What I have learned and am learning

Oh my goodness! I am so impressed my everyone's creativity! The stories were wonderful. a real joy to listen to, and a fun 3 minute mystery.
Things that I learned:
1. English presentations are way more enjoyable both to write and listen to than any other class.
2. The people around me are SO creative. They have so many surprises hidden up their sleeves.
3. Seriously though, this class reminded me to keep my eyes open. Not only for the hidden fairy-tales in the news, but also to remember that the people around me have way more to share than I ever expect.

It was so wonderful to read Dr. Sexson's story and really reminded me that magic IS everywhere. I have talked about my belief in magic and it is always beautiful to hear small reminders that if you open your eyes, you will not see reality, but instead myth playing tricks on us.
How many times have elders told me, Open your eyes child! You won't be young forever! Look at the real world, and get a seat on the train!
But then I smile because I know that opening my eyes will only display the magic further, that fairy tales and greek tragedies and myths of epic proportions are playing themselves out right in front of us. Reality? Sure, I live in the real world. Because what is real-ly going on is nothing but a modern reenactment of stories. Beautiful stories that when retold using other language people scoff and say, What is the use of telling stories that aren't true?

Which brings a whole new answer to that question. Because those stories ARE true, we see them everyday!

So, let us keep our eyes open. Whether it leads us to see the people around us and remember that they are all sources of astounding creativity, or to see that sometimes, more often than we think, the news is reminding us that stories really are at the source and perhaps lead us to understand that truth and meaning are all in the eye of the beholder.

Displaced tale of Shaharazade

I did not know a question would decide my fate. It was a question that rolled off my tongue, illuminating what I most loved, and what I most feared would become of it.

The air was electric, with breath and love and thunder rolling across the plain. We made love. Your breath was hot on my cheeks with your hair falling into mine. We did not sleep.

I thought that it was the beginning of the end. And so, I made you laugh, I made you cry, I made you plead to me. The roles became twisted and for a few hours I felt like master. Somewhere in North Dakota, in an old farmhouse, at the end of America, where thunder tumbles and grumbles, crawling its way towards your eardrums. Somewhere in between all this, there was a bed and a space, between our noses, our chests, my throat and your adams apple. Between all this was the space that I filled, and then beyond. Stopping only when the lightening clawed our eyes or I asked for permission to use the bathroom. Tiptoeing throughout a house that creaks, and faucets that moan.

I see you like this now. We are old, and our children have grown, and yet this is always how I think of you. You will be gone soon, and I will carry on. Your young wife that was the last to be picked.

I see you, afraid and mean. Lusting for what you always denied yourself the pleasure of for a second time. I see you, with gold flecks in your hair, and a smooth face. There were no wrinkles, for your smile rarely made it to your eyes. 

I, also, was afraid, but perhaps I did the job of fooling you. Later, you will tell me that I looked beautiful.

And how do I describe? The words filling the air, and the stars and the moon turned upside down. And my lips and your eyes watching, and the whiskey. How do I remember this? Ripples. And oceans overflowing. And sand in my throat and burnt sugar on my tongue. And the night turned light and the world filled with gold.

How could I know that I would come to love? That it was not until years after this night, when my voice was hoarse, and my tongue dried out, that I would come to love this moment, with all its imperfect danger.

I asked, May I tell you a story?

You replied, Until Dawn.

The Spark

As much as I have loved reading all the different romances, and talking in class about the Essential points to a romance, it seems to be that the most perfect romance is one that does not have any of the requirements. Isn't the most perfect romance once that is completely organic and completely your own? I suppose that within the few requirements there is room to make it your own, but it seems to me that the only true requirements are a Quest, a Happy Ending, and The Spark.

Something we haven't mentioned in class, and perhaps we haven't because it seems so obvious, is The Spark. Not the Nicolas Sparks. The spark between two individuals which seems to be the most key requirement in a love story. Love at first sight, friends growing into lovers, whatever you want to call it, the fire between two people in love HAS to be in a romance. Otherwise it simply becomes a tale of two friends. And although friends often, and should, love each other, it is in a very different sense than between two lovers.

There must be a spark. There must be a moment you can recall on years later and say, then. That is when I knew. Maybe you didn't know that you were in love, or that you had found "the one" but you knew that something was beginning that "friends" do not engage in.

So maybe this was already a given and I am just stating the obvious, but to me a spark seems the most essential ingredient into which the most delightful chocolate souffle is created.

Daphnis and Chloe

"Daphnis and Chloe" by Louis Hersent

I could only smile and laugh while reading this story! What a silly story! And so wonderfully silly!

When I first began reading this, I thought that this was the perfect story. What a wonderous beginning and is there anything sweeter, than two people discovering love together?
But then, the story turned ridiculous. Still quite entertaining, but all together ridiculous.

I like this painting because it is so sweet and soft and innocent. And just look at how dopey Daphnis looks.