I've been putting off editing the rest of the pictures from our cross-country roadtrip because I kind of want to relive them later. I feel like too often, I edit right away, the feeling from the adventure still tugging at my mood. Which isn't a bad thing, but it leaves after I'm all finished. I also want to edit them all at once - I get into a better creative flow and the photos tend to maintain more consistency (good thing sometimes, bad other times).
I experienced so much on the trip. I really believe it changed me forever-for the better. And I'm not quite ready to let go of that feeling. There is this adrenaline, sense of adventure that I still have. However, I do feel like if it has stuck with me this long, it's probably going to be there for a while. Eventually I want to write a series of blogs using photos and long descriptions of everything.
I really like this construction job. First off, I get to wear a hard-hat. Which makes me feel pretty cool. I wore it while walking down the street on my way back to the apartments we're working on. I either looked really B.A. or really disoriented because I was wearing a hard-hat while walking through a rich Cincinnati neighborhood. It really is a fulfilling job. I earn the money I get at the end of the day. And it feels good to work hard in such a setting. You feel part of something. You're helping to build a home for someone. It's a rewarding feeling.
I came home from work today and there was a family of rabbits in our yard, a mother and her recently born...
(see my flickr for better quality) http://www.flickr.com/photos/austindressman
*Preface: It's late, and I'm thinking in rapid succession, probably because I'm tired. So please excuse the quality of writing and thought.
For a while now I've had this whole detached spirituality. I was raised Catholic but whenever I felt I truly experienced God, it was on my own or outside of the church. I attribute almost all that I know spiritually to being raised a Catholic. It is just hard to feel any sort of attachment to the church for me. The Catholic church has many beautiful traditions that carry on into their church services, but I am not truely feeling God through it. It feels like a place I can go to stay content, not moving backwards or forward. It's comfortable but stagnant, something that begins to take its toll after a while. I relied on spiritual moments from a day to day basis. I would recognize God in people and places and sunsets and words and images and silence. I love these moments more than anything in the world. I feel like I come face to face with God.
Why is it that as I type these words I feel as if I'm typing cliche after cliche? Or am I just viewing these things through societies biased filter? Should I even be talking this way on here? Is it self-aggrandizing? Am I really meaning what I say? I am, I know I am. I feel foolish when I write things like this. But it is true. I know there is a higher power because of the moments I speak of and the feelings I have felt.
After visiting Utah, I saw faith in action as I had never seen before. The Mormon faith is pretty beautiful. The people are so unbelievably devoted, and it's inspiring. The social behavior is refreshing compared to a secular society that practices excess in just about every aspect. The girls dress and act respectively, but not in an over-the-top evangelist conservative way. They don't feel the need to show skin, or make sensual advances towards the opposite sex. When the people interact with each other, they are genuinely interested in knowing more about the other. This results in natural, sincere relationships that last. Mormons refrain from alcohol and addictive substances because they believe in being aware at all times. Always available for one of those beautiful spiritual moments. I'm not necessarily shooting down the secular society. I don't think alcohol is the devil! or anything extreme like that. I do like to drink every once and a while. It's just a matter of showing the other side of the spectrum and how inspiring it was. And yes, I realize this is a very one-sided, basic view of the Mormon faith, but it's the part the stood out to me the most. I wish my description was a better written more complete thought on the faith. But hey...it's 4:30am. These ways of living and thinking are not repressive in any way, if anything they are freeing.
The word that sticks the most is "genuine". Mormons are genuine people. They do more than wear their hearts on their sleeve. They are completely out in the open, their purity refreshing, not creepy or phony. They are simply trying to be the best human beings they can be. I know I have been collectively grouping ALL Mormons together. But I guess I do this because these are the guidelines the religion sets, and most are pretty faithful to them. It really is refreshing to see.
I don't know if this means I'm meant to be a Mormon or if it means I'm going to reconnect with my Catholic roots or something. But one thing I am sure of is that I have forever been influenced by the Mormon religion and way of life. I will take the things I have experienced and attempt to apply them to my life in one way or another. You don't even have to be religious in any way to respect, understand, practice social Mormonism.
