mission: impossible. no helicopters in the chunnel, though. as far as i know.
made it to paris gare du nord right on time, only to realize just then that my next train to macon, near taize, left from gare de lyon. i figured it was a beautiful day, i'd make the trip on foot. but after i started out going the wrong way for a few minutes (something i like to do in every city i visit), i realized that i was more crunched for time than i had initially anticipated. add in a stop to take off my sweater which also involved an unintetional leaving-behind of my new glasses, and i was backtracking all over the city. made it onto the train with 2 minutes to spare, and i got strange looks from the well dressed young businessman sitting next to me, as i was pretty much in a full sweat.
in macon i met a man named johan from belgium who was also going to taize, and he kindly explained to me some of the distant and recent events that have shaped tiaze into what it is. he was also a very calming presence as i went further into the unknown. we made it to taize at about 6:30, just in time for dinner and evening prayer. i was bunking down with 3 other guys in a small room, naturally the iron bars that enclosed each top bunk were a little constraining on my fully extended human form, but it was nonetheless comfortable.
there are 3 common prayer times at taize that take place everyday just before or after meals, and last about 40 minutes, although some people choose to stay longer. the brothers of taize, who have taken a set of vows to 'abandon themselves in silence and love' (also chastity, the old stand-by), kneel in the middle of the church, while all the 'permanents' (young people who come to live and work at taize for 3months to a year) sit around the outside of their little area. each prayer time is a mix of beautiful, meditative song and silent prayer.
these times were both frustrating and encouraging, as i was faced again and again with the difficulty of quieting my intellect and simply listening. the week as a whole provided many opportunities for me to reexamine my highly intellectual approach to faith. there is a small medieval chapel in the adjacent town of taize (pop. <>never understand all of what God is. for God is beyond our understanding.
but far from being a moment of defeat (although in many ways it was a moment of surrender), this was a liberation. first, i think God does want to be understood by us, however imperfectly our brains are able to conceive of God and however broken the language we might use to describe God is. that seems to me to be the true beauty and genius of the incarnation - God reveals Godself to us in human form, in terms comprehensible to us. secondly, our inability to completely understand does not preclude our inability to experience. we are in fact invited to experience 'the peace which passes all understanding.'
so my search has been reoriented. more to come, my new friends are itching to see another incarnation of God - this one revealed out of marble by michaelangelo.
Monday, January 23, 2006
florence!
hello friends and family. i arrived in florence this morning at about 7:30. i left dijon last night at 9:45, and spent the night in a 'couchette,' which apparently is french for 6 strangers sleeping together in a small closet.
i will write about my taize experience in a few days, i don't have the time to be faithful to it. in a few words, i realized that there is much that i will never be able to understand. and this is actually alright. also, i realized that there are non-intellectual ways of understanding things. i cried some. i spent a lot of time in silence, and i wrote a poem which i actually like. to be posted.
anyway, i must tell briefly of my adventure this morning. as the train pulled into florence, i heard a young woman speaking to another passenger, and she her accent and demeanor suggested to me that she was a fellow of the american genus, and probably of the collegiate species. i had the most recent issue of newsweek - a friend at taize had given it to me - and i offered it to her. we got to talking, and her name was emily and she was in florence to visit her friend sarah, here on a syracuse university program. they both go to oberlin, and they know my good friend nils's sister (also sarah). so that was a connection. but then it came out that i went to the u of r. emily is from binghamton, ny, and she knows both robert cavanaugh and becky hayes, friends and acquaintances of mine. i was in london with robert, in fact.
to make things only slightly more surreal, i didn't have a plan, and i had lost the information of the hostel where i would be staying, so i decided to walk with them to emily's hostel, hoping to find an internet cafe on the way where i could find again the confirmation from the hostel. we walked to this hostel, which was a hike up to a palatial villa. when we got there, she checked in, and i thought, i've got nothing to lose. so i asked if i had made a reservation. in fact, i had. two complete strangers had not only reconnected me to various friends back home, they had led me to my place of rest for the next two nights. mysterious ways.
