Concentrated Thought: A Collection of Essays on Dwelling

Concentrated Thought:

A Collection of Essays on Dwelling

English Department Press

University of Dubuque

Dubuque, Iowa

Copyright © 2010

Cover photography

by Jonathan Schreyer

Table of Contents

Breaking Through the Barriers

The Evolution of Dwelling

Matt Finn

Dwelling: The New Duct Tape?

Jessica Boelter

Dwelling as an Inherit Trait

Katrina R. Abruscato

From the Outside Looking In

Simply Free

Angela Reed

Wacka Wacka Wacka Bloop Bloop Bloob Bloo:

The Empty Abyss of the Destroyed Worlds

Ben J. Carbajal

One Dwelling to Cease all Progression

Emily Martin

Got Happy Place?

Ann-Katherine Kimble

Dwelling in a State of Mind

Matt Lee

The Alteration of What is Known

Finding the Ability to Be

Christina Hanley

By Invitation Only

Courtney Brianne Thompson

A Mind in Unavoidable Places

Ashley Reyne Metcalf

Where I Didn‟t Want to Be

Renae Alexandra Main

The Eternal Essence of Dwelling

The Breathing Box

Michael J. Finn

Life‟s Journey: To the Eternal Dwelling

Rochelle Greenwood

Always Want the Ball

Erica Harris

Music Takes Me There

Lindsay J. Bonnell

A Fishing Story

A.J. Matthews

Preface

From the Writers

The first project we took on this semester involved connecting the idea of place to the concept of dwelling. Besides using this connection, our project faced only one limitation: it must be fully textual composition. The dwelling project allowed us to use creativity, abstract thought, and personal narrative. The structure used to build these papers is similar to the structure of our textbook for the class, "Saving Place: An Ecocomposition Reader," by Sidney I. Dobrin. That is, we needed to include an author biography, abstract, and questions for discussion and response to create our own edited collection. This really opened up the class the idea of published work verses work done strictly for the classroom. The format allowed the class to step outside the writer‟s seat and into a view of a reader‟s perspective. With that in mind, the project allowed students to explore their own interpretations of what it is like to dwell somewhere. After each of us developed a topic and found direction, the class split the essays up into similar subcategories. These subcategories revealed that the class took many different approaches. These approaches range from place being mental or physical, personal or public, and real or imagined. The term dwelling itself was taken literally or figuratively, which made for an interesting contrast to the common dictionary definition. When trying to group together certain papers, we found that the categories needed to be molded to be broad enough to encompass the variety of works presented. Dwelling is such a subjective topic so it allowed the authors to explore different aspects of life. This leniency also enabled us to make this extremely personal or purely academic, which created the range we see in this project collection.

From Jessica Schreyer

When we started this conversation, we discussed that dwelling can mean many different things. We can dwell in a place, either real or imagined. We can dwell in the literal sense when we plant roots in our hometown, or in a brand new land with a spouse; many of us also dwell figuratively when we grasp on to an idea or feeling and don‟t let go. Some people are able to dwell in a way that is mobile. The students took ideas from our conversations and readings and made them their own. The task was difficult and abstract, and many class discussions focused on what rhetorical strategies writers could use to examine this word and the meaning behind it. The writers took on a difficult task, yet all of them explored and created new knowledge as they wrote and revised. Together, they have created a diverse range of works that demonstrate a depth critical thinking and a breadth of discovery. The writers took pride in their own work, as well as their critical and encouraging responses to other writers‟ work. This collection is possible because the writers took a leap of faith with me and never looked back. I appreciate their courage and their ideas. I‟m very pleased to share this collection with you, and hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Breaking Through the Barriers

The Evolution of Dwelling

About the Author

Matt Finn was born in Cedar Rapids, IA in 1987. He has been a resident of Iowa for his entire life. He attends the University of Dubuque in pursuit of a degree in Secondary English Education. In his spare time, he enjoys reading coaching football, hunting and kayaking.

*** The Concept of dwelling is rather slippery and malleable. The subjectivity of the word gives it as many understandings as there are interpreters. It is understood that a person can dwell physically in a place by simply existing in a setting. Regardless of their level of activity within the setting, they can be said to be dwelling in it. A person may also dwell psychologically on a subject. The specific extent of dwelling, in either capacity, is subjective due to the disparity between outward observation and first-hand experience. It is also possible to be dwelling in both senses of the word at the same time. We understand dwelling as an individual experience, though dwelling is not achieved only in isolation. It is necessary to understand that dwelling can be understood as a permutation of the word “being” and thus implies the many understandings. In a sense, to be is to dwell and to dwell is to be. Though the word can be applied to anything living and perhaps inanimate objects, depending on the context, I will focus on the human experience of dwelling and how it has changed.

Case Study 1- (Prehistoric):

Consider the first example of what would be recognized as the first human being on Earth.

It can be assumed that their knowledge of the world was rather limited to their specific setting. Though said human would be limited in ways to describe their world verbally, we can certainly imagine their encounters with different physical phenomena like reflections in water, gravity, dawn and dusk. It is at this level of consciousness that we can see this person trying to rationalize the “laws” of the world. Even more complicated would be relating experiences to their peers about their findings because of primitive communication. This person dwells in their near environment and gets a grip on what is going on around them. They probably hunt or forage for the food they eat. The more successful and efficient they become in their food gathering and self-preservation in general, the more time they have for contemplation. This comfort or safety allows the evolution of the psychological dwelling. When a human has enough safety that they can disregard their internal “fight or flight” mechanism, psychological dwelling may take place. Take a moment to contemplate the extent of this primitive human‟s capacity to understand the sovereignty of self or ability to make conscious decisions. It‟s pretty wild to imagine. Yet because we distinguish this being as having roughly the same physical makeup of humans today, we must think about what dwelling meant to those who lived in antiquity. Were humans in these times thinking in terms of themselves or were they instead focused on a tribal lifestyle where the self was not greater than the group to which it belonged?

Skipping ahead (quite a bit, I might add) we focus on a span of centuries where expansive empires were in power, ranging anywhere from the Romans or the Colonial European cultures. The use of such a large portion of history may seem neglectful to many civilizations before and during this time period. The idea is simply to incorporate a concept of frontier conquering and a new understanding of the world. My frame of reference, due to a need for focus, has been limited to a western culture perspective on the word when history comes into play.

Case Study 2 (Scientific/ Renaissance/ Empire-Expansion):

Because of Galileo, people no longer needed to fear falling off the edge of the earth, though many began searches of new land and resources. People dwelt in their huts, castles, inns, and even on ships. It is in this way the understanding of the world changed. In general, the possibilities progressed from a very limited distance traveled from one‟s own birthplace during a lifetime, to the possibility of seeing “new” territories all around the world. This new age helped change the concept of dwelling on Earth quite drastically. The much more expansive model for travel also led to major culture clash and in some cases genocide or slavery for indigenous people of the “new” territories. Why the culture clash? Because the attitude of the travelling cultures was that everything belonged to them. Even the land that didn‟t belong to them certainly could belong to them if they wished to compete in bloody war for it. So the concept of land-ownership was brought to the western hemisphere and dwelling, in the physical sense, became closely related to who owned the land you were dwelling on.

Although there were many horrible events that occurred during this long era, the invention of the printing press ushered in a much brighter age, leading to an empowered individual who had far more control of their education and the ability to share their thoughts to more people. In this way, more texts became available than sacred texts and public laws. Books, like the oral tradition that preceded them, could take an audience on a psychological journey and thus changed the concept of dwelling even more. Visions of new vistas, stories of human experience and questions of existence were available to anyone who had the ability to read or have the account related to them verbally. Personal mental dwelling was now a thing to be transferred to text and shared with those who wanted to read about it.

In this age, not only was the world getting larger literally to those who wished to see all of it, the concept of the universe was being formed in a scientific manner. Many theories and ideas brought men to death or imprisonment at the hands the controlling elite. Yet, the concepts that they were unveiling to the world, must have been worth it, else we might not have them today.

Case Study 3 (Current):

Now focused in present day, 2010, the concept of dwelling has changed from the primitive times because we have a better understanding of how things work in the world. We still haven‟t wrapped our heads around the mysteries of our thoughts. Space, though being explored, remains a new frontier with which humans have little experience with. Books are declining as vessels to experience the world. Consider the common practices for the average United States human. We spend most of our time dwelling in cyberspace via social networking, dwelling in lyrics and rhythms on mp3 players or gawking at the television screen. We live vicariously through faux-reality programming and politically motivated news corporations. It is in this age that the human race, at least in American culture, has lost a bit of what makes them human. In this fast paced, sound bite culture that we find ourselves trying to keep up with the latest information. It is everywhere a person looks. Much like our common ancestors in the ancient world, there are many stimuli in our dwelling, physically or psychologically, which we unconsciously skip right over. The only difference between the two eras is that now we are absorbed in a world of information that is given to us by other people, as opposed to the original encounters experienced by those who came before us. Now, we are fascinated with the superficial, fickle components of a pop-culture that tell us very little about who we really are. We literally idolize personas in pop culture who are famous for being famous, without having done so much as inherit money, hit five hundred baseballs over four hundred feet or make themselves look foolish on a large karaoke stage for all the world to see. How much of our

mental dwelling is socially cognitive in nature, to the extent that choices we make couldn‟t be any further from original or organic? Though we now have the capability to think with more freedom and many more paradigms in which we can envision the world, we seem to be, generally speaking, reduced to humans who are spoon-fed ideas and world views.

A Vision for the Future:

The human species is in need of a new renaissance. We need to make a complete shift from reverencing empty idols of popular culture and subscribing to political pundits for our view of the world to an age of firsthand experience. We should no longer be guided strictly by visual and audio media in order to understand the world. We should no longer rely on sound bites and video clips to relate stories that attempt to describe whole cultures or opinions in a matter of seconds. Instead, we should revert to an age of wonderment, like our predecessors. We should no longer be told what we should dwell on and how long we are able to dwell on one subject by allowing the television to dictate the paths of our cognitive thought process.

Certainly, one could argue that the standard of living isn‟t “better” now than it was 50 years ago. However, the human experience could be considered very much better if we used our technological capabilities in the same way that people used ships to sail the world or telescopes to view outer-space. Modern-day American culture has trapped those who fully subscribe to it in, below the deck of the ship that explores the novel. It has placed a fogged lens over the telescope with which we view the heavens and focused it only on specific stars. The power of the self must be established back to the individual. As a collective society we need to review the current status of the dissenting voice. Do we still find ourselves able to understand people from where they are coming from? Do we allow opinions to be voiced and the freedom of dwelling to be practiced?

We need a new liberation from this controlled world-view. In the future when anthropologists study this time-period, will they talk about the few who controlled the many with subliminal messages and talking points? Or will they talk about the freedom of thought and expression that flourished in an age where humans used new found technology to advance their concept of what it meant to “be” or “dwell”. What will it be that humans are said to have dwelt upon? Let us hope, for the sake of future generations that the trend moves towards diversity of ideas and not a single domineering cultural view. After all, the personal ingenuity of many individuals is what we seem to revere of Earth‟s caretakers who preceded us in occupancy. It is our duty to ensure that a person‟s dwelling is not inhibited, but allowed to flourish.

Dwelling as an Inherit Trait

About the Author

Katrina Abruscato was born in Chicago, Illinois on January 14, 1984. Although she moved a lot with her family, she remained near her hometown till the age of 24. After working full time for six years and only taking college courses part-time, Abruscato decided to move Dubuque, Iowa to pursue a degree in English and Psychology. She will be graduating from The University of Dubuque in May of 2010 and has plans to move to Tampa, Florida later that month with her fiancée Brittany. Abruscato has no distinct career goals, however she believes that that natural course of life will lead her directly where she is meant to be.