There still are big issues that hold me back from completely handing myself over to a religion. I feel like there are so many paths to God. Why is it that our form of worship of God is any better than the worship by Buddhists? or Muslims? Ok, yes, Jesus Christ. But if you are raised Muslim why shouldn't you practice and believe it? Muslims experience God too. They feel the same way Christians feel about their God. I just don't understand how one religion can say they are the one true way. There are also other things like the acceptance of the gay lifestyle or the acceptance of the death penalty. The fact that most all Christian denominations, including Mormons believe gay people to be second class human beings (ok, so maybe this is taking things out of context, but if they can't have the same rights as straight humans what does that make them?) I just see many contradictions with church teachings and our society. I get sucked into that whole "religion is man-made" hole that I know is mostly wrong but sometimes right. I don't think God has let religion fall completely out of grace. I DO believe religion is essentially good, a positive force on earth. It's just the things I mentioned above that make me curious as to what I should do for myself and God. I try not to think TOO much about it. For now, I'll enjoy these beautiful moments and continue to thank the Creator.
God, show me the way...and I'll follow. (the clear way, free of my own doubts and fears)
This song has been a source of inspiration for numerous thoughts lately. It's a video, but just listen to the song itself...
Airports are beautiful. I've always been attracted to them. I think it's because of the commotion and excitement of it all. There are so many different kinds of people going so many different places. And I'll never get over the marvel of a plane lifting off into the sky. It's perfect, the weightlessness of the tires leaving the cracked runway. Sitting in an airport terminal is a privilege. Not anyone can just walk into its glass barricades and sit in one of the many cheap pleather seats at each gate. You have to have a ticket. And with a buddy pass, you never know when you'll have the privilege of not making it on a flight, forced to sit in the tranquility of the busy terminal to people-watch.
The old airport attendants sit in abandoned wheelchairs talking sports and politics. Their graying hair compliments their formal navy blue vests and dress shirt uniform. I go into the restroom and one of them follows me. He is humming loudly, occasionally voicing a few lyrics as he relieves himself. He's happy. To spend my days in an airport terminal amongst the hustle and bustle and quiet interludes between flights. To see the faces and hear the voices of such a diverse array of people everyday. I think the attendant is a lucky man.
Bukowski keeps me company. His terse prose shoves the truth down my throat as I sit among the blue collared works he speaks of while they're on the lunch breaks in the back of the terminal cafeteria. They sit in thinly padded seats, their neon uniforms as colorful as their language.
I'm slowly but surely becoming familiar with the faces of this place. As the janitors make their rounds, they notice me, also making my rounds. There is a moment of understanding. He knows I'm not just one of the others billowing past, blackberry attached to ear, lips sputtering words, eyes ignoring the multifarious enchantment of the passing travelers.
And all at once, the world became this beautifully methodical sequence of events. The neon of the gas signs were bokeh city lights and the tire treads on the roadside shook like red autumn leaves as cars swiftly passed. A sparrow flew in sync with my car gliding with the warm summer breeze. A line of cars made their way towards me in the opposite lane, their headlights dim lanterns in the evening horizon. Horse girl rode her bike along the path. Horse girl was a small girl about the age of my sister who always rides her bike up to the pasture to feed the horses baby carrots. Every time I see her, she waits patiently at the gate, the horses ignoring her off in the distance. This time she rode with satisfaction spread across her face, a crumpled baggie bunched in her fist. The horses had been close enough to feed this time. I saw the face of God in the deep oranges and purples of a particularly well defined cloud. The golden rays gushed into the off-set blues and greys. Heaven had made itself evident tonight.
The world was putting on a show. A revival of sorts. The scenes and characters were all the same - all too familiar episodes of life I pass on a daily basis without taking a second glance. But today, it was being revisioned. I was watching a masterpiece. It was cinema in its purest form. The discolored fabric car seat and cool air conditioning my theatre, the windshield my silver screen.
