Tuesday, April 28, 2009


I must say that my adventure through my group presentation for this class has been amazing. I have gotten to know a wonderful group of individuals who are hillarious and totally creative. Maggie i have know for a while now, Zack i knew a little bit, Shelby is one of my residents so i knew her in a professinal setting, Jackey i was gald to meet and work with and Jake has rounded out our group so well it is amazing. We all have laughed, screamed, howled with joy and made complete fools of ourselves in the last few days perfecting our presentation! I love it. Each one of us bring something new and totally different to our group. Plus we all have great senses of humor which has made working with these five individuals, for me, a great experience. I usually do not like group projects, i can admit it, i am kind of a control freak when it comes to assignments but this group has made it super easy. We all had a vision and our work together went without a hitch. You are all in for a huge suprise and treat tomorrow in class with GROUP 5!!!! Thanks you guys for making this so much fun and so funny!
Perhaps our wings have turned into something else, something my generation can relate to better than the idea of people having the ability to fly. I believe that our wings of love and laughter have turned into the capes and costumes of our heroes and heroins. Wonder Woman who stands for justice, peace and hope; Superman who is the universal symbol of a hero and Batman the protector of Gothem City and the innocent lives that inhabit it. I think that perhaps our ideals about wings and their powers have been transferred into that of the cape and the flying superhero. But what does that mean for the rest of us that still have no super powers and our magic wands don't seem to actually cast our spells, even when we concentrate.
I believe that this is a wake up call. We need to as a people, as a society, as a class come together and find what makes us happiest. That is our little bit of magic. If we can hold onto what makes us happiest we will be connecting with our former selves, back to the time when we had wings and one true sole mate we were destined to meet young. Those ideals of reality no longer exist for us, so i believe that it is the small things that we must hold onto. Those little moments when we are reminded of our true selves, when our shoulders itch, and experience them for as long as we can. As long as the world will let us.
They can be hard to recognise but i know for myself as i think of what makes me happiest i think of this afternoon; watching the snow come down as i laughed for over an hour with my boyfriend about nothing. We simply told each other stories, tickled and pocked our sides and laughed at all the silly and stupid faces we could make. We even found having a staring contest completely hilarious. For me, i hope to continue to laugh with him each day and every day until i am too old to laugh with my whole body, nostrils flaring.

Never Never Land

Well, I've been thinking allot today with the addition of this nice snow shower. What happens to lost children? Those little ones that fall out of their prams when busy nurses aren't looking, who wander away down the isle at Walmart, who sleep and dream but don't wake up with the sun? We always say there is a better place that our little lost ones go to, or else they go to purgatory along with all the other unbaptised non-catholics. But what if they are simply in never land.

i mean it people, i am serious. What if all those miscarried babies and lost siblings are simply flying through the clouds playing pirates and Indians all day long and sleeping by the water side next to the mermaids. That is where i would want to go. Not to purgatory or heaven but to Never Never Land. Where i could fly with Tinkerbell and her fairy dust while tying flowers and feathers to my hair. Never again, always sunny and happy; full of adventure, danger and singing. That sounds like every stressed out grown-ups dream vacation. Lay by the water getting sun while chatting about the island gossip with the mermaids. Or leaving brief cases and trader info behind for a bow and arrow to shoot at Captain Hook and his dirty, tattooed pirates who sing from their ship.

But taking a second look i once again see that my seemingly unique ideal is simply a repeat o Steiner's struggles. This one being the struggle between aged and youth, captain hook and peter pan. Unfortunately for me all that is past still possesses all that is my present. I wonder when i will have a thought uniquely mine and wholly original?

