Me- P4, take two

You Found Me - The Fray

The days were sunny and bright—

the times of castles in sandboxes, being dressed by mommies, running free and wild in the realm of imagination.

The times when everything was possible and everything was merry.

Everything was sampled and no judging was done;

those were the days which would shape who we were to become.

A flurry of sports, arts, and musics were undertaken—

to see in which we were prodigy.

The adventure of this important year: clogging.

Then, was when we met.

Her with the contagious smile, curly afro of Asian hair, the gregarious personality of a golden
sunflower;

Me, the shy little girl with big, searching eyes, curious like a cat and quiet like a mouse.

Then, was when our paths crossed for the first time.

Then, was the first encounter and not nearly the last.

Through the years, we saw each other time and time again—

once more, lives intersecting en route a talent search:

this time, mastering the delicate art of striking tunes on keys black and white.

Then, that time, was when the final endeavor did fate seal our paths to intertwine:

Side-by-side, determinedly conquering the eccentric wails of the oboe,

for seven years together we would sit.

Together we were—laughing, crying, fuming, comforting, sharing.

Bonding through music; bonding for life.

Merging.

closer and closer

to becoming

best friends.

Closer and closer,

to becoming

One.




And there we were, fates crossed by stars.

My personality blossoming through her enthusiasm;

me, balancing her close companion named melodrama.

We did everything together:

eventually we spoke the same, we thought the same.

We were the same.

-The Asians.

---Two peas in a pod.

----------The package deal.

---------------Joined at the hip girls.

Real words not needed;

Sentences completed themselves.

Full conversations spoken with no speech.

Shifting eyes bringing dangerous outbursts of laughter,

a language tacit between only two.

Anything told to one was understood to be told to both.

Both naïve’. Both so innocent.

I was she and she was me.

Our paths had coalesced;

together, we strode down the same road.





Through the years,

through extravagant birthdays, countless moments of hilarity and sheer joy,

through first heartbreaks, family fights, cancer fights.

Together, we strode, until…

Until one day, that time came.

That moment, that crossroad.

There we stood at the edge of a forest—

Axes in hand, armed with the ability to carve out our paths.

There we stood, so unsure.

Unsure of what was to come, unsure of what to make of it.

Unsure of who we were supposed to become.

Unsure about the future.

Do we forge a path together?

Two heads are better than one, they always say.

Or do we become our own axmen?

—slowly etching our separate courses into the storybook of humanity…



……




Here I stand,

Alone.

Alone, I lay broken.

Alone, I struggle to even lift the ax.

Alone, I have no confidence.

Alone, I am no one.

The thicket and weeds are taking over.

They threaten to strap me down forever;

I can’t escape this.

No phone call on this first birthday away—

Heartaches from empty promises.

Who was she? An illusion, a wild figment of my imagination?

Who was I?

Who am I?

Confused.

Scared.

Abandoned.

Desperate.

Homeless.

Aimless.

Exhausted, of creeping along so slowly…



……




Up ahead, I see someone!

Enthusiastically hacking, chopping away,

Creating a path.

Who is this girl?

A former innocent, all grown up.

“What the fuuu…”what did she just say?!

And a boy alongside, his arms, lips,

permanently attached,

to my other half.

A changed half.

Now, I’m a different half.

An unmatching half?!

Distresses deluge: the jigsaws might not fit.

Still best friends, but one no longer.

This thought sickens me:

I
run,

run, (these "runs" are supposed to be stair stepping)

run.

Fast.

Frantic.

Far.

Away.

To get away from the reality of being

nothing like her.

My mind booms:

What happened back there?

I don’t know, I scream.

But I do: I can’t bear to admit;

I know now—

I am not she, and she is not me.

I pace in futile circles,

Treading into the ground,

Into me:

I am not she, and she is not me.

I am not she, and she is not me.

I am not she, and she is not me. ("not she, and she is not" is supposed to be struck through)

Me.

I am me.

And I have been all along.

I have never been anyone other than me.

She is a dear part of me.

We are interconnected,

but we are not one and the same.

