Leaving on a Jet Plane/Acknowledgments

My endeavours have finally paid off: on Thursday of last week I was finally awarded for Spring 2009 at Texas Tech University, allowing me to finally go to school without the worry of not having the financial support I so desperately need to continue my education. There might have been serious consequences had I not done what I was supposed to do on time; although now everything finally seems to have fallen thoroughly into place once and for all. I am to be living in a residence hall there as well; very close to the English and Philosophy buildings, and but a short walk from the Library, Student Union and Music buildings. I couldn’t have asked for a more appropriate setup, praise God Almighty.

I am firstly and foremostly thankful to that Great Providence who has commissioned me to continue the Great Work. To Him, I can only render my hearty thanks and gratitude for the practically miraculous endeavors that have transpired here lately. 

I am thankful to Scott Stallings for the many hours of counseling and support that I needed before undertaking what has become a very stressful move from home. I have appreciated all the benefits of our friendship–the music, the conversation–that I couldn’t wish for anyone else more appropriate as a best friend.

I am equally thankful to Frank Newmyer for giving me the love for myself I thought I would never have and the appreciation for life and its wonderful gifts. Frank taught me that nature is the original element; an offshoot and foretaste of the higher realm, and that we must only be in the way nature intended us to be if we are to be successful at anything. He loves me not because of my looks or my personality, it is for me intrinsically.

I also would like to thank my Mother, who tirelessly has reinforced me over the years the value of a purposed life and the importance of an education. She is my hero because of her selfless devotion to not only her family but the betterment of society and of all people everywhere. Without her, I don’t think I could have ever gotten here.

I would like to thank Ryan as well. Although lately we haven’t gotten along all too well, he has stuck it out with me thick and thin and has been the greatest influence in my quest to master my physique and its cultivation. To him I can only promise more progress and gain, for all the gains now have given me the solid success and victory over all things.

There are so many other people I wish to thank in the space remaining in this account of my life: Peter Holyk, for being a good friend despite obvious mistakes, Cameron D., for loving me unconditionally, to Lennard Whittaker, Esq. for his meritorious service and compassionate attention to my own precarious situations, to Bryan McElhenney in Austin, Texas, for his kindness and generosity over the years, Duane in upstate New York, for his humor and conversation, Sergio Godínez and Blanca Olvera for their love of music and its power to unite cultures and break culturally enforced barriers, Peter Garland for his advice, admonishments and immense knowledge of American music, Brock Evans for his immense and tireless love of me, and all my friends, past and present, who have helped me achieve what has been a long wished-for reality. Thank you, everyone, for the gifts, cards, letters, car rides, dry shoulders, extra towels, free pizza, groceries, clothes and accessories that you have sent. I couldn’t have done it without all of you.

It is Holy Week–the most wonderful, sacred time of the Year. Even Nature herself is endowed with that holiness–for down here everything is covered in bloom, and new growth. My azaleas have set out fine, papery white flowers with two hybrid blooms, which we introduced last year. It seems that the white flowers have had the upper hand, at least in terms of growth, as the other plant–pink azaleas–were perhaps overtaken by the Bauhinia that planted itself in over the summer.  The driveway of our house is now littered with the formerly white petals of the orange trees, which, thanks to a series of windy days, have dispersed not only the petals, but their sweet, elegant fragrance all over the house. 

 

Yesterday was also quite windy, though for only one part of the day. Then about three in the afternoon we had a sudden and intense shower of hot rain. It had not rained here for several weeks. I thought the clouds looked quite peculiar, for it merely looked cloudy for a bit, then it became suddenly beige, and then it rained. Today, Paul informed me that there was a dirty film in the form of raindrops on my mother’s car. And indeed, it was true–we had a dirty rain, from what I think the north wind driving so much dust up into the air lately, that it came down in a brown rain. Such conditions have happened before, though very rarely. This is the second or third omen we have had this month–the last being a fairly conspicuous display of ice crystal phenomena around the sun, last week, in the heat of a brilliant afternoon. There were two sundogs, plus a slightly visible circumzenithal arc above the sun.  

