(no subject)
Sorry for the double post, but i thought you should see the 'official' version of that stupid paper. it's double spaced, and five bloody pages long. i think the teacher said something about she'd be amazed if anyone hit three, which is how long this is supposed to be. oh well. Angeliques is longer.
Blackout
A couple of weeks ago campus woke up, and remained dark. We were in the midst of a power outage. My roommate and I got up anyway, neither of us could sleep, so we sat and talked. We remembered back to our past, to other times we were left in the dark as children, but more importantly to what we did during those times. Thinking about those times in my childhood caused me to remember one specific power outage. A couple of years ago all the kids at my high school were sent home at noon. My parents were both at work, and had other things planned which meant that they would not be getting home until around eight o’clock that evening.
It was snowing out, still, and I was in the one room where open flame was allowed in the house. It had been snowing since the previous evening, but around eleven that morning enough accumulation had built up that the power lines fell. When I was walking home from school after being let out early, I saw that the sky was very dark, when I walked into the cold, silent house, I realized that I would need some light.
I lay on my stomach on the carpet. I suppose the carpet was forest green at one point. Whatever color it was in the past it’s much different now. Over the years the green dye has faded and is now a warm greenish brown. The carpet rests on a slate tiled floor in the entryway of the house. It sits in front of the door and a bench where we sit to put on shoes. In the room is the wood stove that heats our house in lieu of burning oil. I suppose that it’s the ash and dirt from the stove that’s done the most damage to the carpet. They have changed it almost beyond recognition. I stare at the flickering light of the candle that sits on the tile in front of me. The power is still out, and the house is now dark, and I have reverted to the mindset of a Neanderthal; where fire is the most miraculous thing in the world, and I stare at it in wonder and awe. Awe that anyone could even discover that miraculous combination of heat and energy, awe that someone thought that it could be tamed.
As I stare into the tiny flame I watch as it flickers, fighting my breath. The faintly lavender scented, purple wax flows down the side of the long scented taper. A pool of molten wax forms where the candle meets the antique metal holder. As the wax cools it transforms from a transparent liquid, to a foggy, opaque solid once more. As I stare unseeing into the candle flame, I think that maybe the wax lost something as it changed. By no longer existing for a purpose, it has no reason. A rumbling crash interrupts my thoughts, startling me. I jump in surprise and my breath rushes out with my voice, the flame flickers and dies, unable to fight the rush of wind. I wasn’t expecting the snow sliding off the roof, and now the candle is out, leaving me in darkness. I reach out with my right hand; searching blindly for the small object I remember placing in front of myself. I remember that I put it there before darkness truly fell, when I could still see enough to get the candle out of the drawer. There must have been a reason I thought about this, though at the moment I can’t quite remember why. Call it a premonition, or intuition, or perhaps just a precaution. I can never be entirely sure, but I had the feeling that I would need it. I am glad I thought of it, because it turns out that I need it. I feel something under my hand, and know that I need to look farther to the left. I feel the object currently under my hand twitch, and I know for a fact that I am now holding the tail of the cat that has been keeping me company ever since I got home. I pause to rub her ears briefly, before pulling my hand back and continuing the search. My hand closes over the small plastic device. It is smaller that the eraser I was using this morning in calligraphy when the power went out. I fumble with the object, trying to operate in the dark, one-handed what I have only used in broad daylight before, or at least some light. A flick of my thumb, and success, suddenly I can see again. I look at the gas powered flame, then reach out with the hand holding the lighter, and the candle burns again. I pull my hand back, and let the lighter go out, then I shake it slightly, looking to see how much fuel is left in the reservoir. It isn’t much, but that doesn’t really matter. I’m going to bed in a few minutes anyway. Really the only reason I re-lit the candle is so I can make it to my room without killing myself. I lay back down on the carpet, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt back over my hands. I stare into the flame again, absently rubbing Byrdi’s ears again as I did minutes before during my search for the lighter. I try to think of nothing, but find myself back at the same thoughts as before the candle went out.
“If the wax loses reason when it loses purpose, what does that mean to people?” I inquire of Byrdi and of the silent, chilly house around me. Byrdi’s only response is to purr and lick my hand gently. “What about the people who have no purpose? What about the people who have a purpose but no reason?” Byrdi lifts her head and glares at me. “Wealth? No, that can’t be all there is to life. We’re born, we grow, we accumulate stuff, and then we die? No way that is all there is to our life. I won’t accept that, I can’t accept that.”
