I am often struck by the hands
That clamp the cold pole around mine
As I balance gently on the inside skin
Of the hurling metro car:
four fingers with wiry black hairs
on the back of the knuckles
and a worn wedding band.
strong fingers, French tipped,
a turquoise bangle dangling
from a carefully arched wrist.
a great grip with thick knuckles,
a bitten thumbnail,
a scratched watch.
They shift, our four hands, as we sway
In strange light, the skin
Stretching and moving, our thumbs
Leaving fingerprints where thousands
Have been left before.
-Maria
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label me. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 26
Thursday, October 21
Post
<<<
It's photographic proof: me, alive, and in front of the post office box with a handfull of postcards.
Fun Fact: The postal service of Vatican City is so much better than that of Italy, that people who live in Rome will go out of their ways to send things through the Vatican post office.
Thursday, August 5
My Indian Name is Gets-Stared-At-By-Deer
It is incredibly depressing how fast muscles forget. One week you can run the length of the street- leaving you gasping like a hooked fish, sure, but you get there- but after only a week or two of hiatus you can barely trot half way before feeling like your chest is imploding. I refer, or course, to my own painful experience this evening, but my dismal chances of winning a marathon are not the topic of this post.
A quarter of the way through my route I surprised three deer. All three began their mandatory skip toward the trees, startlingly huge tails flashing, and then stopped to watch me huff past: the pathetic human who would never master a healthy four-legged gait on her fingernails.
The encounter reminded me of one those memories that is so brief, but that you know will be ingrained in your head until you die, it's so clear.
....
I am maybe seven years old, and I am standing on a path in the Pocono mountains, gazing straight ahead at a grove of trees. There are deer moving through these trees, only a few yards away from me, and though there were probably fewer, if you want the same impression that I had imagine that there are twelve. They are moving very quickly, but all the verbs generally used to describe their action have too many syllables to avoid sounding bumpy, and deer do not bump. They might spring, as if released from whatever magnets keep them closer to the grass than the clouds, but they do not bump.
Anyway, the deer are moving in a singularly liquid and effortless way directly across my field of vision, and there is a fallen tree straight in front of me, over which they navigate.
Years later, my digital art teacher will open my eyes to the principles of animation, the most pertinent one for our discussion being Anticipation. Anticipation dictates that if a character's fist is going to go forward into another's nose, it must first go back, winding up for the punch. If the bat it going to swing to the right, sending the ball into a home run, it must first go a bit to the left, anticipating the impact. If you are going to jump up, you must first croach down, or it doesn't look real.
The deer didn't get the memo. In my little-girl story, they stream across my vision in a perfectly smooth, completely unrealistic line that curves up a bit over the log and then comes down, effortless, silent and completely mesmerizing. Even at seven, I knew it was impossible. Real life is like that.
....
Most of the way through my own personal walk of shame, I startled a few more deer. It was a little darker by then, and they were a bit farther away then my first spectators, so all I could see were a bunch of bouncing white lines. It took me a minute to figure out what they were.
~Maria
A quarter of the way through my route I surprised three deer. All three began their mandatory skip toward the trees, startlingly huge tails flashing, and then stopped to watch me huff past: the pathetic human who would never master a healthy four-legged gait on her fingernails.
The encounter reminded me of one those memories that is so brief, but that you know will be ingrained in your head until you die, it's so clear.
....
I am maybe seven years old, and I am standing on a path in the Pocono mountains, gazing straight ahead at a grove of trees. There are deer moving through these trees, only a few yards away from me, and though there were probably fewer, if you want the same impression that I had imagine that there are twelve. They are moving very quickly, but all the verbs generally used to describe their action have too many syllables to avoid sounding bumpy, and deer do not bump. They might spring, as if released from whatever magnets keep them closer to the grass than the clouds, but they do not bump.
Anyway, the deer are moving in a singularly liquid and effortless way directly across my field of vision, and there is a fallen tree straight in front of me, over which they navigate.
Years later, my digital art teacher will open my eyes to the principles of animation, the most pertinent one for our discussion being Anticipation. Anticipation dictates that if a character's fist is going to go forward into another's nose, it must first go back, winding up for the punch. If the bat it going to swing to the right, sending the ball into a home run, it must first go a bit to the left, anticipating the impact. If you are going to jump up, you must first croach down, or it doesn't look real.
