Closure: Leaving the Course for the Last Time

Cross Country season is over...all too soon. I am honestly so thankful I still have track to look forward to. Getting ready to qualify in the marathon!!! (say WHAAAT???)

The Crossroads League Championships (conference race) was two weeks ago; that was a memorable day. It reminded me why running all those miles last summer was worth it. The Spring Arbor University Track and Field men's and women's teams both came out to support us; there's not doubt SAU had the best represented (and loudest) fan base that day. It was pretty incredible to be a part of it all. 

Kyle Anderson and I both took first in the conference!!! I'm not sure, but historically I think that's pretty rare. Shout out to Noah Hoverdink and Nathan Anderson as well, both finished in the top fifteen (all conference). 

Finishing in the top five at conference landed me the opportunity to race in Lawrence Kansas on the Rim Rock Farm course at the NAIA National Championship race.

Let me tell you...

I loved every minute of it.

The course itself was a beast. Seriously, the most brutal 3.1 miles of my life. Hills. Hills. Hills and hills, especially in the third mile. I crossed the line at 18:35 and placed 33rd (6 seconds away from being an All-American! Ah...so close). Teammate Elley Hinkel flew out with me for moral support; I definitely could hear her screaming for me. She's hoping to make it out to the NAIA meet next year. I know she's absolutely capable. I'm excited for her season.

I wish I could devote more time sharing all the details, but to be honest the trip has put me majorly behind with homework and such...

So I will leave you with and article from the SAU Athletics website: www.saucougars.com/article/

Also, if you're a senior in high school (runner or not), and trying to decide where to go to school, come to Spring Arbor University. Over the course of these four years, this place has challenged my thinking and general understanding of life, enabling opportunities to live in community with some pretty incredible individuals, and (hopefully) set me well on my way to life beyond college and the cross country course.

SAU has become more than just some obscure college to which I randomly (and completely last-minute) decided to commit. The people I've met here and knowledge and experience I've been given will stay with me the rest of my life.

I feel ready for what's next (whatever that is), but I'm also thankful for the time here.

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Thesis On Riprap

Life is incredibly hectic right now! Still, I am thankful I have a lot to look forward to. The NAIA cross country meet is next week already...as well as the first draft of my senior thesis. The thesis is coming along well, I'm writing about Taoism (an ancient Chinese philosophy), poetry, and one of Gary Snyder's poems. I'm on page 10 of 25, and thankfully still have more to say. 

The poem: 

Riprap

Gary Snyder

Lay down these words 

Before your mind like rocks. 

  placed solid, by hands

In choice of place, set

Before the body of the mind

  in space and time: 

Solidity of bark, leaf or wall

  riprap of things:

Cobble of milky way, 

  straying planets, 

These poems, people, 

  lost ponies with 

Draggling saddles --

  and rocky sure-foot trails. 

The worlds like an endless 

  four-dimensional 

Game of Go. 

  ants and pebbles

In the thin loam, each rock a word 

  a creek-washed stone

Granite: ingrained

  with torment of fire weight 

Crystal and sediment linked hot 

  all change, in thoughts, 

As well as things. 

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Gary Syder

Snyder was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Turtle Island, his 1974 collection of poetry, which he hoped would override his “Beat poet” epithet; even so, his personal friendships with other leaders of the movement had forever endeared him as a Beat writer. He graduated from Reed College and began his masters in anthropology but quit soon after he began. In 1956, he left from San Francisco to Japan to study at the First Zen Institute of Kyoto. In an interview with Nathaniel Tarn, Snyder explained that “Anthropology was concerned with understanding human nature--but then why go to other people, why not study one’s own nature. So…Zen.” Two years later, in 1958, he returned to the States and published his first book of poetry, Riprap (1959). “The Zen tradition of Buddhism often defines itself as ‘seeing into one’s own nature,’” Snyder explained, “and its discipline of meditation aims at gaining a clear perception of the self and the external world.” Zen, an echo of the more “orthodox” Taoist philosophy, was the foundation driving Snyder’s work. When explaining the inspiration behind his condensed yet distinctly nuanced poetic lines, he said, “I tried writing poems of tough, simple, short words, with the complexity far beneath the surface texture. In part the line was influenced by the five- and seven-character line Chinese poems I’d been reading, which work like sharp blows on the mind.” Snyder’s “Riprap,” the poem his first book was later named after, is similarly composed into “simple, short, words” that allows the reader to feel the prick of reality beyond the syntax; the words themselves were not the pinnacle of meaning.

References:
Charters, Ann. (2001). Beat Down Your Soul. “Gary Snyder.” Penguin Putnam Inc.  
Tarn, Nathaniel. (1972). From Anthropologist to Informant: A Field Record of Gary Snyder. Alcheringa, issue 4. 
Almon, Bert. (1977). Buddhism and Energy in the Recent Poetry of Gary Snyder. Mosaic: A Journal for the Comparative Study of Literature and Ideas, Vol. XI, No. 1.

