The Next Step

My entire future was just decided in the past five minutes. I received in the mail today the unofficial acceptance letter from U. of South Florida to their Public Archaeology MA program. Yesterday I had received an e-mail from U. of South Carolina offering me $10,000/year though an assistantship and tuition waiver. No word yet from William & Mary on whether or not I'm off the waiting list.

Five minutes ago, I just made one of the biggest decisions of my life. One that will shape who I am, who I become as a person, and how I think. It's the last one that makes such a decision so hard.

So, a few minutes ago I had my USF acceptance letter in one hand and my cell phone in the other with the graduate director's phone number entered and ready to dial. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and once again imagined myself at each school. I can honestly say it was the first time in my entire life flashed before my eyes. I opened my eyes and stared at the letter some more. "This is it," I thought. I put my phone down, stood up, and paced my room twice. Outloud, I said "Fuck it" and picked my phone back up and dialed USF. I left a message on the director's voice mail that I plan on attending in the fall.

Tampa, here I come.

Aspects

Over the past several weeks I've become more and more aware of my Art of Living. That is to say that I am beginning to realize the constituent parts that combine to form the structure of how I operate on a daily basis. This, I believe, is the most important step in making any art of living work for you. We can aspire to always tell the truth, never make assumptions, or be kind to others but in order for those things to take full effect we must really stand back and look at ourselves from a different perspective. One has to consider the consequences, both positive and negative, of applying a new aspect to an art of living. In other words, it is one thing to say you're going to do something to better yourself but it is another to truly make it work on a fundamental level. If you never contemplate the ramifications of fine-tuning your art of living how are you going to grow intellectually and emotionally, if those are your ultimate goals?

What I think will help me, and what I'm surprised I haven't done yet, is to list the major aspects of my art of living. A nice, concise list of what it is that guides me through the hours of my day, the days of my weeks, and the weeks of my years, and the years of my life. Dr. Phil would be proud.

Aspects of My Art of Living (in no particular order)

1. Always tell the truth.
   
2. Read.
   
3. Listen.
   
4. Don't worry about what other people think about you.
   
5. Realize and appreciate when you're better than someone else.
   
6. Realize and appreciate when someone else is better than you.
7. Keep your word.

Edit: Initially I had short descriptions for each aspect but they started to sound ridiculous so I left them out. I think these speak for themselves. Like everything in life (including life itself) they aren't concrete and are subject to change.

The Third Agreement

Here is an excerpt from my philosophy paper on Don Miguel Ruiz's The Four Agreements, A Toltec Wisdom Book. Agreements three is "don't make assumptions."

To not make assumptions seems to go against the very nature of humanity, but by consciously avoiding unwarranted judgement we not only eliminate seeds of hate and bias but also facilitate the growth of understanding, kindness, and a plurality of meaningful arts of living. Too often we read and hear about negative events that could have easily been avoided had only we opened our minds to a deeper level of understanding. I am reminded of the recent case involving Terri Schivo, a woman whose vegetative state resulted in a divided family. From every direction came assumptions, judgements, accusations, and falsities that resulted in this very unfortunate situation becoming a national embarrassment. Reputable news agencies abandoned any remnants of journalistic integrity by openly speculating on the motivations of those involved. Unsubstantiated reports continue to saturate the airwaves and news presses. Does Terri Schivo's husband want her dead so he can marry his girlfriend? Do her parents want her alive for purely political and religious reasons? The assumptions resulting from such speculative news reporting has the adverse side effect of perpetuating a slow moral decline in the United States. Since major news outlets bombard us with stories on a daily basis, over time we are desensitized to the fact that making assumptions only negates any reasonable and moral art of living.

Books

I am in a literal utopia at the moment (yes that was pun...my apologies). I found myself back at Edward McKay tonight, a paradise for nonfiction bookworms such as myself. Each time I browse this used bookstore I am amazed at the quality of their science, anthropology, and nature sections. Apparently Winston-Salem lacks the same taste in books as me. With a grant from the Bank of Mother I acquired two Wade Davis volumes, One River and Shadows in the Sun, Lost World by Tom Koppel, and a slightly tattered collection of Henry David Thoreau writings. All in all a source of intellectual stimulation that is sure to last me through the summer.

I am most excited about One River by Wade Davis. A Harvard-trained ethnobotanist, Davis is an authority on Amazonian plants and psychotropic drugs. I didn't know where I had heard his name before, but after I had bought the book I realized that he was recommended by my fellow anthropology and environmental nut Hollis. A hero for "psychonauts" as their called, Davis seems to be a respected and accomplished scientist and scholar of indigenous plant use. Only having read the introduction and first few pages of the first chapter, I can see why his work has received so much acclaim. It's very easy to read and already very interesting. Coming of the heels of White Rock by Hugh Thompson and Heinrich Harrier's Seven Years in Tibet, my current interest lies in travel writing with a bit of anthropology or science involved if I'm lucky.

