e x p l o r at i o n w i t h i n t e n t i o n
The Inquirer THE OFFICIAL STUDENT NEWSPAPER OF CANADIAN UNIVERSITY COLLEGE
A N AU RO R A C H RO N I C L E S PU B L I C AT I O N
{W I N T E R R E F L EC T I O N S I N T R I N I DA D BY C H A N TA L J. L EOTAU D}
issue
6
volume
60 • January 12, 2013
Editor’s Note Inside... Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death. - Anais Nin
You can feel it--in the air. There has been a shift, small tremor, disrupting the regulated bleeps on a monitor that is our lives, collectively. So thin, those lines. So much like another’s. Could it have been your thin line that had stopped moving? Ceased to be? or even worse: Could it have been your thin line-- your existence that rose and fell jaggedly of a sudden torture, of agony? What does it feel like to die? Could it have been your life that ended? how did it end? could it have been mine? Sapphire w.
Listen: Anywhere On This Road by Lhasa de Sela To submit questions, response, art, or an article: - www.caucsa.tumblr.com - sachronicles@gmailcom January 12, 2013
3
5
IN THE BRAIN
Being Human, Have Heart
THE WORLD
How to Survive: Being Me
7
DEVOTION
8
SUBMISSION
9
Silence.
Pseudonyms and the Politics of Debate
ENTERTAIN AND EXPERIENCE
10
THE LISTENER
11
BEING ALONE
12
FIRST PERSON
14
LIKE A WRITING DESK
IN THE BRAIN
Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.
It’s coming at us so fast--life. But life is also disappearing so quickly, so definitely, so constantly, that, I’m afraid, we have become quite desensitized to its fragility. Non-human. Just functioning, following fundamentals. Life lived down to a basic science, really. Zombies to the reality that life, your life, is not promised to you. You do not get to receive a certain amount of years just because you’ve planned on it. You do not get to choose how you die. This past winter break, two particular global/international news stories caught my heart and held me to this very realization: I am mortal. Obviously, this realization is not new, or even remotely profound. However, by gauging the stories of senseless brutality and concentrated cruelty with what it naturally means to die gives the meaning of mortality a much more tangible perspective. Many, if not all of us have already heard and read about the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in Connecticut. Another human being, through his own reasoning, can walk into a place full of other people, twenty children and six adults, and murder. Or is that something that we’ve already heard before? Is it the second largest school shooting in the United States? Or is it, in total twenty-eight people who have died for an unknown, violent cause? Are there twenty-seven families, with several connections, who would have never expected their loved one to be shot in a school? What about the New Delhi woman brutally raped by six males on a bus? A city bus!? Is she just another female rape victim who, so badly damaged internally and externally, dies? Is she another rising statistic from another country? Have we forgotten to take into consideration the extreme pain of another human who THE INQUIRER
-
Ghandi
is feeling sex being violently taken and enduring torture that is prolonged for six repetitive times? What does it take for a human being to wake up in the morning and decide that today is the day to kill? What does it take for a human being to watch a child crawl out of a closet and shoot them multiple times. What causes a person to publicly violate and so wantonly cause agonizing pain? Do we think about what causes a man to follow en suit in animalistic frenzy? There is a considerable lack of empathy with human horror stories that is learned in our “don’t get too close, it’s not our business” society. Although we cannot fix our world’s problems and will never be able to think of foolproof solutions, credit goes to the individual that sees a life as exactly that: a life. Not “just another story,” so easy to forget. So easy to look over. Look at your own life and realize that what you feel is important, and is relatable. You can relate to some one, any one, based on the singular fact that you and “they” are human beings. Life is not too busy to connect. Life is built on our connections with others around us. Without the human connection, without sharing stories, without empathy and understanding, humanity, humaneness, does not exist. It is vital to connect on this level. Life is a gift, and a very fragile one at that. Will every day be a frail attempt to reach some sort of personal masterdom? Or can we do better in a world full of people we may never meet or see again? Feel your mortality, realize that we are living and therefore connect with everything around us--we do not just exist for ourselves. Be more than a life. Be human. Page 3
You are next to someone that is missed. - Lily Blu January 12, 2013
IN THE WORLD H OW TO S U RV I V E: B E I N G M E
E X PEC T T H E U N E X PEC T E D BY L I LY B LU
