It has dawned on me recently that I am ready for a real change in my life--not the superficial changes that occur so frequently in life, but a life altering change. I think that I am done with bachelorhood--it has had a good run. . . I've really enjoyed it, but I am thinking that it is time for me to take dating more seriously and to ditch my inhibitions. I have mastered my current responsibilities and frankly have become bored with the lack of challenge that single life offers. It is really a selfish stage in life and I feel that I have reached a plateau in my progression. I've accomplished everything that I have wanted to accomplish during my single years: full-time mission (check), attend the temple (check), Bachelor's degree (check), Master's degree (check), Career as an educator (check), Backpack Europe (check), Road-trip through National Parks in the Western United States (check), Purchase a home (check), stay out of debt--with exception of home and car (check), actively serve in the church (check), enjoy the bachelor life (check), and etc., etc., etc. Everything that I have wanted to accomplish I have achieved. And honestly, the things that have been so exciting about being single in the past are simply mundane. As much as I enjoy social events catered toward singles, the events are old-hat, worn out, routine. Honestly, I could care less about attending parties or other social functions designed to mingle with the masses. I would much rather spend time with a smaller crowd of people that I actually care about than rub shoulders with people who are so concerned with the upkeep of image and the endless attempt to impress the myriad crowds or blindly seek out some unknown soul at some event or other. . . blah, blah, blah. . . it is all so cliche to me at this point. I'm not saying that I don't like to go out and have fun, to enjoy life, and all--I do, but honestly, there is more to life than this--I've been there and done that, over and over again--it is time to move on.
Please, do not misunderstand me--this is no sign of desperation and I do not intend to play the part of a fool and rush into a pathetic relationship simply for a relationship's sake. I shall be ever vigilant in discovering and dating a woman whom will be worthy of my time and energy, and with whom I will be worthy of her time and energy in return. What I mean is that it is time for me to give up my silly excuses of the past and simply be serious and honest about the concept of dating and relationships. It is more a revelation of maturity more so than anything else of which I can think. The following is a partial list of recent experiences that have helped me to arrive at my current conclusion:
A SATURDAY AFTERNOON WITH KIDS:
A few weeks ago I was supposed to go kayaking with a female friend of mine (a beautiful and respectable woman with a lot of great qualities--but don't get too excited, she is in a serious relationship) which fell through because of a commitment to babysit her nieces. As an alternative, we decided to meet up and take the kids up to Baldy Village to explore some replica's of Native American structures and then go for a little hike up Ice House Canyon. I had a blast carrying the one year old on my back (using one of those baby-backpacks) and exploring with the other niece around the creek, perceiving the world through the eyes of a child again, enjoying life--the crisp autumn air, the swarms of ladybugs, the changing leaves, the flowing water of the creek, and of course, good company and conversation. It was almost as if it were a small taste of family life and I enjoyed it immensely! It is not the first time that I have been around children--after all, I do have 18 nieces and nephews that I love dearly and have had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with--both having fun and taking care of (you know, those times when kids are not so fun). As such, I have always done well with children, but this was a form of validation if you will--it does not have to be blood relations for me to get along with kids. This has caused me to reevaluate my perspective on dating women with children (it is still not preferred but is it really fair for me to rule them out all together?).
A TUESDAY NIGHT WITH MARRIED FRIENDS:
The other night I met up with some of the friends that I grew up with in the same neighborhood, two of which are now married. We ended up going to a Tae kwan do class for his young son. It was awesome to see how proud my friend was of his son and how involved he is in taking an interest in and supporting his son's life. He is a great father who is building his son up, offering him every opportunity to experience a good and healthy life with which to give him the tools to navigate through life confidently and competently. There is a time and place for everything--time for one's self, time for one's spouse, and time for one's kids. He is there for his kids at the moments that his kids are looking for his approval and interest. It is a selfless challenge, offering up of one's time and attention. My life has nothing like that--no immediate responsibility outside of myself. Needless to say, I have discovered that living solely for myself is a pathetic existence.
A HALLOWEEN AT HOME:
Since I have purchased a home I felt that it is my responsibility to do my part in perpetuating the Halloween holiday by giving out candy. Halloween is first and foremost a children's holiday. I figured that I could pass out candy for the first few hours of darkness then go out and join whatever party or dance suited my fancy. As the trick-or-treaters began to decline in numbers (and there were a lot of them in my neighborhood) I received a text from a friend of mine stating that she really didn't feel like going out that evening and asking what I was up to. I invited her over and we opted on staying in and having a great conversation that lasted several hours. A few other friends eventually stopped by and it resulted in a pleasant evening. Once more, the idea of spending quality time with people that I actually care about, making connections, was far more fulfilling to me than mingling with a lot of acquaintances and strangers. Once again, each has its time and place (sometimes it is necessary to get out and meet new people in order to receive new perspectives and form new friendships), but this night was great for actually strengthening conncetions with friends.
