WTF is Right

So we had to watch 'What The Bleep Do We Know?" and that's pretty much what I wanted to ask some of the people in the video. Here's the thing -- some of what they said I get and can agree with or at least give them the benefit of the doubt on. But some of it is out there and that's fine but don't present theory to me as fact then tell me I'm an imbecile for having faith in God. A few of them went on a hyper Christian attack. One woman (the bloated Julie Christie wann-be in the 80s femme-out Star Trek getup smoking a pipe) spent the vast amjority of her interview talking circles of incomprehensible utter bullshit, using several words I am 99% sure she made up and then tells me I am a diety and supreme being, that God is a ludicrous idea people dreamed up (according to another interviewee) to be a scape goat so we don't have to take responsibility for our own actions (when true Christianity couldn't be further from the truth). This from people who claim that my mind leaves my body and intermingles with other minds in the air so that I can have telekenetic connections. And I'm the crazy one?
 
Here's the (other) thing -- I believe that much of what is in science is perfectly plausible. Including possibly evolution. I just don't happen to believe that any of it disproves God's existance or that the two have to be mutually exclusive. I find it entirely possible that creation and evolution can come from the same higher power. It is irritating to have my beliefs attacked, but that is something I am used to. It is another thing to flat out be told I'm an idiot by them. That's where I have a hard time being objective. To me it is not only saying that I am inferior in thought and baseless in my beliefs but have nothing to say in defense of something that is at the foundation of my life because it's already 'been established' that I'm a brainwashed moron. I get it. Many so-called Christians are out there. Some say and do some pretty nutty stuff. Some protest funerals of homosexuals and dead soldiers. Some condem others readily and live a hypocritical lifestyle, using their religion as a podium from which to look down on others. I have seen it. Doesn't mean that that is a part of my belief system, just as I am sure that not all scientists are atheists that attack Christians. In fact, I won't lump all scientists together as believing in the stuff presented in this video. Many don't and, according to things I read about it, one or two of those interviewed for it don't believe in some of it either and were irrate that their interviews were edited to make it look like they did.
 
When it came to doing something with this project, I had thoughts but, to be honest, mostly what came to mind was scripture. Scripture that addressed all these things that scientists are trying to use quantum physics to prove have nothing to do with God. Kindness, the effect of good thoughts and feelings, water, predicting the future and having connecting spiritually and mentally. But I find it difficult to use scripture as a defense to people who don't believe in it's validity. There's scripture for that too!
 
Like I said, I don't find fault with the theories in general. Mostly the attacks. And in particular, the one woman. I am sick of people using fancy language and big words to try to lord power over others, declarig themsleves of superior intellect becuase they can string together some words that other people can't make sense of. That's what made me think of doing a word jumble, because listening to her made me feel like my brain was scrambled and I was trying to grasp at words and fit them into a sensical format. Some of the words I chose are refelects of what she had to say about me, some are reflections of what I think about what she had to say.

Unfortunately, I cannot seem to get it to download on here properly so I will have to send Beth a document separately.

 

 

Fear Assessment

I've already written pretty extensively about what I was doing for this assignment and why so I'm not sure what's left to go over. I'm writing a book. It will be my first completed novel. I quit my job, I've reassessed my life and gone back to what I've wanted to do/be since I was 8 years old. Reactions? I suppose they were supportive. Nothing was non-supportive. I don't know that anyone but Beth had a lot to say, which is fine. I think I expected that this assignment would have more shock value, or at least other people's projects would, and that would make mine pretty boring to them. It was surprising to me to see so much personal stuff come from it and I don't think for anyone who has taken that road that class reaction, as long as it's not in a way that tears us down, is all that important because it's about personal growth and not for anyone else.

There isn't really anything I would do differently. Things came into place in a certain way for a reason and I have no reason to doubt that it's providential.