Monday, April 27, 2009

sunday morning by wallace stevens

when i spell checked that poem from the original form i copied there were eight spelling errors. of course i wanted to fix them but did not. i have read and reread this poem in the hopes of having its full understanding and meaning, but alas i am afraid that perhaps our dear Professor is right, it will take us another twenty years to have its full meaning.
however, i am still trying to read it once a day because i like it.
1  Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound. Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.  2  Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams? Shall she not find in comforts of the sun, In pungent fruit and bright green wings, or else In any balm or beauty of the earth, Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven? Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch. These are the measure destined for her soul.  3  Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth. No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind. He moved among us, as a muttering king, Magnificent, would move among his hinds, Until our blood, commingling, virginal, With heaven, brought such requital to desire The very hinds discerned it, in a star. Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be The blood of paradise? And shall the earth Seem all of paradise that we shall know? The sky will be much friendlier then than now, A part of labor and a part of pain, And next in glory to enduring love, Not this dividing and indifferent blue.  4  She says, "I am content when wakened birds, Before they fly, test the reality Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings; But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields Return no more, where, then, is paradise?" There is not any haunt of prophecy, Nor any old chimera of the grave, Neither the golden underground, nor isle Melodious, where spirits gat them home, Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm Remote on heaven's hill, that has endured As April's green endures; or will endure Like her remembrance of awakened birds, Or her desire for June and evening, tipped By the consummation of the swallow's wings.  5  She says, "But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss." Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires. Although she strews the leaves Of sure obliteration on our paths, The path sick sorrow took, the many paths Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love Whispered a little out of tenderness, She makes the willow shiver in the sun For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet. She causes boys to pile new plums and pears On disregarded plate. The maidens taste And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.  6  Is there no change of death in paradise? Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs Hang always heavy in that perfect sky, Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth, With rivers like our own that seek for seas They never find, the same receding shores That never touch with inarticulate pang? Why set pear upon those river-banks Or spice the shores with odors of the plum? Alas, that they should wear our colors there, The silken weavings of our afternoons, And pick the strings of our insipid lutes! Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.  7  Supple and turbulent, a ring of men Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn Their boisterous devotion to the sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source. Their chant shall be a chant of paradise, Out of their blood, returning to the sky; And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice, The windy lake wherein their lord delights, The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills, That choir among themselves long afterward. They shall know well the heavenly fellowship Of men that perish and of summer morn. And whence they came and whither they shall go The dew upon their feel shall manifest.  8  She hears, upon that water without sound, A voice that cries, "The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay." We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsored, free, Of that wide water, inescapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Ambiguous undulations as they sink, Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
This is Sophie, my sister. She is the essence of beauty, smarts and awesomeness. She is ten and the best part of my life. I would not be who i am without her. Just wanted you all to see who i am always talking about.

Watching Zack of the Saving Bells recall his childhood and the soothing melodies of his mother's lullaby, i began to think of my own childhood. Hearing the stories of my babyhood but not remembering my own memories, at first i thought of the lullabies i sing to my sister when she is sad. I sing to her about Wink'n Blink'n and Nod and their adventure in the wooden shoe. Where did i first learn that song? Who sang it to me when i was sad and tired? Unwilling to remember the truth that no one in my family had sung to me as a child i moved on.
What about the songs that my children will hear from me? What song will i make for them as i hold them at night, rocking them as they drift into the land of dreams. i hope that my song to them will be as memorable as the song from Zack's mother for him so many years after. I hope that when they hear that song they can think of me in a warm flannel shirt holding them tight in my tan arms. Feeling my long hair rub against their skin and the soothing melodies of my voice. That is my hope for my future.
How did Niobe hold her children? She had so many and loved them all. Loved them all until her pride consumed her leading to her demise and that of her family. If she had not turned to stone how could she have lived with out them? Each one taking a piece of her heart and holding onto it as they slipped into the welcoming loving arms of Persephone and Hades. How could she have continued knowing that it was her pride that doomed their futures? That is every mother's fear, to out live their children.
That is why Hecuba and the Trojan women wept and begged for the death of Helen. To give them some comfort for their lost children. How is it that fathers and mothers, grandmothers and grandfathers can live without their children? It's not fair that the world we live in can bring such heartache. How are we to cope?
The only thing i can think of that can sooth the souls of those that have lost what is most precious in life, is music. That is Hermes and Mozart and Bach. The soothing and heart wrenching melodies of those artists that have been guided by the gods to bring peace through their melodies.

