whenever i watch a movie or read a book, i always judge the quality of the story on the characters. the plot is given some consideration, but ultimately, the characters make or break the story. it doesn't do much for me to read a wonderful plot if i am not invested in the people. i think this focus on characters comes from my mom; interestingly, she is most interested in mystery novels, largely due to her fascination with the psyche and the motives behind the personality. it makes her extremely good at reading people accurately, but that is besides the point.
more important are the reasons for this preference. i think this preference is largely due to an understanding that the people are much more important than the story. because in the end, you don't control your own story. there are no deux ex machinas (and if there are they come at the wrong times). you control your actions in the story. your motives, decisions, and goals are your own. you may not like the setting or the plot twists, but you are your own person.
for that, i salute you, and urge you, live a tale worthy of the telling, no matter what your setting, plot, or time.
1.12.2009
1.09.2009
Songbearer
a sprite speeds through the stirring forest as if he were not running, but flying. the river dances along his side, burbling a song of rushing voices and sweeping passion. the trees rise to greet the fleeting sprite, a blur among their dancing shadows. and the wind whispers, welcome Songbearer.
the sprite leaps high, as if he hears the greeting in the wind's voices. and he moves faster now, weaving among the trees, caressing their trunks, and leaping from branch to branch as he moves further into the forest. hello friends, the sprite seems to say. the trees are whispering now too, with the throaty voices of the earth and wood. well met, Songbearer.
and the sprite slows now, for he is at the center of the forest. before him stands an ancient oak tree of majestic size and strength. its branches are proud, and it holds itself tall. But the oak tree's leaves are fallen, though it is the height of summer, and its branches are weak. a lightning scar marks the oak's bark. saddened, the sprite steps forward to greet this king of the forest.
the sprite bows first, kneeling, and remains bent as the wind carries the news of his arrival through the branches of the old oak. and the ancient presence awakens. Songbearer. i am ready.
it shall be my honor, Ancient One.
the sprite rises and begins to dance widdershins. first slowly, then ever faster. until suddenly, the sprite's feet leave the ground, and the sprite is flying around the oak. and he begins to sing.
the song is full of the wonders of life and the mystery of living. the sprite sings of the rushing waters in their constant movement and flight. he sings of the eagle flying high above the clouds. he sings of the fish in the streams, chattering with each other, the water, and the frogs. he sings of the wolves and their mournful cries in the night. he sings of the trees and their songs of growth and strength. he sings of the rabbit's death cry and the chirping of baby birds. he sings of the badger's steadfastness and the fox's mercurial temperament. he sings of joy and sorrow, of peace and torment, of creation and destruction, of life and death.
and as he sings of Creation, the sprite dances ever closer to the oak's branches. and suddenly, a leaf is to be seen on one of the oak's gnarly branches. the smallest of leafs, but a verdant and green one all the same. and as the sprite begins to dance among the branches themselves, leaves begin to grow where the sprite has touched the oak.
and the life begins to spread from the leaves to the branches to the trunk. as the sprite climbs higher and higher, the oak regains its color and strength. the bark is once again the rich brown of the earth, and the branches stand strong and mighty. the leaves are plentiful and new, and the roots run deep once more.
and the oak begins to join the sprite in song. with a deep vibrato, the oak interweaves his harmony into the sprite's soaring Song. and suddenly, the oak is more real, more alive than any other tree in the forest. the leaves are no longer just green but a penetrating green of shimmering emerald. the bark is no longer just brown but the essence of earthiness. the oak is no longer just an oak; it shines with an internal light of great brightness and strength. and the other trees seem immaterial in the presence of the great oak.
and the Song becomes tangible, like ribbons of pale white light shimmering over the oak. even the sun dims in the presence of this Glory, until all is night except these streams of light. suddenly, the ribbons race outward, into the forest, outshining all else in its path. and the ribbons whirl through the forest with dizzying speed and power until the forest itself is a web of light with the great oak at its center, pulsating with joy and overwhelming power.
and now the whole forest sings with the sprite, the river with its thunderous chorus, the trees with their deep vibratos, the wind with its fiery harmony, and the oak with its counterpoint. and the song rises toward the heavens, and cries out with all the joy it hath.