 As for whose stood out to me the most in class, I would say Lou's. Beth kinda had to dig for it but his revelation on love and decision to handle it through letters I really liked and could relate to. It was very honest, examined some things I've also had to learn recently about taking chances, and I love the idea of letters. I keep everything like that, and to have something like it is a personal touchstone to return to. It means something more than all of these other fleeting forms of communication. It means you cared enough to take the time but also that you feel strongly enough to set it down on a lasting tangible document that could survive. It means you thought about what to say and spent time with it. At least that's what it has always meant to me.

I Predict...

So I'm suppose to predict what the reaction will be to my fear assignment. I predict people won't really care. It ain't flashy, or for anyone but me and I have no props or anything to even show.

To Write, Perchance to Dream...

I put most of this in the previous blog but I will put it here as well. What I decided to 'create' was a book. I got on NaNoWriMo, a website for National Novel Writer's Month that is set up to help you write a book in a month. My best friend told me about it the night before it started (November 1st) so I had no time to consider it and think of reasons not to do it. A book in a month.... Yeah it sounds crazy and impossible but I'm willing to give it a shot. I have wanted to be a published writer for most of my life and have never had problems with plot -- there are fully thought out plot lines in my head and have been for a very long time. It's the doing it. I guess the fear of failure overrides the fear of not even trying. I start to write them and never finish. Perhaps the failure is supposedly different if I am the one to make it happen (by making nothing happen)? I don't know. If you don't try you never fail they say, but really that's the biggest failure of all. Well, I've come to the conclusion that I would rather try, rather finish SOMETHING. 

This is all new to me really. Scheduled writing. Pushing myself to do it everyday instead of just when it 'hits me'. But so far it's working. Sorry, nothing graphic to show the class. I've been busy writing. Every day. It's weird. It's good. I like it.

No Place Like Home

So we watched 'Home Movie' in class. Some major nut jobs, I gotta say. But I get it. These people are following their passion and it reflects in their lifestyle and home. What stood out to me the most was the quote at the beginning. I can't remember it enough to actually quote the quote but it said something about the things we surround ourselves with in our home being an autobiography. I've always seen homes and decor that way myself. The whole thing really makes sense to me and where I am right now. Last year I decided to sale my house and move from the small town I've lived in for most of my life to Indy. I want to start over, simplify and make new and be in a completely different place. I did some work on the house, packed up most of the non-essential things (most of the things that give a house personality), painted the rooms neutral colors, and have my eye on a new place. And my house hasn't sold. So now I'm living in a place that doesn't look like my own and doesn't feel like it either, and I feel stuck and unable to move foreword -- literally and figuratively. I don't know if my feeling in a rut with my education and future are a reflection of the living situation or if it's an actual effect. As a writer, my surroundings have a big impact on me in many ways. And I feel like my life is somewhere else. Happening without me. And the momentum that was driving me to change my life completely is evolving into irritation and discouragement.

As I watched a crocodile hunter living in a floating house, all I could think is, 'what's the zoning and taxes like for that'. And seeing an old woman in a tree house in Hawaii with beautiful views and a waterfall in her yard, my main concerns were the last time that lady wore a bra and how long before she couldn't climb those stairs. Truth is, I'm jealous of some lunatics. And the old me, the one bogged down by what I wanted but didn't acheive is seeping back in attempting to drown the me that I've been building the last few years --  the one trying desperatly to seize new possibilities and not give up on what I can be.

I feel like all I get right now are questions about my future --  where I'm going and how I'm getting there, what plans I have to get there and what things I've already done to get me there. And it also appears that the further along I go, the more behind I seem to be. I'm disgruntled. I'm VERY disgruntled that my oasis that is this class, the place that I had to retain my sanity and rebuild my inspiration, has now become the same evaluation of goals. ARGH! The truth is I am disappointed with everything right now. I came to school to learn how to do things I thought I wanted to do in the future. Instead, I'm expected to already know them and just do them. It feels like a constent uphill battle and is the reason I gave up the first time around. Why do I have to fight to learn?

