Another Modest proposal: The education tax.
It has become more and more clear that people and how they think and what they believe is enormously impacted by their media intake. I can cite countless examples of things mt friends have said about their personal worldviews that are direct quotes from movies or similar forms of entertainment, whether it's the belief that animals have souls because of a line in "colors of the wind," which someone used as a theological argument or whether it's something much more explicit my sister said. In addition, there plenty of things we believe and take in and base our values opinions and actions (ever seen the onion model?) on without being aware of it as we watch these things.
In essence, we see stuff and we believe it, and it bothers me. Today, what specifically bothers me, besides doctrine we take in, and that's a book in itself, is the educational ramifications of watching this crap, especially when it's taken as factual. Know what I mean? Like everyone who thinks that we can still get dinosaur DNA from a mosquito encased in amber, or that you can go back in time by flying backwards around the Earth.
What bothers me, is that we now have placed a new burden on the educational world. Imagine all of the historians who now have to convince the populous that events in various semi historical action movies didn't really happen, or whatever else we think we learn when we watch films.
There is extra work needed to undo the damage of the cinematic education, so while we a being dumbed down and entertained with stuff we will later believe as true, the people who skewed the facts make lots and lot of money. So, since they are making money while creating a need for the rest of is to be reeducated, this is my modest proposal,
there should be a system of educational taxes placed on movie profits based on how much damage they are likely to do and how seriously people are going to take it, for example, a minor discrepancy pays a smaller percentage than a major discrepancy, and there are classes designated of what kind of fact crimes can be committed. Also, it will matter whether it's a comedy or a drama, because dramas are more likely to be taken as facts. Etc.
Anyway, the taxes go directly to various educational funding to reteach what we thought we learned at the theater.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
The lightbulbs
As they walked along they came by the place where everyone lived. It was something like a dorm and something like a work group and something like a really efficient apartment building. It was like a lot of different things because, on closer inspection, the rooms were all different. Many of them had the doors open. They were different sizes and very different styles. Even the doors were different dimensions and colors. But the most important thing we noticed at the time was the difference in the amount of light that came from each room.
This was important because, as we looked in each room, we saw that some of them had those two-bulb overhead fixtures. They were all supposed to have them, but only some of them had two bulbs and the milky square cover. Some had less nice covers. Some had really dirty ones. Some had bare bulbs and some had only one bulb. There were different ones with different brightness. For the most part, though, they all had some kind of overhead light.
But there was one that didn't, at least they only saw one that didn't.
We investigated the dark looking room. There wasn't a cover, lightbulbs or even a fixture. There was just a hole in the ceiling. There might have been wires hanging down but we couldn't tell.
This was important because, as we looked in each room, we saw that some of them had those two-bulb overhead fixtures. They were all supposed to have them, but only some of them had two bulbs and the milky square cover. Some had less nice covers. Some had really dirty ones. Some had bare bulbs and some had only one bulb. There were different ones with different brightness. For the most part, though, they all had some kind of overhead light.
But there was one that didn't, at least they only saw one that didn't.
We investigated the dark looking room. There wasn't a cover, lightbulbs or even a fixture. There was just a hole in the ceiling. There might have been wires hanging down but we couldn't tell.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Weird dreams, just like all the other weird dreams
So All I remember is that there was a poisonous snake trying to bite people, and I did something weird that prevented the snake from killing anyone, but somehow I accidentally got venom in my mouth, so I was trying to wash it out and hoping that I wouldn't die, The other moment I remember is of trying to explain, in French, to some people that there was a snake, two in fact, and although I had rescued everyone else, I hoped I wasn't going to die. The two main dilemmas were making sure I washed out my mouth thoroughly and trying to parler francaise sans parler des mots Chinoise au lieu de les mots Francaises. That seems to be a common problem these days.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
More stories about miss Melville
I am especially fond of her.
There is a certain art to making up icebreakers. It has to be embarrassing for everyone involved, and yet there have to be enough people in the world to revel in that embarrassment.
"Ok, in this start up, we're going to briefly tell how your parents met, and one important decision they each had to make to meet."
Melville fumbled at realizing how once again she should have made it more simply. While the group gave her puzzled looks and some actually thought about it a little, she repeated, "Does that make sense? I mean think about how your parents met. Summarize in a couple of sentences," she spoke quickly and awkwardly. Like she was running over the words and tripping. "And think about the decisions they had to make for you to be born."
After another awkward pause of wondering whether they even knew what she was trying to say, and Norton giving her another repulsive pitying look, she stuttered on to say, as she continued to think about how ashamed she was of Norton and how painfully she regretted the way he felt about her. "Like, for me, my parents met at a really unusual conference for believing inventors. But that's not the interesting part. My Mom made a really interesting decision in marrying my dad. To keep it short, if she hadn't decided to do things the way she did, I would never have been born."
"Wait, so how did she make the decision?" asked miss Warren.
"Well, it was really weird, but she didn't make the decision herself, who to be with. I mean, there were these two guys and she wasn't in love with these guys, but she figured that she couldn't trust the way she felt because she tended to attach emotionally to really bad guys. Anyway, she saw two guys as really good candidates, so she told both of them what she thought, that she could be happy with either of them, but she wanted them to decide between themselves, who should marry her. And they both liked her, and they were really good friends, and strong believers. Really, only they could have handled it the way it was. They'd all been through a lot, these two guys and my mom, so I guess they had and understanding."
'Yeah, that is weird," said Mr. Handford.
"But, anyway, let's move on. I hope your parents aren't as odd as mine are."
"Ok," said Hanford, "My parents went to school together. They lived on the same floor of the dorm."
Miss Lilley betrayed a spark of happy thoughts. Her current target lived on her floor.
"Wait, so how did they decide which guy was going to be your dad, I mean, which of two guys was your dad?"
"Well, actually, it wasn't--Uh, can we talk about this afterwards? I want to get through this study, We can be quick, honest."
So they hurried through whatever section it was, probably Rebecka, including applications, even faster than Melville usually did them. As soon as Melville breathed, "ok, we're done," Joy Warren started with, "Ok, so which of the two guys was your dad?"
"Well, it turned out each guy admitted he loved my mom, and they could each see that the other loved her, too. Now, one was older than she was while the other was younger than her. And she honestly had long hoped for an older guy, as easier to respect. But the older one was also blond, which was too bad because she had never intended to marry a blond, although it was understood that superficialities shouldn't matter.
"And of course, being the good men they were, neither would deny his friend, and they were like 'you deserve her,' 'No, you do.' 'No, I think you're better for her.' 'I can't imagine forcing you to live without her.' 'I can't take her away from you either.' and it went on and on. It was so crazy."