The deer didn't get the memo. In my little-girl story, they stream across my vision in a perfectly smooth, completely unrealistic line that curves up a bit over the log and then comes down, effortless, silent and completely mesmerizing. Even at seven, I knew it was impossible. Real life is like that.
....
Most of the way through my own personal walk of shame, I startled a few more deer. It was a little darker by then, and they were a bit farther away then my first spectators, so all I could see were a bunch of bouncing white lines. It took me a minute to figure out what they were.
~Maria
Tuesday, July 20
Mea Culpa
I have been informed, by someone that I love desperately and who loves me, that I may have been an idiot when I wrote the blog below. Who knew? Apparently everyone except me.
I do not take back anything that I said. It is all true. I will not try to soften the violence of the post, because that was the way that I felt. If you think any less of me for reading this post, then I deserve it. However, if I have hurt anyone with what I wrote, I am now groveling in apology and begging you to forgive me and promising over and over that I did not mean it.
I did not realise that what I lashed out in hurt would hurt anyone else. I was under the (apparently mistaken) idea that a written note would be far less hurtful and confrontational than a speech. I still believe that I would not have been as clear, nor would have gotten people's attention as well, if I had tried to voice my hurt in person, but I did not mean to actually hurt anyone else. If I have, you can come punch me in the face.
I would also like to clarify a few things:
1) I will enjoy Rome. There are so many things that are much more important to me now, and I am so stressed and confused that I wish rather heartily that I am not going, but since I am, I will make the most of it.
2) I love you all. If you were actually thinking those things (I know some of you were) then do not feel like I love you any less, because I don't. I tend to keep things that hurt me to myself, so they fester and just make me miserable if they are bad enough to stick around. I am trying to prevent that from happening by voicing things and maybe resolving them, but I don't have much practice. Pity my pathetic communication skills. I had (have) valid points, but a bad method of letting you know.
3) If you were one of the few people who were not hurt, saw that I was, and reached out to comfort me, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou. I really needed, and appreciated, that. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me. Thanks.
~Maria
I do not take back anything that I said. It is all true. I will not try to soften the violence of the post, because that was the way that I felt. If you think any less of me for reading this post, then I deserve it. However, if I have hurt anyone with what I wrote, I am now groveling in apology and begging you to forgive me and promising over and over that I did not mean it.
I did not realise that what I lashed out in hurt would hurt anyone else. I was under the (apparently mistaken) idea that a written note would be far less hurtful and confrontational than a speech. I still believe that I would not have been as clear, nor would have gotten people's attention as well, if I had tried to voice my hurt in person, but I did not mean to actually hurt anyone else. If I have, you can come punch me in the face.
I would also like to clarify a few things:
1) I will enjoy Rome. There are so many things that are much more important to me now, and I am so stressed and confused that I wish rather heartily that I am not going, but since I am, I will make the most of it.
2) I love you all. If you were actually thinking those things (I know some of you were) then do not feel like I love you any less, because I don't. I tend to keep things that hurt me to myself, so they fester and just make me miserable if they are bad enough to stick around. I am trying to prevent that from happening by voicing things and maybe resolving them, but I don't have much practice. Pity my pathetic communication skills. I had (have) valid points, but a bad method of letting you know.
3) If you were one of the few people who were not hurt, saw that I was, and reached out to comfort me, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou. I really needed, and appreciated, that. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me. Thanks.
~Maria
Sunday, July 11
Warning: Extremely Angry, Ranting Post
There are two things that I would very much like to scream right now. One is easy to understand, the other is not. Here is the first one:
I DO NOT THINK TOO MUCH!
Thinking is like seeing. I may not like what I see, but that does not mean I should not have looked in the first place. I may stare at one thing more than others, but that does not mean that I am looking too much, but too little. Most importantly, just because other people do not depend on their eyes as much as I do does not mean that my dependence is bad.
I DO NOT THINK TOO MUCH!
It hurts because I usually get "you think too much" when something is really bothering me, and all it means is that it is my fault for being upset because normal people don't think about that kind of thing, or care. So I'm abnormal, and it's my own fault.
The other thing that I want to scream about will take some explanation. I am absolutely raging furious about this. I am stomping through the earth's crust hopping mad, and it is not because of what I want to yell, but because of your reaction.
It will be a knee-jerk reaction of pity for my short-sighted feelings. It will be a sudden feeling of superiority and "well, she will realise how stupid she is being when she gets older." It will be a completely unthinking, and therefore moronic, urge to tell me that I am wrong. Here goes.
