Twilight Anxiety

(Es Una Condición Imprescindible)

"...there is a twilight when everything remains seemingly unchanged. And it is in such a twilight that we all must be aware of change in the air—however slight—lest we become unwilling victims of the darkness." - William Douglas

I was sitting in the car under a stoplight. The street lamps were buzzing and struggling to turn on. When the light switched to green it caught my eyes and I was transfixed by it as we drove underneath. It swayed back and forth in the wind, and its background, the rest of the world, blended together. There is always a focal point in art, and in this case it was the bright light in the foreground. I stared at this long enough that I began to not see what it was, but what it was not. The light faded away and the background came into focus. The way everything was illuminated was perfect- dark but hazy from the last rays of light still trapped in the grey clouds. Everything seemed to appear in subdued tones, the sky was various shades of dull grey and all of the buildings were sepia. It is apparent to me now as to why any artistic reproduction which captured the Great Depression was always in these same tones. These subdued tones seemed to represent not just a time but an aura, a feeling. I felt that same feeling right then, a heavy feeling of anguish and depression.
I have a poetic way of thinking, and often interpret my environment metaphorically. The flashing light caught my attention because thats exactly what it was designed to do. I didn't notice everything else right away, even though it was the larger sum of the portrait, and I began to think about this. That stoplight was a distraction, and represented the many distractions that we plague ourselves with. We (as humans) design focal points in an attempt to impose order on chaos. We are organized because we stop and go when the light tells us to.
We are sensory beings so its easy to get lost in the manufactured sounds and sights. The sustenance of capitalism is through marketing and advertising, decadence and exaggeration- "All flash and no meaning" is its synopsis. We've decorated our world with sparkling lies, it looks beautiful from space. Capitalism- Is this why westerners are so materialistic? Art is being used for evil, its being manipulated through propaganda to show not reality or even an image of reality but generic images, with lying taglines. We're becoming blinded by the flash of pretty things and slipping more and more into denial. We accumulate possessions and give these objects sentimental value and we form vain attachments to them. There is no freedom in this, all attachments are futile- nothing can be eternally bonded; not your possessions, not your friends, family, lovers, not even your body-just your soul.
Focus, then, on what lies beyond these objects. Focus on not just what is, but what isn't. Existence is the constant struggle between opposites; black and white, joy and sorrow, pain and pleasure, love and hate, life and death. Existence isn't the goal. Existence is all ready happening. Putting your eyes into focus- that is the goal. Learning to stare through the distractions and see them as exactly that- that is the goal. Focusing on the background, focusing on reality- that is the goal. Focusing is the first step but interpretation is the next test. Is there any meaning to the background? What does it represent: Futility? Optimism? Hope? Nothing? Everything? Existence is where everything collides. Existence is that time of day when the dark fights the night.
Notice the painting at the top. Its been my favorite painting since the first time I saw it and it appears to be at this same time of day. The time of day when he is screaming.

Rapture

"and because you are

forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you"

-ee cummings

If I had the power of will I would will the fall of humanity.

I'd stand in the ruble of whats left- apathy, vanity, fear
gathering every flag and using them as the rags they are -
only with our fallen pride can we dry all these tears.
Out of the destruction and debris will rise up new beginnings,
I'd tell everyone not to worry because the battle wasn't worth winning.

We will be the new creator- fathers and mothers giving rebirth,
The musicians will sing the heavens, the artists will paint the earth.
The writers will write the script of the sea and a letter
to God telling him "not to worry either and that I'm sorry but we had a change of heart and that everything falls apart, eventually."

I will go door to door and tell everyone the bad news,
"I'm sorry but your religion did not survive, I regret to inform you that none were left alive,
fear and faith are dead, I'm sorry," I said...
"But there was one we managed to revive."

Only we can save the truth.

Now the book will be sold out and the preachers will have perished,
everything is gone, everything once cherished.

God's promise was an illusion- a trick of light.
He's sorry for the betrayal but he never expected this fight.

He was never to concerned, we always seemed to submit-
and he hates to admit it but he's surprised we never got it,
it was all a joke and we were the punchline,
We were always meant to be- failures by design.

Now its all irrelevant because we will resist and earn our keep,
We'll have taken back the world, a quiet one, in which so many are still asleep.
I'll gracefully kiss their foreheads and tell them to awaken.
They'll ask if I'm an angel and I'll tell them they're mistaken and that,
"It's true you almost died, but there is no more need to worry because you're finally alive.
We nearly destroyed ourselves but we've been fighting for our lives."

We will have to start again because no savior will come to be,
and the end of the world it will come quite suddenly.
We'll descend from misconception and come to save ourselves,
within us we will delve and find what truth is left in the self-
It will be the new seed of our existence, it will be the purpose of our resistance.

Not quite victory.

I will sound as if we've won and I won't mean to mislead but
the blind have led the blind so long, there are still people to be freed.
"We must hurry I can hear their cries- they are so afraid to die
help everyone to run- stretching their arms towards the sky"
Their bones are tired from being caged but they are finally free,
They'll step into the sun, their eyes will adjust, and they will see-

That it is good.

