Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
Sometimes, when we wonder about something very, very hard, God hears the cogs of our brains squealing and takes pity on us. And he sends down from the heavens a lubricating elixir that smoothes our brows and calms our hearts. But all too often, our brains are so far out of tune that it takes quite some time for us to come to the realization that this is, in fact, what has occurred, and that we need no longer worry about our wondering because we have the answer now. This has happened to me; and these celestial realizations are what I have been recording here.
The question about which I was wondering was of the morality of these letters which I write to you, Mr. Caterpillar. I had wondered for a while whether it was right of me to speak so frankly about the life of my soul; and here, too, where someone might hear me. And I realized that it was not right at all, that some of these letters are much too preachy. I realized that the realizations of my soul are not for anyone but me, and that everyone must come to their own realizations. So from now on, I will continue to speak to you of my realizations, but in private. Here, I will speak to you of other matters- of the musings of my mind, and the joys of my eyes, and the journeys of my imagination. And because I am done realizing what I have realized that I knew before I realized it when I actually had already, I bid you adieu for today.
Pink Thought, Blue Thought; Old Thought, New Thought
July 10, 2010
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
After my post on Star Trek, I thought about something that had intrigued me ever since I first saw the show, and that was the aesthetics of the set. I never found them pleasing, and I thought that was perhaps the one flaw in the production of the whole show; and I realized that the design of the set was based on the design of most modern and technological items at the time of the program’s production (i.e. the square shapes, the fluorescent light, the warm, plain color scheme, etc.). This thought, of course, led me to my theory of the oppositeness of science fiction and fairytales.
Fairytales appeal to all that is feminine and nostalgic in us. Fairytales evoke memories of lying in a large bed, feeling particularly small; and basking in the familiar tones of a grandparent’s voice unraveling the fabricated details of a life told in the third person; a life organized around the rules of beauty. Fairytales take us back, on many different levels. They take us back to our personal past; to the rose colored glasses we wore as children, to the games we played with our dolls in our bedrooms, the sun filtering through the windows and dancing about on our walls, to the games we played in our minds as we dropped asleep, to the dreams we had of adventure and romance. They take us back to what I like to call our personal Pink Ages, because of the color scheme of this particular group of memories. They take us back, also, to our past as humans– to the time of Ivanhoe and King Arthur. They quench our thirst for simpler times, prettier times, pinker times. But fairytales, by definition, are dressed up. They have been sprinkled with magic and draped with gossamer and painted with sunsets. Fairytales are stories from times that had their woes and their unpleasantness, times that were times of sorrow, suffering, sickness, and pain much more than they were times of rejoicing, adventure, romance, and white horses; but they have been painted over like, well, prostitutes- aching, empty souls caked over with synthetic luster. Fairytales tell of what we wish these times were like. Fairytales give us two spoonfuls of sugar to help the history go down. Fairytales, then, are reminders of our past failures and failings as humans. If you think about them, they actually make looking back even more painful by acknowledging that we are so ashamed of what happened in those times that we need to cover it up with magic and gossamer and white horses. However, we must admit that there is an irresistible beauty to fairytales, and old things in general; and I believe that comes from all that is good about nostalgia. Fairytales help us grow up as humans in just the way I said I hoped to grow up as an individual: they are everything from our past that is worthwhile and beautiful, packed up and ready to take us into a future that, hopefully; we won’t need to paint pink.
