The Garden

Recently in class we read the poem, ‘The Garden” by Ezra Pound. I didn’t understand it really. I wasn’t in the mood to, but since we were doing our ‘Lectio Divina” the knowledge was forced upon me!! Not really, but it did help me understand it on a level I didn’t even know existed.

I found the poem, after reviewing a couple times, solitary and lonely.

And she is dying of piecemeal…

In her is the end of breeding…

Boredom is exquisite…

Reading over it again forces me to focus on the positive in life. Loneliness is something that every human goes through at one point. But I don’t think it’s healthy for one to constantly be in a lonely state. I believe people need people. In an odd way, this poem spoke to me in that way. Through taking the reader through this lonely lifestyle, it showed the importance of people needing fellowship, friends, and companions. I believe this fact is something that people have forgotten in today’s society. Depression and suicide have inclined by 600% since 1960. That’s a HUGE number. I believe we as a people have loss the meaning of community, no one even smile at one another any more. People are too afraid to be nice to one another or show compassion to a stranger. How did we get this way?

She would like some one to speak to her,

And is almost afraid that I will commit

That indiscretion.

The excerpt above reminds me of living on this campus. To go further, I and my friends were eating dinner together in the campus restaurant. One of my friends realized that someone they knew was eating alone. She wondered whether she should go ask him to eat with us. She eventually did. When she left, my other friend mentioned how she hated when she ate alone and when people invite her to eat with them. This made me wonder how I would react to the same situation. I am a very sociable person; I like to talk with people so I don’t like eating by myself often. But at the same time, I am almost afraid for someone to come up and ask me. So as you can see, the last stanza of this poem hit me like a ton of bricks, I was reading about myself. Thus, this poem made me realize something about myself I didn’t realize, that I sometimes push people away, not even meaning to.

AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE

ARACHNOPHOBIA

***NOTE: Last class we took a mid-term and I used to have fears of exams, so I thought I would talk about another fear...ARACHNOPHOBIA***

Do you know what arachnophobia is? Arachnophobia is the abnormal fear of spiders. I’m not sure if I have arachnophobia, but I know for certain that I and the little eight legged demons aren’t quite “best friends forever”. I guess it all started when my mother went into labor while watching the movie Arachnophobia. I blame her...

Moving on, it was was a beautiful spring day; I was in the 5th grade and had the best teacher, Mr. Burns. On my way to class I realized how everyone was staring at me, it was my first year in public school and I thought I was finally becoming popular. One of my classmates, Jeremiah came up to me with a disturbed look on his face.

“Hey Jeremy, there’s a HUGE spider on your head,” he said.

“Jeremiah, you’re not funny. Plus if there was a spider on my head, don’t you think I would notice or even feel it? “I replied.

“Oh my gosh that spider is HUGE,” he screeched as he ran away glaring at my head.

I continued to go about my business, appalled that my friend would lie to me. I was so mad; he was going to tell everybody that lie! He was trying to embarrass me! I know my head and I felt nothing. By the time I got to my portable, I noticed something abnormal, everyone around me was both screaming and pointing, “Spider, Spider” at my head or running away, some even laughing.

Mr. Burns came outside on his steps, looked at my head, and ran back inside. He returned with a magazine and Jeremiah standing behind him with his mouth wide open. “Jeremy, don’t move!!” he said.

“Mr. Burns, what’s going on” I replied trembling.

“DON’T MOVE”, he yelled. He rolled up magazine as tight as he could and took one mighty swing. I closed my eyes and I felt a bolt of wind swiftly pass over my head. As I opened my eyes Mr. Burns told me to look down at the ground, “That was on your head”, he said. I looked down to see a dead carcass of a spider twice the size of an American dollar coin.

Special Entry: "Lavender" A short story by Jeremy King

Dear Journal,
I think it’s funny how most people don’t think I can hear them. But I do. They call me ‘Plain Jane’, but they don’t know, they don’t know the half of it. My name is Jane Amelia Foster. Ironically, I am a foster child and I’m okay with that. I’m not into the newest styles or trends. I don’t enjoy brushing my hair twenty times a day in hopes of becoming apart of the ‘perfect family’. I am just me. I believe all the stuff people show on the outside, the external bull-crap, is just that, crap. It destroys who you are internally, people wonder why the world is going downhill, I say it’s because nobody now’s who they are any more. So I can understand why the call me plain, but in realty they are all the same. The way they dress, act, talk, and if you ask me, that’s pretty plain in itself.