I only read the prologue of Davis' Shadows in the Sun but it's in the same genre as One River: a very personal account of indigenous cultures and how they still possess what most of us have lost in the torrent of modernization. I can see some dismissing Davis' work as perpetuating the demonizing of Western society and how indigenous cultures are somehow "better" than us. On the surface this may seem true but my impression of Davis so far is that he is able to relate in writing what many of us think of as exotic or pristine. I'm anxious to delve into both of these books, perhaps simultaneously, in order to gain a better understanding of the earth that we're all a part of but that only a few remaining cultures truly understand.

Lost World by Tom Koppel caught my attention because it is an argument for a maritime origin of the first Americans. The long-standing paradigm has the peopling of North America occurring via the Bering Land Bridge between Siberia and Alaska. Koppel, along with a still-growing community of archaeologists, are positing this maritime hypothesis. Citing the lack of archaeological sites due to increased sea levels since the last Ice Age, Koppel aims to lay out the theory. I am the audience he is addressing, as I was taught the traditional Land Bridge theory in my anthropology classes so I will approach this work with an open and eager mind. Damnit I love knowledge!

To me a book is much more than bound paper infused with ink. It's a key, a microscope, a window, and a mirror all at the same time. I look for books that will leave me with more questions than when I started. I gain knowledge with each page turned, but the true beauty of a good book is its ability to send my mind racing in a million directions at once, as if my brain were the victim of the old torturing method known as "quartering." A good book makes me look closer at the world around me. Things really aren't quite what they seem. A volume that challenges and expands my view of reality is what I crave. A window to a world that otherwise is invisible is a gift that I cannot dismiss as mere paper, ink, and glue. Through that window I see not only fascinating places and experiences but myself as well, staring back at me from the pages. A strange dynamic is in motion when I read a good book. I'm starting to see the genius behind the philosophy of the PBS show Reading Rainbow:

Butterfly in the sky
I can go twice as high
Take a look
It's in a book
A Reading Rainbow

I can go anywhere
Friends to know
And ways to grow
A Reading Rainbow

I can be anything
Take a look
It's in a book
A Reading Rainbow
A Reading Rainbow

Applicable today as it was then. Dismiss it as silly, but that song (and way of thinking) has taken on a new meaning for me. Thanks Levar.

This Just In

Seems like I haven't written in ages...but it's only been three days. I've been enthralled by what some call "the blogosphere," more specifically the political blogosphere. Starting a few months ago, I began reading some political websites on a regular basis, mostly Frontpagemagazine.com, an overtly (and sometimes annoyingly) conservative site mast headed by David Horowitz, author of the Academic Bill of Rights and the leader of the so-called "Academic Freedom movement" on college campuses across the US. It amuses me how riled up conservatives get about issues ranging from Marxism in academia to the horror of Terri Schivo being "starved" to death.

To balance out my conservative opinion intake, I began reading the online version of the Socialist Worker, the publication of the International Socialist Organization. Needless to say, these two sites are on quite opposite extremes of the political spectrum. I found myself fascinated by socialist thought as espoused on the Socialist Worker website but still rejected most of their ideas about how the country should be run. It is only updated once every few weeks and much of their material is tired and recycled issues (e.g. kill the Bush war machine). I did, however, see the parallel between that aspect of socialism and the staunch conservatism of Horowitz and Frontpagemagazine.com. The Nation is another online version I've started to read consistently. Knowing it to have a very progressive agenda, I was attracted to The Nation by its slogan ("Unconventional Wisdom Since 1865") and original mission statement, which they still adhere to. There is a professor in Bear Hall (home of the Philosophy and Religion, Mathematics, and Computer Science departments) with the famous George W. Bush-as-Alfred E. Neuman parody cover taped on his office door. Try putting a John Kerry or Bill Clinton parody drawing on your door and see how long it lasts in hallways of academia.

Perhaps my favorite political blog is written by Kevin Drum and titled The Washington Monthly. It seems to be one of the most unbiased, observational, and insightful opinion publications out there, blog or otherwise. If John Stewart wrote a blog, it would probably read like this one. So, while based on opinion, I find myself getting a large portion of my political news from Kevin Drum and his blog. I have only very recently started reading a couple of blogs written by two PhD candidates and their experiences. I haven't read enough of them yet to have an informed opinion, but they are entertaining nonetheless.

My new found interest in the world of politics on the internet can be attributed to my conclusion that popular media is shit. I have become disillusioned with cable news, network news, popular newspapers, local news, news magazines, etc. They all spew the same sensationalist garbage aimed at a public with the attention span of my aging cat and the intellect of his feces. Popular media does not give the American public the credit they deserve, so we fall into this trap of thinking that Terri Schivo and Michael Jackson are actually important news stories. It is a self-perpetuating cycle of instant gratification: news agencies want to be the first to break the story and in the process completely trample over any notion of journalistic integrity. Waiting on the other side is a willing public anxious to eat up the latest garbage as if it were actually worth something. What the public at large does not realize is that these news networks and corporations thrive on deceiving the public into thinking what they are reporting is truly important. Turn on Fox News, CNN, or even one of the big networks, or open up a Newsweek magazine and count how many stories you would consider important news. There was once a fine line between Entertainment Tonight and the nightly news, but that line has since disappeared.

