Substance. Style.

Three different things happened this past week that caused me to pause and think. My mind connected the dots to form a muse on the topic of "style versus substance."  (Or maybe I should say style "and" substance. "Versus" implies a competition between the two, when actually they are mutually dependent on each other. Or maybe just "style, substance."  Or maybe substance should come first... Someone slap me...) Anyway, here's what happened in the past few days:

1) I randomly stumbled upon a YouTube video of a recent interview with the singer Carman. 

Carman was my favorite singer for over a decade. (He shared the #1 slot with Sandi Patti on my list.)  I no longer subscribe to his brand of Christianity, but I was, nonetheless, extremely sad to see that he is now terminally ill. This interview touched me in a number of ways. (Maybe exploring that will be an upcoming post.) The one I want to bring out for this post, though, was how impacted I was by the revelation that his music still… well… impacts me, even though I'm not on-board with much of his lyrics.  His new song "The Flag" smacks of xenocentrism and the narrow-minded brand of American Evangelical Christianity that, though it has its good sides, is also extremely dangerous in other ways. And yet, I found my heart feeling stirred and uplifted, just from hearing that short clip of "The Flag" in the interview.  I'm sure part of that is due to sentimentality about hearing Carman again. I haven't listened to his music in ages, and his music shaped my younger years quite profoundly. 
And yet, part of it is, I'm sure, due to the production value of his music. There was that huge choir, the high fortissimo strings, the rumbling bass drum causing sympathetic vibrations in my physical heart. Carman has an incredible artistic talent-- that magic dust that many powerful performers have, that draws the listener in and invokes reverence.  He is also quite picky with his productions, demanding high quality players and engineering. All of his songs are finely crafted works of art.  (Art that relies on production and musical clichés, sure, but my point is about his dedication to his craft. Many Christian musicians are sloppy in their production by comparison.) So even though I'm not a fan of the overt message, the art of his music still moves me. Substance and style.

2) I was in a conversation with a guitar player who is self-taught, and I showed him some of my music. He mentioned that what he likes in music is the "groove" and the melody, and I said, "that's pretty much the opposite of what I look for in music.  I focus on lyrics, chord progressions, form, and melody." It truly surprised me that he scarcely even considers a song's lyrics when he listens to music.  Whereas, I really tend to prefer vocal music over instrumental, because lyrics are so important to me.  Style and substance.

3) I visited a UU church yesterday. The building was lovely, the people were nice. One thing I noticed, though, was: little diversity.  I saw one person of color there, and the age demographic was skewed towards the older generations.  I understand that's the case for many other UU churches as well.  Why?  The UU has such great things going for it.  They are passionate about justice, service, humanity.  They are not positivistic but embrace the mystery of transcendence.  They are on the "good" side of many issues that my generation, overall, as well as many in the non-white demographics, overall, care about.  So where is the diversity?  Maybe it's because I'm in the middle of white Americana Kansas...  Maybe the younger church members were on vacation... (The person who talked with me after the service said usually there are more 20s and 30s there.) But still, it seems they should be bursting at the seams with young people looking for fellowship.  And yet… The stained glass. The candles. The canned readings.  The bad singing along to the studious pianist's clompy chords.  The standing and sitting at prescribed times.  It felt so… white mainline.  It made me think that perhaps, as much as I hate to admit it, style may be more important than substance, when it comes to making people feel comfortable in a place or movement. 

Again, I recognize that this is somewhat of a false dichotomy. Each affects, evokes, and embeds the other.  I'm separating them for sake of discussion.

I think what style can do, that substance can only whisper at, is provide immersive experiences, especially emotional experiences.  And emotional experiences speak to us at primal, unconscious, or semi-conscious levels.  Whites of a certain generation feel at ease in a place with stained glass, musty hymnals, and candles on a stage. All these peripheral cues, and more, form a gestalt that translates to "sacred" to them.  Someone growing up in churches with blaring organs, an old drumkit, and a screaming preacher echoed by "Amens" yelled from the congregation, may need different peripheral cues to evoke the "sacred" feeling in them.  Yesterday's UU service may have felt inhibiting to such a person, even if s/he agreed, theologically and philosophically, with the content of the sermon (which was about persevering through impossible situations. Who doesn't agree with that?)  Background is so powerful.