Abstract

When people describe an action, state, or occurrence they are inclined to express things in the light of their own eyes rather than in a shared reflection that can be understood by everyone. Many trials and tribulations are created by this sort of argument. Therefore writing about the verb „dwell‟ will be profoundly dependent on the author rather than the definite meaning. To dwell takes up mental residency that can be less controllable than one might assume. Dwelling is an inherit trait much like other genes in transmission and understanding this can give great insight as to who we are. Our ability to dwell coincides with our ability to reason – which I feel is distinctively human. Humans dwell on things to find reason in all that the world cannot rationally explain. Dwelling poses dangers in this escape to find answers and one must learn to not be overcome with the stress it causes.

*** When asked to write about what a word represents, a solid starting point [for me] is to find a definition and settle on how that definition coincides with a personal understanding. The term dwell is difficult to process in this course of action because it is not concrete in meaning due to its flexibility being a verb. When people describe an action, state, or occurrence they are inclined to express things in the light of their own eyes rather than in a shared reflection that can be understood by everyone. Many trials and tribulations are created by this sort of argument.

"What are you going to do about your son? I saw him push my daughter down the slide!" the parent yelled. "He merely pushed your daughter down the slide helping her down,” the other parent said.

Ah ha! What is the problem? One saw the push as forceful and the other as a mere nudge in helping her down the slide. Perception is key, we see things in the light of our own eyes, our own experience, and our own sentiment. Neither parent is going to refer to the dictionary to define what they saw; for larger disputes one might leave this part for the judge and jury. Therefore writing about the verb dwell will be profoundly dependent on the author rather than the definite meaning.

Many different definitions can be found on the term including to reside in a place or state, to fasten one‟s attention, or linger over. These few definitions can further be explored differently depending on whether a person dwells in a physical place, a mental place, in the present, past or even future. To dwell does in fact take up residency but I understand it to be more of a mental place rather than a tangle place on a map which anyone could seek out and explore. Dwelling is a place confined and restricted to that person - no one would get directions there unless they were supplied by the dweller themselves. Often time‟s people do open up these roadways and let others along for

the ride but the result is not always a pleasant passenger. Those that share their mental dwellings run a risk of being judged yet no other place is more secluded than the mind. Letting people into one's dwelling requires a certain degree of trust. You would not just let anyone into your home because of safety concerns, and the same goes with mental residency [if not more so].

Dwelling takes up space mentally and time physically but by no means the other way around. While lingering over a particular issue it not only takes up space in the mind but uses up physical time that cannot be given back. For instance, I try to dwell as little as possible because it is a waste of time filled with worrying that not only is unhealthy but does not solve any issue either. The intention of dwelling is to reason and move forward but little does it live up to its expectations, at least not in my experience. Dwelling does quite the opposite, dragging us backward and leaving us in a state of immobility toward what we should really be doing.

Whether one dwells in their mind or in a place outside their own thoughts, dwelling is a state of confusion and anxiety. Someone might say to me that they dwell in happiness but how is that possible? There is no good without bad and there is no happiness without sadness; so to dwell (or linger) in happiness would counteract the fact that happiness exists. Or in other words, if one is lingering in happiness then how do they know they are happy if they have no means to compare it to sadness? This is not to say that the person never felt sadness but as humans we require little reminders of how something feels or else we seem to forget what the feeling is like. Dwelling insinuates that it lingers and is not a quickly passing state of mind. The longer we are happy the more difficult it is to remember why we are happy, when we became happy, or what it is like to not be happy.

My current perspective on dwelling, I'm starting to realize, is a unique one. It might be because I see the glass half empty or maybe because I have heard it used negatively before, but no matter how much outside research I do, dwelling to me is a word filled entirely with stress. Call it pessimism if you will but much of my life, if not all of it has been centered on the worried mind. I was always told I had my father‟s attitude and my mother‟s mind; as I grow older I am starting to realize how true that saying has become. Unfortunately it seems to be the worst of both worlds. My father had a terrible attitude and a temperament that landed him in quite a bit of trouble in all areas of his life. My mother had a mind that would not quit; constantly thinking, worrying, and letting her nerves get the best of her. I inherited both - great. Not only do I dwell by over-thinking, worrying, and giving my nerves a run for their money, I have a terrible way of expressing this affliction and getting past it.

I was born in a household where I constantly saw my mom hovering over a table with papers lining her field of vision. As a child I had no idea what the world was like for an adult; bills, interest rates, the price of gas or milk, the twelve hour work day ahead – money problems ruled our household and got in the way of everything. Granted my mother did all she could to afford the necessities but the time she spent dwelling on these issues took away from time she could have used for herself or other things in the real world. Of course I know now that she was only trying to figure out a way to make things better. By dwelling on an issue she felt like problems would miraculously find answers which would lead to less flooding over the table before her. This example arrives to the heart of my definition of what it means to dwell. Humans dwell on things to find reason in all that the world cannot rationally explain. What comes to my mind is mainly struggles; the world is not able to explain why a child is diagnosed with cancer, why some people are born in countries without clean water systems to survive, or why someone who is at the store buying their kid a birthday cake is suddenly caught in the middle of a robbery and shot to death. These are horrific stories that are often labeled with concern as to why bad things happen to good people. Of course I could go into the whole debate as to what makes a person good and that bad things happen to everyone whether we hear about it or not, but that would steer to far from my point.

My point is that our ability to dwell coincides with our ability to reason – which I feel is distinctively human. If we all dwell as humans, the process of dwelling effects the humans we come in contact with throughout life. If we dwell as a spiritual means we seem to effect more exclusively on everything which we come in contact with; human or nonhuman. Either way, our dwelling affects more than just ourselves. If someone dwells enough, other people won‟t need your trust or directions to figure out where the hell you‟ve gone; they‟ll have been around long enough to find their own way. I was around my mother often enough [like most children are] that I could shadow her every move and thought. No directions had to be given till I found myself traveling the same roads as my mom was, theoretically speaking. This brings up the issue of whether I followed her paths because I learned this behavior or because it is an inevitable inherited trait. Neither I, nor my life can compose an answer to this question among all those that would require being included in analysis. However, my opinion can form a foundation strong enough to support my argument justly. I honestly feel like dwelling is an inherent trait that one receives among all others like temperament, appearance, or skill. Coincidence would play too much of a role in the fact that my mother and I dwell on the same issues and concerns in the same places and with the same attitude. It seems just as genetic as other traits, if not more. Someone can learn how to write a research paper but no one learns how to dwell, no one learns how to be happy, and no one learns how to be sad. If people do not learn these behaviors then there is no doubt that the behaviors must be innate.

A new thought I recently had was how our place in dwelling is constantly changing as we enter different stages of our life. I always divide my life into stages that I go through to progress to another. Dwelling is not stationary. Although it the act of dwelling itself seems to place barriers among us and keep us from moving forward, the substance of what the dweller dwells upon changes throughout life. A vague approach to this is by describing six stages: early childhood, childhood, adolescence/teenage-years, young adulthood, adulthood, and our elderly years [or whatever politically correct term you prefer]. So why does age matter? It matters because it is a societal norm to change in certain ways as we age. Generally it does not seem appropriate for a five year old child to worry about dinner being on the table, nor would it seem appropriate for a sixty-seven year old to be having their first child. But guess what? It happens, and that is why each individual cannot be reduced to the assumptions of what a person goes through in these stages. This is in fact why we all dwell differently, each of our lives is different from one another more or less, and those large or small changes give us grounds for different things to dwell on.

Many people have to dwell on issues others may never even experience. Some may dwell on issues others have but do not dwell over. For instance, someone born and raised into a wealthy household may never have to worry about money issues like my family has struggled with. Or two families may each struggle financially but one family has less value on materialistic things and the other family might see a void in their life because they cannot afford the things that they feel would make life happier.

After moving out of my mom‟s house at the age of 18 I remember receiving the weight of her worries fall onto me. This is not to say she gave me her stress but rather I became responsible for things I hadn‟t before and I handled my stress in the same manner as she handled her own. It was not until I met my fiancée Brittany that I began to realize the extent of my dwellings. I became my mother! Not to say that along with these genetic instructions on how to dwell I didn‟t receive good traits, but I began to live more in my mental residency rather than the physical one that received the actual pain and pleasure. Dwelling would never solve a problem or allow me to move forward – it always dragged me backward and made life seem impossible to enjoy. So as many do with those they are close to and trust, I gave Brittany the directions to this place inside my head so that she could understand me more. To my surprise, her reaction was not as sympathetic as I had hoped, and this was the best thing that could have happened.

I began to realize that dwelling was taking over my life in a sense. It was giving me a reason to escape from life… sure, but not just the problems, the joy too. I began to witness in myself the dangers of dwelling. Even if one dwells on happiness or love it can be dangerous. Any state of dwelling can lead the mind astray from reality even though we perceive reality within our dwellings [or at least I do]. Dwelling has intentions of helping us reason but it only keeps us from doing and forces us into this immobile state that exhausts us mentally and takes up time we can never get back in the real world called our life. Questions for Discussion 1. Abruscato defines dwell with a negative tone in her personal narratives and examples. Would her point get across the same way if she focused on dwelling in positive examples? Explain why or why not. 2. What does Abruscato mean when she writes, “Dwelling is a place confined and restricted to that person - no one would get directions there unless they were supplied by the dweller themselves”? What does this suggest about the type of issues people dwell on, according to Abruscato? What is the difference between this control in „giving directions‟ to others and the lack of control Abruscato states we have in how we dwell? Writing in Response 1. In response to Abruscato‟s claim that dwelling is an inherited trait, what do you dwell on which could relate to this response? What do you dwell on that could alter this perception? After focusing on your own personal examples, do you believe that dwelling is an inherited trait or a learned way of thinking?

Dwelling: The New Duct Tape?

About the Author

Jessica Boelter was born in New Ulm, MN, and attended Minnesota State University, Mankato, where she graduated with a degree in accounting and corporate finance. After a few years in the industry, she decided her true passion lies in literary arts. Her professional goal is to work in publishing. She currently resides in Dubuque, IA with her fiancé.

Abstract

To dwell is to access many different facets of human existence, and use them all to our advantage. We have immense control over our mentality, and dwelling is the way we channel these abilities. We all do it, but have we considered why? Upon that consideration, we may be forced to realize that dwelling may be the new „one stop shop‟ of our mental focus. The new duct tape.

*** For many of us, to dwell poses a myriad of possibilities. There may be a number of reasons to dwell, which lead to different triggers, and therefore, different outcomes of the act of dwelling. Regardless of its causes or outcomes, the act in and of itself can provide much needed clarification or relaxation that will eventually calm and clear the mind. To dwell is often characterized as a way to linger over, emphasize, or ponder in thought, speech, or writing (often fol. by on or upon): to dwell on a particular point in an argument1. Let‟s see what this really means.

We can all come up with a reason for most everything, so why not provide a reason to dwell? Just like we have a reason for the majority of the decisions we make, we can often have a reason for the moments when we simply retreat within ourselves. Though we‟re all unique, I can certainly think of a few common reasons some may want to dwell.

For me, one reason to dwell is simply to retreat from the cares of everyday life and mentally transport myself into a different context. This acts as an escape from whatever may be deemed stressful or constricting in my daily existence. For example, if I have a big day of tests and presentations in my classes, I may choose to begin the day by listening to music. Music is an excellent way to transport oneself out of the current time and into the time of the music. Sometimes it‟s fun to listen to a CD I bought in high school, because when I listen to it, I go back to high school in my mind and remember driving up and down the main strip of highway with a car full of my friends, looking for social groups that had gathered here or there. Thinking back to the simpler life at that point in time forces my mind to a calmer state, similar to that type of uncomplicated thinking. Once I‟ve achieved that „placement,‟ I am then able to bring myself back to the present context and approach my daily tasks with a simpler mindset. Instead of my initial reaction of, “I can‟t wait until this day is over, there is way too much to do,” I can think, “The first thing I have to focus on is my first presentation. Once that‟s done, it‟s over, and I can move on to the following exam…” So, in a sense, dwelling helps me to step back from the pressure of everyday life and gain perspective regarding the stressors that could potentially be viewed as simply as a task list.

