So much more, indeed.

On Friday night, as I stood outside Melrose Pub watching a long-awaited, decent snowfall here in Nashville, the conversation between my buddy Ian and me delved just slightly into the unfathomable realm of dreams. Dreams are some of the most curious of phenomena that we get to experience. They're so very telling.

Although I find dream interpretation incredibly fascinating, fascination may be the only real value to them. As Dumbledore said, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." What's so telling about dreams then?

Some people say we humans use only about ten percent of our brains. Ten percent may be an inaccurate figure, but it seems true that we're nowhere near optimal utilization of the capacity of our minds. I think dreams are a huge indication of this. As the dream world is a place where we don't necessarily have to play by the constraining rules of reality, it's a place where thoughts involuntarily stretch into freedom. Seriously - sometimes we wake up and can connect the dots in our dream to events from the day before. Sometimes, however, we wake up wake up wondering "Where the hell did that come from?!?" In dreams, we arrive at thoughts that NEVER could have manifested in the chaining sobriety of being awake.

In my newly-found, somewhat-forced addiction/obsession/habitualization of reading AND my learning how to listen better, I've begun to start my mornings by reading other peoples' blogs. I think it's awesome how I can actually hear some of my friends' voices when I read their blogs, and some of them seem to have this alternative personality who comes alive in the blog world.

This morning, I stumbled onto the blog of a friend named Greta Weisman whilst checking out the blogroll of my friend Hitoshi Yamaguchi. You may recognize Greta's name from some affiliation with the great HootenAnnie Parsons, through whom I originally became acquainted with Greta. Ok, I'm done name-dropping now.

Anyway, Greta's blog from yesterday detailed some of the pangs of being a first-year teacher. She eventually came to a comment to the effect of "I'm not just a teacher." Greta, you're so very right.

The world we've built on top of the original creation is incredibly binding. What I mean is that our human value structure is often so myopic (money, superficial beauty, status, etc.) that it prevents us from blossoming into our intended individual beauty. It's so common for a person to think they ARE their profession. I'm a teacher. I'm a doctor. I'm a handyman. Period. These are all honorable employs, yes, but as Greta highlighted, it's a mistake to stop there.

I am a man whose occupation is being a handyman. Graham Scott Stoner was created, however, to enjoy music, running, reading, writing, building things, eating...the list goes on, and will continue to grow as I age. THAT is who I am...not just a handyman. Generally speaking, the majority of things that make me who I am are not things that make me money. In this year of discovery, these are the things I hope to start learning about my friends. I hope to stop telling them apart by what they look like and what their job is. I want to tell them apart by the thoughts/desires inside of them that make them who they are.

Kudos to you, Greta. You most certainly are so much more than a teacher.

A moment of enlightenment???

I think I may have had a brief moment of enlightenment this morning...a tiny glimpse of Heaven, maybe?

I've been under a pretty good deal of stress lately. The components are somewhat typical to those of us Generation X/Y or whatever we are, and are not really relevant or worth going into. Suffice it to say that sometimes the road is hard, and sometimes it's easy...right now, I'm on one of the hard stretches...perhaps one of the hardest stretches I've seen.

In the Annie Dillard book I've been reading, she described a particular moment of existence. Obviously, we constantly exist, but we come across a few occasions in this life where we forget ourselves and momentarily become one in symbiosis with the planet. Dillard's "moment" came unexpectedly at a gas station in backwoods Virginia. It involved patting a random puppy and getting lost in the beauty/wonder of (I think it was...) the Appalachians. My experience had some slightly different variables. 8)

Ok, I don't think my experience can be compared to Dillard's, exactly. If you ever read about it, I think you'll see what I mean. I think it is, however along the same lines. My moment came to me in the midst of some pretty high stress, and for just a moment, I was in a place where everything felt like it would be all right.