I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO ROME!
There! You see? Squelch that immediately! Stop looking at me that way or get off my blog! STOP LAUGHING! If I could get in your face and scream until you saw that I really meant it, I... still wouldn't. I am too nice. I would cry, and you would leave the room thinking that I was being a baby and that I will get over it. This is why I want to scream right now.
I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO ROME!
You know what I wanted to do this summer? I wanted to take a class in oil painting at the community college. I wanted to volunteer in youth ministry, and find out where I could get involved with foster care or child services. I couldn't because I was working too hard to pay for this darn trip.
I want to be independent. I want to have my own place, and buy art, and take dance classes, and have a dog. I want to travel, but to linger where I want, and talk to people, and see things that interest me (which usually means that it doesn't interest other people) and have the time to find an interesting job, and BE HAPPY. There are actual people with actual problems that I would like to do something about. Hey, I might even have not gone to college at all this fall, and- DON'T YOU DARE! DON'T YOU DARE SAY SOMETHING WITHOUT THINKING OR I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE THROUGH THIS COMPUTER SCREEN!
College is an expensive and powerful tool, that should only be used when the job calls for it, and when the worker has the time and attention to make sure that it is being used properly. Right now, it is not being used properly at all. I hate it.
No. I will not feel differently later. This is not a fad. I have hated it for the past two years. Three years ago, I stuck to something that I hated and I have yet to look back and say I was glad that I did. DO. NOT. TELL. ME. THAT. I. AM. BEING. STUPID. OR. EMOTIONAL. I don't even like the fields I am majoring in, and do not plan to get a job with them.
I DON'T WANT TO GO TO ROME!
Rome is a splendid place. In fact, I've been there. (if only long enough to discover that it looks exactly like to pictures) I would love to travel there, and absorb the atmosphere and the culture, and revel in being in the Eternal City, but not now! Not during college! Not without knowing the language! It is not what I want to do right now, not even in the top 20, for goodness sake, and it will take me years, money and confusion away from the things that I DO want.
YOU ARE STILL THINKING THINGS THAT ARE MAKING ME FURIOUS!
This is not some great opportunity. Italy is no better than America, and not the only place with history and beauty. Italy is not going to suddenly close its borders, or airplanes suddenly stop flying. If you think I am being stupid, and that this chance is akin to winning the lottery, and that I would be turning down the equivalent of touching Elvis, getting a free Ferrari, and being declared queen for three months (none of which I actually want), YOU go. There is no excuse for you STILL BEING HERE that you could bring up that I could not match. And me going will keep me from plenty of things that would give me much more pleasure than the gracious permission to throw pennies in the Fount de Trevi.
DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME I AM THINKING TOO MUCH!
I DO NOT THINK TOO MUCH!
Thinking is like seeing. I may not like what I see, but that does not mean I should not have looked in the first place. I may stare at one thing more than others, but that does not mean that I am looking too much, but too little. Most importantly, just because other people do not depend on their eyes as much as I do does not mean that my dependence is bad.
I DO NOT THINK TOO MUCH!
It hurts because I usually get "you think too much" when something is really bothering me, and all it means is that it is my fault for being upset because normal people don't think about that kind of thing, or care. So I'm abnormal, and it's my own fault.
It will be a knee-jerk reaction of pity for my short-sighted feelings. It will be a sudden feeling of superiority and "well, she will realise how stupid she is being when she gets older." It will be a completely unthinking, and therefore moronic, urge to tell me that I am wrong. Here goes.
I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO ROME!
There! You see? Squelch that immediately! Stop looking at me that way or get off my blog! STOP LAUGHING! If I could get in your face and scream until you saw that I really meant it, I... still wouldn't. I am too nice. I would cry, and you would leave the room thinking that I was being a baby and that I will get over it. This is why I want to scream right now.
I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO ROME!
You know what I wanted to do this summer? I wanted to take a class in oil painting at the community college. I wanted to volunteer in youth ministry, and find out where I could get involved with foster care or child services. I couldn't because I was working too hard to pay for this darn trip.
I want to be independent. I want to have my own place, and buy art, and take dance classes, and have a dog. I want to travel, but to linger where I want, and talk to people, and see things that interest me (which usually means that it doesn't interest other people) and have the time to find an interesting job, and BE HAPPY. There are actual people with actual problems that I would like to do something about. Hey, I might even have not gone to college at all this fall, and- DON'T YOU DARE! DON'T YOU DARE SAY SOMETHING WITHOUT THINKING OR I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE THROUGH THIS COMPUTER SCREEN!
