From the Other Side

It is impossible to feel the exact feeling that another person felt. Even if we think we have experienced the exact same feeling, the intensity, context, and sensation experienced by empathy’s target. Poetry may be the closest we get, but even the carefully selected words tell different stories to each reader. This emotional barrier inherent among all humans causes some tragic misunderstandings. Racism, which spawns from this communication barrier, is something that many people will never understand. Black people are racist towards whites, whites to blacks, and every other color variation you can think of.

Though we may be able to recreate this situation, we will never be able to fully comprehend how this guy felt at that moment.

Racism itself is fascinating to me. For some reason, dark colored skin has been considered an inferior trait for thousands of years. The caste system in India is based on skin color, the Europeans enslaved Africans, and Native Americans were seen as less-than-human savages by explorers. To this day I cannot see why people would view such a superficial trait as a judge of character. I am not saying that I am immune to racism; I sometimes catch myself stereotyping people because of associations I have made from past experiences. But to me, my judgments seem justified. But upon further reflection, I realized that everyone probably thinks their views are justified—why else would they make them?

Racism is far from an American plague--this video shows how prevalent racism is in Europe, and how absurd situations can get.

I decided to look from the other side: how are the racists’ views formed? Their parents probably taught them the hatred, and provided evidence for their stances. Toni Morrison offers a penetrating view into a child’s delicate mind. Pecola is dumbfounded by her social stance in her world, but cannot seem to explain to herself why it is such. She is forced to believe that she “belonged to them.”[1] Just as her hatred for herself is formed, so must be the hatred of a racist. Pecola will always hold a deep contempt for her existence, and after years of living in this way, convincing her otherwise would be an impossible feat. I watched a documentary about a Navy ship last year, and one episode dealt with a racist crew member. The captain tried desperately to explain that any black soldier on the boat would risk their life to save his, but the racist still hated them for the color of their skin. He was discharged. I was amazed that even with such compelling evidence for the morality of the ethnic sailors, the racist was still unconvinced. He was as stubborn as Pecola.

Again, I took another viewpoint. The view of the discriminated is as complex as the racists. Many people are taught from a young age that they are inferior, just as Pecola was. Claudia and Frieda both felt as if their dark skin deemed them less desirable than the lighter-skinned Maureen; “If she was cute—and if anything could be believed, she was—then we were not.”[2] The self-restricting hate towards “acting white” is passed on through generations of black families, and the kids are taught to reject academic success and formal speech from a young age. Why this happens baffles me; if acting white is to speak intelligently and embrace scholastic achievement, then what defines “acting black?” Still, the blame for this view does not rest on the naivety of the children. The view is embedded in the culture, and is not adopted like a fashion statement—it becomes part of their cultural identity.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acting_white

This article briefly explains acting white and the term's origin.

If we are ever to truly end racism, it will not be through laws or supreme court decisions. It will have to go beyond “cash[ing]… a check that will give us…the riches of freedom and the securities of justice.”[3] Both whites and blacks alike must be taught to discard their notions of inherent superiority or inferiority—especially the inferiority complex. There is no easier way to find failure than to assume that it is inevitable or deserved. It is no longer an issue of legality; now, racism is a matter of self-image, and the ability to try to see life from the other side.

This picture always reminds that my perspective is only one in a billion, and that I should strive to go beyond the way I see things.

[1] Bluest Eye, 45
[2] BE, 75
[3] A325 King

The Journey

Figure 1: An interesting take on the relationship between light and dark. The importance of having both “light" and "dark", as well as many other similar motifs, is repeated in many teachings, and are seen as necessary for a balanced universe.

“All the voices belonged together: the lamentation of yearning and the laughter of the wise one, the scream of rage and the moaning of the dying ones. All was one, and everything was intertwined and connected…All of it together was the flow of events and music of life.”[1] Unity, as explained by Siddhartha, is the essence of existence. Without accepting the necessity of darkness, the contrast of discord, or the pain of suffering, one cannot fully appreciate or even realize the existence of all that is good in the world. In my composition, as well as in my life, it is my goal to not only accept, but embrace the contrast that the world provides. With this in mind, I created this song that captures the journey I have taken through UT. Many aspects of my persona have changed since high school, and this composition is an attempt to explain my new self in an abstract way.

