part 4
3. there is something rather telling by the way people walk down the street. three distinct personality types are typified. there are those who do not watch where they are going and are jostled too and fro down the sidewalk, like a twig floating down a river. it doesn't have much control over where it is going, neither does it care. some walk with an apologetic demeanor, scuttling out of other peoples' paths, jumping into the street, dodging dogs and small children with as much initiative as a timid little animal. and still others barge down the road, straight path, eyes forward, quick steps. they move for no one. if any person threatens to be in their way, a death glare should do the trick. they usually arrive at their destination first, moving people out of the way with their boring eyes and fast pace.
4. we are so very proud of telling the story of our suffering. in a world where it is everywhere, i believe that it makes us seem more credible if we have had some traumatic or awesome or interesting story to share with others. we show off our battle scars, displaying proudly for the world to see where we fought and what it took out of us. it is because in retrospect, everything is cast in a different light. when we're actually partaking in the suffering, it is kept to ourselves. no need to showcase our weakness, our inability to fight against the cosmic forces of the universe. and so we hide our problems until we have overcome them
8. she is not to be scorned for the seriousness with which she approaches life. the weight she places on flirting, on sex, on him, on her body and soul. some simply cannot help it. some cannot prevent their soul from acting a certain way, being a type of character. it is fruitless to speak to our soul and say, 'look, soul. i want you to stop being the way you are,' just as it is useless for her to go to karenin and say, 'look, karenin. you must cease waking us up each way every morning.' it is just what karenin does, and it is just what she does. when he called her soul up to the deck of her body, and as she has attempted to keep it there, these are the consequences of that action. one cannot ask one's soul to be present and faithful, only to chide it for the way that it acts. otherwise, what is the purpose of having a soul at all? if we are merely all interchangeable bodies, with our souls on the inside all behaving as everyone else's, do we not still enter a concentration camp of ideas?
12. "the third wandered on and on, no tree apparently striking him as worthy of his death...until at last the man lost the courage to go on and stopped at a luxurious maple." it was his choice. for all, it was their choice to climb petrin hill, to choose a tree, don a blindfold, sustain a shot from the silencer of the rifle's barrel. a choice. but the third seemed unable to choose. unwilling to choose. the beautiful trees with their earthy smell and waxy leaves grow onward and upward toward the heavens. a noble and strong life form. we build our lives from its wood: cradles, houses, coffins. and yet for the third, it was not good enough. looking back on his life, as it was so certainly flashing before his eyes at this point, he had done better than he thought. but for death, as for life, he simply lacked the strength to fight against it anymore. and so he chose the best tree he could, closed his eyes, and crumpled to the ground.
13. but for her, it wasn't her choice. someone else had chosen for her, and for once, she could not take that to be her own as well. simply that fact meant that she had the courage to go on, and stopped the man with the rifle before it was too late.
15. just as it was never her choice. he sent her places: all things she did were actually in obedience to his suggestions, which she always took as commands. his words held too much weight, and she was powerless to push them off. and it had to be others giving her mercy, not allowing her to do the terrible things he asked, not taking the right to do them if she didn't freely give. if they did follow through, it would be as though they were stealing from him, for ultimately she was his. but her one merit was that she retained the word 'my.' she was still able to recognize that she was not her own, thus voicing her small desire for freedom.
16. the tall engineer didn't seem to be concerned with the fact that it wasn't her choice.
20. a crow, buried alive. how morbid a thought. people used to be overwhelmingly afraid of being buried alive that they would tie the dead's fingers to strings and strings to bells, and put someone on at night to listen for bells ringing. the graveyard shift. today, it was her turn to work it. she was salvaging those things bordering between life and death, defying the great headstones that bar the way. but who was to save her, buried up to her neck in dirt stamped down around her timid body, unknowingly by the man she trusted.
21. what a terrible thing, to become Tereza. of being a soul rejuvenated in a body controlled by a man who's only tie to her is his appreciation of her response to when he calls out to her. to be a plaything, a flatterer, a dependent child...it would be to loose all power in a relationship. not only in a relationship, in life. a lack of pride, not to be the one that calls forth the crew of someone else's soul, but always in response, always waiting for the call. i think i'd rather just stop listening.
24. it is a wonderfully terrible thing when the adversary must trick people into making false judgements. terrible because those are so easy to be caught in, but wonderful because that is when it looses it's edge. the battle is more than halfway won, at that point. that is when we must fight harder and be more cunning, and never give in.
26. i cannot help but feel overwhelmingly sad. sometimes you fight and fight and fight but loose in the end, the only consolation prize is knowing that you didn't give up.
28. come now, woman! come on, now! i am pleading for you on behalf of every female in the world who exists, who has fallen in love, who's soul responds to the call of the one who has woken them up to the fear and joy of being alive. step up, Tereza, step up! somewhere within you there is a woman who can be strong enough, who is big enough, who will be brave enough. surrender something, betray someone, walk away from the grassy knoll and those who send you there. we are cheering for you, begging you to do it for and by yourself. to move in the direction that you've been headed all your life, stopped in the most beautiful city in the world by one of your many possibilities. but there must be more for you. there must be! so do it. raise your voice, build the courage, strengthen your muscles. if not for yourself, or for all the women, do it for me. because i'm afraid to be you.
farewell, they all said. the benches and the road and the foreign names and the crow and the man with the rifle and the women and their pushy umbrellas. goodbye, goodbyye, gooooodddbyyyyeeeeee....
