Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Lighthouse




 "Nothing can dim the light that shines within."
-Maya Angelou

The aphorismatic idea that the eye is the conduit to the soul has always been sacred to me. Once I have laid eyes upon something they christen as "beautiful", that something most certainly will leave an imprint on my very being, becoming a small portion of my soul itself. When I was a little girl, I remember feeling a wondrous sense of awe at a willow tree. (A... tree you say? How normal.) But, for whatever reason, seeing it's languid, sweeping branches made an impression on my little heart and that quiet wonder grew with me into adulthood; it gave breath to something within me that slowly burgeoned into the reverence for nature that I feel and the maternal-like attentiveness for taking care of it. Seeing is not just a visual faculty though, is it? For when we really envisage something, we feel it. And I don't just mean "sight" as in ocular adeptness, I mean seeing in each and every sense of the word: perspective, understanding, discernment, appreciation, perceiving. Truly seeing causes feeling, causes a stirring within us that cannot be subjugated. And that, that is how the eye first becomes window to the soul: when we have understood, discerned, appreciated, percieved, and thus inadvertently adopted that very small form of intelligence as a part of ourselves.

The definition of intelligence is "the capacity for learning, reasoning, understanding... the faculty of understanding." Notice what that definition implies: that intelligence is determined by one's capacity, or potential, for learning; their aptitude for understanding. I ascribe to the belief that true intelligence guides men to action in that their intelligence is then radiated by the lives they lead. And therein lies the poetic counterpart to the eyes being the window to the soul-  we radiate what is most deeply important to us, what we most seek after. These are the things that quietly and gracefully feed that inner light to which Elizabeth Kubler-Ross was referring when she said: "People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light within." I'm quite taken with the bidirectionality that this whole idea propounds: If the eye is the window to the soul, let what we choose to "see" be that which will radiate light from within and cause the kind of reflection that inspires.

Someone rather enlightened (cough cough... John Locke) once expressed the idea that "the candle that is set up in us shines bright[ly] enough for all our purposes." What I think most encouraging about this is his postulation that we all have an innate prerequisite for anything we desire to accomplish or understand. That light is within everybody- but flickers and burns with as much unique precision as the "Author of our existence" used in designing each one of us. Of course, we see countless things every day, but I'm referring to those things we see that compel us to look twice- and that, upon that second glance, make us feel something. I think that light to which Locke refers is fed by those things that we have cause to give a second glance, or notice, or thought. If we don't feed that light, it dies, and we radiate nothing. But if we do choose to feed it, then, like E.K.B.'s human window, it creates something so extraordinary within us that it is radiated outwardly.

I spent my entire college career pursuing a career with which I was never, no not once, enthralled. Of course, there were sparks of interest here and there- but I never felt deeply connected to what I was studying. I never felt like learning the postures of my future vocation was an extension of who I was. A cryin' shame. Though no education is ever wasted, I desperately wish I would have chosen to explore something that did ignite and feed that little flickering light within me- something which in learning more and more about It, I could feel like I was learning more and more about myself. I feel that way when I read, and when I write. I can become completely intoxicated by cadences. I feel so very kindred to and grateful and hungry for the endowment of words and their subtleties. I don't know if it's the potential that lies within each one- the innumerable ways in which it can be applied and given new, personal meaning, or in some cases, in the very word itself. For whatever reason, there is a thrill that overcomes me with the mere possibility of expressing a thought- knowing I can choose any concoction of words to do so- and that in doing just that, I put my very brand on that thought- it becomes mine. The light that shines faintly within me is fed so much by this passion. I think it burns it's brightest when I pursue this outlet. The very deepest recesses of my soul surface and find sustenance. "The understanding, like the eye, whilst it makes us see and perceive all other things, takes no notice of itself; and it requires art and pains to set it at a distance and make it its own object. But whatever be the difficulties that lie in the way of this inquiry; whatever it be that keeps us so much in the dark to ourselves; sure I am that all the light we can let in upon our minds... will not only be very pleasant, but bring us great advantage, in directing our thoughts in the search of other things... The actions of men are the best interpreters of their thoughts"... Yet another astute proliferation of the Enlightenment and it's champ, John Locke. If I am interpreting his notion correctly, I would argue that he is encouraging us to cultivate our intellect as doing so will inadvertently shed light upon the mysteries that lie within ourselves; will give us insight into our own natures, and this will allure us toward seeking out more knowledge and more understanding, which will feed that inner light that is within us.

