Sweet Dreams Dos (2)

Second cool dream I've had recently (see previous post for the first):

I have always had trouble sleeping. Sometimes it's worse than others. Sometimes, I'm just not in the mood to sleep; energy rages through me like an electric current and I'm hard-pressed to sit down to watch TV or read a book til I'm tired, let alone to lay down to sleep. Sometimes, I just have too much on my mind; I'll lay in bed for hours, indifferently following my thoughts wherever they may lead through the corridors of my mind. Sometimes, the problem is exacerbated by stressful events in my life. This was one of those times.

I lay above my covers on my top-bunk bed, peering out the window as the nearby trees glistened with moonlight. There is something about a window half-cracked open, breeze coolly playing on my face, silver moonlight ever flowing into my room between the blinds, that soothes me into sleep. It wasn't working tonight. Too much was happening, too much was yet left unknown, for me to be able to succumb to the gentle caresses of sleep. I sat up, legs dangling from my bunk, thinking of what I could do to pass the time. Carefully, I dismounted my bed, slowly sliding off until I landed on the floor, mindful of the scattered bodies sleeping below. Currently, I was sheltering a bunch of my friends from people who were chasing them--people who were our mutual enemies. Problem is, they were chasing me too. For the time being, I had decided to turn my parents' home, to which I hadn't returned in a long while, into a temporary sanctuary for people like us, a sort of checkpoint in our bid for freedom. The guys chasing us didn't know I was there, let alone all of us; if they found me, they'd get us all--and that's something I could not live with. We'd be leaving as soon as dawn came to lower the chance of that happening.

Silently, I crept over to my bedroom door, sneaking through it as it let out a worried groan. As I paused to take in my dark surroundings, I noticed sounds coming from my right in the garage. Voices and sounds of movement emanated from below. My heart beginning to pump like so many furied pistons in an engine, I anxiously examined the possibilities in my mind. Could it be them? I thought. Could they finally have found us? Hoping that wasn't the case, I frantically searched for other explanations. It could be some of the refugees; there were enough that some were assigned to the garage.. But it's the middle of the night, they should be asleep! I had to know what the sound's source was; our lives could be at stake! As I slowly swung the door open, it too voiced its creaky concern, pleading me to stay inside. Placing curiosity and the group's safety above my own, I descended the stairs into the black lair of the garage.

Immediately a steady flow of white light pierced through the darkness from the bottom of the stairs. Quickly I saw that it was just one of my best friends, a refugee like us, on a computer. Probably just couldn't sleep, like me, I thought. I don't blame him. When you know that any second a dozen armed men could appear from any direction and disappear just as quickly--with you in their custody--it's hard to be at ease enough to sleep. As I further descended the stairs to approach my friend, I noticed it was my computer he was using--my computer with all the secrets on it as to our whereabouts, the locations of other refugee groups and camps, and enough information on each of us to make capturing us easier than shooting fish in a barrel. No one knew the password to my computer but me, and somehow, my friend had gotten it. "What are you doing?" I raged.

"Dude, I'm just--"

"Just nothing!" I cut him off. "Do you realize what you're doing? You betrayed me! You got my password, and now you're using my computer without my permission! You've put us all in danger!"

He looked sheepishly back at me, unable to say anything. I was furious. This is not the time for lax disobedience, I thought, not now. Too much is at stake, and we're so close to escaping. Everything we've worked for, challenged by this one act. Anger and disappointment swept over me, tugging at my senses, demanding my full attention. Then, I felt nothing but fear.

The sounds of voices and movement returned from somewhere outside the garage. These were different than the ones that beckoned me to the garage earlier. They were organized, coordinated. From the sound of it, they came from a large group. At once it felt as if the ground beneath me fell away, and my heart caught in my throat. I could barely gasp out one word. "No."

I raced back up the stairs into the house. As I leaped the last few stairs into the house, I glanced into my room. Flashlights shone though my window, highlighting the stirring bodies of the refugees on the floor. "No."

I sprang back to action, bolting past the family room towards the stairs to the second floor. More flashlights glared in from the backyard, while dark, smokey shapes lurked behind them. "No."

