a rant. originality.

I'm reading The Fountain Head by Ayn Rand, and have less than 100 pages to go. I'm also listening to lectures by Leslie Hahner everyday, which is leading to a beautiful close to my degree at Baylor (coming in Dec.). I'm also writing a screenplay, which is pushing me to form my thoughts into a narrative like story describing pictures that produce a dialog. These are my thoughts as of late.

I'm devastated to have found that nothing I can make is purely original. ha... No matter how hard I try I cannot produce something uninfluenced by others. In reading The Fountain Head, I've been inspired to stick it to the man and create something beautiful that is completely mine, completely unique, completely and purely original. I desperately want to be capable of this. I found that this idea of creativity was a huge motivation in my life. I thought, if I could just write a song/book/screenplay that was completely and originally me with no outside influence, I could have a tangible artifact that would be me, and reflect who I am.

My education has unveiled this theory of mine to be impossible. When sociologists study the human identity, they all arguably agree (ha!) that identity comes from 3 paths. Arguably 1/3 of our identity is innate. For example, I can walk the entirety of the earth and find no one with my face. This exposes innate qualities we have as individuals. The 2/3 of what sociologists argue makes up identity is what is taught to us. It's amazing the cultural expectations we pick up in our social upbringings. Western experimentation has proved factual that gender roles come from how we are conditioned when we are young. Pretty much, from the moment your born your either covered and with pink or blue everything, and whether we realize it or not, how care takers treat baby boys and girls is conditioning those babies how to react in specific situations. Including the toys and games we play with the babies contribute to their conditioning! Get this, even my idea of what 'creativity' is defined as is taught to me and the definition could vary from person to person. So how can I truly be creative if my idea of what 'creativity' is, is someone else's view of what it means to be creative? The third and final element that is argued to make up an individual's identity is experience. The experiences we go through in life cause us to react a specific way in specific situations. For example, if I has stung by a bee, had a terrifying boyfriend, or had a friend die in a car accident... those elements of experience could and probably would affect the way I live life from that point on. It's a part of survival. If we didn't learn from experience, we'd still be cave men/women.

So, after realizing these things I was bummed out, but after a day of thinking it through I realized these 3 elements that make up an identity are really quite beautiful because it forces us to be connected to a community that mirror's the Trinity. Father: taught, Son: Innate, Holy Spirit: experience. (That's just my thought of which goes with with... others think maybe innate is the spirit, and experience is Jesus and it could be that too.) But, this realization was incredibly inspiring for me. Knowing that whenever I produce something I can't take full credit (maybe arguably only a 3rd of the credit! ha!).

Say I paint a picture. It’s not just me painting that picture, it’s also everyone who has contributed to teaching me how to paint and draw’s picture. Also, it’s everyone who makes up my experiences like my friends’ and families’ picture too. All these people are a part of my identity. All of these elements uniquely make up a completely unique and original individual, which mirrors something greater. A community and experiences pushed through a human brain uniquely formed.

What a beautiful new definition of art.

cultivated.

funny how everything needs time and space to be fully appreciated. this has been the underlying theme of my thoughts lately and i've found it to be true, and a necessary fundamental to look through when i'm on edge. we live in a culture where pleasure can be microwaved and ready to eat in 2 minutes... in contrast to a time where hours were spent in physical labor to plant and cultivate seeds within a community, and then after months of the weather working hand and hand with time, the harvest comes, food is picked washed and cooked. I think the communities gathered around kitchen tables for those meals experienced a lot more enjoyment in their food over my microwaved popcorn.
food is just a tiny metaphor for what i'm getting at. i think as humans/more like westerners... our minds are trained to want immediacy. i think that is dangerous. we loose our joy this way. we become empty with out the effort filled time that shapes us into beings that are able to appreciate things when they are ready.
so i'm going to try to not be afraid of time and space. to wait and embrace just who i am and who everyone else is around me at this point. to live and appreciate now fully. and to take the time to love this. soak it in.