As the story came to its climax, Melville's mother had seen both men a little later, and they still hadn't decided. She told them that she wanted their decision whenever it came, and she could wait for it. If it was best, she wanted to see them as little as possible until then, so they wouldn't feel pressured. She also said she wanted them to do a whole lot of praying together, rather than trying to reason through it. So they did. It was a long time before they saw her again. She was smart, though, she had them communicating with her mentor, so she was the one that made sure she was home when they went to her with the final decision.
She opened to door to see them both standing side by side, pressed close and filling the whole doorway, looking serious and ecstatic and struggling to settle on the appropriate expression.
She herself tried to be calm, but of course this was a big deal. She didn't even invite them inside because she was so nervous and didn't have any talent with manners, anyway.
So she tried to read their faces to see if she could guess before they told her. She acknowledged she was being selfish in doing so, though. But they had the same expression. And neither one would speak.
"So," Said the future Mrs. Melville.
"So," said both men, together.
"We decided," One said
"We picked out the ring together," said the other. This stabbed her with a new wash of emotion. She hadn't put them and the ring together in her thoughts.
"It was after we picked out the man, though," One of them started again.
"Because..." the other said
"Because..." the first repeated.
"Well, because he picked the ring out with us."
"And we knew it had to be him, not us."
They stepped each to the side and behind them was Mr. Melville, on both knees, holding the ring. Tall, black-haired, handsome older Mr. Melville. Of course he had been the one. She had almost forgotten him. And all her efforts to remain serious failed there.
There is a certain art to making up icebreakers. It has to be embarrassing for everyone involved, and yet there have to be enough people in the world to revel in that embarrassment.
"Ok, in this start up, we're going to briefly tell how your parents met, and one important decision they each had to make to meet."
Melville fumbled at realizing how once again she should have made it more simply. While the group gave her puzzled looks and some actually thought about it a little, she repeated, "Does that make sense? I mean think about how your parents met. Summarize in a couple of sentences," she spoke quickly and awkwardly. Like she was running over the words and tripping. "And think about the decisions they had to make for you to be born."
After another awkward pause of wondering whether they even knew what she was trying to say, and Norton giving her another repulsive pitying look, she stuttered on to say, as she continued to think about how ashamed she was of Norton and how painfully she regretted the way he felt about her. "Like, for me, my parents met at a really unusual conference for believing inventors. But that's not the interesting part. My Mom made a really interesting decision in marrying my dad. To keep it short, if she hadn't decided to do things the way she did, I would never have been born."
"Wait, so how did she make the decision?" asked miss Warren.
"Well, it was really weird, but she didn't make the decision herself, who to be with. I mean, there were these two guys and she wasn't in love with these guys, but she figured that she couldn't trust the way she felt because she tended to attach emotionally to really bad guys. Anyway, she saw two guys as really good candidates, so she told both of them what she thought, that she could be happy with either of them, but she wanted them to decide between themselves, who should marry her. And they both liked her, and they were really good friends, and strong believers. Really, only they could have handled it the way it was. They'd all been through a lot, these two guys and my mom, so I guess they had and understanding."
'Yeah, that is weird," said Mr. Handford.
"But, anyway, let's move on. I hope your parents aren't as odd as mine are."
"Ok," said Hanford, "My parents went to school together. They lived on the same floor of the dorm."
Miss Lilley betrayed a spark of happy thoughts. Her current target lived on her floor.
"Wait, so how did they decide which guy was going to be your dad, I mean, which of two guys was your dad?"
"Well, actually, it wasn't--Uh, can we talk about this afterwards? I want to get through this study, We can be quick, honest."
So they hurried through whatever section it was, probably Rebecka, including applications, even faster than Melville usually did them. As soon as Melville breathed, "ok, we're done," Joy Warren started with, "Ok, so which of the two guys was your dad?"
"Well, it turned out each guy admitted he loved my mom, and they could each see that the other loved her, too. Now, one was older than she was while the other was younger than her. And she honestly had long hoped for an older guy, as easier to respect. But the older one was also blond, which was too bad because she had never intended to marry a blond, although it was understood that superficialities shouldn't matter.
"And of course, being the good men they were, neither would deny his friend, and they were like 'you deserve her,' 'No, you do.' 'No, I think you're better for her.' 'I can't imagine forcing you to live without her.' 'I can't take her away from you either.' and it went on and on. It was so crazy."
As the story came to its climax, Melville's mother had seen both men a little later, and they still hadn't decided. She told them that she wanted their decision whenever it came, and she could wait for it. If it was best, she wanted to see them as little as possible until then, so they wouldn't feel pressured. She also said she wanted them to do a whole lot of praying together, rather than trying to reason through it. So they did. It was a long time before they saw her again. She was smart, though, she had them communicating with her mentor, so she was the one that made sure she was home when they went to her with the final decision.
She opened to door to see them both standing side by side, pressed close and filling the whole doorway, looking serious and ecstatic and struggling to settle on the appropriate expression.
She herself tried to be calm, but of course this was a big deal. She didn't even invite them inside because she was so nervous and didn't have any talent with manners, anyway.
So she tried to read their faces to see if she could guess before they told her. She acknowledged she was being selfish in doing so, though. But they had the same expression. And neither one would speak.
"So," Said the future Mrs. Melville.
"So," said both men, together.
"We decided," One said
"We picked out the ring together," said the other. This stabbed her with a new wash of emotion. She hadn't put them and the ring together in her thoughts.
"It was after we picked out the man, though," One of them started again.
"Because..." the other said
"Because..." the first repeated.
"Well, because he picked the ring out with us."
"And we knew it had to be him, not us."
They stepped each to the side and behind them was Mr. Melville, on both knees, holding the ring. Tall, black-haired, handsome older Mr. Melville. Of course he had been the one. She had almost forgotten him. And all her efforts to remain serious failed there.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Being a fiction Writer is like being a ventriloquist. You have all these offensive things to say, so you make the little guy on your lap say them.
A fictional story. Not Venting, honest
"I'm going to tell a story. I'm a guy, though," Said Miss Melville, the last part in passing. and it brought nothing but a very unattractive dumbfounded stare from Norton, as though he was watching her lips move without any audio and was straining to determine what she was trying to say.
Melville was overcome with the urge to take an hour explaining what she had just said but resisted on the reasoning that for someone of Norton's capacity, it would do more harm than good. It would also offend him more than what she was already planning to say.
