Hi Nikolas Every Christmas I visit the nursing home where my sister lives. Half sister, actually. We were never close. She's twelve years older than me, of a different generation. To get to her room you have to go through the dining area where lots of the residents tend to congregate, especially on the holidays when no one comes to visit them and they must feel alone so they seek the company of others, even those whose minds are so gone they are basically just caricatures of the human beings they once were.
An old woman was sitting by herself in front of an enormous and colorful aquarium, a blanket wrapped around her even though the room was sweltering, just staring into the tank, watching the single tiny fish flit about the purple plastic reefs, skip to the surface, and then dive back into the depths as if it was searching for something. Another fish, maybe? A way out? As I stopped to watch for a moment that little fish came right up to the glass as if looking back at me looking at it, its mouth gaping as if saying: save me. Looking across the room I saw another old lady asleep in her wheelchair yet sitting straight up like she thought she might be judged on form. Someone had placed a bib upon her like she might spit up whatever dinner they just forced down her throat. In the corner a group of four old women were gathered around a table, all of them simply sitting there, not saying a word, their heads hanging forward and slightly to one side as if they'd all just snorted a line of cheap heroin and were nodding off to a tune only they could hear. There's no windows in that place. Brick walls dominate the landscape with a few pictures meant to be pretty hung in strategic locations where the eye might alight when coming around a corner. The doors are all locked and guarded. There is no escape. The air is redolent of pine cleaner and shitty diapers that need changing and every once in a while a scream will sound, echoing down the hallways and lodging in my ears. I think of waking up in a place like that and wondering where I am and feeling the howl boiling up inside of me when I remember. I run every night. I don't do it to stay in shape or to lose weight. I don't do it because I enjoy running. I don't do it because I'm one of those cool people who want everyone to see them run. I run to get away from the memories of places like that... where those lucky enough to survive a long and a hard life are blessed with forgetfulness and while away their days drooling and bumbling about a place they do not understand and are forever trying to find their way out. Like that little fish swimming so desperately about a world as isolated as the one we inhabit, always searching, always looking for something it can relate to somehow yet never finding it. I'll be better in a few days. Visiting that place always takes the stuffing out of me for a while. Anyway, thanks for sharing the excerpts from your story. Perhaps I might pick up the book one of these days and check it out myself. NIK: Dying is often times like being born. Naked, confused, and screaming in discomfort. A natural part of the cycle, unfortunately; and I COULD say something cheesy about 'without pain, how would we know joy?' I want to wish you a merry christmas, and I understand the doldrums myself. Here's a rough copy of my paper I was working so hard on. Its a little long, the paragraphs are out of order, and the references are ugly - but I'd like you to look at it and provide some constructive feedback if you wouldn't mind. Anyone else can read it, its no secret or anything. Even if you don't have much to say its OK, I just want to share. :) Thanks TargetPaper2-TwoVisualSystems.docx <https://docs.google.com/a/worcester.edu/file/d/0B5XUBIum0Kv6VFVzOEdmS3VZVEw1NEdsMUY4QjE2dkloXzJF/edit?usp=drive_web> I think thats the one On Fri, Dec 26, 2014 at 3:31 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote: > Nikolas, > > On Tue, Dec 23, 2014 at 10:55 AM, Blodgett, Nikolas > <[email protected]> wrote: > > Dan Glover <[email protected]> > > 11:32 PM (11 hours ago) > > to moq_discuss > > Nikolas, > > > > On Mon, Dec 22, 2014 at 2:24 PM, Blodgett, Nikolas > > <[email protected]> wrote: > >> Life is the answer to life itself .... The meaning of life is truly > > reached > >> through epiphany. It happens when you let go of certain things, which > > seems > >> counter intuitive. The details of those things escape definition, and > can > >> only be understood by following the signposts of those that have come > >> before and whom have acquired,for lack of a better word, enlightened > >> realizations. Anyone relate to this sentiment? I believe that anyone is > >> capable of even the simplest of such revelations. > > > > Dan: > > I am of the opinion that we are each on our own, especially when it > > comes to discovering if life is worthwhile or not. We can of course > > take advice from others. We can learn from those who have gone before > > us. But in the end, when you're lying awake in the middle of the night > > with no one else around, you are answerable only to yourself. > > > > Epiphanies? Sure... they come along once in a great while and if we're > > mindful we might even catch a glimpse of the 'real' us lurching > > beneath the surface of all this cultural crap. Still, I can imagine > > how epiphanies might well lead a person to think life isn't worth > > living. Maybe you've just been informed that you have a terminal > > illness, one that ends badly. Yes, all terminal illnesses end badly > > but some are far more painful that others. Perhaps you suddenly > > realize everything you have done and everything you will ever do is > > all for naught. Maybe you're just tired and you suddenly realize the > > pain is never going to end. > > > > To me, the answer lies in mindful awareness... where even in the face > > of our inevitable death we keep to the moment. Though we understand > > viscerally that everything we are, everything we do, everyone we know > > and love will all turn to dust and in a thousand years nothing at all > > will be left to mark our existence, we keep going anyway. It's sort of > > a fool's errand to be sure, but that's better than giving in to the > > despair. > > > > Thanks for your reply! > > > > > > NIK (1130am 12/23/2014) > > Its funny, these little coincidences I mentioned. Like the book I just > > wrote down, the answer you gave and the topics I noticed among the two. > > Here are the quotes I wrote down from the book. It is by John Greene and > it > > is called The Fault in Our Stars. There are spoilers, just in case it was > > an actually concern of anyone's. ...... > > p. 12-12 - "I looked over at Augustus Waters, who looked back at me. you > > could almost see through his eyes they were so blue. "There will come a > > time," I said, "when all of us are dead. All of us.l There will come a > time > > when there arre no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever > > existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be noone left > to > > remember Aristotle of Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did > and > > built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of > > this" - I gestured encompassingly - "will have been for naught. Maybe > that > > time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if > we > > survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was a > > time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time > > after. And if the enevitability of human oblivion worries you, I > encourage > > you to ignore it. God knows thats what everyone else does." > > p.174 "You know that part in An Imperial Affliction when Anna's walking > > across the football field and she falls and goes face-first into the > grass > > and thats when she knows that the cancer is back and in her nervous > system > > and she can't get up and her face is like an inch from the football field > > grass and she's stuck there looking at this grass up close, noticing the > > way the light hits it and ... I don't remember the line but its something > > like Anna having the Witmanesque revelation that the definition of > > humanness is the opportunity to marvel at the majesty of creation or > > whatever. You know that part?" > > p.? - "We live in a Universe devoted to the creation, and eradication of > > awareness. Augustus Waters did not die after a lengthy battle with > cancer. > > He dide after a lengthy battle with human consciousness, a victim - as > you > > will be - of the universes need to make and unmake all that is possible." > > (This fits the idea of the universe going from a onepoint infinite > > complexity to infinitely sized homogenized complexity. The movement will > > naturaly be compromised of everything that was, is, and ever will be.) > > p.281 - "Yeah," I said. We just sat there quiet for a long time, which > was > > fine, and I was thinking about way back in the beginning in the Literal > > Heart of Jesus when Gus told us that he feared oblivion, and I told him > > that he was fearing something universal and inevitable, and how really, > the > > problem is not suffering itself or oblivion itself but the depraved > > meaninglessness of these things, the absolute inhuman nihilism of > > suffering. I thought of my dad telling me that the universe wants to be > > noticed. But what we want is to be noticed by the universe, to have the > > Universe give a shit what happens to us - not the collective idea of > > sentient life but each of us, as individuals." > > p.305 - "I missed the future. Obviously I knew even before his recurrence > > that I'd never grow old with Augustus Waters. But thinking about Lidewij > > and her boyfriend, I felt robbed. I would probably never again see the > > ocean from thirty thousand feet above, so far up that you can't make out > > the waves or any boats, so that the ocean is a great and endless > monolith. > > I could imagine it. I could remember it. But I couldn't see it again, and > > it occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by > > dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything > > might be done better and again." > > p.307 - "Sometimes, I guess" But that wasn't what I was thinking. I was > > just trying to notice everything: the light on the ruined Ruins, this > > little kid who could barely walk discovering a stick at the corner of the > > playground, my indefatiguable mother zigzagging mustard across her turkey > > sandwich, my dad patting his handheld in his pocket and resisting the > urge > > to check it, a guy throwing a frisbee that his dog kept running under and > > catching and returning to him. Who am I to say that these things might > not > > be forever? Who is Peter Van Houten to assert as fact the conjecture that > > our labor is temporary? All I know of heaven is in this park: an elegant > > universe in ceasless motion, teeming with ruined ruins and screaming > > children" > > Hi Nikolas > Every Christmas I visit the nursing home where my sister lives. Half > sister, actually. We were never close. She's twelve years older than > me, of a different generation. To get to her room you have to go > through the dining area where lots of the residents tend to > congregate, especially on the holidays when no one comes to visit them > and they must feel alone so they seek the company of others, even > those whose minds are so gone they are basically just caricatures of > the human beings they once were. > > An old woman was sitting by herself in front of an enormous and > colorful aquarium, a blanket wrapped around her even though the room > was sweltering, just staring into the tank, watching the single tiny > fish flit about the purple plastic reefs, skip to the surface, and > then dive back into the depths as if it was searching for something. > Another fish, maybe? A way out? As I stopped to watch for a moment > that little fish came right up to the glass as if looking back at me > looking at it, its mouth gaping as if saying: save me. > > Looking across the room I saw another old lady asleep in her > wheelchair yet sitting straight up like she thought she might be > judged on form. Someone had placed a bib upon her like she might spit > up whatever dinner they just forced down her throat. In the corner a > group of four old women were gathered around a table, all of them > simply sitting there, not saying a word, their heads hanging forward > and slightly to one side as if they'd all just snorted a line of cheap > heroin and were nodding off to a tune only they could hear. > > There's no windows in that place. Brick walls dominate the landscape > with a few pictures meant to be pretty hung in strategic locations > where the eye might alight when coming around a corner. The doors are > all locked and guarded. There is no escape. The air is redolent of > pine cleaner and shitty diapers that need changing and every once in a > while a scream will sound, echoing down the hallways and lodging in my > ears. I think of waking up in a place like that and wondering where I > am and feeling the howl boiling up inside of me when I remember. > > I run every night. I don't do it to stay in shape or to lose weight. I > don't do it because I enjoy running. I don't do it because I'm one of > those cool people who want everyone to see them run. I run to get away > from the memories of places like that... where those lucky enough to > survive a long and a hard life are blessed with forgetfulness and > while away their days drooling and bumbling about a place they do not > understand and are forever trying to find their way out. Like that > little fish swimming so desperately about a world as isolated as the > one we inhabit, always searching, always looking for something it can > relate to somehow yet never finding it. > > I'll be better in a few days. Visiting that place always takes the > stuffing out of me for a while. Anyway, thanks for sharing the > excerpts from your story. Perhaps I might pick up the book one of > these days and check it out myself. > > Dan > > http://www.danglover.com > Moq_Discuss mailing list > Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. > http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org > Archives: > http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ > http://moq.org/md/archives.html > Moq_Discuss mailing list Listinfo, Unsubscribing etc. http://lists.moqtalk.org/listinfo.cgi/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org Archives: http://lists.moqtalk.org/pipermail/moq_discuss-moqtalk.org/ http://moq.org/md/archives.html
