Biblical Evidence

What does it mean that I would base my feelings, my strength, my argument off of Bible scriptures. It probably means a whole lot to some people and a whole lot of nothing to others. To me, it means that I read a passage and it registered with the state of my country. It means that I have been praying for peace for awhile now and I feel like a clue was revealed. It means that it is still a good piece of advice and anyone claiming wisdom might look at the words and their meaning before making any prejudiced judgments.

In Jeremiah, the Old Testament, the Lord is commenting on the rebellion of Judah, through His prophet, Jeremiah. We, Americans, are obviously not in Judah nor do I think Judah as a place still exists as it did during the interaction to which I am referring. However, God makes a point that He was with the people until they found wealth or success or liberation and then as soon as this happened, they deserted God. The phrase, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" jumps to mind. In fairness, I have not completed Jeremiah yet, I'm trying to read a little at a time, per day. This section just got me thinking, were our [Americans'] forefathers believers in God, in religion? Were we not established as a secure nation that saw a wealth of goods and currently has an advanced medical system with the CAPABILITIES of caring for our sick, fatherless and suffering? Does it not seem troublesome to abort the principles our country was founded on because in present day society it seems politically incorrect to praise the name of God? It isn't black and white and I know that. I know that multi-culturalism presents a challenge to this monotheistic view of mine. I also know that some people can harp on for a good ten minutes on the terrors of war that religion produces. Shall I counter you with the terrors of war that the progressive appeal for power and greed have inflicted on this and other great nations. I'm not saying I have all the answers. I'm saying Christianity preaches, at its core, love and people have skewed this representation. I'm saying we should give God another chance because I see either black or white. Yes, the opposite of love is hate and what I hate is evil. Am I wrong to say that we should all turn from evil? Am I any more insane than one who can stand and look me in my face and say they only want to embrace evil? Where, might I ask, does that view get you? Do you get closer to your family and feel the evil in their embraces? Do you stop and smell the flowers and delight in their stench? I can't see it. And, yes, you're right, I don't want to.

Long Time Coming. LTC.

I've been meaning to write for so long. I can't wait to get all of this off of my chest. 

I don't have much time, school starts in, oh well I'm suppose to be leaving in one minute. I'll have to be a little tardy. And presumably resume this argument at a later time. That's okay by me. Actually, it will be nice to have something to come back to. 

So, what am I on about? I had a revelation last night. About the state of our country. America, to specify. I can't rest here comfortably. I haven't been able to since I came back from Wales. I thought it was something I was doing wrong, honestly. I thought maybe I was being pretentious, that was a thought nurtured  by fellow Americans and then amplified by my own self-doubt. Awesome, I know. With that aside, I also considered that maybe my eyes had been opened to the glories of the Earth and America was the door mat to this exploration. I wanted to simply say adios to the country of my childhood and relocate to one of the more cultured, refined civilizations that waited, rather existed, across seas. However, my family is here, my heart, my mind, memories. They all exist here too and with that I can't convince myself that my permanent home is one where none of these will be too. I can't split myself in two and go on. For now I am simply eight hours away, by car, and I feel a longing so acute at times to see my little sister's sparkling blue eyes when she is laughing in, embarrassment perhaps, at my antics or to smell my mom's perfume and to be strengthened by her vivacity. I just can't see, it doesn't make sense.

What then, I wonder, constantly, is the point of my experiences, my longings? To come to peace with it all. To be in one mind, that is what I'm searching for. Now, at this point in life, I am starting to see a solution. I feel strife in my daily life in the United States because I should, we all should. Somethings are wrong, fundamentally, logically, personally. We are a people so far askew yet we cal our existence abstract and appease ourselves. Well, it is a lie. Just as I had naively mocked a Picasso at the beginnings of my studies of art appreciation, claiming I too could throw colors on a board, smear them around, call it beauty, confess my insanity, maybe keep my ears... I have, actually. I'm still waiting for recognition, but I surrender. The point is we can continue to claim that what we do is not wrong, but it won't make the problem go away. I want us to look into our souls and see what does not sit right with the morals I know every one is capable of understanding because they ARE inherent and then start to make a change. How? Well, let's work that part out together because apart from wanting to put on some walking shoes and march across to Congress and demand that they bring every single one of the members of the armed forces home and give the money, that we don't have yet continues to be spent, back to the countless number of starving and abused children and homeless mothers and fathers or even families so disturbed by poverty and perverted morals that they have forgotten how to love one another, until I reach the point when that is the only goal I have on my mind, maybe we can come up with other solutions. I'll keep daydreaming though. Also, I'll post with some of my inspiration for this fire inside of me and hopefully a little bit of proof that I have not completely gone insane, although I am hesitant to claim otherwise. I'm okay with that though. I'd rather be crazy than impassioned to not move or feel for one more second of my life. 

