Ignorance is bliss...

I have my opinion; don't confuse me with the facts.

I have my ideals; don't illuminate the bigger picture.

I have my pride; don't show me my mistakes.

I have my comfort; don't stretch my mind.

I have my narcissism; don't ask me to be selfless.

I have my convictions; don't tell me what they cost.

I have my street cred; don't show me who it hurts.

I have my ego; don't take away my attachments.

I have my open-mindedness; don't make me discriminate.

I have my exaggerations; don't call my bluff.

I have my cynicism; don't give me a reason to hope.

I have my condescension; don't expose my weaknesses.

I have my advocacy; dont' question my motives.

I have my loyalty; don't make me impartial.

I have my determination; don't show me the collateral damage. 

I have my arrogance; don't explain history.

I have my altruism; don't unveil my contempt. 

I have my certainty; don't make me doubt.

I have my judgements; don't help me see the other side.

I have my ignorance. Don't take away my bliss.

Junebug

"God loves you just the way you are, but he loves you too much to let you stay that way."
~ Amy Adams, aka "Ashley"
from the move Junebug

I highly recommend it. More to follow....

Side Note

This site is UNREAL:

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/

My thoughts exactly...

From the WSJ "Best of the Web":

• BEST OF THE WEB TODAY
• MAY 11, 2009

The Two Jokes

What makes Wanda Sykes's witless vulgarity amusing to the president?

By JAMES TARANTO

The White House Correspondents Dinner took place this weekend. As usual, the president was in attendance and a comedian provided the evening's entertainment. As Toby Harnden of London's Daily Telegraph reports, the comedian, Wanda Sykes, turned out to be a crass act:

The speech took a very ugly turn when she laid into [Rush] Limbaugh.

This is what she said: "Rush Limbaugh said he hopes this administration fails, so you're saying, 'I hope America fails,' you're, like, 'I dont [sic] care about people losing their homes, their jobs, our soldiers in Iraq.' He just wants the country to fail. To me, that's treason.

"He's not saying anything differently than what Osama bin Laden is saying. You know, you might want to look into this, sir, because I think Rush Limbaugh was the 20th hijacker. But he was just so strung out on OxyContin he missed his flight."

She then concluded: "Rush Limbaugh, I hope the country fails, I hope his kidneys fail, how about that? He needs a good waterboarding, that's what he needs." Obama seemed to think this bit was pretty hilarious, grinning and chuckling and turning to share the "joke" with the person sitting on his right.

Here's the video. In fairness to the president, we'd say "pretty hilarious" overstates the case. He does not appear to be laughing uncontrollably, although there is no doubt that he is amused. So are the folks at the left-wing Puffington Host, where the headline proclaims "Wanda Sykes Kills." (In comedy, kill means "to perform successfully"; the antonym is die or bomb.)

Our view is that Sykes's joke clearly crossed the line into poor taste, unredeemed by either humor or insight. The same is true for another joke that sparked a kerfuffle last week, described in an Associated Press report:

CBS Sports golf analyst David Feherty apologized Sunday to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid for a morbid joke that went bad in a Dallas magazine.

Feherty, one of the most popular golf analysts for his sharp wit and self-deprecating humor, was among five Dallas residents who wrote for "D Magazine" on former President George W. Bush moving to Dallas.

"From my own experience visiting the troops in the Middle East, I can tell you this though," Feherty wrote toward the end of his column.

"Despite how the conflict has been portrayed by our glorious media, if you gave any U.S. soldier a gun with two bullets in it, and he found himself in an elevator with Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid and Osama bin Laden, there's a good chance that Nancy Pelosi would get shot twice, and Harry Reid and bin Laden would be strangled to death."

The full column is here. In a statement, Fehrety described his botched joke as "a metaphor meant to describe how American troops felt about our 43rd president." (The next sentence of the column began: "I've never met a soldier who didn't love this president and this country.") In his apology, Fehrety added: "In retrospect, it was inappropriate and unacceptable, and has clearly insulted Speaker Pelosi and Senator Reid, and for that, I apologize."

Meanwhile, here is the full text of Sykes's apology: .

Our guess is that most normal apolitical people would view both Sykes's and Fehrety's jokes as unfunny and tasteless. Our sense, further, is that conservatives do not much care for Fehrety's joke either. The closest thing we could find to a defense was an item by blogger Jules Crittenden titled "Sounds Like His Heart Was in the Right Place." Yet Crittenden concedes Fehrety's "rhetorical excess" and devotes most of his post to arguing that many liberals have said things about U.S. soldiers that were worse and not in jest.

By contrast, lots of left-wing bloggers are cheering Sykes on, and the president of the United States was visibly amused by her joke. So the question is this: Why do liberals find this joke funny when they should find it embarrassing?