Plight of the Ridiculous

A ridiculous, yet probably relative story. "I am a ridiculous person. Now they call me a madman. That would be a promotion if it were not that I remain as ridiculous in their eyes as before. But now I do not resent it, they are all dear to me now, even when they laugh at me - and, indeed, it is just then that they are particularly dear to me. I could join in their laughter - not exactly at myself, but through affection for them, if I did not feel so sad as I look at them. Sad because they do not know the truth and I do know it. Oh, how hard it is to be the only one who knows the truth! But they won't understand that. No, they won't understand it." - Dostoevsky from "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man"I've been called ridiculous, on more than one occasion, usually in a light hearted manner. I've never been offended; in fact I consider it quite amusing. What I wonder, does Dostoyevsky refer to when he says, "Sad because they do not know the truth and I do know it?" What is the truth that he is referring to? Do he and I share this truth as we share ridiculous tendencies? I want to know.There was a time, around the age of 8, when I changed my mind about who I was going to be. I was shy-horribly shy, and I can't imagine the extremity of what my social anxiety could have been if I would have remained so. Somehow, I managed to not only change, but to rebel in a way that was the complete opposite of who I was. Even at the age of 8 this was a conscious decision. I exploited myself for the purpose of humor. I was entertaining and lively. But no one wants to be a joker in the Queens court. I had turned into a dancer, an artist, an illusionist, and I could distract myself and others with colors, movement, and sounds. I could make them laugh when they should have cried, and I continued to do this because I could live through them and laugh myself.Somehow I could handle being center stage. I was light hearted and humorous, but unsure of myself. It was only in times of seriousness, that I often kept silent. There was a difference in the interaction of myself and others, when I was in control of the show. But when the moment demanded confrontation and the attitude was serious, I shied away- something I still struggle with to this day.
I wanted to be the Queen. But how awkward of a child I was- very tall and skinny, and I had big feet and was clumsy. My lack of physical grace had in turn manifested a lack of confidence. My social anxiety caused me to trip over my words. When I was about the age of 11 I had written in my diary once a “to do” list, and on it I had included 'practice walking and talking'. I laugh about it now, but in a way it still seems very sad to me. I had grasped the idea of social grace long before most, and I begin to instill it in myself during my youth. I did this for the wrong reasons; I wanted to create an illusion of what I was not. I was all ready denying my individuality.The reality of what was happening is best described by Kierkegaard, "I too have both the tragic and the comic in me: I am witty and the people laugh-but I cry." With time came resentment and I grew less focused on the exploitation of myself, but instead the exploitation of what was happening around me. I became sarcastic, witty, and increasingly cynical. I had begun to realize the power of my social grace and began to use it not for pleasing others, but instead for my own manipulative purposes. (I don't feel bad about this.) I was about 13 now, and I had done a complete 180 from where I had been. The year before I had entered junior high and struggled just as everyone else to make a name for myself. But now I was in the 7th grade, and my memory of this year is one of my favorites. I don't remember anything, anything except for my patterns of thought. I remember little because my memory of this time is so surreal. I can look back and see myself sitting in the cafeteria; everything is silent- even though I am surrounded by chattering girls. The reason I am so fond of this memory is because I couldn't hear them then either, often I chose not too. They were probably talking about boys, boobs, and brand name clothes- things that were of little interest to me at the time. I wore an over sized burgundy Old Navy sweatshirt with a rustic looking truck on it, cargo jeans, and my hair back in a bun, nearly every day. I don't even know how I managed to fit in with them, they were all growing up, concerned about 'older' things, and they were becoming sexualized. The only thing we had in common anymore was that fact that in one way or another, we had previously established our dominance through childhood. The reality of it then is pretty much the same as the reality of it now, we were cute kids. We were born noble because of this. That's it. But things were different now, with me anyway. I remember eating as the rest of the girls dipped their croutons in ranch because it was all they would eat when boys were watching. I didn't care about this. In fact, I doubted there was anyone watching anyway, and instead I sat with my chin in my hands staring at the people at other tables, searching their faces for a sign- wondering if they felt just as lost as I was.
There is another memory I have of my 13th year, and that is my memories of home. It’s safe to assume that things were bad, but I think that I've blocked most of it out. What I do remember is my room, dark and filled with candles. I'd sit in my room for hours, reading, writing, and usually contemplating my spirituality. I would become so confused that I would give up and cry. I had declared war on God, I had rejected everything I knew- authority, social construct, self restraint. I contemplated purpose, my own purpose, the purpose of others, and just an objective purpose in general.
