Blood, Colorism, Hierarchy, Love, Community, Acceptence, Revolution and the Kingdom.

i woke up with a lot of insecurities this morning, and i figured it’s important to share for the sake of those who have ever experienced any of the feelings i have. Even for those who have not experienced such things perhaps this is an opportunity to understand. If so, i honor that. Even though it’s going to hurt for me to share this, (the idea of being vulnerable lately has me shrinking back from all types of things), i think it’s important for me to get that out there, and confront the lies with understanding and the truth.

Now, before i go on, i just want to state that i know that a lot of people will think “why do we have to talk about race and color and ethnicity, etc? Why can’t we all just get along?” But i tell you, that your lack of understanding and refusal to understand is one part of reason that these divisions still exist. Understanding and listening is one of the first steps towards compassion, love and acceptance.

Often times, i don’t think about my race, or my color. i don’t realize that i have a race or color. i’ve been fortunate enough to have a desire to be a revolutionary Kingdom person these days, an ideal that should transcend all races, colors, cultures, and even “religions”. However, lately, things have been popping in my life that have been reminding me that i am perceived to be some kind of race, and that the world is going to treat me a certain way because of that. The world is going to assume that i am a certain way, care about and like certain things because of the way i look, and a lot of times, those perceptions and assumptions are not true. A lot of times, they hurt.

I am supposed to be of African American and Hispanic descent. A lot of times, when people meet me, they ask me “what are you?”, and “what are your parents”? However, it comes to be more complicated than that. The majority of people in my father’s family of African American descendants are “light-skinned”, and some of them, like my father has green eyes. On the flipside, my mother is of Hispanic and Carribean descent. It’s confusing because my mother and grandmother are “Hispanic” of the Native American kind and who knows what else? Blood is so confusing to the point that often when folks ask me “What are you?” i tell them that i do not know what i am.

However, i don’t experience so much of these questions until i am in the “black” community. Colorisim is defined to be a type of prejudice based on a perceived social heiarchy that is based on the pigmentation of a person’s skin. i don’t experience so much colorism in my life now that i am in art school and i’m not sure exactly why this is the case. The most condescending and hurtful statements i have ever heard in my whole life have come from the “black” community, but even more so, from my father’s side of the family.

When i was in elementary school, i lived in Burlington, North Carolina with my mother who was single and out of a job for several months. It was the most carefree period of her life. We lived in a neighborhood that had a mixture of races, but was predominately white. Up until 7th grade, i went to predominately white schools, and the folks that i hung out with where of different colors and races. i basically hung out with whoever gave me the time of day, because i was a very “geeky” and uncool, child (i wore highwaters and my glasses were over-sized. i was also placed in all the advanced classes). A lot of the lack of self-esteem that i suffered came from not being like the other girls, who got to shop where they wanted, were invited to everything and appeared to have family and friends that were invested in them. Sometimes, i still suffer from the latter insecurity, the lack of investment i perceive that people have in me. The majority of my youth, i believed that people only cared about my brains and not my heart. The only person who really listened to me was a custodian who had given me a wooden rhinoceros (the poem is in my archives).

It wasn’t until i moved to eight grade that i was constantly bothered and bombarded with the issue of race and color. When my mother got married to my stepfather, we moved to where i live now, Durham, North Carolina. Eight grade was when i experienced the most colorism in school. The middle school and high school i attended has a large black community. i had folks assuming that i thought myself better than others because of the fact that i was of lighter skin, i spoke differently than most people, and was placed in advanced classes. But honestly, i felt that i was nothing, but brains, someone to be manipulated for personal gain and not much else. People only called me for help on their school work and asked me to be on their team in Math class, but they never stopped to say “how are you doing?” So, i already had poor self-esteem, and it wasn’t about my skin tone. i didn’t really think that the lightness of my skin would be something that i would “gain favor” with, especially as i always pondered why my skin was lighter than my mother’s. And i always thought my mother was BEAUTIFUL. And i still think my mother is one of the most beautiful women i have ever seen. My stepfather is as pale as a white man can get, and my mom is the opposite, yet my stepfather is always telling her how beautiful she is. i could never understand why lightness of skin was a way to “gain favor” until i entered the “black” community.