Me and her.

Her and me.

—not synonyms.

I am my own.

I have my own path.

The laden axe fatigues me less and less.

Determined confidence lifts a former burden.

Carve, carve, carve.

Create, create, create.

Dream, devise, shape.



……




And hullo there! Come, we meet again—

Best friend!!! she squeals.

This time, a connection:

A reconnection.

Once again,

laughing, dancing, dreaming.

A new version of old times.

And once again, also,

Comes the eve of goodbyes.

On this occassion, a searching reappraisal of each other.

I’ve missed you so much, I tell her;

I’ve missed you too,

it’s so great to see you—you’re exactly the same! gleefully, exclaims she.

Thus, we separate, in the moment of nostalgia;

back to our own paths, yet surely to meet again.



……




On the way back, I reflect upon those echoing words:

“You’re exactly the same!”

Exactly the same? I mourn.

All this chopping and shearing done for nothing…

No, no, this can’t be true!

But after a survey in the mirror, it does appear so:

I look the same, I speak the same.

I think the same, I act the same.

There is no indication of growth or transformation,

No calamitous, abrupt difference, as with everyone else.

So sad, so sad…now was the time for change!



......




Back to work, here I go,

on this fruitless, meaningless journey.

Mindlessly hacking away, at everything I see.

Ah, here is a huge tree,

Too big for me; I can’t do it.

What am I to do?—I must do something.

Well, it is a beautiful tree; I want to do the least damage.

Anyways, I should be saving the forest, not cutting it down.

As I deliberate and think these thoughts,

I suddenly become aware.

Aware that I am now aware.

One year ago, would I have been so mindful of the tree?

Would I have been so determined?

The answer is no, because the truth is yes:

I have changed!

Slowly yet surely, I am sculpting who I am.

The spinning base is the same, I am just subtly chiseling away.

I am the same, I am not the same.

I am different, I am not different.

The big forest is the same, I am just paving a little path.

Today, standing on the stone I placed yesterday, I place the footpath for tomorrow.

I am a fusion of the past, present, and future.

A fusion of all the words I have heard, all the sights I have seen, all the people I have met;

I am a representative of everything that I have learned from the world, of everything I love.

But I do not become everything that I love:

I am not the color green;

I am not a star, black hole or supernova;

I am not the essence of music;

I am not my dysfunctional family;

I am not my best friend.

However, I am a conglomeration—a union of all of these.

I can pick and choose among the qualities of each,

Whichever ones I wish to unify and hammer into “me.”

And the thing is, there will never be,

A single me.

The idea of me can be captured,

At any moment, at any time;

But for the rest of eternity,

I am continually changing.

Shearing.

Sculpting.

I am a continuum of new thoughts, new ideas—the only constant is change.

This is me.

And though I’ve tried to describe it with words,

It is impossible to tell you who I am.

Because I do not know, myself.

All I know is that I will happily be here in the forest.

The once daunting wild thicket,

now a forest of opportunities—a grove of possibilities.

A chance to transform, a chance to grow into myself.

I will be here in the forest,

Forever working

Not in unison, but in harmony with my best friend.

Working to create the beautiful design of her and me—

Us.


Word count: 1410

so, the formatting is a little off in the lines/spacing and stuff
pictures are coming!
oh, and my punctuation is a mess..have fun! :)

Oh dear lord, this definitely isn't what I was going for..I think it's a play..ish..thing? new P4 coming soon...

You Found Me - The Fray

6/27/2008
It’s a golden sunny day. Brightly colors objects swirl around us. There is magic shimmering in the air.
I’m a hardy traveler: I’m still excited to be here. I’m giddy like a child. I just want to run around with my arms wide and try to catch it all, to let it all soak in. I want to meet everybody—each of the princesses, and especially everyone of the princes—and do everything else there is to do: eat all the eats, ride all the rides, and see all the acts.

But, no one else wants to.