My parents and I did not get along. I had went from being a fun and outgoing child to a secluded and bitter teenager over night. I was slightly mischievous as a child and my parents over compensative view of discipline led me to be grounded the majority of my early teenage life. But now I had grounded myself, and instead of my parents trying to suppress me, they would beg me to go out, leave the house, socialize with people. My mother began to worry about me, she considered me depressed and she was right. Once she had cut a photo out of Time magazine and taped it to the wall by the stairwell leading to my room. I remember coming home from school and staring at it. It was a photo of a starving African boy in the desert, curled into a ball with his head in his hands. There was a vulture nearby, looking on, waiting for him to die. My mom did this to set my perspective straight. She wanted to teach me that it was unfair to come home bitter and angry at the world when I have so much more than most. Her heart was in the right place, and that picture is the basis of my entire perspective, and it’s in my mind forever. But what she failed to realize is what I was upset about in the first place, it wasn't trivial teenage anguish. It was exactly what was in that photo that I was worried about to begin with. It was times like this when I thought about the girls and their croutons, their refusal to eat because they were embarrassed to. I would look at that photo and just feel so angry. The child in that photo was probably all ready dead, he didn't starve himself- he didn't have a choice. Here I wasn't yet laughing at people thinking that I was ridiculous, I was angry. How, how was I possibly the ridiculous one? This is where I think that I began to see some of that truth that Dostoyevsky was talking about.
Later on this same year, my aunt and uncle had moved up here from Texas and had to temporarily live with us while they found a house. My uncle told me that I was the most jaded 13 year old he had ever met. I remember this because it surprised me that someone perceived me the way that I was in a positive light. My mother would drag me through years of counseling soon after, because she had concluded that I had no emotions, feeling, and was heartless. That was never the problem; in fact the problem was the opposite. I had a lot of feelings, a lot of intense feelings, which were only poorly displayed because of my confusion. I wanted to say or do something, but I felt helpless, like a slave to the futility of it all.
All through high school I remained the same- neutral, indifferent, apathetic. But it never kept me from being hopeful. Though I hated tended to despise the way humans acted, I always loved humanity. I was nice, but got close to few. These years were uneventful, somewhat boring, but I never sold myself out. I guess that’s more than most can say of high school.
The changes have been more predominant in recent years, though it was slow. I refrained from being involved in the traditional college environment for my first two years out of school. In fact, I had overcome a large feat of resentment and was the happiest I had ever been, though still not contented. I was less indifferent now, I was more empathetic. But it was when I did indulge in the college scene that things again changed for me. I became self destructive, and had returned to that power of social grace so that I could again manipulate people according to my own will. I do what I wanted, without inhibition. But because I was always acting, I exploited not myself, but others. My apathy was in full force this time, and it was dangerous. Though I'm speaking of this in past tense, it’s barely passed. I've only recently began to acknowledge it, though it brings a lot of anxiety, there are so many nihilistic tendencies that need to be destroyed. But on the contrary, my social abilities have blossomed in a way that I no longer fear other people, but welcome their difference. Not that I don't do this without skepticism- that will surely never change. But I find myself to be more accepting of others than most.
And though things have changed, back and forth and in many ways, nothing has. I'm a combination of all of these personas I mentioned. I'm still shy, I still manipulate through social grace, and I struggle between apathy and empathy. But what I find to be most important is that I've always preserved that same perspective. I've always asked questions, I do what I want to do (which I usually manage to do without hurting others) and I'm unconcerned with what they think of it. I gave up a long time ago with trying to mold myself to being something that I'm not. And though the reality of who I am is still diluted with elements of grace, I have not changed.
I've run into many people who I knew in school, and it is always interesting to talk to these people and see how they've changed. The fact that I'm happy to be talking to them at all shows me that I myself have changed. I'm far more welcoming. I've noticed a trend in these conversations, where people mention that they admire how I composed myself in high school. I always managed to stay on the surface of things, never getting bogged down by the mundane dramatics of adolescence. Many people tell me this because they feel that they can relate. They tell me this as if they seem to know now where I was coming from. A lot of them I know little but enough to know that they are in denial. They do see where I was coming from, and I think that some of them do finally see the futility of it. A lot of these people have been the same girls with the croutons back in the 7th grade. What I find sad, is that they, like most, have fought their individuality their entire lives.
Maybe at the time my lack of concern for social propriety, and intolerance for injustice made me seem a little ridiculous. But even though authenticity is so hard to come by, I know that everyone is ridiculous. And the extent of their ridiculousness is just muted by their own realization of it. I've become aware of my own ridiculousness. I chose to dwell in it rather than succumbing to self victimization and many other personality flaws. I feel like I'm glorifying myself here, and I don't mean to. But I am proud, and I am thankful that I was blessed with some sort of awareness at a young age. Such realizations tend to be far more difficult to come to terms with in later years. Now I see the humor in it all, practicing walking and talking, and the girls starving themselves out of shame. I could have become that, but I didn't. I wouldn't find conformity so amusing if I wouldn't have given up on it long ago. But that is just me, it is everyone else that I'm worried about now. All the other girls and people who have denied themselves of...themselves for so long, even if they see the futility of it, they've spent their entire lives living through it. Is it too late for them to break free?
Dostoyevsky's truth that I believe we share, lies in this line, "I could join in their laughter - not exactly at myself, but through affection for them, if I did not feel so sad as I look at them."

