Pastan's "Ethics"

This story is a perfect example of how we are as humans. It is said we think we know everything when we are young adults, but the truth is we don’t know anything. I think half of that statement is usually true for most of us, and the other half is not as true as it seems. We really don’t know much, but we also know that. Sometimes we try to cover it up with fancy language or making a bold decision, but the fact of the matter is, we are just bluffing; we are just doing whatever it takes to get by. In this poem the main character is faced with a question of whether to save an old lady or a “sacred” painting. Every year the students have to decide something, but most of the time it isn’t a heartfelt, thought out decision. This is true not only in this ethics class, but in most decisions in a young person’s life. We don’t think about how things might affect us in the future, or even more importantly, how it affects others.

We also see how the perspective changes as we get older. All the situations we have been asked about suddenly become more than just hypothetical and we have to make a decision that will carry weight. All of the things we thought would never affect us are things we begin looking in the eye. The character probably never thought she would see the day when there might actually be an old lady looking at that painting, let alone have it be her.

I love when a poem speaks to the reader in such a tangible way. As literature students, we don’t necessarily think the things we are reading in our classes are going to have a significant impact on us. And while some of them may not, there will be those that (forgive the cliché) change our lives whether we see it now or not.

Art Museum

I went to the Polk Museum of Art for this assignment, and I stayed there for at least 40 minutes.

It was great to walk around the art museum this weekend. I have always known it was there, but I never really took the time to go inside it (which is ironic/sad because I am a huge art fanatic).
It seems crazy to think that so much art is all stored in one place like that, just waiting to be discovered. And it is in such a remote location that I can’t imagine it sees too many new faces very often.
While I was there I noticed a middle-aged couple who were perusing the gallery as well. In the ceramic section I sat down and just watched them for a little bit. I know they weren’t an exhibit, and they may have even just been tourists, but in a way they were still part of the art there. It was inspiring to see the man take such interest and fascination in something that seemed more like the woman’s hobby than his own. And the way she looked at each piece as though it were one of the greatest things, as if somehow each piece were better than the previous. There was nothing particularly memorable about these people, not to demean them in any way, but they stood out to me.
There was a piece outside that I thought was particularly hilarious; it was titled Still Life and Pears (or something similar to that effect, I don’t remember exactly), and it had a house-like structure sitting next to some pears. I know it sound ridiculous but I couldn’t help but burst out laughing. :D
I really enjoyed a lot of the works in the student gallery too. It is crazy for me to think that these people are my age or younger and they have produced works that earned enough merit to be in a museum, no matter how small of one.



The Truth Is…

Just a few faces shining back at me
Like some sort of house of mirrors

Some are smiling, frowning, sober
Others shy, prideful, smug

Some live abundantly and are the envy of their neighbors
The rest are the neighbors, envying even just clean water

It is humbling when you step into the empty home
Realizing they are still happy; even they can be happy.



Labor

Calloused hands run over the page of designs
What will be the next hit is the question
Maybe blossoms, but it is summer so maybe waves
Maybe they will want to get ready for the soon approaching cool season
So maybe maple leaves

Carefully picking out the spindles so as not to rough the material
The calloused hands begin to set up the loom
These threads will form fabric
And this fabric will feed a family
From one artist to another


Laughable

They will see this and not understand
Nevertheless, I continue

Reading for Transformation... by Francis X. McAloon (SJ)

“The encounter described here [in Sandra Schneiders’ The Revelatory Text] goes beyond the accumulation of new data or the enjoyment of aesthetic experience, to focus attention upon the reader’s reappropriation of self.”

This quote from the reading strikes me particularly because of the way it challenges the reader. So often today it is difficult to find a person who even merely reads for pleasure, let alone reading something that they choose to grow from. I say “choose” because that is exactly what it is; we have the choice whether or not to let something affect us.

This text particularly focuses on the practice known as lectio divina. This is a method was originally used by monks to study scripture, but it is now widely practiced for a variety of texts. The purpose is to better understand the message that is being conveyed; not just cognitively, but spiritually, emotionally, and even socially.

Schneider stresses the impact on more than just cognitive gain. Personally I think this is because we don’t think about things in that way; instead we let it impact us in ways that alter how we interact with life. Does this mean we remember the text necessarily? No, but the point of the text is not to remember page numbers or lines; the primary goal is more than that.

Reading for pleasure or mere knowledge (I say mere knowledge in the sense that it is only knowledge, I do not intend to belittle the gain of knowledge, nor do I think this is the goal of the author) is great, but if we invested the same amount of zeal in applying this text to ourselves and use it to “reappropriate” our internal self there would be an explosion of effects. We would be changed which would affect those around us who would affect those around them and thus forth.

Lectio divina is more than just a spiritual practice and can be used habitually in everyday life, even that novel sitting next to your pillow.

"Darkness, Questions, Poetry, and Spiritual Hope" by Paul T. Corrigan

Sometimes we read things and think nothing more of them than just casual words to pass the time. Other times we read things at a time that it seems eerily prophetic. Maybe all literature should be more than just a brief encounter, but in this world it simply isn’t true—I am getting off topic. This particular essay struck me when I read it because very similar thoughts have been turning through my mind these past few weeks. While I am not facing a mortal death sentence, I am facing one in a sense. I am not coming back to college this fall, and that is a very scary thing for me. But I have noticed I am not “shaking in my boots” about this fact. Over the past year of have overcome many personal difficulties that I won’t go into detail about, but they led me down some very dark paths. Not to say that I was succumbed entirely to them, but I was definitely not in a good place. One of the biggest involved me nearly losing my faith. But it was in this that my faith was really grounded.

We have to go through the darkness in order to understand it. It is not the same as watching somebody else go through it, or trying to help a friend through a tight spot; each individual who wishes to help another through a trial irrefutably must have gone through one themselves.

“Unless we face darkness, we have nothing to offer those who are hurting and we have no resources for ourselves when we get our own turn at pain—except our cheap religious clichés.” --Paul T. Corrigan ‘Darkness, Questions, Poetry, and Spiritual Hope’

Darkness is something we should become familiar with. I don’t mean just as Christians, but all of humanity, if just for the sake of humanity.