Friday, June 24

the nature of magic

"It was at these times that he began to understand, after all those years of study and performance, of feats and wonders and surprises, the nature of magic. The magician seemed to promise that something torn to bits might be mended without a seam, that what had vanished might reappear, that a scattered handful of doves or dust might be reunited by a word, that a paper rose consumed by fire could be made to bloom from a pile of ash. But everyone knew that it was only an illusion. The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of the things it contained to vanish, to become so throughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place."

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon

Friday, June 17

Home



I've been home for a few weeks now. It's been quiet. Seen some friends here and there. Started an internship. Slept a lot. Read a lot. Have had a lot of time for rest and reflection. No exciting plans yet for the remainder of the summer, but hopefully something memorable will materialize. I want to see stars. The horizon. Mountains.

Thursday, June 16

all of these are in me

"I get out of bed, go over to the window, and look at the night sky. And think about time that can never be regained. I think of rivers, of tides. Forests and water gushing out. Rain and lightning. Rocks and shadows. All of these are in me."

Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami

Sunday, June 5

you'll be grown before that tree is tall



I saw Terrence Malick's new film, "The Tree of Life," today. It was one of the most stirring movies I've seen in a long time. I may, though, have been in the minority in the particular theater I was in. Most everyone else in the theater was old and white and I suspect were there simply because "Midnight in Paris" was sold out. The elderly couple next to me were especially vocal about this. The husband repeatedly asked whether "fish was OK for dinner" and if his wife had "had enough yet?" There were a handful of walkouts and a general sense of incredulity at how anyone could be enjoying the film.

I thought it was beautiful, elegiacally profound, and heart breaking. The premise is simple, but timeless in the true sense of the word. It's about a boy, Jack, and his family. A harsh and severe father. A kind and gentle mother. How our parents can shape our affections and hatreds. As an adult, Jack remembers his past after learning of the death of a brother and meditates on life and death in the universe since the beginning of time. Scenes of a family in the midwest and the boy as a grown man are intercut with breathtaking images of cosmic events, prehistoric Earth, and the oceans. The creation of the universe and star-birthing supernovae. The rise and fall of the dinosaurs. The life-giving and destructive force of water. All images of natural phenomena that both destroy and create life. The natural cycle of life is unchanging and the film explores how the human struggle to control nature creates conflicts within ourselves. It's not until Jack is able to accept the immutable nature of life and death that he is able to forgive his father and shed a lifetime of burden. Malick writes - "When he sees all that has gone into our world’s preparation, each thing appears a miracle—precious, incomparable."

The film resonated with me. It was somewhat apropos of what has been on my mind recently. I'm struggling to reach a place where I can be mindful of things without needing to control them. A place where I can be happy without needing to know that happiness is attained.

Thursday, June 2

here was proof

"Really - I'm O.K." And he was, too, except that he could find no explanation for why the song had affected him so grotesquely. He had supposed for years that he had no secrets from himself. Here was proof that he had a great big secret somewhere inside, and he could not imagine what it was."

Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
I think, in a lot of ways, this school year has been more educational for me personally than academically in the sense that I've learned more about myself than I have in my classes. It's been a combination of a lot of things, but I think I'm able to see some things about myself now that I haven't been able to in the past. I've cultivated an image of myself for myself over the years. It's been one of a person of impeachable cognitive ability to deal with all things dispassionately. I think I've spent too much time looking at things in too wide a context. Things get lost in a sea of diminished relative consequence and emotional subtlety is cast aside. I haven't suddenly concluded that this kind of perspective is altogether wrong, but over the course of this year, under various circumstances, I've realized more and more the cost of neglecting subtlety. I've discovered I'm not as immune to anxiety and regret as I once thought. In not engaging with the fleeting disappointments and small tragedies that are a part of investing emotionally in the daily minutia, I've not developed a sufficiently visceral sense of empathy for others or myself. When I try to indulge that part of me now, it's a little jarring.

A list of things I'd like to do. One, see the aurora borealis. Two, become more of a relatable human being. I want to wake up and I want to be that man.

/Don Draper