Another purpose that dwelling has for me in life is that it provides a way to reflect. Some view this as the negative connotation of dwelling, where one allows a situation or event to boil and grow inside to a point of blatant anger. I‟ll admit, this happens to me quite often, but I‟m trying to remind myself of the more gentle means of reflection; the type that is so often suggested in personal

growth literature. We don‟t have to only think of the things that make us mad, but rather, we can also use this time to consider the other side of the story. Perhaps you recently got into an argument with your significant other. You think she is allowing others to take advantage of her. While you forcefully attempt to protect the one you care about from this kind of treatment, she seems to be resisting the help. You automatically assume it‟s because she doesn‟t want help, when in reality she just wants to take things at her own pace. Taking a chance to stop and reflect may provide a new and deeper insight into the feelings of your significant other, allowing for a more productive conversation in the place of an emotional shouting match. In a moment of intense anger, it‟s quite difficult not to dwell on our own personal view of things, so we may first choose to use the act of dwelling as a way to retreat from the disagreement altogether. Perhaps we‟ll pull out that CD from high school and displace ourselves to a different time period for a bit. When we‟ve calmed our initial reaction to the situation, we then may be able to approach it from a different angle and dwell in the situation itself, versus our unique perspective of it. It often helps to dwell in the other person‟s viewpoint for a bit, putting ourselves in their shoes. This is an insightful way to use dwelling as a means of reflection.

One more common reason for dwelling is to remember or recreate a moment or experience that has retreated into our past. The power of the human mind is immense and provides us with a wide array of resources to use at our leisure. Although this may seem indiscernible in relation to the use of dwelling as a means of displacement, the purpose of each is quite different. My first point focused mainly on the need to escape from a stressful situation. In the case of remembrance, however, dwelling can be used as a memory tool, as a way to relive a situation that can no longer realistically be. In a more general sense, I use this method to recall humorous instances in order to recreate the laugher of the moment. It‟s quite simple to mentally recreate the start of the situation and dwell there in order to play it through from the beginning right down to the punch line. Conversely, you may also use this technique to replay memories of a childhood of chasing butterflies through a field of flowers. That field may no longer be, but our memory of it is very much a part of who we are. We can literally feel the wind carrying us over the daffodils, in pursuit of the butterfly flitting just ahead of the net. Dwelling can provide us with a means of having what we no longer have, or living momentarily in a sweet memory.

While we understand that there are many reasons we may choose to dwell, there are also specific causes that trigger the act of dwelling. In these cases, we are often startled into a reverie that sends our mind in a different direction. Sometimes this is a pleasant occurrence, and sometimes there are negative triggers, but whatever the reason, we commonly find ourselves dwelling on something.

I‟ve heard about, and even lived, many different scenarios in when a certain item or sound triggers a memory so strong we automatically retreat to that memory in our mind. I find this most common when visiting old schools that I have attended. Walking the halls of my junior high or senior high buildings brings back tons of memories of my years in attendance there. More often than not, the memories are not only snapshots that appear in and out of focus through my mind‟s eye, but it‟s also a type of re-creation. This re-creation is what I consider a dwelling place. Even now, I can remember the last time I was in my junior high school building, and to dwell there meant to actually feel myself as a thirteen-year-old battling the unknowns of teenage years. I re-lived the moments in each location that took place there thirteen years ago. Standing in the library, I could see my younger self working behind the desk to check in books for the librarian. Standing in the hallway by the cafeteria entrance, I could see my younger self gathering books from my locker, or meeting my friends. I not only remembered the feelings, I lived them momentarily. It‟s such a powerful experience to locate ourselves in a setting from our past. Sometimes just being there takes us on a journey to dwell in our previous experience.

Other times, in a more negative light, we are forced to dwell on certain scenarios that arise from excessive amounts of stress. People find themselves faced with many different stressful situations arising from work or school project requirements. If we‟re not careful, we can get swept up in the negative connotations of failure and find ourselves dwelling on the possibilities that failure may create. For example, assume you are a teacher in a high school. The principal has set up a time that he would like to meet with you. Your colleagues, upon hearing of this meeting, begin telling you stories of past teachers who were warned for a variety of different teaching methods that don‟t conform to school standards. You begin over-judging the responses you receive from students in the classroom, wondering if one of them finds offense in your style of teaching, and has decided to consult the principal about it. Soon, you‟re convincing yourself of all the different ways in which your teaching style may come across as inferior in the eyes of your colleagues and students. By the time you arrive in the principal‟s office, you are sure you‟re about to be fired, and have all but packed your desk belongings in a box. You sit down across from your boss, fearing the worst, and he proceeds to smile warmly and congratulate you on your first full year of service with the district, and would like to collect feedback regarding your experience thus far. You‟re not fired, your job isn‟t even threatened, and yet you spent the whole day dwelling in the worst case scenario, to the point that you actually convinced your subconscious mind of the worst possible outcome. We all do this at one point or another, and it just goes to show how powerful the dwelling mind can become.

Another factor that can set a mind to dwelling is nature. In the words of Thoreau, “We can never have enough of nature…” 2 It‟s that peaceful surrounding calmness that allows us to shed all feelings of doubt and insecurity and give in to the urge to relax. If we let it, this can be the most rewarding way to dwell, as it is free of forceful factors, and provides a stage on which we can forget our audience and bask in the solitude of the wilderness. We know the animals and vegetation, our only co-existence in this place, will not judge or ridicule, and we are free to let our minds wander to whatever place we feel most comfortable. I personally love to go to the Red Jacket Trail back home in Mankato, MN. It‟s a winding nature walk through trees and hills, and every time I meander along that path, I find myself feeling closer to God and nature. Sometimes, I can even visualize my stresses and anxieties melting away into the serenity that surrounds me. Even if this is only a temporary cause of dwelling, it‟s one that is worth seeking out every once in awhile. It has a cleansing affect on the soul that not much else does. Even those who are not comfortable in the wilderness setting can find a place where they are peaceful and calm, and allow themselves to dwell in that setting. Dwelling is most enjoyable when it brings a sense of peace and calm.

This fact in itself is the perfect lead-in to considering the effects we may come away with after a dwelling experience. Whether we plan it or not, to dwell brings a very definite conclusion to the state of mind we were in when we first began our specific dwelling. We may choose to dwell specifically for these effects, or we may find ourselves surprised at our eventual outcome.

For me, the most common effect I get from dwelling is a sense of relaxation. I usually find myself dwelling in a peaceful setting, as we just considered, and therefore I retreat from my dwelling place feeling free of anxiety and happily calm. I think we can all relate to this effect in some way. Even sports players use this technique when they are participating in a big game. The most specific situation that comes to mind for me is when I attended a wrestling event with my fiancé. He participated in the event, and it was the first match he had been in since a few years prior. He spent some time beforehand getting worked up for the match itself, but in the interim of waiting following the match I found him walking the perimeter of the gym with his sweatshirt hood up and his Ipod on. He told me it helps him relax to listen to the music, and now that I think back to that, I can see how dwelling in a song can help us to focus our thoughts and so we choose to dwell, in effect, in order to relax us to a point of calm.

Another outcome we may find from dwelling is the clarification of our thoughts. Sometimes, in the heat of an argument we lose our rational sense of logic and hear and say things we don‟t mean to. Even a minor disagreement with a friend can be effectively dealt with by dwelling for a while on the situation. We‟re all familiar with the concept of „taking a break to cool down.‟ Essentially, I believe this is the act of dwelling on a certain topic that will help us to rationalize our anger. Once we‟ve had a chance to re-focus our energies, we are able to re-join the argument with a clearer sense of our thoughts and feelings. Dwelling, therefore, allows us to re-channel our anger down a more appropriate path for the situation at hand. The effect of this act is a clearer focus that allows us to communicate more effectively.

While there are many effects of dwelling, there is one more I will highlight here. That is the effect of heightened memories. Different from re-creating a situation as a reason to dwell, this point looks at the effect of memory that dwelling can create. This is a very useful ability that we as humans possess. The most common use of this that I can think of is the method in which to remember loved ones who have passed before us. While it can trigger feelings of pain and sadness, it can also bring back fond memories of happiness and laughter. We can see our loved ones as they were in their prime, and always feel the enjoyment of the times we spent with them. By choosing to dwell in their memory, we are able to place ourselves within that memory and take what we want from it, as a means of consolation. This is a very powerful tool for those of us who miss the company of someone special, or who miss residing in a place that feels more like home than the place we currently reside. The act of dwelling brings us this conclusion. Dwelling is an extremely powerful mental ability we possess. We can use it as a means of escape, reflection, or recreation. Many situations can trigger the act of dwelling, including a certain place or time, excessive stress, and/or peaceful surroundings. In effect, we come away from these dwelling experiences feeling relaxed, with clarified thoughts and feelings, or with heightened memories. To dwell is often characterized as a way to linger over, emphasize, or ponder in thought, speech, or writing (often fol. by on or upon): to dwell on a particular point in an argument1. Have we supported this thesis? While dwelling doesn‟t have to regard only an argumentative environment, I think we certainly „lingered,‟ „emphasized,‟ and „pondered‟ quite a bit as we spent our time dwelling on the act of dwelling. In fact, dwelling has so many different uses; duct tape may have finally found its match. We have much freedom of thought, and it is in our power what we do with it.

Notes

1. "Dwell." Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary. 01 Feb. 2010. <Dictionary.com http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/dwell>.

2. “Henry David Thoreau Quotes.” Think Exist.com. Think Exist 1999-2010. <http://thinkexist.com/quotation/we_can_never_have_enough_of_nature-we_must_be/145773.html>.

Questions for Discussion 1. Throughout the reading, dwelling is presented as a solution in focusing complex thought processes. Considering your personal experience in the act of dwelling, would you consider it multi-faceted enough to be considered all-purpose? Are there ways that dwelling may hinder the act of organizing your thoughts? If so, what are those hindrances and how might they be alleviated?

2. For many of us, dwelling is a natural reaction to many different circumstances. In this article, you have been forced to consider a number of effects, causes, and reasons to dwell. In your own personal life, what are some of your dwelling triggers? When, or in what situations do you find yourself dwelling most often? Why do you think this is? Writing in Response 1. Consider whether dwelling could realistically be referred to as the duct tape of mental processes.

In an essay, focus on how dwelling has helped you as a means of organizing your thoughts. Where

do you find dwelling most helpful in your daily life? How is it most helpful in your life overall?

From the Outside Looking In

Simply Free

About the Author

As a full time student, mother of 2 and wife of 9 years, Angela Reed was born in Waverly, Iowa and raised in Guttenberg. She is currently working towards a Bachelors degree in business with a minor in English. She is loud because she voices her opinion. She is obnoxious because she doesn‟t always agree. She is capable of more than she puts forth but she is content. She appreciates her imperfections, and loves with everything she has. She is proud of her accomplishments and has learned from her mistakes. She cooks, cleans, embraces, reads, does math, plays tag, and builds forts. She encourages & teaches. She does not always do things by the book. She curses often drinks for fun and smokes because she‟s addicted. She is not perfect, she is simply original.

Abstract

This essay defines the importance of dwelling in the conscious verses subconscious mind and explains through personal experiences the connection to the calm collected nature and the wild and ravaging wilderness. The depiction of physical, mental and emotional consequences of dwelling on negative aspects and the rewards of dwelling on that which is positive will be presented. There will also be a distinction between the aspect of thinking and dwelling. The primary purpose of this essay to expand the mind and the realization that dwelling is more than just a location. Dwelling is a thought process that takes us out of our designated routines and puts us into an uncomfortable realm of thought.