The song begins with a quiet and eerie chord progression that wanders between major and minor chords. The melody starts on the tritone, a notoriously dissonant interval, and weaves down to form more standard harmonies. To me, this represents the fact that life, though it has its high and low points, is generally hard to classify. When I first arrived at UT, my experience was one of confusion and apprehension. The excitement of independence, new friends, and success in some courses was coupled with feelings of isolation, some lonely days, and academic challenges. I wandered through each day not knowing if I was going to be successful or make mistakes. I was bombarded with so many new experiences and so much information that I barely had time to register progress; the melodic line of the introduction reflects this, as it goes between landing on bright and dark chords.

As the piece goes on, I made an effort to move the progression to unexpected chords for two reasons: The first is that college put me in situations that I wasn’t used to reacting to. It was during these times that I learned the most about myself. After receiving a very low mark on my first paper for this class and struggling to impress my studio teacher, I found that I do have a strong emotional connection with my academic success. I was furious at the grades I was receiving, but I realized that I couldn’t change them by force. My next reaction was to let the stress overcome me, and I began to rely on afternoon naps from stress-induced fatigue. It didn’t take me long to realize that this was also a deleterious method to deal with the hardship, so I changed once again. From that moment on, I learned to deal with the shortcomings by working harder in the future; I realized that the purpose of education isn’t to pass through with flying colors, but to build up my knowledge slowly and thoughtfully. The second reason that the unexpected chord changes are relevant is because I found that when I put myself in new situations, the results could be gratifying. Because I was out of state, I had not a single acquaintance to fall back on, and an outgoing nature was essential. For the first time since first grade I was walking up to strangers and introducing myself. Slowly but surely, by stepping out of my comfort zone and putting myself out there, I built many meaningful relationships with my fellow Longhorns.

Apparently this movie is titled "Revenge for a Bad Grade"...I quickly learned that the response to acadamic struggle is not to fight it, but to learn from it. No bloody cellos for me.

At two minutes and twenty-two seconds, the song transitions into a darker melody. This part of the composition represents the middle of the semester, when all of my classes were in full swing. This was a very challenging time for me academically; socially I was comfortable, and I had a supportive group of friends, but architecture was extremely difficult. Demanding and frequent projects consumed my free time, and I became enveloped by schoolwork. During this stage of college, I found that when I needed to, I could push myself to heights that I previously believed to be unreachable. During one particular week, I had two projects and three important papers due. With almost no sleep, I was able to not only complete everything, but to also improve in all of my classes. From that moment on I have been comforted by the knowledge that, when necessary, I can thrive under extreme pressure. The melody follows this realization: it is a dark, minor section of the song because of the challenges I faced, but the melody remains controlled and restrained.

Architecture has taught me that I can perform brilliantly when...well, under pressure.

The song moves to a brighter section, and slowly merges back into the original theme. This parallels the relief brought on by winter break and the fact that I did well on my finals. The basic, harmonious chords illustrate comforting sensations of being back home with my family, friends, and dog. As the restful break drew to an end, apprehension for the coming semester began to build—thus the return to the drifting introductory melody. However, the melody departs from the original one and slowly builds into a more uplifting chord progression. This parallels the emotions I felt upon returning to UT; as I got back into the swing of things, I realized how much I had learned and found I had much more confidence in myself. The hardships I had experienced during the first semester prepared me for the next semester in ways that I hadn’t noticed. My demeanor was one of relaxed confidence: whatever was coming, whatever needed to be done, no matter how challenging, was something I could handle. I began making time to enjoy myself, put more emphasis on my social life and recreational activities, and realized that my work load, though much more demanding than many of my peers, was not going to control my experience at UT.

