The Birth of Guilt

Two things:
1. I think I'm slow on the uptake here, but am realizing more and more how little I know about the history of the Jews. Even Holocaust-era stuff. I know things happened and that they were bad and I've read Night and other books and I've seen the movies, but I'm still not sure what happened and when. I feel like that part of history has been so present for so much of my life that I haven't taken any time to make sense of it. But more specifically before that. Even very early Hebrew history I'm not super comfortable with.
The reason why I want to remedy this: someone (Randy?) pointed out that we talk about the lack of American culture. But really, we're entrenched in the Judeo-Christian tradition. We try and deny it and reject it (leave the homeland behind), but we can't deny it. What a shame that I'm fuzzy about a big chunk of the history of the culture that is or defined or gave birth to my own. Weird that I'm claiming my Jewish roots?

2. In my class we're talking about the Hebrews historically. How this sternly monotheistic culture was born of a melee of pluralistic polytheism. One of the points I thought was interesting is that in Mesopotamian polytheism the chaos of the pantheon reflected the chaos of the culture. That is, life was unpredictable, the climate was unpredictable, leaders were unpredictable, and so were the gods.
Judaism steered away from this by establishing God as a constant and loving being. Vengeful, yeah, but essentially (in the truest sense of the word) good. Suddenly, the savage unpredictability of the world is thrown into sharp contrast with the creator. This conceptual rift was the impetus for several important developments in Hebrew culture. 1: history was seen not as a random assortment of events, but as a story. You could study history to see the workings of God--when people were good they prospered, and wars and famine happened because of wickedness or inattention to the covenant. 2: the need for a Messiah. Someone to reconcile our experience with God's. Also the need for the coming of a Messiah to bring order to the world. 3. the need for an afterlife--a place where everyone could just sit and rest and be rewarded for good-doing. 4. guilt. I want to think about this more. But it seems very important and very much like it's shaped the person I am...

Sometimes I Even Surprise Myself

like today. I just paid for 5 visits with a personal trainer. I found a "One Week Free" card from 24 Hour Fitness while I was at Puddin' on the Rice the other day (don't worry, irony is hardly ever lost on me) and decided to give it a try.
So far I've been every day. Yoga a couple of times and some cardio stuff and yesterday they tried to sell me on a personal trainer (Amy. Cute as a button, married to a skinny boy, which bodes well somehow) and I said yes. Why not? I kind of feel like I've been on the outskirts of gorgeous all my life and figure I might as well dive in [you can supress whatever urges you're feeling to reassure me at this point] and what it boils down to is that teachers always gain weight their first years, right? Where's the time/energy to run?
I'm really excited though. Just to be healthy and doing. Though...

When I was a freshman I got lost in the Richards (PE) building on BYU campus. I felt sooo out of place, all these beautiful long-legged dancers, etc. It's a little like that at the gym, but mostly not.

Workout people are just like any other kind of geek, I think, just prettier. I heart geeks. :)

History of Love

Every book I read is about someone I know. Maybe it's Joseph Campbell's fault: every story is really the same story, but I think the issue is that I'm much too sympathetic a reader. Sympathetic like when I read Goodnight Mr. Tom in sixth grade I ended up staying awake till my mom came home at midnight, insisted sleeping in her bed, and lay awake listening to her breathe and wanting to reach out and touch her arm.

I finished The Shipping News on my way home from Alaska and Nick was everywhere. I wished he would read it because I found answers there to questions I imagined him asking. Annie Proulx said things I needed to say but didn't know.

The Road with Tim waiting.

Which is where this speech by David Foster Wallace comes in. A little. Not entirely. But about literature's ability to pull us out of our own heads. About feeling less "freakish and alone" (Amanda--who's quote is this?) in the thralls of a good book.

I've just finished the History of Love, and while the English major part of me is pulling things apart, the rest of me feels very glad to be alive. What it left me with is longing (in a good way). Connection. And a desire to share this and say "this part reminds me of that piece you wrote but hated" and "I read this under a tree when I should've been grading" and "you were my Alma."

not really a post

Because I probably will be blogging on this and maybe you want a go at it before I dissect it to answer questions I feel half-formed tickling my subconscious. I think there are accidental answers too. I didn't know about (wasn't aware of at least) Wallace till today...

Just in Case

Hello friendly blog readers. I'm looking to move out of my house (in the proactive "I'm trying to get my life together" kind of a way more than the flaky "I didn't think this all the way through and am now regretting it" kind of a way. Thanks to Katherine for the attitude adjustment. Thanks also to President Dr. Kearl: sunk costs are sunk.) and wonder if you guys will keep an eye/ear open for me? No pressure. Thanks!

I don't know why solitude would be a balm for loneliness.

So I've been trying to think more about the atonement lately. I know that thinking about it isn't the most productive way, necessarily, to increase its power in my life, but I don't think it can/will hurt, and I'm much more comfortable on my intellectual feet than anywhere else really.

Today I was reading in Alma 7. I was trying to pick apart verses 11&12, trying to get what it's saying really, what the promises there are. What does it mean, anyway, to loose the bands of death? There are the obvious answers: the atonement lead to the resurrection, and the atonement reconciles us with God (so we overcome physical and spiritual death), but the problem with the atonement to me is its abstract distance. I don't feel like I'm bound by those bands of death necessarily (the burden of sin, which I am familiar with, as well as relief through repentance notwithstanding) at least not every day. What, then, are the bands of death?

I started to think about things that the Savior did while in mortality. I've always wondered why most of his miracles (at least the ones we hear about) are healings. I tried to think about other things that I've heard/felt that the atonement can do. Bound up broken hearts, right injustices, and got really excited thinking about its alleviation of shame...and what is shame? The feeling that you've done something and can't tell anyone. A feeling of loneliness.

Which brought me to an entirely new train of thought I've been riding: human inability to connect. I'm not so concerned about it now as I have been, but there's still a gnawing sort of (mild) desperation--I live in my head and no matter how hard I try I can't understand or be understood completely.

And where these come together for me is here: loneliness is a uniquely mortal emotion. When we sin, particularly when we try to hide it, we are alienating ourselves from God. Many (most?) sins are sins of alienation: when we lie, we hide our true selves/deeds from others; when we're unkind, we're alienating people; pride is essentially a sin of distance.

Zion, on the other hand, is a state where all is in common. Where hearts are knit together in unity. We know that God doesn't disclose everything all the time, but if, when we're exalted, we become omnipotent, it seems that secrecy--loneliness--is not going to factor into our lives in the same way.

Which brings this out of the theoretical and back to the personal. When I feel the atonement's power most strongly and reassuringly it feels a lot like the opposite of loneliness. It feels a lot like opening long-shut windows on dank rooms that need cleaning (and sunshine). When we come to Heavenly Father and offer him (the secrets of) our broken hearts, our spirits become contrite.

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