A Dedication to Bon Iver

I recently discovered a band that I had never heard or heard of before. Their music was beautiful and inspiring, though sad--with a deep, lovely kind of sadness--and gave me the distinct feeling of "woodsiness." When I listened to the album, I could feel myself transported to a rickety, whitewashed porch in a pine woods, perhaps on a misty mountain, but definitely accompanied by a sub-band of crickets and bullfrogs. I could see a group of long-haired individuals, lit by Chinese lanterns and fireflies, plucking away on banjos and favoring a harmonica or two. And was that a crash of garbage can lids, perchance? I could almost see the guilty party with the black mask and ring tail waddling off into the deep woods with a trail of miniature selves behind. There are undertones to the album that call to mind Christmas carols, spirituals, hymns, music boxes, and more.

Then my friend told me that I would appreciate the romantic background story of Bon Iver, and I do! The musician, Justin Vernon, saddened by a break-up and the dissolution of another band, in addition to a severe illness of the liver, retreated to winter in a cabin in the Wisconsin woods for mental and physical recuperation. He named his "one man band" Bon Iver, from the French term meaning "good winter." That's optimism, for you! Although he had not planned to record or write music at the time, he had some recording equipment with him, as well as some old instruments. He recorded the album by humming tunes and setting words to them later. Where he lacked proper instruments, he fashioned them, apparently, of the items in his wintry cabin. The only thing he had wanted was seclusion and cold, and in his solitary season, he created Bon Iver. Please, check it out. The music is incredible, and unique. The mood can be felt through each song.

I wish I would have thought of this. I would sequester myself among the Spanish moss-covered trees of the south, lost in a purple, kudzu-draped mountain of mist. I would live in a one room house of worn, gray boards, whitewashed and re-splintered by weather, and perhaps have a gray cat, the color of dusk, for company. A dog would be both noisy and far too companionable for the occasion. I would sit on the sagging board porch, complete with my imagined lantern and fireflies, but then where would the music come from?

Music...ha. I'd end up listening to Bon Iver, wishing I was playing that music, and I'd write instead. But perhaps that would be the recipe for my unfinished novel...

Eternity and Other Concepts

Eternity is an idea that is instilled in us, being the possessors of eternal souls, but we strive to reach this goal that is utterly unattainable for our human bodies. People are always trying to make things last "forever:" especially love. I believe that love has an eternal-ness to it, because we are commanded to make it so, but that doesn't mean we walk right into an everlasting love with someone and then have an easy road to making that love work. (This seems like a fairly logical concept, I suppose, but many people believe that finding one's "soul mate" is the end, in and of itself.)

As humans, we have the concept of eternity within the fiber of our beings, just like we have the sense of God and the proclivity for sin. When we are left without understanding what that eternal quality means--that we will go on living, in some capacity, forever--we, as an imperfect human race, look for the manifestation of that "foreverness" in all the wrong places. Nothing lasts forever, though, so people are constantly just a little bit disappointed by the way that things end up, or really, don't end up. But why? Everything doesn't have to last forever. New things are good too... And when things are going to last "forever," it has be to a conscious effort. It isn't just a "hey, this looks fun, let's see how long we can ride this without doing any work." Unfortunately far too many people see life this way. I plead guilty to such misconceptions, at times, but I've returned to my youthful wisdom. (Note: How is it that one can know, fully realize, that a thing is the way it is, yet somehow slide into a state of oblivious disregard for an extended period of time? Probably yet another indication of imperfect humanity...)

So what lasts, then? The love of God, His mercy and grace, His justice, His forgiveness, His promises, His Word...these things are eternal. These things are unseen though, so we feebly forget to acknowledge their eternity in our strange, material sphere of existence. So what then? Anything in the physical world, anything that we can see and touch and verify? Eternity has stopped meaning what it is supposed to mean because we cannot even verify time beyond our own lives, and generations who pass information down to each other can be faulty and inaccurate. So, the concepts that we apply to eternity are love and hate. Hate can be passed through generations, again often inaccurately. And love, another complicated idea, is applied delicately to the idea of forever, longer than time, longer than an infinite number of lives. How does anyone think this could possibly work for human beings? Fickle, changing, disappointing, sinful, unfaithful humans, succeeding in making love, the most beautiful thing in the world, last forever? Unlikely...

