On Echoes

Echos, she says. Echos. I've heard the best way to overcome Writers Block is to write about the most common, random thing you can think of- as much as possible. ...but echoes?! What do I know about echoes, except they echo?

From the most distant shadows of my mind (In a disorderly heap of thousands of proofs, infinitums, basidiospores, ablatives of separation, Demosthenes, and Macedonians...), I hear the whisper of an echo... Somewhere in this past week, I've heard the word "echo". All I can remember is that it struck me in a peculiar way.

--Later.--

I won't bother telling how I happened upon this- it would take up a whole post... but it is undoubtedly where my whispered echo came from. One of the most admirable poems I've ever read.

Solitude
Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

Winter Perfomances

Ballet for me is more than exercise. More than attention and fame. Ballet is a piece of me that I could never let go. Getting ready for winter performances. Slipping on leg warmers while chatting and trading with friends. Finding a shrug that matches, and freezing as you take off your jeans. Slipping on one worn out shoe after another and stretching your “never perfect enough” arches. Picking out your specific place at “your” barre. Working on plies and relevés. Then moving on to developpés. Back to the bar, and both hands on it. You move your leg higher and higher than before. Past your nose. Then, you let go with the right hand and move it to third position. A tiny wiggle, but you keep your leg strong. You take the left hand, and move it slightly. A little more of a wiggle, but, you still stay strong. You get both hands to third, with your back straight, and no bent knees. You bring your leg to the side, still above your ear. And with a détourné bring it to arabesque with arms in fourth. You bring the leg down slowly. After enough warm-ups at the barre, you move it to the side of the room, and prepare to do a single, then double Piqué turn, bring your leg out and do four fouettés, then a soutenu and repeat, but with an arabesque at the end. Then clapping at the end of warm ups. The instructor gives instructions on how to wait before going on stage, how to hang the costumes, and where the head pieces are. The show starts within an hour, and the doors are about to open. We all go our different ways to touch up make up and hair. By the time the auditorium is nearly full, every one is ready for their first dance, and are peeking out to see if their family has arrived. The music starts, the curtains open. You are out in the lights, you can barely see the crowd, the sweat is already dripping. The music is deafening and the crowd’s clapping makes your heart pound more than ever. They all have their eyes on you. You start the dance you have been working on for months now. Making sure you smile. You are one with the music, one with the stage, one with the lights, and one with the dance. You finish your dance and walk to the front. A smile of relief as you curtsy spreads across your face. You run off stage to get dressed for your next dance.

42 Seconds to Spare

I got caught doing one of my habits the other day. Not biting nails, or saying 'like'. This one is far more eccentric for this day and age. I was thinking. Not "penny for your thought" kind of thinking, but million dollar thinking. It was deep- prodigiously deep. I was sunk in this reverie is for at least an hour, during which passers regarded me with superciliously raised eyebrows. I was far too busy to notice- or care. I was trying to figure out the answer to life, the universe and everything. Douglas Adams was quite right in his book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: it is 42. In a sense. 42 what? 42 mountains, 42 smiles, 42 cups of PG Tips? (Well, that latter one... it could be pretty close.) 42 seconds. This would be a short time to be doing anything, right? The world is so hasty these days....

We're all so impatient. We want every thing done --now--. Waiting in lines at the grocery and airport is exasperating. Driving home at 6pm is a nightmare. Listening to that horrible holding music on the telephone is torture. Why cook your own food? Fast food is widely available. Don't bother messing up your nicely manicured hands writing a letter: e-mail one! It's such a bother to order stuff online because it takes to long to deliver. Click the "express" button.

What's wrong with 42 seconds of thought? Nowadays most people waste 42 seconds doing pointless things, straightening clothes, looking for shoes, swearing at bad drivers. The point is made. How many people set aside 42 seconds precisely for the purpose of thinking? Not thoughts like, "Where the heck is my Greek homework?", "Man, these gas prices are so high..." and "Gee, it's cold today. I wonder how cold it is."

...No. A thought is an idea, created through the process of ideogenesis, and based completely on the senses. Imagination, memory, cogitative sense, agent intellect, and possible intellect act upon the percept and phantasm creating an idea.

This idea comes into play when you do most anything in life. Now, back to 42.

Scenario I.
Jade Artica is coming home from school. It was a thoroughly exasperating day. She's sick of the world, which seems to be sick of her. As she approaches the front door of her house, a cute, hyper, four-year-old brother comes running. He's terribly excited to see his big sister whom he adores, because he just made some fabulous playdoh cookies to share with her. Nearly bowling her over with a loving hug he slams into her. In shock, Jade drops her books, backpack, and lab culture (which nearly breaks). "Gee whiz," she rashly exclaims, "get away from me you little bothering blunder!" Backing off timidly, Jonah tiptoes back into the house and bursts into tears. Jade feels more miserable than ever and storms into the kitchen demanding her real cookies, finds they're still in the oven, grabs one anyway, get's scorched by the 400° chocolate chips, drops her culture, which smashes, and slips on it... Etc. It could go on interminably, but you get the point.

Scenario II.
Sheila Rowlin has a scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon when she walks home from school. What a horrible day. She's had a row with her best friend, Jade, and they both D's in Biology. World History has far too much reading to do, and Frank McCollough didn't so much as glance her way. She forces her feet to carry her dejectedly homeward, and just as she's about to enter the threshold of 487 Holly Lane, Rhalph Jr. bangs into her with a bear hug. The little midget is 4 and a half and had picked a bunch of dandelions expressly for Sheila. Deep down inside her a straw slowly fluttered upon the back of a camel. The back broke. Rage gnawed inside her. "Why, why, why me?" she thought. "All I want is a quiet room and some hardcore Dragonforce music to cool me down..." As this Fury boiled, she remembered a ridiculous quote her Lit. teacher told class today. "Think before you speak." Now, how stupid can that be, she had thought, it's impossible to speak unless you have something to think about. But in these four words her anger found vent. She was like a flood threatening to go over a dike, but finds respite in a tiny hole. The hole eroded, and soon the entire dike fell crashing to pieces; she breathed a deeeeeep sigh. Exactly 42 seconds had passed. (Yes, quite a while.) Sheila realized that there was no foundation for her madness- no donkey to pin her wrath on. She experiences a delightful feeling inside, and a peculiar one under her chin. Rhalph tickles her with his present; and Sheila swoops him up grinning-tickling him like crazy. They go inside, eat cookies and do Shelia's lab together, which gives Sheila a hundred social points, and a B+ in Biology. She calls Frank and chatters sparrow-like for half an hour, and finishes her World History for the week. Thus,she is in the best mood imaginable.

Why the difference? The 42 seconds. The possibilities are endless. What if everyone thought for 42 seconds before they rashly spoke out? Maybe they would realize something really was their fault. Perhaps words had been interpreted wrongly... perhaps the senses had deceived them, and the percept had a flaw. If all the world had 42 seconds to spare, what would it be like?

TIP: Consider. each. word. before you speak. Examine them like a jeweler would analyze the Hope Diamond. Or how a biologist would disect the only remainder of near-extinct Catfish.
Life depends on thought, make sure you know how to think. (Logic: Systematic study of thinking, check it out.)