At about five minutes and twenty-five seconds, the music changes into a quiet, building melody. The notes become faster and louder, until they finally explode into a joyous chorus. Hopefully, the end of the semester will follow the current vector I am on, and reflect the ending of my piece. The path I have taken since the first semester, as the piece symbolizes, has been convoluted and challenging, discouraging and inspiring. With my newfound confidence, my ability to more positively react to struggles, and my new outlook on the patience required for an education has made this semester infinitely more bearable. The piece winds down slowly, and has some dark chords mixed in to show that, even as a stronger person, there will still be challenges ahead. The final chord ends on a fourth, as opposed to the root, or “home” chord. These final notes, as they slowly die out, show that the song of my life is far from ending. If it is up to me, I hope the future is as unexpected and amazing as this year has been.

http://jrbbumpthis.blogspot.com/
Words: 1,117
[1] Sid 126

Sid and Me

Not your typical location for philosophical discussions...

This spring break, I participated in one of the most ridiculous arguments of all time. Although I’m not exactly sure how it began, as I jumped in partway through, from what I gathered it started with the value of traveling abroad and ended with the meaning of life. When it came to be my turn, I started my explanation in an unconventional way. It went something like this:

What is the purpose of a tree? I know that they produce oxygen, nourishment, shelter, etc. That’s all dandy. But when you really think about it, why do trees exist? More importantly, where are they going? I can’t imagine that trees are working towards an ultimate goal, or that they will evolve and eventually turn into an unquestionably perfect organism. They have no significant impact on the universe, and they don’t really care whether they live or die.

Trees: they're everywhere! Why?

The majority of the group participating in the argument agreed with this, so I proceeded to the more controversial aspect:

So, if trees, an effective organism that will exist as long as conditions allow it to, are essentially trudging onward without a purpose, why are humans different? Just because we are aware, just because we have feelings, perceptions, goals, and cognitive reasoning does not mean that our existence is any less pointless. We too are not evolving towards anything, there is no ultimate “end” that we will reach and say, “Well, that was a good run. Good job guys.” We, like trees, are simply reproducing and churning about in an essentially directionless existence. Once you think about it, our existence isn’t only insignificant; it’s pointless.

People: they're everywhere! WHY?

At this point in the argument I was assaulted with a raucous. “Existentialism is stupid…You can’t just dismiss…Are you saying you don’t care if you die…Why do you even argue then?” After a few minutes of calming the group down, I was allowed to proceed:

Well, even if our existence is pointless, I still want to be a part of it. I have no issues working towards nothing; I have no problems with humanity following an endless path. Think of all of the amazing things around us. A tree, for example, is one of the most beautiful organisms on the planet. Who doesn’t want to visit the oak at the end of Shawshank Redemption and sit under its cool canopy? If there is no meaning in our world, then it is our job to make the best of it. In fact, maybe that is the meaning.

One of the most epic trees I have ever seen.

After my speech, the argument immediately transformed into something else (I think it moved towards how intolerance is the root of all war), but the verbalization of my world view helped me align my own thoughts. Since the conversation, I have been looking for my own “meaning” to give my life, and I’m certain that it will take many years to find it. Still, when reading the end of Siddhartha, a few of his views really hit home. For example, when he described his realization that all parts of the world were meant to exist together, I agreed completely. “The longing voice, however, changed. It still resounded with suffering and seeking, but other voices had joined it: voices of joy and suffering, good and evil, laughter or sadness.”[1] Later, Sid realizes that “All the voices belonged together…All was one.”[2] I too realized that the pointless aspects of life and the ones I care about were all part of the same thing. Every part of my life was dependent on the other.

At that moment, I realized that perhaps one of the goals of my life could be to embrace and enjoy every part, just as Siddhartha does at the end of the novel. “Perhaps I intended to say that I love this stone, and the river, and all the things at which we are looking and from which we can learn. I can love a stone, Govinda, as well as a tree or a piece of bark.”[3] Although I am far from achieving nirvana, and though I may pursue it in an unconventional way, I’ve found that it fits well with my goals. If I can give meaning to my tragically puny life in this tragically large universe, and that meaning is to be able to love all of it, then I won’t be that bad off. Hopefully I can make the transition from being a “seeker” and “make some time for finding.”

[4]

[1] Sid 126
[2] Sid 126
[3] Sid 135
[4] Sid 130

“What is mystic contemplation? It’s a brief escape out of the agony of self-existence.”[1]



Something is making Buddha hate his life.

Wait, what? The agony of self-existence?