A very great lady once said, "Our outward appearance is a reflection of what we are on the inside. Our lives reflect that for which we seek." There are paths awaiting me... Paths that will kindle that inner flame until it is at it's veriest, and I want to pursue those. Ultimately, pursuing intelligence, in all it's forms, can do nothing but illuminate one's life. It's deeply important for me to live the kind of life that is a reflection of the things for which my soul craves. If eyes truly are windows to the soul, I want mine to radiate the things that characterize a beautiful and meaningful existence. Whatever that may mean for me. Let nothing dim the light that shines within me, and let me seek especially after those things that will feed it's glow.

Peace and Love.

Image source: http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2698/4279956730_472d6b3264.jpg

Thursday, November 17, 2011

How's the World Treating You?


"Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving."
-W.T. Purkiser

The golden-deliciousness of falling leaves and the crispness in the air can mean only one thing: fall has unmistakably encroached on my beloved summer. I truly wish I were a soul who thrived in all seasons, but alas, it is not so. I had the notion the other day, however, that if fall were not the precedent to winter, I'm sure I would relish it much more than just the deciduous aesthetics and the inevitable, ever-present aroma of pumpkin bread. Though, I'll admit, there is one thing about this time of year that does bring comfort despite the impending abysmal doom of winter that shadows it. "That", my peeps, is the feeling of gratitude that arrives just as naturally as the changing colors of the season. 

I don't have many talents- it's true. There are plenty of things at which I am exquisitely mediocre. I do, however, pride myself in being able to find joy in the simple things in life. A warm day, a good song, something scandalously delish to eat, a hearty laugh... You get it. I try to recognize these on a daily basis and, when I remember, thank my Maker for the small flutter of happiness they bring to my day. But there are oh so many other things- grander things- that grant gratitude acceptance into my door and serve it tea and scrumpets. In the true spirit of Thanksgiving, while I am surrounded by falling leaves of decadent autumn tones, I give thanks for the many things in my life that without which, would make it positively empty...

Dad. Amongst all else, for teaching me about how to think so that it makes me a better person. Mama. Amongst all else, for your anchoring encouragement of "Faith, not Fear." Brothers. For your honest hearts and your funny bones. Sisters. For your virtue. God. For His unfailing mercy. Christ. For His sacrifice. Ears. For their ability to hear the music I love so poignantly. Edith, Victor, Jane, Goethe, Lucy Maud, Flaubert. For the words they have written which have sculpted, refined, inspired, and changed my soul. Heart. Literally, for it's perseverance in beating each and every minute. Figuratively, for how ardently it beats. It is a hopeful, fervent, enduring heart. And It, more than anything else, is my most reliable reminder of what matters most. Tastebuds. For the exquisite joy they have granted me. (I wanted to put this one at the very top, but even I am not that shameful.) Shawn. For everything. You are my rock. Maddles. For giving me the ever-so-smallest glimpse into the future joys of motherhood. Memories. For their ability to endure, when their begetters, by design, cannot. Writing. For the catharsis and self-awareness that it cultivates. Thomas S. Monson. For his unfailing optimism. My Tricks. For everything that each of you has brought to my life. I am a better girl for being in your company.
Home. For it's sanctity and comfort.

Make no mistake, I am wholly undeserving of all of the above. But until the universe and all else that conspires in my favor realizes it, I will cherish each like a hoarder until my dying day. Shakespeare said, "They do not love that do no show it", and I would venture to say the same is true for gratitude. Are we truly grateful for our blessings if we do not give thanks where and how thanks are due? True gratitude is probably more than just saying "Thank you, thank you very much" (I'm also thankful for Elvis, obvi). I think when our lives are characterized by optimism, and service, and concern for others, and when we have an unrelenting hope, that that is probably when we can claim gratitude as a characteristical appendage. 