***

There appears to be a distinct difference between what we dwell on in our conscious verses subconscious mind. Perhaps it is what we have control over and what we do not, or simply what we choose to avoid until we have no other options. It is possible to relate our conscious mind to nature, that which is comfortable and relaxed and the subconscious mind to the wilderness which is wild and relentless. Perhaps our conscious mind thinks during the hustle and bustle of everyday life in nature and the subconscious mind begins to dwell after stepping through the confinements and entering the uncomfortable silence of the wilderness. Let us assume for today that we think about who, what, when, and where and dwell on how, why, for what purpose, and which emotion. There are no definite answers, but from personal experiences, my personal theory of dwelling, the importance of place, and the acceptance of the unknown begins to take shape and provides a primary focus for one distinction between the reality of our conscious and subconscious mind.

We live in a fast pace society, even in the rural areas, people are rushing around trying to fit in as much as they can in a 24 hour period, sacrificing sleep, skipping meals, sweating for their paycheck, maintaining a family lifestyle, working out in order to fit in to the societal norm of what is seen on the covers of magazines and at the same time searching for resolution to everything that is abnormal in their own personal lives. Take this moment for example, here I sit staring at the computer screen hoping that in a split second, my fingers will start working and magic will appear. I find myself thinking about my next class in a half hour, how today is my son's birthday, and with each rumble of my stomach I find I am thinking about where I can curb this obnoxious earth-quaking sound. There does not appear to be any organized thought process, but it all revolves around the single idea that I am thinking about those things that I know I can define and/or answer.

Take a closer look at these examples. Where is defined by location I will eat. Who is defined at the mention of my son‟s birthday. When is defined by the length of time before my next class. What is defined by the action I want my fingers to take on the keyboard and the visual of the computer screen. Where, who, when, and what provide an outline for our thinking capacity. It is important to understand I am not saying these are not a part of dwelling, rather these primary questions most generally provide a comfort to answer because the answers are known facts or at the least, easy and quick to obtain.

On the other hand, Polybius stated, "There is no witness so dreadful, no accuser so terrible as the conscience that dwells in the heart of every man." In regards to this statement, it is easy to picture the little devil on the left shoulder jumping in jubilation of his victory over the angel dressed in white on the right. It appears that the conscious mind is used to distinguish between what is morally right and wrong. When the thought process is complete according to Polybius, it can in turn become our biggest enemy. As a result, items may get thrown across a room, harsh things may be said that are not meant, doors may slam, and feelings are unnecessarily hurt. A bad or guilty conscience can destroy a person, which is why we have to distinguish a medium with that of a clear one. John Calvin once said, “The torture of a bad conscious is the hell of a living soul.”

The concept that the conscious mind makes a morally right choice on the other hand, can bring about vast rewards. For example, when the conscious mind thinks about charity and giving unconditionally to others and acts upon it, the rewards of selflessness are unimaginable. When we make morally right choices in our conscious mind we gain the sense of serenity, emotionally, physically, and mentally. We are relieved of the stress of thinking therefore physically we are able to relax, and emotionally we sense that what we did was right and we experience contentment because of it. When the conscious is clear because of a morally right decision and dwells in the heart of every man, every man should feel blessed.

Dwelling on the other hand is a much more strenuous process. Dwelling does not take place in a split second or specific location. In other words, we will not find ourselves dwelling on what time we have to go to work in the morning. We don‟t normally dwell on what to order off of the menu. The conscious mind tends to become so entranced in the routine of our everyday lives, that decisions like these only take mere seconds to make whereas decisions such as how we feel about love are thought of from the time we are able to express it to our parents as toddlers until we are grown adults and finally discover it.

Dwelling is a thought process which affects all aspects of being. Do we think about relocating to find work after college? No. We dwell on it. We evaluate the good and the bad, positive and negative, sacrifices we would have to make in the process of leaving and gains we would achieve by doing so. We evaluate the risks associated with failure and those associated with success. It is a life altering process where we need to take into consideration, how we could do it, why we are doing it, for what purpose we should/should not do it for, and which emotions are going to be affected. At the same time, we do not spend a day thinking about it or even a week. In making a decision like this we find ourselves dwelling on it while we are doing dishes, or driving down the road, or daydreaming at our desks. Our subconscious mind takes over and the idea will present itself while we are thinking about what to order off the menu, the 17 phone calls we have to make and the filing that needs done at the office, and at the same time when our head is completely clear of all the mindless clutter we let in such as when we sleep. The idea of the unknown place, people, and opportunities captivates us and causes us to search for a deeper meaning or understanding at times we have no control over. Repetitive thoughts flood our heads causing us to feel like we are spinning in endless circles and all the while we simply yearn for somebody else to make the decision for us.

In my personal opinion of places to dwell, sometimes it makes more sense to step out of the normal routine cycle and starve oneself in order to realize that the realm of our conscious reality

does not have to be all that bad. It is important to be taught humility in order to comprehend our ability to overcome. In order to do this, we have to step outside into the wilderness and let it grab a hold of us, shake us, scare us. We do not crave humility therefore I believe the only way to learn it, is to let go of everything that confines us. In the mass chaos of trouble, panic, hurt, sorrow, and all of the negative aspects we dwell on, the craziness eventually helps us define the right path to choose. In order to regain solid ground in the mental messes we create, we have to at some point accept that it‟s only natural to crave change, yearn for challenges and brave the unknown, and the end result allows us to walk back through the door that swings both ways and accept that Nature, the outside world, and the wilderness, are not only a necessary parts of being, they are mandatory and truly beautiful all at the same time.

Sometimes straying outside is necessary in order to jump back into the chaotic, fast pace consciousness, but it also to allows us to search for the definition of who we really are. I find that I learn more being out and about than being confined to my home, office, room, or kitchen. I see walls as boundaries, windows as panes of glass that allows the outside world to come in, but pose no threat, and doors as the exits we need when we are searching for that breath of fresh air. Our natural being is most likely in no way endangered because we tend to that which we can control, the wilderness on the other hand, the wild and ravaging unknown, provides us with obstacles that take us out of our comfort zone and challenge us to adapt. Our inability to do this as efficiently as some of us feel it should, causes us to accept there is no way out, and at last we find that we are the ones that have endangered each of our own wildernesses, each of our own lives.

With every emotion, we have a tendency to dwell in a different way. Take anger for example. In all of my personal experiences I find that I dwell more on what makes me angry, sad, irritated, or some other form of negativity. It feels as if with each passing moment of thought I am facing a demon that will not go away. These demons haunt me at all hours of the day and night and I struggle to find comfort and peace. I find that I am forced to encounter things that I have hidden away so long ago and so deep for reasons as complicated as understanding I was neither strong or wise enough. I begin to dwell on what I could have done, what I should have done, and what I didn't do. I dwell on all the what ifs of a given situation. These demons can take over our lives if we let them. During the day when everyone is hustling and bustling around we will consciously take a moment to think about it in passing, but at night when our head finally meets the pillow and our conscious mind slows down and the subconscious mind takes over, we encounter a new kind of hell. With each demon that approaches we toss and turn in our sleep, Restless Leg Syndrome (RLS) kicks in and the ability to find comfort becomes unrealistic. We become irritable and feel overwhelmed. During the day when we cannot figure out why we can‟t concentrate on our to-do list we usually find a way to blame it on the lack of caffeine, but that is the subconscious mind, the wilderness, knocking asking us to come out and play.

The overwhelming process of dwelling in the subconscious mind can have some of the same affects as a guilty conscious. There comes a point where we become tired and weary of all of the information we are trying to obtain in order to make sense of what should be a simple situation. Our brain begins to feel like it is overloaded and at one time what made sense is just a blur of ideas in a brainstorming cloud. Before we know it we find ourselves pushing away from everyone we care about and craving sleep more than facing the reality of what is present when we are awake. In some cases we become violent, and not as much toward others as we do ourselves. We critique and criticize our own inability to adapt to and in most cases accept change. We pound our fists into the table and look to the skies screaming WHY?!

But there again, not everything we dwell on is negative. Guru Nanak once said, “Dwell in peace in the home of your own being, and the Messenger of Death will not be able to touch you." Not everything needs to be challenging or negative. The other day when I was driving to class, I

caught myself looking at all of the snow and how the trees glistened with frost. I was smiling, and I realized that I was dwelling on the simplicity of nature and the beauty it truly does bring to the mind, body, and spirit. Experiencing a smile for no reason is the best measure for dwelling that I can think of and it truly does make you feel immortal. In order to appreciate this beauty, first we have to become at peace with ourselves.

Our place in nature and the wilderness are important because they help define who we are. Our ability to understand the conscious and subconscious mind will be a lifelong quest, and accepting that the unknown is not only a necessary part of being, but beautiful all at the same time will allow us to positively greet opportunities, adapt to change, and accept the freedom of simply being free.

Questions for Discussion:

1. How does dwelling affect our everyday lives both in our conscious and subconscious mind? 2. How do we decide when let go and escape the routine of dwelling on negative aspects?

Writing in Response:

1. In regards to dwelling in the subconscious mind, how could the idea of wilderness be expanded on?

Wacka Wacka Wacka Bloop Bloop Bloob Bloo: The Empty Abyss of the Destroyed Worlds

About The Author

Ben Carbajal is a student at the University of Dubuque. He is currently getting his degree in Psychology, English, and Secondary Education. He aspires to become an English teacher, School psychologist, and eventually have his own practice. He has two older brothers, one younger brother and a mother. His life experience was not a favorable one, but one that helped get him to where he needed to be in life. Ben strongly believes in perseverance and the power of choice.

Abstract

This article is about place and dwelling. No matter where we are on this planet, everyone dwells somewhere. In this article we will dwell on Pandora, an alien planet that faces similar devastations as Indian cultures did in American. We will dwell on how the Na‟vi treat their home planet and how humans treat Earth. The main objective in this article is to understand that our physical world is what shapes and defines our dwelling world. If our world is not safe and is in great parole, then so is our dwelling world.

*** Pandora is a world where “pot-head hallucinations” and computer graphics come together and meet as one, according to director James Cameron. Floating mountains, glow in the dark plants and freckles, strange animals, men in Amplified Mobility Platforms (AMP), and wild creatures are all that waits for us on Pandora. These hallucinations and our imaginations take flight in the new movie Avatar. The spiritual connection in the movie is the source that connects all of nature and the Na‟vi together. Dwelling, for me, is being caught wearing Real-D 3-D glasses and experiencing Pandora for what it is. Pandora was created by James Cameron who uses the AMP suit in his front yard to intimidate his neighbors, according to Entertainment Weekly. Pandora is a place where I can take my imagination and let myself go. Pandora is special because of how all the inhabitants, Na‟vi and creatures alike, share the same belief of how important their ecosystem truly is. This belief is exactly what Capra describes in The Web of Life. Capra discusses the function of how to save the Earth by mastering the cyclical ways of life. Capra offers this solution by fundamentally redesigning. Capra describes this process as becoming “ecoliterate,” which means “understanding the principles of organization of ecological communities (ecosystems) and using those principles for creating sustainable human communities. If we cannot save Earth, then there will be no place to enjoy. I dwell in a world, now, of crazy experiences that must be experienced in 3-D glasses. Dwelling is our imagination which connects our worlds as one just like the Tree of Souls from Avatar. I have no limits to my physical world. I connect with others while I dwell and I connect with my world. If we want to have this gift of dwelling, then we must focus on what is real. Throughout this paper we will examine Pandora and its connections to the Earth and its ecosystem, what the problem is in both worlds, and finally how the problem was resolved on Pandora and how we can resolve Earth‟s problems. Pandora is a planet full of connections. According to Dr. Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver), the Tree of Souls makes more connections throughout Pandora than the human mind. The Tree of Souls (Na'vi name: Vitraya Ramunong) is a giant willow-like tree that is said to be the closest connection to Eywa on all of Pandora. The Tree is a point of extreme religious significance

to the Na'vi, more so than any other point on Pandora. After the destruction of Hometree, the Na'vi tribe was forced to make an exodus there on foot to protect their cultural identity. The destruction of the Tree of Souls would prove devastating to the Na'vi as a whole, creating a cultural and religious void that would decimate the race entirely. Miles Quaritch [the ranking officer] gathered this information from Sully's video logs, and based it around an attack strategy he formulated against the Na'vi. The Tree of Souls, besides being a connection to Eywa, also works as a way for her to directly interact with the world through the seeds of the tree. The tree has the capability to connect directly to the nervous system of all living things, and is not limited to the queue that Pandoran wildlife possesses.