The answer, it seems clear, is that this is an example of shock humor: a genre that relies on the frisson of violating taboos. By our count, Sykes runs afoul of five taboos in her Limbaugh joke: She equates dissent with treason. She likens a domestic political opponent to a foreign enemy. She makes fun of the disabled (Limbaugh's past addiction to painkillers would entitle him to protection under the Americans With Disabilities Act). She makes light of a form of interrogation that some people consider torture. And she wishes somebody dead.

Except for the last one, these are all taboos that liberals promote and enforce with especial vigor. If a conservative violated any one of them, he would be on the inside track to be named "Worst Person in the World" by that NBC blowhard (as indeed Feherty was).

What makes Sykes's joke funny to a liberal, then, is the sense of danger that accompanies her risky themes, combined with the secure knowledge that since the joke is at the expense of a liberal hate figure, the usual rules do not apply. It's the same reason people on the left evince particular glee when they attack Clarence Thomas or Michael Steele in expressly racist terms, or when they use antigay innuendo against their political opponents (regardless of the latter's sexual orientation).

In Obama's wide grin as Sykes was telling her joke, we saw the smug look of a man who enjoys seeing his critics dehumanized. The president of the United States should be better than this.

Religious Disillusionment Due to Loss of the Mysterious

I first wrote this essay August 1, 2001 when I was 17 and studying at Cambridge University in Cambridge, England. I was taking two courses, World Religions and Philosophy. Fortunately, I was blessed with the same professor for both, Dr. Margie Tolstoy. Her World Religions class was the first step towards my choice of major (Religious Studies). I've been meaning to come back to this essay for years to see with how much of it I still agree and to edit the parts I wanted to keep. I must say that in retyping it I did change a few word selections or phrasing to minimize redundancy and make the language more concise. However, I did not feel the need to omit anything and feel that this is more of a guiding point to where I'd like to go with my degree. The following foreword was included and written directly to my teacher.

Religious Disillusionment Due to Loss of the Mysterious

FOREWORD: First, I would like to say how very much I enjoyed this class. I believe that broadening my own faith with the wisdom of other religions will help me to deepen my spirituality and open myself to The Great Mystery. Increasing my knowledge and understanding of these religions has made this class an exciting stepping-stone in my journey of faith. Due to my personal mystical experiences, which increased somewhat after the death of my brother 4 years ago, I feel it is vital to appreciate the mystical links between most major world religions and then hopefully to spirituality in general.

I would like to explain that my goal in writing this paper was to present a religiously unbiased opinion or viewpoint. Therefore, I’d like to take this opportunity to clarify that, as a Christian, I by no means feel that Jesus Christ should be put in the same category as other forefathers of various religions. I do feel that Christ is the only man sent to Earth as “God Incarnate.”

-----------------------------------

All major religions have a mystical origin that usually begins with a particular experience of one person connecting with the divine. Abraham, Jesus, Muhammad, and the Gurus of Hinduism all had firsthand, life-changing experiences with the mystical and went on to start belief systems and ways of life based on the enlightenment they were able to take away from these occurrences.

Such encounters are impossible to truly describe to others. Only through the actual experience can one fully comprehend the incredible power and feeling of it. For example, the smell of a rose: how would one describe it to another person? Or even the color red, for that matter – one could only say, “It is sort of like this,” or, “It is like that.” These weak descriptions, however, are ultimately ineffectual when it comes to imparting this experience to the inexperienced. These are things that cannot be taught or even put into words (perhaps because things like smell and color are themselves part of the Great Mystery). These ineffable encounters and intimate experiences are too profound and words, therefore, are inadequate. Getting a sense of the mystical is strictly experiential.

The early fathers of mysticism, therefore, were faced with an impossible task when trying to build an entire religious structure based on these profound brushes with the inherently sacred. How would people truly appreciate the beliefs and lessons of the religion if they could not understand the origin? Thus, the founding fathers of Judaism, Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism incorporated their cultural and societal ideas in order to make their religions more accessible and “user-friendly” to their followers.

Through the years, the hierarchy and devotees of most of these religions have continued to over-simplify, over-intellectualize, over-rationalize, and over-culturalize that which they cannot understand. On the quest to make their religion more attractive to all people and to protect their positions of power, the religious authorities have sought to rid themselves of the mystery instead of teaching others how to find it for themselves. Each religion claims that they know what God is, Who God is. The fact of the matter, however, is that the more one thinks he or she knows What or Who God is, the farther away from God they drift. Before acknowledging anything else about the Divine, one must first admit that it is a Mystery.

