Introspection

For the past three nights, I have looked at a blank blog post screen.  I feel there are many words to be said, yet there are no acceptable words.  Acceptable does not refer to the actual words but rather refers to what can be available for public consumption.  As much as I want to write in a blog, I cannot control who reads it, and because of that, I feel I must keep my thoughts closely guarded.  At times, this guarding of opinions seems to be in conflict with the "Do not live in fear" tenet of my Code of Ethics.  However, upon examining reality, it would be naive to put everything on display on the Internet.  Perhaps having the wisdom to publish what is necessary is different that living in fear of repercussions.

Over the coming months, I must do some contemplation and introspection about my future.  Such a task will require return to the wisdom of my old master of teaching, Socrates:  "Know thyself."  A side note:  Socrates taught me to teach through questioning.  I credit my use of "why" during teaching sessions to Socrates.  Unfortunately, I'm not well read in Socrates's work; however, those two principals:  "Know thy self" and teaching through questioning have stuck with me.

I digress (and will continue to do so).  As I enter my third decade, I find myself analyzing and reviewing my previous year(s).  This is not new, for I do it often and especially as my personal new year's day comes and goes.  The question of happiness arises.  In most respects I have forgotten what happiness feels like.  I know what it isn't.  I can identify others' experiencing it.  I have the capacity to know and feel the difference between a negative and positive event.  However, I feel no capacity for true happiness.  I know I once had his capacity; however, I have forgotten what it feels like or how to identify it within myself.

This has been true for over a decade and a half.  I cope with the deficiency well (consider the length of time I just mentioned).  However, at times this reality moves to the front of my mind.  For what ever reason, it has been lingering in my conscious thought for longer than normal.  An obvious question may be "what would make you happy?"  I cannot answer that, for I don't think I truly know.  Focusing on this aspect of me with the scurnity required to find a solution is like staring at a beach and focusing on one grain of sand that is of average color.  I either (a) don't know thyself enough to have an answer (b) fear what the answer would be if I truly participated in introspection, or (c) know thyself well enough to know there is no answer.

This pointelss rambling will soon come to a close.  This post is why I haven't written a blog entry in over three weeks or haven't recorded a podcast in over six months.  There is nothing substantive that I can share.

Christ Mass

If I get around to it, I'll write a few more posts this week with a more reflective, introspective tone. This post is to be free of a negative tone.

It was curious that Christmas fell on a Sunday this year. Even though I do not follow any organized religion, the holiday of Christmas has greater significance to me than any other holiday. For me, it is an opportunity that is always reserved for family time--regardless of the time challenges our world presents. The break my job affords me during Christmas gives me time to reflect and plan for the upcoming year.

It's also fun to watch Christians celebrate this (for their religious canon) all-important holiday. It's enjoyable to watch the absolute joy involved for these folk to celebrate the birth of the keystone individual in their religious beliefs. This year's Christmas celebration seemed extra specials today is Sunday--often reserved as a day of worship for Christians. I attended the Christmas service at New Bridge Baptist Church in Cleveland, GA. My attendance was there not for the worship experience but for the family experience--several members of the maternal side of my family were in attendance.

The service was a traditional county baptist "preaching." I sang with the choir, which I always do when I visit. It was a fun experience. The folk singing aren't professional singers, but it's good folk enjoying music as a tool to enhance their experience. The service itself had a different kind of fervor for it was recanting the all important story of the birth of Christ on the day that the Mass is celebrated.

At the end of the service, the preacher always makes a call to the congregation to name folk the congregation needs to support by keeping them "in their prayers." Today's call was a bit different, for we were remembering folks who had been lost or were/are to be honored in the present/from the recent past. Rarely do I participate with this, for I feel a detachment with the worship aspect of this experience; however, today I did participate. I asked the folks to remember the family of Jerry Coleman. I explained that they likely didn't know who Jerry Coleman was and further explained that he was a former student of mine who perished earlier this week. I asked the congregation to keep their Coleman family in their thoughts while they cope with the tragedy of losing a child--especially during the week of Christmas, which (I didn't explain, for it goes without saying) is a holiday so focused on time with the family.

I hope, reader, this was a good day for you. Among all of the great family time today, the above event help make this day, the wonderful day I recall it being for many years and will hopefully contine to be for many years to come.

A Command Of English

My inability to write fiction crossed my mind today.  It's one of my many weaknesses that I find rather puzzling.  I think I have an adequate command of English (at least I like to think that I do, which is another argument for another time).  I have successfully published a Master's Thesis, and have always written well in situations involving formal writing.