So, after coming to the above realization and deciding that I did not want to live my life as a corporate bitch, I decided to venture out on my own to get my news from where I wanted to get it, as opposed to being spoon fed glossy stories and opinion-laden news reports. The internet has made that possible and its one saving grace. Computers are no longer just porn boxes and music-stealing machines but can now provide access to important information from around the world that can shape or destroy public and personal opinion.

You can take a boy out of the city...

I've been consumed recently by political stuff; mostly the Terri Schivo issue that I've concluded is a huge embarrassment to the United States government and its leaders. Perhaps I'm more politically conscious, but I can honestly say this is the first time I'm ashamed to be represented by the current government. I shan't write on it again but what I will say is that using the misfortune and heartache of an American family to push a religious and political agenda is sad and disturbing and not part of my Art of Living.

Not to be absolutely certain is, I think, one of the essential things in rationality.
--Bertrand Russell

Other than that, what's been on my mind recently is my future. I've now been accepted by two of my three graduate schools, with the third still in limbo. After thinking about it at length, if the choice does come down to William & Mary and U. of South Florida I'm leaning toward the latter. Although W&M has been my first choice for a long time, I have to get over the whole prestige kick that I've been on and wake up. It would be silly of me to choose an institution JUST because it is more prestigious than another. While W&M is older and more "traditional", I feel that I would have more opportunity at USF and almost a guaranteed chance to study the Maya and perhaps go back to Central America. There are no Mayanists at W&M at all and thus a very slim chance that I would get to work down there for my master's. As a result, I should choose the school that would be better for my future overall. Besides, the hard part is over. I've been accepted to a program above undergraduate, and it seems that much less emphasis is placed on WHERE I get my master's versus the quality or relevance of my work in terms of going on to a doctoral program. Simply put, brand names aren't important in post-undergraduate academia.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
--Robert Frost

The real issue that's eating at me is what I'm going to be leaving if I end up in Tampa. I have grown to love Wilmington as my home and the place that has shaped me into the person I am now. The town has provided me with so much that I almost feel guilty leaving it, like I used it for four years and now I'm abandoning it. But I know that's not true, because a part of the Port City will be with me always. I've have learned that I almost have to live near a large body of water. Wilmington has the Cape Fear River and the Atlantic Ocean. I've gotten used to the feeling that I'm literally on the edge of the world. It's comforting to know that if things get too much, I can jump off and swim into the sunset where nobody is. It's nice to have an escape plan like that.

I'm also leaving one of the few things in my life right now that really does matter, when all is said and done. I was prompted to write this entry because I made the decision that when I move away, I'm not ready to move on. I value the moments we have now because they give me the opportunity to be free and escape from a universe that is too often centered around me. When I'm fourteen hours away such a connection is much harder but I'm not willing to let it go right now. Being apart, while hard, is going to make me stronger and motivate me to continue my quest to de-center myself from reality and realize that I'm not the only important person after all. She helps me do that on a regular basis and it is that that I'm going to miss the most.

Who's the truly brain dead one here?

Found this quote by Jon Stewart (Daily Show host) as quoted on one of my increasingly favorite political blogs, The Washington Monthly:

"If you want to know just how sick you have to get before Congress is willing to do something about it, well, now you know."

Quite true. Apparently you also have to be a white middle-class Christian to get any attention from our government (and the popular media at that). Do you think this case would be getting so much attention if Terri Schiavo was a low-income black woman from the ghetto?

And the question has been answered...what does it take for President Bush to cut short a sacred Crawford Ranch vacation? Yet again, a white, middle-class Christian woman who turns out to be an excellent opportunity to promote a political agenda, that's what. War, genocide, economics, devastating tsunamis...no vacations cut short by Bush. One woman out of thousands over his two terms has a brain fart and he rushes back to Washington to sign a document, knowing the cameras are rolling.

I reject any leftist whacko who says President Bush doesn't know what he's doing. He knows exactly what he's doing and it's sick.

ANWR

WASHINGTON (AFP) - The US Senate narrowly approved opening Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR) to energy exploration, handing a victory to the White House, which has long advocated oil drilling in the preserve. story here

"If you put together a video of ANWR, you would see nothing but snow and rock. It is no place anybody's ever going to go. The wildlife that lives there wishes it didn't, but it's too stupid to figure out how to move anywhere. They don't have moving vans sent to their places like people in Philadelphia do when they want to get out of someplace. This is absolutely absurd."

--Rush Limbaugh, 3/16/05

The above quote made by Rush Limbaugh prompted me to write this entry. The issue over Arctic drilling is a very polarizing issue in the United States that it demands closer examination on everyone's part. Although much of what I know about the facts and figures regarding drilling comes from popular media (unfortunately), I'm tempted to do some research on my own to get to the bottom of the story. I'm sort of tired of the politics of the situation and it's unfortunate that most people's knowledge of this issue comes from popular media and biased pundits.

This is one of those issues that needs to be taken up not from an outside perspective but with a conscious realization that how we act now will influence the world we live in tomorrow. It saddens me that many people are either casual or completely ignorant about arctic drilling and what it means. Aside from the environmental effects in the immediate area of ANWR, we need to consider why this is an issue in the first place. The United States is far too dependent on oil and we are only recently considering and utilizing alternative energy sources. I sincerely believe that we will make the changes needed before it's completely too late, but I also feel that too much damage will be done before people realize that need. In other words, this country will change when we have to. When the arctic refuge is no longer producing enough oil to be profitable, where will we be? We need to take a careful look at the facts that we have now and make a concerted effort to think about the future. This means blocking out the conservatives in denial and the environmental wackos as well, and become aware ourselves. Only then can we make real progress.