I flew up the stairs, bursting into my parents' room and crashing onto their bed. Flashlights illuminated the scene from outside. "Mom, Dad! Wake up! They're here, we need help!" I cried as I tried to rouse them from sleep, shaking. They turned under the covers, replying in that unintelligible speech spoken by the half-asleep. They didn't get up. "Mom, Dad! Please get up!" Finally they responded to my pushes and pleas. They said something, their voices betraying their concern, but it was over. Their bed lay in the center of the master bedroom, up against the back wall. Windows surrounded the bed, and behind each window were dozens of beings straight out of my darkest nightmares.

Dangling on ropes were the soldiers sent by those who were chasing us. They were dressed in black, bulked up by layers of armour and padding, goggles and helmets shielding their identities from the world. They were incapable of emotion, their expressionless faces staring menacingly into me, their prey. I stood to go check on the others, to warn them--to do anything to help them-- but it was too late. Something crashed through the window, shards of glass flying everywhere, when suddenly I felt pain course though my body. "Arrraahhh!" I cried, falling to the floor. I lost control of my limbs as two wires shot from the nearest soldier connected with me, charging me with electric current. The electricity surged through my body, alighting everything inside me with the most destructive, fiery pain I have ever had the pleasure of feeling. I was sure these weapons were designed to deliver the very highest level of pain possible without allowing the victim the respite of death. My very veins felt as if they were going to explode. I wish they would have. I didn't want to go like this, like an animal.

Sweet Dreams

I've had some waaay weird dreams lately. I wish I knew what caused them, because some of them are freakin awesome. I think I'll do some experiments to see what gives me the most creative, most way-out-there dreams; maybe I'll watch Inception and eat lots of ice cream every night before I go to bed. That should do it, yeah?

Seriously though, I find dreams and the attempts to interpret them really interesting. I don't understand how they've done it, but apparently psychologists think they can glean information about a person's current mental and emotional state from even the smallest of details in a dream. The weird thing is, it seems to be pretty spot-on--at least as spot-on as the Chinese zodiac can predict a person's personality (mine's actually pretty accurate--Year of the Tiger baby!). I looked up some of the things that happened in my recent dreams on some sketchy/random dream interpretation website, and a lot of what they said makes sense regarding my current situation. Let me share some dreams and their "interpretations" below:

I found myself in some kind of nature preserve--like a national park of some sort. Walking along a paved pathway, I couldn't see more than a few feet to either side of me due to the encompassing forest. The sky was blocked from view by scores of maple and redwood trees, their leaves casting fluttering shadows on the ground. The redwoods towered overhead, mainly on the perimeter of the park out in the distance, while the maples directly juxtaposed the path. Most were green or yellow, but occasionally bright red foliage would worm its way out of the chlorophyllic monotone. As I topped a hill, I could see a building--a cabin or ranger's station, maybe--not too far ahead of me. There were people heading to and from there, nonchalantly making their way on the path, some alone or some in pairs. It wasn't them that seized my attention though. What occupied my focus were the bears.

Huge bears roamed freely up and down the sides of the path, others scattered deeper in the forest. Noticing the rather large humps right behind the shoulders, I could tell that they were grizzlies. Immediately I froze--who hasn't ever seen an episode of "When Animals Attack" or some variation, where the grizzly bear is the main feature? Let's just say, they are definitely not painted in the best light, being labeled with such descriptions as "man hunter" or "extremely ferocious and unpredictable." Not even that one guy who lived among grizzly bears alone with a video camera, trying to prove the falsity of our grizzly stereotypes--who, might I add, was a foremost expert on grizzly bear behaviour and ecology--lived long enough to see that day. So, I had the right to be a little nervous.

These bears didn't seem terribly interested in any of the people though, myself included. Oblivious to their surroundings, they waddled through the underbrush, scrummaging for berries or other morsels of food. Deeming it safe, I continued on the path, marveling at the encircling woods--how the sunlight peered through the canopy, barring my path with columns of light; how everything was painted with a greenish haze; the joyful hum of bugs buzzing in and out of vision; the coolness of the air on my skin. I was broken out of my rapture, however, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bear barreling towards me. Great, I thought to myself, it's a dream come true. This is how I'm going to go out: death by enraged grizzly bear. (Luckily, and unbeknownst to me, it was still a dream.)

