Interpretation: A Grief Observed.

1.  A Grief Observed is a moving, thought-provoking, and deep work of literature written by C. S. Lewis. The first part of the small book focuses on Lewis's grief-laden thoughts. He explains what his grief feels like. He talks about what life is like now, how it is different. He misses his wife; the reality of her death hovers over all areas of his life. He is taking life one step at a time. He misses her, their love, their short marriage. He doesn't want to be selfish in his mourning. How should he go on from here? Religious pat answers won't do. After expressing these and other related thoughts, Lewis changes his thoughts and questions his own doubts. He realizes that this heart-wrenching situation should not affect his faith, though it is quite hard. The pangs will still come, but he has to allow himself to see clearly. He is realizing that grief is a "process" and is learning to find ways of positive, joyful thinking.

     This is the backdrop to the portion of text I want to interpret. Lewis is now into questions of how to keep "H." alive in his heart without doing injustice to himself or to her. Beginning on page 65 (and going through page 68), Lewis discusses the difference between what he thinks or remembers of H. compared to what and who she truly was. He writes, "Images, whether on paper or in the mind, are not important for themselves. Merely links." He relates this to needing "Christ, not something that resembles Him. I want H., not something that is like her." He has to constantly break himself of the images of God that take him away from who God fully, truly, ultimately is. This understanding and connection bring Lewis a hope. He questions whether God is his path to H. or his end in life, and hopes that God is still his end--his real hope with or without remembrance of H.

2.  This text deserves interpretation because of its deep thought processes, theological implications, and life applications. When first reading this through, I thought I knew the message; and maybe I did, but my understanding was shallow. There is a difference between knowledge and understanding, and this text requires real comprehension from re-reading and spending time with its ideas, even those which seem to be apparent at first.

3.  This writing deals with more than just grief, though grief is its overarching theme. It pushes past the basics and goes deep into mind struggles with God on what holding onto Him really means, what truly reaching for Him looks like. Seeing the book as a discussion on more than just grief itself is one way of approaching its pages that opens up our minds to get to the core of what subjectivity and reality are about.

     One theme I find from looking deeper into this text is that of the power of our subjectivity. We have strong tendencies to approach people, even God, with our own ideas of who they are, what they should be, how we remember them, and what we want them to be. Our unique lives cause us all to have these differing viewpoints, attitudes, and approaches. However, this should not keep us from appreciating who people are outside of who we see them to be. All of who my brother fully is can not be based solely on my interactions with or observations of him. He's more than that. When I put my subjective expectations on him without considering him as his own person, it limits my ability to access all of who he is.

     This subjectivity similarly affects how we view God. We put boxes around what He can, could, would, or would not do. I act like I know Him when many times I am really just acting out of what I think I know of Him. Instead of actually trusting, I trust enough that I'm confident about getting the answer I want. I see what I know of Him without searching for more. I get set on my reality that I sometimes forget that God is the Ultimate Reality.

     To summarize, understanding this theme of the implications of subjectivity brings about an awareness of reality that can help us to live life more fully. Subjectivity is not all bad. God made us unique and because of our differences He meets all our needs personally, specially, and tailored to who we are. It allows us to see God in personal ways. Subjectivity itself, though, can be quite unfair and even dangerous if left unnoticed. Realizing its reality helps to better appreciate and value others' realities.

4.  The message of subjectivity and reality comes from Lewis's thoughts on one of my favorite quotes from the book: "Not my idea of God, but God. Not my idea of H., but H." Pages 65 through 68 deal with this idea. Lewis talks about the photographs he has of H., concluding that he is not satisfied with them . . . he wants to know who she really is, not what she looks like or what reminds him of her or who his memories tell him she was. This idea seems basic at first, but the more I think about it the more it overwhelms me with thoughts such as those previously discussed.

     Lewis says, "I need Christ, not something that resembles Him. I want H., not something that is like her. A really good photograph might become in the end a snare, a horror, and an obstacle." A photograph can lend itself to such subjective interpretation that it scares Lewis that he will see it and gather from it things that aren't really true to the heart of H. Similarly, the images of Christ in communion do Him no justice whatsoever. They point to Him, but they are not really Him. It's a simple statement with much deeper significance.

     In relating to acknowledging our subjectivity, Lewis says, "My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time." This is why I believe we can take from this text that our subjectivity shadows how we see other people and God. Our views are limited, so we need to acknowledge that and consciously keep our subjective realities in check. Doing this is a continual process: "All reality is iconoclastic." The true, actual reality of others and of God will constantly break our "icons," our images or subjective ideas, of who they really are.