i gotta go hang out with these cool girls now, i think we're going to see the david. more on taize next time. i swear. also, i would encourage anyone to make a reservation to spend some time there. silence...i've never been more crazy or more sane. paradox, a theme of the week.
i will write about my taize experience in a few days, i don't have the time to be faithful to it. in a few words, i realized that there is much that i will never be able to understand. and this is actually alright. also, i realized that there are non-intellectual ways of understanding things. i cried some. i spent a lot of time in silence, and i wrote a poem which i actually like. to be posted.
anyway, i must tell briefly of my adventure this morning. as the train pulled into florence, i heard a young woman speaking to another passenger, and she her accent and demeanor suggested to me that she was a fellow of the american genus, and probably of the collegiate species. i had the most recent issue of newsweek - a friend at taize had given it to me - and i offered it to her. we got to talking, and her name was emily and she was in florence to visit her friend sarah, here on a syracuse university program. they both go to oberlin, and they know my good friend nils's sister (also sarah). so that was a connection. but then it came out that i went to the u of r. emily is from binghamton, ny, and she knows both robert cavanaugh and becky hayes, friends and acquaintances of mine. i was in london with robert, in fact.
to make things only slightly more surreal, i didn't have a plan, and i had lost the information of the hostel where i would be staying, so i decided to walk with them to emily's hostel, hoping to find an internet cafe on the way where i could find again the confirmation from the hostel. we walked to this hostel, which was a hike up to a palatial villa. when we got there, she checked in, and i thought, i've got nothing to lose. so i asked if i had made a reservation. in fact, i had. two complete strangers had not only reconnected me to various friends back home, they had led me to my place of rest for the next two nights. mysterious ways.
i gotta go hang out with these cool girls now, i think we're going to see the david. more on taize next time. i swear. also, i would encourage anyone to make a reservation to spend some time there. silence...i've never been more crazy or more sane. paradox, a theme of the week.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
scene change
dear virtual community,
this time in london is winding down and i have very mixed feelings about it. the pace of this program has made me quite ready for it to be over, and i'm ready for a change of scenery, but i will miss dreadfully the intellectual stimulation and more importantly the friendships that have been made and strengthened here.
tomorrow morning i am taking a TGV train (that means i'm going through the CHUNNEL at high speeds - psyched) to paris, where i will have a brief layover and then on to the taize community near dijon. for those looking for more information on this religious community founded in the wake of WWII, check out www.taize.fr.
a week from tomorrow i train overnight to florence, where i'm kicking around and staying at a youth hostel monday and tuesday nights. wednesday the 25th i meet up with the other participants in the arezzo program, and we're off to some villa for a 4 day orientation. the availability of internet will probably be spotty through this next week and a half, but i like nothing better than opening up my inbox to find it full of messages from recognizable and friendly addresses. until then -
this time in london is winding down and i have very mixed feelings about it. the pace of this program has made me quite ready for it to be over, and i'm ready for a change of scenery, but i will miss dreadfully the intellectual stimulation and more importantly the friendships that have been made and strengthened here.
tomorrow morning i am taking a TGV train (that means i'm going through the CHUNNEL at high speeds - psyched) to paris, where i will have a brief layover and then on to the taize community near dijon. for those looking for more information on this religious community founded in the wake of WWII, check out www.taize.fr.
a week from tomorrow i train overnight to florence, where i'm kicking around and staying at a youth hostel monday and tuesday nights. wednesday the 25th i meet up with the other participants in the arezzo program, and we're off to some villa for a 4 day orientation. the availability of internet will probably be spotty through this next week and a half, but i like nothing better than opening up my inbox to find it full of messages from recognizable and friendly addresses. until then -
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
sunday, surreal
ok, so this past sunday was a little weird. it was a great day all around, but i think the polarity of events will be clear.
my roommates tom and ted and i went on our habitual morning run at 7:00 down to the thames, where tom (while runnning himself) took a picture of us running across the waterloo bridge with big ben in the background. we then undertook a discussion of whether or not tom's speed had precisely matched that of ted and i, of whether the picture would turn out, of how sweet it would be if ted and i were in perfect focus while big ben was slightly blurred. we're all very excited to see the print.