Although self-existing can be trying at times, for me it is essence of life. The world I observe with my eyes, ears, touch, and taste is the only thing I know, the only way I can connect with my surroundings. Even so, I find it in no way limiting or disappointing. When I go swimming on a hot summer day, the brightness and warmth from the sun, the churning life that rejoices with the season, the cool sensation of the water, the birds sing and fly about—all of these things are delightful to me, and I never feel bound by my human existence. Even if the body is only a vessel for my soul, I think it is one of the greatest ones. Physically it is resilient; the hands are the most versatile tools I know of, and our muscles acting in synchronization move our bodies in beautiful ways, be it lifting a heavy piece of wood or the most delicate and graceful dance. Mentally, it is unparalleled. Our minds far surpass the intellect of any animal we have observed, and even allow us to be self-aware. This awareness, though it may be despised by Sid, is the reason he can even think about despising his existence. Is it better to live in ignorance?






Maybe I'm a sap, or maybe it's because I am one, but I find beauty in the human form.



When Sid talked about existing “[as] a heron” or “[as] a dead jackal”, it seemed freeing and interesting, but seemed slightly hypocritical to me. Why is existing as a heron, jackal, or any other animal more noble than the existence of a human? Sid seemed fixated on the idea of leaving the human form behind and embracing nature as an entirety. Still, I don’t see humans as separate from nature. I can rejoice in myself and my relation to nature. Society and consumerism has made great strides in its attempt to isolate humanity, and if this is Sid’s issue, then I can relate. Some of the most peaceful days of my life have been in isolation from civilization. I’ve hiked deep into the Jemez Mountains with my family to natural hot springs; I’ve walked rode quietly through the Amazon on a boat with the Albuquerque Youth Symphony; I’ve sat on a rock in the Grand Canyon by myself while my friends took pictures and talked. Though all of these moments have been spiritual and freeing, there is one significant difference between my take on them and Sid’s: I enjoyed being with my family and friends during these times, and sharing the experiences with them was almost equally gratifying. I, as a human, am a social animal, and I see no reason to disassociate myself with this quality.





The heron seems like it has a pretty ideal existence, but I don't see why it is more noble or less agonizing than my own.

I think there are some aspects of Siddhartha that do line up with my views of the world. For example, after seeing the suffering in the world, Arnold Edwin states how he was filled with “such wide love for living things, such passion to heal pain, that by their stress his princely spirit passed to ecstasy.”[2] Needless suffering is something that is revolting, just as sadistic violence is. However, I am not displeased with the state of nature. When “lizard fed on ant, and snake on him, and kite on both,”[3] I was not disgusted or disappointed. Life has evolved from competition, and therefore it needs it to continue. If one wants to connect with nature, the acceptance of this fact is vital.





Competition is part of the "Circle of Life"--that's why its a circle.

[1] Siddhartha 19
[2] A 241
[3] A 241

Do No Harm

I'm sorry, Mr. Mosquito, but I will never love you. It's not me, it's definitely you.

When I was in elementary school, I heard a story that flabbergasted me. Apparently, some kid, somewhere, saw a mosquito land on their arm and had an idea. Instead of smacking it, they squeezed the flesh around it vigorously, forcing more blood into the insect than it could handle. The bug exploded in blood. From the moment I found this out, I was determined to do it myself. It was appealing for two reasons. First, it seemed like a certain form a justice. The mosquito, who was trying to take the blood that my body had worked so hard to produce, was destroyed by its own actions. Secondly, it just seemed awesome. It isn’t very often that you get to see things explode in blood (unless you played Area 51 in the arcade). Unfortunately, I never achieved my goal. Whenever a mosquito landed on my arm, I smacked it instinctively. To this day, I still don’t know if the myth is true. This is an awful representation of one of my favorite Larson comics, but the concept is the same: popping mosquitos.

I guess the only thing that this story proves is that I probably could never be a Jain. I’m sure I could prevent myself from slapping it if I were “drugged to insensibility”, as Kipling observes the Janis doing when they enter the room in which they feed the vermin, but one fact remains: if I ever see a mosquito biting me and I don’t slap it, I will most certainly squeeze the skin around it. And, if it pops, I will probably do it every time.