On the other hand, science fiction makes us think of pale, pimply, bespectacled teenagers huddled under the covers with a book and a flashlight, of photographs of earth from space, and of large, slimy creatures flooring the Empire State Building with a single blow. Science fiction does not have the general appeal of obvious beauty; and that is something that I think we can change. Science fiction was born of the sentiment that makes us want to whisper about the things we’ll do when we grow up, to dream of things to come, to want to run away and start a new life, unfettered by the chains of family concerns and troubles, to hope for better times. It is a manifestation of our daring to explore our potential, both negative and positive. It embodies a new mode of thinking, a world where science can have the allure of romance. Science fiction is also, though, born of the sentiment that makes us wish there was a Neverland, to fear what might be, and to come running sheepishly home in time for dinner. This is the side of science fiction that hides its beauty, though there is a certain honesty to this side. It is true that the future will probably not be perfect, but why not dream? Why not abandon our fear of what we might become, and go back to our hopeful innocence; so that, even if we do not attain the perfection of our ideals, we work toward them in all their glory? We must know exactly what our ideals are if we can even hope to attain them. I believe that by coupling the old, nostalgic beauty of fairytales with the introspective, hopeful courage of science fiction, a new type of story, one that would truly “reveal truths that reality obscures”, could be born. I guess, to come back to the point, that it is our fear that today’s science fiction will become tomorrow’s fairytales that makes us shy away from dreaming with our hearts and souls; and that causes us to make the set of Star Trek – the most beautiful representation of future hopes for mankind – ugly.
Confessions of a Trekaholic*
June 30, 2010
(NERD ALERT!!)
{*As much as I love Lewis Carroll, it does take a considerable amount of time and effort to find quotations that suit every post perfectly (and effort is one thing I do use sparingly); and so from now on, my posts will be self-titled. }
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
As I believe you may know by now, I am a trekkie. Indeed, if I may take the liberty of quoting one of my former classmates, I have been described as “…the only female I’ve ever met who loves Star Trek that much!” I haven’t told you that much about my Star Trek obsession, though; and so, if you do not wish to learn how far beyond mere enjoyment in viewing the television show this obsession extends, I advise you to stop reading now. If however, you share my love, we should set a date to skip through the halls of the Enterprise (That’s right, you sexist TOS fans, I like TNG– and if you don’t know what those stand for, you have no place here) as we live long and prosper.
Anyway, I was watching Star Trek recently, and I saw two episodes that really set me thinking:
1. The Battle
I love Wesley’s character in Star Trek (TNG). I really admire the dignity and humility with which he goes through the turmoils of adolescence; his Myshkin-esque innocence (if you don’t know who Myshkin is, you really need to read some Dostoevsky) and also his relatively laid-back, mildly nerdy, comfortable yet responsible approach to life. Wesley is a perfect role-model for any teenager, and I love him — I mean, if he were a real person, I would totally date him (despite his slightly effeminate appearance). I actually recently happened upon Wil Wheaton’s blog in one of my ventures through cyberspace, and I like Wil Wheaton just as much as Wesley (not to say that they are at all the same, which I’m sure Wil wouldn’t appreciate). If you wish to view the awesomeness that is his blog, here’s the link: www.wilwheaton.net . But I digress. This episode receives awesomeness points for coupling mind control devices (I have a fascination with neurology, and the idea of mind control– but that’s more of a horrified fascination) with this scene, which I REALLY appreciated: Picard’s mind is being controlled by the farengi Captain Bock, but nobody on the Enterprise knows what’s going on. Doctor Crusher and Deanna are in sick bay, discussing Picard’s odd behaviors and going over brain scans Dr. Crusher took earlier when Picard began complaining of a headache. Wesley walks in, much agitated. Of course, being the adults that they are, Deanna and Dr. Crusher dismiss him initially; for they are discussing serious, “grownup matters”. After many interruptions, however, Wesley succeeds in notifying the adults of some low-intensity transmissions from the farengi ship to the Enterprise which he noticed matched the irregularities in Picard’s brain scans. After drawing the obvious conclusion, the ladies unceremoniously ditch him without a word of thanks. Alone, Wesley goes, “You’re welcome, ladies,” rolls his eyes, shakes his head and mutters “adults,”. Anyway, being the advocate for child rights that I am, I very much enjoyed that. Another thing about this episode I appreciated was the closing line. So, the motive for the deployment of the aforementioned mind-control devices is that Bock wants revenge for one of Picard’s (justified) actions in the past, and he wants to trick Picard into forcing his ship’s crew to eliminate him. In the end, Bock is demoted by his 1st officer, who realizes that “there is no profit in retaliation.” What that made me realize t is that despite the fact (which I have often emphasized) that in this world, good does not always prevail; no matter how nasty, evil, or buttheaded people can be, there will always be people who are ever so slightly less nasty, evil and buttheaded to bail you out; and contrariwise, no matter how nasty, evil, and buttheaded people are, they can always save you from someone even nastier, meaner, and more buttheaded. So, I guess, “keep your friends close and your enemies closer”.