12:37 PM- It has been an enjoyable trip so far, however today is the last day of six. Everybody is a little sick, a little heat stroked, and a little exhausted—not to mention a little tired of each other. Maria has a migraine and refuses to take medicine. Kari won’t stop complaining about the pain in her delicate little feet. Daniel keeps getting frustrated with the massive peak-season crowds surrounding us. Everyone is hungry and cranky.
As we look around, we see shops, food stands and tables. The group makes an executive order: we are stopping and lounging in these chairs for a couple of hours.
My heart drops like a boulder in an avalanche. I refuse take this blasphemy: I am at Walt Disney World and will feel like I am at the happiest place on Earth. Desperately, I search for a getaway plan. In a few minutes one comes to mind.

12:49 PM-“Oh hey, guys, I see Matt and Shannon! I’m gonna go hang out with them for a while,” I lie. In actuality, I see no one; I just can’t wait to be free of the dreariness.
“Okay, sure,” they reply, knowing that I love this place and am still itching to explore.
“Well, I’ll meet all of you back here in two hours. Three o’clock, sound good?”
“Okay, have fun! Be careful on your way over there: remember there were reports of a pair of child molester roaming around. See you at three!”
“Psh whatever, I’ll be fine. Bye!” I exclaim and hurriedly dash away, making my great escape. In the excitement of the moment, little do I realize I have once again left my purse behind, as I so often do.

1:24 PM- I am in absolute bliss. I attempt to capture every memory with the camera which is ever-attached at my wrist. A beautiful butterfly swoops right by my face; I have got to get the perfect picture. Mesmerized, I follow bright yellows and oranges of the gracefully sashaying creature, diving deeper and deeper into my own world of oblivion. “It [is] lovely and beautiful to walk through the world like this, childlike and fully awake, open to what is near and without mistrust.” (Sid page 46) Oh look! I’ve just spotted Pocahontas. I have to get a picture with her.

3:28 PM- This freedom was exactly what I wished for. I watched the Beauty and the Beast production, got pictures with Pocahontas and Aladdin, and rode Splash Mountain. However, now it is time to feed my begging stomach. As I start searching for my cell phone to check the time, my stomach sinks as I come to a sick realization: I left my purse on the bench with my friends. My purse with all my money, and cell phone, which was low on battery. I have no way of contacting them. Oh no. I steal a glance at a passerby’s watch: it’s 3:30. Oh no! I start sprinting in the direction I thought I left them.

Meanwhile…
2:30 PM- Kari, Maria, Daniel and the rest of the group are relaxing at the benches.
“Let’s give Kajal a call and see what they’re up to. Maybe we could meet them,” suggests Daniel as he dials my number. Startled, they hear my familiar ringtone, which cuts off mid-way.
“Oh God. She left her purse again.”
Checking my purse, they realize my phone is dead.
“She would leave her purse and her phone low on battery. It’s okay, let’s just call Matt,” says Daniel in his clear, level-headed ways.

It is not long before they come to the realization that I never made it to hang out with Matt and Shannon. A panic session ensues, however they decide to at least wait until three in hopes that I will show up.

3:14 PM- “What is going on?!? She’s never late! Where is she?” Maria cries in distress.
Her and Kari’s eyes become the size of saucers as they share a look of tacit understanding.
Kari moans, “Oh My GOD! The child molesters kidnapped her!”

3:20 PM- After waiting around for a few more minutes, the group leaves in order to began their. Frantically, they strain their eyes to see as far as possible, looking for any glimpse. After having no luck, they soon began asking the small shop owners.
Daniel began the questioning: “Umm…have you seen a girl by herself? She’s Indian: black hair, brown skin. Average height..Gosh, how do I explain who she is?!”
“Well, I’m sorry sir,” replied the glass art shop employee. “This weekend, the International South Asian Association is actually visiting the parks, so there have been a lot of guests who fit that description.”
As the group looked around in dismay, they realized there were, in fact, more heads of black hair than in an average population.

3:43 PM- Kari, Maria, Daniel and the others put their heads together.
“If you were Kajal, where would you be?”
“Well, she does love food. We should check any restaurant that we see.”
“She loves the color green? And astronomy…? And the band Coldplay..?
“Right. Like that helps.”
“Well, that’s who she is.”
“Not really. That’s just what she likes.”
“How are we supposed to explain who she is, then?