"I'm a guy, ok, and I have this car." Norton's face brightened at the mention of a car, but otherwise maintained the same look of stupidity it so regularly displayed. Melville was highly distracted by many new observations about how ugly her friend was, noticing new unsightliness in his features, but she struggled to focus on telling the story.
"I like driving my car to visit my friends. I also really like working on my car, so sometimes I do both. I go visit my friends to be in their company, and sometimes I work on my car in their garages."
"Giiiiiiirl, you don't know anything about cars...."
Melville reflected another moment on how much she hated Norton and his ugly red face in that instant, and continued.
"Let me remind you this is a story. And I'm a guy. All my friends are girls. So I go and talk to them while I work on it because I am really proud of it--" She stopped herself before he could say some platitude in King James-ian about pride. "--That is, because I am really happy with it and want them to see and learn from all that I have done. So I open it up and say, 'look, this wasn't right so I fixed it. I put this new thing on. bla bla bla."
Norton's patience had well exceeded its limit in the first three words and now he took this opportunity to cut her off and launch into his own self-righteous lecture.
"Now, now now, Melly, what you gotta see is that--"
"Shut up, Norton. I'm sick of you interrupting me. If you had any respect for me at all you would let me finish."
Norton looked dumber and uglier than ever as he indignantly shrugged and put his hands up while he rolled his eyes, as if to say, "fine, I in all my great tolerance will continue to indulge your feminine stupidity, and for this you owe me, and I looking for saying 'I told you so,' later."
"Sometimes I just go to visit my friends, and I just park my car," Melville continued. "Sometimes I look at the car and then leave it alone, and sometimes I actually work on it. And what I find best is when my friends and I both work on our cars together, and we can help each other.
"But I have these crazy friends. When I go to see one of these friends, as soon as I park, she comes running out and starts taking my car apart. I have a bunch of people like this. I want to show her what I've changed, and she says she'll fix it for me as though I haven't just finished telling her that I already fixed it. And the only reason I showed it to her was because I thought she could learn from it. But these girls don't get that I'm trying to help them, they just think I want their help. I can't even visit them without them trying to rip open my car and make it better. So I end up avoiding them."
Norton's misshapen eyes showed some spark of understanding, or something. Melville really wanted to slap him silly, except he already was silly, so she wanted to slap some sense into him.
"And it's sad," Melville concluded, "Because every year I go to these long conferences and automotive training things, specifically so I can help laypeople like them learn. Plus I really do want to talk to them, and I have a lot to say, but they miss out on all of my conversation and all of my auto expertise because they see me coming and go straight to messing with my car, ignoring me entirely."
Norton knew this was his cue to do what gave him the most satisfaction, talking down to Melville and giving her advice. But to everyone's amazement, she stopped him.
"Well, honey, I guess you should--" he started.
"No, Norton, you are that girl." Melville snapped at him. She couldn't think of anything else to say after that. And she didn't want to dramatically walk out.
Then is occurred to her that since she was trying to emulate Nathan, she should do what he did and explain a little.
"Norton, I have already made the mistakes you are making now. I've been here a while and I've gone through some training to help you. Regardless of how badly I communicate, it would be to your advantage to act like what I have been trying to tell you for three years might actually be worth hearing."
"I'm going to tell a story. I'm a guy, though," Said Miss Melville, the last part in passing. and it brought nothing but a very unattractive dumbfounded stare from Norton, as though he was watching her lips move without any audio and was straining to determine what she was trying to say.
Melville was overcome with the urge to take an hour explaining what she had just said but resisted on the reasoning that for someone of Norton's capacity, it would do more harm than good. It would also offend him more than what she was already planning to say.
"I'm a guy, ok, and I have this car." Norton's face brightened at the mention of a car, but otherwise maintained the same look of stupidity it so regularly displayed. Melville was highly distracted by many new observations about how ugly her friend was, noticing new unsightliness in his features, but she struggled to focus on telling the story.
"I like driving my car to visit my friends. I also really like working on my car, so sometimes I do both. I go visit my friends to be in their company, and sometimes I work on my car in their garages."
"Giiiiiiirl, you don't know anything about cars...."
Melville reflected another moment on how much she hated Norton and his ugly red face in that instant, and continued.
"Let me remind you this is a story. And I'm a guy. All my friends are girls. So I go and talk to them while I work on it because I am really proud of it--" She stopped herself before he could say some platitude in King James-ian about pride. "--That is, because I am really happy with it and want them to see and learn from all that I have done. So I open it up and say, 'look, this wasn't right so I fixed it. I put this new thing on. bla bla bla."
Norton's patience had well exceeded its limit in the first three words and now he took this opportunity to cut her off and launch into his own self-righteous lecture.
"Now, now now, Melly, what you gotta see is that--"
"Shut up, Norton. I'm sick of you interrupting me. If you had any respect for me at all you would let me finish."
Norton looked dumber and uglier than ever as he indignantly shrugged and put his hands up while he rolled his eyes, as if to say, "fine, I in all my great tolerance will continue to indulge your feminine stupidity, and for this you owe me, and I looking for saying 'I told you so,' later."
"Sometimes I just go to visit my friends, and I just park my car," Melville continued. "Sometimes I look at the car and then leave it alone, and sometimes I actually work on it. And what I find best is when my friends and I both work on our cars together, and we can help each other.
"But I have these crazy friends. When I go to see one of these friends, as soon as I park, she comes running out and starts taking my car apart. I have a bunch of people like this. I want to show her what I've changed, and she says she'll fix it for me as though I haven't just finished telling her that I already fixed it. And the only reason I showed it to her was because I thought she could learn from it. But these girls don't get that I'm trying to help them, they just think I want their help. I can't even visit them without them trying to rip open my car and make it better. So I end up avoiding them."
Norton's misshapen eyes showed some spark of understanding, or something. Melville really wanted to slap him silly, except he already was silly, so she wanted to slap some sense into him.
"And it's sad," Melville concluded, "Because every year I go to these long conferences and automotive training things, specifically so I can help laypeople like them learn. Plus I really do want to talk to them, and I have a lot to say, but they miss out on all of my conversation and all of my auto expertise because they see me coming and go straight to messing with my car, ignoring me entirely."
Norton knew this was his cue to do what gave him the most satisfaction, talking down to Melville and giving her advice. But to everyone's amazement, she stopped him.
"Well, honey, I guess you should--" he started.
"No, Norton, you are that girl." Melville snapped at him. She couldn't think of anything else to say after that. And she didn't want to dramatically walk out.
Then is occurred to her that since she was trying to emulate Nathan, she should do what he did and explain a little.