I had learned that a lot of the girls suffer from feeling inadequate and not beautiful. These are feelings that occur not only because of media and social conventions, but occur also because of the attitudes that family members and other women may have in the community. A lot of women pressure their daughters to assimilate to the society’s standard of female beauty or make remarks like “she’s cute for a black girl” or “she’d be perfect if her skin was a little lighter” instead of expressing that the girl is beautiful just as she is. When i was in high school, the things that my African American classmates seem to worry about the most was beauty and often times when folks identified each other, it dealt with the lightness or darkness of the skin. They made fun of the kids with deep dark skin. The more popular boys and girls in the school were of a lighter skin, tone. One of my friends was bullied and deemed arrogant because of something that was out of her control. She was miserable her entire time in high school, because no one really knew who she was. She was a source of manipulation for some and bullied by others. So much insecurity, just because of our societies standard for beauty and social acceptance. Us girls want so much to be considered beautiful and accepted, but we look at all the wrong places.

When i am with my father’s family, my heart seems to be the last thing they notice. One of the most scarring experiences i have ever dealt with was when one of my aunts had invited me over for the weekend, only to find out that at the end of the weekend, that i was not who she thought i was, branding me as an offense to their family. She made remarks about how short my hair was at the time, and she hated my dream of meeting the poor where they were because everyone in the family, as she says, prides themselves in having hair that comes down to their backs, and she had also made a remark that if i wanted to help the poor, that i should be a professional social worker. She even went as far as saying that the most i would ever be romanced would result in a date rape. It hurt me so much. My father and his sisters pride themselves in what is seen. The pride themselves in the fact that they aren’t like “other black people”, like someone would say. This is the main reason i do not claim my last name, because my last name seems to be so ingrain with this prideful, social and racial identity that is anti-revolution and anti-Kingdom. It is hard for me to be honest with my father’s family, because their hurt is so deep, and their pride is so high, that all of our conversations are either superficial or about how my sister and i can be “better” by worldly standards. My father constantly talks about this “disgracing” of the family that i seem to be doing, and he threatened me with it when i was in Alabama recently. When i asked what he meant by it, he wouldn’t answer me, but the next day preached about how important it is to maintain an education and be like the rest of the family.

It is this fear that has kept me away from doing all the things i wanted to do for the past two-three years. This fear of being “nothing” in the eyes of my blood family. But even my blood family doesn’t define my worth. Only the G-d can. He lives in all of us, we just have to peel away the things the world has put in our hearts in order to see Him, however. And i know it’s hard.

The example of my father’s family isn’t strictly colorism, but it is a form of division within the black community in the belief that they are better than other black people because of other features they may possess (like hair, and social hierarchy). My father also shows skepticism towards white people, which really hurts me, because my stepfather is white, and a lot of the folks who care for me happen to be white as well.

Colorism is a perceived form of social hierarchy based on skin-pigmentation, and it is awful to be accused of having a superiority complex just because of your skin tone. It hurts me to know that some folks associate me with hate and social hierarchy before getting to know me. And it hurts me to see how mean people of color are to other people of color. It hurts me to see people being mean to anyone in order to defend an identity that is fleeting and shallow.

This is why i despise mainstream media and this is why i do not watch television. This is why so many of the blogs here on tumblr make me sick. Because they do nothing to suggest that women of dark skin are equals when it comes to beauty. i hardly ever see black people in some of the churches i’ve been too, and neither do i see black people in music videos that aren’t about rap or hip hop or R and B. How much must one beg and plead for others to gain real interests in those who appear different than them, or those who have a different social class? Where did we lose the idea that those people might care about the same things people who are more like you care about? The other day i was talking to my brother, Brandt, and he made a remark about how he wished there were more people of color doing what he does. i told him, “If it helps, i’m somewhat black and somewhat hispanic”. Is it his fault that folks aren’t doing what he does? I don’t think so.

i think it’s this mentality that a lot of people have, caused by the media and perceptions that we take from it and allow to take over us to the point that we reflect it right back to the media. I will tell people stories about my friends or the folks i admire, and they’ll make remarks that those are things that only “crazy white people” do. As if, white people are the only people who are allowed to do crazy and revolutionary things. As if white people are the only ones who can step outside the box.