Any virtue, if it is sincere, is more than just a feeling- it is a way of living. It's almost effortless at this time of the year to recognize how full our lives are; it's harder to maintain that recognition as the season fades. This Thanksgiving, may we not only identify those things in our lives which make it better, but resolve to let that gratitude reside in our hearts a little longer than usual. There are oh so many ways we can be the very thing that someone else is grateful for, and that, perhaps, is the simplest and surest way of showing that we are indeed grateful recipients for all "our cribs, our cars, our pools, our jewels"... You feel me? 

If anything brings comfort, it is recognizing what we do have, even when our circumstances may seem bleaker than February in the 801.
Happy Thanksgiving, and Happy giving of thanks.

Peace and Love.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Girl: Happy



 "Reality continues to ruin my life."
-Bill Watterson

Mercy... It's been forev, hasn't it? Now that summer's over, it's much harder for me to find things to be grateful for. Psyyyyyche. Here's what I've got for ya:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/6/6b/Gone_with_the_Wind_cover.jpg/200px-Gone_with_the_Wind_cover.jpg
Always and forever have I been a fan of the 17-hour movie. I can never figure out who is more beautiful: Scarlett or Rhett. Anyway, I've always wanted to read the book and just never had three years to kill. I finally decided that it was high-time I just sucked it up and read the 1100 pager. May I just say, it is absolutely addicting. I simply cannot put it down. And Rhett is even MORE charming on paper, if you can imagine that.
 www.youtube.com
This band never ceases to amaze me. Homeboy's. got. feelings. But his voice is so satisfyingly manly that you don't even think he's a sissy for feeling so many things. I listen to this emo gem all the time lately, and I'm not even going through a break-up. It's that good.
http://www.bangitout.com/images/MattDillon_Vespa_635053_400.jpg
  Ok, Ok. I know you're probably sick of reading about him. But I can't escape my love for him. Last week I dreamed that he was my boyfriend and we were living in Manhattan and he was ever-so-madly in love with me. He opened all my doors and cooked me dinners and rubbed my feet, and that's only the PG version. You can imagine my utter heartache waking up only to find I was certainly not in Manhattan and certainly not his star-crossed lover. I really was completely despondent the whole rest of the day. 

http://atfirstbite.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/snicker.jpg
There it is. A frozen Snickers. They're aight at room temperature. But throw one in the freezer and your tastebuds will literally think they've won the lottery.
http://drchristineschaffer.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/heating.jpg
 Laugh allll you want. But seriously, I heart my heading pad more than life.
http://sassymamahk.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/bopbj2014010917_p1_v1_m56577569832185384_254x500.jpg
Yeah I don't yoga. But I am totally obsessed with yoga hair ties. I want one in every color of the crayon box. Including that weird Cerulean blue color and Burnt Sienna.


Whether or not it makes me less of a girl, I'm not sure- but I happen to love this show. It's a nice, refreshing, gory change from all the CW garbage I watch. Disclaimer: The only reason I didn't put Chuck Bass on this list is because he deserves his own post entirely. Duh.

Hope you all are finding much to be grateful for, despite the a$$-bitingly cold weather. 'Tis the season, after-all. 
Peace and Love.




Monday, October 31, 2011

Talk About the Good Times


"No man was ever eloquent by trying to be eloquent, but only by being so."
-George Henry Lewes

Certain words, pairs of words, phrases- reading them makes me feel more real. I love the art that lies within an eloquent, silent elocution of prose. At times I find nothing more stirring than a string of carefully chosen words. I recently just finished Flaubert's Madame Bovary, written around 1857, I think. It had both romance and debauchery- two elements my needy soul craves in a story. But what I la la loved about it wasn't so much the tale being told, as the way it was told. And I have often had this reckoning when reading other works born in that period of time. It's in the very language: flowery without being fussy, calculated yet seemingly natural, as if from the beginning of time, words were always meant to be dispelled in exactly that way. When I read things like this, it makes me long for a time in which I've never even existed; when one's words were their very brand, their instrumentality for distinguishing themselves amongst everyone else. 
 A very good man once said, “Sloppy language and sloppy ways go together. Those who are truly educated have learned more than the sciences, the humanities, law, engineering, and the arts. They carry with them a certain polish that marks them as loving the better qualities of life, a culture that adds luster to the mundane world of which they are apart.” (-Gordon B. Hinckley) 