"Norton, I have already made the mistakes you are making now. I've been here a while and I've gone through some training to help you. Regardless of how badly I communicate, it would be to your advantage to act like what I have been trying to tell you for three years might actually be worth hearing."
Monday, May 26, 2008
Will I ever do this silly thing?
Well I'm going to say no. There is no time for yet another thing with writing, especially something so chancy. Yeah. All that trouble for nothin' Wel the button is still there.
Monday, May 12, 2008
How to prevent what happened on the way here
1) not being me, or at least not being accident prone
2)not promising I would check my email today
3)waiting for someone to drive me here/asking someone
4)reminding my employers to bring up a better bike last weekend before they came
5)findind a way to lower the seat before riding out here
6)limiting the number of times getting on and off the bike
7)getting on more carefully
8)bringing a spare pair of pants
9)wearing looser pants
10) wearing pants that hadn't already proved themselves to be hightly prone to ripping.
But I am thankful for a lot of things as well:
1)both tires are still fine
2)I got here safely
3) It took less than a hour
4)I got here and it wasn't closed.
5)There was a place to park
6) The mail came before I left
7) the internet was installed before I left
8) I don't feel very sick
9) I got some good things in the mail
10) my coworker, whenever he comes along
11) my phone gets signal here.
The end
2)not promising I would check my email today
3)waiting for someone to drive me here/asking someone
4)reminding my employers to bring up a better bike last weekend before they came
5)findind a way to lower the seat before riding out here
6)limiting the number of times getting on and off the bike
7)getting on more carefully
8)bringing a spare pair of pants
9)wearing looser pants
10) wearing pants that hadn't already proved themselves to be hightly prone to ripping.
But I am thankful for a lot of things as well:
1)both tires are still fine
2)I got here safely
3) It took less than a hour
4)I got here and it wasn't closed.
5)There was a place to park
6) The mail came before I left
7) the internet was installed before I left
8) I don't feel very sick
9) I got some good things in the mail
10) my coworker, whenever he comes along
11) my phone gets signal here.
The end
Friday, April 25, 2008
Oh well
I would be really easy to be frustrated, but not only have I known that the current set of environmental factors were coming into being, but I also don't mind them being this way.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
When you can't have what you want
It isn't as though this hasn't happened to everyone at some point. For the younglings around here it will happen, probably pretty soon, but it didn't make it any easier to feel that way, to know all that, and to understand what had to be done.
She looked into his eyes and thought, "Oh, God, I am so cruel. I am so evil to do this."
And she could see the gears turning and the works behind what she was feeling, and she pulled the levers and pushed the buttons, anyway, because she had never felt this way and it was....really nice. He was really nice. It was hard to stop.
"I know better," She thought. "I only look at him because it makes him feel something and it makes me feel something." It was like a balloon full of something sour or tart bursting somewhere near her lower spine, and the liquid swirled out in slow motion and puckered all her nerves and ligaments with its tangy bite. It was as though the light in the room itself came alive, and a fog of shadow moved around her. She looked into his eyes just long enough for this to happen, and then she looked away in regret, because she knew better.
"I'm breaking his heart," she lamented.
It was about time for her to speak.
She addressed him,
"You know, the more you love me now, the more you are going to suffer."
It was such a dumb thing to say, so overdone in drama. Everything she was feeling was already far overdone in drama.
"I don't want you to suffer."
She cursed herself for being such a loser.
She looked at him to see how he was taking it. She wanted too many conflicting things. She wanted him to be stirred by how she loved him in this moment, so he would love her more. In the same motivation she wanted to feel heroic and dramatic.
But she also really did care and she wanted to protect his heart from breaking in her hands. She regretted ever taking hold of his heart in the first place.
And then she liked the power she felt, bending a man's soul. After so much time and so much aging and learning, she still felt she had to overcome a sense of helplessness.
And then she just wanted to be in love, she searched his eyes and face to see if she could convince herself that she could have him, after all, and that they could be together. But she came back disappointed, because she really wasn't attracted to him enough, she didn't like the looks of him, or his character enough. She couldn't get past the judgment that he wasn't good enough for her. He certainly wasn't the right match for her.
And then there were the feelings themselves, the realization that she was in a room with someone who's feelings for her were filling the air all around them. Someone who had already touched her, though it seemed like nothing, as she never had been touched before. She had loved him and he had loved her and they embraced, and around the encirclement of their arms was the encirclement of their feelings. And this had never happened before. Certainly her body had endured a lot more than this, but never with her feelings so involved.
It pained to feel how close they were, how alone they were, and how their bodies--as far as she had assumed--seemed to long for one another. At least she wanted to think that was true. It was a really sappy scenario. It was even a trashy one, but the feel of it rolled over her.
So she thought all of these ridiculous things for a while, but fortunately stuck to the conviction that in spite of all of this prickly fuzziness overtaking her veins and her gut and making her want to swoon, this still wasn't right and she didn't picture herself with this nice guy for the rest of her life. She acknowledged that she wanted something different. She also reminded herself that she had to be, to some degree, deceiving herself, because he really didn't indicate that he felt the same way, or any of that mess about their bodies longing for one another or anything.
So that's the truth of what happened. What is important it what she did next.
***
"Do you love her?"
***
She looked into his eyes and thought, "Oh, God, I am so cruel. I am so evil to do this."
And she could see the gears turning and the works behind what she was feeling, and she pulled the levers and pushed the buttons, anyway, because she had never felt this way and it was....really nice. He was really nice. It was hard to stop.
"I know better," She thought. "I only look at him because it makes him feel something and it makes me feel something." It was like a balloon full of something sour or tart bursting somewhere near her lower spine, and the liquid swirled out in slow motion and puckered all her nerves and ligaments with its tangy bite. It was as though the light in the room itself came alive, and a fog of shadow moved around her. She looked into his eyes just long enough for this to happen, and then she looked away in regret, because she knew better.
"I'm breaking his heart," she lamented.
It was about time for her to speak.
She addressed him,
"You know, the more you love me now, the more you are going to suffer."
It was such a dumb thing to say, so overdone in drama. Everything she was feeling was already far overdone in drama.
"I don't want you to suffer."
She cursed herself for being such a loser.
She looked at him to see how he was taking it. She wanted too many conflicting things. She wanted him to be stirred by how she loved him in this moment, so he would love her more. In the same motivation she wanted to feel heroic and dramatic.
But she also really did care and she wanted to protect his heart from breaking in her hands. She regretted ever taking hold of his heart in the first place.
And then she liked the power she felt, bending a man's soul. After so much time and so much aging and learning, she still felt she had to overcome a sense of helplessness.