Life for me hardly resembles anything that I had ever heard of before. My experience is as different to yours as yours is to mine but I do hope to meet someone that resembles me in my experience. If you are out there, and can hear my voice, answer-- for I have been searching for you for 23 years thus far. My beginnings were a surprise--I was an unexpected pregnancy. Insted of being embraced at home, I was taken in by my grandmother and brought up in her home, only to visit my parents and meet my brother five years my senior, at the age of six. When I did eventually return to live with my biological parents, they were nowhere to be found--too busy living their already established lives, too busy to deal with me. My ethics and life lessons were taught to me by my elementary school principal, Mrs. Blackman. She drilled proverbs and an innumerable amount of aphorisms that not only applied to my work ethic, but also life at large. Some may argue that flushing a child’s head in a toilet bowl in order to teach him a lesson is unethical, but knowing her better than we the students knew the backs of our hands, we understood, and revered her nonetheless. Discipline, Tolerance, and Production were the Watchwords by which we lived. From handler to handler, between elementary school and secondary school, was not a bad transition at all. The year 2003 threw me from a theoretical learning point of view to a practical one as my lifestyle changed when I became a part of a sisterhood. A convent school is not as dreadful as it may sound to some of you. There, the motto was Sapientia Y Scientia: Wisdom and Knowledge. My 899 fellow sisters looked out for me and was an incredible support to each other. Being in such an environment left me in awe for a long time to come. The school was established in 1836 and was built upon the strict standards of the Roman CathoTHE INQUIRER
lic Church. This meant that the school frowned upon physical same-sex relations. Two best friends from my year group were found guilty of the lesbian experience. The principal of the school, mid-class, personally called all 4 classes of my year group to an emergency meeting in the audio-visual room. She began quoting the Catholic stance on the issue and had an open Question/ Answer session on the topic. Many girls expressed their neutrality and understanding, except one. A pastor’s daughter spoke up about the disgust that she felt by the situation and reminded us of the wrath God sent upon the city of Sodom and she preached about sleepless sinners or something of the sort. The principal stopped her in her tracks and explained that love is nothing less of good, regardless of sex, and explained that we should not fall short of compassion and support of the girls in their time of separation. Needless to say, a roar of approval was sounded and we all stood to our feet in agreement to try and help facilitate a somewhat emotionally painless separation for the young women lovers. This is a mere peek into the awkward life that I lead. After these and many horrific experiences, I remain rooted in that which I was brought up to embrace. Simply: to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with my God (Micah 6:8). In passing on the flame of life, I urge my peers at CUC to do the same. Even though my parents do not know me, you do. Look around; you are next to someone that is missed. Mrs. Blackman made us repeat the idiom that, “you can lead the horse to the water, but you cannot make it drink.” I present to you the water that sustains life and what it means to be human. Be kind, practice compassion, and love without condition. Mother bore the unexpected, mother bore me, and here I am now at CUC. Page 5
W. H. Grundling January 12, 2013
Chantal Jan Leotaud
S I L E N C E.
“And He was withdrawn from them about a stone’s throw, and He knelt down and prayed…”
Luke 22:41
Meghann Diminyatz
Everything is still in the garden. The peace of night has begun
Father. Yet the Bible doesn’t say that God answered him.
to seep into your bones, as it has fallen upon the earth. The
There, caught between two silences (the luscious silence of the
heat of the day is fading in shimmers, and the crickets sing in
garden and the crushing silence from above) Jesus poured out
the key of D, caressing the silence but not really disturbing it.
his heart. He got vulnerable with God. He prayed with all His
The darkness holds hands with the flowers, whispering rest
being.
unto them, and dusts the trees with a sort of elegant silver. The stars seem close tonight – they are moving softly near your
And if God didn’t answer Jesus, His own son, what hope is
hand, bobbing against the sky-drop. You lay with your face
there for us, a bunch of sinners?
against the grass, breathing in the deep beauty. Go back to the garden. Read a bit farther to verse 45. Tonight, in this place, it should be the perfect kind of silence. Three ideas emerge. The first idea is difficult. Sometimes, God But inside, your heart feels tight. Like a scab on your knee that
uses silence to help us reflect on what we’ve already learned.
keeps it from bending.