 

I am still torn concerning vacation. I was very depressed early in the week, anxious, and suffering from great swings in emotion, from unspeakable grief and apprehension, to anxiety, anger and a crippling bitterness that makes existence not worth living anymore. Non-existent conversations take place. I am always arguing with the past or with some possibly non-existent event in the future, some person I’ll never meet or will never see again, or some company I will never keep. And that sort of bleakness touches everything–like some sort of blight it makes even the most beautiful and enjoyable things hateful and tedious. It reminds me of something in Madame Bovary, in which the narrator describes how Emma’s ennui allowed for “near movements” to “pain her”; and I can most certainly identify with that sentiment, for even the movement of persons near my body can be greatly exasperating. It can be quite nauseating. 

 

Peter has suggested that I take up meditation, though I am not sure if I have the time to pursue this wonderful discipline. The American in me says that work is meditation–and of course I do not mean that kind of work which is dreary and hateful but rather the engaging work of the mind and the hands; the work of Art. This sort of concentration has taken on various forms this week, from a terse essay I wrote for Javier about the 1755 Lisbon Earthquake to a new piece for cello and piano, which was based on a folk hymn in Spanish I heard at the Chrism Mass last week. Now I am greatly fascinated with Moravian brass band music, and their traditional old-world chorale sound. I seem to find a great consolation in the Protestant hymnody–more consoling than the bland, formless sequences of Gregorian Chant, for inasmuch as that music is beautiful in itself, I think it does not have the kind ofimmediacy that these hymns do. Artistically speaking, I also have a great fascination with the names of the pieces right now–names that are either reliable, simple, arbitrary, romantic, or all of these. I have felt compelled to write a grand piece for violin and strings based on two “ancient” melodies. One is a very early piece from a tablet, in the Phrygian mode, dating from around 1600 BCE, the other a gorgeous anonymous piece from the 3rd century and found, believe it or not, on a neglected parchment somewhere in the Bodleian library at Oxford. Either I like ancient music, or very contemporary music. I like it when both worlds operate within perfect harmony with one another. 

 

I feel the passing of this week will prove decisive, at least in terms of my sanity.  It is now well known, I believe, that I am a terribly impatient person. It pains me so much inside–I am not sure how much it hurts–but I worry incessantly about pecuniary things that it no longer seems fitting to even think, or to say anything. I want to shut myself off and sleep for these next four days–four days of agony and unrest. 

Blood and Water

In the last week or so I completed an out of the blue chamber work entitled Heath, written surreptitiously in honor of the recently deceased actor–and while the actual piece dealt little with the emotions of the appropriate Requiem his passing elicits, I believe it to be a fitting expression of the harmonic and compositional methods I have come up for myself. I was partially influenced by John Cage’s beautiful Quartets I-VIII, a little known and little performed piece from the late 1970s, entirely composed of snatches of harmony from early American hymns. At the same time I also employed some of the instrumentation of Morton Feldman’s music–spare, concise yet somewhat mysterious–as well as the native harmony of South Texas, and my very own pentatonic scale.

Today my little brother turned 21, and he celebrated his nativity with due éclat: he sat all day in the living room, and later on dined on his own chocolate cake. My mother bought him a PlayStation 2, with a couple of games, as a treat for convalescing from his recent surgery, as well as assisting us here. He cannot move–doing so for long periods of time causes him to faint–and therefore he spent the majority of today, as well as the weekend, playing his video games and enjoying himself, which I am actually surprised and gratified to see him do, since he worries much about us, quite needlessly.

I shall, within the span of a few weeks, be taking a trip, partly to relieve my exasperation–a year built up already of frustrating experiences–and also to inquire about the possibilities of school in a place other than home, in the fall. I have saved up some money and am aiming to get out of this town and the region the week of February 25. While I said I wanted to take advantage to visit other friends, I will not, for reasons well-known to them, but I will manage to say hello. I have too many people I talk to as it is–one of them I have tired of so much so that seeing him online I feel depressed every time he talks about his semi-professional boyfriend and their travels all over the country, seeing things, drinking and continuously cheating on one another. My one friend in Sweetwater, Texas, having recently moved there, pledged his support, and I am happy for it. This is the first time I have had such a person in my life, that would pay attention to me so presciently. I definitely need to start paring down on the people I talk to, since I have discovered the lot of them are just there for show, and not necessarily for anything else.