And then she just wanted to be in love, she searched his eyes and face to see if she could convince herself that she could have him, after all, and that they could be together. But she came back disappointed, because she really wasn't attracted to him enough, she didn't like the looks of him, or his character enough. She couldn't get past the judgment that he wasn't good enough for her. He certainly wasn't the right match for her.
And then there were the feelings themselves, the realization that she was in a room with someone who's feelings for her were filling the air all around them. Someone who had already touched her, though it seemed like nothing, as she never had been touched before. She had loved him and he had loved her and they embraced, and around the encirclement of their arms was the encirclement of their feelings. And this had never happened before. Certainly her body had endured a lot more than this, but never with her feelings so involved.
It pained to feel how close they were, how alone they were, and how their bodies--as far as she had assumed--seemed to long for one another. At least she wanted to think that was true. It was a really sappy scenario. It was even a trashy one, but the feel of it rolled over her.
So she thought all of these ridiculous things for a while, but fortunately stuck to the conviction that in spite of all of this prickly fuzziness overtaking her veins and her gut and making her want to swoon, this still wasn't right and she didn't picture herself with this nice guy for the rest of her life. She acknowledged that she wanted something different. She also reminded herself that she had to be, to some degree, deceiving herself, because he really didn't indicate that he felt the same way, or any of that mess about their bodies longing for one another or anything.
So that's the truth of what happened. What is important it what she did next.
***
"Do you love her?"
***
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Three Great Hearts:
A Compelling Love Story
“Ah, I am ill,” She announced to no one as she arrived at work, and she was fortunate that no one heard. It was a darn weird thing for her to say. Weirdly worded, too.
“Oh, but I am so very ill,” she continued. She was even more fortunate that no one was around to hear that one, because that one was even weirder. What she really had to do was be quiet and go inside so she could get to work. There’s no point in describing her job, just that it is really ordinary. There’s even less point in describing the building she was walking into, it was even more boring.
Fortunately for her and for everyone else around, she didn’t say anything else weird (Well, she didn’t say anything, period) for…for a while at least. She went on an aggressive hunt to find someone to listen to the full explanation of her illness. So that particular person was not so fortunate.
The unfortunate person was a coworker that the weird woman barely knew. She just happened to be sitting in the break room, about to bite into a chocolate covered donut. She was really focused on the way its yellow flesh pinched as she bit in, the way the glaze cracked and stuck its flakes to her face and the way that the pale yellow filling pressed outward wherever it could, threatening to drip everywhere. In other words, she didn’t see or care that her weird coworker was sick, and she really didn’t care to hear about it. Too bad for her, she heard it, anyway.
“Oh, I am ill!” cried the weirdo.
“So go home.”
“Going home will only make it worse,” The ill girl insisted. As weird as this was, the donut eater was still too engrossed in the taste of the donut’s eggy dough and nearly liquid chocolate frosting to wonder why the girl would say such a thing. It was serious: some of the custard had escaped, and splattered the table. But she didn’t have to wonder, because the
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Illness, a parabolic
"I am ill," she said. It was to no one in particular. Good. because as she looked up, no one was anywhere near her. With the wind blowing, even the distant people crossing the surrounding streets had no chance of hearing.
"I am very ill."
So she went in search of anyone willing to hear her account of her illness, the first trustworthy person who could stand to hear what she had to stay.
This was not until she had reached her plain job, unworthy of description, that she found such a victim. I was her co-worker, and not one she knew especially well, but the woman was sitting down in the break room, innocently biting into the cracking glazed flesh of a chocolate colored donut. The donut's end began threatening to drip custard just as the moment was interrupted by the tirade.
"I am so ill."
"So go home." She remained focused on the donut.
"No, I will only grow worse if I go home."
"Eh." It was more of a grunt, muffled by the continued ingestion of the donut.
"It is an illness brought on by thought and at home I do nothing but think. I must do something else with my mind before it is fully given over to illness."
"Uh, yeah."
"Oh, the thought of him makes me so sick, it makes me dizzy. It's like a flow of dizziness that drops out of my ribcage and spreads sharp stars everywhere. It make me unable to stand or think clearly or do anything useful!" She sighed in disgust.
"Oh," the woman said, startled. She set the donut down on it's wax paper, now thoroughly caked with sugar, chocolate and custard. She has almost managed to keep her face clear of the threat from the chocolate to stick to it, and she was making some effort to free her hands from their share of both chocolate and custard.
"I refuse to feel this way!" the account continued. "I refuse to love him. I want this illness to go away! I want to be hale once more!"
"Hale?" The donut was regaining its status of being of greater interest than the conversation, but it remained on the table.
"I am very ill."
So she went in search of anyone willing to hear her account of her illness, the first trustworthy person who could stand to hear what she had to stay.
This was not until she had reached her plain job, unworthy of description, that she found such a victim. I was her co-worker, and not one she knew especially well, but the woman was sitting down in the break room, innocently biting into the cracking glazed flesh of a chocolate colored donut. The donut's end began threatening to drip custard just as the moment was interrupted by the tirade.
"I am so ill."
"So go home." She remained focused on the donut.
"No, I will only grow worse if I go home."
"Eh." It was more of a grunt, muffled by the continued ingestion of the donut.
"It is an illness brought on by thought and at home I do nothing but think. I must do something else with my mind before it is fully given over to illness."
"Uh, yeah."
"Oh, the thought of him makes me so sick, it makes me dizzy. It's like a flow of dizziness that drops out of my ribcage and spreads sharp stars everywhere. It make me unable to stand or think clearly or do anything useful!" She sighed in disgust.
"Oh," the woman said, startled. She set the donut down on it's wax paper, now thoroughly caked with sugar, chocolate and custard. She has almost managed to keep her face clear of the threat from the chocolate to stick to it, and she was making some effort to free her hands from their share of both chocolate and custard.
"I refuse to feel this way!" the account continued. "I refuse to love him. I want this illness to go away! I want to be hale once more!"
"Hale?" The donut was regaining its status of being of greater interest than the conversation, but it remained on the table.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Parable of the climbing Idiot
I have found after reading books like "Ministering Across Cultures" I have greatly appreciated parable as expressing how I feel in a situation. Thus I see great value in expressing a lot of the difficult things I have felt in stories.
THE PARABLE OF THE CLIMBING IDIOT
There once was an idiot, that is, a person of normal intelligence who makes very painful mistakes. This idiot was walking one night to where a friend was hosting a party. The idiot knew the location of the building and knew that the friend would have a light on to identify the place and also knew when to get there.
