Brain Drain Blog

Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

The following is my preliminary analysis of the text Beloved:

In Toni Morrison?s novel Beloved, Paul D?has had no father?to teach him what it means to be a man. He must deduce what that means for himself by evaluating the various definitions provided by others he encounters. At Sweet Home, Mr. Garner calls Paul D a man, but once schoolteacher takes Garner?s place, the applicability of that term is challenged. Paul D?s best understanding of the concept eventually comes from remembering his fellow ?Sweet Home Men,? and recognizing what he feels for Sethe.

At Sweet Home, under the direction of Mr. Garner, Paul D firmly believes that he and his four fellow slaves are men, ?so named and called by one who would know? (Morrison 147). According to Mr. Garner, their owner, manhood resides in the ability to make choices, and Garner provides options from which to choose. He encourages them, like paid labor, to think freely about how to best get the job done and to challenge him when they disagree with his methods. Paul D explains, ?In their relationship with Garner was true metal: they were believed and trusted, but most of all they were listened to? (Morrison 147). At this stage in his life, Paul D?s feels manhood is not simply a definition from a higher authority, but the ability of that person to recognize value in his thoughts and feelings. He knows this is close but feels the need to investigate further.

When schoolteacher takes Garner?s position as overseer, Paul D begins to doubt the validity of Garner?s label. Schoolteacher clips ?Paul D. First his shotgun, then his thoughts, for schoolteacher didn?t take advice from Negroes? (Morrison 259). When offering input once valued by Garner, he is now punished for what schoolteacher calls ?talking back.? Schoolteacher places more value in the money Paul D?s body can collect. Overhearing his slave value of $900, and with nothing to compare that number to, Paul D cannot grasp his worth even in these terms. Never believing that Schoolteacher?s assessment is correct, Paul D continues to remain strong, regardless of the humiliation he suffers when treated more like an animal than a man, forced to wear a collar, chains, leg irons and a bit.

Beloved is the one who makes Paul D question his manhood most. In an effort to make him leave, she moves him about the house like a rag doll, making ?him wonder if schoolteacher was right? (Morrison 148). He recalls the times he has been a man, most honorably when he watched ?another man, whom he loved better than his brothers, roast without a tear just so the roasters would know what a man was like. And it was he, that man? who could not go or stay put where he wanted in 124 ? shame? (Morrison 148). Beloved?s manipulation of Paul D?s control, particularly in light of his ability to display the most stoic resolve, is the ultimate transgression for Paul D. This lack of ability to control his own will is more upsetting than Beloved?s seduction, a reminder of the shame he felt while abusing cows to spare Sethe from his sexual urges. More demeaning than likening him to an animal, his lack of control over his own will is the point where this girl defeats his perception of manhood.

Paul D, having been pushed out of Sethe?s house by Beloved, recalls Sixo?s thirty mile trip to see a woman, and thinks, ?Now there was a man? (Morrison 26), understanding that his own lack of dedication to any one person does not compare. ?Sixo, and even Halle; it was always clear to Paul D that those two were men whether Garner said so or not? (Morrison 260) Paul D is aware here that Halle and Sethe, Sixo and the Thirty-Mile Woman had become connected somehow. Paul D is stung by his lack of connection and questions his manhood, ashamed of the reasons surrounding his leaving the only woman who ever made him want to stay.

Paul D does eventually discover where his manhood comes from. First he remembers what Sixo says about the Thirty-Mile Woman, ?She is a friend of my mind? The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.? (Morrison 321) Paul D offers this same kind of reconstruction to Sethe and she wonders, ?If he bathes her in parts will the parts hold?? The two are so fractured, like their families and their shattered hearts, it takes one to piece the other together. Neither can do it for themselves. Sethe does this for Paul D when schoolteacher punishes his attempted escape. ?She never mentioned or looked at it, so he did not have to feel the shame of being collared like a beast. Only this woman Sethe could have left him his manhood like that.? (Morrison 322) Paul D?s manhood is not defined by whitemen. It resides in the tenderness offered by Sethe when she looks past the shackles that bind him like an animal, seeing him for who he truly is.