People often get to a point when their lives seem meaningless and their religions seem irrelevant. They are hungering for the profound. But how can one find something they cannot see? Without having developed the proper eyes, these people are usually unable to find the meaning for which they are searching and their religions seem empty and childish. They turn away from their faith, thinking they have outgrown it. It is not until they become open to the gift of the mystical that they are able to go back to a structured religious system and appreciate the beliefs and traditions within it.

In the world today, more and more people are becoming increasingly disillusioned with their faith. Less people are able to see anything sacred in their everyday lives. Religious organizations will continue to lose members due to jading and disappointment unless they begin to teach their followers to get in contact with the Mystery themselves instead of trying to be sole mediators for the mystical. That is to say, religious authorities must cease trying to tell other people about their own mystical experiences or those of people who lived centuries ago and start teaching people how to encounter God firsthand.

Side Note

For more information on Jungian dream analysis and the concepts of the anima/animus check out these sites:

http://www.robertmoore-phd.com

http://www.jungatlanta.com/anima.html

http://victorian.lang.nagoya-u.ac.jp/victorianweb/authors/wilde/dawson12.html

http://www.cgjungpage.org/

D+A (5.3.09) Cont'd

After reflecting on these dreams for the past week, I'm finally taking a stab at their analysis. I discovered some neat and interesting insights into myself and the nature of the human psyche.

1. I arrive at a hotel with my mom and Travis. We check in and then change for dinner. Once in the grand dining room, my mom begins hysterically telling a story. She's speaking way too loudly, flailing her arms about and invading the personal space of other diners. Travis and I are trying to get her to be quiet, sit down and behave, but she's either oblivious or blatantly disregarding our pleas. It is humiliating.

My mom is a very extroverted person, so it would make sense that she would represent this part of myself that I, a naturally introverted person, am trying to develop. I think this dream represents my fear that as I do allow myself to open up and be seen, I run the risk of becoming so absorbed in that that I lose my awareness of both myself and those around me. I don't want to lose the balance of both natures.

2. I am a dancer in a cabaret show at a hotel in Vegas. I am about to go on stage with my fellow dancers when I realize that I am wearing the wrong bra under my risque outfit. As I race back to the dressing room to find the appropriate push-up, I get lost in a maze of hallways and doorways. I see a gift shop and run in to buy a bra there, because I am running out of time. I stumble over bookstands and leap over shelves of merchandise, but cannot find what I am looking for. I then see some women entering the elusive dressing room and run to follow them. Just as I get there the hallway changes and I go in the wrong door. I am still running from door to door looking for the right one while thinking that I've probably missed my cue. I decide the baby pink brazier I'm wearing is not ideal but it will have to do.

Again, as with this blog, in my social life, and in the academic setting, I am exposing my true colors to the world and allowing people to really see me as never before. I considered not publishing this blog until I felt I had important or interesting things to write about, or at least preventing certain people I hold in high esteem from viewing it until then. After reflecting for a couple of days, however, I decided that if I waited until everything about me was just right to make my move, I'd never do anything. Thus, I think this dream reflects the feeling I have of the vulnerability I feel in exposing myself and all my imperfections. I don't know where to find the knowledge or insight that will transform my average self into the va-va-voom push-up bra version of myself, but that doesn't mean that I should not go on stage at all.

3. I go back to the Berkshires to visit my former fellow patients. It is cold and snowing and very industrial - turns out it's Nazi Germany. Now, I know the history is not accurate in this dream, but bear with me. In this context, the world is still under the impression that Nazi Germany no longer exists, but the truth is, as I discover upon arrival, that the Nazis are still running Germany in secret and have fooled the world into believing their collapse. I first see Marissa, my narcissistic, possessive former friend. She begs me to go to dinner with her that night, and I agree. Next I see Susan, who is a 42-year-old patient with Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality, and Attachment Trauma. She's a mess in real life and a mess in my dream. She begs me to take her to an appointment and then to dinner later. I tell her that I'll give her a ride to her appointment and then we can go to coffee, but that I already have dinner plans. She agrees. I drop her off at a large factory building and wait out back for her in my little blue car. I roll down the back window and lie across the back seat so I can stare at the sky and day dream in the meantime. A guy named James (he was a nerdy boy I went to elementary school with - he was still a little nerdy in this dream but there was something edgy and worldly about him at the same time. I could tell he knew a lot of things I didn't from living in this country) spies me and comes over to my car to say hi. He asks me to go hang out with him. Susan at this point comes running out from the building in hysterics and demands that we go somewhere so that she can confide in me and be comforted. I tell her that she'll have to take care of herself, because I gotta go with James. Maybe I'll see her later, I say.

The first important aspect of this dream is its contextual setting. It is modern day, but the Nazis have fooled the world into thinking they no longer exist, when in fact they still rule a small part of it (Germany). If the Nazis represent my shadow self (the unknown, untamed part of myself that houses my illicit or unpleasant motives, urges, and emotions), as it has in several of my dreams long ago, then this is a powerful metaphor for the idea that I may fool myself into believing that I have eliminated this uncomfortable part of myself when in fact it is still tucked away in a dark corner of my psyche, occasionally tugging on the puppet strings and influencing my decisions unconsciously.