Ray of Sunshine

Instead of being this sparkling commentator it seems I have been the stater of irritants. I wish it were different, however, here I am.

First up, If I want to get a book published apparently the way to do so is by claiming to write a piece on a time period in history and then carry-on with whatever "secret" agenda I had. I'm venting about the most recent novel I read. I am planning a topic secret event so I cannot reveal the name of the book (just in case!) but the sneaky little author's name is Robert Stone. I bought his book thinking he would enlighten me on a subject that I knew, and still know, little about. Turns out I'm very knowledgeable on his time in the Navy and as a write. Thanks, Mr. Stone. I'm glad I bought the book at The Goodwill instead of full price. Not that his life story isn't worth the buck fifty I spent, but I could have gone with out the deception. Well played sir, well played...

All the Air is Gone

I feel deflated. Maybe I'm just tired. I started my day with such high hopes and aspirations, but now, as I sit down at my computer to do what it is I really want to do, I feel exhausted. It is a strange phenomena. Today has been such a blur, honestly. I started working at a job I never thought I would take. Yet, I know how awful statements like those sound. I don't want anyone to think the job is beneath me, or that I think that, because I don't. I'm grateful to be making money. I just want to be making money in another situation, doing something that doesn't require me to wear a visor, preferably.

Besides that, the first day on the job was great. I like working. I like feeling like I am being productive, no matter what the task, it feels better than sitting around fretting about meaningless topics. Plus, they gave me Sunday off, which is awesome because I have really enjoyed going to church lately and now I don't have to give it up. Also, when I got out of the shower I realized one of my earrings had fallen out, but then after going to my room for a bit, I cam back and found the earring on the bathroom floor. I was amazed! (It was a little stud).

So, I keep inverting my letters while writing and I am getting super annoyed by this board I have balancing on my wall because it is not properly supported and every time the desk moves, it shakes, so I think that means I am too tired to write the amazing blogs/ stories that I was dreaming about producing when I was at Starbucks today during my break. I also feel like that is an excuse. I would give anything to feel like something I wrote had real value, but that is hard to measure with art, I think. It draws up psychological questions, like whose value would I accept? Why does it matter so much when others don't value it? It all feels silly, I guess. Doesn't it seem like if you love doing something you would do it more often? Except that when I do write and I feel like I'm getting some where, I enjoy it. It is thrilling and captures all of my attention, it makes me feel good actually. I'm wary of that emotion though, I feel like feeling that way is a negative, it feels too close to conceit, but if I don't feel like that, will I always feel inferior in my position, my career? That sounds awful.

I have so many questions and I feel like they could be answered by less thinking. If, like Voltaire suggests, I just let life happen to me and stopped asking questions I might finally be satisfied. However, what would I experience? Monotonous tasks. Even security I could have with a God who goes where I go and is everywhere I am. The problem with questions is that they never end. If you regard one past experience to help with the future, you really can't shut the door on the other more negative memories. At least, I don't think you can. It doesn't seem right. I don't know what to do with my ghosts though, the one who keeps coming back to me and making me feel like I left something behind, that I did something wrong and that the only way to release this spirit is to make it right, now. The bigger problem is that I have no idea how to do that. How do you? If anyone knew that would make this stage in my life a million bucks worth. Thanks.

'Rock Around the Clock'

Ever notice the lyrics of songs these days? I'm sure, like me, most people belt out the lyrics to their favorite tunes, at least every now and then. This means that those who do are conscious of the words that these songs are comprised of. What, I am wondering, is the effect of these words on our daily lives? Do the similarities between people cause them to share musical interests? Are the plights of our souls compounded by the stories we listen to daily through the lyrics in the songs we choose?