A NIGHT AT A CONCERT:
I have a friend for whom I have great esteem. She happens to be the most well-rounded and insightful woman that I have ever come to know and exhibits a variety of qualities that I truly admire in a woman. Having come to know her has been both a blessing and a curse: a blessing as she has influenced my life for the better in countless ways that has allowed me to grow and mature, and a curse in that having come to know her I have fallen in the trap of taking other women on dates and then measuring them against this friend. Perhaps I have passed up a number of great women because I wanted someone more like this friend. A couple of months ago this friend and I had limited contact with one another for a couple of months. It made me realize how much I missed that contact and connection. It was at this point that I admitted to myself that I truly felt that this friend is the "best" woman that I have ever known and I was reminded of a few lines in a poem I had written years ago on relationships: "The deepest things within us can't be pressed / By one who wants the other to confess / Of all that deep within them may reside, / For this is given freely or denied. / That which we truly love is rarely seen, / For eyes know not just where the heart has been, / And one who seems a friend more than the rest / Is where love is and where it's hidden best." I had decided then and there that if I truly felt that she was the best woman I have ever come across, then I had ought to pursue her as far as she will allow me (this would be no easy feat as I had attempted to date her once before, a couple of years ago, and I could not elicit any feeling within her). I felt a great sense of confidence in my decision to make a pursuit and discover, without expectation, where it may lead.
So I asked her if I could take her out and she consented. I settled upon taking her to a concert by a particular performer that shares her same cultural heritage. As such, I did a little research via the internet regarding the dating customs of this particular culture in order to create a theme for the evening. According to what I had read, it is customary for a man to bring a single rose, even on a first date (taboo in American culture--roses are not generally used until after a romantic connection has been made) and to walk arm in arm with the lady. So I gave her a rose with a little note translated into her native language (it was a variation on a little joke she had told me when we had first met--I figured it would take the edge off if offering a rose was too forward). The evening was great--I could not ask for a better woman to be with. As always, she was stunningly beautiful (that is actually one of the things that gets to me--over the past two years we have been but friends and yet every time the two of us get together to do something, she dresses up in such a manner that I am left awestruck of her beauty and must do all within my power to suppress desire--it is a cruel joke on her part. . . she plays the Goddess and I Tantalus suffering with something so inviting before me yet forbidden to grasp). I enjoyed our conversation, and the concert itself was nothing short of amazing! As we walked from the theater to the car I offered her my arm and created an awkward moment as she refused. I cannot fault her for simply acting on the way that she feels but that does not lessen the pain of knowing that the very person I most respect and admire is repulsed by my very being. That any form of physical touch should be so abhorred speaks volumes. Having been put in my place, we were able to move on and enjoy the remainder of the evening together. We had a wonderful conversation for several hours after this point without any awkwardness at all, but I dared not speak of what feelings I did have and my intentions to pursue her as far as she would allow, considering that her actions already proved how far that would be--I had already reached my limit (she has certainly sent many additional clues that say as much--I'm glad I did not express anything that I was desiring to at the beginning of the evening as that would have made things really awkward and may have damaged the friendship). Needless to say, this has caused me to reevaluate my stance on dating friends--I will certainly have to make a move before a relationship enters the "friend" zone.
A RELATIONSHIP ENDED
A good friend of mine recently broke up with his girlfriend of two years. Their relationship arrived at the point where only two options remained: get married or break up. Despite the fact that they both deeply love one another, the break up won out. I do not fault either party in the relationship--one must respect how another feels, no matter how much that hurts. I truly respect both individuals--they are both great people and I am sad that it didn't work out for them (I think they would be good for one another). It has become clear to me that things don't always work out the way that we want them or perhaps even how we perceive that they should. Maturity and responsibilty is to be found in how we handle situations which are beyond our control but have a direct correlation to our lives. Learning to accept things the way that they are, when they are beyond our control, is a difficult challenge. It is always seemingly easier when we have the power to act--to make or break something based upon what we do or say for ourselves, but human interaction requires the thoughts, feelings, words, and actions of both people. Any form of manipulation is immature and unacceptable. I am happy to say that both individuals mentioned above are mature enough to avoid attempts at manipulation. This is more a cautionary tale for myself. While I may tire of the bachelor lifestyle, sometimes it is not a choice and I will have to deal with its reality in a mature manner.
Wow, this is really becoming a long post. There are so many more thoughts and insights on the matter, but I will save that for discussions with friends who wish to address the topic. Needless to say, I feel that I am ready for a change, but that doesn't guarantee that a change will occur. It is time to reevaluate my thinking concerning these matters and determine what is of value and what needs to be adapted, discarded, or implemented. We shall see what happens as I reshape my ideology and approach to dating and relationships within the next year.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Angels Baseball--Going for it all!!!
I know that I have a lot of friends who are Dodgers fans and that is fine. I like the Dodgers, I really do. But I love the Angels. My greatest hope is that the Angels and Dodgers will meet in the World Series this year with the Angels winning it all. I don't want a sweep--that would be boring (although sweeping Boston was not at all boring--I was extremely happy about getting that monkey off of our back). Rather, I would like it to go 7 games with the Dodgers up by two runs in the ninth with the Angels bouncing back like the Twins-Tigers one game playoff, sending the game into extra innings with the Angels winning it all with a walk off grand slam. That would be awesome! by the way, anyone who is interested--my home is open to any baseball playoff game that you would like to attend--I'm not a huge fan during the regular season, but there is something about playoff baseball that gets me hooked, no matter who is playing. . . and especially when the Angels are playing. So lets grab some grub and catch a game--spontaneous playoff parties shall abound at my house--drop on by!!!
