Sunday, April 21, 2013

How I Discovered Life Through Death: A Response to Annie Dillard's "Living Like Weasels"

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I cannot think of a greater persecution than being subject to live life, day after day after day, as a weasel. Living out of “necessity” may prove to be a simpler task than living out of “choice,” but it would be an airless and monotonous routine. I live each day in hopes that tomorrow will be different from today, in some shape or form perhaps a friendship gained; a wish fulfilled; a new lesson learned. All of these intangible little miracles etch vital lessons and memories into the human heart; without them, the heart would cease to beat. I embrace the human ability to feel both grief and joy. My experience strengthened my own quest for life meaning how to live.


Dillard states, “A weasel doesn’t ‘attack’ anything.” If one does not “attack” life with fervor and a “fierce and pointed will,” then he cannot say that he has truly lived. It is experiencing the joys, the sorrows, the laughter, and the tears- frozen moments in time- that allows us to say that we have truly lived.


The death of a beloved friend and co-worker forced me to stop living like a weasel and realize that I was taking advantage of the miracle of life. At Jeremy’s viewing, I stood at my pal’s side, “stunned into stillness,” gazing at his pale unearthly complexion. Those two baby blue eyes I was not able to see. I longed to be lost in them once more, to retrace and memorize every detail and complexity of his windows to the world. The “yank of separation” tore me in half. I took one last look at him and he vanished underneath the wild roses that adorned his casket. “The careening splash- down into real life” stirred my frozen emotions. A part of me is lost. When he passed me by at work, no matter how busy we were, he always found time to smile and wink at me. We would always joke around, flirting bashfully, our eyes studying each other, trying to find something deeper in each other’s souls. Something to grasp onto. Something to hold. In all of that is a feeling of indescribable emotion a combination of anticipation, excitement, and fear.


Jeremy’s death was an epiphany for me. It opened my eyes to the vibrant world that enveloped me. My only regret is that I wish I could have known Jeremy longer. We were on the brink of something magical that cannot ever be recaptured. That part of me, that hope, is gone.


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I will have to live the rest of my life wondering what would have become of the two of us. Perhaps I’ll never know. But sometimes I think it’s better not knowing because our relationship won’t ever come to an end. Jeremy and I both yielded to our instincts and let time take its course. We didn’t think about tomorrow, what would happen if we walked out that door and never again returned. Such a parting never entered my mind.


It is an unfinished book that I keep thinking about, wanting to go back and continue to reread between the lines. Every time I think about Jeremy, I remember something else, something so seemingly minute in those moments that are cached at the back of my brain. So, while I savor that miracle that Jeremy never got to fully enjoy, I’ll immerse myself in the rays of the living sun, thinking of Jeremy looking down upon me, and revel in discovering how to live.


Dillard, Annie. Living Like Weasels.


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Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Griefs we cause ourselves

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It is by our nature that we hate to be at fault. As human beings, we have the innate ability to try to allocate the blame elsewhere than to ourselves. Upon thinking about the problem however, it usually is rooted back to the individual that the problem occurs to. This happens time and time again. As this happens, more and more people realize that these griefs are not caused by others. Whether it happens to characters in literature, political figures, or individuals like ourselves, the greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.


Literature gives us a prime example of problems that our caused by us. In Romeo and Juliet, two lovers are prevented by their families from being together. To rebel from this, Juliet connives a plan to fake her death. This would trick her family into thinking she was dead, allowing her to run off with romeo, who is exiled to Mantua. The plan is then to be delivered by the friars assistant to Romeo. Unfortunately the assistant does not reach romeo, and, upon finding about juliets death, Romeo decides to commit suicide. Romeo might want to blame Juliet for not getting the message to him, or even blame the messenger for not doing what he was asked to do, but he made the decision to do something as rash as poison himself. He made that choice. The blame for his actions therefore cannot fall on any other individual than on himself.


Notorious persons in our society can also have the burden of causing their own griefs. After having back surgery and being put on prescription drugs, Rush Limbaugh has recently placed himself into the spotlight by being caught using OxyCotton without a prescription. He was using them illegally because he acquired an addiction to these pain killers. While he may choose to blame his doctor for prescribing him prescription drugs after having his back surgery, or even going further down the line of false blame to blame his surgeon for performing back surgery on him, it is not valid. His addiction stems his own inability to cope. He chose to give in to his craving and acquire these drugs illegally. It is no ones fault but his own.


Just as Limbaugh chose to give in and cause his own grief, we as individuals have the increasing tendency to be the root of our own problems. I, for example, have recently caused myself a great grief. Upon receiving information on standard homecoming procedures, I learned about the need for Guitar Club (for which I am president) to participate in this homecomings activities. Acting as a president should, I delegated members of guitar club to spear head the project and form a committee to see that it was done correctly. I also decided to assist the members of this committee feeling that it was my responsibility as president. After working countless houirs of my and my constituents personal time and using precious manpower, the project was nearing completion. I was only to check the information packet (which I had yet to study in detail) to be sure the project met all required standards. Upon studying this acket, I realized that in order for the homecoming project to even be recognized as existing, an entry application had to be turned in, turned in two weeks ago. All of that effort, that hard work, those countless hours, discarded because of one simple rule, and yet not because of that simple rule. For in truth, it was I who did not read and fully understand what I was assigning my constituents to spearhead, as a leader and delegator should do. It was I who did not take the time to even glance at what I was to accomplish. The loss of that time and that effort which had gone to waste was my own fault. My lack of responsibility and my choice not to read the informative packet on homecoming was the reason this problem occurred. This grief was my own doing.


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Consequently, the greatest griefs that we desire to believe are the fault of others are solely our own. In countless instances, whether it is characters in literature, notorius individuals of out pop culture, or personal experiences that we all have had, we are the sole roots of our problems. It is an inevitable fact that will repeat itself, as history tends to do, until we admit that we are at fault and accept the blame. Only through personal liability can a true understanding of our problems arise.





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