I wish I could be more daring in my day to day interactions with strangers–more humorous, flirtatious, outgoing, cheerful, talkative, sympathetic. I wish I met more daring strangers. I wish to be that daring stranger. There’s too much silence between me and the strangers around me. It’s not that daring, really, to just open your mouth and talk. Yet it’s so easy and comfortable to be silent. But who knows what interesting character I’m passing, or what stories I could hear from someone new while sitting next to him/her in the coffee shop?
Category Archives: Just thinking
faith
It seems I have an issue with organized faith. I hadn’t noticed it until I moved to Illinois. At the end of last summer, I was in an appalling state of mind and being, and I knew once I left Florida, I wanted to dedicate myself more earnestly to a Buddhist practice. To move away from being only a reader of Buddhist philosophy, and become a practicioner. When I labeled myself anything, I labeled myself buddhist, but I followed no rituals.
Before leaving, I started researching buddhist groups in Springfield, and found a Zen meditation group that met at the local Unitarian church. The Zen group had a link on their website to the Unitarian church, and when I followed it, I found myself intrigued by some of the upcoming sermons. The one I still remember was called, “The Spirituality of Walt Whitman.”
My first Saturday in town, I drove to the church to sit with the Zen group. We meditated for an hour or so, then one of the members read an excerpt from a book about meditation. It was an enjoyable experience, and the people were nice enough, but I haven’t been back (yet). Mostly because I started working jobs that required me to work Saturday mornings. But also because I find whenever I add others to my spiritual practice, it adds a dynamic that I’m not always interested in repeating. I’m not sure how to explain this dynamic–perhaps it’s the idea that when others are around, there is an effort to verbalize and discuss an experience that–for me–is intrinsically nonverbal. When I meditate alone, once I finish, I reenter the dynamics of the household, without any discussion of my meditation. I experience it, then continue on to other things with an effort to keep that calmness with me, and with no compulsion to put words to it.
I’ve been thinking about this because I still haven’t brought myself to attend a sermon at the Unitarian church. Though so many of them sound interesting, the idea of gathering with others to listen to someone preach repels me. Considering a Unitarian church is one that celebrates all faiths, I don’t think their sermons would be like the ones I’ve experienced in the past. I’m sure I’m projecting old baggage on to new possibilities. I must say that whenever I’m out walking Pepper on a Sunday morning, and I see people dressed up and likely heading to church, I think to myself that if there is a god, and he created this whole world, I’d rather be out walking in it, breathing it in, seeing it, experiencing it, than sitting in a church listening to someone lecture me about god.
Of course, for many church is about fellowship. A time to get together with friends who share a common belief. I find myself interested in finding artists to befriend, readers, and writers too, but I stop short at the faith community. It doesn’t connect with me in the same way. However, this may change. What spurred this post was seeing an advertisement for next week’s sermon. It’s called “The Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo.” Now, anyone who knows me knows I love the Beatles, so this may be enough to lure me in for the morning. I also noticed the church has several interesting groups and committees: the Green Sanctuary Committee, the Social Action Committee, the Flute Circle (I’d love to learn the Native American flute!), the Humanist Discussion Group, the News Covenant Group, and a Meditation Group. I’d be interested in checking out any of these groups.
Now it’s just a matter of discarding the baggage that makes me leery of organized faith.
driftwood
I feel unmoored these days. I have major projects to work on: a collection of thesis essays and finding a full-time job. Yet I Can. Not. Focus. I’m experiencing nearly debilitating bouts of wanderlust, but I leave for Texas and Mexico soon, so perhaps that will satisfy the lust for a while. The idea of a full-time office job makes me want to gouge my eyes. Ideally, I’d like a job that is partly in the office and partly working hands-on out in the world. I went to lunch last week with with my boss and one of the center’s field researchers. The field researcher told me I could go out with him and the others to the Everglades to help them/observe them do their work, so I’m looking forward to taking advantage of this offer. As I mentioned in the last post, I’m studying Buddhism more seriously than I have in a long time. I find it helps me when I’m feeling lost. I’ve been reading a lot of Brevity magazine because I’m thinking of taking my thesis in the direction of short essays. We’ll see how that goes.
The Beatles always cheer me.
“Some kind of solitude is measured out in you. You think you know me, but you haven’t got a clue.”
Sherbet
On Saturday, DS and I were buying food for a cookout. Always in the mood for some sort of dessert, but knowing I should restrain my impulse for my favorite ice cream (Dove brand vanilla with brownie chunks, and chocolate ganashe covering on top–yum!), I suggested sherbet. I initially pronounced it “sherbert,” then moved on to (jokingly) pronouncing it “sherbit” because of the spelling on the container. I also tried “sherbay.” DS corrected me back to the “sherbert” pronunciation, but I declared that that could not be the right pronunciation because there was no “r” at the end. It didn’t make any sense. Well, the Wordsmith has explained it in his new column on words at MSN.
So how did we get from sherbet to sherbert? When we borrow a word from another language, we often naturalize its spelling and sound (in Italian sherbet becomes sorbetto, in French sorbet). There are not many everyday words in English that follow the pattern of sherbet, but there’s plenty of company for the -bert ending: Herbert, Robert, Albert, Dilbert, etc.
I think if the word is going to be pronounced “sherbert,” the second “r” should be included in the (American) spelling because the disconnect between the spelling and the pronunciation makes me a little nuts. (I’m not usually bothered by word/pronunciation disconnects, but there is something about adding an “r” to the pronunciation of “sherbet” that seems a little ridiculous…kind of like when people jokingly pronounce “fajitas,” “fagitas.”)
cross-posted at Word Play
Realms of the Unreal
Lately, I’ve been thinking about Henry Darger. He was a man who lived in near seclusion, and made his living as a janitor. It was only after he died that people discovered he had spent his life writing and creating visual art. He made another world for himself and created an entire cast of characters (the Vivian Girls). There is a fantastic documentary on Darger called Realms of the Unreal–that’s how I was first introduced to him and his work. What I find myself lingering over is the fact that Darger had the impulse to create without the desire to bring attention to his creation. While he was alive, no one was aware of the artistic output that was happening in his home. I wonder if that means the work came from a more authentic place? When one creates for the sake of creating—is a slave to that creative impulse—and creates without compulsion to share the creation or bring attention to the creation (and creator), does that make the act more pure (because there aren’t any ulterior desires motivating the act…money, fame, aspiration etc.)? I don’t think I’m phrasing the question/idea properly. It’s not so much that one way is pure/authentic and one way isn’t, but when an artist chooses to keep his work to himself, and is very prolific in that work…isn’t that different than someone who seeks recognition for their work? Doesn’t that imply a different sort of motivation?
Maybe it’s the difference of how one identifies himself/herself. If one does not view himself/herself as an “Artist,” then perhaps one is not going to think his/her work is worth anything, and not think of it as something worth sharing.
The Puzzle Box 