and too soon, the song comes to an end. the ribbons of light fade to nothing, as the sun returns to its normal routine in the sky. the forest returns to its quiet whispers and chatter, reminiscing of the joy of the Song. and the oak, the great oak, returns to itself. though no longer shining like the sun, the oak is no longer dying. with its king restored, the forest has been set aright.
and of the Songbearer? he is gone without a word or a goodbye. but i'm sure he is off somewhere else where he is needed.
the sprite leaps high, as if he hears the greeting in the wind's voices. and he moves faster now, weaving among the trees, caressing their trunks, and leaping from branch to branch as he moves further into the forest. hello friends, the sprite seems to say. the trees are whispering now too, with the throaty voices of the earth and wood. well met, Songbearer.
and the sprite slows now, for he is at the center of the forest. before him stands an ancient oak tree of majestic size and strength. its branches are proud, and it holds itself tall. But the oak tree's leaves are fallen, though it is the height of summer, and its branches are weak. a lightning scar marks the oak's bark. saddened, the sprite steps forward to greet this king of the forest.
the sprite bows first, kneeling, and remains bent as the wind carries the news of his arrival through the branches of the old oak. and the ancient presence awakens. Songbearer. i am ready.
it shall be my honor, Ancient One.
the sprite rises and begins to dance widdershins. first slowly, then ever faster. until suddenly, the sprite's feet leave the ground, and the sprite is flying around the oak. and he begins to sing.
the song is full of the wonders of life and the mystery of living. the sprite sings of the rushing waters in their constant movement and flight. he sings of the eagle flying high above the clouds. he sings of the fish in the streams, chattering with each other, the water, and the frogs. he sings of the wolves and their mournful cries in the night. he sings of the trees and their songs of growth and strength. he sings of the rabbit's death cry and the chirping of baby birds. he sings of the badger's steadfastness and the fox's mercurial temperament. he sings of joy and sorrow, of peace and torment, of creation and destruction, of life and death.
and as he sings of Creation, the sprite dances ever closer to the oak's branches. and suddenly, a leaf is to be seen on one of the oak's gnarly branches. the smallest of leafs, but a verdant and green one all the same. and as the sprite begins to dance among the branches themselves, leaves begin to grow where the sprite has touched the oak.
and the life begins to spread from the leaves to the branches to the trunk. as the sprite climbs higher and higher, the oak regains its color and strength. the bark is once again the rich brown of the earth, and the branches stand strong and mighty. the leaves are plentiful and new, and the roots run deep once more.
and the oak begins to join the sprite in song. with a deep vibrato, the oak interweaves his harmony into the sprite's soaring Song. and suddenly, the oak is more real, more alive than any other tree in the forest. the leaves are no longer just green but a penetrating green of shimmering emerald. the bark is no longer just brown but the essence of earthiness. the oak is no longer just an oak; it shines with an internal light of great brightness and strength. and the other trees seem immaterial in the presence of the great oak.
and the Song becomes tangible, like ribbons of pale white light shimmering over the oak. even the sun dims in the presence of this Glory, until all is night except these streams of light. suddenly, the ribbons race outward, into the forest, outshining all else in its path. and the ribbons whirl through the forest with dizzying speed and power until the forest itself is a web of light with the great oak at its center, pulsating with joy and overwhelming power.
and now the whole forest sings with the sprite, the river with its thunderous chorus, the trees with their deep vibratos, the wind with its fiery harmony, and the oak with its counterpoint. and the song rises toward the heavens, and cries out with all the joy it hath.
and too soon, the song comes to an end. the ribbons of light fade to nothing, as the sun returns to its normal routine in the sky. the forest returns to its quiet whispers and chatter, reminiscing of the joy of the Song. and the oak, the great oak, returns to itself. though no longer shining like the sun, the oak is no longer dying. with its king restored, the forest has been set aright.
and of the Songbearer? he is gone without a word or a goodbye. but i'm sure he is off somewhere else where he is needed.