A queue is a neural whip that makes all the connections possible. All creatures, including the Na‟vi, have a neural whip that can attach to other creatures and other wildlife. The neural whip is just an extension of the nervous system. Entertainment Weekly says, “This queue looks like a long braid, with many little pink, hairy, worm-like neural fibers on the end. The Na'vi uses this organ to establish a neural-level connection to nearly any part of the Pandoran ecosystem. This connection is total, so both partners are in full control of the connected beings. The connection can serve many purposes, but is mostly used to enable a Na'vi rider to command his or her mount with his or her mind and with apparent little effort, and without use of their hands, which frees those up to use a weapon. This also enables her/him to use the mount's sensory organs. This also means that a Na'vi rider feels the pain when the connected animal is being hurt. In the case of communication with plant life, the vast network of connected nodes (plants) serves as a biological memory for Na'vi ancestors, and perhaps much more.” These connections should occur on Earth, but it doesn‟t because we don‟t have the time of day. People are preoccupied with trying to fend for themselves in a “dog eat dog” world. There are the single parents doing double time just to put food on the table for their children, there are people so caught up in our world economy that they do not notice what is going on in the world around them. And I notice some things in the world around me, but sometimes I do not take the care to try to improve the world around me. I have a hard time believing in global warming when there is so much snow all the time. I especially have a hard time believing in global warming when other cities across the United States are reaching record snow falls, according to Al Roker from Good Morning America. I believe the world is suffering though from our entire technological advances even if I do not believe completely into global warming. Capra says that the 1991 war in the Persian Gulf killed hundreds of thousands and caused unprecedented environmental disasters. Pandora‟s environmental problems never occurred until humans found out that there was a very valuable piece of rock that was worth millions of dollars for a few kilos called unobtanium. The diplomatic solution for trying to obtain the unobtanium is to create human Avatars of the Na‟vi and try to gain their acceptance then have them evacuate because the Marines plan on destroying Hometree. With all the efforts of Jake Sully, the Marines still blow up the massive tree. Next, the Marines try destroying the Tree of Souls and they fail in doing so. Does this sound familiar? The government taking over a location just to take the resources and leave a culture devastated? An example of this was when the government destroyed the Native American culture for land and gold while forcing them onto very specific locations, some thousands of miles away from their native land. This is an all too familiar story and there are many other stories. Earth‟s ecosystem is in a bind and humans are the cause of these problems. Pollution to destruction of entire ecosystems are occurring more than people know. How does this effect dwelling and place? If we cannot improve the world we live in, then we will not have rainforests, wild plains, exotic animals, and other parts of the ecosystem. When are world takes a turn for the worst and becomes desolate, then all we can dwell on is the miserable conditions we are in and what the world used to be like.

According to Entertainment Weekly, Pandora was faced with devastation, but the entire ecosystem came together to banish the evils that polluted their way of life. The Na‟vi put together such a massive army that could not withstand the technological advances of the Marines, but they still damaged the numbers of the Marines, then the creatures came and helped stop the advances of the Marines. The last thing that happens is the Na‟vi forced the Marines off their planet and When Grace Augustine was injured, Jake Sully brought her to the Na'vi and they attempted to save her by using the Tree of Souls to connect to Grace's nervous system and permanently transfer her mind to her Avatar body. Although Grace was too weak to make the transfer, instead she became one with Eywa. At the end of the film Jake successfully transfers his mind into his Avatar, making it his true body forever. This completed the cyclical process of the entire movie and there is going to be a second movie coming out.

Earth is in the process of ridding the world of the evils that haunt it, but this process is on the ground floor and needs help getting there. Capra believes the only way for humans to better the world is to fundamentally redesign our businesses and economy. We must use renewable resources such as solar panels, wind turbines, and hydroelectricity to fuel our needs. The best way for us to achieve this, according to Capra, is to create an ecological tax reform. Capra further describes the tax reform by saying it would be strictly revenue neutral, shifting the tax burden from income taxes to “eco-taxes.” Furthermore, taxes would be added to existing products, forms of energy, services, and materials, so that prices would better reflect the true costs. The only way to accomplish Capra‟s goals is to take a slow and long-term process in order for the technologies and consumption patterns to adapt along with encouraging industrial innovations. Another way we can solve our problems on Earth is to deal with the “purification of air and water; mitigation of droughts and floods; generation and preservation of soils and renewal of their; fertility detoxification and decomposition of wastes; pollination of crops and natural vegetation; dispersal of seeds; cycling and movement of nutrients; control of the vast majority of potential agricultural pests; maintenance of biodiversity; protection of coastal shores from erosion by waves; protection from the sun's harmful ultraviolet rays; partial stabilization of climate; moderation of weather extremes and their impacts; and provision of aesthetic beauty and intellectual stimulation that lift the human spirit” according to the website Biodiversity and Human Health.

Though dwelling may be different for others, to me dwelling is an interchangeable word for my imagination. My imagination is interconnected with who I am as a person just like the interconnected world of Pandora. Though my imagination can take flight, possibly on the back of Toruk, it is also the singular reason why I am grounded. Dwelling allows me to realize the truth in life and the truth in the world. It brings me emotions that will stick with me forever and scars that will never go away. We, as humans, are the imagination of the world. Luckily for all of us, Dubuque seems to be in good shape. According to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, Dubuque has good quality air and our o-zone layer is well intact in our geographical area. Streamflow in our area is also very good ranking in the 75th percentile according to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency. Overall, Dubuque ranks as a healthy place to live in the United States so far all you dwellers out there who enjoy being on Cloud 9 with your heads up in the clouds…you‟re safe here. Works Cited Daily, Gretchen C. Alexander, Susan. Ehrlich, Paul R. Goulder, Larry. Lubchenco, Jane.

Matson, Pamela A. Mooney, Harold A. Postel, Sandra. Schneider, Stephen H. Tilman, David. Woodwell, George M. “ECOSYSTEM SERVICES: Benefits Supplied to Human Societies by Natural Ecosystems.” Biodiversity & Human Health (2002). Web. 5 February 2010.

United States. Dept. of Environmental Protection. Sites Reporting to the EPA Near the University of Dubuque, Dubuque IA. 16 February 2010. Web. 16 February 2010

Capra, Fritjof. “The Web of Life.” Saving Place. ed. Dorbin, Sidney I. (2005): 81-87. Print. Svetkey, Benjamin.“The New Face of Movies” Entertainment Weekly Jan. 2010: 26-35.

One Dwelling to Cease all Progression

About the Author

Emily Nicole Martin was born the youngest to two brothers in June 1989. After moving several times throughout her childhood, she settled in a small country town called Swisher, IA. She is currently a third-year English major with concentrations in both writing and literature at the University of Dubuque. Martin aspires to teach English and community development overseas through the Peace Corps and the Council for International Educational Exchange.

Abstract

This essay examines dwelling as a mental state of stagnancy. It emphasizes the negativity experienced when one cannot see an escape from such a state of mind. The concept is demonstrated through the films The Good Girl and the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

***

“Sometimes I even ask myself if all this has really happened, if its pictures dwell in truth in my memory, and not merely in my imagination.” Dwelling is alive, as French author Jules Verne illustrates through his statement. However, it is not the standard definition of one‟s origin or shelter; it is the state of being whose stagnancy haunts an individual, its negativity emphasizing the defunct. It is the sense of paralysis in a situation and feeling as though escape is not within reach. This type of dwelling can be seen in a dead-end job and relationship, a situation of great sorrow or stress. The dwelling illustrated in the films The Good Girl and the Lord of the Rings trilogy depicts that of a monotonous tone, for the highlighted characters experience inanimate circumstances.

The Good Girl revolves around Justine, whose life has become repetitive. A middle-aged woman employed at a downscale Wal-Mart and her marriage to a marijuana smoker and avid drinker is the basis for her dwelling. She has essentially become emotionally numb due lack of efficient companionship and excitement, as her life satisfies neither of these needs.

Her dead-end marriage to Phil has reached all-time lows as his drug habits prioritize over his relationship and job as a house painter. Justine has fundamentally no one to connect with, as her coworkers are characters themselves: a cynical teenager, a bubbly older woman, and a religion-obsessed security guard. In conversation with these people, she is present physically but mentally, Justine is absent from conversation and connection. She plans to have a baby with Phil in hopes of improving their bond and saving their familiarized marriage, but ultimately understands that she is trapped. A woman with future plans, she cannot move forward without her husband‟s cooperation; Seeing as how Phil is content leading a life of laziness and harmful substances, Justine loses hope in the possibility of escaping this paralysis. She finds confidence and feeling in no one, thus spurring her future relations.

Justine‟s dwelling is subsided subsequent to meeting Holden, a teenaged co-worker who claims that his life parallels that of Holden Caulfield from The Catcher and the Rye. Justine comes to realize that she and Holden each hate the world and the accustomed lifestyles they lead. Much like the Holden in the novel, this Holden is cynical of his surroundings; the relationship he begins with Justine only fuels this cynicism, as his desire for running away together cannot come to pass due to their situation. After tragic consequences of their affair, Holden commits suicide in order to avoid arrest. Justine narrates that she used Holden as a means of escape, only to learn that one cannot

escape reality, particularly from consequence. An attempt in escaping consequences ultimately results in additional consequence.

The dwelling illustrated in the Lord of the Rings trilogy is one of psychological dormancy. A company of nine chauffeurs a powerful ring to the depths of a volcano in order to destroy it and the power it holds to rule the world. Persons who come in contact with the ring are overcome with an extreme sense of possessiveness, which in the end results in their demise. The power within the ring drains the person of all human emotion except for the overbearing need to protect this ring and keep it in their possession.

Take for instance, the character Gollum: he began as a Hobbit named Smeagol living in the peaceful Shire. When stumbling upon the ring, Smeagol was so overwhelmed by its power that it consumed him; he withdrew himself from the Shire and retreated into the mountains, away from society and the sunlight. The corruption that Smeagol succumbed controlled his consciousness, thus creating Gollum. Nothing good comes of his dwelling, for he is relentless in retrieving it from the company. He became selfish and treacherous under the ring‟s influence, becoming its slave.

At the heart of the nine companions is Frodo, another Hobbit. Although he is courageous in offering his accompanying the ring to destroy it, the tribulations that Frodo faces along his journey discourage him. His fellow companions are those of great strength, wisdom, and power, of races more distinguished than the Hobbit. Frodo dwells in the idea of inefficiency; how can such a simple individual fight against the evils of the ring? Despite being accompanied by supportive companions, Frodo cannot help but question his decision and doubt whether he can fulfill his duty gallantly.

As the trilogy unfolds, members of the company die in battle defending the belief of freedom, whereas others succumb to the power of the ring, much like Gollum. Frodo and fellow companion Sam become separated from the company determined to destroy the ring, only making Frodo more vulnerable to its powerful influence. With Gollum in tow as their guide, Frodo can be seen demonstrating the possessiveness that once consumed Smeagol and transformed him into the creature. Throughout the last stretch of his journey to the volcano, Frodo has bouts of hostility and greed that resonate with Sam. He knows these qualities are not common for his friend, sympathizing with the dwelling that Frodo holds. Despite his quest to destroy the ring and gain freedom from its stronghold, becoming a slave to the ring has become an additional dwelling for Frodo.