Down the Tube

The Terri Schiavo case has caught my attention as the epitome of the debate of the role of government in people's lives. Here, the government's involvement is quite literal: should a loving husband be allowed to remove a feeding tube supplying life to a persistently vegetative woman who (according to the husband) left specific instructions that she did not want to be kept alive artificially? The parents of Schiavo claim that she left no such instructions and for some reason believe that her husband wants to remove the feeding tube for a reason other than that he loves her deeply. If she did indeed say she did not want to be kept alive by machines, then the parents are the true monsters in this case by fighting for their daughter to be held captive in a virtually lifeless mass of flesh and bones.

The whole situation is quite unsettling and raises an important question in my personal life. What would I do (or want done)? I believe that if we truly live in a free society as so many people claim we do, then people should have the right to end their own lives if they so choose. If a person is simply mentally unbalanced or emotionally disturbed, then suicide will be swift and without grounds. This act, I believe, is incredibly selfish and just giving up on life. On the other hand, if a person is consciously aware of his or her condition and the pain or distress associated with that condition, then that person should have the right to determine if their life should go on. It is not the job of the government, religious leaders, family, or friends to make the decision. Often in emotionally charged cases such as this, family, friends, and community act very selfishly throughout. The parents of Terry Schiavo are clearly thinking more about their own personal piece of mind and comfort than that of her daughter, who is obviously not living any meaningful sort of existence due to her lack of mental capabilities. I know my opinion may sound cruel and heartless, but if a human is being kept alive by breathing machines and feeding tubes and has no mental awareness of the world around them, then what is the purpose? The only purpose I can think of is to keep the bodily functions (sans brain) up and running so the parents won't have to deal with the emotional stress of the death of a child. Then there's all that pesky paperwork and funeral expenses.

Sen. Tom DeLay who is one of the several politicians involved in the activism to keep Schiavo alive said today "Terry Schiavo is alive. She's as alive as you and I. As such, we have a moral obligation to protect and defend her." This is simply not true. While she is alive in the sense that her lungs are taking in air and her brain is still presiding over various bodily functions, the difference between her and I is that I'm not having food forced down my throat because I lack the capacity to do it myself.

I do not doubt that Mr. and Mrs. Schiavo love their daughter with all of their heart. I do, however, believe that their intentions are severely misguided and that they are acting selfishly by not allowing their daughter to make a decision about her own life. The parents and their supporters outside of the hospital are all share a common thing: religion. The pictures and news reports of the demonstrators are replete with references and comments about Jesus, God, and the sins of the guilty that will be washed away with Jesus' blood. Is their judgement so clouded by the institution of religion that they actually value their own personal beliefs over the life (or lack thereof) of another human being? It is a sad state of affairs when a religion teaches people that any life is worth living regardless of the condition.

I place value on my own life because of my ability to think freely and consciously experience the world. While I welcome the development of technology that would allow me to sustain life with the assistance of manmade creations, I draw the line when I cannot make that decision for myself or I lack the mental capacity to enjoy life as I do now. My entire existence is based on that ability and if it is taken away from me then I do not wish to carry out my days hooked up to machines, unaware of what is going on around me or the stress that my state is causing my loved ones. I am the only one that can make such a hard decision, not the government or anyone else. While I did not choose to be born into this world, I should have the right to decide how I want to live in it.

edit: I just came across a blurb about Republican senator Daniel Webster of Florida. On the floor of the U.S. Senate, he actually held up a $100 bill to make the point that it has value whether it is crisp and new or crumpled. These are the kind of ignorant people fighting to keep this woman alive! They compare a human life to an inanimate piece of paper that has no intrinsic value at all! The irony of a U.S. senator using money to make a point is not lost on me either. This is the society we live in folks, and it's scary.

It's not me, it's you.

It's almost 7am and I'm already drained. The one thing I'm most looking forward today is going to happen in about five minutes...when I crawl back into bed, under my warm covers and sleep for another two hours before my class. My day started at 5:45am when I thought the team had training scheduled at 6. Either people on the team miraculously forget how to read when faced with the potential likelihood of physical exertion or the slightest bit of precipitation (or appearance of) makes them recoil in fear and hide like an ostrich in the sand.

I decided to run the campus loop by myself, which of course was inevitable due to the lack of anyone else being there. I was kind of glad, however, because it gave me a chance to think and reflect. I fantasized about quitting; just giving up because it seems like no matter what I do I can't bring this team to the level I want it to be at. Over the past several weeks I've started to realize that it really has nothing to do with me or how I lead. A marching band and a bucket of ice water couldn't get most college students out of bed before 8am no matter what. What we need is more motivation and much of that was lost when our season was shot due to the lack of equipment. I try not to blame myself, and while it's not my fault that people don't show up, I wonder if I've taken the team in the wrong direction by asking too much. As a freshman we had about four times as many guys on the team and many more girls. Most everyone showed up to a.m. practices on a regular basis and everyone that did had a blast. Of course, we were hardly winning any medals and it was frustrating not having a strong showing at the competitions even though we were training so much. When I became vice-president and then president, I wanted to not only have fun but win as well. What was I thinking? Apparently you can't have both with you're under-funded and under-equipped.