I am still conflicted about my willingness to see Ryan, though that is a routine sentiment, and nothing new to me. I am not too altogether concerned whether anything will develop between us at all anymore. Part of me is thankful, in a way, in knowing that I am not in love with him anymore. For that, I know, things are definitely headed in the right way.

How I long to see mountains in the early evening, with the broad yellow sunlight alighting and forming silohuettes of broad rocky curves in the clear sky. I want to see the road, have the sensation of movement, almost perpetual, the sweet air of the desert, and the starry sky. And most of all, I want to be able to be free from concerns for just one week, to conduct myself in relative silence and quietude for that one week, away from the criticisms of peers, rivals and family, and to experience the unique blessings of adulthood by myself.

Retrouvailles/In Retrospect

I will keep brief tonight, as there is not much I wish to say concerning the end of this year; however, I feel it is important to review the year and take stock of its significance in the rendering of my life. Much will be said of this year and its various calamities–what has been said, what has been done, what has not been done–but what we have learned is of such great importance that it renders all else superfluous.

This year, along with the year 2006, constituted the two worst years of my life so far. It was filled with heartache, worry, agony, sadness, scandal, debt, blood and death. I attempted suicide twice this year, and thought about it almost constantly. My laziness and refusal to help myself only made things considerably worse over time. Relationships suffered because of my refusal to take responsibility for myself. And when a quick fix became one week of the worst work I have ever endured, it became a hard lesson to accept, something that only made things considerably worse after times. My relationship with my boyfriend came to an end in the most cold and clear way this year, making me embittered but realistic. But I will say for my own part that I thank God for this year, as it was a time of reorientation for me, a straightening in my path. Things perhaps did not pan out as I planned them to be externally speaking, but internally, I was put before the fire and the long process of purification began. Pride became humility. Fear became courage and strength. Delusion became reality, and ultimately, I changed in a way that will forever shape who I am and how I see things. If all of this is not true, then either I am a liar and a deciever, or the most insane and foolish person in the whole world.

I have learned what suffering is. I have drunk it to the dregs. It is a terrible, painful experience that belies mere emotions. It is all consuming, it soaks into the very elements of Nature. Yet, while it is horrible to behold and much more horrible to experience, it refines; it eliminates the impurities of the soul and makes one aware of the unfound senses. It takes a person out of the material, insignificant concerns of the world and places him in the presence of the Eternal. I have experienced loss. Everything that meant the world to me was taken away and I was left to determine what I was to do with myself. Now, however, I am stronger, smarter, faster, and more responsible. There is no sense in clinging to that which is in itself insignificant and useless. I have cut the ties, and there is no one to stop me.

No longer will there be times in which I feel useless, as I am determined for my own wellbeing and that of my family, to do what I can to ensure my usefulness and happiness and success in all my endeavors. I am compelled to do this; I have no choice. We either eat or do not eat, and I will not see us starve and go hungry as a result of my inability to accept essential responsibilities. I will not be deprived, similarly, of the privileges entitled to me, of which my poor self esteem is solely to blame from me taking what is rightfully mine.. Liberty, and all of its blessings, are derived from the responsibility of the person given such a privilege; there can be no irresponsibilities with freedom–freedom without reason is anarchy, and who would want that? I can only blame myself for not trying harder, which is something I am guilty of doing, especially in this case.

Binding to myself all that I know to be Sacred and True, I swear by Almighty and Ever-living God that I will do, with His gracious assistance, whatever I can to better myself, at whatever cost, to end this awful suffering and regain what is rightfully mine. No longer will I endeavor to not bind myself to the care of my selfish desires, but to the success, health, and happiness of me and my family. I will go back to college, in a place of my choosing, for my own benefit. I will ensure that these two years never happen again, and that everything I do from now on will be to that effect, so help me God.