Here's what happened:

My nephew had a basketball game at nine in south Brentwood. Following my typical rules of "Morning Math," I naturally left at a minute when I'd have no chance in the world of actually getting there by nine. Of course, I forgot that I-440 was closed for construction, as it always is on weekends these days, so I had to go out of the way to get to the I-65 only to realize that my normal cut-through was also disabled due to the flea market at the TN State Fairgrounds. It's now nine, I'm still 15 minutes out, this short-term stress on top of my long-term stress is making my blood pressure skyrocket. Of course, I was so busy stressing that I got off at the wrong exit. AHHHHH!!! I HATE being late to things that children are involved in. Kids are so impressionable, and they need us adults to BE THERE when we say we will.

Anyway, I met only a negligible amount of resistance on the rest of the drive and began to calm down a bit. Crap - I was the "hustle & bustle" I mentioned last Saturday. Deep Breath. Exhale. I came back to my senses a bit. The sun was working its way up in the sky and looked warm and alive. I was wearing my favorite, hella-comfy East Nasty shirt and my brand-new, awesome sunglasses that impulse bought with a little Christmas money and are completely dope. I was sipping a cup of good coffee and driving up to the top of the bridge right next to Ravenwood High School, which provides a simply stellar view of the surrounding land. Are you ready for this? [Crescendo...] I was listening to "Jump" by Van Halen. [Crux] These elements melted together into one, and I felt the world around me singing along. My sails filled with the wind, and I was lifted out of my stress as I floated weightless in the arms of the moment. [Decrescendo] (Sigh of contentment)

I got to the game just in time to see Liam catch a long pass from back court and score his first two points EVER! It was beautiful...now he was on top of the world...getting back on defense with an uncontrollable sense of invincibility and trying so hard to play it cool...but his elation was undeniable and infectious.

Ahhh...well, like all fleeting glimpses of Heaven, the game ended and real life resumed, but at least I had those few moments, and they were wonderful.

Dear Annie Dillard:

My first English class in college was taught by Ms. Brookhart. She was neither a professor nor a doctor, but was quite effective nonetheless. Brookhart was a small woman with a rootsy (not hippie) vibe to her, always cloaked in the faint smell of cigarettes...it's funny how that smell can actually be endearing on some people. She didn't really dress to impress because she didn't have to. She was just that cool.

A wise and pragmatic woman, she handed my first assignment back to me ungraded - quietly saying something to the effect of, "Mr. Stoner, don't be cute, just do the assignment." I thought it would be "creative" to write the first part of the story from the third person, then switch to first person at a clutch, pivotal moment in the plot line. Brookhart didn't. Regardless, I really grew to love Brookhart and ended up taking my next English class with her as well.

I know we read at least four or five books in her class that first semester, but I don't remember any of them except the one we never actually got to read in class. It's a book called "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" by Annie Dillard. For ten years now, I've been trying to read this book, but it ends up making me think so much, I've never actually gotten much past the beginning of chapter two because of these two sentences (but particularly the second one):

"It is still the first week in January, and I've got great plans. I've been thinking about seeing."

This makes my mind spin every time I read it. When I finally was able to get past those sentences, I read Dillard's brilliant descriptions of blind people LITERALLY seeing for the first time. She also made some irresistible allusions to the wonderment with which the innocent, beautifully naive eyes and minds of children perceive the world.

I've gone to see the movie "Avatar" thrice already at the local 3D IMAX theatre. Particularly when sitting close to the screen, which I'm starting to believe is the best way to view an IMAX movie, I found myself getting a bit seasick due to the 3D view. I quickly found that if I stop focusing on only a small portion (the main character/action) of the screen and broaden my view to take the whole thing in, the queasiness subsides. What a telling metaphor.

So much in our modern day culture hinges on us keeping our eye on the ball, that we miss the fact that there are 17 other people on the baseball diamond...hundreds more in the stands. When did we lose or dismiss the wonderment we experienced as children?

