Stop Kony.

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A Telling Dream

I have been raised to see the validity contained within thoughts of all kinds. But one train of thought in particular has a special place among all the thoughts I turn to in moments of need, question, uncertainty and opportunity. Every morning since I can remember, from when my parents would open the curtains and cover my three year old face and hands with kisses until these wake up calls come over the phone in a house where I pay the electric bill, they ask: "Did you have any dreams?!"

For how long has man been fascinated with the thoughts he can recollect after sleep? From the dreams archived in clay tablets and on cave walls to the dreams today we hear in swirling song lyrics, it is a fascination for all who choose to take an introspective journey and question the conversations had while reading the backs of our eyelids. Lucid adventures where we create our own fantasies; revealing messages our subconscious being gives our memory; the result of too much Dr. Pepper and Mexican food right before bed: they can be any of the above. But this dream? This dream was one to remember.

In this dream, I had just made the voyage home from Kewanee, Illinois for the Hamilton Southeastern FFA Chapter Banquet. I pulled in the parking lot of the high school, which on the outside looked like a Fishers High School and Marsh on Brookschool Road hybrid, but the deeper I walked into the school, it transformed.. becoming the one and only Hamilton Southeastern. The cafeteria was more earthy, decorated with beautiful purple green red and gold streamers, tables adorned with wheat bread and Greek yogurt and cheese and grapes and honey and olives and fish and lamb and veal and venison, the same plastic tables and chairs effused a sense of grandeur I had always pictured but never realized was true. At this discovery, I was saddened at the distance I created between my perception and perfection, which I immediately converted to enthusiasm at what I could now appreciate. I was then given Mrs. Keffaber’s message to go mark in window paint a big blue X on the cars of those who were slated for chapter office. I resented the concept of it being a large x, and the absence of ceremony that traditionally marked the "changing of the guard", so to speak. Yet, as I pictured the young girls going to their cars and jumping in excitement, their O.D. heels clicking the ground, their long straight hair bouncing in the air with each excited squeal, I could not help but smile, imagining the shimmering ecstasy they would feel. Despite this, each X I made half-heartedly, seeing how nontraditional it was, to do things so secretly, privately, unceremoniously.

The dirty work complete, I headed into the banquet. Going through the food line, so happy to see familiar faces, I saw one of my very favorite friends not looking at me. I noticed I would not permit myself to look this friend either. I was distressed… “This is the exact visage of discomfort and awkwardness that I have been trying to eliminate, and you will not even acknowledge my existence?!” Fuming, I kept my poise and filled my plate with grapes and mozzarella and sat next to my parents as they conversed gaily with other supporters of our chapter who eventually sat down. My friend who I could not see sat down also. Joining the conversation, laughing, all was as usual.. except that I would not let myself look past the divide in our table. I laughed, I enjoyed, I was happy.. but I did not dare let myself look at my friend to see them not looking back at me. The banquet concluded after the usual commentary, jokes, speeches, tears and celebrations. We all rose, and hugged out our hearty goodbyes, yet I never once made eye contact with a single person. So strange, so strange…

Out into the summer rain which promised of the times soon to come, I climbed into my mother’s truck and we rode home. We then packed backpacks, laced camouflage pants into boots, tucked our heads into our caps and set out through the woods, us three and Hazel. We journeyed all evening into the long shadows of sunset and made it to a house with a screened in porch, where we commenced to killing zombies and preventing other members of society from invading our safe haven. Zombie killing dream... ah yeah! I walked through the wind chimes made of Cock Full O’Nuts cans, futons draped with old quilts and wool blankets to reload my gun. After a full day of undead domination, we held the old china on our laps and the antique silver in our hands, eating sausage and eggs. Slowly, I was able to look up across the porch to see my friends, including the one who would not look at me earlier, smiling sleepily… for we had so much work to do together, still. The divides between us had vanished.