I fled into the forest, my clothes snagging on the ensnaring shrubs and bushes, the dense trees keeping me from escaping deeper into the woods. As I struggled to push my way ahead, the bear seemed to have no trouble at all. Must be really hungry, I thought. Just as he neared me, I arrived at a wrought-iron fence--you know, the kind with the intricate fleur-de-lis shapes at the top of each post. Behind it was nothing but darkness and deeper forest at the bottom of a steep hill. Anyways, as I tried to lever myself over it, I heard a voice. "You don't want to do that, Robert," the bear advised me. "Whatever you do, don't go through that door." At this point, I was confused on three accounts. First off, the bear was talking to me. Talking. It's at least never happened to me before. Second, I had no idea what door he was talking about. Thirdly, as I glanced back at the bear, he seemed to take on the form of that gigantic bear costume thing on "Bear in the Big Blue House" (not that I ever watched it). I decided it was safer to try my luck below in the darkness beyond the fence, than to test this bear's seemingly kind and teddy bearish appearance. With that, I leaped over the fence.

Everything went black. Not long after, my eyes started to perceive my surroundings. I had landed in a dingy corridor illuminated only by dim lights; most of them buzzed on and off, futilely fighting (and losing) the battle against the ensuing darkness. Rust crept its way along the walls, tinting them various shades of red and brown as water dripped incessantly from the corroded pipes forming the ceiling. Directly in front of me was a heavy metal door with a red light above it; to my left I saw more doors as the corridor extended and abruptly turned left. Some of the doors were marked with red lights, others were dark. The doors were indistinguishable from one another; all were large and thick, crafted from the same gray metal, with a narrow rectangular window set above the handle. From what I could tell, there was nothing behind those windows, only black. To my right, the corridor continued just a little bit before ending in a door set below a stuttering green light. Pricked by curiosity, I slowly approached the door, conscious of my own footsteps in the stifling gloom. Closer, closer. Soon I was close enough to peer through the window. Leaning towards it, I noticed how grimy it was. Made of double-paned glass, a whitish residue threatened to block anyone from looking through it. No matter, I thought. Nothing to see anyways. It's just all dark through this one, too.

Then a face jumped up on the other side of the window, and I knew how wrong I was. Staggering backwards, my eyes did not leave the face. It was a man; scraggly brown hair flowed down from his head in sharp points, while dark eyes sat deeply back in his skull, rimmed by small round glasses. Noiselessly, his mouth made the motions of speaking, but what with the silence and his contorted facial expressions I couldn't tell if he was yelling in anger or howling in pain.

I decided not to open that door. Retracing my steps, I tried the first door. Locked. Making my way left and around the corner, I tried all of the other doors, but each one was locked. Now what the bear said made sense. "Don't go through the door," he told me. He must have meant the one with the creepy yelling/howling guy on the other side. But that was my only way out! What else was I supposed to do?--all the other doors were locked! I decided against caution to open that door. Reaching for the handle, it turned with a groan and the door unlatched. With a deep breath, I walked forward.

In the next room, I was 'welcomed' by three guys. One of them was the glasses man I saw through the window. He was rather short and balding on top, dressed in a dark green shirt, suspenders holding up his khaki pants. Oh yeah, and he had a pistol aimed at me. The guy next to him was quite a bit taller, sporting his white collared shirt with a smug expression on his scruffy face. The third guy I can't remember. Breaking the silence, the man with the gun emphasized his words by shaking his pistol at me. "What're yous doin' here?" he questioned in an Italian-American accent.

"Um, I'm just looking for a way out," I said hesitantly. Judging quickly and stereotypically from the guy's accent, I reasoned that these must be mafia, and I became all the more nervous. I've never met mafia guys before, but I've heard the stories and seen the movies, and they did not give me confidence.