When i write this, i am not implying that all men and women in the “black” community are colorist. That would be untrue, because i have a lot of women who are of African American descent that have been kind to me and loved on me instead of unjustly assuming that i was a brat or a threat to their identity. Also, i am aware that colorism does exist outside the African-American community, but i have never been a victim of open prejudice in other communities. Neither am i implying that the insecurity is entirely their fault, as i believe all insecurities are caused by an oppressor.

I say that these barriers and insecurities are caused by an oppressor, because if we were not told or made to believe that we could only be this or that, we would not have these fears. G-d could never be the oppressor, because He loves all, and sees beauty and opportunity in all. The gods of the world, greed, pride, and those other things are the oppressors. They instill fear in you so that they can get their way, so they can be richer, or call themselves better than you. And that is a lie.

I myself have my fears and doubts from the oppressors. Often times, i have doubts of anyone being in a long-term committed relationship with me, whether it is friendship or marriage, i fear that i will not be enough in the realm of beauty. I often fear that a person would be embarrassed to be seen with me because of how i look, or happier with a version of me that better fits the standard of beauty that the powers of the world present instead of thinking that i am already beautiful. My family is one that has a long-line of divorce on top of that and one that also lacks meaningful friendships, so if it wasn’t for my faith in the G-d of the universe telling me that we all deserve the best and that we all deserve peace, i would simply settle for being thrown around and told that i am not enough.

That is why i am convinced that a self-sacrifical love is the only way the the individuals in our communities and in our society will be healed. Love that is beyond our own self-interest. Love the encourages and considers others more significant. Because even if the media were changed, there may still be hearts that are filled with bitterness, hearts that are condescending and willing to hurt others for the benefit of the self. To believe in the Kingdom is to believe that those who bully others and oppress others do not have the final say. That is why the Romans killed Jesus, because He threatened their power with His upside-down Kingdom. That is why they killed Martin Luther King, because he threatened the powers of the world, that believe that heirachy is better than equality. That is why the world kills the martyrs, because they threaten their power.

Love isn’t just personal, it is social and political. If it weren’t, we wouldn’t see so much nihilism in the political or social powers of the past and present. Please, for the sake of peace, for the sake of Love, for the sake of the Kingdom, extend worth to EVERYONE you meet, not just people who look like you, or people who look the way you want them to, or people who like what you like, or people who are as smart as you. Everyone is fighting the battle of loneliness and unworthiness because of the brokenness in the world. Followers of Christ are called to comfort, not oppress. Be a light, please choose Love to the best of your ability and with all your heart and mind and soul, whether you work in the media or you raise daughters that look different than you. Colorism and social hierarchy doesn’t have to exist.

These are things that have been in my heart the past week or so. If you would like to, please share with me your thoughts, ideas or stories.

Not "Just" Bodies, But Wonderful Bodies

Occasionally, I hear people share this idea that human beings are just souls, and that we have bodies as if our bodies are to mean nothing. Other things I hear are people say things like... "hopefully, when i go to heaven, i'll have blue eyes", or "i won't be bald" or "i won't have six fingers". When I hear such things like this, I can't help but find myself confused and even sadden. Sayings like these concern me, because i think G-d cares about how we see our bodies as much as he cares about how close our hearts are to Him. If G-d couldn't use your body to glorify Him and bring Hope into the world, would we born a certain way? Why do we look the way we do? Why don't we all just look the same?

I know that sometimes people are born with disabilities by fault of the ones who conceived them (drug/alchohal use/etc) or have done violence unto them. These would be reasons why folks would be discontent with their bodies. But i believe the Lord still sees something Beautiful, because He can make all things beautiful.