To deal with this from another angle: even if the style isn't familiar, a work of art can pull people into its message if it is created by an artistic genius.  For example, I'm not a hip-hop fan at all, but I remember my brother making me listen to a song by Tupac, back when I was in high school, and I found myself in tears. I could hear his heart, and though I wasn't a fan of the style in general, his genius made the music effective anyway.  I can also hear genius and a substantive message in Phillip Glass, even though I detest minimalism.

Art/style can also provide the compelling power to an idea that logical words seldom can.  Many years ago, while taking a 20th century music class, I listened to "Sinfonia" by Luciano Berio for an assignment.  I had never read a word of existentialism in my life. I probably would have found it really dry at that time. (It's still kind of dry!) I'm sure I would have disagreed at the time with the message that "life has no intrinsic meaning."  But the third movement of that piece ("in ruhig fließender Bewegung") pulled me right in to the heart of existentialist meaninglessness. I was so there. Alone. Irritated by a perplexing array of choices. Forced to sit with my own agency. Resigned to the absurdity of life. (By the way, run, don't walk, to find a copy of that work and listen to it!  Make sure you're sitting down… somewhere where you don't mind if people see you get emotional.) That's one of the pieces of music that changed my life forever.  Eight years after that experience, I read the Wikipedia article about Existentialism, just out of curiosity, since I'd never actually learned what it is.  I recognized it in a flash. I had already traveled to that land back in college. Berio had taken me there for a little tour, shaking my world in unspeakable ways.  (This time I decided to stay.)

I do think-- to put a bow on this-- that ideally we should strive to have style and substance both be of highest quality.  Myself, I'm pretty good with substance but weak in creating style, and that's where I know I need community, people who are stronger in that area, to help me out.

Psychoanalysis of the "Max & Ruby" series

You probably know already, I interpret dreams. Dreams are gateways to the unconscious. But they aren't the only possible ways to discern the fascinating realm of the unconscious.  Art, language, intuitive flashes, and story--even children's story--are all possible expressions of the that great force within us. Just for kicks and giggles, here's a symbolic interpretation I did recently on the children's book series, "Max & Ruby." 

So... this may be a little precious, but I had fun doing it.

The writer of these works of literature seems to have an obsession with youth and being young. The fact that the characters in the books never age, remaining persistently in their childhood years indicates the tendency towards a kind of "Peter Pan" complex. Even the choice of animal is significant--rabbits are known for being prolific breeders, which underlines the obsession with youth. And yet, the Ruby character shows signs of longing for maturity, in how she is always trying to do adult-like things, such as wear makeup, host parties, and follow the "rules" of the home. 

The entire series could be seen as the archetypal struggle within each of us between the inner child, and the push for evolution and maturity. A healthy balance between these two forces can be achieved through the individuation process-- accepting each of these forces as separate poles of a single, healthy spectrum within the complex human condition. It is healthy to accept the aging and maturity process as a source of wisdom and structure, and it is also important to nourish one's inner child as a source of innocence and hope. 

When these poles are out of balance with each other, though, problems can arise. Too much "maturity" can lead to rigidity and domineering attitudes, while too much "youth" can lead to irresponsibility and getting taken advantage of. The Max and Ruby stories indicate that the author has not yet learned to resolve this tension and individuate these opposing forces. We do, in fact, see an over-domineering figure who strives for maturity, and an irresponsible figure who remains youthful. Every Max & Ruby story, though different in details, has the same archetypal plot--the maturity figure tries to force an agenda of conformity, and the youthful figure silently subverts it. 

Notice that the youthful figure is mute and must resort to subterfuge to accomplish his goals in the push-and-pull game. This indicates that even though the author of the book identifies CONSCIOUSLY with her mature responsible side, it is really the UNCONSCIOUS youthful side of herself that is running the show and causing her to self-sabotage. However, neither side ends up fully happy. The youth figure, even though he "wins," is effectively mute, doomed to remain lurking in the shadows of the unconscious, never able to achieve full expression, while the maturity figure is frustrated. No progress is made, individuation is not achieved, and the cycle continues. 
 