As far as running into the narcissistic and hysterical women, I think that there is a dual symbolism. First, in my life it has been necessary for me to distance myself from these women in order for me to reconnect with the animus inside of me which is essential for my spiritual development. At the same time, they both represent elements of my shadow self, which is why I encountered them in Germany. I must detach myself from narcissism, neediness, and hysteria in order to follow where my animus can lead me.

4. My cousin Jackie, James and I decide to go for a walk in the woods late at night so that he can show us the fallen Berlin Wall. I am under the impression that he knows it is safe for us to do so, and I don't feel nervous about it. The wall is a series of tall pillars connected by many strands of barbed wire. In some places the fence is dilapidated or the wire is cut. It's located on the side of a mountain that has tiered levels. The top, where the fence is located, has deep, powdery snow and we sink to our knees with each step. The next tier consists of hard, icier snow. The bottom level is somewhere in-between. There is a stream that is illuminated and runs along the bottom level. On the other side of the stream is a small bank and a raging black river. James leaves us at the wall and runs through the trees to the middle of the mountain. There is moderate moonlight, but not enough for us to see him. Jackie says "Good thing there aren't any guards along here." Just as she utters this, James' grim-toned voice calls through the darkness "What was that? Did you say guard?" He says it in such an eerie manner that it almost seems like he's planned for us to get caught. I turn around and coming through the darkness on the opposite side of the wall (which is a flat, snowy plain that stretches for miles) we see a flashlight moving toward us. It's a Nazi guard, and we know that if we get caught it is very, very bad. Jackie and I run down to the middle where James is standing and then all three of us flee to the bottom. We begin running alongside the stream, but I know that the guard will see our footprints easily and will catch us in no time. I exclaim that there must be a place to cross the stream somewhere, and just as I do the stream narrows and I spy a small ice bridge that extends halfway across. First Jackie then James jump onto the bridge and over to the other side. Each slips a little and gets a foot wet in the process, but they seem unharmed. I jump across and the exact same thing happens. Once on the other side, however, James jumps into the stream, which is waist deep. I think to myself "Oh, that's what we're doing? Then why didn't we do this a long time ago? And how are we not going to freeze to death in that water??" But I decide that I have no other choice, and I'd rather die in the stream than at the hands of the Nazis. I jump in and am surprised to find the water is actually quite warm. James attempts to swim upstream, and I mimic his attempt. However, it is quickly apparent that the current is far too strong and we'll have to swim with the current to make our escape. Jackie leads the way, followed by me then James. We go along for a bit, and then I hear James swear in a hushed tone. I look up to see a small wooden bridge over the stream with a huge woman guard (when I say huge, think Helga the shot put world champion or Ms. Trunchbull of Matilda fame - see above portrait). She's garbed in a black trench coat and combat boots, standing on the platform and using her flashlight to examine a map of the mountain. Jackie is standing right below her on the other side, frozen in fear. James and I go under water and attempt to swim under the bridge but discover that it's too low and and there's not enough room to fit. I put my hand on the side of the bridge to prevent the current from sweeping me into it but remain under water. James is on top of me and I am looking up through the water just waiting for Helga to look down and spot us. I am holding my breath, but I have have the feeling that I could hold it forever, or as long as it took for her to catch us.

As you might note, I often dream with a woman companion to my dream identity. If I'm feeling more integrated, I'll have my animus along for the ride as well, as I do in this dream. Some Jung analysts suggest that the two women (myself and one other) in these dreams represent my left-brained extrovert and my right-brained introvert. This usually makes sense for me because one personality is always represented by someone I know who I associate with being strongly introverted or strongly extroverted, but I consciously identify with both depending on the circumstances of the dream.

This dream is so rich with symbolism that I haven't had time to think about or discover all the hidden meanings. The main theme seems to be that my animus led me to a the border of my psyche between the known and unknown to encounter my shadow self. There seems to be an important distinction, however, between encountering and being trapped by my shadow. If James does represent my animus, he felt it was important for me to be aware of my shadow self but also helped me to prevent capture. He did this by taking me to the warm, illuminated stream. Again, if the stream signifies spirituality, then the message is that you can be aware and conscious of your shadow (you can "keep an eye on it") safely while immersed in spirituality or enlightenment.