<3 laine.

the modern leper.

A cripple walks amongst you all

you tired human beings

He's got all the things a cripple has, not working arms and legs

And vital parts fall from his system and dissolve in Scottish rain, Vitally he doesn't miss them He's too fucked up to care

is that you infront of me?

Coming back for even more of exactly the same

You must be a masochist

to love a modern leper on his last leg

Well, I crippled your heart a hundred times,

and still can't work out why

You see, I've got this disease I can't shake

and I'm just rattling through life

Well, this is how we do things now

Yeah, this is how the modern say scared

So I cut out all the good stuff

Yeah, I cut off my foot to spite my leg

Is that you infront of me?

Coming back for even more of exactly the same

You must be a masochist

to love a modern leper

on his last leg

well i am ill

but i'm not dead

and i don't know which of those i prefer

because that limp which i have lost

it was the only thing holding me up

holding me up

I'm lying on the ground now

and you walk in through the only door

Well, I have lost my eyesight like i said i would

but i still know

That that is you infront of me

you are back for even more of exactly the same

are you a masochist

You love a modern leper on his last leg

you're not ill

and i'm not dead

doesn't that make us the perfect pair?

just you and me

we'll start again

and you can tell me all about

what you did today

what you did today.

roots.

people are so amazing. i am fascinated by the life of the individual. i love when i am so intrigued by a person that i can just get lost in them for a while. try to find out why they act the way they do. what typically makes them have good days. a smile. the weather. a good song. a good ride. a good run. a good read. a joke. a good grade. and then find out why those elements rubbing against that person makes them react well. what experience in their past molded them to feel that way. and then maybe by listening for the unspoken secrets like these i can learn how to make their bad days better days.
everything comes down to roots doesn't it? but even some things are unexplainable and a complete mystery. and i. love. it. there is something so infinite inside of us. someone who handles situations completely different than i do is naturally the most intriguing thing. i want to learn what makes them them. because they are not me. and suddenly the world is a lot bigger than myself and i feel so small again.

desperate

1945. German concentration camp, "Bergen-Belson". the words of Lieutenant Colonel Mercin Willet Gonin DSO.

"It was shortly after the British Red Cross arrived, though it may have no connection, that a very large quantity of lipstick arrived. This was not at all what we wanted. we were screaming for hundreds and thousands of other things and i don't know who asked for lipstick. I wish so much that i could discover who did it, it was the action of genius, sheer unadulterated brilliance. i believe nothing did more for these internees than the lipstick. Women lay in bed with no sheets and no nightie but with scarlet red lips, you saw them wandering about with nothing but a blanket over their shoulders, but with scarlet red lips. i saw a woman dead on a post modern table and clutched in her hand was a piece of lipstick. At last someone had done something to make them individuals again, they were someone, no longer merely the number tattooed on the arm. At last they could take an interest in their appearance. That lipstick started to give them back their humanity."

and all of the sudden i am very aware of my humanity. i, we are all "spirit, bound by flesh, held up by bone and trapped in time." no matter how well you can sing, dance, cook, run, read, speak, paint or play we are all desperate for something. i think this is a universal truth. we are all desperate for something.

and i've found

that the story of the gospel of grace fits my desperate soul like a key.

like fine wine.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound--
Better than all treasures
That in books are found--
Thy skill to poet were, thou Scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then--as I am listening now.
-Percy Shelley

"...enjoy life as it is. "but the facts of reality stink," i told him. "Reality is like a fine wine," he said to me. "It will not appeal to children." And I am grateful my friend stung me in that way, because this truth helped me understand and appreciate life in it's self, as it is, without the false hope formulas offer. I didn't read formula books after that because reality is like fine wine."

maybe exactly what happens to us is exactly what we need. embrace. drink it like fine wine. learn to appreciate. go.

<3 Laine