It is also significant that the "maturity" figure is female, while the "youth" figure is male. This indicates that the author feels her feminine side is the one driving the urges for maturity, while her masculine side is driving the urges for youth. (Masculine energies in symbolism represent our outer world, our outwardly-focused energies--career, society, and such. While feminine energies represent our inner world, our inwardly-focused energies--emotions, receptivity, and such.) When the masculine/feminine polarity is out of balance, it can lead to problems as well. I would venture a guess that the author often feels that her inner emotions regarding her outer life feel out of control, and she finds herself in situations of self-sabotage, again and again throughout her life.
 
An exercise I would have the author (and anyone else who feels deeply drawn to this literature) engage in would be such:
Close your eyes, and imagine Max and Ruby standing before you. Envision a magic wand in your hand, and wave it over Max, which loosens his tongue and allows him to speak. Let him pour out his heart... whatever comes out is OK, do not block the flow. You may be surprised by what comes out, but it is all in the service of healing. (Take note of any childhood memories that may arise, or beliefs instilled in you at a young age. These may need to be worked through in future sessions.) Then imagine Max and Ruby holding hands, looking each other in the eyes, and saying to each other, "Let's work together as a team." 

Visualize this every day for at least two weeks; you will notice subtle but powerful changes in your life. Keep track of your progress, feelings, and any synchronicities that occur.

To be continued

Just a quick FYI.
I've been sick, and my energy levels have plummeted the past couple weeks. Finally it was distressing enough to actually go to the doctor... after a few tests, we found out I'm "almost" anemic. My hemoglobin (I didn't know what that was either until after this diagnosis) was just barely over the threshold for official anemia, but my ferritin (yay, another new term to learn!) levels were extremely low.

You probably already know that being anemic makes you unearthly tired. Another problem (of several) with this condition is an awful brain fog.  It has been SO difficult to concentrate and just make it through my normal daily responsibilities.  So I haven't posted in a few days; I've just been too tired and unable to THINK.

This really really sucks, but I'm getting better. Believe me, there are lots of things I want to write about when I'm myself again.

Meanwhile, I've done some research, and here's what I'm doing to heal myself:

• According to what I read, the body can only absorb a certain amount of iron per day, because of the limitations of certain enzymes that make it possible to absorb iron. That's why they say it will take me two months to get my iron up to normal.  But I don't have two months! I am putting my hands on my abdomen and consciously asking my body to produce more of the enzymes that can absorb iron, so I can absorb more, faster. (Wikipedia says these enzymes are "Dcytb, DMT1, and ferroportin." Got that, body? With extra pickles, please.)
• Heme iron is the easiest for the body to absorb and the presence of heme iron also makes it easier to absorb non-heme iron. So I'm taking dessicated liver tablets (heme iron) along with my ferrous sulfate (non-heme) prescription.
• I'm taking it 3 times a day instead of 2 times.
• Of course, I'm following the prescription's advice to take the iron pills with vitamin C (I love orange juice anyway!) and to avoid dairy/high calcium before or after taking the pills.
• I'm increasing my fiber (e.g. drinking OJ with pulp, etc.) to avoid constipation. But that hasn't been a problem so far, thankfully.

TMI? Oh yes, that's me.

Today I didn't have a headache or brain fog until evening, even though I was still tired. So that's already an improvement, considering I just started on the prescription 5 days ago.

Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I'll be back in action soon. Like I said, I have several things buzzing around in my head that I want to write about.

Meanwhile, please enjoy this picture of the lovely comfrey growing in my front yard. Aren't the flowers beautiful!?

Homeschool freedoms

Here is an article I only found recently:
The Romeike Homeschool Case

If you don't want to read the article, the upshot of it is: there is a German family who is seeking asylum in the United States, because they are being persecuted in Germany for choosing to homeschool their children.  Persecuted, as in, the government is fining them, threatening to take their children away, and threatening them with jail.  And the United States is on the verge of deporting this family back to Germany, except there is now a lawsuit underway. There are two disturbing things about this case I want to comment on.