He doesn’t necessarily use it to teach us a lesson, although that may be part of it. Most times, He has probably already given
For at the edge of your eyes, you know He is kneeling. You see
us the information we need to successfully make the decision
the line that shadows create between his hunched form and
we’re concerned about. But it is very important to understand
the rest of night. Sometimes, His pained whispers reach your
that God does not send us into situations that he has not pre-
ears. They seem deep and tortured. Your heart aches for Him
pared us for. He has given us the tools to make it – sometimes,
like it has never for anyone save yourself. With each sound, you
we just need to read the instructions again before saying “I
cringe.
don’t get it.”
You hear Him. Pleading. Whispering. Calling.
The second idea is curious. God is not always in the busi-
ness of revelation – hence the silence. But it is not because He But there is no reply.
is just reminding us of His authority over us selfishly. It is not because He is forcing us to rely on Him. In fact, it is the oppo-
We are often a bit spastic with silence. Sometimes, it is all we
site. Practicum has taught me that the best way to strengthen
crave. The silence of sleep, the silence of nothing to do, see,
the ability and confidence of others is often to remain silent.
write, study and say at the end of a long day (or night). We
This is painful, trust me. But the resulting autonomy in the
hear all our lives, “Seek God in the silence.” Silence can be
other individual strengthens their respect for you, and their
beautiful, refreshing, peaceful, wonderful. Other times, we
faith in the fact that you trust them.
dread silence. We fear it, and try to fill it up. Maybe we are ner-
vous for what we may discover, or what may be revealed to us.
mention God responding to the Son in the garden, it specifically
mentions that an angel came down to comfort him. This is true
But the one place we always hate silence is when God
The last idea is beautiful. Even though the Bible doesn’t
is silent in response to us. To our problems. To our requests.
for us too. God may not answer our questions, give us what we
To our cares, woes, and burdens. Our hearts cry out from the
want in that moment, take away our pain or respond to our de-
depth of us, in sincerity or confusion, pain or demanding. Yet,
mands of “why” BUT He will not desert us. He will provide us
there is no response. And when we don’t hear a word, or see a
with the comfort we need, through the Spirit, another person,
sign, we get hurt. That hurt often turns to anger, and in frus-
or time.
tration, we wonder… So don’t place the emphasis on the silence. It isn’t the lack of Why?
response that matters.
Does God care? If so, then where is He?
Understand and claim it as God silently responding, and go
Is…He even…there?
forth in peace.
In the garden on the night before his death, Jesus sought His
THE INQUIRER
Page 7
SUBMISSIONS
P S E U D O N Y M S A N D T H E P O L I T I C S O F D E BAT E
In an age of internet trolls, online bullying and the 24 hour news cycle, the use of a pseudonym in the college newspaper seems at best quaint, and at worst a bit nefarious. Why use a pseudonym? If you have something to say, shouldn’t you stand up and say it publicly, without hiding behind the dubious mask of anonymity? Certainly there is a long history of anonymous dissent in the form of political satire and heterodox theological treatise. Many reformers have written under the cover of anonymity for good reason - criticizing the status quo is risky. But if you are emotionally, spiritually and intellectually honest in the statement of your position, what do you have to fear here at CUC? After all, you’re among family. Fear of political or social reprisal is the immediate and practical rationale for writing under a pseudonym. But there is another, and in my mind a better reason to editorialize anonymously. Most of the really big and important ideas debated among Adventists don’t belong to any single individual. In a world in which ambitious thinkers compete for recognition, we often forget that the ability to discuss ideas on their own merits, free of the distraction of interpersonal conflict is one of the great gifts of the modern democratic tradition first developed in the 17th and 18th centuries. Some people argue that as a religious community we ought to act as a family, and air our concerns face to face. The church as family is a useful metaphor for describing our common identity, but it masks an institutional reality in which we are a big fractious interJanuary 12, 2013
national community that employs tens of thousands of pastors, teachers, nurses, doctors, administrators and professors. We may be a family, but we are also an employer, a regulator, an educator, a steward of tens of millions of tithe dollars and an arbiter of taste and social standards. Don’t forget that we are also a career ladder and a provider of pensions and health benefits. In organizational terms the Adventist church looks more like a medium sized country than a small Christian family. If Adventists were a country, we would be the 60th largest in the world, with a population three times that of Denmark or Norway. In this big, centralized, hierarchical, and dare I say, conservative institution, effective public dissent requires courage and the willingness to place ideas ahead of ego. Sure we are a small community on the hilltop but the issues discussed here have global implications. Anonymity can be the perfect cover for ad hominem attacks. However, when public debates are conducted anonymously in an edited forum like a newspaper, pseudonymous authorship can be a powerful tool that allows us to focus more on issues and less on personality. In that spirit I laud the methods adopted by the Chronicle to discuss these important issues.