Around the same time…
3:47 PM- I am running around searching for the benches I left my dear friends at, cursing my naiveté. Why did I think I could just run off? And how in the world could I forget my purse? Seriously?
I gasp for air. Distressed, I look as far as my sight stretches. It is dizzying—everything suddenly looks the same. There are restaurants everywhere, there are shops everywhere, there are benches everywhere! The world spins around and around as I run in futile circles.
Where am I?! Who am I to be stupid enough to get lost?
Okay, calm down.
I think for a minute and as I am walking and looking, began taking pictures of the places I pass, in order to remember where I have already looked.
Well, it’s not like you’re going to find them right now. Hopefully, you’ll run into them somewhere. You should try to enjoy this while you can.

3:56 PM- As a parade passes by, I try to clap along and enjoy the music and wacky cars filled with Disney characters, as all of the chortling little children mobbing around me are, but it is impossible. I just want to be with my friends. I miss them. I can’t do this alone anymore.
Perhaps you could go to the front desk where the missing children go?
No! I refuse to do that. It would be humiliating to walk up to the front desk and say, “Hi, I’m lost. Yes, I’m seventeen.”
It would be the smart thing to do.
Whatever. My friends know me and would never look there anyways. I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’ll be alright.
My stomach growls, voicing its disapproval.
I find myself shivering as a cool breeze blows in, followed by drops of water. Rain—great.

4:00 PM- I’m cold, starving, and soaked to my core. I just want to eat, be warm, and with my friends.
There are screaming children everywhere running to take cover in the shops. And then I see it: there’s an unmanned pizza cart! It’s utter chaos right now—no one would notice if I just swiped a couple of slices. I haven’t eaten since eight in the morning. I’m just so hungry, and it’s so close. Besides, I’ve paid enough to get in to this darn place of happiness.

I casually walk towards the pizza stand, and stealthily reach out with my arm. I reach, reach, reach…
But it doesn’t happen.
I can’t allow myself to take it.
Why can’t you just take it, you wuss?
I don’t know, that’s just who I am.


On the other side…
5:00 PM- The search continues. My friends dart from store to store, craning their necks, and asking workers.
“Our friend, she’s been lost for a few hours…she’s Indian, umm she loves music.”
“Try the Philharmonic Show theater.”
It was a fruitless search as they could not explain who, out of the thousands of people, they were looking for.
“Should we go to the front desk where the lost kids go?”
“No, she’s too stubborn to go there.”


Back to my starving, shivering self, still hiding from the mighty thunderstorm…
7:30 PM- I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I can’t do this anymore. What if I’m stuck here forever? What was the last thing I said to my friends?
“Psh. Whatever. I’ll be fine.” It echoed through my mind.
Oh goodness, there are child molesters out.
I look around me, and every face seems so evil. They are all sneering, these menacing people, all obviously coming to get me. My heaven has turned into hell.


8:00 PM- The rain has stopped. Both parties continue listlessly wandering around.

9:00 PM- I decide to go to the place that I’ve admired since my toddler years; the Cinderella’s Castle is the symbol of my dreams and comforts me—maybe I’ll find some peace there.
Slowly, I make my way to the castle. I nestle into a little corner of the castle walkway and doze off.

9:45 PM- I am shaken awake—by God himself. It’s Mickey Mouse!
“Excuse me, ma’am, are you okay? There’s a show about to go on. Who are you?” he inquired as he lent me a hand.
“I..I’m happy!”



******

Today, I was looking through my pictures and I came upon my "Lost in Disney!" album. It has been almost a year, yet as I flip through the photos, each moment comes rushing back to me. The sights, the sounds, the happiness, the fears.
I wonder to myself, "How did I let this happen? What would I do differently now, after having lived at UT for a year?"
More than ever I would try to follow happiness. I would not be so scared, or too shy to ask for help. But I have not changed monumentally: I still have my same code of ethics. I probably still would have not taken the pizza and starved.
Now, by myself for real, I have become more aware of myself and my capabilities. I know to watch out, because I most likely will forget my purse. But I also know that I cannot do it alone, and the world is not full of monsters. The world is filled with Mickeys: friends, family, peace, love, and happiness. Our life is what we make of it. We are what we do and love; it is difficult for us to define ourselves any other way. In that case, I am still finding what I enjoy doing, I am still finding what I love, and will be discovering new loves for the rest of my life
. Who am I? I will never be able to tell you.