class presentation

Watching the presentation today in class i began to think about Antigone and her struggle with Creon. The idea that it is one of Steiner's five conflicts, the conflict between both age and youth and person and state. How many times have i begun an argument or fight with someone older than myself and changed my mind or backed down from my point simply because of my feeling of respect?
Well i will tell you the answer, often. I will admit that i am the argumentative sort when i get together with my whole family, we all just say that it runs in our blood. How come then any time i think back to those arguments that i always seem to loose. Not because i cannot support my ideas and beliefs with facts but because i am afraid to push my elders too far and have them think i am disrespectful. Where does this crazy idea of respect come from?
Antigone fought for what she believed to be right. She stood up to someone who was not just older but more powerful and the father of her faience. At my age she was able to fight for what she believes in knowing that her punishment will be death! That idea is crazy. I would fight for my family and for their rights but would i really go against my future husband's father and society to know that my consequences would be my death. I would like to say that i would do what she did and be as strong as her but there is no way to know that for sure. I hope that when my time comes to be strong and be a leader for what i know to be right that i will have the courage and the gumption to do it.

the child

"Who is the child? Is he real, is he a man now? Where does he live with his family? Is he old Chloe?"
My ten year old sister, Sophia, asks me these questions as i read to her the story of Ovid's transformation. Sitting on the phone, laying in bed knowing that she is hundreds of miles away in her own bed in our old house with our old mother, listening to my voice; to the story she has never heard before but heard a milllion life times ago. How can i answer her? All these questions are my own, coming to life for me through the innocent mind of my baby sister.
I tell her that the child is me, that he lives in all grown ups but we don't know it. I tell her that she is more like the child today at ten years old then i have been in over a decade. She laughs at me and reminds me that we are not boys, we are girl. I smile and tell her thank you for reminding me for i had forgotten, in my best sarcastic but loving tone.
She does not understand me and my pathetic attemps at being deep but i know in my heart that the story of the child is the story of her youth. Growing older, leaving the world of immagination and creativity behind for one that is dark and opressive i have begun to forget. Living within the bounds of society, trying to be an adult myself, i see what i have lost when i look at her. When for a brief moment i remember what it is like to see the world through her eyes. Eyes that see possiblity and dreams when she looks into the afternoon clouds compared with my eyes, that simply think of the coming rain and what it will do for my already flooded lawn.
How can i ge that back? That is my qestion; how can i have her eyes and my mind as i continue to experiecne life she has not begun to even think of.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

I was reading a story the other day where the wife and husband turned out to be brother and sister because the boy's father had an affair with the girl's mother before they were born. Being happy as clams before they knew the truth then having their lives falling apart with the knowledge that they could be sick. That their children could be sick from their unlucky fate. That got me thinking about what i would do? What price would i pay for love? Would i give up the approval of society, family and friends to keep my true love with me? Would i be okay knowing that i could never have children that look like me, have my eyes, my nose and my black hair without risking their health. I don't know but i do know that i have never experienced anything as strange in my own life and through catharsis.


I went to a wedding shower this weekend with my boyfriend. We have only been together for a few days but we have been best friends for months. We drove an hour or so and reached his grandmother's house. Meeting his family that night and then the happy couple on Saturday was a fun and frightening experience. I have never liked a family as much since i was a kid, meeting my first boyfriend's family. His farmore is the cutest and nicest little old Swedish woman with the exception of my own Swedish great grandmother. His family welcomed me with smiles and open arms, i felt right at home. It was odd.
A few days ago i broke up with my boyfriend of over a year and this weekend i met my new family. It was great. The world is crazy and it makes me wonder if all really is suffer and fleeting? How is it that Niobe, Hecuba, Iphigenia, and Actaeon suffered till their hearts broke but mine can break and heal while i fall in love with a new someone? Life is something i will never understand but i do believe that the fates and destiny and perhaps even chance are playing with my heart.
"The world will always welcome lovers as time goes by" is a quote from one of my favorite movies, Sleepless in Seattle. I hope that this is true.

