This week in class we were assigned a short reading - an article (dated January 1933) by Helen Keller that appeared in The Atlantic Monthly entitled, Three Days to See. It was a very moving article and it actually had me in tears at one point. I don't know how a person who was blind and deaf since before she was two years old could have attained such heights and such marvelous insights about life. Reading this short article has really peaked my interest and I now want to read her autobiography, The Story of My Life. I have seen the movie, The Miracle Worker, which is based on her book but I don't remember ever having read her autobiography. I was surprised to hear that Helen Keller lived in Forest Hills, a stone's throw from where I grew up. Anyway, before retiring for the night, I would like to share a couple of sentences from the reading:
"If I were the president of a university I should establish a compulsory course in "How to Use your Eyes". The professor would try to show his pupils how they could add joy to their lives by really seeing what passes unnoticed before them. He would awake their dormant and sluggish facilities."
"..... set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had only three more days to see. If with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?"
So we marched and the day was great. What a thrill it was. The best moment for me was when one of the spectators shouted out to us, "bring back St. Vincent's!" I thought "from his lips to God's ears. Wouldn't it be wonderful! " Mary Beth
Temporarily my mind returns to the present and once again I am back in the produce isle at The Fresh Market.I have already decided that there will be nothing ordinary for me this particular day, so I purposely look for and eventually pick out another foreign–looking vegetable.As I examine my second choice from all angles, I can’t help but pick up a feminine vibe.I move this item, labeled a tomatillo, gently around in my hand and notice it is light green, “cute” and round with a protective parchment-like outer covering.Isn’t she sweet?, I think to myself as I wander back into my fantasy world.
I’m young and very naïve.At the time I’m in my senior year at an all-girls Academy run by a bunch of exceedingly up-tight, semi-cloistered nuns.Everything is rigid and well-defined; we don’t dare deviate from the prescribed rules or cross any of the lines that have been drawn in the sand.It has been thoroughly ingrained that even the slightest slip off this very narrow path could lead us on the road to eternal damnation.
My virginal body and unsoiled mind is being preserved by a covering of sorts.The tree-like branches of my overpowering pre-Vatican II Church, my overwhelming all-girls Catholic Academy High School and my over-protective, sheltering family have grown up all around me.This thick vine crawls up in all directions encasing and guarding me, keeping me shiny, new and unblemished.
In a way it feels good to be preserved in parchment like this.I’m the good girl, high on a pedestal, something to be admired, a beacon for all.But my admirers in the outside world don’t yet know what lies inside.In fact, I, don’t really know what lies inside.You see, I’ve been so well hidden that even I can’t find the real me. Who is this person so carefully enshrined in all this parchment?
I start to feel like I’m constricted and suffocating.I have an overwhelming urge to venture out; I need to discover what lies within.I need some danger, I need to live.
Although I don’t have an organized plan; I have an overwhelming feeling - a feeling so strong and an energy so powerful that it simply begins to move on its own.Possibly it was the Dangersign that attracted me; possibly it was the sensuousness of the hot, steamy, summer afternoon; possibly it was the excitement of being offered a forbidden fruit.Maybe I was ready, ripe for the picking, tired of balancing myself up on that pedestal for so long.
Well I heard there was a secret chord That David played and it pleased the Lord But you don't really care for music, do you?
(My comments: It has been said that this is a reverence to King David of biblical fame)
Well it goes like this the fourth, the fifth The minor fall and the major lift The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Refrain: (basically the vocalist sings the word "Hallelujah" over and over in a rather sad and mournful way)
Well your faith was strong but you needed proof You saw her bathing on the roof Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to her kitchen chair She broke your throne and she cut your hair And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah
My comments: It has been suggested that is about Sampson & Delilah (the guy who lost his strength when his hair was cut off.)
Refrain
Baby, I've been here before I've seen this room and I've walked this floor You know, I used to live alone before I knew you
And I've seen your flag on the marble arch And Love is not a victory march It's a cold and broken Hallelujah
Refrain
Well, there was a time when you let me know What's really going on below But now you never show that to me, do you?
But remember when I moved in you And the holy dove was moving too And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
My comments: Some thought this might have been a reverence to sexual intercourse, others theorize that it may mean the Christ child in Mary's womb as a result of the Holy Spirit, etc.
Maybe there's a God above But all I've learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you
And it's not a cry that you hear at night And it's not somebody who's seen the light It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
Refrain
So what do you think it all means? I found it very intriguing and will be writing on this piece as an assignment for school.
Reflections on the Song entitled, Hallelujah, lyrics written by Leonard Cohen and sung by Jeff Buckley
First, I really enjoyed this song.I found it very moving and very touching. It stirred up a lot of emotions and memories in me.
These are some of the thoughts I had after reading the lyrics and listening to Jeff Buckley’s rendition.If you are interested in hearing it, you should be able to pull it up on the web (possibly on U-Tube).