However, I have no capacity to write fiction or to tell a story.  I wish not to hear the argument of "the more you practice writing fiction, the better you'll become."  I already know that.  I'm not concerned about the skill.  I know that can be developed over time.  I'm writing about the ability and capacity without which the skill cannot be present.

All fiction writing I've "produced" to this day has been nonsensical garbage.  I lose all command of the language when attempting to write fiction.  The words I write have a depth of thought akin to a brainless slime.  Even though I'm attempting to write fiction, where I can create my own rules of logic, etc., I cannot produce text with any cohesiveness.  The writing is segmented and reads of a person incapable of creating consecutive thoughts that complement each other.  The ability to create worthwhile topics is not worth mentioning.

What is curious is that I can write in a formal setting / voice.  My command of English is there when I write for research or when I write about another's work.  With my self-critique, I will not slash as far as to say I cannot write, for that would be untrue.  I can write.  I simply can't write when it is only I creating the narrative.  I can write about others' work.  I can write to describe a process and its conclusion.  Those two areas require either another's work or my own non-written work (If I attempt to describe the process and conclusion of my writing, I fail.).

My mind and knowledge of English simply do not allow me to create the substance.  Eventually I'll accept this reality, and not bore your with the cyclical lamentation.

One of many possible endings

Today's post functions as a tag to the "The Losing Card, I'll Someday Lay" post.  Below is a link to a video of a person on YouTube performing the first prelude from the Well Tempered Clavier, Book 1 by J.S. Bach.

http://youtu.be/NdSlu06gDy8

My experience in music has led me to discover pieces of music that illustrate the final crossing from life into whatever is next.  This prelude came to mind today.  I decided to place the link before the text, so you would hopefully take a listen before you read my thoughts on the piece.  I am convinced there is a transition out of life where the etheral part of you (i.e. your soul/spirit/etc.) moves away from your brain and transforms itself for whatever comes next.  I think that during this transition, there may be some "conscious thought" left within the soul.  Albeit, such thought will never be experienced as we know conscious thought, rather it'll be whatever is recorded by your soul to be its final memories of the time spent on the plane of existence where we all reside.

This prelude describes how that transition feels.  In mortal terms, it would be described as floating.  However, the actual motion wouldn't be random as floating indicates--nor do I see it as direct as flying.  I suppose I see it more as a detachment.  As the body is either worn to its last or is compromised so that it is incompatible with life, the soul simply detaches itself from wherever/however it is one with the body.  That process of release is what Bach captured with his notes in this prelude.  As the piece progresses diatonically and chromatically, I hear that as the encoding of the aforementioned conscious thoughts into whatever memory capacity that our soul has--if its is memory as I know it at all.  I also hear this middle section (development--or fantasia as Wynton Marsalis calls it), as the remaining consciousness of our soul looking down at its former host as its transformation happens.  I know I am anthropomorphizing the concept of a soul, but my descriptions are limited by my strictly human experience.

The final statement of V7 (where the pedal tone C has a major 7th above it in the tenor voice) and subsequent resolution to tonic (with the final 4-3-2-3 in the melody) is the completion of both the transformation and transition.  The V7 is one final look at the end of the mortal experience and the I begins whatever comes next.

The Losing Card, I'll Someday Lay

Some of your may recognize this line from the M*A*S*H theme entitled Suicide is Painless.  I'm unsure if the title will fit the below text, but it's what came to mind when I began the post.  Of the lyrics of Suicide is Painless, "The Losing Card, I'll Someday Lay" is my favorite.  I like the rhythm of the text as well as the underlying notes.  It also sounds the most poetic to me of the available lyrics within the song.  The metaphor present is based in truth--at least from my perspective.

Eventually, we will all play the losing card.  For some of us that may be simply the final breath we draw as we end many years of the experience of life.  Others may unknowingly play that card, when cranking up their vehicle one unlucky morning or evening.  Some others may willingly play that card, when they determine their life should end.

Other lyrics of the song lack certainty--especially the title.  There is no true way to know.  At the moment of death, we cross into the next plane of existence with no opportunity to express to the remaining mortals wether or not the last moment of life was with or without pain.  However, our potential to play the losing card is absolute.  It will happen.  The only question is when.

The quesiton of when is a whole discussion within itself.  I question the wisdom of describing my position on this blog.  Unfortunately, educators are governed by the court of public opinion, which, or course, rarely considers facts and is immune to objectivity.  Mental health and its pathologies are still taboo for many folks; thus, me trying to objectively discuss the issue of suicide strikes me as unwise.

The above curbing of my words disturbs me, for I try to live by two principles:  (1) Do not live in fear and, most importantly (2) Truth always.  How can I live by "truth always" when I said I "do not live in fear," yet, succumb to the potential of above paragraph?