College is an expensive and powerful tool, that should only be used when the job calls for it, and when the worker has the time and attention to make sure that it is being used properly. Right now, it is not being used properly at all. I hate it.
No. I will not feel differently later. This is not a fad. I have hated it for the past two years. Three years ago, I stuck to something that I hated and I have yet to look back and say I was glad that I did. DO. NOT. TELL. ME. THAT. I. AM. BEING. STUPID. OR. EMOTIONAL. I don't even like the fields I am majoring in, and do not plan to get a job with them.
I DON'T WANT TO GO TO ROME!
Rome is a splendid place. In fact, I've been there. (if only long enough to discover that it looks exactly like to pictures) I would love to travel there, and absorb the atmosphere and the culture, and revel in being in the Eternal City, but not now! Not during college! Not without knowing the language! It is not what I want to do right now, not even in the top 20, for goodness sake, and it will take me years, money and confusion away from the things that I DO want.
YOU ARE STILL THINKING THINGS THAT ARE MAKING ME FURIOUS!
This is not some great opportunity. Italy is no better than America, and not the only place with history and beauty. Italy is not going to suddenly close its borders, or airplanes suddenly stop flying. If you think I am being stupid, and that this chance is akin to winning the lottery, and that I would be turning down the equivalent of touching Elvis, getting a free Ferrari, and being declared queen for three months (none of which I actually want), YOU go. There is no excuse for you STILL BEING HERE that you could bring up that I could not match. And me going will keep me from plenty of things that would give me much more pleasure than the gracious permission to throw pennies in the Fount de Trevi.
I really don't want to go. I will, though. And then I will finish the school year. And then I will finish college because I will be a senior. And then it will be two years later from today and I have no guarantee that I will be any happier, though I do guarantee that I will be older and in debt.
People will tell me that I am being ridiculous if I complain because everyone has debt and hardly anyone knows what they are doing when the finish college. Yay. I'm jumping off cliffs, but everyone else is doing it, so it must be all right.
DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME I AM THINKING TOO MUCH!
Winston
Well, I am duly disappointed in myself for neglecting to shower this blog with brilliance, but several occasions, plans and activities in my real life have pushed documenting them to the background. One of these distractions is my new friend, Wilson, who is currently living with me.
I know he is a bit lacking in certain areas, but he listens more than he speaks, which is a fine quality in anyone.
(I do have to admit that it is a little embarrassing how well he fits my running shorts. )
Anyway, I do not know if you can tell from the picture, but he has a very strange texture that I found impossible to work with, so, naturally, I covered him in toilet paper.
This surprisingly effective paper-mache technique has given him a little bit of class, but I must confess myself not entirely sure of what is going to happen to him next. I have a few ideas, but none of them are perfect... I will, of course, keep you "posted."
~Maria
Saturday, June 12
The moral of the story is...
I used to think of fireflies as "God's Sparkles."
This was because I only saw them at dusk, when the day had simply faded away without a sunset so that all that was left was a dull grayish landscape waiting for the horizon to die. Dusk is soft and pretty in its own right, but it's magical and perfect when sprinkled with little flickers of floating light. Sparkles.
It is very different when you are running down the road in the middle of a June night, with no cars or houses or even a moon to ruin your night vision. There is nothing but the sticky air, and a jagged black horizon and the charcoal shade of the road. You could be running in a vacuum, except for the feel of asphalt under the pale smears of your sneakers, and the air moving past the inside of your knees.
The fields to the left and the right of your pumping fists are blanketed with flashing lights.
The lights are brighter and quicker and denser than any tacky Christmas strings, stretching in packed thousands and millions along the road and back into the fields, climbing the trees like hoards of silent paparazzi, frantic and dancing and brilliant and bright. Your legs are burning and your lungs are heavy, but you are running through fields of white fire.
There is no sound but the crickets and the frogs, your mouth and your shoes, and the strange lonely call of a peacock chasing you down the electric hill.
~Maria
This was because I only saw them at dusk, when the day had simply faded away without a sunset so that all that was left was a dull grayish landscape waiting for the horizon to die. Dusk is soft and pretty in its own right, but it's magical and perfect when sprinkled with little flickers of floating light. Sparkles.