Analyzation of Allegory of the Cave

Symbolism

The Cave- Confinement, prison, ignorance
The Light- Knowledge, wisdom, awareness
The Chains- Forms, sensory perception, language, confinement, ignorance
The Puppets- "Realities"
The Fire- Aides in the portrayal of illusions, ignorance
The Shadows- illusions
The Puppeteers- Manipulation, misrepresentation
The Painful Glare- The harshness of reality, the painful truth, the dizziness of freedom
The Echoes- The echoes are the same as the prisoners interpretations, only a replica of what really is, the manifestation of ignorance.
The Sun- Pure truth

Realm of Forms

"Like ourselves, I replied; and they see only their own shadows, or the shadows of one another, which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave?"
(Everything is Relative)

"And if they were able to converse with one another, would they not suppose that they were naming what was actually before them?"
(Language, communication, the expression of ideas and opinions, and ignorance)

"And suppose further that the prison had an echo which came from the other side, would they not be sure to fancy when one of the passers-by spoke that the voice which they heard came from the passing shadow?"
(Misinterpretation, limited perception)

To them, I said, the truth would be literally nothing but the shadows of the images. (Fallacy, presumed truth, limited truth, illusionment)

"And now look again, and see what will naturally follow if the prisoners are released and disabused of their error (Freedom). At first, when any of them is liberated and compelled suddenly to stand up and turn his neck round and walk and look towards the light, he will suffer sharp pains; the glare will distress him, (The dizziness of Freedom) and he will be unable to see the realities of which in his former state he had seen the shadows; (The result of conditioning, denial) and then conceive some one saying to him, that what he saw before was an illusion, but that now, when he is approaching nearer to being and his eye is turned towards more real existence, he has a clearer vision,(Atonement, Self Actualization) -what will be his reply? And you may further imagine that his instructor is pointing to the objects as they pass and requiring him to name them, -- will he not be perplexed (differentiation)? Will he not fancy that the shadows which he formerly saw are truer than the objects which are now shown to him?

And if he is compelled to look straight at the light, will he not have a pain in his eyes which will make him turn away (The harshness of reality) to take and take in the objects of vision which he can see, and which he will conceive to be in reality clearer than the things which are now being shown to him? (Safety in collective thinking)

And suppose once more, that he is reluctantly dragged up a steep and rugged ascent, and held fast until he 's forced into the presence of the sun himself, is he not likely to be pained and irritated? When he approaches the light his eyes will be dazzled, and he will not be able to see anything at all of what are now called realities. (The Struggle)

He will require to grow accustomed to the sight of the upper world (coming to terms with reality). And first he will see the shadows best, next the reflections of men and other objects in the water, (Illusions) and then the objects themselves;...

“And if they could talk to one another, don’t you think they’d suppose that the names they used applied to the things they see passing before them?” (They have given it a name but have not yet found the meaning)

If a prisoner says “That’s a book” he thinks that the word “book” refers to the very thing he is looking at. But he would be wrong. He’s only looking at a shadow. The real referent of the word “book” he cannot see. To see it, he would have to turn his head around. (Curiosity)

Last of he will be able to see the sun, and not mere reflections of him in the water, but he will see him in his own proper place, and not in another; and he will contemplate him as he is. (Existential Awareness)

He will then proceed to argue that this is he who gives the season and the years, and is the guardian of all that is in the visible world, and in a certain way the cause of all things which he and his fellows have been accustomed to behold? (...relevance of fire and light?)

Imagine once more, I said, such an one coming suddenly out of the sun to be replaced in his old situation; would he not be certain to have his eyes full of darkness? (There is no turning back)

And if there were a contest, and he had to compete in measuring the shadows with the prisoners who had never moved out of the den, while his sight was still weak, and before his eyes had become steady (and the time which would be needed to acquire this new habit of sight might be very considerable) would he not be ridiculous? (Misinterpretation, He would be disregarded, not taken seriously)Men would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes; and that it was better not even to think of ascending; ( The comic playwright Aristophanes had mocked Socrates by portraying Plato's master, Socrates, as a foolish intellectual with his head in the clouds- Ignorance is Bliss.) and if any one tried to loose another and lead him up to the light, let them only catch the offender, and they would put him to death. (Seeing Wisdom as ignorance, condemning it- as the Athenians did Socrates)

Moreover, I said, you must not wonder that those who attain to this beatific vision are unwilling to descend to human affairs; for their souls are ever hastening into the upper world where they desire to dwell; which desire of theirs is very natural, if our allegory may be trusted. (The Elite)

Any one who has common sense will remember that the bewilderments of the eyes are of two kinds, and arise from two causes, either from coming out of the light or from going into the light, which is true of the mind's eye, quite as much as of the bodily eye; and he who remembers this when he sees any one whose vision is perplexed and weak, will not be too ready to laugh; he will first ask whether that soul of man has come out of the brighter light, and is unable to see because unaccustomed to the dark, or having turned from darkness to the day is dazzled by excess of light. (Understanding)

Whereas, our argument shows that the power and capacity of learning exists in the soul already; and that just as the eye was unable to turn from darkness to light without the whole body, so too the instrument of knowledge can only by the movement of the whole soul be turned from the world of becoming into that of being, and learn by degrees to endure the sight of being, and of the brightest and best of being, or in other words, of the good. (True wisdom and awareness can only be chosen in entirety)

And whereas the other so-called virtues of the soul seem to be akin to bodily qualities, for even when they are not originally innate they can be implanted later by habit and exercise, the of wisdom more than anything else contains a divine element which always remains, and by this conversion is rendered useful and profitable; or, on the other hand, hurtful and useless. Did you never observe the narrow intelligence flashing from the keen eye of a clever rogue --how eager he is, how clearly his paltry soul sees the way to his end; he is the reverse of blind, but his keen eyesight is forced into the service of evil, and he is mischievous in proportion to his cleverness. (misappropriation of intelligence, Hitler, for example)

I mean that they remain in the upper world: but this must not be allowed; they must be made to descend again among the prisoners in the cave, and partake of their labors and honors, whether they are worth having or not. (We are all essentially dragged back into the realm of human drama, we must play the game)





The quest to help others in pursuit of enlightenment is often futile.

Likewise, we may acquire concepts by our perceptual experience of physical objects. But we would be mistaken if we thought that the concepts that we grasp were on the same level as the things we perceive.