The second truth is this -- whatever is happening within my life, it's happening for a reason and that is for me to evaluate what I really want and can do and will be happy doing. And the only thing that has made me happy so far is writing. I can try to escape it and find some other form of stable employment, avoid the fact that I am terrified I will never be published or have a script purchased or even finished, or I can go back to what I am good at. So fine.

This leads me to time. This semster has been a catlyst (sp?) in so many ways. All the self-evaluation and also the employment issues have been consuming. I began the semster with a full-time job and 12-14 hrs a week on the road with no time for homework. I left there when I saw how badly my grades and sanity were suffering but can't find another job. I also recently decided to change majors and when credits were evaluated, discovered that only one class (this one) that I am currently taking will count toward anything. So I dropped the rest and now I have a REDICUOLOUS amount of time on my hands. Finally, enough time to have no excuses for not writing. So yesterday I got on a website my BFF told me about (forcefully) for National Novel Writer's Month. It's set up to motivate, assist, push, and cajole you to write a book in one month's time -- November. Now. So I started yesterday. It's a goal.

Time is subjective. It's all in where we are, where our mind is. When I was younger, I felt so pressed. There was so much I wanted to have acheived by a certain point. A point that has come and gone. I used to whine and lament that but there's no point. I do fear wasting time because I've had periods of having NONE to spare and I want to utilize what I have. But I think God has really shuffled up my life and tried to get me to examine and just enjoy moments that I never saw before because I refused to allow myself to just do one thing at a time. Or nothing. Or I got stuck in nothing and wouldn't do anything. I don't fear the passage of time anymore. I guess I fear looking back at what time I wasted.

What's most important to me? I don't know anymore. I guess I'd have to say figuring out what's most important to me is what's most important to me. I have a hunch it has something to do with finding what will make me excited about living. I need an Eat Pray Love moment (without the hedonistic self-absorbed crap that ends in the revolation that a man completes me). I want to marvel at something and be swept away. That is all.

Mud

I was totally thrown by this project. My mind was stuck on the idea of how different we experienced things as a kid (per my conversation with Beth before class). All I kept thinking about was when I was a kid and me and this girl down the street used to make mud pies. She had this giant sandbox with a big truck bed hatch on poles over it. We would dig to the dirt underneath and put the dirt and some water in these little baking tins her mom had given us to use in the sandbox. Then we would find bugs, the bigger the better. We would put the big ones in the middle and sprinkle the little bugs on top. When we had baked them, sometimes in the sun on top of the truck shell but in the oven if it wouldn't harden fast enough, we would then present them to her dad. He would prentend to eat them, was most complimentary when their was a big bug, and once we even got him to eat the head off a cricket.

Maybe that experience has effected my baking abilities because I can't make cookies to save my life. From scratch, from fancy expensive tubs kid's peddle for school fundraisers, from the 'dumby-proof' pre-packaged individually scooped refridgerated stuff -- all hockey pucks. So I scooped up some dirt out of my side yard and molded it with my bare hands, like I did back then when getting dirty was great and what kids did, and I baked it. Another hockey puck. Ahhh, just like homemade!

Smacked Senseless

So I missed class today due to being called into work, but stopped by Beth's office and chatted a bit about the senses. Oh, the irony. I am notorious among my friends for missunderstanding things due to hereditary bad hearing and just today received this in an email from my cousin because it made her think of me.

It would be nice if my lack of hearing heightened my other senses (perhaps it has my sense of smell -- I do gag overly easily), but for the most part, no. Just today I didn't seem to notice a large floor-to-ceiling window next to the door in the IT computer lab until I smacked it with my face. Maybe it's about observation more than anything. We often choose when to use our senses much like we choose when to use common sense. Mine will likely kick in within the next few weeks with the coming of fall when the smells, colors, and even sounds are able to reach through the indifferent fog and strike me unawares. Like a plate-glass window. Only more enjoyable.