"Wella, it's just right aroun' the corna," said the smug guy, smiling casually, as if his friend didn't have a gun pointed at me. I looked behind me, seeing that this end of the corridor curved off to the left where the exit must be.

"Thanks. Well, I'll just be going then."

"Yep, see yous," replied the smug guy. He turned around coolly, hands in his pockets, as if he weren't now facing a filthy, rusty wall. His short friend kept the gun trained on me, his whole face invested in one of the ugliest scowls I'd ever seen. Backing away slowly, never turning my back on him, I rounded the corner and entered the sole door at the end of the corridor.

Sunlight suddenly attacked my eyes. Squinting against the brightness, I realized that I was in some sort of a clearing in a back alley. Three buildings arched over me to my front, back, and right. Up above people were yelling back and forth from their balconies in Italian accents, while a pizza parlor rested on the ground level of the building to my right. As hungry as I was, and as friendly as this back alley seemed, I decided to leave via the opening to my left. With a few strides and a leap I started flying (though it was quite a laborious chore; I struggled to stay afloat), and apparently I was in Hawaii--down below I saw a beach and lots of Hawaiian people. Then I woke up.

The other dream(s) and their "interpretations" will follow shortly. Stay tuned.

In (Not So) Loving Memory

Since school let out, I've had less incentive to shave (no BYU no-beard rule for me!). Somebody asked me if I was growing a beard in honour of Osama bin Laden's death. Nope. Nor did I wear my green shirt that says "Saudi Arabia" in big letters the last three days in mourning for him. That's just pure coincidence.

I think it's a good thing that we finally found Bin Laden. I think it's a good thing that he's been brought to justice for the thousands of innocents that died in his schemes. I think it is a hard-earned and much-needed victory for the U.S. and the War on Terror. However, what are the implications of this? Does it change anything?

I argue that it doesn't; at the very least it changes nothing, although it could also have a positive and stimulating effect on terrorism. By now we've been chasing Osama and Al-Qaida for ten years. Many new leaders have been trained in that time, as well as many more recruits secured. Numerous distinct cells operate separately of one another towards the same goal, as different organs in the same body. Protocols and patterns have been set in place such that it doesn't matter if Osama is dead or alive--his machine of terror will run smoothly without him.  His death is a symbolic victory for the U.S., but I don't think it extends much beyond that. Al-Qaida is still very much functional, and bin Laden's ideals are still very much alive in too many people.

At the very least, Al-Qaida and it's counterparts will continue to run as they had before Osama's death, with the U.S. and her allies successfully foiling many of her plans. I hope this is the case. The only alternative that I can see would be that Osama's death is made a rallying point, himself made a martyr, and thus this event becomes a stimulant for hatred of the Western world. I do not think, while they may have been merited, that the raucous celebrations around the U.S. upon the news of Osama's death will do anything positive for the West's image in this regard. If anything they further support the Islamist image of the U.S. as an enemy to Islam, and to what they deem God's holy work. Where there is little other interpretation for the poverty and harshness of life in many Arab regions other than the unwanted influence of the morally corrupt West, Osama's policies shine as the only beacon for freedom and independence from its taint. I hope that the disdain for Bin Laden's use of violence outweighs the admiration of his beliefs and the disapproval of American foreign policy.

I don't mean to be all "gloom and doom." However, when dealing with fundamentalist beliefs and regimes--especially when their militant adherents make up a large number, even still a small percentage, of an entire region--we must tread lightly.

On a lighter note, here is a delightful documentary about the Beatles and their love of baseball, America's--and the Beatles--favourite past time.

Baseball Is 90% Mental. The Other Half...Is Music

Some very wise words from Yogi Berra as recounted by the Beatles, known around the world for their music, and their love of baseball.