5.  One thing I love about the interpretation I have gathered from this book is that its message applies to both everyday life and to specific times of grief. From day to day I want to check myself to keep my subjective, limited ideas from hindering my ability to fully experience God and the people He has put in my life. We can use this understanding to encourage openness and discourage one-sided expectations. Doing so opens us up to a relationship with God that is based on true relationship, yearning to know Him for who He actually is and not just who we think He is. This means going past Sunday school images and memorized hymns and engaging in conversation with the God who is able to and does reveal Himself personally, openly, freely.

     In time of grief, remembering our subjectivity can help us to move forward while still loving the people we have lost on this earth. Instead of worrying over remembering details and keeping every photo or memento, it is more important to focus on who those people truly were. What made them individuals? How did God see them? Who were they apart from the ideas of them in our minds? I have not yet had to deal with the loss of someone close to me; but when I do, I hope to not let my wishes of having their physical selves change the facts of who they really were. I don't want my mournful desires to make my subjective wishes seem like reality. I want to embrace who they really were. My interaction with them here on this earth will not again be possible, so why should I pretend like it is? It is a natural reaction that I probably will experience, but my hope is that I will not dwell on it but rather live in reality, keeping distorted images from forming and loving the totality of who they were and who their legacy is.

A Temple of the Holy Ghost.

The main character of this story, the twelve year old girl, is an interesting one. She's intelligent, funny, quick on her feet, and quite wise for her age. Flannery O'Connor writes in a humorously blunt style, unafraid to share with readers ugly realities (including physical traits), awkward characteristics, or harsh judgments. In a way this makes her writings more believable. For example:  "Joanna had yellow hair that was naturally curly but she talked through her nose and when she laughed, she turned purple in patches."

Something this style makes me think of is that although idiosyncrasies (like the one in the example) are easy to turn into hurtful and/or humorous realities, the truth is that we all have characteristics like these. This story makes me think about people in general and the many ways in which we relate through our weaknesses, disadvantages, and flaws. We just can't be "perfect," even though most of us have an idea of what this looks like. To O'Connor (whether representing herself or the imagined narrator) she has an idea of beauty that is apparently marred by nasal voices, blemishes, and certain facial structures. To go a step further, this is a reminder to me to be careful with my words and how I describe people or things. If I'm not careful, I may disrespectfully represent someone or something in an unfair, slanderous, or hurtful way. Traits of people that may be odd to me may be normal to many others. None of this is to critique O'Connor's writing style; she is creative and successful and uses her style to convey messages. However, these are thoughts that have sprung from observing her descriptions.

Something else I think of is how lightly we tend to take serious truths. Jesus Himself told us our bodies are temples for His Spirit to indwell. However, the two visiting girls in the story have turned the truth into a big joke. This has to do with their insincerity of faith. They are just going to the convent because their families want them tamed. Their faith is not personal. They may even have gotten a bad taste of religion: "...they were beginning to realize that she was made of the same stuff as Sister Perpetua." The notice religious lingo and pat answers and want to avoid it.

I actually don't blame them. Faith is supposed to be so much more than fact. It's real relationship. I see the desire and search for this in the child in the story. She wants more. She day dreams of lions converting when they witness her faith. She prays because she's supposed to, but she wants more to come from the practice. She wants what she prays for to become who she is. She is even thankful to God that she is not part of a religious denomination (the Church of God). And upon hearing the story the girls shared about the both male and female person from the fair, she mulls over the facts that we are God's temples and that He made us different ways. She wants to accept all these differences. It's almost as if O'Connors writing style is both redeemed and condemned with the thoughts on page 98. We're made unique in many ways, so it really is okay however we look. But at the same time, maybe we shouldn't accentuate the differences so much.

The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.

Although the first half of this story began to confuse me and wonder what the point is, the ending makes it worth the questioning and detailed descriptions. The picture is of a beautiful, radiant, quaint, and charming city called Omelas.

"The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells."

This quote shows why I just love how Ursula K. Leguin uses beautiful wording and imagery to explain the reality and happenings of this place called Omelas. Air, we know, is already clear; but seeing it written makes a profound statement. The imagery of snow as "white gold fire" feels almost ironic, yet it is stunning. Even the wind blows at just the right pace. The meadows create a silence. Music winds through the streets as if it had its own mind, feet, purpose.

This story is partly about joy. Many, maybe most, of the people who live here understand joy. And I think the people who don't are "the ones who walk away from Omelas." Why else would they leave? Omelas has no army to stir up joy from others' loss. The joy is true, right, "content." The people who understand their freedom embrace life for the sake of that one helpless, lost, necessarily neglected child. This is my favorite part of the functioning of Omelas. Its people take to heart that their interaction with happiness does not come from themselves. It reminds me of our lives as Christians; without Christ and His humanly unfair sacrifice, we would not know such joy, peace, and purpose. He, like this child, became the One for the all. But we move on. We accept His place . . . humbly, gratefully, continually. "Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality and to accept it."

