I'm not sure I believe that everything happens for a reason. It implies that there's some grand, master plan we have no control over- that perhaps notions like fate and destiny exist outside of the fictional realms of film and literature. I'm not sure I can believe in such notions that allude to the fact of us actually having less control over our lives than we think. And yet, there are these incredibly illuminated moments when it feels like the universe is revealing itself to me in some unmistakable way. And in said moments I can't help but feel like everything happens for a reason...that the universe presents us with signs to interpret and so unfolds the course of our very existence.
But then again... is it possible that some divine mysticism in the universe has some Oracle like knowledge of our mind's intent, our soul's passion, our will's need or desire? Or rather, do we seek out 'signs' as means of rationalizing the decisions we believe to be the best or right ones for us. Because our hearts are so intent in feeling truth, yet our minds seek to play a sort of devil's advocate, do we look for support and comfort in the world around us? Do we create the signs ourselves? Do we become the revealers of our own universes?
And rather than signs being laid in front of us, it is our hearts being that much more in tune with what they really want- that we're simply more aware, senses heightened to all of the stimuli around us. And so we notice the calendar in Office Depot or the TV movie set in a certain location, or the countless newspaper articles and song lyrics and profound encounters with strangers that all point so clearly straight ahead to this choice we've been struggling to make... because you think in some way, because the people you love most don't support it, that it could be the wrong one. When really, maybe this is the moment you have to choose selfishness, and realize that the only voice that truly matters is your own. And when you have trust and faith in your own intuition and sound moral compass, how could any decision you feel so passionate about be wrong?
In a way, everything does happen for a reason. I suppose it has to. Otherwise, all this is simply chaos personified. Which, I suppose is also a possibility. But being creatures of comfort we cling to the belief that all these events and circumstances, the people who fade in and out, are all of some value or purpose. Because if they're not, and if we're not, then why are we here? And what's all this for?
I may be making some terrific mistake. But even if I am, at least it's of my own making. And in reality, years from now when I'm actually grown up and feel like I've settled into this so-called "adulthood" I like to think I'll look back on this moment in my life and feel little regret. Because at the very least, I was making my own decisions... with passion and purity of heart. And beyond that, I'm not sure what else really matters.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
the perfect space
I am in love with oak trees. Maybe it's something to do with this stability of roots finding counterpart in a seemingly infinite expanse. They say an oak can live 200 years or more. Maybe it's the feeling that something of beauty in the natural world can, in a way, withstand the test of time.
The ancient Romans saw the oak tree as a symbol of strength and power. They believed oaks attracted lightening and thus were connected to Juno, god of the sky. In turn his wife, Jupiter, goddess of marriage, made the oak to be a symbol of commitment and fidelity. The Druids believed the oak had the power to renew and heal, while Socrates saw the oak tree as an oracle.
I think maybe Socrates had it right.
There is something so inherently divine and all knowing about this immense tree. Maybe it's the immensity... its ability to simultaneously inject one with excitement, hope, and fear. It's as if the grand oak holds onto the impressions of life... the children who've attempted to climb its thick branches, the seasons of autumn and winter which transformed color and stripped leaves, the lovers nestling under its shade on warm summer days.
It's something out of a Robert Frost poem.
Though I suppose Frost spoke of Birch trees, a symbol of new beginnings and vision quests. Perhaps the sister tree to the likes of an oak, more so the great grandfather, observer, quietly absorbing moments and memories and seasons of human kind worshiping beneath its hearty limbs and fallen acorns.
I am in love with oak trees. It's something about this vast expanse. This endurance. As if such a structure is meant to be honored. The oak is powerful. The oak affirms life in a way. And maybe it's my need to find stability and strength in my own life that compels me toward oaks. Maybe the universe is sending me in that direction very purposefully.
In John's Island, South Carolina there is an Angel Oak Tree... nearly 1500 years old. It's said to be one of the oldest living things east of the Mississippi. I officially want to see this tree before I die. Or rather, before it does. It's survived hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, and perhaps worst of all- humanity. What an incredible testament to the capacity of nature and living things. I don't know, I'm just so taken with these things...
.......
The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a
green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and
deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the
man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.
- William Blake, 1799, The Letters
.......
(
current soundtrack: Avett Brothers, The Perfect Space
currently reading: A Prayer for Owen Meany
currently...lost
)
The ancient Romans saw the oak tree as a symbol of strength and power. They believed oaks attracted lightening and thus were connected to Juno, god of the sky. In turn his wife, Jupiter, goddess of marriage, made the oak to be a symbol of commitment and fidelity. The Druids believed the oak had the power to renew and heal, while Socrates saw the oak tree as an oracle.
I think maybe Socrates had it right.
There is something so inherently divine and all knowing about this immense tree. Maybe it's the immensity... its ability to simultaneously inject one with excitement, hope, and fear. It's as if the grand oak holds onto the impressions of life... the children who've attempted to climb its thick branches, the seasons of autumn and winter which transformed color and stripped leaves, the lovers nestling under its shade on warm summer days.
It's something out of a Robert Frost poem.
Though I suppose Frost spoke of Birch trees, a symbol of new beginnings and vision quests. Perhaps the sister tree to the likes of an oak, more so the great grandfather, observer, quietly absorbing moments and memories and seasons of human kind worshiping beneath its hearty limbs and fallen acorns.
I am in love with oak trees. It's something about this vast expanse. This endurance. As if such a structure is meant to be honored. The oak is powerful. The oak affirms life in a way. And maybe it's my need to find stability and strength in my own life that compels me toward oaks. Maybe the universe is sending me in that direction very purposefully.
In John's Island, South Carolina there is an Angel Oak Tree... nearly 1500 years old. It's said to be one of the oldest living things east of the Mississippi. I officially want to see this tree before I die. Or rather, before it does. It's survived hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, and perhaps worst of all- humanity. What an incredible testament to the capacity of nature and living things. I don't know, I'm just so taken with these things...
.......
The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a
green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and
deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the
man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.
- William Blake, 1799, The Letters
.......
(
current soundtrack: Avett Brothers, The Perfect Space
currently reading: A Prayer for Owen Meany
currently...lost
)
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