The Acrobats

 Two long, sturdy strips of cloth hung from a fixed point above the stage. A broad-shouldered man and a lithe woman climbed these pieces of cloth with creative tricks and soon they were both high in the air while the polished wood floor of the stage was dangerously far below. Already, we were impressed, they did a few tricks and arranged themselves, and then…

They swung gracefully out over our heads, the long strands of cloth trailing. They flew, his larger frame behind hers, she leaning against him. They walked in the invisible air, side by side, stepping lightly and in synchronization, delicately pointing their toes. He took her in his arms, crossed her quickly over his body and in various dramatic skater’s poses, they continued to fly around and around above our heads. He let her go and caught her with his feet as our hearts jumped into our mouths.

I was struck with the thought, “I want to get married.”

To me, it was a beautiful picture of marriage, one that I wanted to imitate. 

It was beautiful, it was romantic. Yet, it was so dangerous. If he dropped her, if she fell…the results were unthinkable. 

If they fell, they would likely be killed, and if not, then grievously injured. Yet not only they were in danger, but those watching. The audience too could be injured: physically if they fell onto the audience, emotionally if they fell on the stage. Just like a failed marriage, not only would it hurt the couple, but all those near too. And think of the emotional guilt he would feel for having dropped his partner.

To fly like this required strength and trust. Both must possess these qualities, but the man especially the strength as he bore her weight and his own, and she the trust as he at times lifted or caught her as they swung through the air, almost touching the ceiling. 

In Ephesians 5:22-27, we learn, “Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless,” (Ephesians 5:22-27). The wife is to submit to her husband. If I’m to submit to someone, I want a man I can trust with my life, just as this woman trusted him to catch her. The husband is to help his wife heavenward, just as the male acrobat lifted her, and helped her stay high on the cloths. 

~August 2014. Beijing, China.

My Museum of Memories

Memory is a funny thing. Certain things we retain, and others we forget. Mark Gungor compares men's brains to boxes and women's to ball of wire. See the video on Youtube.  BBC's Sherlock has a "Mind Palace" which is like some extra deep place he'll go to retrieve information stored there to solve cases.

I've decided that my mind is like a museum. It's not a particularly well-ordered and logically laid out one either. Additionally, it's got a lot of cluttered rooms and a few with almost nothing in them. My museum contains little movie clips I play over and over, snapshots of the past, and other artifacts of memory. Some memories I frequent more often, they're on display. Others are stuck in the back rooms, not particularly special, just tossed into a corner somewhere. Others are like precious, fragile treasures I hide away to protect and keep them alive, I can't share those moments right away and hardly dare look at them myself lest I damage them with rough handling.

Yet time tells on my memories and like the Mona Lisa, they fade. Rusty old swords lie in some corners. It doesn't matter how hard I try to preserve them, whether by sharing, secreting them away, or playing them over and over. The closer I look at my museum pieces, the more I notice the decay, the blurred detail on a picture, or the missing page in a manuscript. I cringe at the faded paint and the empty casing were a gem used to be lodged but has now tumbled out of its setting. I might find it eventually in some unexpected corner...

Some of my memories I don't like, they're the ugly paintings. In these cases, time is often my friend. With time the garish colors fade, the wine mellows, and the pain no longer stings the same. And they say hindsight is 20/20 vision. I can see the good that came from pain and I can savor triumphs without the suspense and agony of the moment. Success memories are like award plaques, medals, and trophies in my collection.

My memory paintings attempt to capture a moment
in time, but what is a picture to the moment itself? If I write them down, the actual moment slips away like sand through an hour glass. It's like pressing a leaf: some of the colors are preserved but the leaf is dry and brittle, and not as bright and glossy as it once was. Artifacts and crumbled journals help us see the past, but they can't take you there. Still, I catalogue my treasures and I write my journals, but it's not the same.

I cannot share my memory museum, I walk these halls alone. When I share a memory it's like giving someone a postcard from the gift-shop. It's a photocopied memory that I let others see. Just as my memories are removed from the actual moment, so too my attempts at sharing them with others are removed another step further from that moment.