Word count: 1874

Tough love vs. Compassion with detachment

Hakuna Matata - Lion King

I don’t feel like tough love and detached compassion are interchangeable phrases. Firstly, I don’t think “displaying compassion by emotionally neglecting someone” (Dana’s DB) is what you can call tough love—it has the tough part, but not the love. As the Oxford English Dictionary defines it, tough love is “protection of a person's welfare (esp. that of a child, addict, or criminal) by enforcing certain constraints on him or her, or requiring him or her to take responsibility for his or her actions; behavior which, though seemingly harsh or unyielding, is intended for the ultimate benefit of the recipient.” The most important aspect of tough love is the motivation: the “seemingly harsh” actions are for the benefit of the recipient. It is love because even though the recipient may not see it, it does some good for them; it is with good intention. In all that is done, there is the underlying foundation of love. Personal example—and I’m sure we’ve all been treated with tough love by our parents: if my parents had bought me every toy that I ever wanted and threw a tantrum for as a child, and whatever else I’ve wanted the last few years, I would be a rather spoiled, selfish and ignorant bitch. I would always get upset with them –feel a little unloved—but it would be okay, because I somewhere deep, deep inside, I knew they were doing what they thought was best for me. They’d still feed me, clothe me, and take care of me— all actions by which we try to show love. Parenting is all about tough love.

As for our friend Sid, he was lacking a little in that department. Indeed it was the first time he ever “suffered for the sake of another person, loved another person, lost himself to a love and became a fool of love” (Hesse 114). That is a hard place to start off as a parent. He didn’t really know him, but he had “this blind love for his son” (Hesse 114) and like many parents, was willing to undergo any amount of suffering for the happiness of this child. Siddhartha was giving his son unconditional love in every situation, when what Sid jr. could have used some tough love.

Also, Siddhartha’s situation when he experienced the deep love for his son and “preferred the suffering and worries of love over happiness without the boy” (Hesse 110), is an example of love/compassion WITH attachment –without detachment. His emotions were dependant on how his son was doing. He hurt when his son spoke malicious words against him, suffered when his son refused to understand and be disciplined. His emotions were ATTACHED to his son.

Though the situation of Siddhartha’s love for his son is an example of both unconditional love and compassion with attachment, those two phrases are not synonymous. Thus their opposites, tough love and detached compassion are not equivalent either. I’ve already talked about tough love, but I also feel compassion with detachment is not at all what it is has been portrayed as—empty compassion. The quote “he was completely concentrated on listening, completely empty” (Hesse 126) does not imply that Siddhartha had an emptiness in his compassion. It is simply saying that Sid had emptied his mind of his own stream of thoughts and would thus be able to listen with full attentiveness, not being constantly distracted by his thoughts and ideas. Also, detached compassion does not mean not helping someone out when they are in need or not being caring or considerate. Detachment, as I have been taught over the years, is not being overly emotionally attached. I know that sounds like exactly opposite the point I am trying to make, but hear me out. Yes, care. Yes, give it your all. Yes, be compassionate. But if what you are doing goes wrong, don’t beat yourself up over. Don’t refuse to eat for a week. Go on with life, and understand that this is the way of the world. On the other hand, if it goes very well, don’t let it go to your head. Don’t be arrogant and look down upon others. At temple, they tell us to solely focus on the path of dharma—all you need to worry about is doing the right thing. You need not be attached to/worry about “the fruits of your actions”; however you have acted, the results will follow sooner or later. Basically, detachment means not being on an emotional rollercoaster.