Byrdi yawns and turns to look toward my backpack. I dropped it on the bench as I came in, and haven’t bothered to move it yet. My other cat Java finally makes an appearance, using her paw to pull open the zipper on the bag, and climbing inside.
“Of course,” I say, looking in awe at my cats “we’re here to learn.”
Sometimes I wonder about those cats, they seem to understand so much more than we give them credit for. I lay back down, ignoring the question of how much those little fur-balls really understand in favor of a more pressing question. “What are we supposed to learn?” I rest my chin on my folded hands as Byrdi curls up next to my side, stealing heat from my body.
I blink suddenly, I’m not sure how long it’s been since I lay back down, but the candle is flickering again, on the verge of dying. I push myself to my feet, and in the last flickering light of the candle, I make my way across the room and grab another candle out of the drawer. I sit down Indian style in front of the dying flame, and light the new candle at the old.
“New from old, new life out of that which is passing, re-birth of the idea from the ruins of those gone… Of course!” I exclaim, Byrdi lifts her head and looks at me scathingly. “Sorry, but I figured it out, it’s not what we learn, it’s what we teach the next generation! Learning means nothing if we do not pass on the knowledge to those after us!”
Byrdi glares at me, almost as if to say “You interrupted my sleep for that? I could have told you that without you needing to wake me up.”
I laugh, and pick up my backpack, putting it gently onto my back, after all, Java is still asleep in there. I pick up Byrdi in one hand, and the candle in the other. I carry all three to my room, where I set the candle on the dresser, put Byrdi on my bed, and extract Java from my bag, placing her on the bed next to Byrdi. I put my bag on the chair to deal with in the morning, and then go to bed. In the morning I remember what I thought about last night, and write it all down. I have the feeling that it is too important to forget.
Once again it turns out that my hunch was right as a few days later I am offered a job to continue working as a swim instructor. I almost decline, then I look at the table beside my bed where my journal rests, and I accept the job. After all, what good is the knowledge gained if we do not share it with those who may have the key to doing something truly great with it?
Blackout
A couple of weeks ago campus woke up, and remained dark. We were in the midst of a power outage. My roommate and I got up anyway, neither of us could sleep, so we sat and talked. We remembered back to our past, to other times we were left in the dark as children, but more importantly to what we did during those times. Thinking about those times in my childhood caused me to remember one specific power outage. A couple of years ago all the kids at my high school were sent home at noon. My parents were both at work, and had other things planned which meant that they would not be getting home until around eight o’clock that evening.
It was snowing out, still, and I was in the one room where open flame was allowed in the house. It had been snowing since the previous evening, but around eleven that morning enough accumulation had built up that the power lines fell. When I was walking home from school after being let out early, I saw that the sky was very dark, when I walked into the cold, silent house, I realized that I would need some light.
I lay on my stomach on the carpet. I suppose the carpet was forest green at one point. Whatever color it was in the past it’s much different now. Over the years the green dye has faded and is now a warm greenish brown. The carpet rests on a slate tiled floor in the entryway of the house. It sits in front of the door and a bench where we sit to put on shoes. In the room is the wood stove that heats our house in lieu of burning oil. I suppose that it’s the ash and dirt from the stove that’s done the most damage to the carpet. They have changed it almost beyond recognition. I stare at the flickering light of the candle that sits on the tile in front of me. The power is still out, and the house is now dark, and I have reverted to the mindset of a Neanderthal; where fire is the most miraculous thing in the world, and I stare at it in wonder and awe. Awe that anyone could even discover that miraculous combination of heat and energy, awe that someone thought that it could be tamed.