But of course I'm not going anywhere. I still have hope and a vision and I think it's going to be realized. That's one thing I've learned over the past four years is that you really can't give up on anything you start out to do. Even if it looks bleak, you still have to try and hope for the best. Even if failure happens, you have succeeded in that you did not give up. That's half the battle. At this point all I can do is stay hopeful for the team, not take any setbacks personally, and complete the job I set out to do.

The Beach

I live at the beach, play at the beach, and breathe the beach.

I am the ocean waters that lap against the infinite grains of sand that call the space between my toes home. When children play in my waves and surfers ride them in, I feel like I serve a purpose. I am not just a vast body of water anymore. I am loved, I am wanted.

I am the sunrise that backlights the horizon every morning. I watch the early-morning joggers pound the sands with their athletic legs. I begin to provide the light people need early in the morning and leave it to the west coast to take it away. The beach gets the first glimpse of my light and the last dark patch of my absence. I serve a purpose, people expect me.

I am both of these things when I think of the beach. The beginning and the end of time as far as I'm concerned. Although I am no Jesus, I can walk on the ocean waters and pause at the very moment when I think I'm going to drown. My dreams keep me afloat, my aspirations, my desires. The vastness of the ocean is synonymous with my potential. It's all out there, somewhere. Scary to some, inviting to others. Neither to me. I am neither frightened nor at ease with the vastness of the ocean. The currents take me where they will.

Something about living by the water changes the way you think about the world. The infinite and humbling feeling I get when I stand on the beach looking east is something I crave on a daily basis. I see flashes of it several times over the course of the day and even more in my subconscious. When I am at the beach, I take snapshots and save them up for later. This is what my life looks like, I want to remember it.

The sound of the waves crashing reminds me of the unstoppable passing of the days. I can see a wave coming, the white crest forming many yards out. Some are big, some small. As they swell up and begin to form, I prepare for the sound. When I'm at the beach I can see into the future. The beach is my crystal ball. Incoming waves like incoming days fail to knock me over.

The ocean is nameless to me, but it has a face. A very vivid one in which I can see changes in attitude and temperament. Most of the time the face is calm, content. Some days it swells with rage and beats down on me like an angry street thug. The next day it will be as calm as ever, almost as if to say "I'm sorry about last night, I didn't mean it." When the ocean rages I'm reminded of the temperament of my days that has been known to show itself. One day, all hell. The next, pure calm.

The water, the air, the sand, the sun, wind, the waves, the birds. These are the elements of my life. From the cacophonous noise of the seagulls to the cool, white sand under the pier, I am intimate with all of them. As I know where the waves are going when they begin to form, so I know where my life is going.

Reflections on Walden, Pt. I

"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts. Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevated and critical hour. If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done."



The other day I decided to begin reading Thoreau's Walden. Being abundantly aware of Walden's critical acclaim in the world of literature, I was nevertheless surprised that I'm actually enjoying its pages. After only a few days, I've come across several passages that would make great topics for journal entries, hence the entry you're reading now. I am struck by the beautiful quality of Thoreau's writing and instantly realized why it is considered a classic. Just by reading the first two chapters I can say that he's a master of the written word that one doesn't come across very often. I found myself quite envious of his talent, for although I like to think of myself as a good writer, I am lacking in the natural talent that Thoreau obviously possesses. "The Economist," the first chapter, is kind of hard to digest so I skipped ahead to the next chapter, "Where I Lived, and What I Lived For," where the passage above was found.

"We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep."

The first sentence is magnificent and I knew that this was a passage I had to write about. "We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake..." Here, Thoreau is speaking of "effective intellectual exertion," which in the previous paragraph he says is lacking in all but one in a million people. He goes on to say in the same paragraph that only one in one hundred million is awake to a "poetic or divine life." As Walden is often cited for its insight and attention to detail, this provides a wonderful example of that. I couldn't agree with Thoreau more. Millions of people are indeed awake enough for physical labor and the monotonous task of existing. Few people are perceptive to the true nature of their existence and when one is, it is hard to ignore by that person and outsiders alike. This true nature may or may not be different for everyone but as Thoreau implies, its realization is indeed rare. Effective intellectual exertion can mean a variety of states of existence. I interpret this as the ability and the means by which to produce meaningful thoughts about one's inner and outer world. Furthermore, one cannot exist without the other. In other words, one must be able to project effectively the intellect both inward and outward. This duality, I feel, is that basis of that effectiveness. Thoreau believes just one in one hundred thousand people is awake to a poetic or divine life. By this, I think he meant the rare geniuses that walk the earth: the John Lennons, Pablo Picassos, and Shakesperes of the world. Although I suspect he would be hesitant to agree with me, I would include Thoreau himself in this latter category. The mere fact that he is aware of two different "levels" of awareness speaks to his unbridled perceptiveness and amazing ability to translate this into the written word.