That detachment in compassion is especially hard to achieve. The fine line can easily be crossed and then it turns into coldness and a seeming lack of compassion. When I try to be detached, it many times turns into me not caring enough, or me convincing myself that I don’t care, but in actuality caring a whole lot and then being devastated. Hoping to go into psychotherapy, (which I feel works wonders if done well) it is especially crucial to listen and be compassionate; myself is all I have to offer—I can’t just prescribe a medicine and snap my fingers to make everything better. It requires a lot of work, yet I can’t be so attached as to want to take every patient into my home and work with them all day, every day. It is okay to care a lot and be upset when bad things happen, but one can’t obsess over it. Hopefully going through life will teach me to accept the ways of the world.

Going in Circles...

I just wish I could realize...

Realize - Colbie Caillat


“Are we, perhaps, just going in circles…?” (Hesse 21)
Constantly, I am asking myself this question. Continuously, it runs through my mind—I feel like this question is the reason that many times I do not feel. What is the point of getting angry, being extremely ecstatic, if it does not matter?

But then, this life is all we have...or all we know of under “the veil of Maya” (Hesse 40). This is what I have been taught in the study of the Hindu scriptures. Quite frankly, I’ve become quite confused. I feel like “I have lost myself in the process” (Hesse 39).

After spending every Sunday studying the Baghavad Gita and Self-Unfoldment, and spiritual camps learning the ways of great rishis and saints, I am torn between two ideas of who I am supposed to be and what I am supposed to do. It is true: “The world [is] certainly sick, and life [is] certainly difficult to endure” (Hesse 23) and there are “thorns which grow upon this rose of life” (X241). In order to escape the pain which comes along with this human existence, the Upanishads tell us, “Whoever immerses themselves in Atman through contemplation and a purified spirit will receive ineffable blessing in their heart” (Hesse 22). Like Siddharta was being taught in his life as a Samana, in order to reach moksha or Nirvana—“to escape the circle of existence” (Hesse 21)—we must learn how to control our emotions. Over and over, I have been taught the “Ladder of Fall”: the consequences that follow having desires, being attached, and consequently, deteriorating to the state of an angry animal. So I have been told and taught not to be attached to the world and the objects I am surrounded by. Once we are able to get rid of our ego-centric way of thinking—“no longer be an ‘I’” (Hesse 16)—we will see that we are one with the world and Atman. Thus we will live in absolute happiness.

And once again, I am right where Siddharta was. He looks at the wizened sixty year old Samana and realizes “He will become seventy and eighty and you and I will also become old while practicing, fasting and meditating” (Hesse 20). When I went to stayed at the ashram in India, I saw the same thing. These people had renounced all their worldly possessions, their home, their families, even their names, in order to devote themselves to finding the “Self.” Yet they were just the human as the rest of us, albeit with a more extensive knowledge of the scriptures. They were sad, happy, angry, jealous, had secrets, had desires. I know they were still learning, but it this learning process seems to be an extremely slow one. Is Dana right? Am I being brainwashed into a socialized way of thinking? I guess they’ve got me right where they want me.

Yet, I’ve also seen people who have achieved “Self-realization.” They are most inspirational, spell-binding and awing. They are impossible to describe with words, but these realized souls are truly something else, of a different nature. They have absolute control of their minds, and bend their will to not even the demands of their body. A teacher of mind once had a guru who was a world-renowned swami. He had been traveling across the globe and had not slept in 48 hours. The swami was exhausted, but was to meet with a guest in thirty minutes. And so, the swami slept…for thirty minutes. Only thirty. The mind-blowing part though, is that he had absolutely no alarm or any other means to wake him up. The swami was so in control of his mind that even in times of pure exhaustion, he could tell himself to sleep for only thirty minutes, and do so.
Stories like that and the people like him who I have met, fill me with a conviction that this is the path I want to follow. Not for the glory, not for the bragging rights, but because maybe it really is the way to a higher, happier place.