Kierkegaards three speheres of existence

Allegory and the Futility of Nihilistic Feminism

"When we abolish the slavery of half of humanity, together with the whole system of hypocrisy that it implies, then the 'division' of humanity will reveal its genuine significance and the human couple will find its true form." -Simone de Beauvoir "The Second Sex"

The Fairytale
Imagine this: There is a young woman, bound and tied, strategically placed on some railroad tracks by a nameless villain. As the sound of the nearing train grows more distinct, the villain and the woman wait anxiously. But who are they waiting for? Just at the very last moment, when all have begun to nearly give up hope, he arrives- confident and graceful. He is the hero. He has come to rescue the young woman- to save her from the doom that awaits her.

It is the "damsel in distress" scenario, a classic notion of the Antebellum south. And it amazes me, that despite its archaic roots- this scenario has survived. I believe that Victorian Literature has caused subliminal damages as far as western culture is concerned, and its unrealistic ideals of romance, propriety, and decadence resonates throughout the literature of the time period. These same Victorian tones were mimicked through the American Antebellum style. The brutalities of the Civil War brought to light a greater element of tragedy that exists within humanity, and has influenced this same fairytale structure. It has since been remastered, reformed through the emergence of the Southern Gothic movement in America. Its tragedy is now more frequently exposed through plots riddled with unfortunate events and twists more relevant to the trifles of human existence. Still, this tragic fairytale technique is not new, and can be dissected through Aristotelian analysis. To uncover the true coda of any story, it is important to read between, and oftentimes beyond the lines.

Self Destruction
"I was right not to be afraid of any thief but myself, who will end by leaving me nothing." ~Katherine Anne Porter

What interests me most about this scenario, is the question of who is who. Who is the hero? Who is the villain? Who is the woman? The story seems simple, with the antagonist clearly being the villain, the protagonist as being the hero, and the underdeveloped character of the woman serving little more purpose than to aid in the development of the plot. However, it occurs to me, that I witness this classic story line being played out in the lives of nearly every woman that I know. It also occurs to me, that nothing is hardly what it seems- especially in literature. I think of this story in modern terms, and again I ask myself: Who is the hero? Who is the villain? Who is the woman? Now it becomes clear to me that the most underestimated character of the story is the woman. While it would appear that the woman has little to no role in the story, on the contrary, the woman is actually the main character. The villain and the woman are actually one in the same. She has carefully bound herself in ropes. She is willing to sacrifice herself as she lies on the tracks. But why? She has set herself up for destruction and now patiently awaits for someone to come and save her. The unfortunate part, is that the story does not always end the same. Sometimes the hero may make an appearance, gracefully saving her just as she had planned. Although, more often then we would like to admit- the hero never comes. And how, in this case, does the story end?

The woman destroys herself.

The ending is most unfortunate, but we must ask ourselves why the woman acted as she did. Why would she be willing to sacrifice herself, and what is it that she was willing to sacrifice herself for? What does it mean when the hero does not show? What relevance is there to the woman and the villain being the same character? Who is the victim? Who is victimizing? What does this story really say about us?



Women have suffered at the mercy of patriarchy for hundreds of years; physically, emotionally, and mentally. Physical pain however, is temporary. It is the mental oppression, the social conditioning which manipulates our idea of femininity, that greatly concerns me. These false ideas of what it means to be a woman, are passed on from generation to generation. It is learned when daughters mimic mothers, it is learned through archaic fairy tales, it is learned through media representation, it is learned through tradition and religion, it is learned through manipulation. Above all, and the saddest realization to me, is that it is not men who are doing this. The oppression of women is self inflicted. We, as women, are denying our own freedom.

After centuries of legitimate oppression, it is not surprising that women are denying their new found liberation. It is just as if you were to take a tamed animal that has been caged all of its life, and set it free into the wild. Can this animal survive on its own? Not likely, and the best and sometimes only way to survive in this case is to be adopted into the care of another. The problem is identified, the real question is of the solution.

First, we need to cease to use human nature as a scapegoat. I have, the majority of my life, believed in some sort of solid distinction between males and females. I had believed that women were 'naturally' inclined to be more emotional, to be more submissive.I have realized however, that these inclinations to be emotional and submissive, are entirely the result of social construct. Simone de Beauvoir believed this as well, and it was through reading portions of her work that I came to my own terms with this subject. In her book, "The Second Sex," she asked the question, "Why is woman the other?" Because she was an existentialist, she operated on the concept of freedom. She came to two conclusions on why a woman could not be free. This is best explained from an excerpt of an essay I found on "The Second Sex.""...[A woman's] lack of freedom could be inflicted, in which case it constituted oppression. Or it could be chosen, in which case it represented a moral fault. In both cases, it was an absolute evil. Like Sartre, she argued that freedom requires moral courage. It is easier to forgo one's liberty and become a thing. As Beauvoir made clear, for women there were advantages to be gained from playing up to men, living through men, being kept by men. 'It is an easy road; on it one avoids the strain involved in undertaking an authentic existence.'"

Now, back to the questions regarding the initial story and why the woman acted as she did: Why would she be willing to sacrifice herself, and what is it that she was willing to sacrifice herself for? What relevance is there to the woman and the villain being the same character? Who is the victim? Who is victimizing? What does it mean when the hero does not show? What does this story really say about us?