As I stare into the tiny flame I watch as it flickers, fighting my breath. The faintly lavender scented, purple wax flows down the side of the long scented taper. A pool of molten wax forms where the candle meets the antique metal holder. As the wax cools it transforms from a transparent liquid, to a foggy, opaque solid once more. As I stare unseeing into the candle flame, I think that maybe the wax lost something as it changed. By no longer existing for a purpose, it has no reason. A rumbling crash interrupts my thoughts, startling me. I jump in surprise and my breath rushes out with my voice, the flame flickers and dies, unable to fight the rush of wind. I wasn’t expecting the snow sliding off the roof, and now the candle is out, leaving me in darkness. I reach out with my right hand; searching blindly for the small object I remember placing in front of myself. I remember that I put it there before darkness truly fell, when I could still see enough to get the candle out of the drawer. There must have been a reason I thought about this, though at the moment I can’t quite remember why. Call it a premonition, or intuition, or perhaps just a precaution. I can never be entirely sure, but I had the feeling that I would need it. I am glad I thought of it, because it turns out that I need it. I feel something under my hand, and know that I need to look farther to the left. I feel the object currently under my hand twitch, and I know for a fact that I am now holding the tail of the cat that has been keeping me company ever since I got home. I pause to rub her ears briefly, before pulling my hand back and continuing the search. My hand closes over the small plastic device. It is smaller that the eraser I was using this morning in calligraphy when the power went out. I fumble with the object, trying to operate in the dark, one-handed what I have only used in broad daylight before, or at least some light. A flick of my thumb, and success, suddenly I can see again. I look at the gas powered flame, then reach out with the hand holding the lighter, and the candle burns again. I pull my hand back, and let the lighter go out, then I shake it slightly, looking to see how much fuel is left in the reservoir. It isn’t much, but that doesn’t really matter. I’m going to bed in a few minutes anyway. Really the only reason I re-lit the candle is so I can make it to my room without killing myself. I lay back down on the carpet, pulling the sleeves of my sweatshirt back over my hands. I stare into the flame again, absently rubbing Byrdi’s ears again as I did minutes before during my search for the lighter. I try to think of nothing, but find myself back at the same thoughts as before the candle went out.
“If the wax loses reason when it loses purpose, what does that mean to people?” I inquire of Byrdi and of the silent, chilly house around me. Byrdi’s only response is to purr and lick my hand gently. “What about the people who have no purpose? What about the people who have a purpose but no reason?” Byrdi lifts her head and glares at me. “Wealth? No, that can’t be all there is to life. We’re born, we grow, we accumulate stuff, and then we die? No way that is all there is to our life. I won’t accept that, I can’t accept that.”
Byrdi yawns and turns to look toward my backpack. I dropped it on the bench as I came in, and haven’t bothered to move it yet. My other cat Java finally makes an appearance, using her paw to pull open the zipper on the bag, and climbing inside.
“Of course,” I say, looking in awe at my cats “we’re here to learn.”
Sometimes I wonder about those cats, they seem to understand so much more than we give them credit for. I lay back down, ignoring the question of how much those little fur-balls really understand in favor of a more pressing question. “What are we supposed to learn?” I rest my chin on my folded hands as Byrdi curls up next to my side, stealing heat from my body.
I blink suddenly, I’m not sure how long it’s been since I lay back down, but the candle is flickering again, on the verge of dying. I push myself to my feet, and in the last flickering light of the candle, I make my way across the room and grab another candle out of the drawer. I sit down Indian style in front of the dying flame, and light the new candle at the old.
“New from old, new life out of that which is passing, re-birth of the idea from the ruins of those gone… Of course!” I exclaim, Byrdi lifts her head and looks at me scathingly. “Sorry, but I figured it out, it’s not what we learn, it’s what we teach the next generation! Learning means nothing if we do not pass on the knowledge to those after us!”
Byrdi glares at me, almost as if to say “You interrupted my sleep for that? I could have told you that without you needing to wake me up.”
I laugh, and pick up my backpack, putting it gently onto my back, after all, Java is still asleep in there. I pick up Byrdi in one hand, and the candle in the other. I carry all three to my room, where I set the candle on the dresser, put Byrdi on my bed, and extract Java from my bag, placing her on the bed next to Byrdi. I put my bag on the chair to deal with in the morning, and then go to bed. In the morning I remember what I thought about last night, and write it all down. I have the feeling that it is too important to forget.
Once again it turns out that my hunch was right as a few days later I am offered a job to continue working as a swim instructor. I almost decline, then I look at the table beside my bed where my journal rests, and I accept the job. After all, what good is the knowledge gained if we do not share it with those who may have the key to doing something truly great with it?