The first is that Germany outlaws homeschooling in most cases because it wants to "counteract the development of religious and philosophically motivated parallel societies.”
I knew that Germany did not allow homeschooling, but I did not know the official reason until reading this article.  And I think their reason sucks! Basically, they are trying to ensure a religious and philosophical monoculture.  They want to prevent people who do not agree with the script the elites in the government have decided is the "right one" from gaining a voice in society. But we know in every other field of life that diversity is healthy. In an ecosystem, in a garden, in a diet, and... in society. Having people who believe different things from each other is a GOOD THING!  Having quirky people is a sign of a healthy society.  Having political and philosophical arguments is a sign of a robust, engaged community. A balance of powers is the only way to ensure freedom from tyranny.

I do not agree with this couple's religious beliefs, and I think they are a bit paranoid when they say that they want to homeschool because the German public schools teach witchcraft and devil-worship. Right. Pretty sure that's not happening. But still. If they want to homeschool, they should be able to.

The second disturbing point is that the United States Attorney General actually argues that homeschooling is not "a right" for parents.  I find this appalling. Extenuating circumstances forbidding, parents are biologically wired to want to care for their children.  Parents are in-touch with the personalities, needs, and conditions of their children, and they care more than anyone else could. (Again, there are exceptions, due to some people being sadly messed up by the traumas of this life, but biologically speaking, it is pretty hard-wired into parents to connect with their children.) Who better to understand the child than the parent, who (in most families) shares the child's very DNA? It is in the best interest of the child to protect the parents' rights to raise the child as they feel is best. (Keeping with some minimum standards, of course.)

I don't worry about public schools on a religious and philosophical level so much. Myself, I'm considering homeschooling my kids, not because of the CONTENT of the public school curriculum so much as the METHODS and the ENVIRONMENT of public schools. I disagree with the commonly used punitive approach to discipline. I disagree with the ugly aesthetics. I want to limit my child's screen time until he's older. I am concerned about my impressionable 5-year-old being exposed to a slew of cultural messages from his peers that I disagree with. (Patriarchy, narcissism, consumerism, xenophobia, and so on.) If I lived in Germany, I would tell the government (not that they would listen), "I will teach my child close to the same religious and philosophical content you use in your schools. But I will do it in a way that makes sense emotionally for my child. Butt out."

Please sign this petition if you believe that the US government should not set a precedent of aligning against parental rights to educate their children as they see fit.

The Parable of the Woman Who Cried

A mother of 3 was making supper for her family. While chopping the onions, the knife slipped, and she sliced her finger open, creating a large and painful wound.

Her youngest child walked into the room and asked, "Why is Mommy crying?"

The eldest, Consor, answered, "She is crying because she was cutting onions. The vapors irritated her eyes. Clearly, our sense of entitlement for food is a drain on our dear mother. What we need to do is feed ourselves instead of lazily relying on Mommy to be our nanny."

The middle child, Libby, retorted, "How can you be so backward? How would we be a family if we didn't eat together? Mommy is crying because the knife slipped and cut her finger. What we need is better regulations of knife design and manufacturing, making accidents like this less frequent."

Who was right?

Not sure what I think about this

I made this with the intention of having it be something that made me feel happy, strong, independent, unique.  Well, I used it today... and it didn't do those things.  It made me feel angry. 
It reminded me that I'm not good at visual art.  The design was dumb, even if the glaze had turned out right. We all have our moments of poor taste. I have more of them than others, especially when it comes to visuals.
And it reminded me of how dumb I can be. Why can't I do things in normal, time-tested ways? Sometimes creativity and resourcefulness lead to seeing paths where there are none.  Occasionally that magical mindset works, and a secret highway opens up to lost treasures; a lot of times that mindset leads to getting your limbs bloodied in brambles or your forehead bruised against a brick wall.
It reminded me that sometimes I trust people and they let me down.
That sometimes I work really hard on something, and it fails spectacularly.
That most people don't care about things as intensely as I do.

So, the mug just wasn't working for me...

Maybe I'm being melodramatic. Forgive me this moment of emotional ridiculousness.