3. there is something rather telling by the way people walk down the street. three distinct personality types are typified. there are those who do not watch where they are going and are jostled too and fro down the sidewalk, like a twig floating down a river. it doesn't have much control over where it is going, neither does it care. some walk with an apologetic demeanor, scuttling out of other peoples' paths, jumping into the street, dodging dogs and small children with as much initiative as a timid little animal. and still others barge down the road, straight path, eyes forward, quick steps. they move for no one. if any person threatens to be in their way, a death glare should do the trick. they usually arrive at their destination first, moving people out of the way with their boring eyes and fast pace.
4. we are so very proud of telling the story of our suffering. in a world where it is everywhere, i believe that it makes us seem more credible if we have had some traumatic or awesome or interesting story to share with others. we show off our battle scars, displaying proudly for the world to see where we fought and what it took out of us. it is because in retrospect, everything is cast in a different light. when we're actually partaking in the suffering, it is kept to ourselves. no need to showcase our weakness, our inability to fight against the cosmic forces of the universe. and so we hide our problems until we have overcome them
8. she is not to be scorned for the seriousness with which she approaches life. the weight she places on flirting, on sex, on him, on her body and soul. some simply cannot help it. some cannot prevent their soul from acting a certain way, being a type of character. it is fruitless to speak to our soul and say, 'look, soul. i want you to stop being the way you are,' just as it is useless for her to go to karenin and say, 'look, karenin. you must cease waking us up each way every morning.' it is just what karenin does, and it is just what she does. when he called her soul up to the deck of her body, and as she has attempted to keep it there, these are the consequences of that action. one cannot ask one's soul to be present and faithful, only to chide it for the way that it acts. otherwise, what is the purpose of having a soul at all? if we are merely all interchangeable bodies, with our souls on the inside all behaving as everyone else's, do we not still enter a concentration camp of ideas?
12. "the third wandered on and on, no tree apparently striking him as worthy of his death...until at last the man lost the courage to go on and stopped at a luxurious maple." it was his choice. for all, it was their choice to climb petrin hill, to choose a tree, don a blindfold, sustain a shot from the silencer of the rifle's barrel. a choice. but the third seemed unable to choose. unwilling to choose. the beautiful trees with their earthy smell and waxy leaves grow onward and upward toward the heavens. a noble and strong life form. we build our lives from its wood: cradles, houses, coffins. and yet for the third, it was not good enough. looking back on his life, as it was so certainly flashing before his eyes at this point, he had done better than he thought. but for death, as for life, he simply lacked the strength to fight against it anymore. and so he chose the best tree he could, closed his eyes, and crumpled to the ground.
13. but for her, it wasn't her choice. someone else had chosen for her, and for once, she could not take that to be her own as well. simply that fact meant that she had the courage to go on, and stopped the man with the rifle before it was too late.
15. just as it was never her choice. he sent her places: all things she did were actually in obedience to his suggestions, which she always took as commands. his words held too much weight, and she was powerless to push them off. and it had to be others giving her mercy, not allowing her to do the terrible things he asked, not taking the right to do them if she didn't freely give. if they did follow through, it would be as though they were stealing from him, for ultimately she was his. but her one merit was that she retained the word 'my.' she was still able to recognize that she was not her own, thus voicing her small desire for freedom.
16. the tall engineer didn't seem to be concerned with the fact that it wasn't her choice.
20. a crow, buried alive. how morbid a thought. people used to be overwhelmingly afraid of being buried alive that they would tie the dead's fingers to strings and strings to bells, and put someone on at night to listen for bells ringing. the graveyard shift. today, it was her turn to work it. she was salvaging those things bordering between life and death, defying the great headstones that bar the way. but who was to save her, buried up to her neck in dirt stamped down around her timid body, unknowingly by the man she trusted.
21. what a terrible thing, to become Tereza. of being a soul rejuvenated in a body controlled by a man who's only tie to her is his appreciation of her response to when he calls out to her. to be a plaything, a flatterer, a dependent child...it would be to loose all power in a relationship. not only in a relationship, in life. a lack of pride, not to be the one that calls forth the crew of someone else's soul, but always in response, always waiting for the call. i think i'd rather just stop listening.
24. it is a wonderfully terrible thing when the adversary must trick people into making false judgements. terrible because those are so easy to be caught in, but wonderful because that is when it looses it's edge. the battle is more than halfway won, at that point. that is when we must fight harder and be more cunning, and never give in.
26. i cannot help but feel overwhelmingly sad. sometimes you fight and fight and fight but loose in the end, the only consolation prize is knowing that you didn't give up.
28. come now, woman! come on, now! i am pleading for you on behalf of every female in the world who exists, who has fallen in love, who's soul responds to the call of the one who has woken them up to the fear and joy of being alive. step up, Tereza, step up! somewhere within you there is a woman who can be strong enough, who is big enough, who will be brave enough. surrender something, betray someone, walk away from the grassy knoll and those who send you there. we are cheering for you, begging you to do it for and by yourself. to move in the direction that you've been headed all your life, stopped in the most beautiful city in the world by one of your many possibilities. but there must be more for you. there must be! so do it. raise your voice, build the courage, strengthen your muscles. if not for yourself, or for all the women, do it for me. because i'm afraid to be you.
farewell, they all said. the benches and the road and the foreign names and the crow and the man with the rifle and the women and their pushy umbrellas. goodbye, goodbyye, gooooodddbyyyyeeeeee....
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