And that's the reason i just can't swallow that the bodies are not important, or are just... "there". Frankly, I believe that our bodies are AMAZING, and we can do amazing stuff with our bodies. We can MAKE stuff, and walk, and see and eat and think, and our bodies can repair itself and physically be one with our earthly lovers and we can even conceive other human beings and nurture them in our bodies and birth them and teach them how to love and and live to the full. All of that is wonderful! And our bodies are just bodies? I can't believe that. Bodies are beautiful and important. Maybe not everyone's bodies will experience all of the things listed above, but our bodies are part of the adventure of being a full human being.

Human diversity is amazing; G-d didn't speak into existence just one type of bird, or one type of tree, or one type of cloud... Just as we don't see one type of human. If our bodies didn't mean anything then the bodies of animals and plants and the skies wouldn't mean anything either.

But i think all of it is to show how amazing He is and how beautiful life can be and how intimately He loves us..

Even more on diversity; there's so many cultures and so many types of story telling in the world too that speaks of the diversity in the world, and it's beautiful and inspiring. It makes me want to see the world and meet everyone and explore and be happy and bring happiness and excitement to others and show them that they are important, too! i think our bodies are important, because i think they're a symbol, an iconoclast of G-d's own beauty. Perhaps, we are the parts of G-d's image that CAN be seen. G-d's beauty can be found in the diversity of all the other things in the world that have diversity, too.

Here's another thought: maybe we are just souls, and that includes are bodies, not excludes it. This might get me yelled at by a more knowledgeable theologian, but i don't think this type of thinking can harm anyone.... If our bodies weren't important however and only the transcendental was, G-d wouldn't have made Adam or the world or anything. I'm thinking about people who were born disabled or with oddities now, and i refuse to see those people as mistakes. If someone could live with joy, knowing that they are loved, and loving them-self, how much hope and encouragement would that bring to others! Sometimes, i think people try to look harder than they need to. We dismiss the world as ugly and disappointing because it's broken, so we look for transcendentalism and miss out on all the wonders that G-d has given us already. G-d is here! If the world can be beautiful in its fallen, imagine how much more beautiful it will be when we're all in His peace again. Please, stop watching TV all the time, and go outside, or open up that book that has the beautiful faces of all the folks in the world. Pray for His eyes if all you continue to see is ugliness in other human beings. Because, you are the one that is blind. Their faces are beautiful because their faces bear the beauty of G-d. i think folks just don't know that there is a reason why they are the way they are. And i think when we love ourselves, when we love our bodies, we will begin to see hope for more of the world, for all of those who suffer from insecurities about their appearance, those born with oddities and disabilities, the way their culture adorns their bodies, or even those that are oppressed because of the color of their skin.

You're not a mistake, and the beauty of others are not superior to your own. You're beautiful, i promise. When you believe that, you'll see it. Not the other way around. All you need is His eyes.

Last night was...

Last night was... the first time i’ve ever journeyed towards the beach at nighttime, blessed with a clear sky to just gaze, gaze, gaze at, to open ones heart and just sing about how beautiful life and love is; how this isn’t just a waste of time, a waste of space, a waste of breath.

In these bodies we will live
In these bodies we will die
Where you invest your love
You invest your life.

And looking back and seeing the silhouette of those your heart has grown so large for so fast… i’m so thankful for the new folks in my life, where in my previous despair, i would have never imagined…. Folks who have the spirit to just go out of the way to take wonderful trips like this, to just be still and silent in a world that is too loud and too fast to remember how amazing it is to be here and to see the Face of Life and think about why we’re here and what Love looks like…

Then we observed the night scene of downtown Savannah over some delicious pizza and older punk rhythms. i’ve never seen that before, people up late to eat by themselves; i just wonder what they’re thinking and why they’re here, the flashing light of clubs and women walking down the street hanging on some man’s arm, wearing clothes that reveal too much of what she really isn’t. And so then, you’re thrust back into reality, with that warmth, the embrace of the cosmos still lingering in your heart, wondering how you and your friends can shed some light between that of the day scene of this college town that moves entirely too fast and the midnight nation that doesn’t really seem to know where it is to go at all.

Let’s turn this city’s lights off, stare at the stars and begin to wonder (for those who’ve never took the time to,) “Why are we so small? Whoever is up there, do we look like stars at all?” And maybe that will move us.