It's part of  my personality, I think, to capture and preserve, document, and convey. I'm always writing or taking photos. As a Sensor (Myers-Briggs), I learn from my past experiences, through physical sensations. And I want to share what I experience. How do I capture golden drops of sunlight that flicker through my lashes on a balmy summer morning? I add another artifact (a sensation) to my collection like one adds a painting to a gallery wall. A painting expresses something of its subject, but it's not like being there, in the scene in my mind, experiencing it the way I felt it. So I describe, like a painter paints, I add my own interpretation, how I saw it, and I try to express just what that moment felt like to me.

Anxiety: Lighting Strikes My Heart

Anxiety grips my heart like lighting in a storm. Searing pain wrapping and lashing around my heart, squeezing it. The shaking tremors that engulf my body are the thunder. My tears are the rain.

Yet God is the master of all storms.

"Cast all your anxieties on him because he cares for you." I Peter 5:7

Because He cares for you.

Dr. Watson's Writing Style and Personality Type

Dr. John H. Watson is generally accepted as an  ISFJ. His writing style certainly supports this idea. Watson writes clearly, succinctly, and yet with warmth.

John Le Carré wrote in the Introduction to The New Annoted Sherlock Holmes, "Dr. Watson doesn't write to you, he talks to you, with Edwardian courtesy, across a glowing fire. His voice has no barriers or affectations. It is clear, energetic, and decent."  Andrea Wenger labeled the ISFJ writing style as "Tangible Warmth." She wrote, "ISFJs focus on facts, which they often convey with warmth.." Although Holmes complains that Watson doesn't stick to the facts enough,* the stories stay focused on the mystery at hand and are told in a straight-forward fashion. He just diverges a little bit to give us a better glimpse of the characters and their lives-- one source of warmth. This warmth, or rather personability, is found in the feelings of the characters, such as their excitement, fear, love, and ideals.  

Warmth is also found in Watson's descriptions. Even if he is describing something dreary, it still has warmth because the description contains a perception of the subject and how it is interpreted by an imaginative human mind. It's like that scientific principle which says the temperature scale doesn't measure hot versus cold, but is rather a scale of heat. There isn't really such a thing as cold, but just a difference in warmth. It was explained to me somewhat like this: two objects that we perceive as cold, one being -10 degrees Fahrenheit and the other -20 degrees Fahrenheit  (cold to human touch) actually contain heat, for if they didn't there could be no energy transfer and the warmth from the -10 object wouldn't travel to the other and raise it's temperature to -15 degrees.

One example of Watson's descriptive warmth in speaking and writing is this exchange where his "SF" effusion is met with "NT" facts:

"'The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley's house,' I explained. 'I think it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penurious patrician who has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know that particular quarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburban highways. Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancient culture and comfort, lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-baked wall mottled with lichens and topped with moss, the sort of wall--'
'Cut out the poetry, Watson,' said Holmes severely. 'I note that it was a high brick wall.' (The Adventure of the Retired Colour Man)

The description pulls you in. He personifies the house. He is bounteous with adjectives and in a painter-like fashion, he daubs moss and lichen onto the wall. Not only does he display warmth in this passage but also other characteristics in keeping with the ISFJ style, for Wenger writes, "They may also excel at sensory detail, drawing the reader in."

Furthermore, in Portrait of an ISFJ, we are told, "ISFJs have a rich inner world that is not usually obvious to observers. They constantly take in information about people and situations that is personally important to them, and store it away. This tremendous store of information is usually startlingly accurate, because the ISFJ has an exceptional memory about things that are important to their value systems. It would not be uncommon for the ISFJ to remember a particular facial expression or conversation in precise detail years after the event occurred, if the situation made an impression on the ISFJ. " This is evident in Watson's writing. He often wrote the stories years after they occurred (with the help of his notes) and yet the people have life and color, and the descriptions are explicit.

