Halloween Hoes

It's been a long time since I've been in London for halloween, and in Colombo we've never really done anything particularly special for it.

So this year I finally get to dress up...and I must admit I'm rather excited.

But as I mentally flick through costumes, this line from Mean Girls keeps playing in my head: "Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and none of the other girls can say anything about it."

Hmm.

I'm torn between wanting to wear something a little bit sexy and wanting to wear something just silly and fun.

Of course, I don't intend on dressing like a 'total slut'...but I'm still contemplating whether to go for the sexy look or the scary look.

Argh. I still haven't decided...and I'm off to Camden right now.
We shall soon see.

I'll put pictures up.

The University Diaries Pt 2: Lessons With Moses

Picture Santa Claus.
Picture Moses.
Now put them together and you'll get a fairly accurate image of my professor. I call him SantaMose (Sorry about the unfortunate connotations this has for you, Jade)

Anyway, I've had two lectures and one seminar with him so far...and I'll let you judge how they went.

He teaches The Bible.

Lecture 1; he shuffles papers around, mutters a million unrelated things and chuckles to himself under his breath in a strangely endearing way. I am sitting at the back. I try to listen, I strain to understand, and then I give up. I write notes to the people sitting next to me. I giggle at the large "WTF?" the girl sitting 2 rows in front of me scribbled on her note pad.

Lecture 2; he shuffles papers around, continues muttering and chuckling (not so endearing anymore). I sit near the front this time. I try to listen, I strain to understand, and then I give up. I pull out my laptop to do something more productive with my time; I browse through kottu.

Seminar 1; this should be better I think. Smaller group so perhaps it'll be easier since we can actually interact. But I again find myself engaged in the battles of Listening and Understanding. Despite my valiant attempts, I lose. Again.
I scribble the word 'Help' on my coffee cup and flash it around to the rest of the class, all of whom smile back sympathetically.
I notice that he uses the phrase "really basically" a bit too frequently. I begin a mental "really basically" counter in my head. I soon lose count.
I start writing down everything he says, just to see if it makes more sense on paper.
It doesn't:

"You have to satisfy the female predicament, really basically"

"Are there any Jews here? Oh I see the only one we did have isn't present because of Yom Kippur. Might have been helpful to have a Jew...for contextual insight and all that".

"I just don't know what to do with The Bible!"

"He becomes existentialist - or something peculiar. Cheap existentialist really basically!"

"...hideous regiment of females (then giggles to himself)"

"I've cocked this up really - rather badly"

"...and actually really basically, actually..."

So none of us really learnt much, really basically.

Pot. Crack.

It's not about marijuana or cocaine.

It's about a story I heard in church today which had quite a nice message. I found a copy online:

Once upon a time there was a man whose job was to bring water from the stream to his Master's house. The man carried the water from the stream in two clay pots. He hung the pots on each end of a pole, which he carried across his shoulders, to and from the stream many times a day.

One of the clay pots was perfect in every way for its purpose. The other pot was exactly like the first one, but it had a crack in it and it leaked. When the water bearer reached his Master's house, the perfect pot was always full, and the cracked pot was always half full.

The perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, and it boasted loudly. It criticized the cracked pot for its failures, and reminded it that despite his efforts, the water bearer could only deliver half a pot of water due to his cracks. The poor cracked pot was ashamed of its imperfections, and was miserable that it could only accomplish half of what it was supposed to do.

One day the cracked pot spoke to the water bearer. "I want to apologize to you. Because of my cracked side I've only been able to deliver half of the water to your Master's home, and you don't get the full value from your efforts."

The water bearer smiled on the cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the Master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed as they climbed the path from the river to the Master's mansion the cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful flowers along one side of the path, and it felt somewhat brighter. But when they reached their destination and the water in the half-empty pot was poured out, his sadness returned. "Thank you for trying to cheer me up with the beautiful flowers, water bearer," The pot spoke. " But I still must apologize for my failure."