Something inside me says we bear the same image.

Katie

i made friends with a hitchhiker today at the park. i walked by at first, but, upon seeing her backpack, i was struck by curiousity and turned back wondering why on earth i was in a rush, if i wasn’t even in a rush? She was really young, just 25 years old, and her name is Katie. She said that she’s been hitchhiking for about 7 years, because college just wasn’t for her. Before she began hitchhiking, she used to get drunk every night because just going to school and going home and living a stagnant life didn’t make much sense to her. She likes knowing that she doesn’t ever know what will happen the next day, and that is very brave of her.

Katie is stuck in Savannah for a while, because her boyfriend tried stealing a sandwich from Wal-mart (which they both hate with a passion), and he doesn’t get released until the end of the month. She went on about how strange it was that we live in a country where rich art students dump half their dorms each year, and people who are struggling to get by can’t even dumpster dive because the dumpsters get locked. All the food goes to waste. Perfectly good food. Katie and her boyfriend were just hungry. She said she can’t get a job because employers judge her because of her tattoos.

i told her that i wanted to see her again, so she introduced me to Doug, who always knows where she is. Doug is a man at the park who makes flowers out of palm leaves. And one of his friends (or maybe his family?), Stephen, was telling me about how he makes things out of palm leaves because he needs to make money to feed his family. He basically told me that they have noodles everyday, that he’s not trying to complain, but it’d be nice to have something better. And it’s so weird, because i come to this fellowship building everyday, and there’s always food in the fridge. On top of that, i have a meal plan that will give me 18 meals a week, with a buffet style selection. Am i blessed, or am i just really secure?

SCAD doesn’t encourage us to talk to the homeless and panhandlers. But, why not? They are people, too. They’re like us, but without homes or jobs. In need of maybe someone to talk to, someone to acknowledge their existence. Katie had lots of scars on her legs and dirt on her feet. And scars always mean stories. She says she’s seen a lot of horrible things, but she still believes that love is better than hate. We all have a lot to learn from each other.

i pretty much invited her to go to Wild Goose festival next year because that’s how i met Joel who was hitchhiking at the time. Maybe she will meet other traveling folks. She wrote it down. i hope she remembers!

Maybe junk is about to get real?

Jesus listened to me and told me last night that despite the fact that he enjoys philosophy, philosophical debates are for people who are too concerned on being right and can end up being only about being right. He told me that being right doesn’t matter. He told me that he knows what it’s like to be lost in one’s own head, that he’s been there before and he told me that he knows how scary that place is. He also reminded me that only He matters. Do i believe it?

Despite my ever changing thoughts, Jesus stays and he says “there’s no shame in that. You’re not stupid… Or else, i’m stupid, too”.

And Jesus can’t be stupid. Well, it depends on what you think of stupidity, but, he’s brilliant.

He also told me that “junk is about to get real, like really real, like really really real, like, i can’t exactly tell you how, but it’s going to. You and i are going to be like THIS close”, but only if i let it become real. i am as weak as the thinnest branch on a tree, and he whispers to me that it’s the perfect time to choose. “Junk is about to get real”, which is the scariest part…

i couldn’t help but smile and shiver.

Jesus is alive today, and hecomes in all forms because his people are as diverse as the number of your skin cells, if you keep that in mind… and you can see him shine through them so clearly sometimes that at the perfect moment, you will see no difference between them and him.

Strange things are happening at Hogwarts art school?

Why being a 90's kid is awesome (and other related things).

This song always makes me feel good and freak out in the good way.

It makes me think of my first friend ever, her name was Blair. i met her in 6th grade in our chorus class, where we sang “A Whole New World” and “Grease Lightning”. Our friendship was brief because i had to move on the behalf of my mom’s marriage, but Blair was the first kid in my whole time in public school who was genuinely nice to me. She was a talkative little punker and i remember she complimented the button pin on my jelly shoes. Those jelly shoes were so cool to me (where on earth are they? i hope i didn’t thrift them!), and i tried not to be insecure about them just because they were different from what everyone else wore. Those shoes, with their red and white laces, and the button i stuck on, it was the least i could do to express myself in physicality. My mom was single and had no job for 6 months, thus sleeping in front of the tv all day with the crazy telenovela women screaming and weeping, so i was really insecure from a lack of attention, and i also got picked on for wearing the same t-shirt all the time, and for having jeans that were too short for me, while all the other girls flaunted the fact that they could afford overpriced miniskirts and thongs. At 12 years old!