Notations/Invective

Staying up this late causes one to think about certain circumstances that wouldn’t normally bother a person on a regular basis. I was reading about John Cage tonight, whom I love and consider myself very close to artistically and philosophically. Unfortunately there are people who, despite all of the wonderful things he helped to bring about, disregard his life and his work as trash, not being very meaningful at all. While I can’t change the opinion of the snide few who prefer the purist view of music appreciation and theory, it gives me pause to wonder why someone would hate just one person, on account of what that person makes. Still more troubling is the fact that John was such a wonderful person personally; it makes no sense to attack Cage personally, since he probably was the most humble, sincere, and amiable man among a group of individuals who strove most of their lives to separate themselves from the status quo. John did the opposite. He mingled with people in such a way, that it was easy to take his brilliance and magnanimity for granted. It serves very little purpose, therefore, to direct the anger at one’s own ignorance for not understanding something, at a person who does not deserve and did not deserve it in the first place.

My life isn’t filled with sorrow or pain, but it’s been punctuated with it. The days are good for awhile, and then worries and sadnesses creep in, followed by dark nights, when the world seems stuck and refuses to move. The thoughts are loud and continuous, one can’t get away from them. I seem to be headed that way now–I can see the darkness looming up ahead in my mind, and I am fighting to get away from it, but to no avail. I feel like my life is a nightmare that I can’t wake up from; a still, oppressive place where I’m doing the same repetitive tasks over and over, for absolutely nothing. I am terrified of the pain, but I know it’s back there, just waiting to rear its ugly head at me. All I want to do is wake up and go back to school, and finally rid myself of the bitterness that has plagued me this last year.

As for the bitterness itself it is manifestly both a good and a bad thing. One can obviously imagine the bad things that come from being embittered. But at the same time, I feel a great sense of reality, a clarity that permeates existence: in it, I can see what others cannot, laugh at what others would find serious, and take seriously what others would find trivial. At the same time, things are much more timeless now, as if they somehow came into existence almost accidentally, and that Eternity is right before me, beckoning to me. I know that it isn’t nihilism, either, as God is alive to me–but perhaps He is no longer alive in the beliefs I once had (organized religion).

There will be many many opportunities for me in the future. I will not rest, as I affirm by Almighty God, until I have done what I am called to do. I am sure to lose many friends and gain many more in the process. I have to remember what my responsibilities are, and to adhere to them fervently until I can gain what is promised for me.

Rampjaar

It’s windy outside. Outside the branches of the trees, bare by now, are being whipped around by a strong southeast wind. One can see their tops with the little foliage they have left swaying in the blue sky.

I decided I wasn’t going to take any telephone calls for today, and with good reason. I am still sick, having suffered from a bad case of indigestion caused by too much holiday food, which I am now paying for with a disagreeable demeanor and repeated trips to the bathroom. I also feel, emotionally speaking, much to bitter to talk to anyone, as even watching television arouses bitter sensations in me. I am more concerned about my bills and how I am to pay for them, unfortunately.

I do thank the Lord for His Graciousness to me, as was evidenced by this Christmas, which was, thank God, much more agreeable in temperament than the ones preceding, although a part of me still longs for cold weather and gray skies. This year has been the warmest I have ever seen. I now indeed worry whether the world is coming to an end, and whether or not we are the direct culprits, as I have reason to believe.

My family congregated yesterday to exchange gifts. I received a small CD case, which I will put to good use, being that I have CDs laying out without a case, and a shirt, and some German lemon cookies, which despite the protestations of my brother, I have enjoyed. I gave, with the help of a friend, two sets of pearls–one set golden, the other black. My mother loves black pearls, and has told me she wishes to make two pearl earrings from the strand. The strand itself is long, so I think one or two pearls taken from the strand will not ruin the whole set.

Recent perusals into the life of Johannes Vermeer has caused me to apply a Dutch term to the events of this year: I am steadily convinced that this year, like 1672, was a rampjaar, a disaster year. For not only did I see the death of my grandfather, who was as a father to me, but the many financial difficulties postulated by the death itself, as well as a continuance of the problems I have had with my brother, and once, with my mother. I do not know if perhaps this will ever change, but I feel like it needs to, and soon, for I do not know what I will do if I continue to live here. I have so many ambitions to be on my own again, and I feel like I am pressed to relieve myself of the bondage of this house. I just hope it can happen soon.