I got thinking about this because of the recent changes going on in my life. I noticed a couple of years back how I went through stages with the music I most commonly enjoyed. At times, perhaps the most peaceful in my life, I enjoyed the simplicity of themes, mostly love, and the sound of innocence from artists such as Taylor Swift. This is contradicted by other periods in my life when I would turn from the angelic, teen song-writer to an angrier, harried version, Alanis Morissette. Now these stages could be months apart, but there were also the daily changes from old-school R&B, perhaps a little R. Kelly or Boys 2 Men when I was feeling sensual or SIA when I was feeling fragile to Rebelution during a playful mood. It is only recently that my tastes are undergoing a change and I feel uncomfortable with what my ears have been allowing my heart to tune into. I say this light-heartedly and mean no offense to light rock followers. Even though it is a reaction to turn the song when one of these starts to play, I have recently let them play on and it has been to my enjoyment. Like a sneaky, heavy handed bartender, this music sweeps me off my feet and it is utterly out of my control. I feel childish as my body reacts to the outdated lyrical allusions and positive beats. I probably shouldn't be complaining, but it is weird, like an out of body experience.

It did get me thinking though about the causes for the change. If, indeed, it follows with my recent re-conversion to a life led by faith in God and therefore a more "pure" approach to the daily life, in the Christian sense of the word, are my ears and body filtering the appropriate material on a sub-conscious level or is my brain on terms with my heart and making the best effort to remain one whole rather than parts divided?

If this is confusing, I should probably back up anyway. I am suggesting that what we listen to affects what we think or how we think even on a daily basis. I am thinking that modern music, within the last 20 years or so, is typically based on love. All types: unrequited, fantastical, sensual, dangerous, flamboyant, obscure, innocent, familiar... What is, and has been, the effect of this on society? Do we mimic the music and is it a cyclical situation (I won't call it a problem because that is entirely personal at this point and unfounded)? I don't have the answers here, just somethings I'm thinking about. Comments welcome!

Frustration

Today was my first official day back as a Sonoma State student. By official, I simply mean that it was the first day back after syllabi had been distributed and some people have already discarded their sense of uniformity in preference of the ever controversial, much loved sweat outfit. It isn't that I have any feelings against this demonstration of personal comfort, I note it only to illuminate my own separation from that innocent, self-absorbed mentality that entitles one who means well in being present, but offers much less effort beyond that. Maybe the times have changed, maybe I'm off in my accusation. I will concede that the little effort being shown is sometimes all the student can give, if they are to be present at all, in which case, as in the other, I reserve judgment and simply state it as a result.

Some may wonder, what makes me an expert on student appearance or even gives me the authority to speak like a campus veteran? Well, kudos, because I am as good at hiding my secret sensitivity as a bulimic who has throw-up on her elbow. I spent the last few hours of class today trying to out run that thought, though it followed me out the door of that fateful meeting. As is the usual for me, I was drawn to a fiery student next to me, let's call him Andrew, Drew he would insist. A respectful individual with the intelligence to back his reserved yet confident position. I had noticed him the first day, along with others, and honestly had overlooked the amount of thinking he was doing based on his appearance. A rookie mistake and completely unacceptable! Be that as it may, we sat in the same places today and I quickly felt an affinity with him, although to be honest, his thinking may well have passed my own as his thoughts came out clean and polished when I produced similar quality with what felt like a much clankier machine. All this to say that, as clearly as in a dream when you've shown to class wearing nothing more than your chonies, I felt a huge label of "Too Old for School" across my head. Vanity of all vanities. However, there I was and there, in my mind, the thought resides.
My self-esteem was not the only tragedy in today's activities. My idealism was confronted, as it had been in the early stages of my experience in higher education. I walked into class with a giant misconception and without any reason. For, my first assignment had been to read a piece by Bacon in which he suggests a radical reform to education and perception of knowledge. Given the year of 1620 you might imagine the vast inclusion of religious references. To my satisfaction. I am at a place in my life where I find comfort in offering up my contentions and related, rather admirably, to Bacon's divergence from topic to pray for Divine leadership and ayuda. Well well well. Welcome back, Jennifer Webb, to higher education in a liberal, public education system. Not only did I find myself surprised with the force of anti-religious sentiment coming from the students, which I feel wouldn't be so bothersome as I am used to differing opinions, but it knocked me on my feet to realize how far changed my own perspective was. Here I was relating to a speaker, and had whole-heartedly contended with his remarks, and thinking I had understood him and then I get to class and apparently what he said was heresy in sheep's clothing and his poetic metaphors were all about his latent sexual desire. I was in a precarious situation. Before I knew what was happening, my hand was up defending a prayer to a God for safe-keeping  and it was stated in what could have only been the most righteous, 'naive,' matter-of-fact position. I figure I'm alright there, as long as I can keep a handle on my frustration enough to deliver my thoughts in a rational manner, as opposed to a half-crazed religious zealot. Where would the fun of that be, anyway? So I press on, knowing I will be defending a dying breed. Wondering though if feelings like mine would be considered strife? I hope so in the sense that there is something of a flame being ignited when you have a point to prove or an honor to defend.