It is very different when you are running down the road in the middle of a June night, with no cars or houses or even a moon to ruin your night vision. There is nothing but the sticky air, and a jagged black horizon and the charcoal shade of the road. You could be running in a vacuum, except for the feel of asphalt under the pale smears of your sneakers, and the air moving past the inside of your knees.
The fields to the left and the right of your pumping fists are blanketed with flashing lights.
The lights are brighter and quicker and denser than any tacky Christmas strings, stretching in packed thousands and millions along the road and back into the fields, climbing the trees like hoards of silent paparazzi, frantic and dancing and brilliant and bright. Your legs are burning and your lungs are heavy, but you are running through fields of white fire.
There is no sound but the crickets and the frogs, your mouth and your shoes, and the strange lonely call of a peacock chasing you down the electric hill.
~Maria
Sunday, May 30
"Click"
When I was younger, I would try to capture memories.
I distinctly remember lifting both hands, both thumbs and first fingers shaped into "L"s, and fitting them together into a viewfinder. I remember whispering "click" when my baby sister was inside the frame. I remember thinking that when I got to heaven, God would be kind enough, or amused enough, to show me what my younger self had wanted to bring to eternity.
It has been quite a few years since then. I had almost forgotten what it was like to want a moment to last forever.
It was the middle of the night, and I had run out in my bare feet to to the bright garage, only to be invited on an impromptu motorcycle ride. I hope I never forget how it feels to run up the stairs as excited as a girl to sneak boots from beside a sleeping sister, or the feel of the cool night breeze on my arms while the humidity was still leaving my palms sticky. I hope I never forget Daddy's unconventional idea of "just around the block" or the way he saw deer so far ahead that there was no chance of an unexpected tragedy. I hope I never drop the last two letters in "Daddy," and since I'm 20 years old and they haven't left yet, I think that one will come true.
I rode for the first (and last, considering how much he stresses this) time without a jacket, and I gave in for the first (and last) time to the yearning to spread my arms like wings, just for a minute, since no one was around. I wished I could stay like that forever.
This is such a personal post, but since my days of hiding behind doors and pretending to record the sounds of baby laughter, I have learned that the real way to capture something, for me, is in words. Even if I never get good enought to transplant a feeling into a stranger's soul, the black squiggles will at least be magical to me. Thanks, God.
~Maria
I distinctly remember lifting both hands, both thumbs and first fingers shaped into "L"s, and fitting them together into a viewfinder. I remember whispering "click" when my baby sister was inside the frame. I remember thinking that when I got to heaven, God would be kind enough, or amused enough, to show me what my younger self had wanted to bring to eternity.
It has been quite a few years since then. I had almost forgotten what it was like to want a moment to last forever.
It was the middle of the night, and I had run out in my bare feet to to the bright garage, only to be invited on an impromptu motorcycle ride. I hope I never forget how it feels to run up the stairs as excited as a girl to sneak boots from beside a sleeping sister, or the feel of the cool night breeze on my arms while the humidity was still leaving my palms sticky. I hope I never forget Daddy's unconventional idea of "just around the block" or the way he saw deer so far ahead that there was no chance of an unexpected tragedy. I hope I never drop the last two letters in "Daddy," and since I'm 20 years old and they haven't left yet, I think that one will come true.
I rode for the first (and last, considering how much he stresses this) time without a jacket, and I gave in for the first (and last) time to the yearning to spread my arms like wings, just for a minute, since no one was around. I wished I could stay like that forever.
This is such a personal post, but since my days of hiding behind doors and pretending to record the sounds of baby laughter, I have learned that the real way to capture something, for me, is in words. Even if I never get good enought to transplant a feeling into a stranger's soul, the black squiggles will at least be magical to me. Thanks, God.
~Maria
Sunday, May 2
Art?
I never like my own artwork.
This kind of declaration tends to send my supportive family members into convulsions, but though I am subsequently passionately assured that someone else enjoys it, I am unmoved. You can find someone in the world who will admit to enjoying anything. That does not make it art.
However, I have experienced an epiphany! An "ahHA" moment! A mystical floating lightbulb!
I suddenly realized that I had never stopped and asked myself why I actually enjoy art, what kind of art I like best, or what I am trying to accomplish. How can you acheive something if you don't know what you are striving for? (It is technically possible, but the odds are against it.) I can point out certain qualities that particularly appeal to me in the art I see, but they are sometimes mutually exclusive, and the other questions are unanswered.