then we had our full english breakfasts (FEB's, as they have come to be affectionately known), over which we discussed whether or not we were all addicted to full english breakfasts. as a collective, room 14 is very passionate about transparency. nothing is sacred in our tete-a-tetes. not even our most sacred ritual, the morning FEB.
after our morning class, most of the group went down to westminster abbey for a sung eucharist service. it was fantastic! thanks to professor peck's connections and perseverance in making reservations for our group, we were allowed to sit in the choir in the central chancel. these seats are used during big functions for dignitaries from foreign lands and officials within the anglican church. we were directly between the organ and the choir, both of which were near the top of their game. i sang as loud as possible during the hymns. quite seriously, the service was very moving, and perhaps i'll write about some of my thoughts about the eucharist itself in a few days. i feel like i have had a realization.
professor and mrs. peck, tom, my friend erin, and i went back to the hotel and had a delightful lunch, and after a brief lay-down we went to the playhouse theatre near trafalgar square to see a production of Luigi Pirandello's Come tu mi vuoi ('As You Desire Me'), starring Kristen Scott Thomas, who was phenomenal.
after the play, i walked through the rain with prof. and mrs. peck to conway hall, where we took in a really great chamber music concert by the primrose piano quartet. the violist was playing on an instrument made in 1630, and we were all impressed. what was of even more interest than the brahms piano quartet in c minor was the fact that this conway hall is the local headquarters of the National Secular Society of britain. the hall itself used to be a church, but it's fascinating to see how all religious imagery and ornamentation has been removed, replaced by only the words 'To Thy Own Self Be True' above the stage area. the atmosphere lent a certain pugilistic connotation to these words, as if the people gathered there would feel their very 'selves' under attack from an oppressive external force. which, to take a look at the literature available, seems to be precisely how secularists in britain feel. the issue i picked up was declaring the newly elected 'secularist of the year,' who apparently is particularly skilled at angering the british muslim community. three cheers.
anyway, i'll end things there, with the surreality of worshipping in WESTMINSTER ABBEY and then 5 hours later to be in a militantly secular space, both of which had some pretty swinging music. perhaps this is a bridging element. i hope so.
oh yeah, after the concert i went out with nearly everyone on the trip to a bar called 'revolution,' which had taken on a bolshevik theme, red stars and everything. the subtitle was the very spartanly worded 'vodka and food.' what else would a good comrade need? it was quite humorous to note that even the iconography of communism has been successfully commodified. also reassuring to know that such a trading on principle is happening outside of the united states. apparently other people in the world are also shameless capitalists. ah, thoughts of home. miss you all.
my roommates tom and ted and i went on our habitual morning run at 7:00 down to the thames, where tom (while runnning himself) took a picture of us running across the waterloo bridge with big ben in the background. we then undertook a discussion of whether or not tom's speed had precisely matched that of ted and i, of whether the picture would turn out, of how sweet it would be if ted and i were in perfect focus while big ben was slightly blurred. we're all very excited to see the print.
then we had our full english breakfasts (FEB's, as they have come to be affectionately known), over which we discussed whether or not we were all addicted to full english breakfasts. as a collective, room 14 is very passionate about transparency. nothing is sacred in our tete-a-tetes. not even our most sacred ritual, the morning FEB.
after our morning class, most of the group went down to westminster abbey for a sung eucharist service. it was fantastic! thanks to professor peck's connections and perseverance in making reservations for our group, we were allowed to sit in the choir in the central chancel. these seats are used during big functions for dignitaries from foreign lands and officials within the anglican church. we were directly between the organ and the choir, both of which were near the top of their game. i sang as loud as possible during the hymns. quite seriously, the service was very moving, and perhaps i'll write about some of my thoughts about the eucharist itself in a few days. i feel like i have had a realization.