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The Geico Caveman Is No More. . .
I received a haircut today and ended up shaving my beard, and I must say, I am looking GOOD! :) Needless to say, my Geico Caveman looking days are over and I suddenly look a lot younger. I'm thinking come Monday I may show up to work in jeans and a soccer jersey, take a seat among my students, and see how long it takes for them to recognize me. . . :) Post your estimates in the comment section if you like. My prediction: 2 minutes, 43 seconds.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Ladder Canyon
My good friend, Jake Olmstead, will soon be taking a five week course to prepare for the LSAT exam. He has proclaimed that we will not see him during this stretch as he focuses upon his studies. As such, I thought it would be nice to get one more camping trip in before he disappears. So I asked Jake where he would like to go. . . he chose Ladder Canyon. I was trying to convince him of some mountain location where it would be cooler but Jake was adamant on Ladder Canyon, so I set it up. I invited only a handful of people for this event (the criteria for the invitation was two-fold: people I thought would enjoy such a trip and people that I thought were in good enough condition to make such a trip. If you received an invitation, you should feel honored that you made the short list; if you did not receive an invitation, do not be offended--honest reflection will reveal that one of the two criteria does not match). Keep in mind, this location has no campsites, no bathrooms, no amenities. It is backpacking through a canyon and finding some random place that looks suitable to throw down one's sleeping bags and call it a night.
The trip began later than anticipated and consisted of four guys--Jake Olmstead, Tony Aguilar, Ryan Morgan, and myself. We were hoping to leave by 3:30 but did not depart until 5:30. After taking the long route to get to the trailhead (sorry guys--I forgot that there are two separate exits to hwy 111 from the 10 fwy) we arrived and began backpacking sometime around 9 p.m.
It was nice hiking through the slot canyon in the dark--it made it more mysterious and adventuresome for those who had not been before. It was still hot and we had to consume a lot of water to stay hydrated. Tony had a sudden epiphany when we came upon the first ladder used to ascend a precipice. It was humorous to see his reaction as he finally put two and two together--the name of the canyon and the reality of ladders being used throughout the canyon. We met a nice little bat who was clinging to the canyon wall upon our ascent--he was chillin' and didn't seem too bothered by our presence, allowing me to take a few pictures before we continued on our way.
Once we were atop the plateau we hiked until we discovered a relatively flat location with as few rocks as possible to make camp. We ended up playing cards and talking for several hours before discussing the constellations. Ryan actually knows a bit about the stars and pointed out several celestial sights. Once he was done imparting his knowledge I picked up with my own "constellations" (nothing real, just what particular groupings of stars look like to me) and the others joined in as we created some fantastical images in the heavens.
We finally attempted to sleep, having no tent and spread out where ever we chose to throw our sleeping bags down. It was sometime around 3 a.m. when we made the attempt: Jake and Tony continued their discussion for another hour or so. One might imagine my surprise when the two finally fell silent--at last, I might actually get some sleep! But no, fifteen minutes after it fell silent I heard Tony exclaim: "What size football should I get?" Are you kidding me, Tony! At last I thought I would be able to sleep and I am denied with talk of what size football you want! This started off a whole new round of discussion between the two. Needless to say, I would chime in with some whimsical comment or other when they left the door open for such during the conversation. When the talking did cease I was interrupted by someone's brief snoring. Fortunately, that did not last long and I was able to get about an hour of rest in before the sun rose and made sleeping impossible with its hellish combination of light and heat. We decided it best to get out of there as soon as possible as we did not want to be hiking in the desert in the midday sun.
Once we had arrived back at the car we drove to the North Shore of the Salton Sea. We were disappointed with the fact that they have demolished the old abandoned motel and seem to be renovating the old club building on the shore. Beforehand it seemed as if this location was a vision of a nuclear holocaust--erie in its decrepit and lonesome state, but now that effect was gone with the vanishing of the abandoned buildings (that we would explore in the past) and the fact that people were actually at this location doing some fishing (I don't know what the world one would expect to catch in the Salton Sea, but whatever it may be, there is no way that I would eat it--that lake has the smell of death and decay and is downright nasty). The playground that is half buried in the sand is still there and the abandoned marina still exists but even that has had parts removed. It just is not like the empty, erie feeling that it conveyed the first time I had been there years ago when James Morris and I went down to explore and do some photography.