Opening to the past, living in the present, and searching for a future is what makes a person whole. To deny any experience means part of that person dies with the memory or hope lost. While Paul D is unable to experience all three on his own, he learns to feel again along side Sethe, and she with him. ?He wants to put his story next to hers? (Morrison 322) Together, they allow for the full experience of life by helping each other to digest the past, one holding the pain of the other when it is too much to bear. Through their reciprocal love, honor, respect and understanding, Paul D discovers that he always has been a true man. He simply couldn?t recognize it until Sethe showed him how to look beyond what bound him from the outside. Through her love, she helped him feel the strength to face all parts of himself like a whole man.

Work Cited:

Morrison, Toni. Beloved. New York: Random House, 2004.

A reading response for Medieval Lit, Women and Spirituality:

Hildegard was a highly influential woman during the latter portion of her life. Initially she feared revealing her visions but, with encouragement, she began to record and share them. Hildegard?s interpretations of these visions read like prophecy, and were believed to have come from God. Her understanding of a sacred, unknown language and her composure of music also lent credibility to this belief in God?s divine intervention because her knowledge was not a product of formal education. While it has been said that her noble lineage may have encouraged correspondence from important people of her day, their letters suggest that their belief in her intimate connection with God is a more probable factor.

Addressing her as daughter, maiden, and servant of Christ, most lovable mother in Christ, and a burning lamp in the house of the Lord, many who wrote to Hildegard requested that she present their case to God, soliciting his grace and mercy on their souls. Requests came from Henry, Bishop of Liege, Eberhard, Archbishop of Salzburg, Abbott Adam and others all seeking intercession from Hildegard, each of them too humble and weary in their sins to ask for God?s mercy on their own. As seen in the Canonization Protocol, Hildegard was also commonly sought after to heal both in her lifetime as well as after her death. Each request demonstrates that if God used Hildegard as a messenger to deliver his word, those who desired could use her to communicate in the opposite direction.

Hildegard?s insight into God?s meaning was sought by people of all walks of life. With strong desire to know God?s word as it was revealed to Hildegard, a request for her texts were sent by Arnold Archbishop of Cologne, regardless of whether or not they were finished. This hunger for her knowledge thrust Hildegard into political situations in the realm of both church and government. Hildegard believed in a God who excludes no soul, an idea contradictory to the natural operations of Government. Since church and state were intertwined, Odo of Soissons, in his letter from 1148, pointedly touched upon the story of Babylon warning, ?do not make known any things that might disturb the apostolic and ecclesiastical institutions. Wise woman! Listen to these things? (181). In that same letter, he asked Hildegard to answer to whether or not God is identical with both paternity and divinity, a question pondered by scholars. While this was the type of information Odo wished to protect, by asking, he demonstrated his confidence that he was deserving of the answer.

What I believe to be Hildegard?s greatest influence was her ability to bring women out of the shadows of society and lift them up. Unearthly and desirable natures formerly defined as ?male? within a dualistic belief system were now attributed to the feminine. Hildegard argued that this connection between body and soul was created by God, and all things created in God are good ? including the feminine. This is how she shifted focus away from the idea that the feminine body?s attachment to the Earth was undesirable in the quest for enlightenment. This was not lost on her admirers as evidenced in a letter from the Abbess of St. Theodore and St. Mary, ?he not only foresaw and predestined you of the female sex, but his grace also enlightened many people through your teaching? (185). Hildegard, in all her virtue, chastity, and her ability to channel God?s word challenged prior concepts when she spoke of things such as wisdom and the soul as ?she.?