Maybe the ones who leave leave because they don't understand the sacrifice. People don't leave before seeing the "wretched" child. They leave after they cannot bear his or her condition. Maybe they feel the guilt that Omelas cannot have, and it drives them away. Perhaps they believe they'll find a better way to accept happiness. What is keeping them from accepting this reality? What makes them think they will be satisfied with another way? For some reason they cannot put enough trust in the truth of what is right in front of them, so they "walk ahead into the darkness." Is it going to be better? Or worse?

A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings.

This story has such a catchy title. It's kind of strange, but I think the more we talk about it the more we'll get out of it. My first reactions to what I make of it are that we focus so much on appearances. We have expectations of what we imagine angels to look like, but how will we really know until we see one? Maybe he wasn't an angel at all. Maybe his purpose was to teach a lesson...maybe not to the characters in the story but to the readers.

What the story says is the account of this old, dirty angel-man who arrives in a town. He is used for profit by others but not offered compensation to help himself better his situation. He asks for nothing. He submits to living in a chicken coop as if he were some unspiritual animal. He is easily replace when something "better" comes along--the spider-girl. And when finally takes flight, it is a relief.

One apparent meaning I find in this story is that of appearances. It says, "His prudence fell on sterile hearts." Though they acknowledged him as an angel, he was not what they expected, so his messages go unheard. But he doesn't give up. He never complains. He stays around as the child grows up. When the profits cease and he's not the "attraction" anymore, he is cared for even less. Yet he finds strength. He must know his purpose, his mission, and he doesn't leave until it's completed. What it matters is harder to say. I'm confused by the crabs. But I think a strong message is not to disregard the people, even things, that come into our lives because they probably have a purpose and a meaning to offer us if we take the time to listen.

Nature, Poetry, and Spiritual Practice.

"I went to Lake Bonny Park for this field trip, and I stayed there for at least 45 minutes."

Focus narrowed on the baseball green 

Yet life silently abounds

As silent spectators to the world around

Pines, firs, oaks, palms

Flowing with the winds of life:

Standing firm in foundation

Without submitting to pride

Allowing the blue canvas to

Contrast their greens

Their buds, their bark, their build

Allowing the star of light and warmth to

Highlight their beauty unashamed

Both receiving and producing life

Allowing the appearance of seasons to

Change the outward view

Yet holding true to embrace

Dormancy, blossom, strength, purging

Still playing with the star

Not interfering yet not fully giving in

Accepting yet standing ground

Leaving unique shadowed impressions

Open to change

Breathing life

Understanding death

- - -


Visiting Lake Bonny Park lead me to a spiritual application of trees; it helped me to understand how Mary Oliver produces beautiful poetry that offers spiritual insight. It makes sense--God created this world. It should put us in awe. I find myself in wonder of God's creativity, biological order, palate of colors, diversity of texture, distribution of molecules . . . 

In trees I think of the unobservable . . . their roots. They are the foundation. What is the basis of my foundation? What feeds me to sustain me and keep me grounded? I think of growth. The oldest, largest oaks start as one small seed. Am I growing? Am I drinking pure water? What hinders my growth? I think of the trunk; it isn't always the prettiest part, but each species is unique and has its own beauty. Is my core strong? Am I not focused on how it looks outwardly? Am I healthy inside? I think of branches. Am I reaching out? I think of buds or blossoms. Am I allowing God to use me to plant seeds in others? I think of leaves. Am I expressing the quality of life I've been given through Christ? I think of the concentric rings of circles inside the trunk that represents its years. Do I have marks to show for the time I've lived?

I like what Professor Corrigan said in the essay: "One cannot truly love and be present to God without being led back to loving the world." If we don't love and care for the creation we've been given and entrusted with, we are missing a huge aspect of God. In Walking Home from Oak-Head, Mary Oliver writes about snow, how it reveals "the love meaninglessness of time." God's given us the ability to get lost in His creation. I could watch soft snowflakes fall for quite some time without becoming bored or unsettled. There's something captivating, enthralling about individual pieces of white falling, flowing, down from the sky. The ocean has a similar effect on me. It's like the threshold she talks about in Six Recognitions of the Lord; the bounce between reality and "not" reality. Time is useless during these moments. Embracing these moments is the perfect place for prayer, meditation, encounters with the Lord. I love how Oliver describes this spiritual "dialogue": "It is mystery. It is love of God. It is obedience." If loving the world is our work (as set forth in Messenger), this includes not only its inhabitants but also the Earth itself. It requires"[keeping our minds] on what matters." It takes focus and intention. The moments in which we can find God's power in the beauty, intricateness, diversity of creation remind us of our purpose and Who we serve. "Our God is an awesome God . . ."