At last we arrived home and before they departed, Tony and Jake wanted to play some video games. Jake was checking his facebook account before playing and remained logged in when he was distracted by the game, giving me perfect opportunity to get some paybacks. About a month ago, Jake and I were at the gym when I received a text. I was lifting some weights at the time so jake grabbed the phone and responded to it. Without the person on the receiving end knowing that it was Jake replying, he sent some texts that made it sound like I had a man-crush on Jake. Fortunately, the girl on the receiving end understood when I later had to make some clarifications as to what had happened and that it was not me sending these homo-erotic messages. Needless to say, payback was sweet! I left a nice little message on Jake's homepage about how he had returned from camping with an epiphany that Tony is a sexy man. . . that he realized this when the two were looking at the stars and gazing into one another's eyes, and that sharing a sleeping bag together produced a conflict between his body and mind. . . "My mind was telling me no, but my body. . . MY BODY. . ." Needless to say, it took a few hours with friends commenting on his post before he discovered the prank. Jake has since removed the content from his facebook page and has vowed to get vengeance! Bring it on, Jake. Bring it on!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
In Honor of Keats
So, I was reading through various friends' blogs when I came upon the trailer for "Bright Star" (thanks for posting this Liz). I'm not often drawn to films of romance (though some are good and worth watching) but this film is about one of my favorite poets of all time: John Keats (in truth, he is second only to Wordsworth and had Keats lived longer to write more verse he very well may have eclipsed Wordsworth). Hence, I must see it!
Needless to say, I should like to post a few poems written by John Keats in his honor (keep in mind he only lived to the age of 24--amazing work for such a young man).
TO ONE WHO HAS BEEN LONG IN CITY PENT
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven--to breath a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel--an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.
BRIGHT STAR! WOULD I WERE STEADFAST AS THOU ART
Bright star! Would I were steadfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;
When I behold upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love!-then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
YOU SAY YOU LOVE
You say you love; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth--
O love me truly!
You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid's nun,
And kept his weeks of Ember.
O love me truly!
You say you love--but then your lips
Coral tinted teach no blisses,
More than coral in the sea--
They never pout for kisses--
O love me truly!
You say you love; but then your hand
No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,
It is like a statue's dead--
While mine to passion burneth--
O love me truly!
O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should burn me,
Squeeze as lovers should--O kiss
And in my heart inurn me!
O love me truly!
from ENDYMION
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. . .
And there are so many more poems that are just breathtakingly awesome! Keats' Odes are amazing (you really must read them--they are just to long for me to type them all up, especially at this late hour when I should be dreaming. Let me know which of Keats' poems is among your favorite, and do yourself a favor and go see this movie (I hope it is good--I will be sorely disappointed if they screw Keats up).
Needless to say, I should like to post a few poems written by John Keats in his honor (keep in mind he only lived to the age of 24--amazing work for such a young man).
TO ONE WHO HAS BEEN LONG IN CITY PENT
To one who has been long in city pent,
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven--to breath a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel--an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.
BRIGHT STAR! WOULD I WERE STEADFAST AS THOU ART
Bright star! Would I were steadfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft swell and fall,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
WHEN I HAVE FEARS THAT I MAY CEASE TO BE
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;
When I behold upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love!-then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
YOU SAY YOU LOVE
You say you love; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth--
O love me truly!
You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid's nun,
And kept his weeks of Ember.
O love me truly!
You say you love--but then your lips
Coral tinted teach no blisses,
More than coral in the sea--
They never pout for kisses--
O love me truly!
You say you love; but then your hand
No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,
It is like a statue's dead--
While mine to passion burneth--
O love me truly!
O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should burn me,
Squeeze as lovers should--O kiss
And in my heart inurn me!
O love me truly!
from ENDYMION
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. . .
And there are so many more poems that are just breathtakingly awesome! Keats' Odes are amazing (you really must read them--they are just to long for me to type them all up, especially at this late hour when I should be dreaming. Let me know which of Keats' poems is among your favorite, and do yourself a favor and go see this movie (I hope it is good--I will be sorely disappointed if they screw Keats up).
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Should it Stay or Should it Go?
My hair is officially the longest that it has ever been and I have been getting mixed commentary about it. Some people absolutely love it while others utterly detest it. I figured that I would grow out the beard as well, just to make myself look completely different. Honestly, I feel like I am ready cut my hair and go clean shaven, but a part of me wants to keep growing it out just to see how bad it can get. What do you think? (and don't worry, I am not easily offended so feel free to be candid).
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Woman Of My Dreams
The woman of my dreams. . . hmmmm. . . I can only imagine what you are thinking in this particular moment as you read this title. Perhaps there are a number of questions floating through your mind: What is the woman of his dreams (what characteristics and attributes does she exhibit)? Who is the woman of his dreams (is it someone famous used as a model for such a woman or a real, everyday individual that he actually knows)? Has he found the woman of his dreams (Has he become acquainted with this woman, is he friends with this woman, is he dating this woman)? How has the woman of his dreams responded to him (is she indifferent to him, has she rejected him, is she flirtatious with him, has she fallen for him)? Is he going to write about the woman of his dreams (is it simply an ideal that he is going to write about--not an actual person, but the attributes and characteristics of what he would like most in a woman)? Does the woman of his dreams exist? and etc. Well, pick whichever one intrigues you the most and brace yourself. . .
The woman of my dreams of which I write is none of these, but is literally the woman of my dream (my apologies to all of you with inquiring minds that really wanted to know. . .). I awoke a couple of days ago from an interesting dream. The truth of the matter is that the dream itself was nothing unrealistic or out of the ordinary--probably a dream that most people would promptly forget by mid-morning. But it was precisely the dream's simplicity that struck me; that, and the fact that this particular woman mentioned that she was from a town which I had never heard of before but upon awaking knew that it must exist, so I looked up Sjöviken, Sweden and sure enough it is a small community on the eastern shore of Sweden, not too far from Sundsvall. So, "who cares?", one may ask. I will make the connection for you later.