D+A (5.5.09)

1. Stephen and I are in a tall tower next to my parents' house in Victoria. He is craving a tomato and I tell him that our neighbors, the Buellers, grow beautiful, ripe tomatoes in their back yard. We decide to sneak onto their property and steal a couple, so we descend from the tower and begin walking down the street. As we round the corner of the block, we witness Mr. Bueller (a crazy-looking old man both in my dream and in real life) stabbing a woman to death. We both freak out and run into my parents' yard to hide. While peeking through the fence, we see him bring a large trash can full of blood and water and the body of his victim and place it with the other trash cans at the edge of our driveway. I run inside and try to explain to my parents that they are being framed for murder. They don't seem to be worried about it at all, and I was trying to stress the urgency of the situation by yelling at them and flailing my arms. I finally decide to just call 911 and report it. As I'm speaking to the dispatcher, I am interrupted by a loud commotion in the yard off the side of the kitchen. My parents are fighting with a flock of angry birds, and through the birds emerges Mr. Bueller holding a knife and a large 2-pronged fork. He is smiling ominously as he enters the kitchen prepared to attack me. I unplug the phone from the wall, for some reason thinking that it will allow me to continue to speak to the dispatcher while gaining mobility to better defend myself. However, when I realize that all I've done is disconnect the call, I throw down the receiver and call out for my dad to come help me. He is smiling a little bit and says "I'm pretty sure you can handle it." I decide that he wouldn't say this if he was really worried and that this must mean Mr. Bueller is very weak. I lunge toward him and wrestle the knife away from him. He is very weak and I kick him to the floor and begin to cut him into tiny pieces. His body becomes paper-thin and I slice it without any blood - it's like slicing a pizza or something. I am afraid that if I don't cut him up enough he will be able to come back to life and continue to attack us. Then I see a little blond toddler in a pink frilly dress standing in the kitchen next to me. She is Mr. Bueller's granddaughter and I realize that she is in fact the culprit of all of this. She's the one who murdered the woman and moved the body to our driveway and she's also the one who wanted to attack me in the kitchen. I try to yell at her, asking what is wrong with her that she could do this. She just stares at me with a blank expression as Mr. Bueller peels himself off the floor and explains that she just couldn't help it.

2. I am in a hotel with Laura at night and we head downstairs for a drink in our pajamas. In a small, dark TV lounge we run into Tom Selleck and his teenage son. Laura and Tom do not like each other, but Tom and I are in love. Tom and Laura begin bickering and Laura wants to go back to the room. I realize that we don't have our room keys with us, so I go to the front desk to get one. The front desk ladies pull out a key with a black string attached and a key with a blue one. The keys got mixed up and they don't know which is mine. I don't remember what my room key looked like, but I guess the black one. I take it to Laura and ask her if we had a blue key or a black one, and she said a blue one. We go back to the front desk and swap for the blue key, then return to the lounge. When I get back I decide that I want to stay with Tom and he and I decide to start a relationship. He lies down on the ground and I snuggle up next to him. Laura is very frustrated by this but I decide that it doesn't matter. She returns to the room alone.

3. I am at a launch party for a clothing line in a large house. The entire house has 20-foot ceilings and is bathed in green and blue light. There are models walking around and posing in the new outfits and dresses. One model is given an antique bike to ride, but the front wheel doesn't turn. She quits, so I put on her dress, pull up my hair, and begin to ride the bike around myself. I feel very pretty and boys all around are approaching me to compliment my beauty. I see Stephen and he is getting hit on by a snotty boy. I try to discourage Stephen from engaging, but he seems willing to give the guy a chance. I move to another part of the room and Jackie comes running in with a huge smile on her face. "Did you see the snow?!!" she asks me, and I look out the large windows to see beautiful, sparkling snow falling from the sky.

D+A (5.3.09)

I haven't had time to analyze these, and I'll have to do a lot of thinking before I develop much of an interpretation. Any ideas are encouraged. I'll return to them later. For now, I gotta get to my Buddhism homework.

1. I arrive at a hotel with my mom and Travis. We check in and then change for dinner. Once in the grand dining room, my mom begins hysterically telling a story. She's speaking way too loudly, flailing her arms about and
invading the personal space of other diners. Travis and I are trying to get her to be quiet, sit down and behave, but she's either oblivious or blatantly disregarding our pleas. It is humiliating.

2. I am a dancer in a cabaret show at a hotel in Vegas. I am about to go on stage with my fellow dancers when I realize that I am wearing the wrong bra under my risque outfit. As I race back to the dressing room to find the appropriate push-up, I get lost in a maze of hallways and doorways. I see a gift shop and run in to buy a bra there, because I am running out of time. I stumble over bookstands and leap over shelves of merchandise, but cannot find what I am looking for. I then see some women entering the elusive dressing room and run to follow them. Just as I get there the hallway changes and I go in the wrong door. I am still running from door to door looking for the right one while thinking that I've probably missed my cue. I decide the baby pink brazier I'm wearing is not ideal but it will have to do.