Now we must include what I feel to be the most important question, what exactly was it that the woman wanted to be saved from? Did she wish, as de Beauvoir said, to take an easier road- to avoid the strain in undertaking an authentic existence? This is certainly possible, if not likely. In the most common of all cases, and often combined with the former- the woman is afraid and she is trying to save herself from one specific feeling, loneliness. And what is the cure for loneliness? Love. Now we have the answer to what the woman is willing to sacrifice herself for. In any case she is willing to sacrifice herself for one or more things; simplicity, security, and love. The woman and the villain being the same character says a lot about the nature of women. It shines new light on the question of whether or not the oppression of women is self inflicted. In this case, it is. The woman is certainly the victim, but because she is the villain, she is also the victimizer. This is an example of a woman choosing to take the easy way out- refusing to take responsibility for her own existence, and she does so in choosing to be a victim. She chooses to escape the burden of authenticity by playing up to men.

The Futility of Feminism and The Image

Now to look at this from a different angle, from the angle of the feminist. I do in fact believe that men and women are equal. I believe that masculinity and femininity are social terms and are results of social construct- not biology. I believe that women are certainly oppressed in some instances, but I also believe that this is drastically changing as traditional and old fashioned thinking begins to die away. I believe now more than ever, that the vast majority of the current oppression of women is self inflicted. I do believe in what de Beauvoir said, that women often choose to play up to men and live through men. I believe that they do this because in this quickly declining patriarchal society, this is still socially acceptable. I have watched females do this all of my life. I have watched my friends jump from man to man with hardly a spare moment in between. I have watched them never cease for an instant- unwilling to claim their own independence. I have noticed that these same women eventually break down, because they finally realize one day that they have been living through men their entire lives- and that in doing so, they have no real concept of who they are. They have no existence. Their existence is only the sub-product of any given man's existence. They do not exist as they are, they exist as men allow them to exist.

Women have always been, and still are, chameleons- constantly adapting and molding themselves to the idea of what a man wants in a woman. There are many reasons for this, but there is one that I find applies across the board. It is in regards to something I had mentioned earlier, "The woman is afraid and she is trying to save herself from one specific feeling, loneliness. And what is the cure for loneliness? Love." All women, in this case, no matter if they are living authentically or inauthentically, are all looking for the same thing- and that is love.

That fact alone, is the very reason that women are in search of a hero; because no matter how independent they are, they are waiting for a man to come along and save them, to give life meaning. This is something that I struggle with, and even though I consider myself to be a fairly actualized woman when it comes to the subject- I find it escapable, but futile. I find it futile because there is one thing that I have determined to be true: and that is that women have become narcissistic- they need their self worth affirmed, and men are egotistical, and the feminist movement of the past century has made them overly sensitive. It comes down to this: women need men to want them, and men want women to need them. And where does this leave us, the women? With all the power. We as women have all of the power because men will always want women, but on the other hand, women no longer necessarily need men. The solution lies solely in the hands of the woman, who now must sacrifice herself for the sake of the image, and find herself straddling the line of self deception.

I believe that the feminist movement has made us become more androgynous. We have become more ambiguous in our roles as men and women. Like many women, I find myself guilty of denying the stereotypes of femininity in an attempt to embrace qualities of masculinity. We do this because we associate masculine qualities with qualities of strength and agility, whereas frivolous concepts of femininity have taught us to believe that women are sensitive, overly emotional, and therefore weaker. It has become a power struggle, in which I, like many, fight not to be seen equal in biology, but in integrity.

The problem with this, is that I believe men have become intimidated. They now feel that their role as a male is being threatened. They have been conditioned with specific ideas of gender roles, just as women have. They have become sensitive to the fact that women are socially as well as economically, able to attain an equal status, able to take care of themselves, and technically, able to live without them.

It is here that I find post feminism effects to cause a strong element of futility. As I said before, men want women to need them. When the feminist woman comes to the realization that her existence is independent from that of men, it poses a problem in the sense that she will now have great difficulty in any pursuit of genuine love. This realization is a crucial moment in her life, and it is one I have recently come to myself. I find myself realizing that the majority (if not all) of men still want to be the hero- it will be the greatest role of their life, and without it, they will not feel complete as a man because this is exactly what masculinity is to them. Here I realize that it may be a possibility that in order for me to ever find that love we are all looking for, I may have to sell myself out. I have to consider, that it may be necessary for women, even such as myself, to play up to men- to play the role they need me to play for them to feel like men. We are all the same in this sense, the sense that we need to posses a feeling of purpose. Men fill the void in their lives, by feeling a sense of purpose in filling that same void in a woman. What disappoints me most of all about these realizations, is that I am starting to think that through the idea of feminism, women have surpassed men. I think now, that men are becoming the oppressed ones, and they too are inflicting it on themselves. Perhaps there will come a day, when there will be a movement in which men struggle to reclaim, but more importantly redefine, their masculinity.

Building Walls of Resentment

This secret battle between men and women, is spawning a viscous cycle which we are failing to be aware of. Because men are now the ones stuck in socially constructed ideas of what it is to be a man, women are struggling to become authentic because they still find themselves stuck in a position in which they must fulfill the roles men wish them to fill. I find this humoring of men that women do to be unhealthy in respect to both genders. Because while the feminist women is now finding her independence to be meaningless because she is unable to find love through it- men are suffering at the hands of their resentment.