Jane has been in foster care since she was at the delicate age of 11 months. Her mother dropped her off because she was simply too busy to care for her and didn’t believe in abortion. The mother left nothing for Jane to know her by; all the mother left was Jane’s birth certificate. She was a mixed child, half black, half Puerto Rican. She had beautiful blonde-brown curly hair. Her eyes were golden in the sunlight and turned green every time the moon went up. She was the most beautiful girl the foster care program had ever had. Nobody ever noticed her beauty though, she didn’t want them to. She hid her beauty wearing baggy clothes from decades before her birth. She often smelled of lavender. At first, she hated the smell. But she forced herself to love it. Lavender was the only smell she remembered from her younger years. She believed her mother might have worn it, every time she smelled it; it triggered her mother’s memory. All she knew is that the smell brought her peace, it made her feel safe, like how a mother makes you feel when you’re scared at night. She wanted to meet her mother desperately.

Jane struggled constantly whether to go and find her mother or not. She could get away with it, she knew where the files were, were the keys were hidden, and how to cover up her steps. But she knew it probably wasn’t best. Jane was extremely intelligent; she viewed the world differently, which is why most kids didn’t understand her. But she did have one friend.


Journal, why is it I only have one friend? There is over 350 kids living in the building and I only one friend. It doesn’t even matter though, I couldn’t be more thankful for Alone. Alone spends a lot of time with me. I enjoy it. Alone is the only being in this world that to take time to spend with me. The time we spend together make me believe that the world isn’t so shallow and stupid. Wow, I probably sound really bitter in this. But that’s okay right? Don’t I have a right to be bitter? I am working on it though; I don’t want to be this way bitter. Alone keeps on getting on to me about it. Alone suggest if I want more company I should show my true beauty and erase my bitterness. But how does a person go about doing that? Ugh, so many questions, not enough answers. I would love for my mother to answer those questions .I won’t go there; pondering on her can bring out unpleasant emotions. The only time I’m not bitter, is when I’m with Julie, she is my joy.

Besides school and spending time with Alone, Jane was constantly helping the babies in the foster care program. Since Jane was a child, she was always fascinated with babies. She wasn’t aloud to help with the babies until she turned 15. The morning of her 15th birthday she ran to fill out an application to help in ‘Infant Care’. Of course she got the position. Jane did no wrong. She never had problems with in any person in authority nor any of the students. She would do everything for the babies, feed them, hold them, sing to them, and even change their putrid diapers. She was a natural, if the nursery care takers couldn’t get a baby to stop crying, they gave the baby to Jane. Within seconds of being in Jane’s arms, the baby would stop crying and be at peace. Giving love to the babies is what Jane did best, who else could her love go to?

One day, a baby girl came in named Julie. One of the nurses pointed out how she looked exactly like Jane when she was a baby. She had blonder hair, brown eyes in the morning, and green eyes at night and caramel skin. She was exactly 12 months old. Jane felt a strong connection to Julie, she loved her without knowing her and she knew why. Julie asked one of the nursery mothers for her full name. After the nursery mother found her birth certificate she replied, “Julie Jane Foster”. Jane’s eyes filled with tears. At this point Jane didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know whether to be upset because nobody notified her that she had a sister in the same foster building or the fact that her mother was still alive. It moved Jane. Her mother was thinking of her, thus Julie’s middle name being Jane. She couldn’t understand why her mother wouldn’t show her face. This made her want to find her mother more. None the less, she loved Julie. Everyday after school she was with Julie until she was fed, burped, and sound asleep. She starting feeling bad because she realized she was neglecting Alone. But then again, Alone was very sociable and she couldn’t afford not to spend time with the only family member she has ever known.