Enter Thick gray party cloudy sky Enter Under-maintenanced state highway Enter Music Enter Cool artificial air Enter 2000 Mitsubishi Mirage Enter Figure 1
His vision is darkened by the too-tinted aviator sunglasses that lopsidedly sit on his face. The tan Honda Odyssey in front of him displays a small indentation carefully filled with caulking paste. He stares at the impression and his eyelids droop slightly, sleep accessible without having to try too hard. He remembers the time a rock found its way into the side of his Dad's car and how he couldn't talk himself into believing the rock had left his palm. His Dad wasn't angry. He merely asked him to bring the small metal box he kept his allowance money in to the kitchen. Crying hysterically, he took each step one at a time, the metal box weighing heavy in his hands. The music becomes background as his mind lackadaisically slips into a narrow and familiar way of thinking. His thinking process is tired. By default, his mind slips into thoughts of romanticism. The sudden reduction in speed of the Odyssey forces his eyelids back and he punches the brake. Tire treads line the passing lane shoulder. They look like...what's an expressive way of phrasing it? They look like...well tire treads, passing in rapid succession. His vision slips out of focus, the smudges and bug parts splayed across the windshield pushing the road into the blurry foreground. When will he be able to share these exclusive thoughts with someone. An intimate someone. A girl. Richwood, his exit looms in the near distance. He is met by a traffic light at the bottom of the exit ramp. The McDonalds. Not exactly a place he frequented in his childhood, but it held a few memories. Suddenly he is thrown into the past. He wakes up early one summer morning on his own. He contemplates the books that line the back of his headboard. Excitement washes over his face when he realizes he has a coupon for a free McDonalds breakfast sandwich. But the McDonalds is at least 5 miles away, across the busy morning highway. Mom would disapprove. So would the babysitter. Slipping past the babysitter, he makes his way around the house to the garage. He walks his bike to the corner cursing its clinking chain. The damp morning air billows through his clothing as he takes the first hill. The sun in the cloudless sky blares down on his back. There are no thoughts of anything. Girls, work, school never cross his mind. A sausage egg biscuit and a tall orange juice propel the wheels forward. He barely stops for the highway, instead joining the tire treads on the side of the road. The McDonalds looms nearer and soon he is dismounting his bike in a safe place.
Flash forward and Figure 1 is smiling contently like a little kid who just remembered he had a McDonalds coupon on an early summer morning, thankful for the beautiful nostalgia. The Odyssey inches forward and he sees what looks like a mother and 2 kids. He assumes that the preteen boy sitting in the backseat is the reason for the caulking. Maybe a rock was involved...
Is it possible to find love in everything else but love?
I have all of this built up "love" inside of me, I feel, due to the amount of time I've gone "solo". I'm not trying to evoke any sort of pity, just posing a very real question within me. Through taking pictures and writing these "reverie" blogs, can I outlet my zealous need to love? I feel like it does to a certain degree. By noticing little pieces of beauty in my day to day life, I'm able to release my built up passion.
Ah, but here's the rub...mental and physical intimacy with another human being is unparalleled to anything in this world. It's a variation of this broad intimacy I feel with humanity when I take pictures or write reveries. But it adds this new formula of two people attempting to sync with one another. I love this Before Sunrise quote: "I believe if there's any kind of God it wouldn't be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it's almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt."
I've used that quote before. I just think its such a clear answer to what that thing it's describing is.
I'll find her some day. For now, I'll enjoy the attempt(s).
Pulsing Bernard Hermann scores push the flow of words from my fingers. Writing a paper about Nietzschian trends in Alfred Hitchcock films has become much more vehement than I had anticipated. I love this summer class. Waking up at 8am and sitting in a really uncomfortable chair for 3 hours is not my favorite aspect of the course. BUT I'm not complaining. The torrential downpour of Hitchcock I get during that class has been invigorating. Even outside of class I rewatch old favorites we don't have time to cover over the 3 weeks.
Uncle Charlie inches towards young Charlie, his secret about to burst from her naive lips. She knows too much. Uncle Charlie slowly turns around and walks back up the staircase, a threatening ferocity in his eyes as he turns around to see her still standing. I slowly divert my eyes from the screen to notice a girl sitting on the opposite side of the room, her glance completely transfixed on this classic Hitchcock climax. As the music began to pulse she smiled with awe, utterly taken by the scene. My heart begins to beat faster and I let the scene take me as she has, the suspense pushing me towards the edge. I notice these instances throughout the films we watch. The Hitchcock climax starts its slow descent. Grace Kelly breaks into the house of the suspect, Mr. Thorwald, to grab the evidence only to be met by the man himself. Jimmy Stewart, restricted to a wheelchair can only watch through the window as Thorwald violently grabs her and throws her across the room. I see a man sitting in the front row, discontent tugging at the edges of his face. He winces when Thorwald begins to shake Kelly, there is nothing he can do either but watch helplessly.
I love this. Never have I noticed more audience identification with whats transpiring on screen than I have in a room full of people watching a Hitchcock film. Film is so beautiful. Everything about it. Its power to control emotions, persuade, among other human qualities is so sincere.
It helps when you have a master like Hitchcock at the reigns too.