The water bearer said, "Dear pot, you haven't understood what I was trying to show you. Did you notice that the flowers only grew on your side of the path? That's because of your crack. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and everyday as we walked from the stream the water that leaks from your pot has watered them. I could have got a new pot, but I preferred to gather the flowers, and with them to bless many tables."

Okay, so the general wording isn't great, and the whole "Dear pot" thing sounds a bit sad, BUT it's the moral that's nice.

Do you ever feel like you're not good enough for someone to love? Or that you're too broken, too frayed, too messed up? Do you feel endlessly guilty?
That's why I like this story. Whenever I start counting my imperfections or feeling worthless I'm going to try and remember it.
And maybe I'll believe that sometimes our flaws can become our strengths...

And that it's okay to be a little bit broken...

And that you're worth something after all.

I Love You, But I've Chosen Darkness

If I said 'Satan', what would be the first thing that comes to mind?

Do the words 'Evil' and 'Sin' spring up instantly?

If someone asked me this about a week ago, I would have said something along those lines as well.
It's simple isn't it; whether you're religious or not, you always see Satan as being coupled with evil. End of story.

Or is it?

I've been reading Milton's Paradise Lost, and it presents Satan in this whole new light.
Milton doesn't portray Satan as the monolithic embodiment of evil we perceive him to be; he humanizes him. And in doing so, makes him easier to understand and relate to...Take the following extract, for example, which shows Satan's contemplation of repentance and why he feels he can't repent:

Nay cursed be thou; since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues...
O then at last relent: is there no place
Left for repentence, none for pardon left?
None left but by sumbission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th'Omnipotent. Ay me, they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain...
But say I could repent and could obtain
By act of grace my former state; how soon
Would heighth recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feigned submission swore: ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
For never can true reconcilement grow
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep:
Which would lead me to a worse relapse
And heavier fall: so should I purchase dear
Short intermission bought with double smart...
Farewell remorse.

I love this, because I think alot of people - including myself - feel we can't repent or change our 'ways' for the same reason; we fear relapse and the "heavier fall" - or we're just too proud. It shows Satan being committed to evil not because this evil is inherent in him, but because his pride makes him choose to remain that way, and doing so allows the evil to fester and ultimately possess him.
Likewise with us...we're don't do bad things because we are bad people, simply because we can make bad choices. I think it's good to be reminded of that. I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel I'm just plain bad, and when you believe you're bad you find it harder to try and be good because you think what's the point...but if you realise it's your choices and not just you, then it's easier to change things.

I'm not saying we're all like Satan! I'm just saying that if you can look at Satan in this humanistic form, it makes it easier to understand your own sin. If the guy who brought sin into the world himself acknowledges that this was a combination of choice and reluctance to repent...then it quite neatly points us away from what we shouldn't be doing!

Sounds simple doesn't it? But of course it isn't. I sin, you sin, everybody sins. And we will keep doing it.
The further along you go, the harder it is to turn back.
It's the choices we make that can save us.

Joan Baez, Baby!

I saw Joan Baez in concert last night! She's 67; still beautiful and still singing like an angel. It was amazing, but I was disappointed when she didn't sing Diamonds and Rust (which I'm currently listening to on loop):

Well, I'll be damned
Here comes your ghost again
But that's not unusual
It's just that the moon is full
And you happened to call
And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I'd known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall

As I remember your eyes
Were bluer than robin's eggs
My poetry was lousy you said
Where are you calling from?
A booth in the Midwest
Ten years ago I bought you some cufflinks
You brought me something
We both know what memories can bring
They bring diamonds and rust

Well, you burst on the scene, already a legend
The unwashed phenomenon
The original vagabond
You strayed into my arms
And there you stayed
Temporarily lost at sea
The Madonna was yours for free
Yes, the girl on the half-shell
Could keep you unharmed

Now I see you standing with brown leaves falling around
And snow in your hair
Now you're smiling out the window of that crummy hotel
Over Washington Square
Our breath comes out white clouds
Mingles and hangs in the air
Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there

Now you're telling me you're not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
'Cause I need some of that vagueness now
It's all come back too clearly
Yes, I loved you dearly
And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid

Thank you Char for the tickets... :)