2. Hide and Q
This one gets like, a gazillion awesomeness points: Tasha AND Q in the same episode! That’s awesome! (I’m sorry, I get sentimental about Yarr because I know she dies–and she’s so cool!!–I watched the second season before the first just because I enjoy defying logic.) I love Q’s character because I think in essence, he is a perfect representation of God — although I know I probably interpret him much differently than the creators of Star Trek did, which I can tell by their choice in actors to portray him; which is one thing I do not appreciate. If you have seen Star Trek, you may think it’s a bit heathenish of me to say that, but just imagine Q portrayed by a less aggravating, energetic, mocking actor– perhaps, (as cliche as it sounds) a thinnish old man, Merlin-ish in appearance and manner. Eh? Eh? Q is ultimately much wiser than he seems, perhaps even wiser than he was meant to be. Each time he appears, Q tests the crew of the Enterprise, and although he appears to be shamed in the end, perhaps he is accepting the slight indignity out of love for them, because the experiences inevitably prove valuable lessons to them (all this despite the efforts of the Star Trek creators’ sly efforts to merge to the God character with the role of villain). Anyhow, it was a great episode which also brought to mind the subject I have so often discussed with you, Mr. Caterpillar; and that is the mysteries of human nature. And the wonderful thing about it was that it reminded me of why Adam was worthy of the angels’ praise: human beings thirst for knowledge, they long to improve their state as a whole. This is one of the answers I have searched for all this time, laid out neatly and sweetly in an episode of Star Trek. Star Trek is a representation of what human beings are capable of achieving when they manifest this great quality; and I used to think that it was impossible, that there was too much evil in our nature, but now I believe we can get there and even farther. See mom, see what watching Star Trek has done for me?! It has transformed my pessimistic outlook on life and restored my faith in humanity! Still think I should get out more, eh? What now?
If after reading this, you’re disappointed in my geekiness, well, you had fair warning; and besides, what did you expect? I’m the girl who spends her summers reading the Classics, fencing, and sitting in front of her computer typing out -what she hopes are gently philosophical, if a little preachy- letters to a fictional caterpillar.
*Everyone must eventually solve the great puzzle of who exactly they think they are, and I feel this is the time for me to set out on a quest to do just that. I’ve never been able to keep a diary, so I dare say blogging will work out a bit better. You see, I need to keep notes that will guide me on my way; a ship’s log, as it were (HUGE Star Trek fan). Anyway, in this blog, I will record various musings of perhaps little or no significance, in which I will explore deep and philosophical questions involving the meaning of life and whatnot, and whether or not I look good in warm colors, by turns. It is in this fashion that I intend to preserve what pathetic little excuse for a semblance of sanity I have left, but you know, “There is a pleasure in being mad which only madmen know.” (author unknown) Oh, and also, I will quote Lewis Caroll as the title of each post.
*Note to readers: this was originally my about page but I decided it would be more appropriate to have it up as my first post. As it is obviously not my first post, just humor me. This blog makes more sense if you read it in chronological order: so read this and then read up from the earliest post.