professor and mrs. peck, tom, my friend erin, and i went back to the hotel and had a delightful lunch, and after a brief lay-down we went to the playhouse theatre near trafalgar square to see a production of Luigi Pirandello's Come tu mi vuoi ('As You Desire Me'), starring Kristen Scott Thomas, who was phenomenal.
after the play, i walked through the rain with prof. and mrs. peck to conway hall, where we took in a really great chamber music concert by the primrose piano quartet. the violist was playing on an instrument made in 1630, and we were all impressed. what was of even more interest than the brahms piano quartet in c minor was the fact that this conway hall is the local headquarters of the National Secular Society of britain. the hall itself used to be a church, but it's fascinating to see how all religious imagery and ornamentation has been removed, replaced by only the words 'To Thy Own Self Be True' above the stage area. the atmosphere lent a certain pugilistic connotation to these words, as if the people gathered there would feel their very 'selves' under attack from an oppressive external force. which, to take a look at the literature available, seems to be precisely how secularists in britain feel. the issue i picked up was declaring the newly elected 'secularist of the year,' who apparently is particularly skilled at angering the british muslim community. three cheers.
anyway, i'll end things there, with the surreality of worshipping in WESTMINSTER ABBEY and then 5 hours later to be in a militantly secular space, both of which had some pretty swinging music. perhaps this is a bridging element. i hope so.
oh yeah, after the concert i went out with nearly everyone on the trip to a bar called 'revolution,' which had taken on a bolshevik theme, red stars and everything. the subtitle was the very spartanly worded 'vodka and food.' what else would a good comrade need? it was quite humorous to note that even the iconography of communism has been successfully commodified. also reassuring to know that such a trading on principle is happening outside of the united states. apparently other people in the world are also shameless capitalists. ah, thoughts of home. miss you all.
Friday, January 06, 2006
i have been going to plays
i have been going to many interesting plays in the past week. most notably, tonight i saw the play 'paul,' which dramatizes the strengths, weaknesses, and even the psychosis of the apostle Paul. in this creation, yeshua did not in fact die on the cross, nor was he resurrected. joseph of aramithea bribed the centurion to let yeshua down, and he survived the crucifixion. he then appeared to paul in the flesh on the road to damascus as a political trick by james and peter to free the early christian movement from saul's vicious persecution. paul then used his unprecedented and unparalleled fervor for the risen Christ to not only raise congregations throughout the mediterranean, but also to persuade even those apostles who knew yeshua to accept and believe in his own mythologized Jesus Christ. anyway, it was really interesting. and that's all i have to say about that.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
liminal spaces
in my first post i had meant to offer some explanation of this title - 'in the middle of the journey of our life.' this is the first line of dante's divine comedy, the inferno cantica.
i was having a discussion with my friend tom about 'liminal spaces' - an idea that was imparted to me from the golden tongue of one patrick o'brien. it came up after we saw a plaque in hyde park that referenced lewis carroll, author of 'alice in wonderland.' a liminal space is a sort of boundary area, an amorphous threshold between the known realm and that which lies beyond our capacity to anticipate - the otherworldly, the creepy.
the opening of dante's divine comedy finds the poem's main character - dante himself - in such a space, at the foot of a mountain he cannot climb. his path is blocked by a variety of threatening obstacles, and he is paralyzed with an awareness of his own helplessness and lack of direction in 'the dark wood' he finds himself in. what's interesting is that he writes with all the emphasis inherent in the very first line of a 3 volume epic poem encompassing politics, history, literature, philosophy, and theology that he finds himself there in the journey of OUR life. this is not just a personal journey. his reader is invited along as he himself is guided 'by another way' at the heels of his guide, the poet vergil.
now, i destest melodrama, but to an extent i can empathize with the sentiments of that high poet and humble pilgrim. mainly, i'm aware that the challenges of this trip are insurmountable by my own power and wits alone. and whatever mountain of virtue or wisdom that demands my ascent may need be approached by a circuitous, unknown route. and right now, that knowledge is creeping me out. i'm trying to keep my eyes open for white rabbits.
