Blogs

Original Paragraph from my Thoreauvian web paper: (Already written in the Maoof style of “telling a story and putting yourself in it”)

To find the boundaries of the campus I walked around it in a circle starting and ending in the same spot. I didn’t begin to ruminate on the subject of circles, however, until I reached “The Labyrinth,” which is what I would consider the center of the campus. I have always felt that there is a definite power in circular shapes. Traditionally, circles have been used to symbolize everything from wholeness and completion to life, eternity, and even the void. Circles occur naturally- you only need to look at an orb web or the ripple a rock makes when thrown into a pond to confirm this. But to me they have the spiritual meaning of the beauty of imperfection, the fact that we often “walk around in circles” in our lives, and the fact that all of us will, ultimately, circle around to death.

    I wanted to return briefly to the question I asked in class on Thursday about what I Rigoberta Menchu, and the trauma novel, does. I asked this question because I have read Trauma fiction before. Most recently, I read Half of a Yellow Sun, a Nigerian novel by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. The novel explores a horrendous civil war which took place in Nigeria in the 1960s – essentially a genocide which was funded by European and unrecognized by Americans. It was difficult but incredibly moving to read, and for me, it succeeded in establishing empathy and producing shock and disgust that I had never heard any mention of this history (especially considering that it wasn’t that long ago).

Original:

A first attempt at an hour’s observation brings only awkwardness.  In the night I venture forth determined to find a blissful solitude in the darkness.  I reason that the night is for indoor activities, not natural, and I will defeat the crowds by having my hour out in the night.  I walk up the hill to the labyrinth.  I see a couple gazing at the stars.  I walk quickly away. 

The next afternoon, I try again.  I go out when the weather is beautiful, when I figure everyone would be outside.  I reach the labyrinth and I am the only one there.  I take one hour letting the warm sun and the cool breezes soak into my skin.  No one comes.  I am with nature while the rest of the world is stuck in their dorm missing this glorious feast of the senses.

Original: Leaves – I don’t remember much from my HS biology class. But I remember learning about leaves and pigment and autumn – the trees withdraw their support, close/sever ties with the leaves… lack of the connection means gradual death, going out (for some) in a fiery blaze of color – colors that were there under the surface all along, only waiting for enough chloroplasts to die so they could shine through. Something like that.

Comments: prefaced with my memory – my incomplete memory of scientific fact as a lens (can you take this seriously?). Personification of the trees, the colors…

Re-vision: Seeing the leaving is forcing re-levating/re-calling studying biology and the changing of seasons in high school. Leaving is withdrawing support, severing ties. Leaving is lacking connection, moving towards death, going out blazing and firing color. Leaving is dying. Leaving is making space for waiting colors. Now, coloring is happening, shining though.

Original:

As I was looking out at the pond again, I had in mind Gary Snyder's suggestions, to see the wild, the unspoken parts of nature. To concentrate on the grit and the hunger and the survival rather than the peaceful. This was really hard still, but the closest I got was to notice the continuous ripples in the pond. They came very often, and I remember hearing somewhere that if there was a ripple, that meant something in the pond had just been hunted or eaten. Thinking about this, I saw the ripples differently, and started wondering what exactly was going on under those waters. There was a sports game going on to my right (probably soccer judging by the sound the ball was making, I didn't actually go and check to confirm) and the players were cheering on eachother loudly, and in general communicating with eachother about maneuvers in the game. I wondered then vaguely, if they were under water, how their loud voices might make the sound ripple. Then that lead me to imagine the organisms in the water. Were they also 'shouting,' 'yelling,'did they make enough noise to make the water ripple? What did it sound like under there. I took this pic of the water ripples, and also a video, but I couldn't manage to post the video, as the software wasn't compatible :(

Bohm and Snyder:

A major part of this project was collecting oral histories of the past and visions of the future from residents of the Millcreek. Through this, not only were we able to use individuals' ideas of beauty, nature, and community to create a garden that fostered those visions, but we were also able to film a documentary that captured these stories for a larger audience. 

Sitting. Feeling the wind on my skin. I am cold. Chills shake my being. Focusing on the shivvering trees and branches. My attention sticks to the wind. How can you capture the essence of the wind. Something real, something lifelike. Something that thrives on movement. A picture cannot capture the wind. A video barely can. The freedom the wind brings, not confining it to the pages of a book. The touch of the wind is something bechdel does not capture. One aspect that is untouchable is the physical feel of nature against your skin. Bechdel does not particularly highlight the aspects of nature that people feel on a daily basis when they walk outside. As I sat outside I enjoyed the feel of the wind blowing against my face and the sushine beating down at my back. There is no way to describe the wind and sun other than to experience it.

Original First Paragraph

I’ve never been very good at wandering or walking without any sort of plan.  Hence the reason a planned to circle the campus out edges and then explore its inner parts.  Of course, like with any sort of plan, it inevitably changed. I began my walk after brunch, around noontime, heading down Erdman Driveway.  In this part of campus, the boundaries were very clear, usually marked by sidewalks or beautifully trimmed bushes.  After deciding that these boundaries were easily identified, I turned my attention toward my surroundings, marveling at the clear sky with perfect clouds and reading license plates.  Eventually my gaze fell upon this little white house right beside the Admissions parking lot.  Here began my true saunter and my plan began to fade away.  I was able to identify the building as the site of Human Resources and continued through the parking lot to take a look at the next never-before-seen sight.  After learning that the gate to Admissions was adorned with lanterns given to the college by the Alumnae Association to celebrate past, present and future Mawrters, I turned the corner onto Yarrow Street and was met with a yet another gateway that presented me with a little bit of a conundrum.

Rheomode

but I think this might still be coping out.  Our assigned reading for tuesday directly plays into the paper I'm writing for Jody's class and I'd like to have the two of them "play together" here.  Unfortauntely, that means I won't be able to turn this in on time.  I'll share my paper online and then respond to it with the lens of the "Advetencia/Warning" reading.

Promisies.  Promisies.