"the end is only ever the beginning"

My boyfriend and i broke up a few days ago. I decided it was time to stop waiting. I can wait no longer for the light in his eyes to return. For the laugh that makes me smile when my heart needs it most to come back. I am tired of waiting for the man i fell in love with so many years ago to come home at night and hold me like he once did when we were young.
He is a new man, my old man. And it took me a long time to figure it out but once i did my decision was easy. The hardest part was knowing that he does not care. I have not had the desire to see him but i have seen a few of our friends. I hate knowing that he does not miss me, does not want our life back.
Since my experience and journey through this class started so many months ago, i believed that i had experienced my "rock bottom" to quote the cliche. But sitting on my green king sized comforter crossed legged crying until i was barely able to think, i told him i was leaving; that my desire to fight for our relationship is gone and having him look at me with nothing in his eyes. He did not speak at all, he sat still and held me while i cried telling me its okay. That he is okay.
That's how it ended, with me crying, feeling like i couldn't breath with him walking out my front door. How much can the human heart handle? If each day we experience catharsis through television, news and literature, how much more do we subject ourselves to conciously or subconciously?


snow, how i longed for your soft blanket of white. how i needed to see the moon light shine off your sparkling flakes.
snow, how i enjoyed your coating of the slopes. how i road for hours on your soft hills that caught my jagged falls and fumbles.
snow, how you made me smile when i walked home at night. how you kept me feeling safe and warm so far away from my family at Christmas.
snow, how i hate your coming. How i needed there to be green grass to lay on today. How i needed to be comforted by the warmth of the sun. feeling the soft soothing touch of the wind on my shoulders laying on the beach absorbing the light.
laying in the fields of Roskie watching the cars pass and the boys playing basketball while i dream to the sounds of michale sexton. his soothin melodies fill my heart with the sounds of life, life beating bellow me. life beating above. the sunshine flowing down upon my burnt skin helping my cells to regenerate and die faster. making me look older each moment i enjoy the sunhine.
snow, i need you to leave, to let me once again fell the sun upon my petals. i need you to let me grow older with the help of your brother Apollo the God of the sun. to long i have lived in the shadows and the bone chilling bite of your temper. What i need most today is to feel the sun.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

my final paper

Chloe Bjorklund

Dr. Sexson

English 213


Magic and my heart

When I think of my life, my aspirations and the hopes and dreams I have for my future one thing comes to mind…magic. What is it about this mythological idea of the supernatural that captivates my heart and mind? While reading about metamorphosis: gods and goddesses changing into humans, humans changing into beasts; this idea that the immortal life is somehow intertwined with magic; I thought of what else comes to mind when thinking of this all encompassing word magic? For me there is no other first thought than the fanciful tale of Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. But it is not only Harry Potter that comes to mind after a few extra seconds of pondering but also the new teenage craze of Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. What is it about this idea of immortality and magic that possesses the stories of the past and of the present? I believe it is a human desire within all of us to discover what is hidden and find a way to reconnect with the stories of the past gods and goddesses of Olympus which are riddled with magic and can only be believed and seen with childhood innocence.

Throughout this class I have wondered what it is that makes each o us fall in love with a tale from the past. Whether it is the moving scenes with Hecuba and the Trojan Women or watching Echo chase after Narcissus or just maybe it is the idea that Persephone is happy in the underworld with her ghostly husband Hades. Whatever story a person identifies with there is always a connection to what has past and what is to come, because in all of the tales there are elements of magic; magic coming from all different sources but coming alive through the worlds on the page none the less. Magic turns king Midas’s ears into asses ears, magic eases Niobe’s pain by turning her into stone and magic definitely helps Hades open the earth when stealing Persephone into the under world. But the question I have is why this magic is important and why do people today still want to be a part of it? Not whether or not these events took place because I know in my heart 100% that they did and continue to occur today, in the age of technology and iron.