i was having a discussion with my friend tom about 'liminal spaces' - an idea that was imparted to me from the golden tongue of one patrick o'brien. it came up after we saw a plaque in hyde park that referenced lewis carroll, author of 'alice in wonderland.' a liminal space is a sort of boundary area, an amorphous threshold between the known realm and that which lies beyond our capacity to anticipate - the otherworldly, the creepy.
the opening of dante's divine comedy finds the poem's main character - dante himself - in such a space, at the foot of a mountain he cannot climb. his path is blocked by a variety of threatening obstacles, and he is paralyzed with an awareness of his own helplessness and lack of direction in 'the dark wood' he finds himself in. what's interesting is that he writes with all the emphasis inherent in the very first line of a 3 volume epic poem encompassing politics, history, literature, philosophy, and theology that he finds himself there in the journey of OUR life. this is not just a personal journey. his reader is invited along as he himself is guided 'by another way' at the heels of his guide, the poet vergil.
now, i destest melodrama, but to an extent i can empathize with the sentiments of that high poet and humble pilgrim. mainly, i'm aware that the challenges of this trip are insurmountable by my own power and wits alone. and whatever mountain of virtue or wisdom that demands my ascent may need be approached by a circuitous, unknown route. and right now, that knowledge is creeping me out. i'm trying to keep my eyes open for white rabbits.
Monday, January 02, 2006
new year's revelry
i must first note that whoever last logged into 'blogspot.com' on this computer changed all the language settings to some eastern characters that i don't recognize. so i'm flying blind here. but aren't we all.
i'm frustrated by this medium - i've got 20 minutes to write something i hope you all might find relatively interesting, and i'm not sure if you want specific discourse on topics i've been reflecting on, or if a play by play of my activities is more appropriate. i'd like it to be more towards the former, because being abroad is stimulating my thinking on a number of issues i felt more or less blocked up in while in rochester. but, considering that it was just new years (and new year's eve just before that), i do feel obligated to relate to you my very sweet evening.
we all saw a production of Thomas Middleton's 'A New Way to Please You' in the afternoon of the 31st, and then after dinner we moved to Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night' - it was a fantastic production that I enjoyed immensely. the music in particular was somewhat entrancing - it lent a 3-dimensional pathos to the whole play, but especially to the character Feste - the fool - that was entirely absent in the literal text.
after the play a group of 12 of us headed down to the 'food mart: express' to buy beer or wine, each according to his or her taste, and walked slowly over the waterloo bridge towards the national theatre. we took our time because london at night is beautiful and the city was especially dolled up for the holiday - images were projected on buildings, lights were shone into the sky - it was breathtaking. while people around us were setting up camp for the evening as this would be an ideal spot to see the fireworks set off over the thames by the london eye, we moved on and walked along the thames, eventually ending up at big ben, where we experienced the ritual rebirth of time with about 50,000 other people. it was great.
after midnight we quickly decided to head towards trafalgar square, another population center for the evening, but the street was blocked. at this juncture, we were packed in together as tightly as possible, and moved only by the whim of the crowd. because i am tall and visible, most people in the general area seemed to blame me for being shoved this way and that. i felt bad that they weren't in control of their own movement, but hey - we were all in the same boat and i had some girl's deceptively pointy purse shoved up under my ribs for 20 minutes. give me a break.
we ended up moving across the westminster bridge (away from our hotel, to the wrong side of the thames), being swept into these currents of people that moved seemingly without any individual volition. it was an interesting commentary on collective action, and exhilarating as it was unnerving. the downside of these powerfully pumping arteries of personhood was that half our group was in an instant shunted off into another branch of the social body and were ultimately turned around. we were separated and would not be rejoined until 2 hours later at the hotel. my group, now of four, took a round about route back to the hotel, as i, apparently the leader, forgot we were now on the wrong side of the thames and headed west when east should have been our heading. but we made it back.
however when we did arrive back at the hotel and were rejoined shortly after by our diverted fellows, we were 2 short of our original 12. my good friend tom and i immediately set out to look for them. so we scoured every place we had been that evening for the next hour and a half, returning to the hotel around 4am, only to learn that our lost lambs had gotten back of their own accord about 15 minutes after we had left. but such is the stuff of stories. about new year's.