But, Blair, i think of her every once in a while and how she liked me when the other girls didn’t. And so did this kid named Kyle. At the time, i never knew a guy could be as compassionate as he was to me. Still, i had no clue why Blair liked me, but she saw past what others did and she was more real, unlike the “frenemies” i kept making. And she listened to a lot of pop songs like this one, so it’s natural that i think of her whenever i listen to Third Eye’s “Graduate” or maybe a song by Sum 41, Simple Plan or Good Charlotte. She was huge on the last two. And so thinking of her and those times, and this song, it makes me not want to grow up, or at least not stop caring about friendship or how music brings people together and makes us think of the times we shared.

Was it really six years ago?

Graduate // Third Eye Blind

This is my hope: that the real spirit of making and sharing and listening to music never dies

Gross stuff is good.

i’ve kind of finally realized that all the “nasty” stuff i’ve had to do because my family is very petrified of gross things, is really good for me! It just sank in! So, living here for eighteen years is awesome. My father and my twin sister are the most anal about germs so i gotta do most of the dirty work. i am also the official trash can of my household. That means that i am the one who goes through the fridge and finds out what’s good and what’s bad. i have to taste test those things, touch it sometimes when i clean the container, smell it, and so on… And i eat whatever is left. Cleaning my stepdad’s bathroom is kind of gross, and when my grandfather was here, he’d pee all over my sister and i’s bathroom floor without knowing, and i’d have to clean it up. So now, i am the one who runs around barefoot and cleans the toilets and picks people’s scabs off and most of the time, i don’t worry about getting sick. It’s still gross, but i can ENDURE it, and i have endured it, you know? i just accept it. And so there’s a difference, in being grossed out and turning away, and being grossed out and embracing it.

i made a hashtag on twitter: #loveisgross. Because it really is. Being with people is messy and gross and all of it is so personal. And i’m laughing over it, because it’s funny. We’re all really gross. We defecate, and we put weird substances in our bodies, we throw up, we get sick, we have body fluids and pimples, we get dirty. And our internal stuff can get messy, too. Our minds can get pretty sick sometimes. And so, just going through all the gross stuff is making me stronger, and that realization makes me excited about loving folks.

If you even wore shoes... i'd like to be in them.

i just want to be a real friend to Jesus again. Why am i not treating you like a friend? You feel so far away. And when i don't know where you are, i don't know where i am either or who i am either.

i hate everything i've made you into, and i hate how i've used you. i hate how i don't feel like i know you anymore. Who needs amazing theology? Who needs to know everything? It's nice, but it's been so consuming and so distracting.... What have i been making myself? Thinking about you day and night and not even knowing who you are, losing track, losing my memory, my mind, everything... i just want to be your friend. The bestest friend i know i could possibly ever be, because that is who i want to be. And we become who were are around with. And i haven't hung out with you so much. i need to get out of here. i need to be in your shoes and live your life. We need to hold hands and get out there, like a pair of crazy lovers that the world has no control of.... Because i'm going crazier here in suburbia, in my comfort, in my loneliness. Jesus, there is so much crap here that i don't want to conform to.

i miss you so much. You see past my weakness and see someone decent, someone who could be beautiful like you.

Let's be Honest

i need to be more honest when it comes to this "dying of yourself" idea, the idea of wrapping up oneself around such a divine Love as Jesus's and those who pursued the same existence. As much as i say that i want it, it's not easy. In fact, it's terribly exhausting to constantly give up your fears and desires. When i find myself surrendering to love consistently and actively, sometimes when i realize what i am doing, i just want to stop and be lazy and selfish and bad to myself and others. i want to lie in my bed and have my doors and heart locked up and lament over my life. All the while, i know what i find myself pitying myself for isn't really who i want to be.