Signed,
An interested faculty member
E N T E RTA I N M E N T A N D E X PE R I E N C E BY M E L I S S A M Y E R S
Welcome back! Look here for events that will enrich and entertain you at CUC, and for interviews, pictures, updates about events on and off campus, and recaps of past events. There is always a variety of musical, spiritual, and cultural goings-on at CUC, including volunteer opportunities, sporting events and those put on by our S.A. Here’s a brief rundown of what’s taking place this month:
• Friday, January 11, 7:30 pm at College Heights Vespers with Dr. Neil Nedley: • Saturday, January 12, 4:00pm in LVH Chapel AY • Saturday, January 12, 6pm Basketball • WISE: Week in Spiritual Emphasis. January 1417, 11am & 8:30 pm. Morning and evening worships give students the chance to hear from many of their peers and to come together to worship and grow closer with God. Please note that there is a revised class schedule for this week. • WISE Vespers: Friday, January 18, 7:30pm at College Heights Church. Finish WISE by hearing from a student at CUC. • Saturday, January 19, 3pm Soup Kitchen • Saturday, January 26, 4:00pm in LVH Chapel AY • Saturday, January 26, 6pm Basketball • January 27 at College Heights Church Sunday at Seven
THE INQUIRER
H O L I DAY T H O U G H T
I confess: I am a reflector. At the start of a new year, I can’t stop myself from having a mandatory contemplation of the last twelve months and the changes life has brought. In my “2012 edition,” I realized how much university has changed my life. I finally absorbed how my education has impacted me during this break—three weeks off from classes can give a reflector a lot of time to, well, reflect. Being in school and in such a challenging and constantly stimulating atmosphere, I didn’t have the time to comprehend how my years in university were changing the way I thought, perceived the world, and communicated with others. I was too busy with my classes to notice how they were affecting me on such a personal level—although I could have told you they made me really tired some nights. It was when I came home and looked at my world with new perspectives and questions that a whole semester’s worth of learning sunk in, and then the semester before that, and then the semester before that one, too. Not only am I grateful as a female to be getting an education, I am grateful as a human being—so many people don’t get the opportunity I am getting now. School sometimes seems never-ending or too challenging, but when I think about it, there is nothing else I would rather be doing. With the start of a new semester, I am nervous about classes starting again, but also excited. I hope this semester will be one that challenges and changes all of us.
Page 9
T H E L I ST E N E R “H ere B efore ”- F ever R ay Have you ever held and had a soul deep connection with a
“C laire
de
L une ”- F light F acilities
I often catch myself measuring my life through memories
baby? It is an experience that humbles you to your knees. To look into the eyes of the innocent, pure in heart, miracle before
or moments rather than using linear time. What doesn’t have
you with this song in the distant background of your mind is
a specific nostalgic association simply ceases to exist in my
as good as gold. Do yourself a favour and search this song in
present reality, and my unmeasured time slips into an abyss of
soundcloud. Take a chance.
grey static and fuzz. The problem with this form of memory is attention to itself, and then suddenly days, months, years can
“L ights are R osenthal
pass by, almost unnoticed. Flight Facilities’ “Clair de Lune”
I see many of you walking around campus, ever present but ever
fights time. Don’t go, tell me that the lights won’t change. Tell
so absent. How can one exist with no soul? Many of us are a
me that it will stay the same. “Clair de Lune” is not linear. It
shell of a former existence. Come to life brethren. Come back to
is inverted with layers and voices and sound, each layer peel-
life and feel a little.
that time can be elusive; it sneaks around without calling any
on but nobody ’ s home ”
- T om
ing back to reveal another more subtle surprise as the song continues. Through layering and non-linear effect, time stops.