i close this entry with an invitation to you all. check out this website: www.earthfromtheair.com
this is a virtual version of an exhibit on display near the tower bridge - the artist/photographer yannthus bertrand, in partnership with UNESCO is in the midst of an extensive series of aerial photographs of natural and human phenomena. the pictures are stunning, and the captions are poignantly conscious of the complex interrelationship between human and natural forces of beauty and destruction. the most intriguing and moving pictures are those in which the two interact in a single frame. i love the one of the man on the bales of cotton, but it's hard to pick a favorite.
i don't miss the states much right now, but i do miss you that populate them. peace to you all and happy new year.
i'm frustrated by this medium - i've got 20 minutes to write something i hope you all might find relatively interesting, and i'm not sure if you want specific discourse on topics i've been reflecting on, or if a play by play of my activities is more appropriate. i'd like it to be more towards the former, because being abroad is stimulating my thinking on a number of issues i felt more or less blocked up in while in rochester. but, considering that it was just new years (and new year's eve just before that), i do feel obligated to relate to you my very sweet evening.
we all saw a production of Thomas Middleton's 'A New Way to Please You' in the afternoon of the 31st, and then after dinner we moved to Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night' - it was a fantastic production that I enjoyed immensely. the music in particular was somewhat entrancing - it lent a 3-dimensional pathos to the whole play, but especially to the character Feste - the fool - that was entirely absent in the literal text.
after the play a group of 12 of us headed down to the 'food mart: express' to buy beer or wine, each according to his or her taste, and walked slowly over the waterloo bridge towards the national theatre. we took our time because london at night is beautiful and the city was especially dolled up for the holiday - images were projected on buildings, lights were shone into the sky - it was breathtaking. while people around us were setting up camp for the evening as this would be an ideal spot to see the fireworks set off over the thames by the london eye, we moved on and walked along the thames, eventually ending up at big ben, where we experienced the ritual rebirth of time with about 50,000 other people. it was great.
after midnight we quickly decided to head towards trafalgar square, another population center for the evening, but the street was blocked. at this juncture, we were packed in together as tightly as possible, and moved only by the whim of the crowd. because i am tall and visible, most people in the general area seemed to blame me for being shoved this way and that. i felt bad that they weren't in control of their own movement, but hey - we were all in the same boat and i had some girl's deceptively pointy purse shoved up under my ribs for 20 minutes. give me a break.
we ended up moving across the westminster bridge (away from our hotel, to the wrong side of the thames), being swept into these currents of people that moved seemingly without any individual volition. it was an interesting commentary on collective action, and exhilarating as it was unnerving. the downside of these powerfully pumping arteries of personhood was that half our group was in an instant shunted off into another branch of the social body and were ultimately turned around. we were separated and would not be rejoined until 2 hours later at the hotel. my group, now of four, took a round about route back to the hotel, as i, apparently the leader, forgot we were now on the wrong side of the thames and headed west when east should have been our heading. but we made it back.
however when we did arrive back at the hotel and were rejoined shortly after by our diverted fellows, we were 2 short of our original 12. my good friend tom and i immediately set out to look for them. so we scoured every place we had been that evening for the next hour and a half, returning to the hotel around 4am, only to learn that our lost lambs had gotten back of their own accord about 15 minutes after we had left. but such is the stuff of stories. about new year's.
i close this entry with an invitation to you all. check out this website: www.earthfromtheair.com
this is a virtual version of an exhibit on display near the tower bridge - the artist/photographer yannthus bertrand, in partnership with UNESCO is in the midst of an extensive series of aerial photographs of natural and human phenomena. the pictures are stunning, and the captions are poignantly conscious of the complex interrelationship between human and natural forces of beauty and destruction. the most intriguing and moving pictures are those in which the two interact in a single frame. i love the one of the man on the bales of cotton, but it's hard to pick a favorite.
i don't miss the states much right now, but i do miss you that populate them. peace to you all and happy new year.
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