Washington Park stirs with signs of life this morning. Along the green lawn of the dog park, a towering wall of weeping cherry trees beckons me with long, flowing branches. I sense their burden as they bow deeply under the weight of prolific and cascading pale-pink tears. Entering deeper into the park, I encounter a stand of embittered crabapples. Why do they resist the dawn of spring, allowing no more exposure of their crimson petals than a narrow slit? Each bud looks wounded.

At the bone-dry fountain hundreds of tulips stand at attention encircling its statue of Moses. His staff has been stolen by vandals. The tulips before him shroud their pastel petals with thick green hoods, hesitant to open themselves to him. Perhaps they know that he has failed to deliver the Ten Commandments. Only the fiery orange tulips in the outer garden stretch their showy heads beyond Moses and toward the sky. I join them and follow suit. The sun, in an instant, permeates the chill and warms my face. Through the slit of one eyelid, I see the silver glint of an airplane flash against the deep blue sky.

I have not returned to this place since September 11, 2001, yet that day never feels far behind. I remember so vividly how I drove from Albany toward New York at five o?clock in the morning. As the sun rose, the golden fog had spun itself like cotton between pockets of pines. Enamored with the beauty of that particular dawn, I searched for the camera I had carelessly left on the kitchen counter. I sputtered aloud some poetic lines to capture what I saw, but found that even my best effort fell short.

FAA training took place over the span of two days every September, the 2001 session being the fourth anniversary of my hire date as a flight attendant. Normally I would grumble through the rigors of testing, but that morning I was glad to have been witness to the beauty of daybreak. I attempted to review first aid, evacuation, weapons identification and hijacking procedures along my drive, but by the time I reached the skyline, I was again distracted by beauty. The humidity that had softened silhouettes earlier had given way to a crisp, bright landscape. The entire city was gilded in sunlight, every detail razor sharp. I wanted to capture that view, cursing myself again for forgetting my camera. I took the scene in one last time before entering the training facility across the river from the World Trade Center.

Five minutes after I entered the building, the first plane struck the tower. The flight attendants who were lounging about the commons waiting for class to begin congealed into a gawking mass of slack-lipped witnesses. I joined in. As we thrust our faces against the window in disbelief, the second plane reinforced, with cruel clarity, the tragedy before us. Our only news buzzed in Spanish through the snowy reception of UHF. A limited translation amounted to suicide bombers, being under attack, and the grounding of all aircraft. As fellow flight attendants called parents trapped in the towers, some said their last good-byes watching as people began to jump. I ran outside, desperate to escape the horror, only to enter the parking garage in time to face the first tower collapse.

Military aircraft swarmed close over my head. Was it the U.S.? Was it ?them?? I couldn?t see. I feared another strike and crouched behind a green pick-up truck. There I hugged my knees and rocked myself alone crying ?Oh my God. Oh my God.? Unable to hold back the grief, my heart split. Unintelligibly, my horror spilled forth.

Gaining my wits, I found my car and drove back toward Albany, away from the hideous pillars of smoke. People impatient with the crowded highways sped past me on the shoulder of the road. I shrieked foul words waving my arms at nobody in particular. Distracted, I missed my turn. I had to look back toward the smoldering remains of 3,000 people, the second tower having collapsed.

As I drove West, Howard Stern clamored for war. I jammed my finger into a random button changing the frequency to something soothing. The further I drove, the more traffic thinned, making way to clearer roads. Officers in u-turn areas watched for typical speeders. In Albany, two people laughed on the corner of Madison and Pearl. I was infuriated. Didn?t they know? Hadn?t they seen? The announcer said the attack had happened four hours prior. How could that be? Trapped within a moment, time was marching on without me.

I met a friend here in Washington Park. It seemed appropriate having been a former burial ground. We sat reverent on the grass. Fractured thoughts flooded my conversation. ?How can I wear my stripes now? How am I supposed to protect my passengers from suicide bombers? I wish my father would return my message. Will I be fired if I can?t bring myself to fly??