The idiot also assumed a lot of things, namely that she would easily be able to find the door on this strange old building.
However, on arriving, the Idiot was surprised to find that the door was nowhere to be seen. It was dark and there was no light anywhere at the ground level. There was also a great mass of ivy growing everywhere. After searching everywhere, the idiot grew desperate to get to her friend she believed to be expecting her. She could see the friend's window was the only one illuminated. If only she could get to it, she would be able to reach the friend.
So the idiot, who was a great climber, scrambled up the walls of the old building and reached the window, hoping to open it from the outside. But the window was locked and appeared painted shut. Still the idiot tried to pry it open, and to knock on it, but no one heard her.
Then she heard a lot of noise below. Someone had rung a bell. It was a little princess. She was also there to visit the idiot's friend, but unlike the idiot, the princess knew that in order to get in, she had to ring the bell. No one had ever told the idiot this important secret and she had never had the courage or intuition to ask. Shortly, a door completely covered with ivy swung open and light poured out around the silhouette of the friend who greeted the princess.
As the princess strutted into the house and the party the idiot tried to call to her friend, but she was too far away and there was to much noise accompanying the princess's entrance. Next the idiot tried to climb down but she was tangled in the ivy.
The door finally shut again and the idiot went back to knocking on the window as she struggled to break loose of the ivy.
The princess strolled upstairs to the room with the window. Since it was a little too warm inside she decided to open the window. The idiot was fully focused on untangling the last bit of ivy so she had stopped knocking and was out of sight. She finished freeing herself and raised herself to the window just as the princess opened. The princess used slightly excessive force and the opening window struck the idiot hard, knocking her to the ground.
It was a long fall, but the idiot didn't die. She just broke both legs, both arms, some ribs and her jaw. She was unable to move or speak. She also fell into a dark area of the house, making her invisible to the other guests who arrived. Her friend had not actually been expecting her, so her presence, broken and outside his house, went completely unnoticed for the duration of the party and a long time afterwards.
She was an idiot for climbing because she didn't know the rule about the bell.
THE PARABLE OF THE CLIMBING IDIOT
There once was an idiot, that is, a person of normal intelligence who makes very painful mistakes. This idiot was walking one night to where a friend was hosting a party. The idiot knew the location of the building and knew that the friend would have a light on to identify the place and also knew when to get there.
The idiot also assumed a lot of things, namely that she would easily be able to find the door on this strange old building.
However, on arriving, the Idiot was surprised to find that the door was nowhere to be seen. It was dark and there was no light anywhere at the ground level. There was also a great mass of ivy growing everywhere. After searching everywhere, the idiot grew desperate to get to her friend she believed to be expecting her. She could see the friend's window was the only one illuminated. If only she could get to it, she would be able to reach the friend.
So the idiot, who was a great climber, scrambled up the walls of the old building and reached the window, hoping to open it from the outside. But the window was locked and appeared painted shut. Still the idiot tried to pry it open, and to knock on it, but no one heard her.
Then she heard a lot of noise below. Someone had rung a bell. It was a little princess. She was also there to visit the idiot's friend, but unlike the idiot, the princess knew that in order to get in, she had to ring the bell. No one had ever told the idiot this important secret and she had never had the courage or intuition to ask. Shortly, a door completely covered with ivy swung open and light poured out around the silhouette of the friend who greeted the princess.
As the princess strutted into the house and the party the idiot tried to call to her friend, but she was too far away and there was to much noise accompanying the princess's entrance. Next the idiot tried to climb down but she was tangled in the ivy.
The door finally shut again and the idiot went back to knocking on the window as she struggled to break loose of the ivy.
The princess strolled upstairs to the room with the window. Since it was a little too warm inside she decided to open the window. The idiot was fully focused on untangling the last bit of ivy so she had stopped knocking and was out of sight. She finished freeing herself and raised herself to the window just as the princess opened. The princess used slightly excessive force and the opening window struck the idiot hard, knocking her to the ground.
It was a long fall, but the idiot didn't die. She just broke both legs, both arms, some ribs and her jaw. She was unable to move or speak. She also fell into a dark area of the house, making her invisible to the other guests who arrived. Her friend had not actually been expecting her, so her presence, broken and outside his house, went completely unnoticed for the duration of the party and a long time afterwards.
She was an idiot for climbing because she didn't know the rule about the bell.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
I am officially returning
As it should soon be known, I will be going back to my favorite country soon. well, in about seven months.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Another unecessary illustration
Ah, here it is, a parable story I would love to use to fight against my argumentative former acquaintance. It requires making the sarcastic appearance of adding insult to the pain of a good friend who gets very bad headaches. So here is the parable, well it is an illustration after all.
So my good friend frequently suffers from extremely bad headaches. In fact, they are genuine migraines. My friend is a female but I will pretend my friend is a guy so I won't be talking a bunch of insult about her.
Anyway, my friend is crippled by enormous amounts of pain. One time I was on my way somewhere and saying goodbye to this friend while making the arbitrary health inquiries that you make when you don't know what to say or when someone appears to be in a lot of pain. The inquiry was answered with reporting on the intense pain of the migraine.
I left, but I felt proud of myself for being understanding rather than judgemental about the pain. It would have been really easy to do a lot of things, to think things about my friend that would not have been fair. It would have been something like, "What? who cares. It can't be that bad. Get up and work anyway," or, "Dang it, why don't you take better care of yourself and you won't be in so much pain." or "Wow, I'm so much better because I never get these things. I must be a whole lot healthier and mature."
The comments could then go on to what the author of a really good book calls "Spiritual one-up-manship." This would take the form of, "Well why don't you pray for relief from pain. That's what real beleivers do," "If you were really spiritual, you wouldn't feel any suffering." or "You just feel sorry for yourself and won't give your pain over to God like superior people of faith do."
And I was glad I didn't have any of this spiritual self-righteousness for the exclusive reason that it allowed me to feel morally superior to those that have made similar statements to me. Essentially, I have had a couple of friends who viewed me with enormous contempt and condescension because of ailments from which I suffered but he didn't. The boy seemed to consider himself a person of greater spiritual maturity in comparison to me because he hasn't been regularly slapped with depression. But his lack of depression is no more a sign of maturity than my lack of headaches.
Certainly, reacting to pain that is emotional or physical is what is important, but having it or not having it should not be viewed as a deficiency in character, but rather as an obstacle that demonstrates a stronger character in those who overcome in than in those who never had to.
So my good friend frequently suffers from extremely bad headaches. In fact, they are genuine migraines. My friend is a female but I will pretend my friend is a guy so I won't be talking a bunch of insult about her.