It's not easy. Love is tragic in this sense. If you are aware of what you are losing; time, energy, control, the world becomes a draining place. The more i talk to my wiser friends, the more i realize that i am afraid of losing control when really i should realize control wasn't mine at all. i laid in bed last night so still that i heard my heart beating, and i felt that, and i knew, that besides perhaps sneezing or breathing oddly, i don't have much control over my own heartbeat, my life.

When i begin to pity myself, i wonder if i have anything at all except for this thing that i and others dispersed throughout the earth insist on, this burden called "Love". i don't really know sometimes. i feel like a little hopeful child with the idea of love and beauty on my mind day and night and it can be daunting when faced by the more "realistic" minds and souls i encounter. But i see that those who love with such an intensity tend to forget their own troubles. i see that those who love with such an intensity find wholeness in their lives. Love is the most "realistic" possibility to them. They know what they were made for.They look human. And bright. They found what they need, they found the love of G-d, and i find that i want what they have. i think that is what i want too, to be human, to have love and grace and mercy, all those things. And so then, i don't pity myself anymore, despite the fact that i may not have an identity in anything else, and then i am happy.

Yours,

rachel virginia

Does beauty mean anything?

And upon being reminded of the incredible amount of waste in the world, as always, i feel inclined to do something about it, if only i didn't find myself too lazy or too uninspired or even defeated at the challenge that it is too much work for one girl with an impossible dream to do alone and knowing that the vast majority of society wants nothing to do with anything that requires a little extra work, movement from the comfort zones or thought on their part. i aim to be more positive, as my wonderful example of a human, Barry, insists, but it's tough to be in a society that isn't positive at all and lives content in things that are empty, and lead to a quality of life that very much resembles death.

i keep thinking of these lyrics from a Psalters song "i will dream the impossible dream over lies lies lies." Hope is the only thing that keeps me from being depressed.

The "lies" are the belief that there is no hope for the world, that inheritantly, there is nothing we can do about everything that is ugly and destructive. But the biggest reason for me to believe that there is hope for the world is that a smidget of it can be seen in almost everything i see, even if it doesn't last, such as the beauty of the world around me, how people long for it, how people long for something good, meaningful, worthwhile, even though evil seems to be always present around the world, 24/7. Beauty is always fleeting, yet the question, the possibility and the longing for it seems to always be in my mind. "i want the world to be beautiful." "i want to be a beautiful person". Beauty, beauty, beauty. Does it mean anything? Or is it just a delusion percieved and manifested from the accident that is our brains and "minds"? (Whatever the heck the mind is). It would be terrible to have this hopeful feeling that something can be done with the millions of trash spiraling in the center of our seas, the trash clogging up our earth, just for that hope to be dashed in the end. A final realization that there is no G-d; that really there is no such thing as divine Love, no reason for having and expressing joy, if joy is such an expression of hope, no reason to hope, no reason to be, but to wander helplessly, maybe even willingly towards the further decay of the universe.

My biggest influence of the idea of symbols that create feelings of awe and beauty in our universe leading to something greater, allusions that is, comes from one of N.T.Wright's writings and maybe C.S. Lewis? Maybe? Read Wright if you haven't. Actually, just read everything in general. i'm sure it's Wright, not so sure about the book title however, but something there has heavily influenced my thinking for the past year or so. Surely all of these wonderful, awesome, yet short-lived things can't mean nothing?

i wish i could rally all the credit cards and junk CDs that i see and have the creativity to do something with them, make something beautiful. i will if i continue to believe in such a hope. i wish i could do all of it, but i am one girl with a whole lot of limits. There is so much trash and waste to transform into something beautiful. Nevermind the fact that someone may think you are crazy for diving in and digging up the dumpsters. There are so many resources in the world already just waiting to be used again. Nevermind the folks who say there is not enough for everyone. The American culture has produced more products than we could ever imagine. Remember that there has never ever been as much people in the world as we have had in only a small period of time, meaning the last few thousand years that human kind has walked the planet. Remember this chart from class?