Despite my acceptance of my inability to practice the religion, I have wondered if it would be possible to live a completely Jain life in America. I immediately realized that I couldn’t live in a house; termites alone would prevent this, because it is illegal to live in a house without a solid build. I couldn’t live in a city, because pollution is deleterious to animal health, and the lights cause countless moth deaths each night. I also determined that any use of plastic would be a violation, because to produce it requires petroleum drilling, transport, packaging, etc…all of these things would probably involve some sort of animal death. Jains “are dissuaded from throwing any waste into river and lakes”, and I’m certain that at least one of the workers handling any manufactured product would disregard this sentiment. So, the only setting I could find that fit the bill involved living in isolation in a handmade shelter.

This would be my home. Seems nice, but it might get old.

Although living in a shelter would be fun, it seems a little extreme. For some reason I can never find myself feeding a “a host of vermin, as dense as the sands on the sea-shore”, as described in “Jain Animal Shelters”. I can never see myself feeling compassion for parasitic worms that can cause people extreme pain (a picture will be omitted because it is unnecessary imagery). I can respect people that have adopted such an intense respect for animals, but it seems unnecessary to me. Insects and other “pests” have already evolved to compensate for their short lives: mass-production. My view on this extent of compassion will never change, so I guess Jainism just isn’t for me.

Sorry buddies, I'm still going to squish you if you try to eat my food!

New Mexico

I can hardly mention the state of New Mexico in my dorm. If I do, whatever statement I was planning on saying is inevitably interrupted by the moans of all of my friends. It’s not that they have any problem with the state. No, they complain because of me; it is safe to say that I reminisce about my home state at least once a week. For some reason, I have become unbearably nostalgic about the entire identity of New Mexico. The food, the weather, the scenery—I crave it all of the time.
New Mexican "rivers", home of the cutthroat trout. Yes, I memorized my state fish.



I did not always have this infatuation with Albuquerque. In high school, it was common to refer to Albuquerque with disdain. It seemed as if my friends and I had exhausted every benefit imaginable, so many of our nights were spent playing video games or poker. New Mexican food, because it was so abundant, was never something I craved. I simply ate it. Now, I can hear green chile calling me before I fall asleep. William Blake wrote in his poem, “A Divine Image,” that “The human face a furnace sealed, the human heart its hungry gorge.” [1] In my case, the furnace was the burn of the chile, and my love for the taste was the insatiable chasm. Here in Texas, where there is great pride in their attempt at Mexican food, I am seen as a snob or picky. Sadly, these people don’t realize how naive they are. In fact, I was naive until I came here. Now that I can’t find breakfast burritos or Christmas enchiladas (a mix of red chile and green chile), I am fully aware of the miraculous cuisine I left behind.

That green sauce that's on everything--that's what I love.


Even the weather is better in New Mexico. When an Austinite tries to explain how wonderful the “low-humidity” is, I feel obliged to modify Hopkins poem, “Spring”: “Nothing is so beautiful as Spring”—in New Mexico. [2] With zero percent Humidity and rain that has a scent, there are few places that compare. Again, while I lived in the state I never realized this fact. It wasn’t until my college search during senior year that I realized there was such a thing as 100% humidity. I also feel like I am losing touch with nature. This is probably due to my lack of a car, but there is something to be said about the scenery in northern New Mexico. Mountains of epic proportions are abundant, hikes can lead through aspen groves, and camping in complete isolation is easy. When I am hiking in these parts, I realize how powerful nature is. Like Barney says in the poem “On Greer Island a Copperhead Lies Slain”, the animals are “the owners of [the] isle.” [3] It makes me realize how unnatural humans have become.




If you haven't been through an aspen grove, I reccommend it.


I’m not sure if I’ll ever stop craving green chile, but I hope I don’t. It certainly dominates my diet whenever I make it back for a break. It, as well as the weather and culture, will always remind me of something that is more satisfying than food: home. Although people may not realize it, the place where they grew up is special to them for reasons they sometimes can’t explain—even New Jersey has its fans. Austin is amazing, and I am excited for the coming years in Austin. Still, if you want to hear anyone rave about the “Land of Enchantment”, you know who to talk to.