More often than not, when a women's quest for love has failed, she becomes resentful. It is also my opinion, that there is no weapon on earth more powerful than the resentment of a woman. Resentment is dangerous because it causes a domino effect. When we as women become resentful of men, I believe we develop a state of anxiety, a state commonly known as hypervigilance. Because we have been hurt, we develop defense mechanisms, we find ourselves in a constant state of fight or flight. We do this because we feel it is necessary to assure that it does not happen to us again, to show everyone as well as ourselves that we are not naive. We build a wall and label it strength. We become vindictive. The problem with this, is that through it we deny any man the same right that we have previously been denied: because we have once been denied love, we now deny love to others, and again to ourselves. In our resentment, we have in turn now taught men to be resentful of women. My friend Tony put it perfectly when he said, "I will no longer be a scapegoat for people who refuse to believe in themselves more than an object of resentment, and who use this resentment- this grudge against men- as the mechanism of damaging behavior- and no longer will I allow myself to be fooled into a love where the woman, the effeminate nihilist, forces me into nothingness."

Anagnorisis
We need to, as not just either men or women, but together as the human race, begin to take responsibility for ourselves. Men need to realize that women all ready have all of the control, but only because they are giving it to us- and that through continuing to uphold a frivolous idea of masculinity that they are still oppressing women, by giving women reason to oppress themselves. If men continue to force us to play a role, one of two things will happen: either men are only going to establish relationships with women who are naive and unaware of the power of their existence- which they will continue to manifest through their daughters, or, they will be forcing otherwise authentic women to sacrifice themselves for the sake of the futile image. It is their choice, but I suggest freeing themselves of traditional construction. On second thought, gentlemen, the power does lie in your hands. You want to be the hero? Let there be no resignation. You can free us all.

And as for women, it may seem to some of us now that there are two options- play the character, or lose the game. This leaves me distraught, because this means then that for women- there is no freedom in love. This means that true love is only disappointment. But here I am- still optimistic. I refuse to subside to this theory. We as women are creators, the bearers of life- lets end the destruction- especially to ourselves. Let us remember who we are. We are the woman, we are the villain, but though it may seem unexpected, we are also the hero. The woman alone is the tragic savior of her own existence, she is the unknown heroine.

Tao's Relevance to Western Politics?

Tao Te Ching—on war and leadership -How does this fit in with our current attitudes towards war and leadership, i.e, the Presidency?

“When the Master governs, the people are hardly aware that he exists. Next best is a leader who is loved. Next, one who is feared. The worst is one who is despised (p.156 Novak).” As of November 1^st of this year, President George Bush's approval rating has fallen to 33%, with 64% in the disapproval category. It is needless to say that I address this comparison with a moderate liberal bias. But here my bias isn't a response to crimes against the democratic party, but crimes against the American people, and crimes against humanity.

It is clear from the President's approval ratings that I am not alone in my skepticism of his ability to be an effective leader. We are after all, certainly made aware of his existence. The repercussions of his decisions are evident everywhere; whether at the gas pumps, at a going away party for friends being deployed to Iraq, watching your grandmothers take her shoes off to be searched at the airport, or on the way to a painful doctor's visit that you know you can't afford. Once again, the approval ratings make it clear that our President is a little far off from loved. Feared? Perhaps- but feared I think, in a more skeptical manner, in a manner of which his competence is put into question. As for despised? I can't say, but I presume he may be lucky enough to escape office in just enough time to avoid the complete detest of the American people.

I am not a fan of George Bush, this is evident. But in fair representation, I do not blame him for every problem resting on America's shoulders. This is not a dictatorship, it is a democracy- and the burdens of America are ours to create, ours to endure, and ours to overcome as a whole.

There is an acronym that we will never forget in thanks to Bush's presidency- WMA's. Many seem to be doubtful of their existence, as far as the proclaimed location is concerned. However, our war on WMA's is fought with weapons just the same, whether they be weapons of mass or minuscule destruction- they are destructive nonetheless. Chapter 31 of the Tao reads, “Weapons are tools of violence; all decent men detest them. Weapons are tools of fear; a decent man will avoid them except in the direst necessity.”In Hindu reference, this is the same conundrum Arjuna faced. Krishna with reason, viewed the war as a means to an end, to eliminate the potential spread of evil of the sons of Dhritarashtra. Unfortunately, I would be strongly hesitant to compare George Bush to the virtuous nature of Arjuna. Judging not only by his actions, but by his explanations of them, I am skeptical of his reluctance to commit the atrocities that war inevitable spawns.

War I think, must be viewed rationally by the same context today- as a potential for the sake of the 'greater good'. I do believe that it is difficult at this time to analyze whether American military action in Iraq can be justified by the argument of the greater good. I have heard various arguments. Perhaps the removal of dictator Saddam Hussein has potentially saved a great deal of Iraqi lives. Or perhaps his removal has caused even greater civil unrest, and merely American vindication. It is hard to judge, and the truths of the moment cannot be revealed until the smoke clears.

“Let go of fixed plans and concepts and the world will govern itself (P. 158 Novak).” I can say for certain that President Bush's adamant desire to “stay the course” has been solely in vain. Is the course really working effectively? Why is it that 64% of people do not want to “stay the course”? I am curious as to how many elements of stubbornness self righteousness and pride are really playing a role in this decision. George Bush's plan to 'stay the course' is to continue to actively impose order on what he presumes to be chaos. His methods of doing this, though he may strive to do so in the most peaceful way possible are inevitably futile, as warfare essentially is. Has George Bush really let go of the Law, Economics, and religion?