What i am trying to express is that the wealthy nations of our world has produced much more than we could ever imagine and essentially, we are wasting it all and ceasing use of it by convincing ourselves that we need to make more stuff. i am positive that Americans and other citizens of rich countries have thrown away enough clothes to clothe everyone in the world at least one time, maybe more. i may not have the numbers, but i am convinced by my constant reasoning.

i have made the decision a long time ago that my role in the visual arts is to share the beauty of resurrection and transformation in a society that too easily replaces the "ugly" once it is no longer to their use, with new things that are more "beautiful". i want to inspire people to seriously kick their waste habits, not for me, but for our planet and all that lives in it. A fear that haunts me is the loss of this desire, to lose my soul to the always up-to-date business world. The earth is a gift to humanity, without our mother we would surely have no physical existence to express life. We cannot simply throw her away, we cannot simply replace her by rejecting her and trying to find another planet. If there are other earthlike planets out there, that is wonderful and to be in awe of, but why give up on this one while she still gives so much to us? It is like falling in love with a beautiful man and then finding another as though you never knew him. From my understanding, Love requires service and if intensified goes into concious commitment. i know that an intense Love requires commitment because my brothers, sisters and i have a Lord who never ceases to woo us and the rest of humanity into falling into his Light. He is committed to His creation. So forth, i want to be committed into loving my home, the planet Earth just as much as the Church insists we should love our neighbor. i want such a love for my home to not be a "fling" or a "hook-up" but a full fledged romance.

i think this is what beauty is for, even if it is fleeting: to be a reminder of all the things that are worth living for, worth doing, worth dying for. And if beauty means nothing at all, then at least i performed upon these hopeful convictions i've been given, to think there was such a thing as hope, maybe a renewal, for a fractured universe. That all things can end well.

Yours,

rachel virginia

i'm an artist.

But to be honest, i haven't been doing a very good job at expressing myself as well as i wish i had. There's just something about being in this house, being in routine that just stunts that and i am very inclined to just take public transit out of here and meet all the interesting folks i have in the past few weeks and learn from them and the world around me. i recently turned eighteen, and many of my friends have told me that my life has simply begun. Perhaps in leaving this environment, my mindset will change a little bit. i hope to be more productive and to come alive, fully, in all the creative mediums i enjoy: photo/collage, music, writing.... and just for my soul to come alive in general. i want nothing to be in-genuine. i want all things to be filled with love.

i want to take the moment to explain the URL for my blog, since this is my first entry. "Rachel Virginia needs to die" is a strange name for a url, but, it explains my life mission in short, my desire to die to myself and be one with G-d, putting aside my selfish ego, and being able to find who i truly am. It's pretty morbid, which is unlike me, but maybe this url will change as i realize something more uplifting and less harsh. i hope to be able to combat the feeling of defeat and hopelessness that has haunted me the past few months. i miss my joy. There's a huge cloak of insecurity draped on my shoulders and it's hard to take off. i couldn't have wished more for a feeling of liberation during my weekend at Wild Goose Festival, seeing others possessed by it and knowing that my time is coming soon.

And in discovering who i really am, i hope to be able to find my voice as an artist, or whoever G-d needs me to be. i do think i am meant to be an artist, i have a need to create things, and i would like to see more and more people using their gifts for something bigger than themselves, seeing especially that we are made in the image of a Creator, so why not reflect that back at Him?

i think creating things is the best way for me to share what i have. That joy. i have a flood of it, we all do, G-d put it there, why am i keep it all dammed up? i remember spending hours creating letters and assembling packages for my long distance friends. That gave me joy, that gave me purpose. Giving that is. And the collages i made, i give away because it's amazing to see someone's face light up at something i made, my hard work, enjoyed, and even more their gratitude at receiving my creation. Maybe happiness is truly real when it is shared like it's been said. And happiness makes me forget all my worries. All this darkness.

So maybe something will happen soon that'll make it easier to shake off this darkness.
Keep me heart in your prayers, dear brothers and sisters.

I am with you,

Rachel Virginia