Thoreau insists we must "reawaken and keep ourselves awake...by an infinite expectation of the dawn..." Here, Thoreau is suggesting we need goals and objectives in our lives to make our existence meaningful. Indeed, without goals we have no purpose. These can be anything from living according to God's divine plan or carrying out one's days in the hopes of achieving great wealth. Thoreau seems to be suggesting we need to define our existence in terms of our art of living, or what we believe is the ideal way to live. The human ability for conscious endeavor that Thoreau is so fond of largely defines my art of living. I structure the way I live my life around future goals and the means by which I am to achieve these goals. If I decide I want to earn a master's degree in anthropology, I set my mind to active inquiry about anthropological issues. This includes reading, studying, and always being conscious of the dynamic nature of the field. I encourage myself along the way and remain disciplined, for if I fail to do so that master's degree will be unattainable. To a degree, personal goals also shape the aspect of my art of living that deals with those around me. I cannot realize my dreams by leaving a trail of bodies in my path. That is to say that I must respect outside opinions, welcome criticism, and otherwise treat everyone around me with the amount of respect they deserve. Nobody got anywhere in life by ignoring and disrespecting others. I believe that one cannot lead a meaningful existence by treating other poorly. While my motivations for being nice to people may sound selfish, the difference lies in the fact that I sincerely wish for those around me to be happy and enjoy life. I could easily just put a fictitious smile on my face only to be pleasant.

"It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do."

Again, Thoreau seems to know the rarity of living a truly meaningful existence. In this sentence, he is saying that we are the primary influences and shapers of our own existence and future. While we may carry out actions that please others and ourselves, we must strive to let those actions be in the context of a meaningful art of living. I also believe he is saying here that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, for if we control the way in which we see the world it is possible to see beauty in things that we otherwise wouldn't. I am reminded of the scene in the film American Beauty where Ricky is showing his girlfriend Jane a film he took of a plastic bag blowing around in the wind on a city street. While most people just see trash caught by the wind, Ricky sees beauty and tries to relate this to Jane. Initially, the viewer is skeptical but after Ricky's explanation, we can draw a number of interpretations from the film of the bag.

If we are to lead this meaningful existence that is so prevalent in both ancient and modern philosophy, then we must heed Thoreau's advice and view our world as we personally feel is best. While outsiders can influence the way we see the world, we alone ultimately have control over the filters that we choose to place between our mind and the outside world. If we see war as appropriate, then we have a filter in place which blocks out all the horrible images that we don't see on the evening news. Similarly, some of us consciously avoid that which makes us uncomfortable, such as poverty and third world living conditions.

Although this is only one passage in what I can already tell is a beautiful piece of literature, I suspect that it sums of Thoreau's Art of Living, at least during his time at Walden Pond. I still have the strong desire to pack up and do something like Thoreau did. I believe the only true path to a meaningful existence is through experience and contemplative awareness. It is too easy to go through live in a mind-numbing state of sedation brought on by such phenomena as popular culture and religion. As Thoreau suggests, it is more difficult and far more admirable to live in conscious awareness of one's existence, always cognizant of the fragility of that existence but the infinite potential of it as well.

What a Day

I woke up at 10am, showered, dressed, and prepared for class. I stuck my head out the door to check the weather. A comfortable sixty degrees with a slight breeze. Finally, T-shirt weather! I strapped on my bag and headed out the door at a quarter to eleven. As I was walking toward campus, I noticed some ominous-looking clouds off in the distance. "Hmm, rain's headed this way" I thought to myself. "Just let me make it to Bear (Hall) and I'll be good. Both of my classes are in that building." Not three minutes later I felt a drop on my head. Then a few more followed by several in a row. The wind began to pick up and I soon realized that the rain clouds were moving much faster than I had expected. I was still several hundred yards from Bear when it happened: the rain clouds blew in extremely fast and let loose a storm of violent wind, rain, and hail. The wind picked up even more until I literally had trouble standing. If I had been riding my bike I surely would have had to dismount. Leaves began flying off the trees as if some unseen cosmic child was blowing seeds off a dandelion. Dozens of people were walking up and down the sidewalks to and from campus, and we all had the same reaction: "Oh shit, we're going to die." I was now about fifty yards from Bear when the hail started to pelt my face, which was now serving as a dartboard. A girl behind me screamed and ran past me toward campus. Some other students on the sidewalk across the street began hollering in a playful manner. I swear I heard at least one shrill cry of "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" While the sheer force of the wind and hail was quite comical to those walking home, for me I was reminded that I would be spending the next three hours sitting in a classroom, soaking wet. When I finally reached Bear I checked my face to see if I was bleeding from the frozen needles, quickly matted down my hair, and walked down the hallway to my classroom. It would be later that day that I learned the airport reported hurricane-strength winds and several building had collapsed across the area.

Soaking wet and in a T-shirt, I ignored my professor's sarcastic comment that "dark clouds mean rain." Thanks, Al Roker. I did make it through my two classes, albeit with the demeanor of a cold, wet, pitiful dog. The odd thing was, I was not upset or pissed off at all. Normally a mild hurricane on my way to class would have ruined my day, but I was wearing a smile the whole time. And I didn't even have to try.