Can we really understand life and love?In a certain way, throughout our life we have our own “music” and our own “lyrics”.We have a certain chord, a certain theme that we play throughout our life.Even if we don’t really, truly completely understand it and even if we sing off key or perform our piece less than perfectly or even rather poorly, still God finds our music/our song pleasing.
Our faith may seem strong at certain points in our lives but we are easily swayed by worldly temptations and are often brought down low by external circumstances and events.Love is not the unruffled happily ever after of fairy tale fame.We repeat the same mistakes over and over again in spite of ourselves.We will never really be able to claim victory during this earthly lifetime.
The Almighty laments that His creatures have turned their backs and refuse to relate to Him.His dream for us has always been to have his Spirit moving in us so we would be able to experience continuous absolute joy.
Because we are human and our lessons regarding Love are still being learned, we are currently only capable of singing cold and broken Hallelujahs.
PS. To those who have commented to me personally, please feel free to add your comments to the blog for others to enjoy.
Well as fate would have it - God willing and the creek don't rise - once again I'll be marching up 5th Avenue in the sun this Thursday, March 17th. I feel it is such an honor to be a graduate of St. Vincent's Hospital School of Nursing (NY, NY) that when the opportunity is presented to me, I just can't say no. This has been a rather sad year for the graduates of St. Vincent's. As I'm sure a lot of you are aware, our major medical center (St. Vincent's Hospital and Medical Center, West 12th Street and 6th Ave., Greenwich Village, NY- went belly up due to fiscal mismanagement. It was a tragic event. We were the last Catholic Hospital in Manhattan. Maybe this is all the more reason we should be marching, i.e, to lend our support and show the world we ain't dead yet!.
The photos above were taken at "Big Hickory", the private beach attached to The Hyatt Coconut Plantation in Bonita Springs. It was such a soothing, serene place. I think I could spend days there just lying there on the sand or walking in the surf or searching for the perfect seashell. It was wonderful to let the rest of the world slip away. I really packed up all my cares and woes and let them go for a full three weeks. I am a lucky girl, very blessed to have had this opportunity. Thank You God.
Curiosity led me into The Fresh Market, home of elite, unblemished fruits and vegetables, prime meats of every description and aromatic, freshly baked breads, cakes and pastries.Being a frugal homemaker and a practical, basic-ingredients type of cook, this was not my usual food shopping venue.I viewed this experience as an adventure, a journey down a rabbit’s hole.
As I meandered dreamily through a section of neatly displayed fruits and vegetables, I purposely looked for the unfamiliar, something that would peak my curiosity.I picked up an item that looked foreign, more like a piece of garbage, but noticed that there were a bunch of these strange, dirty looking objects and that they cost $4.99 each. Approaching an eager-looking young man in an apron bearing the store’s name, I asked, what is this strange looking thing?Having been given a reprieve from his mundane task of unloading fruit crates and piling apples, his eyes lit up and he responded enthusiastically. A Professor of Vegetable Land, he appeared delighted to have the opportunity to share his vast expanse of vegetable knowledge with me.It’s called a celery root; yes, it certainly looks ugly; no, it’s not the bottom part of the celery stalks, but it is loaded with vitamins and adds exciting flavor to certain kinds of recipes. The idea of having something that was “loaded with vitamins”, cinched my decision.The celery root and I were a couple.
As I walked past some other familiar and not so familiar crops, my mind began to wander.Strangely the unusual, ugly vegetable I held in my hand led my mind and my thoughts to another time, another place.Could it really have happened in this same lifetime?
I see him again as I did that first time in the summer of 1967.He is working outside in the hot humid sun, a sun that is burning down on us like some sort of angry, fire-eating dragon. He is behind a chain-linked fence, which contains a sign that announces boldly, No Not Enter - Danger - Hard Hat Area.I should have paid attention to these words; I should have known to stay away!The buttons on his drab green, coarse work shirt are opened almost clear to his waist, exposing his hairy chest which by this time of the day is wet with a mixture of dirt and sweat.He sees me and walks over to the fence and we’re close enough now that I can pick up his musty, earthy smell-- a smell that is actually more intriguing than offensive.As we stand face-to-face at the chain links, I notice more about him.His abdomen is hard and bumpy -- the tightly packed muscle groups explicitly defined by a season of strenuous physical activity.His shoulders and upper arms are lumpy too, and one could easily observe that every fiber, every tissue is powerful and strong.His veins become more pronounced as he strains against the weight of the concrete blocks he starts to move out of his path in order to reach my side. His eyes sparkle intensely as he opens the gate and enters my side of the world.All this time I’m thinking, I don’t know this guy, he is totally foreign to me, not my type at all, he’s even a bit grotesque. Nonetheless, I’m somehow curious and intensely attracted.Although he is filthy and soiled from his long hours of heavy labor in the steaming, sweltering heat I find him a bit obscene yet strangely exciting and I’m drawn to him like a curious spectator at the scene of a car wreck.It might not be what you expect to see or what you think you want to see, yet somehow you can’t seem to turn away.