I was at Lowe's just before Christmas picking up something arbitrary for a job when the guy in line next to me tapped me on the arm, smiled, and pointed across the store saying, "Remember those days?" He was pointing at a little boy with what looked like his grandmother. The little boy was staring wide-eyed at all the huge inflatable Christmas decorations, laughing with wonder, and Grandma was eating it up. My eyes fixed on the boy and his grandmother, through a faint smile laced with melancholy, I quietly replied, "I sure wish I could," never actually meeting my line-mate's eyes.

The sentence that follows Dillard's first two loaded sentences is this: "There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises." She is so very right.

I will have owned my house for five years this March. This is my land and nobody else's, except maybe the bank's if I stop paying my mortgage...but they've got too many houses already...I think they want me to keep it. Regularly, I've groomed my lawn and cleaned up my house, covering every inch of my property countless times, but I'm not sure if I've ever really stopped to look at it. How am I ever to appreciate what I have if I never stop to look at it?

This makes me think of the other people in my life as well. How often do I really stop to look in their eyes, to truly connect with them? And we've got four other primary senses that we may be neglecting as well. When the native tribe in "Avatar" greet each other, they do so by looking deep into the others' eyes and saying, "I see you" but only after they actually "see" the other person. I want to know what that feels like.

The bad news: Who can tell how much we've missed by not seeing, etc.?
The good news: What's to stop us from doing so today? Childlike wonderment in our dull adult bodies sounds like a vibrant adventure waiting to happen.

* * *

Dear Annie Dillard:

It's the second week of January and I've got great plans. I've been thinking about seeing too.

sincerely,

graham

p.s. I'm finally on chapter four of your book, and I promise to finish it this month.
p.p.s. I see you.

Moaning Myrtle

It's been a rough couple of months as far as death is concerned...the world has lost a quite a few heavily, visually influential people. Today for some reason, I've really been thinking about it a lot.

"I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death..."
-Moaning Myrtle

I was at a restaurant for my friend Maggie's birthday last night and for some reason, "The Dark Knight" was on the TV. I say, "for some reason," because it seems an odd choice for over-dinner viewing. I stole many glances at the TV during dinner to admire what a find job Heath Ledger did portraying The Joker. It got me to thinking that there were so many blank pages in his book yet to be filled that are now destined to remain blank.

I think about Bernie Mac and that he'll never again be a part of Danny Ocean's team.

I think of Richard Harris and how much more I preferred him as Professor Dumbledore rather than Michael Gambon.

Being a guitar player and an appreciator of those who play it well, I sometimes wonder about Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughan and what they would have become had it not been for their youthful deaths.

In the last couple of months, we've lost Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Steve McNair, and just recently, Walter Cronkite. All of these people had very visible impacts on America/The World.

People die everyday and have been doing so since the advent of man, but we never really get used to it, do we? Even those of us who are confident of an afterlife struggle with death. It's so hard when we miss a person, or we can see what a strong impact their life made on others. We want to mourn them, but we are torn between mourning and continuing to make the most of our short time here on Earth.

"Follow me and let the dead bury their own dead."
-Jesus Christ

How precious is life? Considering the human reproductive process, the probability of any one of us being born is MILLIONS to one. Somehow, when we were born, we won the race to the egg. Let alone the probability of a single planet in a vast galaxy that has the capacity to sustain life. And yet humanity can be so cavalier in creating new life. So many unadopted children, so many single parents, so many irresponsible parents, so many abandoned children left to ponder their existence on their own.

How fragile is life? One squeezed-trigger/One bullet, one careless second behind the wheel, one blood clot, one moment of giving-up, In the same cavalier manner that humanity now creates life, it also destroys it. Gangs kill people to sustain their own egos according to their meaningless/arbitrary systems of pride, people knowingly drive drunk, people abuse drugs and miss out on precious seconds/minutes/hours/days/weeks/years that we don't get back.

How precious is our time? Can we really afford to waste precious minutes dwelling on unchangeable details, festering in drug-induced stupors, taking for granted the extreme improbability of our mere existence, harboring anger, holding grudges. Isn't life difficult enough w/out these complications?

Friends - Today, if we enjoy a beverage in company, let us offer a toast to life, and mean it.