Whether it is a result of a decision or one‟s life situation, dwelling in a negative sense is almost always involuntary. There are circumstances in which the mind dwells, or emphasizes, the negatives, thus creating a sense of paralysis. Justine‟s life in The Good Girl was subject to this inability to progress. Although she attempts methods of escaping, Justine ultimately was pulled back into her dwelling. As illustrated in the Lord of the Rings example, Frodo‟s physical inefficiency overrode his quest to destroy the ring. Despite his devotion to the quest, he fell into a dwelling of doubting himself; each obstacle he encountered only weighed himself further into his dwelling. Albeit this negative mental state may provide opportunities for realizing one‟s needs, its main focus is bringing attention to the struggles that are had by its individual and the inability to overcome such struggles.

Questions for Discussion

1. Are there extreme effects of negative dwelling on an individual? 2. Is it possible to escape from such a negative state? 3. This essay examines a negative mental dwelling; how can one experience a negative physical

dwelling?

Got Happy Place?

About the Author

Ann-Katherine Kimble, better known as Ann, is a Georgia native, who recently spent 4 years in Taegu, South Korea. She graduated from Taegu American School in 2008 and returned to the United States that summer. Currently a sophomore at the University of Dubuque, she‟s majoring in Secondary English Education.

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In rare cases a dwelling is referred to as a stationary place in which your belongs reside. Belongings such as your bed, the plasma flat screen hung on the wall, or even the bathroom you perform your morning rituals in. This dwelling associates no feelings or uniqueness; it is simply your house. More often than seldom, a dwelling is dressed with much more individuality. The places of escape or tranquility one may take themselves to remove themselves from the trials and tribulations of “the daily grind”. Therefore, a dwelling is what makes a house a home; it is that special place of familiarity and comfort. Could this place have a deeper meaning or greater value? Does it depend solely on the person that fills that void and stationary place, giving it life?

When negative emotion is tied to an experience one can mentally transport themselves to a place that produces positive energy. This act is a comfort mechanism and way of dealing perhaps even a way of escape. For example if a college student ever finds themselves homesick while away at the University, their means of comfort would be mentally placing themselves in a memory that is significance of being home. Thus, their home being their dwelling, in turn their dwelling being their place of positive emotions and relaying a distinct level of happiness. Negative emotions are what fuel the transportation to the place we as humans call our dwelling and attach the most serene feeling of peace.

Fundamentally speaking, maybe this act of escape is second nature. It is in fact quite effortless for one to alter their emotions and feel a level of happiness and comfort. In a sense that concept concretes the fact that dwelling is merely physiological. It takes a small amount of effort to sit back and think of your “happy place”. Whether it be a beach or in the arms of a lover, with enough minimal effort, you are there. You are sitting in the sand, with the waves crashing in front you and the sun shining and the sound of calmness ringing in your ear. With minimal effort you are close enough to that lover that you can hear the sound of their heart beating, the warmth of their embrace, and their soft breath combining with yours. This dwelling which is not physical can certainly feel absolutely realistic, offering the level of peace and comfort you need in your “happy place”.

In contrast, dwelling also relates to the physical place someone calls home. The physical place that houses their belongings and their daily rituals that assist their means of survival i.e. cooking meals, sleeping, bathing, shelter. Although I strongly argue the opposite definition, I give slight sympathy to this counter opposite definition. In correlation after all the physical dwelling gives home to the physiological dwelling. It is the root of the “happy place” one escapes to. In the matters of time, the physical represents the past, whereas the physiological takes form as the present or future.

In the argument of physical verses physiological, by my definition at this point in my claim, the physiological is up, and has left the physical in the dust. Stopping to pose a logical question I assert, Can one‟s happy place also known as your dwelling, change with time? I argue yes. Nothing in time is concrete, nothing in life is concrete. Change is inevitable. Life takes us on paths that we

rarely see coming. Thus, if one takes a vacation to the beautiful island of Fiji and is immersed in the vivid greenery and rushing waterfalls with the gorgeous clear blue waters, and you feel that feeling of peace, your dwelling may in fact take the place of Fiji. Thus it may have changed from the arms of a lover to this serene beautiful island.

If your physiological happy place is your childhood home, and you go back and visit and the feeling of comfort, love, peace, and happiness is absent what do you immediately do? Think of the next best place. So…ultimately yes, your dwelling in regard to feeling may in fact change. Your dwelling in correlation with age may change. As the root of the psychological, you can easily substitute your physical dwelling and interchange it with another place giving yourself a new “home” or new “happy place”. I feel strongly that dwelling is far from concrete, far from stationary; and highly adept to change. However, all under the control of the dweller and the experiences faced in life.

Can a dwelling possibly be only one, or more than one? Is one only entitled to one happy place? One place of comfort and serene, sincere, genuine happiness? How is it even possible to narrow down all the places people find or regard as “happy” to only one place? Therefore, the answer is “many”. There is no harm in having more than one place of happiness. It may even be more effective to the concept of dwelling to be able to assert more than one place as a dwelling. In fact in a sense more beneficial to transport from happy place, to happy place.

Dwelling. When one reads that, whatever place automatically comes to mind, is in fact that place of the sincere feeling of home. Dwelling. The arms of a lover who gives you the feeling of security or love, a sense of belonging. Dwelling. The sandy white beach, with the crystal blue water crashing at your feet while the sun shines down upon your back. Dwelling. The room you grew up in, with all of your friends scattered in pajamas on your floor, discussing the current event trending in that era. Dwelling, what do you envision? Discussion Questions 1. Is dwelling in a sense a feeling? Merely, entangled in emotion? 2. What initially propels you to your place of dwelling?

Writing in Response

Briefly discuss and argument that equally supports the mental verses the physical benefits of a dwelling. Which is better? Does either one hold a better benefit than the other? Which is more comforting? Which is easier to escape to?

Dwelling in a State of Mind

About the Author

Matt Lee is a sophomore student at the University of Dubuque. Matt is an English and Communications major, and lives in Dubuque, Iowa. Matt originally began college at Mt Mercy College in Cedar Rapids, and also attended Kirkwood Community College before studying at Dubuque. Matt‟s main interests are sports, music, and having a good time.

Abstract

This essay discusses different areas of mental dwellings. Main ideas are what time frame; past, present, future. Mind frame; positive or negative, burden or escape.

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Dwelling can be whatever the dweller wants to make it, whether it‟s physical, emotional, or mental. We can dwell in a certain place, our hometown, our favorite hangout, or the relenting escape into the wilderness. We can also dwell in our emotions, to be angry, glad, with the mood we‟re in as a constant stimulus to our actions for that day. These all create situations of dwelling, but I am going to choose to focus on the mental aspect of dwelling. To me, the mental side of dwelling contains far more dynamics and variation than these other two areas provide. Through mentality, we can dwell in the past, present, and the future. We can dwell in the positive or the negative, and we can dwell to escape or to be burdened. While we all live in the same world, we can also dwell in far different worlds than one another. Needless to say, the mental dwellings that we create differ from person to person much like appearances. One place that we can dwell is in the past. We can dwell in past accomplishments, failures, disappointments, and whatever else our pasts have consisted of. Dwelling in the past can be seen as a positive thing, by dwelling in the accomplishments seen earlier in life. A good high can be felt by recollecting the “good times”, or “glory days,” but in my opinion, one who lives in the past is not proceeding in the present, and therefore gets stuck in a “rut,” or could be said to be living in the past. The past could also be seen as a negative entity, one in which the dweller does not choose to, but instead is drawn into thoughts and reminders of bad experiences, ones that would be wished to be forgotten. I find myself dwelling in the past from time to time, most notably the extremes, achievement or despair, which I‟m sure we all do at our own levels. In my eyes, the most effective dwelling is in the present. Those who dwell in the present are the most adept to find success and joy in life, as everything resides in the here and now. I do not know and cannot prove whether this is true or not, but according to my experiences, I definitely feel that this rings true. The pains or pride from past experiences hold no meaning to one who dwells in the present, as does not the dreams of the future. I am jealous of the people who have the skill to do such, and wish that I had the skill to dwell in the present more often. To me, examples of people who dwell in the present could be athletic stars, such as Roger Federer, Peyton Manning, or Kobe Bryant to name a few. These people are always in the present, with the last play holding no meaning on the upcoming one. All that matters is the here and now. They manage to do this by an insane amount of focus, drowning out all that doesn‟t matter at the time. Even though some can constantly dwell in the present, most of us find our selves imagining into the future many times a day.

Those of us who dwell in the future fill our minds with dreams and future plans, with our present day activities working and leading up to those things thought of in advance. The present holds the keys to the future, almost like a bridge to the other side of a river, leading from the past into the future. Dwelling in the future leads us to a sense of hope, that whatever dreamt of today is possible tomorrow, which to me; hope is the greatest sense man can have. Without it there is no future, but with it, the future is endless. Dwelling in the future offers new beginnings, as tomorrow is a new day, and to quote Eileen Caddy “Dwell not on the past. Use it to illustrate a point, and then leave it behind. Nothing really matters except what you do now in this instant of time. From this moment onwards you can be an entirely different person, filled with love and understanding, ready with an outstretched hand, uplifted and positive in every thought and deed.” I feel that this quote sums up the different periods of time a person can dwell in, and also shows the hope and possibilities of the future. Mindsets and moods also influence where we dwell at mentally. We can dwell in the positive, or we can dwell in the negative. By dwelling in the negative, it becomes harder to dream and dwell in the future, and it also becomes harder to focus and dwell in the positive. The one place it becomes easier to reside at is the past. Seeing the glass half empty causes us to slowly become wrapped up with past events, and soon were dwelling in the failures and shortcomings of the past, rather than focusing on the hear and now. Negativity and past are the two easiest places to live mentally, and also the two hardest to leave. Once we begin to think in a negative pattern, it becomes habitual, and our mental dwellings soon become less hospitable than they once were. If we find ourselves in a negative mood, we dwell in negative places, as all bad occurrences of the past suddenly become much easier to think about. This mindset can lead to procrastination, and on the most extreme, a loss of self. The opposite of negative dwelling is dwelling in the positive. While dwelling in the positive, it becomes easier to dream for the future, and to establish a plan on how to get there. The future looks bright, and becomes a much better place to dwell than the negative. It also becomes much simpler to focus and dwell in the present when we are in a positive mood. The past does not work its way into our thoughts, unless it‟s a recollection of accomplishments or a memorable time. Dwelling in the positive helps us be confident with ourselves, and makes it much simpler to work towards the dreams of the future. I think that people should really try to have a glass half full outlook, as this betters their own world and also those around them. Mental dwelling can be seen in two outcomes, as a burden or as an escape. The burden outcome is the evil side of dwelling, the Mr. Hyde of the dual nature of dwelling. The burden is not wanted, yet this type of dwelling still finds its way into all of our minds at some point or another. People can be said to have “internal demons,” something haunting us as we progress through our lives. These “demons” are the burdens of dwelling, the hanger-ons that are not wanted. I once read Heath Ledger‟s biography, and within it described the “demons” within him that eventually led to his overdose of prescription drugs. These demons were the character he was portraying (the Joker in The Dark Knight, had trouble separating off-screen from screen), and also his recent breakup with his girlfriend, which led to him being separated from his daughter for long periods of time. All bad memories “haunt” us in one way or another, it just depends on the extent in which they do whether they will ever be seen or not. The Dr. Jekyll side is the use of dwelling as an escape. Whether to get away from it all or just to relax, we all have various mental dwellings in which we escape. Sure we use vacations, social events, or other entertainments to escape, but we all have that certain place in our mind where we escape to. The past can be an escape, “to go back when things were good.” The present can be an escape by fully engrossing ourselves in a certain passion or event. And the future can also be an escape, by dreaming we escape reality, and in turn give reality a meaning and goal. We can create

places to dwell at, that place you want to be, that perfect place where all is well. I think that the most important function of dwelling is the escape, the chance to get away with out having to go anywhere. The world‟s in which we inhabit mentally is also extremely variable. A person who is financially well off and is part of an ethnic or social majority, would contain a far different mentality than someone who is not financially well off and/or is a minority. People‟s childhoods affect the world we inhabit mentally, a poor childhood would more likely create a more negative world, and vice versa. All social and economic factors help create our “mental world,” as well as any other factors you could think of. All in all, I think we should look at a person‟s physical and emotional background before we judge their “mental world.” Everyone of these different mental dwellings effect who we are as a person. Our personality, well-being, popularity, success, etc. No two people are the same, and no two mindsets are the same. Mental dwellings are what define us as human beings, without them, we‟d be much like simpler animals, but with them, it creates the complex nature of ourselves. Our mental processes and dwellings are what separate us as humans from other beings, and they also separate us from one another.

