The Source

The source of what? You may ask. In this case, water, but really of thought.

I am reading a book titled "The Source" by Michener that can be described as a sweeping history, and introduction to the creativity of an archaeological dig or my favorite (credited to Dr. Nemitoff, Elana's dad) as "the best foray into and explanation of Jewish thought I've read"

Interesting, as this is a fictional piece. It follows a site at Makor Tell(ancient Hebrew word for "Source") as the lead archaeologist delves creatively into the possible stories surrounding the finds of his site.

Ive actually read this book several times, and each time I draw something new from the history it unfolds. This particular read is drawing more thoughts and questions than before. Possibly because I am older. Possibly because I have two years of college experience and education under my belt.

I began the book reading on the brand new plush carpet of a Rabbi's home, moving to a lonely shell of an apartment echoing of its true owner onto an evening curled up in my new apartment- with pieces of my past surrounding me adorning the new white plaster. Each time alone, each time in a place not truly mine, but mine for the instant.

Ill discuss my thoughts in increasing difficulty for me to write about, hoping to find a train to ride on. And who knows? I may end this post thinking something very different than how I began.

That's sort of the point, anyway.

First, the objects I surround myself with: the remnants of my own history, those remnants of other's histories halfhazardly slung in due to mere thrift, and the new pieces waiting to be broken in. If each of these did in fact have a spirit or a soul, I am sure they would be ruffled in their new location and with their new neighbors. My room was designed and oriented with one thought in mind-- don't block any of the windows pocketing three of the four walls. The room is primarily filled with light, secondly with my items, and thirdly with myself.

What does it mean to have things, items, and how much do I rely on the presence of these things for my stability? Is my room "mine" merely because I occupy the space as a being, because I pay for the room, or because I feel the need to fill it with items ranging in qualities of utility to decoration?

Which leads quickly to a similar thought-- one more typical of a book surrounding an archaeological dig. What will I leave behind? How will the material remains of my existence contrast with that of my legacy, if I have one? I am not concerned by what the people of the future in a similar station will think of me; I am driven by pure curiosity. What dichotomies exist already in my past? I have secrets, no more than the normal college student and no more dramatic either, but these secrets are what will probably be left behind of me. Records can speak louder than unrecorded deeds, good or bad.

So who am I? The person represented in the anonymous and taunting Manila file (or, digital file...) the person I am this instant with you, you who could be reading this as a stranger or as a friend, or am I the person I want to be? Like I said earlier, that's what I want to figure out this summer, but now I am adding a twist:

Whose judgment do I face beyond my own?

This book chronicles the history of a single inland site in the heart of the evolution of religion. Spirits evolved to gods, more importantly to my mind, spirits limited to things and places evolved into deities that knew no bounds and occupy no space.

Along the way, different gods have different amount of human character. Did they feel jealousy, fear, pain, love, hope, lust? Depended on the culture and the era. But what I find most interesting is most religions evolved in the same way. Does this verify each step in the process as a "truth" about gods? Or is it merely a comment on humans as a species and how they respond psychologically to the various types of civilization? (a hard term to use- I am not ranking any, merely pointing out there are different degrees of organization and the manifestations of such)

That is, is god a human construct like numbers and languages that share similar properties without contact? Or is/are god/gods real and they happen to manifest themselves to humans in similar ways?

I struggle with my own beliefs. My family is religious, but couldn't bring me to church as a kid and it fell out of habit by the time I could have gone. My dad (who I respect endlessly and often look to for advise on how to begin thinking about any subject) particularly seems firm in his belief, but feels no need to be public about it. My friends vary in commitment and in choice of religion. As mentioned above, one of my best friends is Jewish, I am dating a Catholic, I come from a long line of Irish Protestants, and I have had heavy influence from a variety of "Indian" or "Pre-Civilization" religions. (I use quotes become some people choose to label them as such but I don't feel like typing out all of my disagreements with the terms and then communicate what I mean without using the terms)

In a city? I feel nothing. I feel no need to approach this problem. My day to day dealings are governed by my trust that other human beings will not be stupid. I am vulnerable, as I sit in my car at a stop light, before I lock my door at night, simply eating food others have prepared, but the chaos is so loud I can not see beyond the individual free wills, and my thankfulness that up till now no one has succeeded in using that free will to cause me deadly harm.

In the outdoors, in the mountains, in the caves...all places I want to be. There, the laws of nature prevail and I am at the mercy of the rock I stand upon. There, I feel the emptiness....the desire to find/discover/create an all governing power. There I feel my weakness in a different way: my energy is so much less than what I am surrounded by. The forces of the world that create the mountains I so long for and love are "amazing" (in the true sense of the word). There I am confident in my belief.

I believe, simply, that most religions are explanations of energy and forces we can not otherwise explain. However, I also believe that science is missing the point somewhere and it will eventually discover a few things: 1) there will never be an end to science, we can never know everything and 2) there is a greater picture here. all forces and energies are in fact the same and emanate from one source. That is, the world is connected to itself and to all its pieces. Not in an "Avatar" sort of way (as someone once mocked my belief) but in a way closer to the spectrum religions develop on-- spirits of each being, absorbed into a greater being.

But this is obviously a mercurial belief, easily adjusted and often thought upon.

Today, I was supposed to go on a hike. But the weather looked bad and I made the self-preserving decision not to face such hard elements. Turned out to be a good decision, the rain caused flash floods and it hailed. It would have been a beautiful sight to see from the rock faces, alone, but its was also a beautiful sight to see with company through my house's stained glass windows. I hope one day I can face the beautiful lightning and stunning thunder from the slopes of some mountains, with the company of a friend. All of these forces coming together in a single moment...its, hm, hard to think about all at once. I could spend my life merely identifying all the factors that created the scene without truly analyzing or drawing a conclusion.

Which makes me believe that it will take someone much smarter or much dummer than me to ever be at peace and come to some conclusion. I can not come to a conclusion because I consider too many things yet can not form thoughts when bombarded with too many images.

I love the rain.

and thunderstorms.

the wooden floors vibrate with their approval of such unconquerable forces.