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TINY HOUSE SITING

I love small spaces and old places! 

On one of my running routes, I routinely passed by a mysterious rustic tiny house. Naturally, it roused my curiosity and I always made a mental note to come back for pictures. Finally, this past weekend, I had the opportunity.

After getting a closer look, I discovered there wasn't just one tiny house, but three!! I was thankful to spend the afternoon with a friend and capture some quality photos in the process.

Someday, I will build my own tiny house...

...someday. 

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I love the Tiny House movement! 

I have dedicated a whole Pinterest board to it: 

danaedracht/tiny-houses/

And I also get a newsletter from this site: http://tinyhouselistings.com/ 

Share in the love. Even space is more accommodating in moderation! 

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Quotes from The Brothers Karamazov

“A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others” (44). 

"It sometimes feels very good to take offense, doesn't it? And surely he knows that no one has offended him, and that he himself has invented the offense and told lies just for the beauty of it, that he has exaggerated for the sake of effect...he knows all that, and still he is the first to take offense, he likes feeling offended, it gives him great pleasure, and thus he reaches the point of hostility" (44).

“It’s already a great deal and very well for you that you dream of that in your mind and not of something else. Once in a while, by chance, you may really do some good deed” (56).

"The more I love mankind in general, the less I love people in particular, that is, individually, as separate persons...I often went so far as to think passionately of serving mankind, and, it may be, would really have gone to the cross for people if it were somehow suddenly necessary, and yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone even for two days, this I know from experience. As soon as someone is there, close to me, his personality oppresses my self-esteem and restricts my freedom" (57).

"You will behold great sorrow, and in this sorrow you will be happy" (77).

"But to fall in love does not mean to love. One can fall in love and still hate" (104).

"She loves her own virtue, not me" (117).

"I know your thoughts. Your heart is better than your head" (134).

"He has hidden indignation seething in him because he has to pretend...to put on all this holiness" (135).

"No, maybe you will love her eternally, but maybe you won't always be happy with her..." (145).

"Lord have mercy on them all today, unhappy and stormy as they are, preserve and guide them. All ways are yours: save them according to your ways. You are love, you will send joy to all!" (160).

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Only a little preview of Part I (the furthest I've read)

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R A C E D A Y

When I was sitting on the grass, lacing up my spikes yesterday, the reality that I was about to run one of the last collegiate cross country races of my life finally hit me. 

It was so cold as I stepped to the line with my teammates; we were all wearing our tiny little spandex uniforms. I wanted to jump around and do my stride outs just to get my mind off the fact that my blood felt like it was chilling in a refrigerator and I had lost feeling in my right big toe. I loved the beginning of every race though. We were all together, every team from all the colleges I never managed to keep track of. They were just as cold and jittery as we were, but we all tried to look intimidating, pretending to be oblivious to each other, and acting as runners do by shaking, bouncing, stretching, and swinging our arms and legs around.    

Then, an anonymous man bundled in five layers of clothing holding a megaphone announced something, stepped in the middle of the course about one hundred meters ahead of us, raised both arms, and fired the gun. 

The clock started. I didn't think about what I had for breakfast that morning, or the hours of homework I had done and had yet to do, or what the heck I was supposed to do with my life after I graduated in the spring. 

The herd was set in motion and we were moving fast. I felt like an animal, like a deer maybe. The course took us down a dirt path through the woods, away from the spectators. As we stretched and thinned, space opened, ebbing and flowing like water, providing room to cut the tangents. Sounds of heavy breathing and pounding feet surrounded me.

  

I just ran; not away from anything or after anything either. I had no idea where I was going; we came to a fork and the leaders hesitated, pranced around for a second and made panicked, questioning eye contact with the runners coming up behind them. We wordlessly decided to take the left path, and the leaders took off again. 

The first two miles were a blur. We looped around the course twice (or was it three times?), bounding over roots, leaves, and soft, black dirt. I suppose the trees were beautiful in all their glorious climactic grandeur of color, but I didn't really see them. By the third mile, I went numb; not from the cold, but just because that is what happens. It's difficult to think, and feel, and navigate, and run simultaneously. The finishing stretch was the longest and most painful. At that point, it didn't seem to matter how in shape I was, it came down to how uncomfortable I determined to make myself, and how conscious I still was to decide. 

When I crossed the finish line, all I could do was slap both hands over my forehead and say, "Oh my GOD, oh my GOD..." My brain was buzzing on a high of endorphins and my legs were rubbery and wiggled unsteadily at the knees. Behind me, someone droned, "Stay in a line, stay in a line...just keep walking." We were led down a flagged corral like cattle. I concentrated on breathing and rationalizing and walking in a straight line. Somehow I couldn't stop repeating "Oh wow..." and "Oh my GOD..." (a phrase I never otherwise used).  