His love.

She was addicted to drama, as fate would have it. From a young age she had learned to satisfy her soul on excessive intake of extreme emotion. When there was little food in her cupboard, she gorged on the secret indecency of a heart wrenching cry. If she felt alone, a mania-like curling of laughter might escape her youthful lips, anything to fend off the beast within. As she aged, and was able to participate in such exchanges of one adult to another, the stories from those she encountered were her drugs, before she knew or knew of, the lable 'co-dependent' in that she would listen and be transported to their souls, their lives and the drama enfolded would transport her from a troubled mind and fragile, eccentric spirit, to that of a dramatic encounter between two strangers. Life around her was an ever unfolding film that only drew curtain when she sat alone in her room. That was always a dark and scary place until she realized she was living a drama all her own. It was one of tears and depression and life-shaking pain and it was exhausting. It took years to realize that it was a drama she was writing all herself and it might take many years more to turn this tragedy into a comedy, but it was a conversion worth making. It would not be a love story unrequited or a comedy based on the pain of others, simply an appreciation of life and love and the problems that unfold throughout in the ordinary. It would be nothing more than her story, but it would be the story of her and she would be deciding the joy and the exciting and the inspiration which would ensue.
For years she had no idea what was missing. It felt like the Grand Canyon had been created in her soul, the schism between who she knew she could be and who she felt herself being was that great. It was not until she completely fell apart that she was able to see God. She saw her opportunity to live her life when she finally surrendered to the need she felt for Him to lead her life. Like the song says, she found him when she fell apart. She lay on the floor thinking her life would never go on and there was no way for her to continue when she opened the Bible, turned up the radio and waited. Waited for the flood of emotion to pass, waited out the negative voices that screamed failure in her ears, waited until she had the strength to look at herself in the mirror and ask what it was that she needed. She stared at those landscape colored saucers and she forced herself to keep staring until she asked, "Why?" She was wondering why she couldn't look into her own eyes with an eighth of the amount of love that she had so often bestowed upon previous lovers. Not that she wanted to elevate herself to any level, in fact she feared pride. She feared vanity almost above all else, most certainly beyond her fear of failure, as it was a constant reminder each time she happened upon any reflective surface.
Love though, she knew she couldn't do without it. In any religious context one is to believe that they must love themselves in order to fully love others. So, tonight she lie there and she made herself ask that question. "Why?" And she waited. She waited for God to speak through her this time. No answer from her mind and the knowledge she possessed would give her a satisfactory answer, it most certainly hadn't worked without God in the last few years. Until it clicked. It clicked and she saw what she missed at every other similar exchange between her being and its reflection. There was nothing that she did that should incite any sort of the unlove she so frequently felt when the thought of herself came up. It wasn't that she spoke negatively in her own mind which made her circumstance that much more confusing. Before now she would not talk harshly to herself, but as her friend once stated, there was something fundamentally wrong, most always.
To her, although she wanted to ask she wouldn't, the why, the question of why it took so long for her to realize that their approval and their love and lack of showing it, why all of that took so long to not matter, wouldn't matter. Time was gone once it passed and it wouldn't be regained with the why, that much she knew. From this point on she knew it would be different. Before this night, the night of her breakdown, she knew God loved her and she knew she was suppose to believe that, but it was almost impossible to convince herself that the ruler of this world would truly love the girl at the bottom of the world who kept complaining in a time when people were struggling for nutrition and support and safety. Well, she heard his voice through all of that and for the reasons she already listed, she couldn't ignore the answer. He loved her because she tried, because she would be great, because she needed him and she looked to him to strengthen her and she wanted more for her life and realized it would only happen when she let go of them and reached for the one who made her. How much better would life be once she gave up trying to please others and realized that she was already pleasing in his sight, especially because He could see where she was going and could see the heart of her efforts to get there? From all of that she felt loved, she could love herself and she could go on. Go on writing her story and rejoicing in all the acts of love that would most certainly accrue throughout the way.