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
Today I have taken a step further toward returning to humanity. I have joined Bloggers Against Hunger (as much as it pains me to recognize myself as a blogger rather than a writer). I hope all who read my blog will donate what they can and that those who have blogs will join this worthy cause. Unfortunately, I am experiencing some technical difficulties and am unable to post the campaign widget, but if you google WFP Bloggers Against Hunger you will be able to join and maybe even tell me how to work that thing. I don’t have much time or inspiration right now, but I just wanted to take this opportunity to join. I may get back on later and write something brilliant to replace this…
“I’m very brave generally, he went on in a low voice: only today I happen to have a headache.” (revisited)
June 16, 2010
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
In my last post, I had been sadly contemplating the tragedy of our species’s loss of innocence; but today I have been longing for courage. Although I suppose one might say that the valor of the innocent is the greatest because of its purity. Courage and innocence are two things we, as humans lack; and I only hope for the nobility to strive for them personally. Isn’t it funny how no one concept cannot stand alone without the stark contrast of a perfect opposite; something different to the extent of complimenting it, so that while they cannot exist together, they must, and do? Speaking of the beauty of opposites, I recently read Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which only rekindled my love for scandinavian literature (although I thought I probably should have read it at a later time in my life, due to the unfortunate abundance of sexual content, which I found quite off-putting and disturbing). While reading it I thought of the question more obvious and fundamental than that of lightness vs. weight; and that is darkness vs. light. At first glance, the answer seems rather obvious: light is positive, darkness negative. But let us look more deeply at the question. Light is the recognition and acknowledgment of everything visible. Light is purity, simplicity, naive truthfulness. When we lie in bed with the light on, our bed is our bed, our bookshelf is our bookshelf. Once we switch out the light, the reality of bed and bookshelf become relative. But darkness has an entirely different level of truthfulness. Darkness is the acceptance of and yielding to utter doubt. It is submitting to a warm sense of naive trust in the unknown, an innocent craving for adventure. Darkness is recognition of the invisible. Light and darkness are at the heart of all of the beautifully contrasting questions brought to light by that familiar image, the yin and yang. Light and darkness tie in life and death, joy and sorrow, lightness and weight, dreams and waking. While light is acknowledging, accepting, and understanding everything as it appears to be, darkness is acknowledging, accepting, and understanding everything as it truly is. For what is it to see, really? To see is to know what exists within the limited reality of the tangible, to look on an illusion. Some may say that to wish not to see is cowardice. They may believe it comes from a fear of what is to be seen. Contrarily, a true longing for darkness is the desire to see things in their bare essence- to see through the vibrant, gaudy, tangible shrouds that encase intangible, free souls. To long for darkness is to long to venture out into an imposing, inescapable reality, one which once recognized, cannot be hidden or forgotten. Courage is longing for darkness, but innocence is longing for light. Courage and innocence cannot exist to perfection without the contrast and companionship of each other, but they cannot logically exist together. Perhaps opposites are the most wonderlandish of all the concepts in the world.
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
I have spoken of breaking out of myself, conquering my human instincs, in order to gain perspective- freeing myself from this state of constant obsession with self intrest which is the default state of humanity… And now I have come to understand the erroneous nature of these thoughts. Recently, I have been reading Orwell’s 1984; and was intruged by Winston’s allusions to the salvaged humanity of the proles, and the Party members’ lack thereof. I also noticed that some of the signs of this lost humanity manifested in the Party members, and even Winston himself, are visible in society today. There is a scene in the book where Winston is walking down an alley in the village, and a rocket bomb is dropped. Winston comes to a building that has been blown to bits and sees a bloody, severed hand sticking out of the rubble; and he merely kicks it into the gutter. That sort of cool detachment from horrors is one of the most horrifying symptoms of lost humanity. Winston also desciribes going to “the flicks” and viewing war footage of childrens’ limbs being shot off, he speaks of children clamorring to see hangings— we are not so far from that. The average person has become so desensitized to horrors that they comfortably seek entertainment in the most disgstingly sacreligious films and television programs. I have even heard of “war porn”, a new internet sensation best described as real footage of war casualties. This society can longer be called human, for we have sunk so deep (and all in the name of progress) that we have ceased to posess the ability to comprehend the magnitude of the horrors that unfold before our eyes each day. We have so blurred the line between what is real and what is staged, what affects us and what does not, that it’s all a great, bloody mess no one can make head or tail of. Perhaps it is not human nature we must conquer in order to reach God, it is animal nature. We have become animals. We are not ourselves; and until we, as a race, can find ourselves once more; all will be lost. Unfortunately, all is lost, but for the few who strive to revert back to what is human; to become once more that magnificent being worthy of the angels’ worship. We must become human, even if all is lost. There is a chapter i the Qur’an that is strangely appropriate right now:
I do swear by Time,
Indeed, mankind is lost,
Except those who believe and do righteous deeds,
and strive for the Truth, and strive for patience.