I was smiling like an idiot. The park had suddenly become an incredibly warm and euphoric place. Colors were popping from the trees, the cars were clean and artistic in the orderly parking lots, the spectator's faces were glassed over with a shared, kindred happiness. Carissa was there, looking just great, saying something so nice I couldn't quite interpret it. My parents were there, too. My mom was even jumping, clapping her hands together. I could've hugged the man writing down our numbers. I could've walked around offering to shake everyone's hand, giving out high fives, slapping people merrily on the back, and repeating, "Oh wow..." with one or both hands slapped across my forehead. 

Just when I thought the high was settling down, I looked up and saw Leah running down to the finish; the first finish of her collegiate carrier. Color fringed her face; she was determined, fixed on the line as her arms and legs propelled her forward. Giddy excitement stirred up tears in my eyes as our whole team ran to circle around her even before she could walk out of the corral. I felt the warm breath and bodies of my teammate all around. We forgot everyone else in the park. With tears brimming, she looked at me. I'll never forget her eyes in that moment. The clock stopped, and I can only remember feeling completely filled.     

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October 25, 2013

Can I even express how thankful I am for this team?

I'm so glad to know them; to grow, cry, laugh, and run with them. 

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A Pinterest Post

Well friends,

The words are flowing (trust me), but they're going into papers for grades rather than posts for the blog at the moment. Instead, I thought I'd give a preview of my recent pins.

Enjoy! 

/ l i v i n g  s p a c e s /

/ s t y l e /

/ t r a v e l /

/ a c c e s s o r i e s /

/ d e c o r / 

/ f i t n e s s /

/ h a i r / 

/ i n s p i r a t i o n /

/ b o o k s /

/ c e l e b s / 

/ c r e a t e / 

S e e  m o r e : 

 pinterest.com/danaedracht/boards/

Have a great week(end) everyone! 

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Greatness: A Poem

Here's what I was learning: there was no such thing as greatness. I sat content enough with Crime and Punishment in my hand in the back seat with a beautiful person. She looked so small and perfect, her seatbelt crossed her chest, her toes floated above the floor. She was timeless. That spark, that delightful glint of something secret had never left. I was a part of her. I was a part of her dark eyes, the soft wrinkles dancing on her face, part of her shoulders, the way she laid her hands...those were my hands. A man was driving, wrinkles graced his face too, and his hair was touched with gray strands. He held the steering wheel; I saw a part of me in his hands, too.

These two people sitting with me had been everything--and in an instant they could be gone. One wrong move would send us rolling, weightless, into the ditch, the unforgiving lawn. And as I sat there, I had to put the book down. From the book's topic, I looked outside and wondered how anyone like them could die. No one could take such lives away, I would do anything to preserve them. But soon I was far away, in another life already. I had dreams to chase and memories, and something important and steady. God only knew I'd have bills to pay and a real job and more schedules and somehow less time and the rent overdue.

I was looking out the window and thinking how glad I was to be moving...anything that wouldn't keep me still. I would do anything to preserve them. But if there's no such thing as greatness, even great acts of saving lives is nothing. Is it anything to die for someone? For her? To die, no. She lived. She lived and breathed...for me...for all of us. How is it that I could die for her, but I couldn't call her on a Sunday afternoon? Or write her something; tell her yes, I would be coming home to visit soon? How is it that I could die for her? A great act? Hardly. To die is nothing new. She lived...for me. The desire to preserve her was real sincere, but the desire to push away was too.

And then the man, humming quietly to an old song I didn't know, was a whole world within another world, like a book of answers to so many questions never written down. And underneath my apprehension, I could never write those questions. I'd die for this man, but I think I was more afraid of the rest. Fear of what? Of what? I wouldn't say out loud, I certainly could never write it down. Only, I thought it was best to keep the distance long, the conversations short. For years I wouldn't come around. But with time, with how it just keeps on going, never stoping once for me to catch my breath, I realized I don't have many answers. And maybe dad does, he knows an awful lot.

Here is what I was learning: there was no such thing as greatness. Greatness distinguishes and promotes; it makes one famous. Isn't it obvious? Repute, high standing...none of those things are truly greatness. If greatness existed, it would be only in the anonymous, in the faceless. It would exist in waking up one day at a time for other human beings: people perhaps incapable of seeing any greatness at all, who couldn't understand such meanings. It would exist in small, unnoticed things, in being ignored, overlooked, and disregarded for a lifetime; and it would be timeless. It would be that spark, that delightful glint of something secret that had never left.

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September 16, 2013

 
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