I enjoy creative writing, whether it be poetry, short stories, tales, or what have you. Finding time, inspiration, and the right language and structure to write can be daunting. I saw in this dream an opportunity to write.
Kvinnan Från Sjövik *
In the phantasmagoric realm of sleep
I saw myself descending down a steep
And winding street with houses bright
In Skandinavisk style,
Which led to such an awe-inspired sight
That words, too weak, would defile
The sacredness of such a view.
Happiness enveloped my whole being,
Rejuvenated by this moment, freeing
All the discord one may hold inside.
I walked, face to the sky,
Exulting in a moment oft denied
By worldly cares that oft belie
The sacred nature of our souls.
My friends walked onward, leaving me behind,
A simple soul left lonely to unwind
Within the thriving summer air.
I looked out t’ward the sea—
A tranquil bay reflecting the sun’s glare
Made my heart dance inside of me
Some strange diverting jig.
And in this moment who should then appear
But some fair maiden with her hiking gear,
Petite and healthy, on a stroll,
Backpacking as travelers do
Through foreign streets, picturesque and beautiful,
Experiencing something new.
We caught each other’s glance.
Walking onward, side by side, we spoke
Of treasures the world hides beneath its cloak
And all we’ve hidden deep within
Our hearts and in our minds.
It seemed to me with her all life begins
To unfold mysteries we find
Too simple to ignore.
But as is oft the case with sudden dreams
The light of sleep unraveled at its seems—
To morning silence I awoke.
To bring her back, ah please!
What torture my unconsciousness evokes
To dream up one who lives beside the seas
On Sweden’s central shores.
The last words that I heard her speak:
“Jag bor I sjövik”**
--Brett Hall
August 24, 2009
*Kvinnan från Sjövik (Swedish: The woman from Sjövik)
** Jag bor i Sjövik (Swedish: I live in Sjövik)
Alright, so you are probably wondering why the sudden jump to the poem and why the poem ends abruptly. . . well, it is just like a dream--it materializes suddenly and just as quickly ends. So, why write of this and why the fascination? Let me explain a little.
Several years ago I had many young nieces and nephews who would often visit my parents' home. Those of you who know me well are familiar with some trolls that I have purchased from norway. As a form of entertainment I used to gather around my nieces and nephews who were interested at the moment and take my trolls and offer troll stories. The kids would line up on the edge of a bed and I would take a chair facing them and with trolls in hand would begin some fantastical tale or another as if the trolls were speaking themselves (I'd use specific voices for each troll and pounce the troll around as if he were real and speaking to the kids--I know, I know, many of you are terrified of the trolls and have a hard time believing that I would subject my nieces and nephews to such scary creatures, but that is a learned response, and the kids were actually endeared to the trolls and would beg me for troll stories when they saw me). I made up several troll stories on the spot and the kids would often give suggestions as to what the story should be about (my nieces particularly enjoyed stories that involved princesses and berries). I even purchased trolls for each of my nieces and nephews one Christmas and wrote them their own stories to go with the troll. But I digress. The point is, during this time period I also wrote a number of "folktales" which I didn't share with my nieces and nephews as they did not fit their age range at the time. My dream having come across a woman from Sjöviken, Sweden reminded me of one such tale that I placed in a nearby location: Sundsvall. Needless to say, here is the tale:
The Maiden at Sundsvall
Once long ago, in the coastal town of Sundsvall, there lived a young woman who would look upon the sea and dream up stories and songs within her head. She would arise early each morning and stumble through the darkness from her cottage to her favorite spot upon the coast—a large boulder which she would climb atop and view the rising of the sun as the morning waves would gently summon it from sleep with their rhythmic lapping upon the rocks below. She would attend to her duties by day, but always she set aside time enough to return to the boulder before sunset and view the evening hues as the sun descended beneath the forested hills that lay inland.
The young woman’s beauty was no secret, yet her character was greater still which caused all the young men throughout the region to swoon at the mention of her name. She was modest and showed her love for friends and family both in word and deed. She was unaware of the effect that she had upon men as most were too shy to approach her or to express how they truly felt. Thus, she continued on her daily course of life dreaming and reflecting upon the joys which surrounded her—the simple pleasures of nature and family.
One morning, as she ascended the boulder in the morning twilight, she was surprised at the sight of a figure sitting in the darkness. Startled, she froze upon the ledge staring at the man who sat motionless looking out upon the vast ocean to the emerald horizon. After a moment’s hesitation she resumed her course and sat next to the man. Neither spoke as they peered out upon the blissful scene. The sky began to illuminate and the shadows of the distant clouds were outlined with rose-colored hues and silver reflections. Alas, the first rays of the morning sun shot across the water, skipping back and forth upon the waves in route to the couple’s vision. The waves beneath the precipice rumbled to and fro with a delightful ditty and the morning birds took flight from the bosom of the sea.
“It is a glorious scene and a harmonious sound that awakens the earth to a new day,” said the man.
“Indeed, it refreshes the soul and makes life worth living,” she responded.
