Monday, 14 January 2008

reach for what you know is possible

I find myself in a rare state lately…

I would consider myself to be a champion of logic. My core belief structure is based in that all ideas have equal value until they are properly presented and dissected. But when discussing politics lately I find myself irrationally motivated… I find that I am so emotionally invested in one possible outcome, that my country can elect Barack Obama, that I have trouble even considering other outcomes. I feel some worth in that I can at least acknowledge this – and while it still troubles me – it at the same time emboldens me. In the past few weeks I have had the opportunity to surround myself with many like minded people, and I have discovered we all seem to have this affliction. The only similar irrationality I can find in my brief autobiography is probably related to love, and that is telling as well. All of us, this grand thing in common, all head over heels for this idea.

The term that originally seemed to define this candidacy was first “once in a generation”, eventually now “once in a lifetime”. And I have no real way of knowing if this is indeed true or not, having not been alive to believe in a Lincoln, FDR, RF or ML K. But that is what it feels like. That is what my gut tells me every time my heart rises and falls based on what appears to be happening in the race. Since the moment I fell in love with American History, I have been waiting for something to happen in my lifetime. Something important that my kids will read about and I will have been there myself, will have done something myself. And I have felt a fresh piece of the Berlin Wall in my fingers, I have paid true attention at the foot of the tangled ruins of ground zero, I have spoken out against the war before it was a war, but nothing has ever felt as crucial as this. To be a modern American, raised on the optimism of your high school textbooks but faced with the cynicism and ideological deadlock of the status quo, I think all of us yearn for something we can get behind. Americans want to believe in something greater than themselves, they want to be given a chance at playing their part in the textbooks of tomorrow and being on the right side of history. They just need a compelling reason, or figure from which to rally up.

Once week ago tomorrow, I sat at  results viewing party in North Conway, New Hampshire and watched in disbelief as our movement took its licks. And seeing tears in the eyes of people who share this belief is a polarizing event. You walk away ten times more resolved then you arrived. You want to put the whole thing on your bronze shoulders and carry it to fruition alone. But all you can do is work and work and most of all hope. And the riskiest part isn’t pouring your unbroken heart into it, it is allowing yourself to envision that enough people will also believe, just enough – to give what you are convinced is this gift to the American experiment. That change isn’t just a history lesson but a vibrant and impatient undercurrent to our shared experience.

So while I say, quite rationally, that my candidate is not just a rhetorical wonder, that he is in fact the future our country should be given the right to choose, that I have read his first book and finished every page in disbelief that we might actually get to have this real person as our president, a politician driven by principle and sincere civic duty and not by ego or greed or personal manifest destiny. I know these things are true. That this man would add another optimistic counterpoint in the chapters of our nation’s history. And I could cite or indeed publish essay after article to support this viewpoint, but I realize as well, that I am in fact now a Believer. And that my faith is impenetrable. Logic be damned and so be it. If this is once in a lifetime then we must make it count.

and Yes We Can.

Sunday, 2 December 2007

"but you are my butterfly"

Ten years ago my (absolutely wonderful) senior English teacher in High School, Ms. Lukas, introduced my class to the book The Diving Bell and the Butterfly in such a way that she almost broke into tears. I’ve read it a few times since then and have recommended it myself to countless people. And while I don’t have it memorized I will always be humbled by the story. That anyone could intellectually and emotionally survive such a devastating injury is beyond my comprehension. And the same way that I can insert myself into a landing craft at Normandy and wonder if I would freeze or rally, I can suffer an imaginary stroke and wonder if I have a book in me, even a bad book. Such determined humanity should be a legend of a lesson for every person alive. And now the cliff notes of a film adaptation is available to supplement as well.

And the film itself is a possibly perfect adaptation and yet a unique addition to the lesson as well. I have never seen a film like it. Where as the book allows a portrait of a mind trapped inside itself, the film offers the actual experience. The director and cinematographer imagine what tears look like to an eye, what thoughts sound like to a brain, what memory feels like when it is almost all that remains of our experience. You must let letters become words become sentences become ideas and then deal with their consequences for the characters and for your emphatic reaction, all in real time, a viscerally unforgettable experience for an audience. And the patient juxtaposition of Locked-In Syndrome’s maddening claustrophobia with the sensory overwhelm of imagination leaves you quite shaken. The film is a study of human emotions, of the literal faces of emotion, and the things we believe but forget to remember, the people we leave behind or the undone things we were meant to do, the simple intimacy of innate compassion, and most of all, what is actually important when life is reduced to it’s simplest form, to a blinking keyhole between the stark beauty of existence and the complex brilliance of human consciousness.

It is what I believe I will call a “Posture Film”. One that regardless of your movie seat discomfort leaves you walking away from the cinema at the absolute peak of your height, perhaps hunting a good piece of chocolate like I was, Or paying meticulous attention to the detail of your experience… the subway rumbling below the theater, the conversations of strangers, the brisk air, all subtleties and their magnificence….

 

When blessed silence returns, I can listen to the butterflies that flutter inside my head. To hear them, one must be calm and pay close attention, for their wing beats are barely audible. Loud breathing is enough to drown them out. This is astonishing: my hearing does not improve, yet I hear them better and better. I must have butterfly hearing

 

Tuesday, 14 August 2007

c’mon New hampshire, c’mon iowa – lets shake this thing up and turn those national polls on their head.

 

‘But the flip side of it is,’ he explains, hinting at what divides him and Hillary, ‘if it’s all tactics and all politics, and there’s not the idealism, if it’s not touched by that sense of movement, then you actually never bring about change. Then it’s just pure transactions between powerful interests in Washington.’”

 

http://men.style.com/gq/features/full?id=content_5841