The Little Leaf
This little leaf below my foot
Neglected on the ground
I wonder where you came from
And how it is you’re found
I see your edge is torn
A piece of what you were
A mottled ruby red
From when your colour burst
Tag: feature
Real Change
How does real change come about?
When I pose this question, I’m not referring to broader social change, but change at the level of the individual. To what degree are we, each as individuals in our own right, able to influence or effect change in other individuals around us?
I think this is a very pertinent issue, because the idea that an individual can really influence another is one that comes up in teaching, parenthood and evangelism, to name a few. For simplicity’s sake, let’s call the two roles in such a relationship the teacher and the student (though they could just as easily be friend and friend, sister and brother, or any number of other combinations of roles). The teacher presumably has his own motives, extraneous to the mere subject being “taught.” Though passionate about the subject at hand, perhaps he also experiences great enthusiasm at the prospect of being the catalyst or cause of a “change for the better.”
Pavement and Poems
I could write a hundred poems about pavement and only capture it in some small part, or not at all. Can even a miniscule piece of the earth be tamed by words or fully dissected beneath the probing lens of a microscope? The richness and depth of ordinary grandeur is insurmountable, at least with the fallible tools of the human mind. Yet we brandish those tools as though they have the skill and certainty to unlock unrivalled efficiency. But is it efficiency that has power to delight, that is charged enough to spark joy?
If we slackened our grip on those tools, we might see that we search in the wrong places and for the wrong things. Practicality keeps us grounded and in search of an end; it cannot achieve any end. Whereas wonder is an ascending force and it lifts us above our means. It lifts us even when we stoop to marvel over the cracks in the pavement. And when we wrinkle a puddle of glass with the toe of a boot and see the sparkles of all the sky and sun beneath our feet, is there any end at all but beauty? Is there any place to go other than the placeless, timeless folds of infinity? Eternity is enclosed in the minute, which, when expanded or unearthed, contains the whole of the marvelous, and the purposeless purpose of life.
The Lost Art of Eating
In a previous post in this series, I talked about breathing and how this simple practice is necessary in the maintenance of life. Eating (unlike letter-writing) is also a necessity for survival. Although people are capable of enduring conditions of severe scarcity, they need a certain amount of food and to ingest this amount of food with a certain measure of regularity, in order to live. So it can be easily established that food plays an essential role in our lives and that it is a fundamental need, rather than merely a want. What remains to be seen is whether the sphere of food can be elevated into the sphere of art.
Although I used the word “eating” in the title of this piece, I want to include the entire process of preparing and arranging food in my discussion, not just consumption. For it is very clear that food is about far more than nutritional value (or lack thereof), even if we intend to desire it only as such. The basic definition of food might be cut down to its constituent parts, but whenever we encounter food on the practical level of daily living and not in some abstract theoretical realm, it is impossible to separate the food itself from the experience of eating.
What to Read this Week: First Things
Why am I wary about reading the news?
The crux of this issue is the overwhelming focus on entertainment in our current age. This is something I discussed in my review of Neil Postman’s brilliant book “Amusing Ourselves to Death.” With the advent of the television and more recently, digital media, the image reigns supreme, and along with this shift from word to image comes the overabundance of visual stimuli. When we are constantly flooded by images, there is no longer the same focus on logic and permanence implied in the written word. Instead, with the image, transience is key. The image is not designed to last. But it is certainly designed to distract. And it is absolutely designed to amuse.
Becoming Human
Jean Vanier’s book, Becoming Human, emerged from the CBC Massey lectures that he delivered in 1998. As such, Vanier’s writing has a very conversational tone: it is easy to imagine he is speaking right to you, person to person. This stems from the original oral form of “Becoming Human,” but also, I think, from Vanier’s particular style of writing and of sharing deep truths in a clear and compassionate voice.
Jean Vanier is the founder of l’Arche, which began when Vanier opened his home (in 1964) to men with intellectual disabilities. Now there are l’Arche communities found worldwide, all committed to providing a home for the disabled where they can experience love, growth and meaningful communion with others. In “Becoming Human,” he relates numerous personal experiences he has had with residents of l’Arche communities, often individuals who came from very rough or unloving backgrounds and seemed themselves unlovable. Yet with love and support these individuals grew; indeed, they blossomed with love, finding the freedom to openly express their true selves.
The Return of the King
Wow.
Even now that some time has passed between my viewing of the third and final Lord of the Rings film and my sitting down to write this review, that word is still the foremost in my mind: Wow. More than anything, this movie really felt like a journey: a complete, captivating, thrilling and deeply moving journey from beginning to end (nearly four hours that could have been years yet also that lacked the sensation of dragging). The way that the film was visually conceptualized, scripted, and above all the incredibly detailed nature of Tolkien’s fantastical world create a truly immersive experience, one that allows the viewer to experience the emotional landscape of the characters in a very real way.
There is far too much going on in “The Return of the King” for me to attempt to dabble in every plotline, and so I will restrict myself to a few that loom the largest in my mind. The first has been a consistent thread running through my reviews of the first two movies: the journeys of Merry and Pippin. I find myself extraordinarily fond of these two hobbits, and for reasons quite different from those I would have predicted. Rather than being confined to roles as the “comic relief,” Merry and Pippin quickly become vital to the story and to the quest to save Middle Earth, and this is only more evident in the third instalment.
The Runner: Unwatched
The title of this post may lead the reader to believe it is about running in the absence of onlookers; that is, the freedom to run without being watched. Such freedom is certainly not insignificant, though I think we more often have need of liberation from internal rather than external judgements. However, I was actually referring to a different kind of watch, and it is this watch (the one to do with time) I want to discuss today.
I love wearing a watch. I don’t remember when I got my first watch or when it became a regular staple of my wardrobe, but it’s rare for me to leave my house without it. Why do I wear a watch? It’s hard to avoid a simple answer: I like knowing what time it is. The ability to carry time with you gives off some illusion of control, not the illusion of controlling time but of being able to measure time and control one’s schedule in accordance with it.
Forgotten Strength
You seem to have forgotten
That you’ve done these things before
You’ve shaken off the courage
Like a garment that you wore
You tell yourself the stories
Full of old and tired lies
You see your self diminished
Through someone else’s eyes
Noise and the Illusion of Control
I often find myself preoccupied by noise. This can be a problem, because our world is saturated with noise in many ways. We rarely can achieve that pure and perfect silence, whether we seek it, or strive to avoid its searching depths. There is almost always something going on in the background. Sometimes they are deliberate sounds, like music, and sometimes they are incidental, intertwined with everyday life. Cars whiz by on nearby roads; drilling slices through the air from the interminable construction work always going on somewhere in the neighbourhood…
There is always noise: people talking, people walking, even the noises that nature imposes on a sterile silence, like birds chattering and wind rustling through trees and rain pricking softly against the slicked black pavement. Here, the words of the Grinch spring to mind (if you’ll pardon the not-yet-seasonal reference): “Noise, noise, noise!”