3. I go back to the Berkshires to visit my former fellow patients. It is cold and snowing and very industrial - turns out it's Nazi Germany. Now, I know the history is not accurate in this dream, but bear with me. In this context, the world is still under the impression that Nazi Germany no longer exists, but the truth is, as I discover upon arrival, that the Nazis are still running Germany in secret and have fooled the world into believing their collapse. I first see Marissa, my narcissistic, possessive former friend. She begs me to go to dinner with her that night, and I agree. Next I see Susan, who is a 42-year-old patient with Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality, and Attachment Trauma. She's a mess in real life and a mess in my dream. She begs me to take her to an appointment and then to dinner later. I tell her that I'll give her a ride to her appointment and then we can go to coffee, but that I already have dinner plans. She agrees. I drop her off at a large factory building and wait out back for her in my little blue car. I roll down the back window and lie across the back seat so I can stare at the sky and day dream in the meantime. A guy named James (he was a nerdy boy I went to elementary school with - he was still a little nerdy in this dream but there was something edgy and worldly about him at the same time. I could tell he knew a lot of things I didn't from living in this country) spies me and comes over to my car to say hi. He asks me to go hang out with him. Susan at this point comes running out from the building in hysterics and demands that we go somewhere so that she can confide in me and be comforted. I tell her that she'll have to take care of herself, because I gotta go with James. Maybe I'll see her later, I say.

4. My cousin Jackie, James and I decide to go for a walk in the woods late at night so that he can show us the fallen Berlin Wall. I am under the impression that he knows it is safe for us to do so, and I don't feel nervous about it. The wall is a series of tall pillars connected by many strands of barbed wire. In some places the fence is dilapidated or the wire is cut. It's located on the side of a mountain that has tiered levels. The top, where the fence is located, has deep, powdery snow and we sink to our knees with each step. The next tier consists of hard, icier snow. The bottom level is somewhere in-between. There is a stream that is illuminated and runs along the bottom level. On the other side of the stream is a small bank and a raging black river. James leaves us at the wall and runs through the trees to the middle of the mountain. There is moderate moonlight, but not enough for us to see him. Jackie says "Good thing there aren't any guards along here." Just as she utters this, James' grim-toned voice calls through the darkness "What was that? Did you say guard?" He says it in such an eerie manner that it almost seems like he's planned for us to get caught. I turn around and coming through the darkness on the opposite side of the wall (which is a flat, snowy plain that stretches for miles) we see a flashlight moving toward us. It's a Nazi guard, and we know that if we get caught it is very, very bad. Jackie and I run down to the middle where James is standing and then all three of us flee to the bottom. We begin running alongside the stream, but I know that the guard will see our footprints easily and will catch us in no time. I exclaim that there must be a place to cross the stream somewhere, and just as I do the stream narrows and I spy a small ice bridge that extends halfway across. First Jackie then James jump onto the bridge and over to the other side. Each slips a little and gets a foot wet in the process, but they seem unharmed. I jump across and the exact same thing happens. Once on the other side, however, James jumps into the stream, which is waist deep. I think to myself "Oh, that's what we're doing? Then why didn't we do this a long time ago? And how are we not going to freeze to death in that water??" But I decide that I have no other choice, and I'd rather die in the stream than at the hands of the Nazis. I jump in and am surprised to find the water is actually quite warm. James attempts to swim upstream, and I mimic his attempt. However, it is quickly apparent that the current is far too strong and we'll have to swim with the current to make our escape. Jackie leads the way, followed by me then James. We go along for a bit, and then I hear James swear in a hushed tone. I look up to see a small wooden bridge over the stream with a huge woman guard (when I say huge, think Helga the shot put world champion or Ms. Trunchbull of Matilda fame - see above portrait). She's garbed in a black trench coat and combat boots, standing on the platform and using her flashlight to examine a map of the mountain. Jackie is standing right below her on the other side, frozen in fear. James and I go under water and attempt to swim under the bridge but discover that it's too low and and there's not enough room to fit. I put my hand on the side of the bridge to prevent the current from sweeping me into it but remain under water. James is on top of me and I am looking up through the water just waiting for Helga to look down and spot us. I am holding my breath, but I have have the feeling that I could hold it forever, or as long as it took for her to catch us.

D+A (5.2.09)

I am going to start using part of this blog space as a dream journal of sorts. The title of these entries will always be "D+A" (Dream+Analysis) followed by the date of the dream(s).I will begin by retelling the dream in as much detail as possible, followed by musings as to the symbols and messages. The dream accounts will be a challenge to write coherently, but I'll do my best to make sense of them both to myself and to any reader. I welcome any comments, ideas, or interpretations, as I do for every other post I write.