Before me was the Corning Tower of Empire Plaza, a citadel bathed in sunlight, emerging from the tree line. How it stood, in the wake of what I had seen, defied my disintegrated logic. If lines could be drawn from the odd angle of the tower?s outer walls, they would merge where I sat. I remember sensing the geometric order and yet it offered me no comfort. What was the point?

On Willet Street now, the view of the park is spectacular. I looked for a brownstone apartment here once, just a few months prior to the attack. After the attack, the closest I came was a carriage house out back where I spent an hour at three o?clock every Thursday. There I attempted to piece together my shattered identity with Diane. She was a psychologist who had volunteered her service to those New York Police and Fireman suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said she could help me to sleep, to move forward, and having taken a company offered leave for the next year, to explore what to do next.

I lived nearby on State Street then, number 332. Passing now, I see my old living room window looking out at Picotte Hall. I remember an earthquake rattling the foundation there that November. My ivory sheers have been replaced by red velvet drapes shut tight against the light. Across the street, I see ghosts of old friends who have moved away from number 335. The neighboring 334 is dark. The man who lived here was one of the ?dust people? escaping the tower. He and his wife had just bought the building to create their dream home, yet it went up for sale in early 2002. I wonder where they are now; the homeless man too, who used to smile and call me ?Fifth Avenue.? I hope he survived the winter. I used to give him gloves to fend off the cold. This damp, stone stoop remains unchanged except for a few planters. It always stood in shadow, no matter the season or time of day. Further down State Street, across from the Capital Building, the police continue to stand guard at Empire Plaza. They are lasting remnants of protective measures stemming from impotent arsenic threats to the governor.

I have moved five times since that address, downsizing along the way. I have held a number of jobs as well, from farming knee-deep in chicken feces and doing freelance publicity, to the part time designing of GUI systems for the United States Office of Management and Budget. I did what it took to pay rent, resorting to the trade of my new dining suite and antique sewing machine when necessary. I?ve learned that I?m adaptive and resilient, but that lesson came with the high price of all that I had and all that I was.

This neighborhood has new memories for me now, not tainted by September 11th. At the corner of State and Dove is where my fianc? and I first kissed three years ago. He stood over six feet at street level and I hopped up on the curb to reach his lips. We threw our heads back and laughed in the soft glow of the street lamp as a lone electric guitar from a window above played Jimmy Hendrix. I have to leave this reverie now to meet Tim. We?re choosing our wedding bands today.

Back in Washington Park stands a statue of Robert Burns. Engraved in its base is part of his Epistle to Dr. Blacklock:

To make a happy fireside climb
To weans and wife
That?s the true pathos and sublime
Of human life

At the picnic table where I used to sit alone with my journal, a family of five enjoys a picnic lunch. Across the street, two daycare women push triplet strollers carting six beautiful children. A young boy and his pup enjoy the otherwise empty dog park, running in circles to and fro. These children are evidence of connection; evidence that this sublime human life is among us, within us.

I note the hour. Time has marched on, and now, I march with it.

Scarlett O?Hara Makes the Hero?s Journey

Joseph Campbell, in his book Thou Art That, argues that every hero?s journey consists of three parts: the departure, the initiation and the return. He also identifies the four functions of myth as ?reconciling consciousness to the preconditions of it?s own existence? (2), ?to present a consistent image of the order of the cosmos? (3), ?to validate and support a specific moral order? (5), and ?to carry the individual through the various stages and crises in life? with integrity.? (5). In the movie Gone with the Wind (1939), adapted from the book by Margaret Mitchell, the character of Scarlett O?Hara neatly follows Campbell?s analysis of the hero?s journey and also follows his functions of myth.