They sat for some time beneath the morning clouds chatting upon the scene and upon life whereupon it was revealed that he was an aspiring composer. He looked upon the beauty of the morning dawn and the beauty of the woman’s nature as the world around them sung in exultation.
“I should like to capture your beauty and this scene within the notes of a grand symphony, whereupon this moment may be immortalized in my composition, if you will allow me to do so,” he softly said. She consented and they met each morning thereafter to enjoy the dawning of the day, to discuss life, and for the young man to drink of the inspiration which would move him to compose his masterpiece. He was very skilled in various instruments and would play one for her each morning upon the boulder, shewing forth his progress, and indeed it was lovely.
On the very evening which the young woman met this man she returned to the boulder to ponder upon her labor for the day and upon life as she would enjoy the inspiring scenes of nature at the day’s end. The long afternoon shadows stretched far across the earth and all the world seemed to glitter and shine with the spectacular evening hues. She began to ascend the boulder wherein she would take in the scene as a whole and with the parting of the sun call the day complete. As she reached the top she noticed a man, different from the first, sitting atop her prized location. What a strange surprise she beheld! Bewilderedly, she finished her ascent and sat next to the man, both staring out upon the forested hills, which extended endlessly inland. The evening birds took flight from their nests and the leaves sparkled as they fluttered in the wind quickly eclipsing the evening sunlight. The treetops swayed in a tireless dance and the sky was aflame from the burning clouds. The sun wrapped itself in the bosom of the earth and the light faded into the perpetual darkness.
“It is a wondrous spectacle to behold when in the earth’s bosom the sun doth fold,” said the man.
“Indeed, it rejuvenates the mind and make life complete,” she responded.
They sat for some time beneath the evening stars chatting upon the scene and upon life whereupon it was revealed that he was an aspiring poet. He looked upon the beauty of the evening mist and the beauty of the woman’s nature as the world around them gracefully embraced the shadows.
“I should like to capture your beauty and this scene within the words of an epic poem, whereupon this moment may be canonized in my composition, if you will allow me to do so,” he softly said. She consented and they met each evening thereafter to enjoy the closing of the day, to discuss life, and for the young man to drink of the inspiration which would move him to write his masterpiece. He was very skilled with words and would recite for her each evening upon the boulder, shewing forth his progress, and indeed it was lovely.
So it was that each man continued to meet with the maiden upon the boulder at their respective hours. The first man composed such soothing music which brought peace and tranquility to her soul, and the second man wrote such beautiful poetry which brought excitement and joy to her heart. After some time, the two men desired to marry the young maiden, and each increased his efforts to woo her.
They both would present to her the depths of their minds in the respective mediums that they used. Each would state that they would produce the most elegant and beautiful works for her and indeed they showered her with the greatest pieces of music and poetry that she had ever experienced. She thought that both men were great and wonderfully talented which left her all the more confused as to who she should marry. As a result, she asked the two men not to join her for the next few weeks upon the boulder in the morning or in the evening so that she could be alone in those tranquil scenes and ponder upon their propositions. The two men agreed and alone sat the maiden each morning for the rising of the sun and each evening for its setting.
Early one morning during this time a third man appeared upon the boulder. He said nothing as she climbed the boulder’s height and neither spoke as they watched the sunrise and enjoyed the whispers of nature. The sky was ablaze when the young lady arose to return to her daily chores. She returned in the evening to view the sunset and to her surprise the man was still stalwartly sitting upon the precipice. Once more they sat in silence viewing the setting sun and enjoying the silent sounds of nature’s voice. The stars appeared one by one until thousands of them littered the sky. The young woman arose to return home for the night and the man, still sitting, asked, “What is it you have been thinking about?” The maiden sat back down and explained how the composer and the poet produced such great things from their minds which they gave to her and how beautiful their works were and how she could not decide who she would marry.
“Do you perhaps compose music or write poetry?” The man asked.
“O no,” the maiden responded. “I would love to learn how to produce such beautiful things but the men have only produced them for me.”
“I see,” said the man. “Then I shall teach you to both compose and write the things of your mind and heart so that you too may produce such beautiful works.”
The third man and the maiden met each morning and each evening upon the boulder to greet and bid farewell to the sun, to enjoy the soft voice of nature, to discuss life and to learn how to compose and write the things of the maiden’s heart and mind. Before long she too produced the most peaceful compositions and the most beautiful poems. Once more the fair woman sat upon the boulder as Sundsvall singing her songs and making up her stories as she listened to the morning waves summon the sun from sleep and as she felt the evening wind blow the day beneath the forested hills. The vibrant hues and the soft tones of the world about her were peaceful and inspiring. The wind brought with it a chill that was warmed by her husband’s embrace and hers was a feeling of happiness.
--Brett Hall
December 26, 2000
Needless to say, I wrote several tales based upon the Scandinavian style of folklore between the years 1999 and 2002. I think that I need to take up this form of creative writing once again. What do you think?