That's why we don't do it alone, but by the help of God. However, everyone has to be on the same page, or else it will never, ever work.


"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?

Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken."

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12

Writing--A Blessing and A Curse for The Writer

This morning, the sun rose over the eastern horizon—although I did not see it rising over the horizon. Perhaps I should not mention the sunrise as though I were there for it. Homewood is a town of many buildings and trees, and besides that I was inside of the garden department at six-thirty in the morning so I did not even see the sun until it was rather high up in the sky. The light did not directly penetrate into the garden area until at least half an hour past sunrise, or dawn, or the moment the sun takes its first peek around the corner of the world, the moment that the meteorologists time with stopwatches every morning that the world turns that last one thousandth of a degree.

What was I saying about the sunrise? Oh yes, that it occurred this morning, although I did not see it. Though, technically, when I was driving along the gravelly road behind the store at approximately ten minutes to six, I happened to glance to my left—which is the east—and noticed a crackling glimpse of golden light glimmering just on the edge of a deeply purple sky. Perhaps this was the actual sunrise.

But I was thinking about caffeine at the time. Starbucks is the one joy that I have. I arrive there moments before a grueling workday of physical routine begins. There is no Starbucks close to school, so school days are characterized by a very early though very leisurely drive to work which includes some form of distinct detour toward one of the outlets of daily sustenance. Sustenance? What an odd word I have chosen for this purpose. Sustenance means nourishment. Is this daily intake of caffeine “nourishing” to my body, necessary to my daily function, critical as a first stop every morning? Sustenance does not seem like the right word, though technically it “sustains” me. Perhaps I have chosen the correct word after all. Perhaps you do not understand me or know me. Allow me to introduce myself for I have neglected to do so.

I am a writer. No, not “the” writer, for I have never written a thing, but I am “a” writer, for I have never not written. That double negative did not make me cringe the way that “the” writer might do, “the” being an article to differentiate between one who writes for a living and “a” writer, one who lives for writing. What is writing, then, you may ask, especially of “a” writer—namely myself—who claims never to have written. Writing, I tell you, is a state of being, a life of the mind, a sense of the self, an inner identity, a being, a soul, a heart, an inspiration. A writer paints with words, even though he never raises a pen or places his hands upon a typewriter’s keys. A writer thinks in words, designs them, creates them, builds with them, obliterates with them, understands with them…words are not “used,” as the common language-user may ignorantly suspect, language-users are “used” by words. Words are using me now, manipulating me, pulling at my arms and legs like a puppeteer manipulates its doll. I am not myself and I am not free; I belong to words.

It is a worthy bondage.

Introducing the New

I have chosen to segue into a new era of blogging, because my life has entered a new era. (Please consider my contemplative blog on the ending of the old, if interested: Xanga)

This blog will be slightly less introspective than my other blog (Xanga has served its purpose well, in its time, but it needs a break) and yet I would like to cover certain topics which are dear to my heart. I've been considering some possible future topics, as well as some topics which will be covered immediately. I'll give you a little preview of what is to come!

Discussing the great loves of my life would be a very important start. I have many loves, and here are some that you will see mentioned throughout the lifespan of this blog:

*Goldendoodles
*The Institution of Marriage
*Love, in general
*Social Networking lifestyles (not necessary a love of mine, but a topic to discuss with passion)
*LOST
*Literature
*Movies of varying natures
*Flowers and Gardening
*Canoeing
*Photography
*Writing and/or Grammar
*Music, also of varying natures
*Text message communication
*Caffeine (specifically Starbucks)
*Food
*Teaching
*College Education
*Jesus Christ

...and many more.

Post any topic suggestions! :)