Today there are no more stories of gods throwing thunder and goddesses turning women into spiders. No, today the stories are a little different, focusing on the power of humans rather than on the power of the gods. Harry Potter is a series of books that tell the tale of one boy, named Harry, and his journey into a magical world with his friends. When I watch the movies and read the stories it is not the riveting plot that has me coming back for more. Nor is it the exciting relationships between boy and girl, no, it is the idea behind all of it that enthralls my mind. The idea that hidden somewhere close by is a land of make believe. Where castles are something to live in, mermaids are in the back yard lake and magic wands help cast magic spells. I want to believe that my imagination’s desires truly can become my reality if I try hard enough and look deep enough. This is why the tale of Harry Potter has captured the hearts of millions of young children and old adults, because we all want to believe in the make believe.

Twilight is another phenomenon that has recently swept the nation. With records of ticket sales flying off of the charts and a dedicated fan base this vampire filled tale has stolen the hearts of young girls and adults alike. Why is it that another book about vampires, with a story line that has already been told is now making another comeback into popular culture? For some it is the handsome love interest Edward, for other it is the action pact killing of the James, the stories protagonist. However, for the majority of Americans quickly falling in love with the series by Stephenie Meyer it is the ideas behind the plot and characters that is creating such hysteria. There is a wonderful idea of magic behind the eyes of Bella, waiting to become immortal. Her story starting as any other girl’s would, ordinary. However, as the books continues so does Bella’s struggle for immortality which is her way into what has been lost; a world of magical creatures both good and evil. Once again there is the idea of magic transcending the world we all know and are familiar with and forcing us to remember the dreams of our childhood fancies that have somehow been forgetting with age. Exciting and desirable because if we believe that it is true, that someone can metamorphosis into a powerful being then we are allowing our childhood imagination to grow once again. The innocence with which children dream and see reality leaves as people grow into adulthood. As the responsibilities of life, children and families creep into our thoughts; turning laugh lines into worry lines the eyes with which we use to see a sparkly castle with pink princess begin to blur until finally only the cold reality of daylight can be seen. It is the longing for our past selves that make people continue to watch movies and read stories that are riddled with magic. This ideal that, if we believe hard enough along with a pinch of fairy dust, anything is possible. That any idea can become reality if we believe in the magic of our youth. This is why people are drawn to fanciful stories however old and familiar because they remind us of a younger time, a time when reality had a hint of sparkle.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Once upon a time there was a king with three daughters, all were lovely, but the youngest named Psyche, excelled her sisters in beauty so much that she seemed like a goddess. The fame of her beauty spread far and wide and soon many people came to worship her. Meanwhile the real goddess of love, Venus (Aphrodite) became neglected as fewer people came to her temples to make offerings and pay her homage.

Venus grew jealous of Psyche and turned to her son Cupid (Eros) for help. She told Cupid to go and shoot Psyche with an arrow as to make her fall in love with the most vile and horrible creature on the earth. Cupid took up his bow and arrow, flew earthward, had one look at Psyche and was lost. No victim of his gold arrows was more deeply in love than he.

Psyche's sisters began to arouse suspicion and fear that her husband of the dark was not some handsome god, but really the serpent monster prophesied by the oracle of Apollo. “Be careful or one night he would devour you,” they warned her “arm yourself with a sharp knife, and check out his face with a lamp when he's asleep.”

Psyche's heart began to fill with terror instead of love. That very night she did as her sisters suggested and when her husband was asleep, she took a sharp dagger to bed and lit her oil lamp. When the light came on, she realized it was not a monster but the most beautiful man she had ever seen. In fact, her husband was none other than Cupid himself in all his glory. Shocked by her finding, she trembled and a drop of hot oil from the lamp fell on Cupid's shoulder and the pain awakened him. At the sight of this mistrust, Cupid fled without a word.

cupid and psyche