The woman of my dreams of which I write is none of these, but is literally the woman of my dream (my apologies to all of you with inquiring minds that really wanted to know. . .). I awoke a couple of days ago from an interesting dream. The truth of the matter is that the dream itself was nothing unrealistic or out of the ordinary--probably a dream that most people would promptly forget by mid-morning. But it was precisely the dream's simplicity that struck me; that, and the fact that this particular woman mentioned that she was from a town which I had never heard of before but upon awaking knew that it must exist, so I looked up Sjöviken, Sweden and sure enough it is a small community on the eastern shore of Sweden, not too far from Sundsvall. So, "who cares?", one may ask. I will make the connection for you later.
I enjoy creative writing, whether it be poetry, short stories, tales, or what have you. Finding time, inspiration, and the right language and structure to write can be daunting. I saw in this dream an opportunity to write.
Kvinnan Från Sjövik *
In the phantasmagoric realm of sleep
I saw myself descending down a steep
And winding street with houses bright
In Skandinavisk style,
Which led to such an awe-inspired sight
That words, too weak, would defile
The sacredness of such a view.
Happiness enveloped my whole being,
Rejuvenated by this moment, freeing
All the discord one may hold inside.
I walked, face to the sky,
Exulting in a moment oft denied
By worldly cares that oft belie
The sacred nature of our souls.
My friends walked onward, leaving me behind,
A simple soul left lonely to unwind
Within the thriving summer air.
I looked out t’ward the sea—
A tranquil bay reflecting the sun’s glare
Made my heart dance inside of me
Some strange diverting jig.
And in this moment who should then appear
But some fair maiden with her hiking gear,
Petite and healthy, on a stroll,
Backpacking as travelers do
Through foreign streets, picturesque and beautiful,
Experiencing something new.
We caught each other’s glance.
Walking onward, side by side, we spoke
Of treasures the world hides beneath its cloak
And all we’ve hidden deep within
Our hearts and in our minds.
It seemed to me with her all life begins
To unfold mysteries we find
Too simple to ignore.
But as is oft the case with sudden dreams
The light of sleep unraveled at its seems—
To morning silence I awoke.
To bring her back, ah please!
What torture my unconsciousness evokes
To dream up one who lives beside the seas
On Sweden’s central shores.
The last words that I heard her speak:
“Jag bor I sjövik”**
--Brett Hall
August 24, 2009
*Kvinnan från Sjövik (Swedish: The woman from Sjövik)
** Jag bor i Sjövik (Swedish: I live in Sjövik)
Alright, so you are probably wondering why the sudden jump to the poem and why the poem ends abruptly. . . well, it is just like a dream--it materializes suddenly and just as quickly ends. So, why write of this and why the fascination? Let me explain a little.
Several years ago I had many young nieces and nephews who would often visit my parents' home. Those of you who know me well are familiar with some trolls that I have purchased from norway. As a form of entertainment I used to gather around my nieces and nephews who were interested at the moment and take my trolls and offer troll stories. The kids would line up on the edge of a bed and I would take a chair facing them and with trolls in hand would begin some fantastical tale or another as if the trolls were speaking themselves (I'd use specific voices for each troll and pounce the troll around as if he were real and speaking to the kids--I know, I know, many of you are terrified of the trolls and have a hard time believing that I would subject my nieces and nephews to such scary creatures, but that is a learned response, and the kids were actually endeared to the trolls and would beg me for troll stories when they saw me). I made up several troll stories on the spot and the kids would often give suggestions as to what the story should be about (my nieces particularly enjoyed stories that involved princesses and berries). I even purchased trolls for each of my nieces and nephews one Christmas and wrote them their own stories to go with the troll. But I digress. The point is, during this time period I also wrote a number of "folktales" which I didn't share with my nieces and nephews as they did not fit their age range at the time. My dream having come across a woman from Sjöviken, Sweden reminded me of one such tale that I placed in a nearby location: Sundsvall. Needless to say, here is the tale:
The Maiden at Sundsvall
Once long ago, in the coastal town of Sundsvall, there lived a young woman who would look upon the sea and dream up stories and songs within her head. She would arise early each morning and stumble through the darkness from her cottage to her favorite spot upon the coast—a large boulder which she would climb atop and view the rising of the sun as the morning waves would gently summon it from sleep with their rhythmic lapping upon the rocks below. She would attend to her duties by day, but always she set aside time enough to return to the boulder before sunset and view the evening hues as the sun descended beneath the forested hills that lay inland.
The young woman’s beauty was no secret, yet her character was greater still which caused all the young men throughout the region to swoon at the mention of her name. She was modest and showed her love for friends and family both in word and deed. She was unaware of the effect that she had upon men as most were too shy to approach her or to express how they truly felt. Thus, she continued on her daily course of life dreaming and reflecting upon the joys which surrounded her—the simple pleasures of nature and family.
One morning, as she ascended the boulder in the morning twilight, she was surprised at the sight of a figure sitting in the darkness. Startled, she froze upon the ledge staring at the man who sat motionless looking out upon the vast ocean to the emerald horizon. After a moment’s hesitation she resumed her course and sat next to the man. Neither spoke as they peered out upon the blissful scene. The sky began to illuminate and the shadows of the distant clouds were outlined with rose-colored hues and silver reflections. Alas, the first rays of the morning sun shot across the water, skipping back and forth upon the waves in route to the couple’s vision. The waves beneath the precipice rumbled to and fro with a delightful ditty and the morning birds took flight from the bosom of the sea.