Perhaps believing, like the glass paperweight in 1984, is something that belongs to a different age; something painfully obsolete now. Something that cannot coexist with the present era, that can only be achieved by reverting completely to the past. We must not be among those who are lost. For even when one is without a sliver of hope, all is not lost. All cannot be lost until direction is lost. If there is hope, it is in our children. Perhaps there is something perfect, unimprovable, an intrinsic component of human nature; in their fear and sensitivity. Over the course of literary history, innocence has been both an accusation and a complement; but I think innocence is essential to being truly worthy of humanity. As a child, I couldn’t stand to see cartoons with even the mildest sword fights; but now, after years of my innocence being looked upon as an obstacle to the enjoyment of others, I can look unflinchingly into the reproachful, imploring,photographed eyes of maimed, dead, Iranian protesters. Perhaps we should allow our children to remain as they are, and thereby become ourselves again in order to explain ourselves.
“I’m very brave generally, he went on in a low voice: only today I happen to have a headache.”
May 3, 2010
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
Today I have been having a good ponder. I have have pondered on a wide range of subjects, namely on Mice and Women. (speaking of mice, which of course brings me to the subject of plurals, why is the plural of goose geese, while the plural of moose isn’t meese? Either the plural of goose should be goose, or the plural of moose should be meese, or there should be a compromise and it should be gooses and mooses. Also speaking of geese, or goose, or gooses, these awful boys at my school crippled a goose that lives on our soccer field! That makes me very sad. This would be an example of parentheses abuse. It’s wrong, but it’s so much fun!) Anyhow, Mice and Women. I have been thinking of just exactly what it is that makes the valor of the small and weak rising up the big and strong (don’t cower from the parentheses this time, this is actually related to the subject– i.e. The stoic, powerful, quiet strength of Rebecca of Ivanhoe; the adorable, yet so very awe-inspiring chivalry of Reepicheep; Orual of C.S Lewis’s Till We Have Faces’s (how many grammar errors can you find in that phrase? I didn’t know what to do with s’s (?) )followed by the possesive apostrophes… I just realized that having parentheses within parentheses within parentheses within parentheses is also a grammatical error. My, would my English teacher be proud!) noble, hopless, desperate bravery; even the rise to power of the meek, mild Jesus) so admirably wonderful. Of course, aside from the obvious answer that bravery and nobility are more difficult qualities to attain in smaller, weaker persons simply because they lack the physical traits that make it easy to display those qualities. To put it more simply, just what aspect of human nature exactly is it that evokes in us the desire to root for the underdog? Why do we appreciate the victory of the tortoise over the hare, David over Golliath? Why do aspire to be like these, the small, strong ones; rather than the big, strong ones? Why are wit and wiles considered more valuable, nobler, that height, girth, or brute force? Why is it foolish to wish to be all brawn and no brain, while to be all brain and no brawn is not so degraded a position? For brains in themselves are a kind of brawn— and advantage granted arbitrarily to some and denied to others, giving one random selection of people power over another. Perhaps what we must realize is that no man is worth more than another— no matter what his physical or mental qualities. Of course, never do I negate my admiration for those small heroes and heroines mentioned above. They are noble people, people we ought all aspire to equal. However, their nobility is not in their success over their enemies, their victories. Nor is it manifested in their superior abilities. Rather, their nobility is reflected in their courage to attempt the impossible— to strive and be willing to give their lives for a lost cause (even if these causes turn out to be possible in their small, intricately woven, adjective-worlds because these worlds cannot exist without happy endings) because it is right. To strive to conquer the animal-like “human” nature that so feircely defines us, that is valliant, gallant, chivalrous, noble. For our nature is a cage so artfully constructed that it, in itself, nullifies all possibility of escape. If only we could hope to be more than animals! Let all those who would dedicate themselves to nobility pray with me tonight, for guidance in our quest for the nonexistant key to our lockless, impregnable cages.