1.07.2009
old
at what age does someone become old? i find that my definition of 'old' is anyone above my parents' age level. which is interesting. because it seems as if, by setting 'old' above my parents, i make my parents ageless. or perhaps more accurately, i'm afraid to see them grow old, to see change. can you imagine the day that your parents are 'old' to your eyes? the day that you realize, yes, your parents, possibly the one constant throughout your entire life, will one day leave this earth?
which begs a deeper question: what is old? when does something move from the new to the established to the old? the answer is deeper than any time length or superficial judgment. to be old, in all honesty, implies irrelevance. when a mouth casually says, 'oh that's old', the heart actually says, 'oh that's obsolete' or 'useless' or 'unnecessary'. which is why being 'old' implies such negative things to our minds. to be old is to be irrelevant and passé, which we humans with our egos hate.
so in the end, perhaps the answer is right before us. oldness has nothing to do with age or time or the freshness of the air but the relevance and the heart of a person. the body may be old and irrelevant to the young eyes of today, but the heart may still be vibrant and young. the face may wrinkle with the troubles of yesteryear, but the smile may still be brighter than the birth of a star. and the hands may be cracked and worn, but the eyes may gleam with the joy of an eagle in flight.
so with that, my friends, may you never grow old, and may your lifesong sing of the joy and the sorrow and the grandeur all the days of your life.
which begs a deeper question: what is old? when does something move from the new to the established to the old? the answer is deeper than any time length or superficial judgment. to be old, in all honesty, implies irrelevance. when a mouth casually says, 'oh that's old', the heart actually says, 'oh that's obsolete' or 'useless' or 'unnecessary'. which is why being 'old' implies such negative things to our minds. to be old is to be irrelevant and passé, which we humans with our egos hate.
so in the end, perhaps the answer is right before us. oldness has nothing to do with age or time or the freshness of the air but the relevance and the heart of a person. the body may be old and irrelevant to the young eyes of today, but the heart may still be vibrant and young. the face may wrinkle with the troubles of yesteryear, but the smile may still be brighter than the birth of a star. and the hands may be cracked and worn, but the eyes may gleam with the joy of an eagle in flight.
so with that, my friends, may you never grow old, and may your lifesong sing of the joy and the sorrow and the grandeur all the days of your life.
1.06.2009
judgment
step in someone else’s shoes. we hear that a lot, an analogy for understanding another person. especially when the person’s actions are despicable to your eyes and demand explanation. and it makes sense; try to see their perspective, and you will judge them less for what they do and how they act. but you could understand and still judge. because inherent in our analysis is the strong idea of personal right. ‘oh i see why they do this i’m glad i don’t act that way’ or ‘i’m glad i’m not as messed up as they are’ or some variant. and through these analyses we forget that we are often just as messed up or worse off because we fail to see our own wrong. the very act of Judgment indicates that you consider yourself wise enough to make a valuation of that person’s worth. is that true? or, is it possible that we have all set ourselves up to be gods?
12.14.2008
of love
it is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.
it is not the strong who need grace, but the weak.
it is not the rich who need compassion, but the poor.
it is not your friends who need mercy, but your enemies.
it is not pity that is asked of you, but Love.
it is not the strong who need grace, but the weak.
it is not the rich who need compassion, but the poor.
it is not your friends who need mercy, but your enemies.
it is not pity that is asked of you, but Love.
11.29.2008
hypocrisy
when the world is too much, when my proud truths are naught but lies, what then? who will accept this shadow of a man? when the heart does not reflect the ideals proclaimed boldly and loudly, when the facade crumbles under the burning persistence of the racing world, where is the freedom, and where is my honor? where the prestige consumes the love, and the bitterness exceeds the mercy, there lies the fallen man, the broken man.
but sing, my soul, of the one who is not the shadow. the one whose truths are real, and whose love is impractical. his heart is for all, and his gaze never falters. may he take this twisted life and place it on a firm foundation.
but sing, my soul, of the one who is not the shadow. the one whose truths are real, and whose love is impractical. his heart is for all, and his gaze never falters. may he take this twisted life and place it on a firm foundation.
11.01.2008
beyond today
how can you say goodbye when the world gives you no guarantee of a reunion? for truly, this world gives you nothing but a breath of life to use as you will. who knows what will happen tomorrow? Tomorrow has never been steady; she is the most fickle of things. when she ushers herself into your life, how do you know that your loved one has not already passed out of your reach?
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