a blog for class.

Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts

Sunday, July 6, 2008

I'm a word whore.


But not like a whore whore, cause I won't go home with just any book. More like a high-class literary call girl. I'll cut the booknerd speech short. I'll just tell you about my Half Price Books shopping trip.

I got these:
Light in August--William Faulkner, 1932.
Gods, Graves, and Scholars--C.W. Ceram, 1951.
The Quest for Meaning--William Cooney, 2000.
Dreaming Southern--Linda Bruckheimer, 1999.
Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates--Tom Robbins, 2000.
Media and Society--Michael O'Shaunghnessy and Jane Stadler, 2005.
Vanishings--Library of Curious and Unusual Facts.
Women in 19th Century Europe--Fiona Macdonald, 1999.
Total Cost: $25.18.

Conversation overhead:
"Hey honey, remember your monkey dream? Here's a book that you can look that up in."
Grunt.
"What 'bout Ringer?"
"There's stuff in thar 'bout dogs, too. Look up 'dog.' Under D."
"Oh, it's alphabetical?"

I pulled out my phone to text this to myself for later retrieval. Next the tanktopped, hairy-backed man said to his wife who was parked in front of the astronomy section, "Here, honey, you wanna summon up some spirits?" I let out a half-giggle when she replied, "No, no thank you." I mean, I was standing right there in the religion section across from her, looking at a reject book called, "What's Right, What's Wrong, What's the Difference?" Then her voice kinda changed, and she went on, "I have enough personal demons in my life..." Uncomfortable, I went to a different section.

Filled with book lust, I returned home, trying to choose where to start when another lover (tv) tempted me with a klru documentary--Secrets of the Dead, Battle for the Bible, about the political and religious bloodshed involved in translating versions of the Bible and the roots of modern day religion. I always like it when themes emerge--the reading of stories, my own faith questions, the value attached to objects and texts, our current political climate in the Middle East and religion's place in war.

1380's--the Roman Catholic Church was England and vice-versa. Rituals and readings were performed mindlessly, as they were performed in an ancient language no one really understood. Attempts to translate, publish, or read the Bible in English was heresy, and punishable by death by fire. Forty years prior the Black Plague had wiped out half the population, so obviously that was an act of God. John Whitcliff began a revolution with his Lollards (aka Mutterers) with his message that people could read the bible themselves and the pope was not in fact the sole authority. His followers continued to pass along the banned English version Whitcliff published even after he died--the English church dug up his body and burned it for heresy.

The rest of the story is filled with rebellion, exile, betrayal, divorce-seeking kings, bloodthirsty queens, attempted compromises between Episcopals, Catholics, and Protestants, new bibles and versions, etc, eventually spreading to the new colonies on our side of the ocean, branching out into the many denominations that exist today. According to the Belief-o-matic, I am New Age or neo-Pagan, but I'm not sure if I understood all the questions 100%.
If you're interested:

Thursday, December 27, 2007

in absentia

I've never been emo or goth, but I have always had what I consider to be a healthy fascination with death. I'm hooked on Ghost Hunters and Paranormal State. It worries my mom. I won't touch a ouiji board, but the question of what happens to us, really, when we die, and even what dying itself is, is very interesting to me. Religion seems wholely based on living so that you don't go to hell. A great uncle of mine died at age 16 because of a freak and mysterious hunting accident, and said "it's so beautiful," looking around before he breathed his last. As I get older, it becomes clearer that birth and death are the truly uncontrollable things we go through--maybe that's why they are so strange. I read somewhere that the body is 3/4ths of an ounce lighter upon death--soulweight. The only thing that really distinguishes death from life, an element totally immeasurable and inescapable.

This was all weighing heavily on my mind when I took a walk through the cemetery (morbid? maybe), bored out of my skull after being home for nearly a week. The twilight of 4:30 and the monstrous hill where our Fulton dead rest, some stones hundreds of years old, became beautiful to me. I read the inscriptions, the only stories left--the oldest stones didn't even have names, just "mother," "father." The important things, birth date and departure date. My cousin had a baby Christmas day. I think about that girl, the sole survivor of a plane crash. I think about the hundreds and thousands of people killed daily, mere blips in the newspaper, dead because of the soullessness of others. I don't necessarily see death as something to be afraid of--I think reincarnation...yeah, maybe reincarnation makes sense.

Sorry to be so heavy. Still figuring this one out.

Pictures. The one is my uncle's grave, born and dead on the same day.









Wednesday, November 21, 2007

What Makes Us Moral


saw this article from Time online, titled "What Makes Us Moral." More class-related blogs coming soon.