Illustrated Milk

One Shabbos while at SerandEz, this conversation happened:

Erachet: It's calming. It looks like milk.
SJ: So when I need to calm you down I should just pour you a glass of milk to look at?
Erachet: No, only illustrated milk.

Now, on the surface, that seems to make no sense. What on earth is illustrated milk? What can I mean by it? Why do I find it so calming?

Here is a picture of illustrated milk:

There is something about that cool blue and white image that I find extremely comforting. I'm going to let you all into the workings of my mind for a moment. From this sort of picture, I think about similar images from childhood. For example, my mind today jumped from the image of milk to this image from If You Give A Mouse A Cookie*:

Illustrated milk, for me, symbolizes childhood. A sort of cookies-and-milk childhood. And I find that childhood comforting. It's a safe place. It's a world where you feel like anything is possible. Don't you remember being a little kid and feeling the wide world out in front of you, sensing all the possibilities, all the adventure, feeling you could do whatever you wished when you were old enough? Remember when people used to tell you that you could be whatever you want when you grow up?

But then you grow up and realize it's not enough to just want to be something. You have to actually have the capabilities for it. You have to be qualified. And the world has to also want you. And so, too many dreams drift slowly away in the dirty city air, or get crushed by the multitude pairs of feet rushing, rushing, rushing to and from office buildings and banks and courts and banks and office buildings. That dreaming little voice in your head gets drowned out by the screeching subway cars as they storm by like a herd of charging elephants.

And then again, sometimes you're able to approach things from that childlike point of view, to see the world in its vastness and possibilities once more, and feel that you really could do anything if you wished to. If you can do that, the very narrow, trapped feeling of, "I am finishing college and must now follow the next step in this path set for me by some sort of authoritative figure and find a job doing something I know I'm capable of, probably starting at the way bottom filing and answering phones, etc. etc. etc." melts away, is overpowered by this new - or perhaps old - eye-opening mindset.

Who says I have to play by the rules? Who says I have to be obvious? Just because I always thought of myself as an English person doesn't mean I can't get a job doing something that has nothing to do with books. Maybe I'll find something to do that's entirely random and yet utterly enjoyable. Maybe I'll find something that's completely out of the blue and yet insanely interesting.

I'm not bound by my major or by my passions. I think sometimes passion can be stifling. It's very possessive. It doesn't let you even want to do anything else.

I don't want to shed my passions. I still want to write. My dream is still to write. But I also wish to enjoy my life. This is my life I'm living, here. Not some checklist someone created for me with elements I must tick off every couple of years. A life does not have to be lived according to a list. A life is not something linear where you go from one predetermined thing to the next predetermined thing to the next. A life is all over the place. It's spontaneous. It's surprising. It's the only one I've got - I want to make it worth living. I want to enjoy it. And why shouldn't I enjoy it?

In this life, I wish to follow the Torah and halacha properly, to one day raise a frum Jewish family, to fullfill all my goals and ambitions as a writer, and to be happy with my life in every aspect.

I think we should all strive to be happy with our lives. We aren't going to get another opportunity to enjoy where we are other than in this life we are now living. Make the most of it.

Be happy. :)

* If You Give A Mouse A Cookie is one of the best children's books EVER.

This Place

It is like G-d grabs hold of the big dipper and spoons out globs upon globs of vanilla frosting, spreading it ever so carefully, ever so evenly across the earth; those glistening, crystal lattices of snow frosting the world like a giant, icy dessert. They gleam invitingly. So clean. So white. So pure. So free of every bad thought, of every heavy emotion. They are the epitome of understanding and the cold, crisp, welcoming bed where dreams become more real than reality. Where there is no distinction between dream and reality. There is only you.

And the sky, the brilliant rainbow canopy that hangs over four corners of the world, your four-poster bed.

You, me, we, anybody. I dream of this place and I am there. The lights, the colors reaching out, lifting me up, helping me to see, bringing me clarity. It is there, here, there...I can see farther than I ever thought I could. I am myself. I am me.