Anyway, my friend is crippled by enormous amounts of pain. One time I was on my way somewhere and saying goodbye to this friend while making the arbitrary health inquiries that you make when you don't know what to say or when someone appears to be in a lot of pain. The inquiry was answered with reporting on the intense pain of the migraine.
I left, but I felt proud of myself for being understanding rather than judgemental about the pain. It would have been really easy to do a lot of things, to think things about my friend that would not have been fair. It would have been something like, "What? who cares. It can't be that bad. Get up and work anyway," or, "Dang it, why don't you take better care of yourself and you won't be in so much pain." or "Wow, I'm so much better because I never get these things. I must be a whole lot healthier and mature."
The comments could then go on to what the author of a really good book calls "Spiritual one-up-manship." This would take the form of, "Well why don't you pray for relief from pain. That's what real beleivers do," "If you were really spiritual, you wouldn't feel any suffering." or "You just feel sorry for yourself and won't give your pain over to God like superior people of faith do."
And I was glad I didn't have any of this spiritual self-righteousness for the exclusive reason that it allowed me to feel morally superior to those that have made similar statements to me. Essentially, I have had a couple of friends who viewed me with enormous contempt and condescension because of ailments from which I suffered but he didn't. The boy seemed to consider himself a person of greater spiritual maturity in comparison to me because he hasn't been regularly slapped with depression. But his lack of depression is no more a sign of maturity than my lack of headaches.
Certainly, reacting to pain that is emotional or physical is what is important, but having it or not having it should not be viewed as a deficiency in character, but rather as an obstacle that demonstrates a stronger character in those who overcome in than in those who never had to.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Really disturbing dreams
It's good that I've gotten enough sleep to allow for dreaming, but it's bad that I dream about such creepy people. Shoot. I don't remember the interesting part of the dream, but I remember the really disturbing scene in which the token creepy guy from my church won't leave me alone. But enough about that. I was going to say something really brilliant, but now I don't remember what it was.
Friday, January 11, 2008
So how about this writer strike?
What I find most difficult about trying to follow this news is the fact that even thought there is a whole lot of discussions of the tactics of both sides I had to look to find the actual demands and perspectives.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
The Dragon's Wife: A great example of boundaries
Lately I have been helped a great deal in learning about boundaries. I was recalling some of my past relationships with other people that were incredibly harmful to me and I have found that a lot of this came from the lack of boundaries in the actual relationships. As I described how I had come to feel in the relationship, I was reminded of a story I read a long time ago, it was called something like "Prince Gorgom" (at least I think that's the word. The problem is that I know it was an unfamiliar monster word and it reminded me of 'mormon' and it wasn't, as far as I know, 'gorgon') and it goes like this:
So there was this queen who suffered the tragedy of tragedies for women at that time: she was unable to have children. Since I imagine this in my head as part of a sermon, it's easy now to think of all of the great women of the early bible who were unable to have children at the beginnings of their story. I can go on to point out that a great deal of trouble arose when they took the matters into their own hands without calling on God. It was those who obeyed God regarding their future children that had, well, a much better outcome, in the end.
So in the same spirit as that of several biblical women, this queen in the story I am telling decided she needed to find a solution to her infertility. She didn't call in a handmaid or laugh at a prophesy, though. She sought out a women who was probably a sorceress or something. This woman advised the queen to eat two onions. She either gave them to the queen or instructed the queen to go get them. I'm going to assume for the sake of logic that there had to be some designation on these onions to set them apart as the correct onions, because their use as the treatment to the queen's ailment were anomalous, so there must have been something special about them. Anyway, the final goal was for the woman to eat these two wonderful onions and then she would have some awesome kids, and maybe she was even promised sons. The important detail, however, to the eating of the onions. The queen needed to peel them first.
Well, when the time came to eat them the queen forgot and downed the first onion as it was. Then she remembered and carefully peeled the second and ate it.
well, of course failing to follow the instructions usually brings about undesirable consequences. The queen did get pregnant and there were no complications that anyone noticed. Then is was time to deliver.
The midwife discovered that the child was really a type of dragon-snake-monster that sounds something like 'mormon.' The midwife did the sensible thing and tossed the infant out the window. Fortunately, there was a second, perfectly normal child following him, and the midwife never had to tell anyone about the minor complication of the first child being a frightful monster.
SO, the queen was happy she had a son and all that and he grew up and he was a great guy and he was going to get married.
But then this monster showed up and plagued the town the way that monsters do. He was kind enough to explain himself, stating that he would not allow the dashing prince to get married until he himself could get married. This makes sense to anyone who by now must have gathered that this monster is the prince's long lost, discarded older brother, and of course the older has to marry before the younger.
So a quest was set out to find a woman to marry the dragon so the prince and heir of the little country or whatever could get married.
Applicants ran out pretty quickly because, being a monster, the dragon kept killing the brides on the wedding nights, effectively annulling each union before it had begun. Still, though, the dragon insisted he had to get married.
Well, fortunately, a smart girl came along. She married the dragon and either she consulted someone who told her the secret or she figured it out on her own. When the big moment came, she was severely overdressed. She had seven or fourteen long shirts on, according to the story. In the illustration that goes with the story, they look like thin night-gowns.
So the dragon asks his wife to undress. She tells him he has to undress, as well. Since he's a dragon or a snake, that entails shedding a later of skin, so he does, and his wife then takes off one of her shirts.
So he asks her to undress again, since she has a great deal further to go before business can continue, and she again responds that he has to undress, too. So he takes off another layer of monster skin.
So, as expected, by the time the woman is naked, so is the snake, who, as it turns out is really a nice guy under all that monster skin, literally. Out of the final layer of skin comes, of course, another prince who looks exactly like his brother, only a little bit older and thus the real heir. So the wife sheds the last layer of clothes and, well, that's it. She officially is married to the older prince, so the younger prince can get married. More importantly, the dragon can no longer plague the are because he's no longer a monster and he now has much better things to do.
Anyway, I think the most important part of this story is the part about the wife's preparedness to contend with the dragon once she marries him. It's an example of boundaries. It's a great showing of carefulness. I think it is highly significant that she starts out no more vulnerable than the dragon as concerns number of layers, and that she doesn't make herself more vulnerable unless he does the same.
I learned a lot from thinking about this as a metaphor for relationship because a lot of harm I have suffered in relationship has come from being vulnerable to people who were not themselves vulnerable, just as the first few brides of the monster went in without adequate protection and were killed.