“D on ’ t S tand S o C lose
And we’ll stay here forever. For seven minutes, time cannot
lice
trick me. You too, can pause your reality by listening to this
I take this as our society’s mentality. The “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”,
beautiful and enigmatic track, which through its ingenious
the “Let’s Not Get Too Personal, I Don’t Know You Like That.” Is
composition, truly is timeless. Where we go where we go where
this your anthem?
we go where we go where we go.
“T ake T his U p ” - S tar S linger Think of something that makes you happy—kittens, donuts, fancy cars, your mother’s cooking (or just your mother), may-
to
M e ” - T he P o -
-L.B.
be—and then throw in a rather crazed, erratic strobe light, and
“T he E nd
you may find Star Slinger’s “Take This Up” an adequate sum-
It may sound cheesy and a little bit too dated to be taken
mation of the song. That’s a good thing, I promise. Or imagine
seriously, but seriously. This song really is one person’s call
the attention span of a five year old who has ingested way too
to stay alive, and what the world means to one person. With
many Sour Patch Kids and vitamin water— a true story. Am
the simple music and almost pleading voice of the singer, I am
I getting off topic? Probably. But for this song, either scenario
reminded of how desperate our need for love is and what the
will work. High energy, Sour Patch Kids, kittens, erratic strobe
people I personally love mean to mean. To the world, you may
lights, disco pants, kittens, sorry, there I go again. Maybe it’s
be one person. But to one person, you may be the world. Your
possible to be older than five and still have the attention span
life is worth living, just for that alone.
of a five year old. Kittens, donuts, Star Slinger, sprinkles,
of the
W orld ”- T he E versons
shiny things, strobe lights, puppies.
“I T ry H ard ” - Y ael N aim
-M.M.
Although this song poses a rather controversial thought of what we know to be God, I think that this beautiful song helps me feel relatively normal. Like, “Wow, somebody else actually has this questions and wonders about what it means to belong!” Apart from Yael Naim’s magical voice, it is the voice of truths spoken that resonates with me: “All I can can see is our longing to belong in. We’re all alone, afraid of the other side.” Work real hard, on your fears instead of fighting together, work together.
January 12, 2013
B E I N G A LO N E WATC H • The Human Experience (documentary) • Touch (drama) • The Impossible • Made in Dagenham • Dogville • First Position
- If you are alone, whether it be by choice, by force, or estranged, cry it out. - If the tears want to come but probably won’t, put all of your energy into a very simple task. Example: organizing some thing in an isolated area (your room, a closet, a drawer)
• Iron Jawed Angels
- Make real food
• City of God
- Make a dessert - Write a letter to a friend you haven’t seen for a while
L I ST E N • Rain - AFTA 1 • The Sun - Aidan Knight
- Go for a walk - Read something new - Do a craft, like painting! - Follow a news story
• Secret Heart - Feist
- Take a bath
• 10000 - Phantogram
- Learn a new skill
• Dust On the Ground - Bombay Bicycle Club
- Make a playlist
• Hands Reversed - Tokyo Police Club • Can You Tell - Ra Ra Riot • Hammock - MillionYoung THE INQUIRER
Page 11
F I R ST PE R S O N
I.
I I.
This is the Whatsapp message that I received from my brother on Wednesday morning at 2:22AM. To fill you in, this is not the first of messages like this that I have gotten since coming back from Christmas break. When my peers ask, “how was break,” I reply, “it was fine.” The truth is, it was far from the idea of pleasant. Ever since my dad retired, he has not been home much, since he invests in his agricultural project. My mother has ever since acted as a maniac, waking dad up at 4AM to ask him about his extra marital affairs which leads to the spewing of awful words between the two. I do not know if any of you had to experience that during your break, from the moment you were picked up from the airport to the moment you got back to school, and beyond. It is nothing short of stressful (my hair is starting to fall out) and I have no funds to purchase textbooks because my parents are too busy chasing each other in trucks. I get abrupt replies saying, “We’ll discuss funds later.” This week, there was an apparent truck chase. I have become ghostlike as I have no idea what to do with myself. They do not consider that their actions affect me, which in turn affects my peers, my lecturers, and my work. Whatever you do in life and whatever you say, even if you think that it is in confidence, do know that someone else’s life is affected by it. Someone that you have no idea exists, feels it. Think on this. Be kind.