“It is a glorious scene and a harmonious sound that awakens the earth to a new day,” said the man.
“Indeed, it refreshes the soul and makes life worth living,” she responded.
They sat for some time beneath the morning clouds chatting upon the scene and upon life whereupon it was revealed that he was an aspiring composer. He looked upon the beauty of the morning dawn and the beauty of the woman’s nature as the world around them sung in exultation.
“I should like to capture your beauty and this scene within the notes of a grand symphony, whereupon this moment may be immortalized in my composition, if you will allow me to do so,” he softly said. She consented and they met each morning thereafter to enjoy the dawning of the day, to discuss life, and for the young man to drink of the inspiration which would move him to compose his masterpiece. He was very skilled in various instruments and would play one for her each morning upon the boulder, shewing forth his progress, and indeed it was lovely.
On the very evening which the young woman met this man she returned to the boulder to ponder upon her labor for the day and upon life as she would enjoy the inspiring scenes of nature at the day’s end. The long afternoon shadows stretched far across the earth and all the world seemed to glitter and shine with the spectacular evening hues. She began to ascend the boulder wherein she would take in the scene as a whole and with the parting of the sun call the day complete. As she reached the top she noticed a man, different from the first, sitting atop her prized location. What a strange surprise she beheld! Bewilderedly, she finished her ascent and sat next to the man, both staring out upon the forested hills, which extended endlessly inland. The evening birds took flight from their nests and the leaves sparkled as they fluttered in the wind quickly eclipsing the evening sunlight. The treetops swayed in a tireless dance and the sky was aflame from the burning clouds. The sun wrapped itself in the bosom of the earth and the light faded into the perpetual darkness.
“It is a wondrous spectacle to behold when in the earth’s bosom the sun doth fold,” said the man.
“Indeed, it rejuvenates the mind and make life complete,” she responded.
They sat for some time beneath the evening stars chatting upon the scene and upon life whereupon it was revealed that he was an aspiring poet. He looked upon the beauty of the evening mist and the beauty of the woman’s nature as the world around them gracefully embraced the shadows.
“I should like to capture your beauty and this scene within the words of an epic poem, whereupon this moment may be canonized in my composition, if you will allow me to do so,” he softly said. She consented and they met each evening thereafter to enjoy the closing of the day, to discuss life, and for the young man to drink of the inspiration which would move him to write his masterpiece. He was very skilled with words and would recite for her each evening upon the boulder, shewing forth his progress, and indeed it was lovely.
So it was that each man continued to meet with the maiden upon the boulder at their respective hours. The first man composed such soothing music which brought peace and tranquility to her soul, and the second man wrote such beautiful poetry which brought excitement and joy to her heart. After some time, the two men desired to marry the young maiden, and each increased his efforts to woo her.
They both would present to her the depths of their minds in the respective mediums that they used. Each would state that they would produce the most elegant and beautiful works for her and indeed they showered her with the greatest pieces of music and poetry that she had ever experienced. She thought that both men were great and wonderfully talented which left her all the more confused as to who she should marry. As a result, she asked the two men not to join her for the next few weeks upon the boulder in the morning or in the evening so that she could be alone in those tranquil scenes and ponder upon their propositions. The two men agreed and alone sat the maiden each morning for the rising of the sun and each evening for its setting.
Early one morning during this time a third man appeared upon the boulder. He said nothing as she climbed the boulder’s height and neither spoke as they watched the sunrise and enjoyed the whispers of nature. The sky was ablaze when the young lady arose to return to her daily chores. She returned in the evening to view the sunset and to her surprise the man was still stalwartly sitting upon the precipice. Once more they sat in silence viewing the setting sun and enjoying the silent sounds of nature’s voice. The stars appeared one by one until thousands of them littered the sky. The young woman arose to return home for the night and the man, still sitting, asked, “What is it you have been thinking about?” The maiden sat back down and explained how the composer and the poet produced such great things from their minds which they gave to her and how beautiful their works were and how she could not decide who she would marry.
“Do you perhaps compose music or write poetry?” The man asked.
“O no,” the maiden responded. “I would love to learn how to produce such beautiful things but the men have only produced them for me.”
“I see,” said the man. “Then I shall teach you to both compose and write the things of your mind and heart so that you too may produce such beautiful works.”
The third man and the maiden met each morning and each evening upon the boulder to greet and bid farewell to the sun, to enjoy the soft voice of nature, to discuss life and to learn how to compose and write the things of the maiden’s heart and mind. Before long she too produced the most peaceful compositions and the most beautiful poems. Once more the fair woman sat upon the boulder as Sundsvall singing her songs and making up her stories as she listened to the morning waves summon the sun from sleep and as she felt the evening wind blow the day beneath the forested hills. The vibrant hues and the soft tones of the world about her were peaceful and inspiring. The wind brought with it a chill that was warmed by her husband’s embrace and hers was a feeling of happiness.
--Brett Hall
December 26, 2000
Needless to say, I wrote several tales based upon the Scandinavian style of folklore between the years 1999 and 2002. I think that I need to take up this form of creative writing once again. What do you think?
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