At this point, I woke up from the dream. As I fell back to sleep, it continued, and I remember the distinct sense of my friend watching over me, fighting all dangers and surviving so as to keep me safe, which kept my friend safe, too. The question in the dream was if they were keeping me safe for my sake or for theirs, but as we cleaned our guns the next morning, I thought that maybe the emphasis was moot. Does it really matter? The end result is the same.. we are alive, working together to sustain happiness and life and existence and love, in the face of society coveting our advantages and the mindless attempts to kill all that is good.

Satisfied that our slice of heaven was safe, I headed to my Grandmother’s farm. She had just acquired a horse and she wished for me to train him. He was dangerous yet very present, a lovely wild beast with a severe desire to be gentle. He turned every direction, soft and supple, a horseman’s dream. He was slight and maneuverable, but steadfast, sturdy and strong. He threw me (not angrily, but as a simple result of what he was) on the ground. Shocked at the beauty and danger this one beast was capable of allowing to coexist, I laid there as the cool, soft ground  warmed with the absorption and I stared at his perfect topaz hooves. I asked him “Do you know what you do to me? Do you see the harm you are capable of causing?" He did not need to concede that truth; he met my cry with a calm that blazed in my mind, on my skin, in my heart. “Would you prevent my nature? Would you stop me from feeling what I must, doing what I was made to do, being what I am? My love for you is great, but it is not greater than my nature. Be true to yours, and just love me, Woman.” So I climbed up onto my feet, humbled, yet also feeling a sense of majesty for how close the beast let me be to him, and dropped his reins over his neck as my young cousin came to me, plastic phone to her ear. “It is cancer. It is living in my sister's bones” she said, giggling. “She will be set free of it, all will be well!” yet there was still a girlish anxiety in her heart I sensed, as I struggled to perfect the beast’s reins so as not to allow my need of his guidance to cause him discomfort. I caressed and kissed his neck to calm my nerves, traced his jaw and looked into his eyes to gather the same confidence he had in the Universe, breathed in his heavenly scent to solidify the dignity of it all. 

With the horse’s affirmation I set out to find the sick young girl, except when I made it to her destination, neither she nor her sister were anywhere to be found. Minding my business, doing my duties, calculating how to find them, the phone rang. “We will be out in forty three seconds,” a man had answered the phone, and lead me out the door. We descended the spiral staircase quickly, out into the warm of the sun. We saw her car, the lower frame of the car exposed, as she tore off pieces of plastic exposing the problem. She was perfect, moxy.. contemporary and beautiful. Although the words that proceeded to tear from her mouth were irate, her face was calm and objective, her voice staccato as throngs of people gathered around the pile of scrap metal and plastic she was ripping easily from her nearly destroyed vehicle. “Everything I have ever made for myself, fought for, purchased, created for myself becomes flawed in all of your demands… your desires.. your expectations. Do you not see how your hopes for me make me suffer? Do you not see how your hopes for me cost me inexplicable pain and infinite loss? Do you not see how I lose every time you give me a springboard to launch from? I love your passions, I love you all, I really do. But at the same time, I can’t. I cannot count on these desires that are not born of my own heart, mind, my spirit. They are not mine, they are yours. We are in this one world, avid fans of existence. But that does not mean we must coincide. Please, keep your desires for yourself, and only desire to see me. Stop having hopes for me, for what I can do is better for myself than what you could devise. Were it not, I would not be so compelled to shout this message in front of all of you, as you gather around me thinking “look, she finally snapped.” Were it not, I would leave off making things for myself and creating this way of life far from the home where I wish to be… far from the escape and the peace in the woods which I could have. I love you. Please love me back, and give me freedom.”