The Alteration of What is Known

Finding the Ability to Be

About the Author

Christina Hanley was born in a small town named Wewahitchka, Florida just outside of the Apalachicola National Forest. After growing up along the sunny shores of Northern Florida, she moved with her husband and first child to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. For several years, Christina worked as a retail manager. Along the way she had the privilege of giving birth to two more children. She returned to school in 2003 to pursue an AA in Education at Northeast Iowa Community College. During her time at NICC, she worked as a tutor in the Learning Center, organized a student committee called STAND advocating against global genocide, and held a position on the Diversity Council. After her graduation she transferred to the University of Dubuque to pursue a bachelor‟s in secondary education with endorsements in English and Special Education. After completing her educational goals she hopes to work in urban schools inspiring students to love reading and writing. When she is not studying, doing laundry, or dishes, she enjoys reading literature and hiking.

Abstract

In an attempt to shed light on the discussion of what dwelling means to the human existence, the author takes the reader on a journey. Along this journey the reader stops to examine different environments or states of dwelling. The author uses a personal narrative to describe the role natural environments play in defining her view of dwelling, but also triggers the reader to look at how each person‟s perspective of dwelling will have similarities and differences. The essay is a personal call to change that desires to comment also on the transitory traits of dwelling.

*** Before our mothers can feel the flutter of our movements, the beginnings of a blood thumping heart and vibrant neural net form in the womb. This neural net forms a bud which stretches upwards and falls to form the spinal cord and brain. The genetic code of our parents unites and divides, cells replicating in the beautiful mystery known as life. By the time that most parents see a baby on ultrasound, all the organs necessary to sustain human life are shaped. Near the last trimester, the soon to be infant‟s senses awake. In a sensory awakening, the eyes open and the ears begin to process information. Babies interact and play with their environment in preparation for the day of birth. Even before this eventual birth an understanding occurs. Where once a life was forming, now a life is processing information and reacting. Our first, most primitive dwelling begins in the womb before we even meet the world. Much of our personality and intelligence forms, but our environment after birth will add to our existence, modifying who we are. Emerging out of our mother‟s wombs, the safety net of warmth no longer protects a baby. Where once sounds and the environment remained muffled as a distant reality, the truth of a loud, bright, and complicated world now rests on a still forming brain. Every new moment becomes a sensory bath, and before long patterns are identified. We now have the capacity to sense the world, react to it, and begin to name it. In this process, the creative mind begins to shape our personality. Boisterous hunger cries alert those around us of our needs and a loving hand offers us food. In our environment, emotions attach to our caregivers. As the concepts of family, home, and country take shape our view of dwelling expands beyond the womb. These impressionable years inform our lives. Brain and personality development end by the age of five. In positive environments, the guidance of our youth remains constant, an anchor forever driving our course straight despite disruptions. For

others, though, these years leave deep grooves and scars, an infection of the spirit that may take a lifetime to escape. Regardless of our beginnings, the storms of life threaten the peace we experienced before our birth. These storms, and the way in which we choose to cope, shape us, leaving breadcrumbs along the way, defining our character. Some families do not operate as the intended nurturing unit. I would like to say that my childhood belonged in the category of shaping my character in a positive way. Unfortunately, much of my life left me in pain and confusion. My parents inherited the misery of past generations. I know they loved my brothers and me, but many of their choices made it difficult to navigate childhood. After years of turmoil, my parents decided to divorce. Lying on the floor of my mother‟s brown station wagon, I heard the desperate cries of my father, begging my mother not to move. In my pink princess pajamas I pretended to sleep while my mother pulled the car away. The most innocent spaces of my heart broke. Like a gypsy train to North Florida, my mother brought only what could fit in the trunk, and her three children. Overnight we drove, leaving behind my father. This move created negative and positive experiences in my life, forever changing me. Not long after the move to Panama City, Florida, my mother remarried. The time following our move created my deepest pain and joy. Not long after the move to Panama City, Florida, my mother remarried. After living in a few apartments, we moved to a house resting directly on the coast. Early in the morning, I woke to the sound of waves crashing, erupting along the shore. Throwing on my swimsuit, I ran outside to have the smell of salt invade my senses. Bounding down the steps, feet smashing into the crystalline white sand, my heart rushed at the thought of another beautiful morning. The sun in the summer beat down driving me to immerse my body in the blue green waters of the gulf. In the afternoon, my mother and I would walk along the shore. She walked ahead while I put my feet in her footprints. Like a revolving door, vacationing kids shared the shore with my younger brother, Ryan, and me. For a day these children became my best friends, sharing the secrets of childhood, very often to never be heard from again. Ryan loved to play catch along the shore. For hours we would laugh and play, as if nothing existed to ruin our happiness. These underdeveloped dunes of the panhandle of Florida served as my playground. Sometimes we would travel to a beach north of our home and explore the dunes until our shoes became too infested with sandspurs to continue. My toes called the sand home, the foaming green sea water a respite. Ryan and I very rarely went to a park. Along the shore, we created our own world, with sand castles, mysteries such as jewelry forgotten by the snow birds, and creatures like seagulls and jelly fish as our playmates. Winters did not mean snow to me, but a chance to walk the beach undisturbed by tourists. The temperatures turned cold for Florida standards, but I still ventured outside demanding that the wind retain my name, beckoning for it to toss my hair. During this season, storms rolled off the gulf with purple and blue vengeance. The thunder played games with the lightning, offering vibrant echoes. Enormous bay windows allowed me to survey as storms demanded respect, as I sat motionless for hours listening to its murderous threats hit the side of the house. One evening I woke to a loud sound. A strong storm shook the house. Suddenly wind rushed between my house and the neighbors. It sounded as if the wind was driving, forcing itself, into a tunnel, creating increasing pressure. Terrified I pulled my covers over my head just before the window blew in. In silence I sat for awhile in shock. After hollering for awhile the house awoke to find my room covered in glass. From that moment on, winter evenings often resulted in huddling in the hallway in fear of a water spout. My environment outside my house was fascinating and beautiful, but inside, dark and threatening. I learned to hate the sun going down, the dreadful winter evenings, and my step-father. Ron was a salesman, a very good one. Around Panama City, Ron was known as a con-man. I later found out that the house we lived in, along the shore, did not belong to my parents. Ron talked an

older couple into trading the rental of the house for repair work. Ron never made the promised repairs to the house. He boasted that he could talk anyone into buying anything. Overweight from overconsumption of food and alcohol, he came home ranting, expecting perfection of everyone else. Ryan was made to sweep the driveway for hours when he was only six years old. Beginning at eight, I would watch my younger two brothers while my parents slept in past noon. Our rooms were inspected weekly to insure neatness. I remember many episodes where my older brother, Eric, would try to revolt and the power was shut off in his room. Besides his demanding and manipulative demeanor, Ron was verbally and physically abusive. My mother, Robin, had a sweet face. Blonde hair rested half-way down her back and sparkled in the Florida son. I was her baby girl and she treated me with gentleness, but for some reason, unknown to the rest of the world, she put up with Ron treating her children terribly. Like most children, when my mother would leave, I would beg to come with her. She did not understand that I was trying to save myself from another terrible moment. One evening I sat clutching her legs, in desperation to come with her. She left me in a little ball crying among the Christmas lights, scattered along the floor. Sobbing, I pressed my tender cheeks in my hands, tears soaking my clothes, and thought of the freedom of the shores outside. Quietly in desperation I searched again for the sound of the waves to call me home. The wind called out my name, in resounding harmony. I retreated to this place every time I felt my world crumbling down. A dichotomy developed, one in which I carried deep seeded pain, and another where my heart rested in peace. In the quietness of my soul I utilized the memories and sounds of the shore to cope. After living most of my life in the sun, I traded my Florida shores for corn fields. My heart had grown weary. The birth of my first-born son brought new concerns. I never wanted him to meet Ron. I strove to escape the Florida shores that I grew to love, as a means of protecting my children. With my infant son swaddled in my arms, I boarded an airplane destined for Iowa, hoping never to look back. Iowa brought a lot of change, some of which I could have done without. The winters drive me to the point of insanity, longing to see and smell green and growing things. At the end of this breaking point spring brings summer. Iowa‟s summers know my name eloquently, just as the ocean once did. The wind has found me, after many years searching, sitting under the apple tree in my backyard. Apple blossoms yield soft pink petals and merge with the lilac blooms to create a symphony of smells. As the corn grows, the wind begins to sway the stalks in melody. My children play merrily nearby. They have never known the ocean intimately as I did; their playground is the corn growing tall, lightning bugs dancing in the night, and apples falling from the tree. Very often, I remind myself that my life, despite its difficulties, has given me a unique perspective. Without all of the pain, I would not be given the chance to learn from the lonely moments where the quiet of my heart can be felt pulsing through my veins. I grew a survivalist spirit that sought to never give in to despair, even when I felt only darkness surrounding me. My experiences left imprints on my soul, yielding clues, like fingerprints along the way, to the child I was and the adult I have chosen to be. I chose to turn the dark moments of my life into something beautiful, but a person does not need to go through abuse to learn from life. All of us have a story, some similar, some radically different. Beginning in the safety of a mother‟s womb our stories diverge. Some of us grew up in families that chose to nurture strength to weather the storms, others of us existed in families that created storms; in each case our experiences create an intricate mosaic that structures our life. In the end, each path must face a reckoning. No matter where our past leads us, at some point all of us must face adversity. In these hours of struggle, feeling loneliness, failure, and fatigue we can define our dwelling. Dwelling is a state of mind that can be changed. Despite the agony we feel in our mind, the bitterness of our environment, we can acknowledge what we learned in the womb. We can choose our reaction; we can choose the state we dwell in.

The descriptions I have given make it seem as if I have found some secret of life. Perhaps, someone could read my words and believe that I no longer feel the pain or agony of my past. Another person who has gone through abuse may comment that my viewpoint sounds fabulous, but the only emotion they feel is anger. Although using the natural environment to cope kept me from the danger of mental illness and helped me make it through some terrible years, it has not cured the ache I still feel inside. After years of therapy, begging God in prayer, and finding supportive friends, I have concluded that there are no easy fixes for the pain in life. Ambivalent feelings invade my thoughts very often. Choosing the state in which we dwell is not an easy task when anger and frustration cloud our judgment. Still, even with what I have said, I believe forming a simpler life and establishing relationships with honest people is a goal worth seeking. Perhaps creating a positive mental state is only part of dwelling. I believe that the possibility exists where I will not need to use past natural environments to form a positive mental state. Dwelling encompasses where my feet have taken me, my past experiences, and my thoughts. My state of dwelling is not limited to the past or present, but also resides in the future. I am an apprentice dweller on this journey. I still have a long way to navigate along this new path. If anyone has a map, I would love to see it. Questions for Discussion 1. What different environments or states of dwelling does the essay address? 2. The essay discusses that dwelling is both physical and mental. Which one do you believe defines

dwelling more? 3. The author writes, “Despite the agony we feel in our mind, the bitterness of our environment,

we can acknowledge what we learned in the womb.” What is it that she believes individuals learn in the womb that can help overcome agony and bitterness?