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
So very often, I become inexplicably exhausted with everything, because I realize how very irrevocably, hopelessly lost I am; how very irrevocably, hopelessly lost we all are. This is partially caused by some mysterious force which I myself do not completely understand, or perhaps I do understand it; but anyhow I can’t quite seem to put it into words. But mostly, it is because we don’t really know or very well care where we are going, let alone where we are. At moments like these, I just don’t know what to do. I just feel lost. Drifting in oblivion, helpless. Hopeless. But I suppose we put too much value on hope. People seem to think that hope is what sheds light on the lost. But when one is lost, hope is not necessarily required for rejuvination or contentment. For part of being lost is being without hope. Hope, of course, is not what one needs- what one needs to become un-lost, as it were, is direction. This, of course, does not necessarily coincide with hope, for when one is un-lost, how is one to be sure that they will like the place they find themselves in? Perhaps one will simply wish oneself lost once more. And perhaps one will find that one has merely been led out of one passageway of a maze to another, and is still lost. But if one always has direction, one can be content to be lost. If I know that I am moving in some direction, in a direction I have chosen, even if I could have chosen any other direction; without having any more of a chance of escape, I can be content. I know that I exist. I know that I have control. I think, therefore I am. In life, as well as in Wonderland, everyone is lost without a hope. But who needs hope anyway? The fun of it is that one knows one won’t get anywhere. At least, one won’t get anywhere worthwhile- so one can enjoy the journey- gaze out the window, dilly-dally, and make stops. But it’s even better to press on with undying courage, knowing that one will fail. One will fail to get anywhere worthwhile, but one will have wonderful adventures and great fun on the way. And one can be proud of what one has done, because it was right. You see, “The only things worth doing are the things we do for others.” (Lewis Carroll-who else?) I am lost. But it’s not so bad.
Dear Mr. Caterpillar,
The night before last, at a rather unsuitably late hour, I finished reading The Life of Pi by Yann Martel (a most exquisite piece of modern literature, in which I had been rapidly losing faith as of late). And, for reasons you will have to read the book to understand, I fell to deep, introspective pondering; which morphed into pondering on the subject of the metaphysical, which quickly brought me back to myself. And then I fell to crying, and praying in repentance. For I realized a good deal about myself that night. I realized the dark, terrible evils within myself, and most of all, the one unforgivable, hateful evil: arrogance. I have said here that I love and believe in God, but my actions would beg to differ. In the past, I have believed this, but now I think I can’t really have felt those things. In order to truly love God, and appreciate all that he is, I believe one must realize exactly who it is that oneself attempts to impersonate. And that night I realized who I was. I was falsely humble. Among others, I am, in fact rather humble and seemingly devoid of arrogance; but inside, there was much complacency and self-satisfaction to compensate. I felt that if I did the bare minimum of what was required of me -and half-heartedly at that- I was worthy of salvation, and was loved by God. Of course, I did believe that no one was really entitled to anything, and it is through the sheer mercy and love of God that we are not forgotten; so I told myself to live only for the service of God, which I never got around to doing, but even so I felt that I was “a good enough person”. Oh, the arrogance of me! I realized that I could both think and feel love and awe for God, but I could only think- very fervently, mind you- how undeserving I was of everything God has bestowed on me. I could not feel it (there is a difference between thinking fervently and feeling, you know; for when one thinks- even fervently- one can feel it happening in one’s brain, but only in one’s brain; and when one feels it is felt throughout every centimeter of one’s soul.). After this burst of penitence, I took to reading Qur’an, and when I came to the part about Adam being created and all the angels being asked to bow to him (see a Qur’an or translation thereof for more detail), I thought how I had underestimated humans before. I realized (an this is only my interpretation) that God created humans because we have the capacity to learn, and if we could learn all about His creation and the things in it, and find a way to escape all of those distractions and turn unto Him, how very pleasing that would be to Him. For, you see, when one has free will, as well as the capacity to learn, it is a great deal harder to worship God. And so I am on a mission to conquer all the negative aspects of human nature within myself, starting with arrogance; and in the spirit of this hopeless undertaking, I will state that what I write here makes absolutely no pretense of being the truth, it merely believes that it is what I believe.