One of the many great New Mexican ski resorts.

[1] A 146

[2] A 164

[3] A 162

My personal image of Jesus may vary from the norm. However, after you read the evidence presented in this paper, you too may begin to see him as the man he really was.

The life of Jesus, as documented by the bible, which is formed of collections of writings written by unknown authors perhaps centuries after the man’s death, translated by numerous people in numerous contexts, then interpreted by millions of different people that emphasize different parts and readings to form countless derivatives of Christianity, is most likely complete and thorough. Why else, then, would it be deemed Holy by the Pope, the dude who can talk directly to God after he is elected to do so by a bunch of other dudes who want to talk to God? That’s right: there is no argument against this. However, there seems to be something that many people overlook. “Today, most scholars think that the Last Supper of Jesus and his disciples was a modified and transformed Passover.”[1] Interestingly, there is no record of Jesus NOT being able to lift the Passover table over his head.

Hercules wasn't just a TV show, he was actually a person!

My question is this: Could it be possible to argue that Jesus was able to curl over 250 pounds? It is important to remember that Jesus was half man and half God. Like Hercules. And Hercules was ripped. In fact, there is autobiographical evidence of Hercules holding up the earth while Atlas retrieved some apples. For the sake of argument, let us pretend that Jesus was only one one-millionth of the Man-God that Hercules was. This means that Jesus could shoulder press 6,000,000,000,000,000 kilograms[2]—a statement that is never refuted in the Bible. Now, it is reasonable to argue that Hercules could curl more than 250 pounds, but due to lack of hard evidence, we must search elsewhere. After doing some research, I found an interesting video of Ronnie Coleman, aka Mr. Olympia for nine years straight. Watch this video starting at 2 minutes 5 seconds:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TECV1DtFyRo
If my eyes aren’t deceiving me, that video indicates that Ronnie Coleman was able to preacher curl 240-260 pounds—a style of curling that Jesus seems particularly capable of. Now, if I may deliver the punch of my argument:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1KD7cGRDDc&feature=related
This video is of Ronnie Coleman dead-lifting a mere 800 pounds, a task that would seem trite to Jesus and Hercules alike. If Coleman was able to dead-lift 800 pounds for every 250 pounds he could curl, then Jesus would have theoretically been able to curl 4,133,437,500,000,000 pounds. Hercules would be able to curl one million times more than this. As you can see, even if Jesus’ dead-lift to curl ratio was one one-trillionth of Ronnie Coleman’s, his abilities would have far surpassed 250 pounds.

Something that is even more interesting is apocryphal material that emphasizes Jesus’ muscular figure. For example, in Luke 22:19, it reads: “And he took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is my body which is given up for you: this do in remembrance of me.”[3] It is common knowledge today that when someone has a “body”, it means that they are well toned and/or muscular. Jesus must have looked at his massive biceps, after completely owning the bread by snapping it right in half, and been inspired to reiterate the beautiful muscular form that was about to be sacrificed.

These guys would have been no match for the Son of God, JC. He would have knocked their matching socks right off.

In sum, when Christians partake of the body of God, it is not a remembrance of Jesus’ spiritual and emotional last meal, but as a psychological blow when we realize our shame of not being able to lift even a tenth of what Jesus could, our identification with Jesus in all of his animal cries and grunts as he worked out, and our own affirmation of the struggle to work out and overcome our weakness. Ronnie Coleman captures perfectly the human condition when he prophesizes, “everyone wants to be a body builder, ain’t nobody wanna do bench-press.”[4] We must remain focused and partake in the sacred ritual of strength training that Jesus was so fond of—even through our toughest lifts. "It is only at this most vulnerable point of pain, uttering unintelligible cries, that God redeems all suffering and asks for our participation in the end of”[5] our workout.

Back and Biceps MF, Triceps and Chest TTh, Legs and Abs WS, and on the seventh day we rest.
Join me next week when I prove that Jesus could fly; how else could he make it to heaven?

The Wright Brothers were decades behind this guy.

[1] A 135
[2] http://science.howstuffworks.com/question30.htm
[3] A 132
[4] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nsh_JSX2pkY
[5] A 137