1. I arrive at Neiman Marcus around 10am to rendezvous with my mother at her request. She is in the dressing room trying on clothes when I get there and I wait for her in the waiting area just outside. As I'm waiting, she keeps reaching around her curtain and hanging outfits that she has already tried on. She wants me to try them on next so she can buy some for me. She's in a great mood, although I never actually see her face. I keep hearing her say things like "Sweetie, you'd just look fabulous in this." I am really not in the mood for shopping, and as I'm starting to get frustrated my aunt Casey appears. I first tell her that I don't want to try on anything my mom wants me to, and she reassures me that I don't have to and that I should just tell my mom how I'm feeling. I then begin to gasp for air and try to tell her that I can't breathe.

I think this is about the pressure I may feel to be something/someone other than who I really am. Other people want to keep me boxed in or put their own ideas of who/how I should be onto me. As I'm growing up, I am less tolerant of this and find it often frustrating. I think the breathing thing could be significant, but I'm more inclined to believe that I was in a bad position in my bed that made breathing difficult and that was my way of letting myself know.

2. I am in a living room of a white house during the early afternoon. A group of students and faculty who attended the disastrous Religious Studies field trip with me (in real life) are seated in a circle. We are here to discuss how the museum visit went, and I speak up first. I state how ridiculous and poorly planned out the entire excursion was and in the future we would be better served by doing more research ahead of time to gauge what we were getting into. I barely finish speaking when a loud-mouthed-know-it-all girl from my class begins reprimanding me for my ingratitude and lack of manners. Other students immediately chime in to support her, but the entire attack smacks of insincerity for the sake of political correctness. I think to myself that this is why I often keep my thoughts to myself - because often what I say/think is either offensive or unrelatable to others. I finally decide I've had enough. Silently crying in frustration and shame, I cross the room and leave. Outside, the neighborhood is very Pleasantville-esque. As I make my way down the sidewalk, I am wishing that Nicolette (my religious studies TA whom I admire) would follow me out to comfort me or at least let me explain. When she doesn't, I have a brief moment of lucidity and elect to make it happen anyways. Nicolette comes running out of the house calling my name. I stop and turn around, but when she gets to me I begin to wheeze again and tell her I can't breathe. She pulls out a paper bag for me to breathe into and we sit on the curbside to help me calm down.

I think this dream is of a similar vein as the one before, but it also reflects my deep fear that if I truly speak what's often on my mind or real to me, I will alienate myself from others and people may react in a hostile manner. Lately I am irritated by everyone being overly politically correct and the lack of tolerance for other viewpoints that are often more realistic or truthful.

3. I head down to our bayhouse in Port O'Connor. When I get there, the set-up of the house has shifted to include a larger deck where the breezeway is. The pool is now located on the canal side and instead of the canal, the entire ocean is stretched out just beyond (except the water is still brownish green and murky). My family and some of my parents' friends, all older couples, are all sitting on the breezeway deck chatting. I take a seat and am listening to the conversations when I my dad and Travis get up and take their chairs around to the ocean side of the house. My dad comes back and goes to pick up another empty chair. I catch his eye and give him a quizzical look. He winks at me mischievously and so I grab my chair and follow him around to the other side as well. When I get there I see that the ocean has risen so high that it covers the entire pool and boat dock. One of our former boats, named The Miss Lauren M, is tethered to a pillar supporting the house, and my dad and brother are jumping from the front deck to the boat with chairs in hand, then putting the chairs in the water on the other side. People are somehow then able to get in the chairs and float on top of the water for leisure. My dad's in the boat, and he holds out his hand for me to get in with my chair. As soon as I do, the boat begins to capsize. My dad curses and I can tell he is nervous. I don't feel nervous in the slightest, because I know that once under water we will be able to easily swim out from the boat and back to the surface. This is exactly what happens, and we both paddle to safety. Once out of the water, my dad tells me to go back down to the bottom of the ocean to flip the boat right-side up again. I am sure that this is impossible, and a little shocked by the request. However, I decide that there's no harm in trying. I dive back into the water and as I begin swimming down, I feel nervous about the lack of visibility. I soon realize that the murkiness is just the top layer, and underneath the water is cooler, crystal clear, and fresh. It's not that I'm able to breathe here but more that I don't need to. The boat is sitting on the bottom and I take it by the motor and effortlessly right it. I then pull it back up to the surface as my dad requested. When I get out of the water, I'm not even wet. My uncle then comes to tell me how much he likes my blog. My aunt Casey says that she has yet to read it, and for some reason seems a little smug about it. Then an old man approaches me, puts his arm around me, and says "I cannot tell you how much your writing means to me. It's like an arrow through my heart - it touches my core."

