Explicating means exploring.

Tonight I am explicating John Donne's "The Funeral". I have really enjoyed breaking this poem apart. At first, I did not realize how difficult breaking down one line of poetry was,until I noticed that you could read a poem ten different ways. All for just one simple line, yikes. But I am learning.
This poem is beautiful because it's talking about death and love. Two cliches. But Donne actually develops the themes into a unique, biological metaphor to posit that love can be idolized-but it can also be rational.crazy. I am pretty sure I had to re read this poem about 20 times before I discovered this all of that information. In a way though, it has been an exploration into the mind of someone. That unpredictability is kind of fascinating. It is moments like these that I am very thankful for my major.
I am also thankful for my friends tonight who made me laugh. I am going to miss them, some for long periods of time, and some for short periods.

Here is the poem. If you would like, you should try it, maybe you'll enjoy it as well.


THE FUNERAL.
by John Donne


WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm,
Nor question much,
That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm ;
The mystery, the sign, you must not touch ;
For 'tis my outward soul,
Viceroy to that, which then to heaven being gone,
Will leave this to control
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
Through every part
Can tie those parts, and make me one of all,
Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and art
Have from a better brain,
Can better do 't ; except she meant that I
By this should know my pain,
As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemn'd to die.

Whate'er she meant by it, bury it with me,
For since I am
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry,
If into other hands these relics came.
As 'twas humility
To afford to it all that a soul can do,
So 'tis some bravery,
That since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.

passports.

Today I just really don't like passports.
I am supposed to travel to Germany to meet my boyfriend's family,
but somehow my passport expired, and not only that, the lady that I sent my life savings to, doesn't understand me.
I am sending prayers with Fed-Ex tomorrow. But I am also sending a sober realization that maybe Europe doesn't happen.
Regardless, today I learned that stress can do horrible things to your body, namely your digestive system.
So, I listened to my friends on i tunes and calmed down.
Life sometimes mirrors Murphy's Law, or at least mine does. And if you know me, you would agree.
Oh well, today ended up being okay- At least my friends were there.

The Fallibility of Restlessness

It is only appropriate to speak about the importance of freedom after titling this blog from Alan Ginsberg's poetry. I cannot imagine a better way to express myself on April 26th than to say this: The Fallibility of restlessness excludes freedom.

I am fascinated by poets. In fact, I often imagine that my life is poetry; in a small way I would love to become a poet like Mary Oliver or Gwendolyn Brooks, whose poetry can ring with truth and beauty, rather than write poetry that is sappy, stagnant to the touch. I am fascinated by words and how they traveled from minds before me, conveying messages so bold, so fierce. These thoughts leave me with: If only I could write.

Nonetheless, I will. And here is what I can offer:
There is nothing to fear in being restless. For example, I have been terrified to write my own thoughts, fearing that no one out there cares to read what little I do have, or they will consist of ambiguity. Either way, my thoughts were consistently transforming into weapons that could either detonate, or be dud. Fear. is. a. terrible. thing.
And it seems to cause many anxieties lately. Anxieties that aren't necessarily harmful- or that's what I perceive- and that aren't the worst-thing-in-the-world.
Regardless, I am coming to realize that chaos has been the ticking force behind truth that's been sleeping for some time now.
Let me elaborate. Often times I do not make sense unless I do so...
Lately I have come to the conclusion that organized life often leaves you restless. I have been in college now 3 years and I still do not know why I am here some days, other than to get an education. The fallacy that college is the "Best four years of your life" has been a mantra that is often said to many eighteen-year-old students entering their freshman year. But that mantra leaves a certain level of expectation, a feeling of purpose.
Slowly, I've come to the conclusion that restlessness has been caused because of this expectation. Immense pressure to succeed or become educated has been placed upon me, for the reasons of practicality (as many people see it). I have been challenged to conform to practices that traditionally happen from generation to generation. So,in this journey of feeling out of place most times and ungrateful for education, I find truth in a small conversation I recently had with my friend Angie,:
There is no specific way to live your life. Pursue the virtue of living life how it is meant to be lived: in harmony with who you are and who others are. Therefore, the fallibility of restlessness teaches that restlessness is a horrible feeling, yet the way I see it, it is a purposeful, natural thing. Everyone is restless at times, but there is often a valid reason for it.
For me, restlessness bears a heavy mark on my search for a simple answer: What do I want to do with my life, but an even deeper question of: How do I serve others with my life? These questions keep me up at night and they make me restless, mostly because I am actually trying to think about all the possibilities the answers entail, and not just conforming to the standard quota of a twenty-one-year-old's life.
I choose to be restless because I want to understand truth. And I believe the truth is: The standard is not always truthful to who you are.

I know that this feels like an essay, and as I was just mentioning to my friend, I have no idea how to write without some form, (although I consider myself postmodern). This is my first attempt at blogging, so if you are reading this, bear with me. There will be more to come.

I think today I just wanted to say: Follow truth, truth to who you are, (whatever that may be.)