Stream of Consciousness: Family

Author's Note: This is a simple stream of consciousness that I composed. I struggled with this one, most likely because I had just come from a break, and I sort of needed to get back in the groove. It was hard for me to not stop, think, and start again with this piece, which is not something a stream of consciousness is designed for. Still, I enjoy the metaphor that I included in this piece and I am pleased with the overall concept.

 

Tough knowing the absolute depth of how much we love them -- the people we love. Immeasurable, immensely untouchable. Yet do we show this love that is forever beating, so strongly, with such passion, in our hearts? So easy, it is, to take this love, these people we love, for granted. The most simple actions or tasks become thousands of pounds strapped upon our back, as we make no attempt to forge ahead. The wind whips at our face, warning us, but we stay sitting, resting at the bottom of the mountain in the storm. Isn't our love, this love that is so strong and immeasurable, and immensely untouchable, supposed to aid us on what should be a weightless, non-burdened journey to the peak of the mountain? Perhaps it should. Perhaps this is how it should be. Perhaps we should take our own selfish desires out of the equation and just help -- be there for one another. Because after all, isn't this what family is for each other? Perhaps it should be.  

The Phoenix

Author's Note: This piece is my summative response to Fahrenheit 451. The main focus of this essay was elaborating on the notion that what is in one's heart and mind is much more powerful than what can be written down on paper, on the notion of extinguishing this destructive fire that many jump into for safety. I wanted to explain Montag's decision to stop burning and start preserving. I had many thoughts and lots of points to get across in this piece, accompanied by a great deal of text evidence I wanted to include. This made the organizational aspect somewhat difficult, and I found myself running with a thought and stringing it out into lengthy sentences and paragraphs. I began to realize that this was okay as long as I was being clear with my audience and defining my terms. After processing so many thoughts from within this essay for a little while, I could finally write my conclusion and the composition came quite naturally and quickly. I am content with the final result of this piece and eager for feedback.

"After a long time of floating on the land and a short time of floating in the river he knew why he must never burn again in his life." (p 140-141) While drifting along a river, just barely escaping all hell and gliding  on a dream, a  dream that there may be yet a sliver of hope, Montag realizes that burning is far too redundant.  In this dreary world where everything is turned to ashes, it becomes prevalent that everything is already burning out; there is too much burning and not enough saving, recording, learning, living. With all things in Montag's life becoming extinguished, he knows he mustn't contribute to the destruction anymore, but rather preserve what is within ones heart. For what is within ones heart cannot be erased, cannot be dismantled, cannot be diminished, and is far more powerful than words on paper.

During Montag's time away from the city, away from the people who burn, who watch people burn things and things that burn, and the ones who accept burning, he finds peace inside himself. A singular thought running through his mind provides sudden clarity for him that is enlightening.

…the river was mild and leisurely, going away from the people who ate shadows for breakfast and steam for lunch and vapors for supper. The river was very real; it held him comfortably and gave him the time at least, the leisure, to consider this month, this year, and a lifetime of years … His thoughts stopped rushing with his blood. (p 140)

While he lies on the surface of the body of water, he starts to live outside of time itself. Montag finds that the truth lies only within you, and when it is discovered, you must live it. You must withstand the criticism that leaps from the mouths of careful people. You must disassemble your previous self who only did what others asked and only cared for what other cared for -- your previous self who was so empty, filled with nothingness, nothing that was yours or belonged to you. One must jump out of the fire that everyone seems to find such comfort in, the mass fire where everyone does everything that has already been done without a single question or thought. "One of them had to stop burning. The sun wouldn’t, certainly." (p 140) Eventually, the fire, the simultaneous destructing and feeding force, must burn out. People cannot remain living and breathing in smoke, for no clarity can be found there. Montag comes to the realization that the truth is real, what is inside you is real, and the only thing that matters. Finally, Montag makes the conscious decision to abandon the people who burn -- to become a builder rather than a destroyer.

As this dystopia unfolds, it becomes definite that somewhere the saving and keeping must begin, and be put in books, in people's heads, so long as it remains safe from men with matches.

The sun burnt everyday. It burnt Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on its axis and time was busy burning the years and the people anyway, without any help from him. So if he burnt things with the fireman and the sun burnt Time, that meant that everything burnt! (p 140)

 Eventually all the burning, the destruction of cities, homes, and people becomes unimportant to those who preserve, to those who have preserved all they need in their heart, and mind, for years.  The mass burning of the world becomes nothing but a beautiful, peaceful reincarnation -- something new, something wonderful, something reborn: hope. The notion that we can all simply start over and extinguish the fire becomes plausible. We can resurrect humanity. 

Visions of The Night

Author's Note: I am still in the process of analyzing this poem. Like all poems I write, there is always a hidden meaning behind the piece that I did not know while I was creating it. However, once each poem is finished, I feel as though, to really complete the poem, I must discover what I was unconsciously thinking at the time of composition. This particular piece was written on a Sunday night, when I realized that I actually had time to write. I miss having the time to simply write, enjoy the process, and discover my hidden thoughts. To fulfill this desire, I took the time I had on my hands and composed a piece while carefully listening to the noises coming from outside at night. There was so much, so many various emotions I could capture, yet I decided to take a more natural approach and challenge myself to just write. I wrote the piece without going back and rereading what I had; I wrote the piece without too much of a particular singular idea in mind. I am curious to know what I others thoughts are. 

Do not go out, do not go

Into the Night.

Street lamps burn, they burn and blaze

And flicker, and

Burn

The train zooms down the track

Lightening speed,

It seems.

Virtually nothing faster than that train,

As it blurs past my vision

The night sky,

The bushes, and streets,

And fields, and

Stars

Voices, sounds,

Coming from black --

Darkness, dim everywhere

It's vague

A pleasant, lovely nothingness,

Where nothing is quite certain,

Nothing quite clear, or known

The wind whispers,

Catching speed, making sound

In my ears

I am reminded,

I am not alone

I look up, light emerges

Beautiful orbs shine in deep blue clouds

Light is everywhere,

Has always been, everywhere

But to my eyes, the world is
Barely lit,

Nothing unveiled,

Too much left undiscovered,

In the Night sky, the bushes,

And streets, and fields,

And stars