As I jump back and forth, I see where Russell and Brain are coming from. I want to experience all that this life has to offer. I don’t want to turn away from it all. This world is a beautiful place and I just want to take it all in: the painted sunsets, the dewy pine forest, the majestic mountains, the adorable kittens and puppies. There is so much I love and want to do---I’m so filled with a need for action. I still have “such wide love for living things, such passion to heal pain..” (X241). And I still feel the need to follow that passion to "be at peace!" (X241) Perhaps what I am supposed to learn is to have control over my mind and body in order to pursue my passion with a "fearless love" (X246).

Compassion>Imperialism

Circle Of Life - Lebo M.

When I was little, I used to love watching animal shows on TV—Kratt’s Creature’s, anyone? One of the most valuable, most emphasized points I learned was that in a hypothetical situation of being trapped with a great beast (or even a ferocious little dog), the best thing to do it look the animal straight in the eye with confidence and an air of peace. This shows the creature that you are not afraid of it and thus are not on the defensive and so, mean it no harm. Obviously, you have to be careful and get away while you can: the animal just might be darn hungry and want to gobble you up anyways. But the best approach to take is respect.

In George Orwell’s essay, “Shooting an Elephant,” the narrator knew that the elephant’s
“attack of ‘must’ was already passing off” (220X). He says, “As soon as I saw the elephant I knew with perfect certainty that I ought not to shoot him” (220X). But what made him do otherwise? It was the natives’ desire to watch and benefit from the show of the elephant being shot—they were “all happy and excited over this bit of fun” (220X). He could not let down this schadenfreude-esque hunger in the natives. Although the elephant violently ravaged the town, they did not necessarily even care enough about the fact that the elephant killed the Indian coolie, other than the fact that the sight was horrifying. They just wanted to dominate the large animal, to prove that he could come down.

This obviously pulls an ironic parallel with imperialism, in particular, the British domination of India. Just like the natives wanted to prove and found glee in the fact that they could dominate a large beast, the British eagerly took on the challenge of conquering India. Although there were obvious economic reasons for the exploitation, what was the real reason for the domination over not even a different species, but merely a group of people with a different skin color?

In this materialistic world, a characteristic which was heavily emphasized in the period of colonialism, we humans tend to get really caught up in the hustle and bustle of it all. We want more, we want prettier, we want bigger, we want better. We may recognize the adorableness of, say, a puppy; however, all that comes to mind is how much we want it for ourselves. (This is not accusatory in anyway – I just feel like we are all guilty of doing so at one point or another. All I could think about yesterday was how I so desperately wanted to cuddle with the puppy. ) This all contributes to the building of our ego-centric selves. We simply want to be the best.

Out of wanting to be the best come the insecurities of NOT being the best. I many times get wishfully jealous, wanting to have the abilities or attribute or possessions of another. (hah! Dana, I’m seriously not that nice). Thus, when “the weakness of the victims” (X180) is exposed, we rejoice a little inside because it is a comfort to know that others also have some weaknesses and flaws. It is also a comfort knowing that we haven’t fallen yet. Out of the fears of failing and our vulnerability, we feel more secure seeing others fail/conquering others/killing something.

I think this is a very unhappy way of life, and many, many others have realized it as well. Most of the “civilized” countries have mostly given up conquering indigenous peoples, for the sole sake of having dominion over them. But this idea of not conquering should also be extended to animals. Before beasts “were, simply, crucial to survival” (170B). Living in the wild, it was out of defense, protection and need to satisfy hunger—it was the circle of life. In my eyes however, hunting is completely inexcusable. There is no good that comes out of showing superiority over an animal. If it is a sense of brotherhood that is desired—go play a real sport instead.

We should be like Robinson Jeffers: in awe of nature’s beauty. When he realizes he is being inspected as a vulture’s next meal he says, “But how beautiful he looked, veering/ away in the sea-light over the precipice. I tell you solemnly/That I was sorry to have disappointed him. To be eaten by that beak/and become part of him…” (X216) Jefferson has the utmost respect for the bird who is about to eat him. He revels in its beauty, and that is what makes him so peaceful and happy in the end. Being compassionate, seeing and admiring the beauty of the world around us would leave us happier beings. It would be a happier circle of life.