By Sidney Paget, The Strand Magazine, October 1891

ISFJs "Enjoy reading and writing about history or biography, but are less likely to gravitate toward business or technical writing" (Wenger). Watson writes about events, he recounts stories that have happened, which is, more or less, history. Holmes referred to him as his "biographer" on at least one occasion. Watson does not write the dry technical pieces Holmes would wish.*

Wenger also informs us that ISFJs "often write about topics they care about, although they may not let their own beliefs shine through. They prefer to present the facts, which they may do in great detail, then let readers make up their own mind."  We know that Watson finds the cases very interesting, his wife says as much. However, Watson doesn't make judgments on Holmes' handling of a case although he expresses his disapproval of his drug use and excessive untidiness.

"Tangible Warmth" (Wenger) is certainly an appropriate description for Dr. Watson's writing style. The facts told in vivid detail renders it tangible. Warmth emanates from the humanness of his descriptions, the emotions expressed, and the interactions between people that you come to know through his eyes.

~Please take a look at Andrea Wenger's article,  The ISFJ Writing Personality: Tangible Warmth. I was delighted with it. You may also enjoy reading her other articles. ~

Note:
*In The Sign of Four, Holmes said, "Detection is, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid."


Bibliography:

Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan, edited by Leslie J. Klinger, intro by John Le Carré. The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes, vol 1 & 2. W. W. Norton & Company. New York: 2005.

Wenger, Andrea. The ISFJ Writing Personality: Tangible Warmth.
http://andreajwenger.com/2010/03/06/isfj-writing-personality/

Portrait of an ISFJ

http://www.personalitypage.com/ISFJ.html 

 

The Voice of Smaug

It whispers, it purrs, and its deep tones are laced with power and cunning. It is the voice of Khan.

Benedict Cumberbatch as Khan

All along, I couldn't see why Benedict Cumberbatch had been chosen as the voice of Smaug, the terrible dragon from The Hobbit. I figured he would do fine, but I couldn't picture it, it wasn't an obvious choice to me. I had seen him in BBC's Sherlock (just two episodes), but nothing about his voice struck me as particularly dragonish. Yesterday, I saw Star Trek, Into Darkness at a theater. In this film, Cumberbatch plays Khan, the very confusing enemy of Starfleet.

As I heard him speaking, I realized that his voice was perfect for Smaug!

I am now very excited for a captivating performance in the The Hobbit film trilogy. I know that Cumberbatch has the voice, I just hope the directors have him use it.




The photo is from the official website and then cropped by me:
Star Trek Official Website Gallery

A thousand years ago feels like yesterday

I felt like they were my neighbors, my relations, my community, these Icelanders from a thousand years ago.

I think it was the style in which their sagas were written.

Many authors these days take an over-the-shoulder, inside-the-soul, point of view with their characters, telling you exactly what the character is thinking and feeling in every excruciating detail. I like that. However, the sagas were not written that way, they were written in a rather external fashion. Yet I felt close to the people.

They seemed real because the lens through which I saw them was as if I were a part of the community. I am told a bit of what they are feeling, I hear of their actions, I know who is best friends with who and how they are related. Just like in real life. In real life I don't know every thought, every pleasure, every pain that passes through my friends, let alone acquaintances that I see frequently.  And so the sagas, by being distant, seem real because I see a community functioning, like my home school co/op, like my extended family, like my Christian community. I see the major events that take place and I hear a little of the inside scoop through those more directly involved.

Additionally the descriptions of people are sometimes vivid, so it's like you can see them. I can see their face and external appearance (physique, clothing), but I can't see their mind. Like real life.

Interestingly, books written in first person or with a very over-the-shoulder view often  leave you guessing as to the person's looks.

They were so human, driven by their feelings of greed, anger, ambition, brokenheartedness and by what was acceptable in their culture.  The women were not meek sheep in the kitchen. A number had strong characters and were driving forces in the stories as they struggled for revenge. And they often manipulated/strong-armed their husbands into getting their way.

And so the sagas easily bridge the gap between then and now, despite culture and language barriers.