Final Post Ever!

I've been trying to come up with a meaningful metaphor to describe my progress in this class. But it's Finals week, and I'm just not capable of doing anything that profound.

To give an honest overview, I think that Dante and Wordsworth were the authors that I struggled with the most. Dante was hard because I so stuck on Augustine still, and Wordsworth was hard because I am reading his stuff for another class - it was just too much Wordsworth for me.

In terms of blog conetent, I don't know. It's hard to evaluate my own postings, but I would say that there were definitely high and low points. I got caught up on certain issues/questions/comments that sometimes made it hard for me to read these authors from a "bigger picture" perspective. At other times I really felt like I was close to understanding something amazing. Sadly, as the term wore on, I found it harder and harder to connect with the reading material on a deeper level. Stress, final papers, and information overload were the realities of my winter term.

This class has been challenging. In a lot of classes, you can just rely on the teacher to spell everything out for you, but this class was different. Not that Professor Anderson didn't help clarify things, but I think that this class stressed a personal response to the readings. Our personal thoughts, responses, presupposed ideas, were all important factors. Blogging helped me to articulate my personal responses, but it was a challenge to come up with things to write sometimes. I always have something to say, that's not the point, but the point is that it was hard to dig deep and find something valuable to write. I had to force myself to keep thinking about these texts, instead of reading them and forgetting them, as I sometimes do in my other classes.

I enjoyed reading such a wide variety of genres this term - it really helped me to understand what spiritual autobiography is all about. It's not about how you say what you say, but it's about writing something personal - something personal that connects with something more than yourself. I also enjoyed realizing that being personal doesn't necessarily mean sharing intimate and in-depth information about your life. Being personal just involves sharing your ideas with others; it means mulling over the big questions and writing about that; it means putting in to words your doubts, your fears, your misgivings, and then saying that you believe anyway.

If there's one theme that seemed to tie all these authors together, then I think that theme is faith. In their own unique ways, each author expressed doubts or struggles that they have had spiritually. I think of Augustine and his rejection of Manicheaism, Dante's journey through Hell, Montaigne's acknowledgment that we can never fully know anything about God, and Wordsworth's faith in nature. Some of these authors were delightfully vague in their descriptions of their faith. Wordsworth, for example, barely even mentions God, or the Bible, but his faith in nature, and in a higher being are clear - and this faith clearly sustains and fulfills him.

At the end of this course, I am left wondering what class would have looked like if we had covered completely different authors. We briefly discussed the idea that you don't have to be writing about something "Christian" or "spiritual" in order to be writing spiritual autobiography. We also discussed the question of fictional works, and whether or not they, too, can be spiritually autobiographical. This was such an interesting class, and I wonder what similarities could be found (and what differences) if we addressed the same questions, but with different authors.

And now the time has come to end this post, and this blog. I don't know how to end this appropriately, or inspirationally, so I will just say this: It has been a fun ride. I don't know if I'm smarter, wiser, or changed, but I do know that I learned to read a little differently this term. And I always enjoyed coming to class and listening to the different opinions, thoughts, reactions, that people had to the same material.

That's it from me.

Ah, Youth...

I'm having trouble with Wordsworth. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get past the fact that I used to loved reading poetry when I was in highschool - now it's just a tedious journey in which I try to pretend I'm inspired, but in reality I'm just lying to myself.

I'm exaggerating a little. Honestly, though, it's Dead Week, I'm exhausted and relying exclusively on caffeine and procrastination to get me through to the end of the term. At the beginning of the term my mind was always working when I did the reading for class. I could always think of something to blog about - I'm opinionated enough to always have something to say. But now I feel uninspired.

During class I get brief glimpses of why Wordsworth is a great poet, and I'll have brief but fleeting moments of enlightenment, but as soon as class is over reality kicks in and I forget it all. When I was younger, it took so little for me to be inspired or moved. I cried at movies, I read poetry, I went for long walks, I stayed up all night to watch the sunset. (That sounds cheesy, but what I mean is that life was so much more of an adventure when I was younger).

I still enjoy life, a good sunset, a good book/poem - but the moments seem fewer and further between. So much more effort is required in order to enjoy life and appreciate it. Maybe this is part of what Wordsworth is getting at in his poem - that as we grow older we seem to lose the mystery through analysis, but really the mystery comes out of the analysis...

Of course, I am more prone to cynicism at this time of the term than I am during any other part of the year. In part I think I just idealize my youth, and choose to only remember those "inspiring" times. Actually, when I think about it, I've had lots of great idyllic moments since highschool, but sometimes I don't remember them...

I'm tired and rambling. I'm wrestling with not feeling inspired or connected by and to the material in class, but I think that's mostly just end-of-term realities kicking in.

If anything, I appreciate Wordsworth's ability to make me want to take life by the horns and enjoy life. And if I blow off a homework assignment or two, then so be it. That's probably not the conclusion I'm supposed to make, but there it is.

Analysis

'Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; still we grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind..."

I appreciated class today. The loose ends that were tied together made a lot of sense to me. The whole idea of the importance of analysis help clear things up a lot for me. One of my resistances in this class was that I felt the mind was being downplayed completely.

But it really is so hard to walk the fine line between going too far on the "reason" side of things and then too far on the "emotion" side of things. I really do believe that analysis helps us to evaluate our beliefs, and that plays a big role in what we choose to believe. But ultimately (and this is what we've been saying all along, I think, starting with Augustine), analysis can only get us so far. When it comes to religion there comes a point when we just have to say: "this makes sense to me, but I recognize that this is a faith leap."

In my own experience, as I've mentioned in other blogs, I went through a time of questioning and doubt. But, like Wordsworth asserts, that period of doubt really helped to solifify my faith in God. There was reason and analysis, but there was also a sense of not being able to abandon this faith tradition because it means something to me. Like Augustine, I came to Christianity not as an answer to all my questions, but as a way to ask more questions while still being assured. Does that make any sense at all?

"Bleak House" at the Beach

I am completely exhausted and am restlessly anticipating the end of the term. My free write today probably won't make any sense at all, especially since I gave up on writing in full sentences. But it was fun to reminisce about a great day. (Coincidentally, I think one thing that ties the "childlike" moments together is the seeming lack of reality. I mean, these moments seem to happen when we are taken outside of our every day environment and we choose to ignore all the things that we need to accomplish).

Anyway, here is my incoherent free write. I guess I could pretend that I was trying to do something innovative and "modern," but that's not the case. This will probably end up sounding like one of the many Radiohead songs that don't make sense to anyone but the band.

My idyllic moment:

Last year - beach trip with Anna and Steve. Gummi worms and Snickers Miniatures. A sand couch and the inappropriateness of reading "Bleak House" on a sunny day. A nap - and then the waves all of a sudden. "My book! My book!" A little boy laughing at us. Shaking off the water and the sand. A weird foot tan. Antique shopping and dozing off to Damien Rice on the way home.
Then later: unsuccessful salsa dancing in the MU. Loud music, hot faces, and lack of coordination. Then the cool night air and a walk to Sharis with Anna, John, and David. Laughing, making fun, and then eating too much. A discussion of Stalinism. Then walking back to Joel's apartment, up Buchanan, past the highschool. Shivering on the way home. Then sleep.