“When his work is done, the people say, “Amazing: we did it, all by ourselves!(p.156 Novak)” The fact that few of the American people actually wish to claim this work, is not a promising sign.

Neutral Tones

Neutral Tones

by Thomas Hardy

We stood by a pond that winter day, (We- as in the speaker and another, whom I am assuming is a girl or girlfriend. Since I am from the North a pond on a winter day to me, is still and lifeless.)
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God, (“The sun was white” indicates that the sun was bright, but the next phrase “chidden of God” indicates that it was bright not in a plere rasing sense, but in almost a harsh sense. The word “chidden” comes from 'chide' which means scold. “Chidden of” God makes me believe that the harsh light of the sun represents God overlooking with distaste.)
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod; (Leaves lay on the dry and barren ground around them.)
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray. (The gray leaves had fallen from an ash tree)

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove (Eyes that rove= not focused, seeing through or around.)
Over tedious riddles of years ago; (Tedious=long and tiresome, riddles=altercations or possibly just memories in general. When considering the first line it seems that she is contemplating the past or reminiscing. )
And some words played between us to and fro (They conversed, 'some words' gives the impression that the conversation was mundane, or lacking passion and fervor.)
On which lost the more by our love. (He was more greatly effected and at loss by the conversation than she. )

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing (Her smile was lackluster, without enthusiasm)
Alive enough to have strength to die; (This line contradicts the last line, it was not “the deadest thing” if here he claims it was “alive enough”. Here it is clear that she was literally smiling to some extent but it was in vain. The difference between this line and the first line is that the first interpretation of her smile was subjective, and though she was smiling, he considers it irrelevant because it was without meaning.)
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby (Her smile was resentful, supercilious.)
Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . .(Threatening, waiting to attack. The ellipses at the end represents a passing of time.)

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives, (“Since then” indicates that time has passed, the past three lines were a memory of the past. Keen=precise and clear, “keen lessons that love deceives”, this indicates that he was naive in the past, and even in the memory represented by the first three stanzas he may have been ignorant as to the nature of the relationship, or lack thereof.)
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me (Wrings=to cause distress to, the distress and wrong doing he has experienced has shaped him, he has gained wisdom through negative experience. He is no longer as naive as he was in the memory, the first three stanzas.)
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, (Imagery, from memory, reflected in the first stanza, literal.)
And a pond edged with grayish leaves. (Again, literal imagery from the memory. Being that he ended with this line, though it is literal imagery, it is also metaphorical and sums up the moral of the poem.)

Thomas Hardy is speaking from a first person perspective in the poem and is addressing the female in the poem, as indicated by the word “your” throughout. It seems that he is not addressing her directly, but rather is reminiscing on a moment they shared together and addressing her in thought.

The first line of the poem that was not immediately understandable to me was the phrase “chidden of God”. The word chidden comes from the word “chide” which means 'to scold'. I was unsure of what context Hardy was using the word. The immediate usage of the word 'of' following it left me a little confused as to whether he meant that the sun appeared scolded by God, or if the sun represents God, whom is scolding. The line “on which lost the more by our love” was the most difficult for me to understand because of its odd wording. When starting with “on which”, I asked myself on which what? I thought that it meant “on which the conversation.” I don't think that the conversation is what is being effected though, but rather he is effected based on the conversation. The remaining words, “the more by our love”, means that he is left more effected by their relationship (and breakup) than she is or will be. I think that some added punctuation in this line would have made it more clear.

The language of the poem is solemn and somewhat dismal. Because I have such an appreciation for fall and winter, the images in the poem are very vivid to me because this is my favorite time of the year, and one of which I have many memories of myself. I like the imagery in the poem because I believe that the setting and the landscape that Hardy uses is a direct representation of the situation itself. The environment around them was dying, just as their love was essentially dying. Even though Hardy may not have known at the time that they were breaking up, in looking back he sees death in everything, not just the surroundings. I think this is somewhat ironic.

In the first stanza Hardy is describing a specific day and laying out and describing the setting. The second and third stanzas bring another character in the poem, a girl. He describes the interaction that took place between them. The words in these stanzas are in past tense, meaning that the interaction took place in the past. I especially like the end of third stanza with the line, “Like an ominous bird a-wing. . . .” This line indicated that she had intentions he was not yet aware of and the use of the ellipses represents a passing of time. The final stanza is written in present tense and it becomes clear that the rest of the poem was a memory of which he is reminiscing. It is obvious now that the memory is of a break up and in the last stanza he describes how it has effected him presently.

Another line that I liked was the very ending lines of the poem, “Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree, And a pond edged with grayish leaves.” The lines “Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree” I think is written literally as to what he saw. But the last line, “And a pond edged with grayish leaves,” I think is full of symbolism and sums up the poem. Earlier in the poem in the first stanza there was another line that is similar, “And a few leaves lay on the starving sod.” I believe that the starving sod represents himself. He desires something that she cannot supply him with. The gray leaves represent the woman, where he is in need, she is the gray and dead leaves which cannot alleviate his wants/needs. The final line of the poem only reiterates this fact, whereas he is the ground surrounding the pond, the grayish leaves on that ground represent the woman, possibly other women after, and his disappointments in general.

The title of the poem really is applicable to the overall meaning of the poem. Neutral means, indifference or without hue. Tones means a color or shade, or a characteristic. The title describes both the environment in the poem as well as the situation. The title is an oxymoron.