Nature and Poetry.

Visiting the Circle B Bar Reserve was really neat. I'd never been there before and liked how nice the facilities are and how full of life the land is. I enjoyed the tour and learning different pieces of information about the wildlife, vegetation, and history of the reserve. But I think my favorite portion of the field trip is the time we took to spend alone, soaking in the world around us.

The air felt crisp with the slight wind that comes before a storm. It felt clean, cool, and free. It smelled  fresh. Looking around, I tried to take in everything that I could. The lady driving the truck for us had mentioned earlier that her eyes, over time, had become better at detecting the colors of the scenery. When I focused on noticing these differences, I could see so many greens in the trees and plants. . . kelly green, forest green, dark green, green with blueish tints, green with purpleish tints, bright green, yellow-green, green-green. I started appreciating the texture that exists in nature, seeing how various species of plants add their own variety to the landscape in three-dimensional and patterned ways. And when I closed my eyes, I felt like I was part of the environment. I could hear five different types of animals communicating nearly simultaneously. Most, I think, were birds. I began thinking about communication and silence. When I was silent, I could tune in to the language of the animals. When I was silent, they weren't being interrupted by me. When they are silent, are they listening to us? It got me thinking about language--can animals of one species understand the sounds of another species? We often train animals to understand our human languages, but it is much different trying to understand their sounds because they are not on our intellectual level. These thoughts alone have led to so many others. Needless to say, a lot can be learned and inspired and thought of through purposefully appreciating the nature God created. These few quiet moments gave me the opportunity to engage in nearly every one of (if not all) of the points in Professor Corrigan's first set of bullet points in his Notes on Nature and Poetry.

Caring for this creation, properly stewarding God's gift of nature, is so important. I want my grandchildren to be able to experience the array of greens, clean air, and exquisite wildlife that I have. This week has offered a good reminder of how necessary it is that I do not irresponsibly pollute my environment.

After we talked about The State of the Planet in class, I realized the evolutionary references were more numerous than I had thought. I better understand Hass's references to Lucretius and find both intelligence and amusement in them.

Spending time outdoors gave me some insight on how talented poets such as Robert Hass express thoughts and ideas so well. Hass and other writers put effort into noticing details and translating those details into words. One of my favorite examples of this is in section 1: "The red satchel on her quite straight back darkening splotch by smoky crimson splotch as the rain pelts it." They find ways to draw analogies that explain this translation process: "atoms . . . are like electricity having sex." I enjoy writings like this and think it's the main reason poetry is one of my favorite types of literature. That coupled with my awe for God's creation makes for a pleasing combination of literature and life.

State of the Planet.

1.

I wanted this poem to receive response similarly fashioned but the
Style is not my forte, makes me second guess and question my
work. No matter. For how does one grow without effort infused
Into the goal desired? He, or she, does not and will not. So,

Concerning the State of the Planet. Robert Hass has presented
A poetic work featuring questions and ponderings of the
Planet earth, academic undertones pressing throughout the
Artistic expression. Unafraid to acknowledge he
Asserts that, "Poetry should be able to comprehend the earth."

2.

This poetry dances with truths often unconsidered about
The deep, the pure, the humanly unknowable
Complexity of the earth. Overwhelmed would be
The minds of men if understanding of this were conceivable.

As scholarly as scientific Hass leaves me puzzled and stirs
My curiosity. Licks: revealing messages on stones.
Honeycombs with mouths: what an analogy. Electricity having sex: what an analogy.
Combining mind forces he challenges the reader into
Depth, question, thought, expansion, reality, creation.

3.

Three now and 3 in the poetry on the table. At first
Read: confusion. But I now witness Hass responding in kind to
Lucretius's penetrating poetic discussion of philosophy, nature,
Origin. Illuminated mice offer simply one specimen
Of planet stewardship since the Roman breathed and
Breathed his last.

Mystifying the unenlightened the honeycomb with mouths once
Again perplexes. Now, though, it appears that number
Five searches for remainders of evolutionary history. I
Cannot agree, though research finds Devonian times marked
The leg evolution per aquatic sources. Nonetheless, Hass
Leaves mystery unsolved lest "a honeycomb with mouths"
Connotes nothing more than its letters represent.

4.

Poetry, leeway granted, abandons "sobriety" in hopes
Of stretching creation limited by proper thoughts
Into colorful images tinted with simile, metaphor, expression.
Why can not a science lesson inform through
Means as varied as its subjects?

Why can not a man's inner thinkings concerning this fading
Earth join academia and art? They can, they do--they will.
Lucretius and Hass and unnamed souls. Fitted for its occasion the State 
Of the Planet entertains its subject; asking, unwavering, searching;
Acquiescing to wonder.