Then, I woke up and came to my computer to write it all down. What does it mean? I am not certain yet. It can be interpreted in so many ways... each item, person, interaction, feeling can be seen as meaning one thing or another. A few ideas which I have pulled...
Any unit of persons must have something to do before truly becoming a unit. I see this principle relevant in all relationships, from teammates to soul mates, yet I wonder if the dream shows the emphasis on more concretely founded relationships?
As much as we love the receiver of our desire, we love them for ourselves. Our love cannot exceed what we are, what we are meant to be. To stand up to that love, and for that love to grow, maybe we must become more.
The spiral staircase was a particularly vivid segment of the dream, although I may have failed to highlight it as such in writing. It seemed strange, to descend out into the light. From Plato's Allegory of the Cave to the usage of spiral views in modern cinema, it is more often ascent that sets us free. Yet I wonder if this dream tells that sometimes it is okay to get worse before you get better; to sink low and then rise to previously unattainable heights.

From the girl's monologue... we should not want for others. Although we love them, care for them, respect them, it is not our place to build them a vessel (the car) or pave them a road. We, who so often do not even know what to be asking for, can not be able to know what to give to others. Even well wishes... maybe what a person needs is to descend to that low point so that they may ascend.

Or maybe not. Maybe this dream tells me how badly I want to eat Mediterranean food, pursue an objective through the dirt and streams of central Indiana, make wind chimes from Chock Ful O'Nut Cans, ride horses at my Grandmother's and demolish a car.

Who am I kidding, that does sound like a ton of fun...

Super Heroes

Superheroes.

What are they??

Maybe they are made of titanium alloy, heat resistant rubber, anhydrous ammonia, glitter, sunshine dust, metal and brawn.

Maybe they are stronger than all of those things combined.

Maybe they are more perfect than a GE 1.5 mw Wind Turbine... because in addition to their flawless design that enables them to withstand such incredible force despite the incredible weight they themselves are carrying...

...they can feel.

They feel the overwhelming satisfaction of winning the fights worth fighting. They feel the fire rise up in their bellies when the going gets rough. They feel the peaceful contentedness when they lay down for a power nap, knowing they're doing everything they can. They feel the restless hunger that wakes them up in the middle of the night when they know there's more they could do to ease the pain. They feel the twisted sting of heartbreak. They feel the confusion when the line between right and wrong is blurred by their hero. They feel themselves gaining confidence as they redefine that line and continue on, exemplifying their own standards of excellence.

Maybe they wear a spankin' new black or khaki suit [...depending on the day]. Maybe they wear a bona fied cape. Maybe they duct tape Christmas bulbs to each other's sweatshirts. Maybe they wear Polo. Maybe they are dogged on for dressing like a Grandma [come on, who doesn't love Grandmas? SERIOUSLY.] Maybe they wear gilley suits. Maybe they wear their shirts wrapped around their heads-- Apocalypse Now style. Maybe they wear citrus smelly cotton night gowns. Maybe they wear a banana yellow button down with starched jeans. Maybe they wear the coolest platypus-related-animal t-shirt of all time. Maybe they wear pumas. Maybe blinged out show jeans. Maybe shants. Maybe they rock management material-- corduroy of the National Blue variety. Maybe they wear rubber boots with shorts and cowboy boots with long white dresses. Maybe they wear kickin' sweet Chucks and life jackets like diapers. Maybe they wear Batman underpants and tutus.

But no matter what sort of uniform they are most comfortable in... they've braved some pretty battletastic circumstances and survived, champions.... heroes. They bear hard core battle scars from the tricks they won with the hands life dealt them. 

...Yeah, they're thick skinned super heroes.

I love them all.

You know who you are. 

Snowy Remembrance

The snow on the ground shimmers. The lustrous sky overhead is saturated with twinkling stars that peek through the emptiness of stark, sterile trees. The black velvet of shadows and the stillness of the cold make the world sparkle silently with every swishing step, every single syllable pronounced begins and ends with soft simplicity.

"So define it... say what it means. Use a reference.... what's the dictionary say?"

"A man wrote that book. Man is flawed. One man's definition is not enough... and when you have other men       referring to his answer, language is distorted. There have been many, dictionaries, too."

"So name the dictionaries. How many dictionaries exist?"