That actual connection I made between my life and this story came when I was writing down how I felt about a recent season in my life and particular friends who for a long time broke my heart and made me feel completely unvalued even though on the surface they did not appear to be doing anything wrong. I described the relationship as feeling like I was naked and locked outside. I was completely vulnerable and exposed and even frightened, and yet my friends were completely covered, protected and even sheltered in all of the ways that I was not. From this image I then made the connection to a variation of the dragon story in which the woman runs out of layers before the dragon does and thus is stuck, totally exposed, in a room with a monster until he takes of the last skin and turns out to be human. I felt is was a similar fear, of being completely unprotected and potentially ashamed and likely to be hurt in some way, but while her fear lasted only a moment, mine endured for about seven months, to varying degrees. Now it's been a year since the last part of the ordeal started. Now I can see a lot of how I got so badly damaged.
So the wisdom I can see from the story and from my life is the importance of saving layers when dealing with dragons. Any relationship needs to have equality of vulnerability, or someone, the one with less clothes on, is in danger.
So the important this is never to overdo the loss of layers with someone and especially that women should never become vulnerable to men very quickly, because men are generally serpentine and do a lot of harm they don't even intend to do. The men with which I dealt were snakes in that way and they had no idea they were killing me With them I was not careful. I trusted them way too much, told them too much, sacrificed too much, and compromised too much without reciprocation. For months I ended up with the feeling of being killed by my friends and couldn't explain why. It's too bad. But it's over now.
So there was this queen who suffered the tragedy of tragedies for women at that time: she was unable to have children. Since I imagine this in my head as part of a sermon, it's easy now to think of all of the great women of the early bible who were unable to have children at the beginnings of their story. I can go on to point out that a great deal of trouble arose when they took the matters into their own hands without calling on God. It was those who obeyed God regarding their future children that had, well, a much better outcome, in the end.
So in the same spirit as that of several biblical women, this queen in the story I am telling decided she needed to find a solution to her infertility. She didn't call in a handmaid or laugh at a prophesy, though. She sought out a women who was probably a sorceress or something. This woman advised the queen to eat two onions. She either gave them to the queen or instructed the queen to go get them. I'm going to assume for the sake of logic that there had to be some designation on these onions to set them apart as the correct onions, because their use as the treatment to the queen's ailment were anomalous, so there must have been something special about them. Anyway, the final goal was for the woman to eat these two wonderful onions and then she would have some awesome kids, and maybe she was even promised sons. The important detail, however, to the eating of the onions. The queen needed to peel them first.
Well, when the time came to eat them the queen forgot and downed the first onion as it was. Then she remembered and carefully peeled the second and ate it.
well, of course failing to follow the instructions usually brings about undesirable consequences. The queen did get pregnant and there were no complications that anyone noticed. Then is was time to deliver.
The midwife discovered that the child was really a type of dragon-snake-monster that sounds something like 'mormon.' The midwife did the sensible thing and tossed the infant out the window. Fortunately, there was a second, perfectly normal child following him, and the midwife never had to tell anyone about the minor complication of the first child being a frightful monster.
SO, the queen was happy she had a son and all that and he grew up and he was a great guy and he was going to get married.
But then this monster showed up and plagued the town the way that monsters do. He was kind enough to explain himself, stating that he would not allow the dashing prince to get married until he himself could get married. This makes sense to anyone who by now must have gathered that this monster is the prince's long lost, discarded older brother, and of course the older has to marry before the younger.
So a quest was set out to find a woman to marry the dragon so the prince and heir of the little country or whatever could get married.
Applicants ran out pretty quickly because, being a monster, the dragon kept killing the brides on the wedding nights, effectively annulling each union before it had begun. Still, though, the dragon insisted he had to get married.
Well, fortunately, a smart girl came along. She married the dragon and either she consulted someone who told her the secret or she figured it out on her own. When the big moment came, she was severely overdressed. She had seven or fourteen long shirts on, according to the story. In the illustration that goes with the story, they look like thin night-gowns.
So the dragon asks his wife to undress. She tells him he has to undress, as well. Since he's a dragon or a snake, that entails shedding a later of skin, so he does, and his wife then takes off one of her shirts.
So he asks her to undress again, since she has a great deal further to go before business can continue, and she again responds that he has to undress, too. So he takes off another layer of monster skin.
So, as expected, by the time the woman is naked, so is the snake, who, as it turns out is really a nice guy under all that monster skin, literally. Out of the final layer of skin comes, of course, another prince who looks exactly like his brother, only a little bit older and thus the real heir. So the wife sheds the last layer of clothes and, well, that's it. She officially is married to the older prince, so the younger prince can get married. More importantly, the dragon can no longer plague the are because he's no longer a monster and he now has much better things to do.
Anyway, I think the most important part of this story is the part about the wife's preparedness to contend with the dragon once she marries him. It's an example of boundaries. It's a great showing of carefulness. I think it is highly significant that she starts out no more vulnerable than the dragon as concerns number of layers, and that she doesn't make herself more vulnerable unless he does the same.
I learned a lot from thinking about this as a metaphor for relationship because a lot of harm I have suffered in relationship has come from being vulnerable to people who were not themselves vulnerable, just as the first few brides of the monster went in without adequate protection and were killed.
That actual connection I made between my life and this story came when I was writing down how I felt about a recent season in my life and particular friends who for a long time broke my heart and made me feel completely unvalued even though on the surface they did not appear to be doing anything wrong. I described the relationship as feeling like I was naked and locked outside. I was completely vulnerable and exposed and even frightened, and yet my friends were completely covered, protected and even sheltered in all of the ways that I was not. From this image I then made the connection to a variation of the dragon story in which the woman runs out of layers before the dragon does and thus is stuck, totally exposed, in a room with a monster until he takes of the last skin and turns out to be human. I felt is was a similar fear, of being completely unprotected and potentially ashamed and likely to be hurt in some way, but while her fear lasted only a moment, mine endured for about seven months, to varying degrees. Now it's been a year since the last part of the ordeal started. Now I can see a lot of how I got so badly damaged.
So the wisdom I can see from the story and from my life is the importance of saving layers when dealing with dragons. Any relationship needs to have equality of vulnerability, or someone, the one with less clothes on, is in danger.
So the important this is never to overdo the loss of layers with someone and especially that women should never become vulnerable to men very quickly, because men are generally serpentine and do a lot of harm they don't even intend to do. The men with which I dealt were snakes in that way and they had no idea they were killing me With them I was not careful. I trusted them way too much, told them too much, sacrificed too much, and compromised too much without reciprocation. For months I ended up with the feeling of being killed by my friends and couldn't explain why. It's too bad. But it's over now.
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