I have undergone a metamorphosis over the past several weeks and it is directly related to this and my other philosophy course. In that brief amount of time, I have come to the realization that the things that are out of my control should not have an effect on how I react to those situations or determine how I react to situations within my control. This morning, I could have easily let the mini-hurricane ruin my day but instead I chose to see it for what it was. I was cold, wet, and completely uncomfortable but that didn't matter to me. I knew that in a few hours I would be back in my warm apartment listening to Interpol and gnawing on one of the Cow Tails my mom bought me.

The storm had nothing to do with anything that I did or didn't do and so I should not get bent out of shape when I'm caught in the middle of it.

Another aspect of my metamorphosis has been the realization that I lead an unusually comfortable and privileged life. I am healthy, live in a relatively free and safe society, I have no money problems, I have two parents who are married (to eachother!) that love and support me, I have friends who are there for me, and I have opportunity and a future. There is so much hatred, poverty, and negativity in the world but I have somehow managed to grow up in a privileged situation. That is not to say I am blind to this negativity but the fact that I have only recently realized the true scope and nature of it leads me to believe that it is because of that realization that I am growing as a person. I used to have a very bad temper but I almost never get angry anymore. I used to get very upset with my routine was disrupted or things didn't go my way, but now I just take things as they come and deal accordingly. While it still bothers me when things seem out of my control, I do not let the emotions rule me, which has proven disastrous in the past. For some reason I have matured to the point where I am now able to step back for a moment and really think about a potentially troublesome situation and how I should handle it. I can't tell you exactly where or when I learned how to do this, but I do feel it is connected with my trip to Belize and my present philosophy classes. One day it just snapped, and my temper and attachment to things going my way all of the time took a back seat to the more important things in life, which includes thinking more about other people and how I view them instead of how they view me.

Philosophy has taught me that there are far more important things to life than money, religion, and material comforts. While I have yet to completely rid myself of attachment to money and material possessions (I'm just as materialistic as the next person), I have learned that to truly enjoy life you have to have a rather laid back attitude toward life. One extreme is analyzing every little detail and overreacting to insignificant events, the other extreme is taking a "fuck it" attitude toward life. I am in the middle, leaning toward the latter extreme. I constantly remind myself that many things are out of my control and all I can do is live my life as best as I possibly can. This is the only way to have a truly rewarding and fulfilling life.

Hotel Rwanda and the concept of race

Tonight I saw a late showing of Hotel Rwanda. This excellent true-story film stars Don Cheadle as a hotel manager who sacrifices his sanity and risks his life to house almost a thousand refugees associated with the atrocities in Rwanda back in 1994. I was very impressed with the cinematography, which made it quite emotional and enabled me to become part of the story, something few films are able to do. The acting was amazing as well and also contributed to the overall realism of the film. It takes talent to take a real life human tragedy and adapt it to the screen in such a way that it emphasizes the importance of what happened in a broader context of human history.

Instead of a simple movie review, which can be found anywhere on the net, I'll reflect personally on the film and the thoughts that are running through my head immediately after seeing it. I remember when the Rwanda genocide happened but I didn't pay much attention to it, as it was just another depressing news story that dominated the headlines for a few weeks then faded away. I have seen so many such stories in my lifetime that I try not to think about what it all means, but I will try to lay it out here.

The basis of the Rwanda story has to do with political differences between two groups, the Tutsis and the Hutus. Originally, things such as nose size and other facial features distinguished them. In other words, if you looked a certain way you were a Tutsi and if you looked another way you were a Hutu. After a scene in the film that described this I was immediately struck by how pointless it was. The two looked exactly the same, one indistinguishable from the next. I then realized that it was no different than the race wars that occurred in the United States during the past century, and indeed since our country's origins. I feel that by highlighting the seemingly ludicrous and superficial differences between a Hutu and a Tutsi the writers and director of Hotel Rwanda were making a subtle statement about the nature of racism in general. Most Americans that see this film will not notice the difference between an actor who portrays a Hutu and one that portrays a Tutsi, and they will be lost on the significance of this. "They are both black Africans. They aren't different!" Needless to say, a Hutu and a Tutsi are just as different as an African American and a white American.

The concept of race has become so engrained in the consciousness of America that it has taken on a social significance, as if the color of one's skin mattered. Of course, this has been preached since the days of the Civil Rights movement, but again, I think much is lost in the simple proclamation that we are all humans first. We teach our young children that a person should be judged "not by the color of one's skin but by the content of their character" as Dr. King put it so eloquently. While this is a fair and completely correct thing to teach, I think there should be more of an emphasis placed on the absurdity of race on a biological basis. It is a sad fact of reality that we have been "trained" to even notice skin color and pass judgements on this. The truth of the matter is, skin color is just as significant as hair color. But hair color doesn't matter, you say? My point exactly.

In summation, Hotel Rwanda opened my eyes not only to the capacity for human evil but for also for our capacity to latch on to a meaningless and superficial trait such as race. To function properly in today's society, one has to be aware of the concept of race because of a sad chapter not only in American history but the world over as well.

One good thing about music...