Sometimes, it is dark. The lights, the wind, the world swirl and whirl and twirl in a big monster mess, whirl through my hair, twirl me around. Except that, with all that, there is peace, for I still stand on my cold, crisp, crystal lattice bed and look up at the heavens and know myself in the storm. It is not a storm of nightmares, it is a storm of truth, of essence, of me. It is my storm and I let go in it, I let it consume me until I send it off, like a giant kite, so that it flies away, and I stand there as it looks down on me, and it watches as I grow smaller and smaller and smaller in its eyes. Except I am not as small as that because I am suddenly in control. I have the power and I stand there, my hands on my hips, looking up, glaring at and studying the storm. I think, I wonder, I frown, and then I point to it and change the course of its swirling.

I am a conductor. I conduct the music of the light. I am in control.


Peace again.

Colors, lots of colors, they streak with delight across the sky and I revel in them, in the canopy above my snowy bed that I still stand on, looking up, and I grin because I know that in this place I am safe, in this place everything is clear, in this place I own the world. In this place the world is me and I am the world.

In this place I am above.

In this place I am the essence of me.

Reading Week

There is a certain bliss that comes along with reading week, especially for those of us with very few finals (or for those of us who don't know how to study at any time other than the night before). A whole seven days with absolutely nothing to do except ignore your schoolwork and have fun. Heavenly!

Some of my favorite school days have been passed during reading week - going to the park, playing games, idling around eating ice cream and savoring our freedom down to the very last second. Reading week is probably the best invention there is. Every adventure is saved for reading week. Serene moments with friends are strongest during reading week. Reading week exudes nothing but fun, pleasure, and peace.

But now, reading week is nearly over. Now is crunch time, when we must finally write our papers and study for our exams. The fun is finished.

Or is it?

I wish everyone good luck on their finals (and papers) and, more importantly, I hope we all find the time to squeeze in some more blissful moments of fun.

My blog is a quaint, sleepy village

My blog is a quaint, sleepy village
Where often I do not write posts
There's not much for hackers to pillage
Unless they want loquacious ghosts

My blog is the moors after midnight
Where the moon ever gently glides by
It's wild and untamed like the twilight
But the wild things hide 'neath the sky

My blog is the sea when it's breezy
There's always a small bit of stir
But never will you become queasy
For not much at all will occur

My blog is a far-away woodland
That does not exist in this world
It's full of potential for things grand
But those grand things have not yet unfurled

My blog is an unpainted canvas
A good place to think and to dream
You can duel wicked foes with a cutlass
Or can sit eating berries and cream

My blog is a tale with no ending
A song with no final down-beat
On long journeys it could begin bending
So please do, if you wish, take a seat

Adventure

I love adventures. Yesterday, I had an awesome adventure with SJ and some other girls in NYC. First, we went to this random building that hosts many different architecture and design firms. They were having a charity fund raiser there where you had to donate a can of food in order to enter. Once inside, the offices in the various floors had sculptures made almost solely out of food cans. It was a contest and each firm had a sculpture which they'd had a day to make a week earlier. It was incredible. There were polar bears, Kermit the Frog, race cars, ice cream cones, DNA strands, and, most impressive of all, the Mona Lisa - all made out of cans. Each sculpture had a punny name like deCANstruction or other things like that which I cannot remember now.

At night, we went to see the movie Enchanted.

It was incredible.

It made us all feel so happy, I think. It's just that sort of movie. You walk out of there wearing a big smile. The story proves that there can be a happily ever after in the real world, even if life and love and everything aren't perfect - because in the real world, it can never really be perfect (as opposed to Andalasia where...well, I won't give anything away) but still, that doesn't mean people can't have fairy tale endings. It just isn't as simple as in real fairy tales, that's all. Anyway, it made me happy. Here's the preview, which is fun, too:



Anyway, happy Turkey Day, everyone!