January 12, 2013
I don’t like asking for things. When I was younger, I would think about what I needed, or wanted, but could never get the guts to ask for it. I remembered that once, my Dad told me to “open your mouth and ask for what you want.” And I know that I will always regret my ability to do so because of Mrs. Lightfeather. That was her real name. I used to go to work with my Dad a lot when I was really young. I really liked going to work with my Dad. My Dad had a job in a nursing community. He installed alarm systems and there was a little village of old people who all needed alarm systems installed. It was a big job and my Dad would take me with him to meet the elderly folks. At this one home lived Mrs. Lightfeather. When I heard her name for the first time, I could hardly believe it. It was so perfect for her! She was small, adorable, and so sweet with downy gray hair, like perfectly coifed light feathers. She gave me cookies the first time we met and I instantly loved her. We chatted for so long while my Dad worked and I remember not wanting to leave. Obviously, I did, but made my Dad promise to let me visit her next time he went. I really wanted to invite her to church the next time I saw her because I was too scared to ask her the first time. Weeks went by and I didn’t get to go see Mrs. Lightfeather. Finally, I asked my Dad about her and how I wanted to invite her to spend a Sabbath with me. My Dad told me that Mrs. Lightfeather had died. I was too late because I didn’t ask.
UNSENT LETTER These are words I hope make sense: For almost a year, I have not meant to ignore you, dismiss our old friendship, or harbour anger. In fact, most of the time, I’ve been trying to figure out a clear way in which I, my feelings, can be understood by you. All through our childhood, you were my special friend. The constant. Almost to the point of ambiguity. We never talked about details. They were almost unnecessary because we knew each other. We knew what we were to each other. I must tell you now, though, with words, that you were my fresh air, growing up. You were this magic, this free space of weightless wonder. I felt I could just be a kid with you. And that was so crucial for me, to live outside my head and be a kid. You and your family felt like home, and I will never forget the kindness and love I received. I remember your pets: Chelsea (RIP), who terrified the crap out of me and Muffy, who I never understood. I remember your house in Newcastle and you Mom’s marshmallow cookies. I remember wearing a ridiculous scarf to a hockey game and when you took Heather to the Avril Lavigne concert (why!?). I remember Andrea being psychotic and giving you a note saying I couldn’t play with you and I remember your American Girl dolls. I remember your cottage and your Northern Getaway Spice Girls sweater. I remember how you loved/hated your sister and the beautiful journal you gave me for our high school grad (which will always be my favourite and I only write masterpieces in it). I also remember our first years apart, Skyping about our “firsts” and then reuniting at Christmas and summers feeling so good and natural with you. I need to tell you, though , that in between all of our memories together, I hurt a lot. Not to say you never did either. I would never assume that you did not hurt or even that I, at times, did not do the hurting. For any hurt that I made you feel at any time, I am sorry. Very sorry. As for myself, the hurt that I felt came from seeing how people who said that they loved you could leave, and be gone so easily. Effortlessly. Mercilessly. And assume that the “other” persona would forgive and forget. But the hurt just kept going on, and on, and on. So I lived and was always surrounded by people hurting each other and learned quickly that memory tricks people, can trick people, THE INQUIRER
into letting hurt happen over, and over, and over again. However, my reality was dealing with pain and hurt by shoving it deep inside myself which only made me hurt more. It may have looked like fun and free-spiritedness to everyone else, but I was just hurting. And you may know this. You may have already seen me hurt myself before even I knew I was hurting myself. Finally, last year, it caught up to me. Everything that I was hiding, masking, started to unveil itself when I realized that if I kept hurting myself, I would kill myself. And if I died then, it would be my fault. So I got help and closed off a lot of space so I could focus on getting better. And I am getting better. So much better. With you, though, when you left, I felt the hurt again. And I know, or believe that I know, that you didn’t mean it. Mean to hurt me the way you did. Distance makes it easy to get away, to not deal with things. But it also makes it hard to mend things, truly mend things, again. Now, I am not trying to be melodramatic. I am trying to be honest and clear. My heart, at this moment in time, is very vulnerable and raw. Thankfully, I have found someone who can love it, me, the way I need to be loved and understood. Someone who will never leave or hurt me, even when I am my absolute worst. Because of this love, I am able to stop hurting myself. But, while I am reconstructing my heart, I cannot allow the chance of anyone possibly hurting me. Especially anyone with whom I share memories with. Because memories can trick people into getting hurt over, and over, and over again. I am not asking you to wait so that we can rebuilt our special friendship again. I am not asking you to even fully understand. But a part of me, that might still know a part of you, thinks and feels that you do. You do understand. Silently, in your heart. I hope that I see you in person, up close or from far away in a future where you are happy and successful and still so radiant and free. You really are wonderful-magically unique. I hope that you, too, are loved the way you need to be loved. And that you can love freely in return. If we see each other later rather than sooner, I will always keep my memories of us being us, so easily. I will never take our memories for granted. But here’s to the new memories we are making now. Page 13
LIKE A WRITING DESK To submit your creative pieces, email us at: sachronicles@gmail.com
by
T est S ubject W illiam T aylor J r .