As Campbell explains, the departure begins with a call to adventure or with an event which spurs the character to leave what they know. The hero may teeter between going and not going, but they eventually cross the threshold into the belly of the whale. When we meet Scarlett O?Hara, she is a stubborn, sixteen year-old, Southern belle, living comfortably within the supportive and nurturing environment of her parents? home. She romantically daydreams of her love, Ashley Wilkes, and is oblivious to the hard realities of the world. In one day, everything begins to change for Miss Scarlett. She learns that her Ashley is intended for Melanie Wilkes, news of the Civil War breaks out during her much anticipated barbeque, and the young men in attendance at the barbeque rush off to sign up as soldiers. Suddenly, nothing remains as she knew it. Scarlett is entering that belly of the whale through no choice of her own.

Campbell points out that the hero is never alone on their journey. People often accompany the hero, such as a wise old man. The wise old man of this film is Scarlett?s father, Gerald O’Hara. In the midst of all this change, he expresses his wishes that Scarlett won’t fawn over Ashley when Ashley doesn?t love her, and that he doesn?t believe Ashley could make her happy anyway. In the same scene, when Scarlett complains that Tara, the family plantation, doesn’t mean anything to her, her father reinforces the value of “the land” and the priceless inheritance that Tara represents.

The next step on the hero?s journey is the initiation. Here our hero is confronted by trials in which she meets with the goddess, achieves atonement with her father, and experiences a transformation when she receives her boon. Scarlett experiences a break with the goddess, as Campbell describes it, when her mother dies from typhoid during the ravaging of Tara by Yankee soldiers. Scarlett atones with her father by caring for him, in his failing mental state, on his plantation. In the role of adult, she begins to see why he took so much pride in his land. After Mr. O?Hara dies, Scarlett leaves Tara again and marries Rhett, but their child dies along with Rhett?s love. Everything she knows has been stripped away, including Melanie and Ashley, leaving on her own to face her destiny. With nothing left, her dead father?s voice calls to her, telling her of the importance of Tara, that land is the only thing that matters and the only thing that lasts, a reminder of what she truly finds important. Scarlett realizes that even if she doesn’t get Rhett back, she can draw her strength from Tara. In truth, she has had the strength within her the entire time, with or without the land.

Upon return, Campbell says that the hero is no longer the same person they were when they left. Scarlett has drastically transformed from a spoiled, short tempered and pouty young girl into a heroic woman with the ability and will to survive nearly impossible feats. She has also graduated from caring only for her own interests to expanding her care toward others. She has developed an enlightened sense of value in both herself and her family heritage. This is a far cry from where she began, although the physical location is the exact same point.

In reference to Joseph Campbell?s functions of myth, the following aspects of Gone with the Wind account for all four. First, when faced with the deaths of her family, friends, and many thousands of soldiers, and after shooting a defected Yankee in self defense, each of these instances lie in direct contrast to Scarlett delivering Melanie Wilkes? baby. Scarlett becomes very aware of the life and death cycle as well as her place in it. Second, Scarlett is exposed to ?a consistent image of the order of the cosmos? (3), thanks to her mother who raised her with the teachings of Christianity and demonstrated these practices often. Third, Scarlett?s parents, sisters, aunt, Mammy and Melanie Wilkes, constantly reminded her of what was proper and what was not. This could possibly to be construed as the story teaching society?s moral order, although Scarlett surely had a tough time with this lesson. It is unclear whether or not she would hold to morals of her society any more after her journey than she did before and during it?s duration. Fourth, she did come through a state of crisis with integrity, experiencing herself, her culture, her universe and the tremendous mystery beyond herself. When she realized that Melanie was her best friend, when she previously saw her as the enemy who had stolen Ashley away, this required insight beyond her own desires. This story has elements of myth embedded within it even if the story is not necessarily sacred.

Gone with the Wind has an impact much in the way a myth is intended to. It carries with it the message that women can be strong in the face of adversity. While Scarlett?s character is not the type of person that I would wholly aspire to be, she does embody aspects that appeal to me. It is Scarlett who offers hope and the belief that one can overcome any misfortune.