This one was more difficult for me to figure out, so I enlisted the help of my father. Typically dreams in which the water is blue and clear that does not require holding my breath while under it symbolizes spirituality. If the boat is my "vessel for getting through life," as my dad phrased it, then perhaps this dream is merely a metaphor for what has happened in my life the past few years. I sank to the bottom and was unsure of my ability to right the situation. However, once I made the effort to do so, I was led to a place in which I was able to see more clearly and found the strength I didn't think I had. Strong male presences usually represent my Jungian anima, and an older man would be a mature/developed one. I think that the old man at the end of my dream represented the fact that writing on this blog is helping me to develop a relationship with that part of myself.

Movie Night

Planning movie night with my parents has always been somewhat bothersome. What for most families is a relaxing night in becomes for me an exercise in strategy and patience. My dad is just not into movies. He can appreciate certain flicks for their messages or artistry (very few - he could name them on one hand) but even these hold little appeal as a way to spend a Friday night. My mom's standards of viewing pleasure are considerably more modest, but she does have her own qualifiers that make choosing a movie difficult: no violence (she gasped in terror during the gun scene of Miss Congeniality), no suspense (she hid under the covers from Injun Joe whilst viewing DISNEY's Tom & Huck), and always a happy ending.

Once I've scoured the movie selections for a rental that meets above criteria, it still requires at the very least gentle persuasion to entice both parties to take their places on the sofa. I begin the seduction by studying reviews and familiarizing myself with the plot line. After passing along this report, I then must assure my mother that it is a happy movie, and - if I've previewed it, which is often the case - that I will forewarn her of any less-than-sunny moments.

Lights go down, movie begins, and just as I'm suspending my disbelief and surrendering to the fantasy..... "Sweetheart, how do I turn up the volume?" This usually comes from my mom first, followed by something like "I am so freakin' deaf. You gotta turn it up more!" from my dad as soon as I put down the remote. These days I just hand them the remote from the get-go, pointing out to my mom the button that controls volume.

Then commences the great guessing game. At the first ominous tone, my mother's sweaty palm locks my arm in a death grip and she demands to know what's going to happen next. I explain it in as much detail as I can remember, and reassure her that there will be no blood and that it all ends happily. She still shuts her eyes tightly and waits for the "all clear." Needless to say, The Dark Knight didn't stand a chance... we barely made it half-way. My dad also plays this game. As soon as he thinks he's got a feel for a character, he begins anticipating their every move. This sounds something like, "Oh, so what's he gonna do now? He's gonna go to bed with her, isn't he? Oh my God! How ridiculous!" This speculation, which is often inaccurate, is met with "No. Just WATCH, dad!" His tolerance for stupidity has always been low, but it is virtually nonexistent when it comes to the kind of idiots that only Hollywood can write. I have to restore his confidence in the overall moral message of the movie to get him to stop rolling his eyes and keep watching.

This past Friday night, I was one tired Persephone and decided to stay in and treat myself to a movie-thon on my couch. I curled up with my cats and began with my first pick, Footloose. My thought was that I would ease myself into the night, starting with the lightest and working my way into the meatier selections, Serpico followed by The Wrestler. This was poor planning.

Serpico (1973 Al Pacino) is based on the true story of a cop who discovers rampant corruption in multiple precincts of the NYPD. The acting was top notch (no surprise there) and the truth behind the plot made it both gripping and heart-wrenching. Ultimately, the movie is a narrative about doing the right thing for its own sake, not because it's easy and definitely not for personal gain. This concept is all but lost on the great many of us today who have been told to aim for our own "happiness" (a.k.a. pleasure, joy, and/or instant gratification) above all else. What is "the right thing" anyway? Isn't it all relative?

The Wrestler turned out to be an ironic follow-up. Living by the above modern credo, a man who relied on shallow, episodic meaning reaches the middle of his life realizing that he has nothing else. When he is unable to wrestle any more, he grasps at real substance only to discover it's too late. This tragic tale was increasingly uncomfortable as it unfolded. I forced myself to finish it, keeping my fingers crossed that it would be worth my while in the end. While Mickey Rourke deserved his Academy Award nod for his performance, ultimately I went to bed with a sick feeling in my stomach, wishing I'd been satisfied with simply reading the synopsis on imdb.com.

The most interesting aspect of the night was observing myself throughout the process. I picked my rentals based on similar criteria as my parents: they had to be either feel-good and uplifting or substantive moral commentary. I cringed at the violence, fought the urge to shut my eyes at parts, speculated endlessly (ok, I actually searched online for spoilers halfway through Serpico when the unknowing was more than I could stand), and prayed for a happy ending. I flirted with the volume control almost compulsively, finally deciding on a slightly lower level than was comfortable because I didn't want to disturb my neighbors. And in the end I decided that I would have been better served reading a book or taking a nap. Or writing on the blog.