"...I don't know... but they exist, or did at one time. ...Merriam......... and..."

"Yes. Websters. The most universally used source in the English language. How many other dictionaries are there?"

"I....... I don't know." 

Not quite one year later, only one day after the first snow in 2011, here is a link to the Wikipedia piece on dictionaries, to satisfy that segment of this old conversation that won't be over until it is won.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dictionary

As for the roots of the conversation... let's proceed to the root of the word that was being discussed-- at first lightheartedly (in lieu of the granted wish to have "arguments"), and shortly thereafter fervently (each voice vindicated in the advice held dearly in our left brain attempts to uphold integrity: When you're wrong, admit you're wrong. When you're right, don't give up.)  

From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary itself (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/self). 

3 self; noun; plural selves

 Definition of SELF

1a : the entire person of an individual

  b : the realization or embodiment of an abstraction

2a (1) : an individual's typical character or behavior her true self was revealed 

     (2) : an individual's temporary behavior or character his better self 

  b : a person in prime condition feel like my old self today

3: the union of elements (as body, emotions, thoughts, and sensations) that constitute the individuality and identity of a person

4: personal interest or advantage

5: material that is part of an individual organism ability of the immune system to distinguish self from nonself

There you have it.

I look forward to future conversations. I look forward to finding hard truth, consequently all truth, and not giving up until that truth is accepted.

...And remember: There are no contradictions.:) 

Happy World Food Day!

Unfortunately, in some places on the earth, World Food Day is over. However, as long as you're reading this, you can STILL CELEBRATE!

Go eat something you love. I recommend chocolate, bacon or a combination thereof. Go eat something you hate and pretend you like it! Again, I recommend chocolate, bacon or a combination thereof. Go eat something just because it was fun to order it... like the Vesuvius Burger at Red Robin (say it with me: YUM!!!). Go learn about eating. Go learn about why it's important and how your body does it. Go learn about how your food is made. Go learn about how food is marketed. Go learn about the programs promoted and funded nation-wide to ease the food process. Go read a North Miami High School graduate's advanced placement English paper about his perspective of the food process.

Always question your food... from the difference between white and red meat to the true definition of organic. Experiment, have fun, and relish in the exploration of your food. I love it because it's delicious. It makes my physical body able to meet the demands of my mind. It comes from so many different places, based on so many different processes and conditions, is the product of many interesting folks and their hard earned experience. Why do you love it? How are you going to CELEBRATE it?

First Combine Experience...

Well, I guess the title is a lie.

I work at Reynolds Farm Equipment, a Gold Star John Deere Dealership in Indiana that markets, sells, inspects and repairs combines.
I showed a Gelbvieh Heifer with some FFA friends a few years ago, and everyday I walked Malibu Barbie-Q, we walked by the combine used on the farm.
I took agricultural education courses at Hamilton Southeastern High School,  and learned about the technological improvements and uses for a combine.
I have spent the last year and a half of my short life sharing experiences with FFA members who are involved in production agriculture and use combines to learn about themselves [seriously. Incredible]. <-- This is where this particular combine story begins.


Lucy is one of my greatest friends and role models. She has kindness, conviction and honesty, and for those reasons she's been elected as Jr. Leader President and is making great progress leading her fellow FFA members. We celebrated these accomplishments last Sunday. Before headed to support our beef and dairy producers at Steak & Shake [Frisco Melts and shakes], we took a ride with her father in their John Deere 9670 combine.


A.K.A. we harvested beans.


Standing there in the field before climbing the ladder into the machine, I was amazed by this thought:


My two sandal-clad feet stood where food comes from. I was in the field that grew a crop that would fill hungry bellies. 


Ladies and gentlemen, that's what we're in it for. We bust ours to feed ours. I love it for many reasons, but mostly:


BECAUSE IT HELPS YOU EAT SO YOU CAN BE EXCELLENT.


Blog Action Day October 16, 2011