My friend is a poet
every good artist paints what he is by
J ohn S weet
the poet found dead behind the wheel of a borrowed car in an empty parking lot the president with his belief in a murderous god with his empty phrases and his addiction to power and his children stumbling drunk down broken-glass alleys and my second son born just before noon beneath a frozen sky in the season of fear and my view of the lost and the crippled from the hospital window the vapor trails hung like wire above the burning buildings the poem written quickly on the last page of a battered notebook words that mean nothing until they’re all that’s left
January 12, 2013
which is to say he is egocentric half insane and has no money. He finds me at the bar begs a drink and sits down at my table. He sips a bit from a glass of whiskey sets it down hard upon the wood and says, I have decided as soon as they finish that building that suicide fence on the golden gate bridge I will be the first to try it out. Either I’ll be dead or at least they’ll know the damn thing works. He laughs and quickly finishes his drink before the bartender has the chance to kick him out for disturbing the paying customers.
F rom : N otes to M yself P rather
My and
prayer is :
I
I
I
I
J ust
I
J ust
want is to do
spend my energy .
I
I
do .
be
J ust keep what I will be .
will be ”
am , and here is
be what
I
do what
will be what
I
A ll I
do and not try to do what
pace with myself .
what
I can not “make my mark” for all time -those concepts are mutually exclusive. “Lasting effect” is a self-contradictory term. Meaning does not exist in the future and neither do I. Nothing will have meaning “ultimately.” Nothing will even mean tomorrow what is did today. Meaning changes with the context. My meaningfulness is here. It is enough that I am of value to someone today. It is enough that I make a difference now.
will be
want to do , need to do , is stay in
don ’ t do .
“I
H ugh
will do .
rhythm with myself . what
I
will be what
will do what
A ll I
by
I
-- but I am where I will
now
need all my energy to
am today .
T oday I
will work
in rhythm with myself and not with what
I “ should
be .”
with myself
I
A nd
to work in rhythm
must keep tuned in to myself .
G od revealed his name to M oses , was : I AM WHAT I AM. I
and it
am convinced that this anxiety running
through my life is the tension between what
I “ should
be ” and what
I
am .
My
anxiety does not come from thinking about the future but from wanting to control it .
seems to begin whenever
smuggle
It an “I
want to become ” into my
mind .
is the tension between my desire
It
to control what that
I
can ’ t
“I
I
I
from a cuc student
Aches and pain crippled me Blood trickled to my knees Help, please, somebody My body is too weak
will be and the recognition
I will be ” -that ? A nxiety is
will be what
where is the anxiety in
rung on the opinion - ladder which
I
have just set for myself .
most when
I
I
fear death
am about to exceed what others
expect of me ; then death threatens to cut me off from myself , because
“ myself ”
Condoms are not effective What a way to learn I contemplate abortion And my stomach starts to churn
is not yet .
Rest in peace my baby Mommy thinks of you with pride Nothing can compare, my sweet My sweet, unborn child
THE INQUIRER
Page 15
WordSearch
ALBERTA
NEWSPAPER
CANADIAN
SABBATH
EXPERIENCE
SEMESTER
FREEDOM
STRESS
INSPIRATION
TUESDAY
INTELLECT
WELCOME
INTERNATIONAL
January 12, 2013