So, I started working again Tuesday for one of my Arabic professors, mainly because it's stuff I've owed him since I stopped working for him last January. Did I mention it's for free? So maybe I shouldn't call it working--I'm just doing some Arabic stuff for a guy. I don't care about the (no) money though. I need something to do because I'm bored out of my mind without school to stress about (who woulda figured, eh? Although I guess if I need something to stress about, I could still stress over dating...naah). Also, it's somewhat of an attempt to refresh my Arabic; my dad told me on graduation day that he's working on a trip for us to Saudi Arabia for two weeks. That would be AWESOME. It's a different dialect than I'm used to (I spent four months in Egypt), and I have to do a LOT more than read and translate Arabic sentences to prepare (the Arabic stuff that I'm doing for a guy), but I'll still go happily. I've been meaning to travel again ever since I got back from Egypt; unfortunately I won't be going back there for some time due to the fact that, through my ceaseless political conversations with the natives, I apparently and unwittingly fomented a revolution. Oops. Wish I could've been there for that.

Saudi Arabia would be cool--not one of the places I thought I'd ever go, and from what I've seen from Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations, it's quite unlike Egypt, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't like to go there with my dad. It actually seems cooler than Egypt in some respects, Egypt with its undereducated, underemployed populace, its lack of care or respect for public goods, its counter-factual arguments and beliefs which are all too often overly frustrating to endure. It may sound like I'm picking on Egypt and hate it; these are actually some of its most charming and endearing qualities which you notice when you live there. Anyways, I know nothing about Saudi but that I think the economy is a little bit better.

Other places I've always wanted to go:
India. I feel like I could just get lost there. So many languages, so many cultures, so much space--I would love to just hike around the whole country, staying a week or so in whatever place that catches my eye. (If you want to make my dreams come true, I do accept donations.)

China. Specifically Dimen, Guizhou province. Ever since reading Amy Tan's article "Village on the Edge of Time" in the May 2008 National Geographic, I've longed to see China's numerous but endangered traditional villages, of which Dimen is a great example. Traditional architecture, traditional labor, traditional religion and beliefs--nothing like the mainstream China we hear about in the news, the economic powerhouse that is gradually creeping its way into all corners of the country, choking the life out of the native and ancient customs of its people like kudzu. I want to see these people, their villages, their way of life, before it's too late.

Russia. I don't know where exactly I want to go, and yes I realize the place is kind of huge. I think I just want to visit the place and experience the people and their culture firsthand. They've had such a rough go of it, what with one dictator and horrible experience after another. History has molded the people of Russia into a society not seen anywhere else in the world. And I want to see it.

Mozambique. In 2009, a bunch of scientists playing around with Google Earth discovered a new mountain--even a whole pristine rain forest--right in Mozambique. Immediately upon arrival they found many new bird, butterfly, and reptile species; more are due to be found. Mount Mabu is hailed as "the last untouched place on earth." I sure hope it's not. I've always had a thirst for exploration and discovery, and the such recent revelation of Mount Mabu from right under our noses gives me reason to hope.

Madagascar and its islands. Same reasons as above--the chance for discovery.

Many more...

All in all, life's too short and the world's too big and and you can't do anything these days without loads of money. I hope I get around to seeing even the hundredth part of the places and peoples on my list, but with the violence, wars, and unfriendly policies exhibited by some countries (plus all the time required to make enough money to go in the first place), I have quite the challenge before me.

Again, I accept donations.

It's All in Your Head..

Day Four of finals. After the wonderful one I started my day with at 7:00 am this morning, I only have one more to go. My last econ final EVER. Maybe I'll save it for tomorrow. I know graduation's then, but I have just loved being a college student oh so much, that I think I'll put off the test; that way I can be a student that much longer, and revel in the stresses and inconveniences that are a part of it, at least for one more day. Yeah.

So, I want to talk about my blog title a bit. "Enlightenment Doesn't Mean Eating Fewer Calories"--ingenious, I know. Someone asked me where I got that from, as if I stole it from some low budget movie or a too-long-lived TV show like Smallville (I love you Smallville--season 10, baby!). Nah, I made it up, and I'm pretty proud of it. I think it says a lot of things. Well, maybe only three things.