This, of course, led to an extremely confusing and somewhat passionate philosophical discussion that spread from the breakfast table to the living room hell bent, at least on my part, on figuring out if art was objective (your perceptions do not matter: it either is or is not art) or subjective (does not exist in the world, but in your mind: if you think it is art, it is). I retreated unsatisfied, and it is still bugging me.
Sorry that this is not a particularly inspired post, but I thought I should say something. Finals are next week, so once I am out of school I will be able to establish a regular schedule to impart my genius to the world. Prepare yourself.
This kind of declaration tends to send my supportive family members into convulsions, but though I am subsequently passionately assured that someone else enjoys it, I am unmoved. You can find someone in the world who will admit to enjoying anything. That does not make it art.
However, I have experienced an epiphany! An "ahHA" moment! A mystical floating lightbulb!
I suddenly realized that I had never stopped and asked myself why I actually enjoy art, what kind of art I like best, or what I am trying to accomplish. How can you acheive something if you don't know what you are striving for? (It is technically possible, but the odds are against it.) I can point out certain qualities that particularly appeal to me in the art I see, but they are sometimes mutually exclusive, and the other questions are unanswered.
This, of course, led to an extremely confusing and somewhat passionate philosophical discussion that spread from the breakfast table to the living room hell bent, at least on my part, on figuring out if art was objective (your perceptions do not matter: it either is or is not art) or subjective (does not exist in the world, but in your mind: if you think it is art, it is). I retreated unsatisfied, and it is still bugging me.
Sorry that this is not a particularly inspired post, but I thought I should say something. Finals are next week, so once I am out of school I will be able to establish a regular schedule to impart my genius to the world. Prepare yourself.
Friday, March 26
A King and a Girl: a Journey
A few weeks ago, firmly scolding myself for getting my hopes up and barely daring to mention to anyone my intentions, I applied to spend a semester in Rome. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I can introduce myself to the world as one of the ten winners! Five of the others are from my honors class, and of the remaining four I know two, so it will be a sociable and friendly experience, as well as all the rest of the attributes related to study abroad. Needless to say, I am ecstatic.
In light of the exciting news and the fact that this blog will naturally start revolving around Rome in the fall, I decided to post an excerpt from my application essay. I hope it tides you over until I finish polishing my reflections on hate-crime, feminism (in honor of women's history month) and animal "rights."
...What do I do when I am confused? I go back to the basics. The basics are: 1) Have Faith, because without God, there is nothing; 2) Work, because even if you are not sure, as long as you are trying God will give you hints; and 3) Cultivate Beauty and Logic, because they are the way that God reveals Himself. Providentially, as soon as I had plotted this master plan out with my humble brain, the opportunity to spend a semester in Rome dropped out of the sky.
I am already determined to travel. I want to see, experience and learn everything; not only subjects, but perspectives, lives, culture and life. The little travel I have done, and the little exposure I have had to other cultures, has convinced me that seeing the world through other’s eyes drastically increases the chance of finding the truth, just as seeing an object from more than one angle gives a much clearer picture of its three dimensional shape. Not only does travel enlighten broad subjects such as life, politics and humanity, but provides opportunities to learn skills that may be a specialty of a certain region. I hope to travel all over the world, but Rome is by far my most cherished goal. At this point in time, it even holds the answers for all my questions.
Rome! Rome is… the center of the world! All roads lead to Rome because all people need Rome- the center of truth, beauty, history and faith - in their hearts. God’s Vicar, with the keys to the secrets of individual happiness, world peace, and true Beauty lives there like any other elderly man doing his work. Cathedrals, the greatest collections of art and architecture, turn these arts to their true end: the connection of ordinary people across time to heaven. Aqueducts, the Coliseum, roads and old buildings that make the history of thousands of years suddenly as real as the local supermarket stand like any other arrangement of building materials, real enough to touch and sketch. If the source and summit of Faith and Beauty, and the true end of Work, are not here, then I don’t know where they would be.
On the other hand, Rome is like any other city. It would take a little effort to see the magic in a busy modern street; but the quest only gives the treasure more value, and the physics give the theory its truth. I could walk in the street. I could speak to people. I could see things. I could learn. I could write. I could think. I could sleep. I could grow. Maybe I could rediscover my art. Maybe I could rediscover my faith. Maybe I could rediscover the meaning of life there, in the center of it all, and by finding it in Rome, learn to find it everywhere else.