I thinks it’s interesting that I am so bitter towards my mother for giving myself and Julie up, but at the same time I love Julie and my mother with all of me. Do you know what else is interesting, Julie smells like lavender too. For that very reason I believe it's time I find my mother. She at least lives within the vicinity. I have to find her, she can help with my questions, and she can provide answers. I spent some time with Alone today, I really can’t put my finger on, but whenever we spend time together, I reflect on my thoughts and can focus. Alone says that I probably should wait until I’m eighteen to search for her and I know I only have a year and half to go, but that just seems to long. Oh the impatient mind of us teenagers…

Jane decided it was time to find her mother. She had everything planned out and ready to go. As soon as Jane put Julie asleep, she would break into the file room and find her mother. There was only one problem, there was a new person working in the nursery that night. She wasn’t happy; she had to show this lady the ropes. But Jane did no such thing. Jane was extremely annoyed because of the way she dressed, in the latest style and fashion. She was extremely pretty and tender hearted, but that didn’t help either. The women could barely speak English. Jane didn’t even take the time to know her name, she was furious. As soon as Julie was asleep Jane laid her in her crib and kissed her cheek. The nurse came over and reached for Julie's hand. Jane didn’t want her to wake her sister. Jane grabbed her arm before the nurse touched Julie. Jane was about to escort her out the door. But before she could, she smelled something, lavender. She looked at the nurses name tag and it read Mrs. Foster. Jane froze and tears ran down her face. Mrs. Foster embraced Jane and said to her, “If you’d like, I would love if we could talk…”

Focus

This week in class we started our book reading assignment. I am reading the book Beloved by Toni Morrison. Tuesday, in the library was the start of my literary adventure. I don’t read books often so I was really excited. The sad part is, I was supposed to read this book in high school, and I never did. I only heard brief discussion about the book and it intrigued me. So here I am, two years later, about to read a book that I was suppose to read years ago. But as I was sitting in the library, I couldn’t seem to focus.

I can’t put my finger on it really. I don’t understand why it’s so hard for me to focus on certain books and readings. I am not illiterate. I can handle book without pictures, but I can’t seem to really delve in this book.

In high school, I was an extremely busy student. Currently, in college, it seems that my education is something I do on the side. Not that I am not working hard or making good grades, because I am. But I have never been busier in my life. I work with two churches, one in Lakeland during the week, another church, in Ocoee, I youth pastor on Saturday’s. I love doing it, it’s my passion. I want nothing more than to help people understand all that Christ is and what he is about. But beyond ministry, I have rehearsal every school night because I am involved with two productions this fall in Southeastern’s theatre department. Theatre is also one of my passions and I plan on pursuing both.

But if I plan on pursuing my passions and dreams, I am going to have to love the Lord with my mind and make sure whatever I do is the best. Tuesday was the first day of Fire Fall at Southeastern’ campus, the speaker really spoke to me, thus my mind was in another place. But now I’ve actually had the proper time to soak everything in and I am ready for action.

This blog is probably one of the most unfocused blogs I’ve written, ironic right? I just felt I should share my heart and thoughts.

The Age of Art

In my last intro to literature class, we went to the Polk Museum of Art. I have been to one museum before this one. In fact, my junior year of high school, our chorus department was chosen to sing in Carnegie Hall. Since we had a chance to go to New York City, we did everything. For that one week, every night was an adventure. We saw Broadway productions, experienced Time Square, visited all the major New York City sights, and went to the Metropolitan museum of Art. I remember this day so well, it during the end of are trip. Everyone was exhausted. To get to the museum, we had to cross Central Park and I remember it not being like it was in ‘Hey Arnold’. All the drama beside, I loved the museum.

Going to this museum, I wasn’t expecting much. But the museum triggered something within me. There was a part in the museum that was dedicated to children’s art. I walked in at first thoroughly confused as to why the art work looked so childish. After someone explained it to me, I opened my mind, and try to understand there art. I was gazing around through the different drawings, sculpting, and sketches and I found myself amazed. One of the pictures was a drawing of inner city Japan. The detail in the picture blew my mind; it looked as if the drawing was an actual picture. It even had Japanese lettering on the signs, building and billboards. The shadowing was perfect against the star filed moonlit back drop. But what blew my mind the most, was that the artist was SIX-YEARL-OLD.