Truly a votary of anything eloquent, I agree with that very good man with all my heart. How we speak, and what we choose to speak about, can either beautify or tarnish the way we are perceived by others. How charming is it to be in the company of someone who speaks not only articulately, but with the polish that inevitably comes from quiet confidence and a subtle but apparent appreciation for the "better"? I know that whenever I converse with someone who speaks eloquently, intelligently, and with optimistic undertones, it revives my desire to do so. Regretfully, we don't have to search very far to find conversation which revolves around the negative, the harsh, the cynical, the base, and the everyday vulgarity that seems to proliferate like Nobody's biznass. It is effortless to indulge or even instigate the casual kind of discourse that revolves around nothingness and is propagated by cheap and pallor-ic cadences, for the path of least resistance is quite easy to succumb to. But nothing that comes easily is really ever worth having. (Nothing LASTING, I should say. For if I'm going to be honest, there are a good many things that come puh-retty easily which I do consider worth having: eclairs, Pepsi, lemon bars, Cafe Rio, cheeseburgers, naps, mascara, laughs. And yeah, after "cheeseburgers" I had to really stretch the imadge so as not to seem like a total obese-tress.) But are we really better off after engaging in such trite conversation? Do we stand more firmly footed, walk more assuredly and with more direction, and find more nobility in ourselves through speaking insubstantially and even crassly at times? Doubt it.  

I've said before that I believe in the power of the individual. If every living man and woman strove to achieve, a little more each day than the last, their own personal level of greatness, even by the smallest measure and irrespective of means or circumstance, just imagine the different kind of world we would live in. It's hopelessly idealistic, I know. But... so much power lies in mere words! If "words can never harm", then my name isn't Brittany Anne with an "E". Humor me with this naively arcadian notion, but do we not all speak words, all the live-long day, every live-long day? And if by the simple act of choosing to speak them with simple sophistication, and about things that are actually meaningful and pleasant and important, wouldn't the world, even by the ever-so-smallest measurement, be just a little more lovely?  

Please know that more than anything, I am chastising myself in the guise of altruism, but if there's anyone else out there who speaks like a pirate-hooker and knows better, I lower my glass to you, too. Mediocrity is a rampant epidemic, but it doesn't have to be. Seek to emanate the goodness that inspires you by speaking about it. Choose "better" words, words that reflect a meaningful existence. 
 Let us all  "be the good we wish to see in the world", if only with our words. 

Peace and Love.

Monday, October 10, 2011

I Believe In the Man In the Sky



  "...Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity." 
-1 Timothy 4:12

It is here that I am most honest, I think. Because I am writing to really no one in particular but myself, I can express and catalog and capture the things about this existence that inspire me, that change me, that cause me to wonder, and the things that are most precious to my heart. I have expressed adoration for music, for family, for "culinary thrills", for summer, amongst many others. I realized today though that in all the time that I have spent writing about things that matter most to me, I have yet to express my devotion to the thing I consider most precious above all the bounteous joys that this life has brought my way. 

"Be thou an example of the believers." Depending upon what one believes, this has infinite application. I believe in many things. I believe in the power of the individual. I believe in the efficacy of beautiful words. I believe that music is the language of the soul. I believe that we should leave the earth better than we found it. I believe that we should all work to make the world worthy of its children. I believe that nothing is too wonderful to be true. It is what we believe in most deeply that directs us to the paths we pursue, like a compass. 