I've had quite an amazing spring break...and much needed it was. On Sunday night I had the extreme pleasure of seeing Interpol for the second time in Raleigh. This show was better than the last, which was last year. I went with my sister again who has always been a great concert buddy. I came across a guy's website who had a photo pass for the show and he got some amazing shots. Some of the best ones are at the end of this post. My sister and I were about 10 feet back, stage left roughly in front of Carlos.

Live shows are what keep me going. When I saw Interpol this past Sunday it allowed me to escape into another world that I can usually only do in my car or my room by listening to a CD. A live show allows me to become part of the music in a way that I have trouble putting in to words. For a brief hour or so, I am transported to another world where the landscape is smoke and lights and the soundtrack in the music that I love. From the opening organ intro to the last thumping bass line of the closer, a show like Interpol's is escapism at its best.

Very few bands have been able to do that for me both in person and in my CD player. The emotion is flowing like a raging waterfall and for that hour, I forget exactly what city I'm in, what my purpose is, and what my future holds. Such a prime opportunity to lift above the world for a short moment is one that I cherish. Both times I've seen the band, in a way, has had a great impact on my life. While they are just a band of four guys and nothing more, their music has the ability to cut through me like nothing else and shine lights in parts of my mind that I didn't know existed. When I hear the opening guitar chords of "Untitled" I know that life is good and that it only gets better.

Interpol has been accused of making music to kill yourself by. I see it quite differently. It's all in the interpretation. I close my eyes a few times during the show and really listen and try to process what I'm hearing. I'm hearing the soundtrack of my past, my present, and my future. Even with my eyes closed the flashing strobes and red stage lights pound my brain into oblivion and back again. When the generic "thank you...goodnight" is mumbled into the mic by Paul in a melancholy tone, I picture for a moment that he is just as sad to leave us as we are to see him go. Interpol has grown to define my college career in many ways. Whenever I hear one of their songs from now on I'll think of all the late nights studying, the worrying, the procrastinating, the sleepless nights, the early mornings, the long runs, and the hurt feelings. But I wouldn't change one chord.

"One good thing about music, is when it hits you you feel alright."
--Bob Marley

I'm always right.

In my philosophy 101 class this past Friday we had an interesting discussion that really got me thinking. A sidetrack as it were, the topic was about the "meaning" of right and wrong and the inherent uselessness of the defense of what we perceive of as right. Naturally, once McGowan got on this topic he used war as a contemporary analogy but was careful not to keep his politics relevant to the discussion (does he know I've been reading frontpagemagazine.com and the Students for Academic Freedom website?). Relating it to Nietzche, we discussed how the events and actions that we perceive as good or evil are not inherently so in and of themselves. Murder as an action is not good or evil, it is generally interpreted as evil because of the value most of us place on human life. Similarly, giving your sandwich to a homeless man on the street is nothing more than the implied actions. It is good because many of us apply notions of goodwill or kindness to such situations that seem to produce some sort of positive inner emotion or state of well being.

What McGowan was arguing and what really got me into the discussion was that the nature of actions and events (lacking an inherent quality of good vs. evil) renders defense of a position pointless. In other words, it was useless to defend your opinion as "right" and someone else's as "wrong." Indeed, read any great philosophical work and rarely, if at all, do you find overt claims of rightness or superiority of opinion. From what little Kierkegaard I've read, he's never said "I am right and others are wrong and this is the way the world is." McGowan again applied this concept to the modern day situation of American expansionism and patriotism. During class I argued that the defense of freedom is necessary because I place a value on being free. Of course, this statement would make any liberal or socialist cringe (re: Ward Churchill). That's when McGowan brought up the paradoxical nature of "freedom" in the American sense and before I could allow this concept to fully process in my brain, the class was over. It was a hell of a way to leave the argument but I agreed...it is very paradoxical. A brief one-on-one post script after class left me suggesting to McGowan that one has an obligation to support the American war on terror (but not necessarily how we're going about it) if one is to take advantage of other benefits that American citizenship entails (i.e. laws, criminal prosecution for someone punching you in the face, etc.). I think we left it at that before the next class in the room kicked us out.

The whole discussion really got the wheels turning. What does it mean for something to be right or wrong? That day I realized that nothing is right or wrong in and of itself, which is kind of a mindfuck because I've grown up in a society that places value judgements on things as if they were concrete. As a result, I have been trained to deem certain things as right or wrong. For the most part, these assumptions are correct and allow me to lead a productive and successful life. But many questions were raised, particularly the role of defense. What exactly are we defending when we bomb another country to the ground or kill even one innocent person in order to destroy a bomb plant? It's easy to argue that destroying that bomb plant potentially saved millions of lives so the loss of a few innocent civilians is incidental. I would still take this stance even in light of my realizations from Friday's class.

What made me think is that there is in fact an alternative to good and evil...that what we do in our lives is very much a product of our own value judgements that have no basis in reality at all. Some people trace their values to God. Since I don't, what is there? (This is when the Christian fundamentalist starts chastising me and convicting me to a life in hell). While it's a discomforting question to explore, it's one that I will not readily give up by simply unloading it all on a concept of an all-powerful being; that's too easy and a copout in my opinion. I'm left with many questions that I have a strong feeling will never be answered. I suppose for the time being I'll just have to trust my instinct on what is right and wrong, no matter where it came from.