First..and Second: Today, we (as Western society) put a lot of emphasis on the physical, the superficial, the outward appearance. Some people kill themselves trying to look like the people they see on TV or in magazines. They feel like they can only "fit in" or be "liked" by "others" if they look like what society tells us is glamourous and attractive. This pressure leads many to stress about what they eat, how much, how often, etc. Even I have fallen prey to this, especially in high school; since then I still eat only a huge gust of wind for breakfast on the way to school. Ok poorly placed joke/allusion, but seriously. Who decides how to fit in, or which traits are more likable over others--and who are these "others" that apparently assign us our value of worth? Cutting our calories, watching our weight, checking ourselves in the mirror every five seconds to make sure that one strand of hair is still in place, doesn't make us any smarter/kinder/more respected/happier. What makes us unique and valuable are the varied experiences we've had in life, and how we wisely apply those lessons learned. What makes us more fulfilled is attaining knowledge from any veritable source, and using it to better our situation and that of others. Happiness comes from the wisdom we've internalized, in our hearts, and in our minds. Thus, enlightenment isn't gained through the vain and superficial, through being the most physically attractive. And, enlightenment certainly doesn't refer to becoming lighter in weight through eating only air, popcorn, and other things that weigh .167 grams or less.

Three: I truly respect the examples of great philosophers and practitioners of wisdom who have gone forth before me, like Gandhi, Confucius, and Marcus Aurelius. However, there have been some who think that visual, public actions speak louder than hidden, private examples of integrity. I beg to differ. For example, is one who sits in the public square for weeks, refraining to eat in defiance of his government or some policy, more enlightened than he who obeys the law of his land because he swore to it? Is one who ends his life in flames out of protest, for all to see, greater than he who hides from danger, biding his time and sparing his life until he has strength and numbers enough to rise and fight, losing it if he has to? I mean no disrespect to the many who have done such for just causes; I am merely speaking in general terms about how we interpret "enlightenment," and about what we say constitutes a manifestation of such. Perhaps enlightenment is shown not only in those actions that are plain to the mind--such as a hunger strike or other public forms of self-deprecation--but also in those that are hidden from the eyes, but which are still felt in the heart.


Shout-out to the Faux sisters.

Lazy Monday

Despite the title, I actually have quite a bit to do. I have two more finals to study for (both are econ finals so both are hard), a room to clean, a job to find, law school applications to start, the LSAT to study for, and I should probably go buy some doughnuts. I'm sure I could think of more things, but who couldn't? There's always one more thing to do on the list, something more we need to get done--when do we ever finish everything we need to get done? Are we really expected to just keep going and going and going, mindlessly doing one task after another, without time to recharge? I don't know about you, but I'm no Energizer bunny.

Today, I should have woken up at 7:00 am, gone to the library, and started studying for my finals. Then I could come home later this evening, make some calls about some jobs, clean my room, start my applications...

Instead, I woke up at nine, and just listened to the rain. I love the rain. There's nothing better than waking up to the sound of rain drops tapping at your window. Instantly your bed feels cozier, you feel a little happier, your load feels a little lighter, and life seems a little better. As I lay there, I thought about the previous week--what I accomplished, what I learned, and what I had to show for it. Was I happy about the things I did, and how I used my time? Did I actually live that week, or just pass it by in ceaseless chores? Now, I'm all for hard work, perseverance, and whatever other synonyms for those things there are. However, I'm also for vacations, relaxation, and just taking time out to think. If we don't take time out for ourselves, what do we become? You got it: robots. Robots don't feel, they don't think--they just do. They don't have to take time to recharge because they're constantly plugged into the wall or have some kind of advanced super-powered self-sustaining battery. They don't care about living life, first of all because they can't care about anything, second of all because they're not even alive. They don't need to think about who they are and how they feel or what they need to change to become happier; all they have to do is fulfill their programming, and then get programmed to do something else.

Well, I say, let the robots do the slaving away, working on the assembly line of life of endless chores and thoughtless tasks. Sometimes we have stretches where we need to work and can't take a break for an instant, sure. We as people need to work to progress in life, and to that I say work as hard as you can, do what you need to do, and do it your very best. But what I'm proposing is, through it all, don't forget who you are. You're not a robot. You're a human. And humans, throughout their daily labors, sometimes look up at the bright majestic clouds overhead, or listen to the lofty songs of birds, or watch the wind play in the trees, and feel.