 I am lead to and/or perhaps by the things I believe in most. I have often thought about what my life would be like without my belief system, and though I'm sure that, in the absence of the compass that it has been in my life, I would have made several different choices which inevitably would have led me down some rather deleterious if not completely dissolute paths, at my core I know that I would always feel that life was more than just the present. Some of us are not inclined spiritually, and that is fine. But as for little old me, religious dogma aside, I believe that all people are spiritual beings. C.S. Lewis said it best, I think: "You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." In that sense, I know that had I been born into different circumstances wherein religion of any sort was absent, I probably still would have sought some sort of transcendent outlet simply because spirituality is a very ardent part of who I am. 
 
Of all that I love, and in all that I believe, there is one truth more penetrating, more anchoring than all the others, and it is this: Jesus Christ is the son of God, and God is my eternal Father. I believe that anything good, anything beautiful, anything that makes me feel more close to becoming the woman I am meant to be- THAT all comes from God and His perfect son. Belief in Them serves as my most reliable compass.

There is so very much about life that is unsure. That very precariousness has painted parts of my mortality with tangible sorrow, numbing remorse, and abysmal hopelessness, for I have just as much frailty within me as I do strength. But I am yet grateful for these brush-strokes, for it is by them that I have witnessed the power of what I know to be true. It is in those truly helpless moments that my soul has been rescued, redeemed, and comforted beyond any earthly comprehension. I have felt the healing power that comes from bended knee. I have been empowered by the strength that comes from submission. If there is any one thing to which I can attest, it is that God does not forsake. 

I have often thought to myself, "I live a charmed life". And I must say, I do: I laugh, I eat, I sing, I play, I read, I write, I love, I sleep, I work, I pray. I pray. I pray to a seemingly chimerical being, yet He is as real to me as my own flesh-and-blood father. It is He to whom I submit bended knee, and it is He to whom I plead for rescue. And though not always on my ideal timescale, not once have my requests been ignored. I have felt, despite His omnipotent power, His tender concern for little nobody Me. He created all the Heavens and everything that they contain, the earth and all it's majesty, and still, though compared to Him I am the dust of the earth, He hears me. To me, God is not to be feared. He is to be loved. For He is the most merciful, patient, benevolent Being that I have ever come to know. Truly, I have come to understand that there is nothing more panacea-ic than prayer. The more I learn to align my desires with that of my Maker's, the closer I feel to self-mastery.

His Son, Jesus Christ, is the Savior of the world. It is by Him, through Him, and of Him that I can become the perfect version of myself. His grace provides the comfort and the promise that I have so often sought in my moments of despair. The more I come to know Him, the more that Hope permeates my life. His existence provides the perfect framework for what I want my life to mean: virtue, patience, compassion, humility, service, faith, love, and purpose. Without Him, I would have no compass. He is my direction. He is my path. He is my destination.

I so much want to be an example of the believers. I want to live like I believe, because I do believe. In fact, there is nothing I believe in more. And, consequently, it is this belief that allows me to so fully appreciate all the numerous other things that I have so often blabbed about here, in this private little space. My belief in a Heavenly Father and in his perfect Son has made my life as full as it is. If you are just a little bit lost, helpless, or feel like something is missing from your existence, I would invite you to seek out the spirituality that is organically within you. Nourishing that part of my soul has brought me nothing but peace, direction, and at times, exquisite joy. Whatever you choose to believe in, let it be your compass. And if it is honest, it will lead you to everything good that you are meant to become. 

Peace and Love.

P.S. See for yourself just how hopeful life can be: 

Image source: http://lds.org/new-era/2002/12/images-of-christ?lang=eng

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Tweedle Dee


I grew a little bit yesterday: I submitted an essay to Real Simple magazine for their annual contest. Cross your fingers! 
Peace and Love.

Image source: http://healthyshouldbeeasy.wordpress.com/tag/detox/

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

I'll Remember You

 
 January 8, 1935 - August 16, 1977
 
I'll remember you
Long after this endless summer has gone
I'll be lonely oh so lonely
Living only to remember you

I'll remember too
Your voice as soft as the warm summer breeze
Your sweet laughter, mornings after
Ever after, I'll remember you

To your arms someday I'll return to stay

Till then I will remember too
Every bright start we made wishes upon
Love me always, promise always
Oooh, you'll remember too
 
I'll remember you.

Peace and Love, my Love.