I plan on rereading the essay every now and then while I am in Rome just to remind myself of my lofty intentions. A man's word is his honor! I do not intend on making myself a liar!
~Maria
PS. Want to provide some moral support and encouragement? Comment by clicking the little blue"comments" word below!
In light of the exciting news and the fact that this blog will naturally start revolving around Rome in the fall, I decided to post an excerpt from my application essay. I hope it tides you over until I finish polishing my reflections on hate-crime, feminism (in honor of women's history month) and animal "rights."
...What do I do when I am confused? I go back to the basics. The basics are: 1) Have Faith, because without God, there is nothing; 2) Work, because even if you are not sure, as long as you are trying God will give you hints; and 3) Cultivate Beauty and Logic, because they are the way that God reveals Himself. Providentially, as soon as I had plotted this master plan out with my humble brain, the opportunity to spend a semester in Rome dropped out of the sky.
I am already determined to travel. I want to see, experience and learn everything; not only subjects, but perspectives, lives, culture and life. The little travel I have done, and the little exposure I have had to other cultures, has convinced me that seeing the world through other’s eyes drastically increases the chance of finding the truth, just as seeing an object from more than one angle gives a much clearer picture of its three dimensional shape. Not only does travel enlighten broad subjects such as life, politics and humanity, but provides opportunities to learn skills that may be a specialty of a certain region. I hope to travel all over the world, but Rome is by far my most cherished goal. At this point in time, it even holds the answers for all my questions.
Rome! Rome is… the center of the world! All roads lead to Rome because all people need Rome- the center of truth, beauty, history and faith - in their hearts. God’s Vicar, with the keys to the secrets of individual happiness, world peace, and true Beauty lives there like any other elderly man doing his work. Cathedrals, the greatest collections of art and architecture, turn these arts to their true end: the connection of ordinary people across time to heaven. Aqueducts, the Coliseum, roads and old buildings that make the history of thousands of years suddenly as real as the local supermarket stand like any other arrangement of building materials, real enough to touch and sketch. If the source and summit of Faith and Beauty, and the true end of Work, are not here, then I don’t know where they would be.
On the other hand, Rome is like any other city. It would take a little effort to see the magic in a busy modern street; but the quest only gives the treasure more value, and the physics give the theory its truth. I could walk in the street. I could speak to people. I could see things. I could learn. I could write. I could think. I could sleep. I could grow. Maybe I could rediscover my art. Maybe I could rediscover my faith. Maybe I could rediscover the meaning of life there, in the center of it all, and by finding it in Rome, learn to find it everywhere else.
I plan on rereading the essay every now and then while I am in Rome just to remind myself of my lofty intentions. A man's word is his honor! I do not intend on making myself a liar!
~Maria
PS. Want to provide some moral support and encouragement? Comment by clicking the little blue"comments" word below!
Friday, March 12
Salutations!
Well, I suppose this is my cue to step confidently into the spotlight and make a low, sweeping bow. Welcome! Thankyou very much for making your way towards my humble stage. The lights are so bright that I can't see any of you, but I assure you that I am painfully aware of my own visibility, and the fact that I am now in plain view of the untold masses of beings with internet connections. I am rather nervous, actually. I have wanted to begin a blog for some time now, to share my musings, display my artwork, make some friends, and encourage myself to write frequently, but there always seemed to be some excuse not to.
There will always be excuses. For everything in life. Especially if it is worth doing. If I can't get myself to start a blog, how am I supposed to earn a car, learn to hang-glide, travel the world or get a dog, not to mention get a life? So here I am, and pleased to be here, too.
I hope that you are amused by the writing, find something thought-provoking, enjoy the art, or simply find the thoughts of a young person worth some of your time. I promise to spend time and effort on the writing here, however brief, and make it worth your while. Thankyou!
There will always be excuses. For everything in life. Especially if it is worth doing. If I can't get myself to start a blog, how am I supposed to earn a car, learn to hang-glide, travel the world or get a dog, not to mention get a life? So here I am, and pleased to be here, too.
I hope that you are amused by the writing, find something thought-provoking, enjoy the art, or simply find the thoughts of a young person worth some of your time. I promise to spend time and effort on the writing here, however brief, and make it worth your while. Thankyou!
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