I stared at that picture for a long time. Just thinking, pondering, I couldn’t get past the age of the artist. This child was in 1st grade at least and had already accomplished painting a masterpiece!

This painting taught me numerous things. First, never underestimate a child. What was I thinking? What happens to adults and young adults alike that causes us to treat child like mind inferior? I remember hating whenever someone underestimated me because I was young and I still do. In Today’s world especially, kids are de-sensitized to numerous things; we shouldn’t assume children are too young for anything. Second, it showed me how important children are. We are raising future America. I believe not many people take this fact into consideration. Next, every child should be able to express there opinion in some way. Let your child be heard and loved, I am sure that little six year old was heard, load and clear.

Pass: My Last One....

I personally blame it on theatre & mid-terms!!

Just sayin................... =)

The Onion Doth Hateth Me…

I am not a fan of the onion. There are many bizarre reasons as to why I dislike the onion and I am not ashamed to explain why. When my brother was a young lad, around the age of three, my family and I noticed something particularly odd about his odor. My baby brothers feet, smelled of onions. This is not opinion, this is fact. As soon as the socks came off his feet, everyone’s eyes felt the pain. We were temporally blinded. Our eyes were flooded with tears. This was no laughing matter. Moving on, my little brother also had this habit of eating onions, like it was a snack. Then after his indulgence he would precede to blow putrid breath in my face. As a result, his mighty blow caused my nostrils to instantly be clear of all congestion. Next, my brother also ate everything onion. He ate onion rings, fresh onion, sweet onion, and yes, even Funyuns (a onion flavored corn snack). I think it’s safe to say why I wasn’t fascinated with the onion. I blame my brother.

Now, I find myself living a life onion-less. But, can you blame me? All the horrible things I had to endure. I refuse to have onions on my burgers, on my chili dogs, in my pastas, and to this very day, I refuse to eat, dare I say…Funyuns.

But I do believe something is starting to change within me. Last week, in my literature class, we read a poem, entitled, The Traveling Onion, we read the poem over and over, underlining phrases we deemed important, writing our thoughts, and expressing our opinion with others. After the class discussion I came to the conclusion about this poem and the onion. Everything has importance, even the onion. Often as an American, I take many things for granted and forget how truly blessed I am to be in this country. The poem was about what the onion went through to get here, its story, it’s history, its journey and significance.

Yes, I went through a lot of bad with the onion. But that doesn’t mean I should take it for granted or ignore its importance. I need not to take granted of the many things I have, this poem reminded me how truly blessed I am.

‘Lectio Divina’ Say WHAT?

Last class we did an exercise entitled, ‘Sacred Reading’ or ‘Lectio Divina’. While Professor was describing what the concept was, I found myself somewhat confused as to why we were doing this exercise. It seemed like this would be an exercise you would only do for scripture/devotional reading sake, nothing more.

In the exercise, ‘Lectio Divina’ there is four stages. The first stage, Lectio, you are taught to listen to the words your reading for the first time and to take heed to any word and/or phrases that stick out to you. There’s a time of silence after the reading, then you’re welcomed to share with the group. Each stage follows the same dynamic and pattern, differing very little. Meditatio, the next stage, instead of finding a word or phrase, you connect to the peace with your thoughts. Oratio, the following stage, is meant for the reader to be aware of prayers arising within you. The last stage, Contemplatio, is meant for you to rest in the spirit and commune with it for a couple of minutes.

While the professor was explaining this in class, so many red flags and questions arose within me in. First, is the exercise only for Christians? If not, what are other people praying to and what Spirit are they connecting to? As Christians, are we suppose to look at secular literature in this way, praying on it, meditating on it? Shouldn’t we do that exclusively with the Holy Scriptures? Then after my mind calmed down, we did the exercise. It was calming, interesting, I got something different out of the text we read. Now, I wonder why my thought process was the way it was before. Was it because I was insecure with my own relationship with Christ, focusing more readings than on scripture. Was it God way of saying, ‘I want more of you’? So many questions. It’s really interesting this class, you learn a lot.