Out of my hands

Today, I don't know why, I thought of him again, and I wondered how he is processing what happened between us.  Maybe I assume too much when I say "is processing."  Maybe he already HAS PROCESSED it, has moved on, and doesn't think about me or us anymore whatsoever.  I've learned that I cannot assume that everyone is as sensitive as I am. (And I wouldn't wish it on anyone!)

But I'm still processing it, unfortunately. I wish I could be done.

Today's angle was wondering what his overall, lasting impression of me is. And, of course, all the old thoughts, wondering what I could have done differently.  When we first broke up, people told me, "Don't think there's anything wrong with you. It happens."  Well, I don't think there's anything wrong with who I am per se, but I do worry about things that I do wrong.  I've done lots of things "wrong." I can be pretty myopic and awkward, and not realize until after I've stepped on toes how I came across to others, not intending to harm but harming anyway.  I know my odd presence is off-putting to some people.

Did I say too much?  Did I move too fast? Did I not say enough? Did I not say the right things? Did I not show him my affection effectively?

And I wonder what it was about me that was the deal-breaker.  I know, it's probably best not to know.  In the past I've had guys who liked me, and I had to tell them I didn't want a romance with them, but didn't have the heart to go on to tell them, "Sorry, you're a great person, I love you to pieces, but you're just not my type."  And it's usually something kind of hard to define that makes them "not my type." And it's not their fault, nor would I want them to try to change. It just is what it is.

So maybe I'm torturing myself unnecessarily by asking myself this question, but part of me feels like if I could answer it, maybe I could do better with the next person who comes along.  What about me didn't "click" for him? (when almost everything about him clicked for me!) Did I come across as neurotic? Desperate? Pompous? Irresponsible? Cold? Boring? Uptight? Eager? Creepy? Clumsy? Clueless? Out of touch? Naive? Lazy?

I had planned to give him a personally-painted coffee mug for his birthday.  It was the perfect gift for so many reasons. I'm a careful gifter, when it comes to those I love, and I had this all planned out.  But the break-up happened before I could make it.  Around the time of his birthday, I went ahead and made the mug anyway, but gave it to myself, to help honor my healing. I used colors I like instead of the colors that he likes. Otherwise, the concept was similar.

I made it at a local business where you can purchase a ceramic object and paint it. Then the people running the business will glaze and fire it for you.  (I think it is done by art students at the university in town.)  Before submitting the mug to be glazed and fired, it looked like this:

Well, I was sick and busy the past few weeks, and only remembered to pick up the mug yesterday.  I was quite surprised by how it looked after glazing.  I had expected the colors to darken (that was in the instructions), but wow, the quality:

The glaze is terrible, in my opinion. (Though I know next to nothing about pottery, so maybe this is how it's supposed to be?)  The strokes are uneven, and they smeared the paint! And they made parts of it transparent, so the white ceramic shows through the brushstrokes, instead of the carefully-even 3 layers of solid color I had applied.

I posted this photo to my FaceBook page, mentioning my disappointment. My dear friend, Michelle, who has been my confidante throughout this heartbreak, said she thought it was appropriate, considering the original recipient of the mug.

Wow. I hadn't even put the two ideas together until she said it.

And somehow, this was comforting to me, a bit.  The bad glaze job was not my fault, and completely out of my hands.  I had submitted it carefully and thoughtfully, but whoever did the glazing treated it casually and clumsily.  The metaphor jumped out to me...  It's not my fault.  I did my best. I presented my heart, my self, my life, in as careful, thoughtful, present, and honest way as I knew how. I made mistakes, but I tried to correct them. How he responded was out of my hands.  I'm disappointed with the results, but I don't have to bear the responsibility.

Please let this sink in. I'm tired of hurting over this. I'm tired of torturing myself, wondering if I should write him back and apologize for my part in the mess.  I'm tired of worrying whether I hurt him.  I'm tired of trying to figure out what the lesson is and what I can change to do differently next time.  I'm tired of enduring retrospective embarrassment due to what I can only imagine that he thought about me. Embarrassment paralyzes. But maybe there's nothing to change after all.