Writing in Response 1. The author displays a lengthy narrative of her childhood. In this narrative she describes what

role the ocean played in changing her state of dwelling. Describe a similar time that a physical environment played a role in changing your state of dwelling, either positively or negatively.

2. You are a scientist examining the issue of the human meaning of dwelling. Write a counter response to the author nullifying her beliefs on dwelling or write a positive response on why you agree with her assessment.

By Invitation Only

About the Author:

Courtney Brianne Thompson was born in Spokane, Washington February 24, 1989. The Thompson family moved around the Northwest for a while before eventually settling in Rockford, IL in 2001. Courtney attended the University of Iowa pursuing a degree in Radiology. However, after a year and a half into that degree she realized that teaching was what she wanted, and had always wanted, to do. So, she picked up and left to come to the University of Dubuque. She hopes to teach high school English on an Army base overseas after graduation. Courtney has many interests, some of which include reading, watching sports, playing basketball and softball, hanging out with her friends and family, and camping.

Abstract:

This paper explores the idea of dwelling in an abstract notion. There is a preconceived notion that a dwelling of a home is a physical and concrete location. However, this essay explains the idea that a dwelling can be done in both an emotional and psychological manner which involves the people we choose to surround ourselves with in life.

*** I never really drew a concrete and visible line between a house and a home until I was in high school. Growing up, I never noticed that my family moved around so much. Part of this, perhaps, had to do with the fact that I was never required to pack and move my own possessions. However, when I moved the summer before my freshman year, I started to realize the weight of putting something so precious and meaningful in bubble wrap and hiding it within a box. This move was much denser because not only was I moving houses and schools, but I was moving up into high school, a completely new transition in my life. Throughout history, people have referred to the place in which they reside as their dwelling. Today, we more often refer to this type of dwelling as a home. Most people understand that house and home are synonyms, yet still contain different meanings in accordance to social reference. I grew up in various houses. I do not say this to indicate the absence of a warm, loving, and welcoming home in my life, because I certainly had one. However, that home was not made of concrete, wood, and nails. It was not painted and decorated with pictures. My home is my family. I cannot technically live in my family by the standards of ownership or renting a unit, containing my possessions, or having a security system to protect them. However, in an abstract notion, I do live in my family for all those reasons. I belong to my family as much as they belong to me, they anchor me, they hold everything that is of value to me, and I am their security system, having within me a deep instinctive nature to protect them from any harm. After my most drastic move, I fell into a routine and did not think much about my new surroundings. Then, one day, at a friend‟s house there were a ton of family pictures throughout the years and marks on a wall near the living room. She and I joked around about how she had not grown since seventh grade, but then realization set in that I did not know how much I had grown since seventh grade. I did not know how many inches I grew in 1993, but she did. This was the house she grew up in. This was her home. She could point out to me where she took her first steps. She could show me how her room has changed from a nursery to a “highly sophisticated” room of a teenager. She could walk around her house, in a blindfold, without bumping into anything. Well, at

least in my mind I believed she could. I could tell someone all that information too, but it would take a tour of three different states to do it. So, by this point I was an overly emotional teenage girl, but my feelings about a lack of true home felt legitimate. I had moved to six different houses and three different states by high school. I had been to five different schools, which was brought to my attention when, at the same friend‟s house, I saw pictures of her and her childhood friends, which were recognizable as her friends in high school.

My best friend was, my brother, naturally. My second best friend, in Washington, was Krystal. I can talk all about my brother and what he has done with his life, but not Krystal past the first grade. In fact, I do not even know her last name. Once I moved to Idaho, my best friend was Vicki, and I actually still keep in touch with her. She is a link to my past, but a rare one. After moving to Illinois, I had learned not to make best friends. Though that sounds dramatic, I realize now it was more subconscious than anything. I had friends, but none that would be too hard to say good-bye to when needed.

Once life felt safe enough to form deeper friendships, I did just that. I lived in Illinois for two years before I would call anyone close friend. In high school, unexpectedly, I met someone on the first day that slowly became my best friend. He is still my best friend today, so it was not such a bad thing. Throughout high school I started to get comfortable in Illinois, and it started to feel more like a home, but I knew it was never my home. My roots are not in Illinois, and my family back in Washington reminded me of that, though not in a purposefully hurtful manner. My family was a constant reminder that Illinois was not my home, because they were my home.

My home, in a concrete dictionary definition aspect, is debatable, however in an emotional and psychological aspect is crystal clear. I know where I was born and where I have lived, but this idea of a home does not bring to mind either of those, those are purely physical locations. The thought of a home only brings to mind my family. They are the most stable part of my life. When everything around me is rushing, spinning, out of control, and in utter chaos, they are the pause button. When I feel like I am in too deep and drowning, they are the lifesaver that pulls me to shore. When I look and do not recognize anything around me, they are the familiar face in the crowd.

Family is important to a lot of people, including those who have grown up in the same house or town their whole life. I am not trying to discredit their familial bond, but the bond and love my family has for each other runs so deep and is so intrinsic that it is nearly impossible to separate. The first time my family moved, it was as though we were tearing our roots up. Then, every other settling and move felt as though we never re-planted those roots. There was nothing stable about where we lived, so family became the stable unit of life. Family became out home, our dwelling. Whenever I needed to remember something about my past, I would turn to my family because they knew. Whenever I reminisced or felt nostalgic, I could only truly do so with my family. When I questioned my future, my family helped me find the answer.

I am not an exclusive person, but no one knows me in the way my family does. Yet, I have been a bit exclusive because my family was the keeper of all memories, so why would I bother asking anyone else? While bored in my seventh grade science class in Rockford, no one understood how I could already know all the information. However, my brother could have told them it was because I helped him pass his science class the year before when we lived in Idaho. There were things as simple as that, just knowing a sliver of my life which makes it easiest to only rely on family to help me.

The most important aspect of dwelling in my family is that, in a way, my family defines me. There is the expression “you are the company you keep” and I believe that it completely true in reference to family. Although it is true that families are similar and have qualities and characteristics

that are alike, my family goes beyond this. People always tell me that I look and act exactly like my mother, and people always mistake my brother and me for twins. I am a miniature replica of my mother, though I honestly hate to admit it. She is a stubborn person, hard working, loving, compassionate, unable to admit she is wrong (sometimes), and a talkative person. Ben, my brother, is opinionated, gentle, compassionate, dedicated, unwilling to accept defeat, goal-oriented, and easy-going. These are all qualities I am told I possess, and being the baby in the family, I was influenced by my mom and brother to be the way I am.

When I first went away to college in Iowa, I was ready for independence, found it in Iowa City. I lived on my own, with a roommate of course, and was having a great time. However, I still went back to Rockford to visit my mother, talked to her on the phone, and we mailed each other, not electronically but old-fashioned. Trips to Dubuque to visit my brother at school were not uncommon either. However, when I changed my major and came to Dubuque, which was just another move in the long line of them all, I knew I was coming to school at the same place as my brother. I cannot fully explain why this new town, not knowing anyone, felt at home other than being near my brother made Dubuque home. However, part of that comfort may have something to do with knowing that I choose my physical dwelling now. I get to decide when, and if, I move. There is a physical permanence to accompany the emotional stability I feel being near my brother and closer, than Iowa City, to my mother. Though my family is only knowledge of a true home, as I grow older I hope to plant my own roots and rebuild a physical home.

I am not sure what is going to happen when I truly grow up and need to move away to make a living, and I know I am not going to keep following my brother around the United States. I have big plans and wild dreams for my future. There is so much to do with my life and so much to experience. I want to teach on an Army Base overseas, and I know that none of my family has this in mind for their future. I am never willing to compromise my dreams and desires, which my family would never want or accept of me. However, with the end of college in sight, I wonder how different my dwelling will be. How can I dwell in my family when we will all be so far away from each other? Will phone conversations and occasional visits be enough for us? I believe it will be, partly because I know our bond is strong enough to empower us all. I also know, partly, that we will still find stability and dwelling within each other, because we need to. My family is my past, my present, and my future. No matter where we all live, we need to dwell in each other because we are the key to the memories, the heartache, the celebrations, and mysteries of life. Dwelling does not need to be done in the same zip code, state, or region. Dwelling is much more than a quick drive for a quick hello, it is much more continuous and constant. Dwelling, to me, is my family, and nothing can change my family.

Questions for Discussion: 1. Is there a place, person, or group of people that are the key to your comfort? If so, who are they and how do they hold that comfort for you? If not, where is a place, or who are the people, that make you feel the most “at home?” 2. Who, what, or where do you identify yourself with the most? Is there a place, person, or group of people that you would feel completely lost without? Writing in Response: Think about the series of events in “By Invitation Only” and how they all relate to each other to shape Courtney into the woman she became. In this format, choose one event early in life that has shaped your life, and can be logically and easily followed and understood.

A Mind in Unavoidable Places

About the Author

Ashley Reyne Metcalf was born in Dubuque, Iowa on December 19th, 1987. She currently attends the University of Dubuque were she is majoring in Secondary English Education. Along with attending school Ashley also spends her time coaching and playing volleyball as much as she can. Her future goals consist of graduating college, finding a job as a high school teacher, coaching a high school sports team, and starting her family.

Abstract

This essay examines how throughout my life, my personal “dwelling” process has shifted. It explores the various elements that are intertwined within the actual “dwelling” process that need to be recognized. It gives multiple examples on how “dwelling” can not only shift or change, but can be numerous things simultaneously. It explains how the “dwelling” process is a very powerful idea that impacts future development in individuals.

*** When I was initially asked to think about this concept of “dwelling,” I immediately began to ponder about memories of the past. I have never thought of dwelling in any other way than a function of my mind and memory, until discussing and reading in class. I have come to realize that there are many different places and ways in which one may “dwell,” and I have experienced many different forms of “dwelling” without even realizing it. Through reflecting on this idea of “dwelling” I have formed my own definition of it and the effects that it may have on an individual. Dwelling can not only change or shift, but it can be multiple things simultaneously. In many of our discussions in class I realized that some of my classmates connect dwelling with a specific place. Hearing their stories of how they dwell in their home, or in the wilderness brought my attention to my place of dwelling. At first I was not sure if I even had a specific place that I “dwelled” in, to me I had always “dwelled” whenever and wherever I wanted. I eventually realized though that I was forgetting a big part of the picture, whom it was that I usually “dwelled” with. I know that it might sound a little unusual that I “dwell” with another person, but forming my definition of “dwelling” I have decided that “dwelling” is a reflection on past experiences and an insight into future experiences or situations. The one person that I always discuss both of these with is my mother, so she immediately became part of my “dwelling” process. My mom has always worked long hours, leaving early in the morning and getting home late into the night, so our time together throughout the week has always been filled with more than enough to chat about. Since I have a very hectic schedule as well, my mom and I are lucky to see each other for a small period of time in the mornings. Well, as I am sure any female can relate to, mornings at my house consist of everyone in the bathrooms, attempting to get ready for the day, all at the same time. When I was in high school looking to go off to college, I remember thinking how nice it would be to get ready in the morning all by myself with no arguments, T.V., or music blaring. I thought that it would be great until I experienced it, it just was not the same, and I can honestly say that I missed it. The thing about it was that I had never realized how much we talked in that hour until I didn‟t have it anymore. That was the time when we discussed things happening in the future, whether it was the upcoming weekend, month, or even plans in the next year. That was also where past jokes, experiences, and stories were also brought up.

While my “dwelling” process involves talking with my mom, overall I believe that “dwelling” involves a connection that you may have with someone or something. For example, one may have a strong connection with something in nature, a relative, or even a specific room. I feel like limiting dwelling to just a place eliminates it. If dwelling can ONLY occur within a certain area or if it is always associated with a certain place there is the possibility of cheating yourself out of a train of thought that one may need to experience. By adding the element of connection to the definition of “dwelling” it allows it to apply to anyone and everyone. Also, by adding this element of connection, the negative aspect of “dwelling” can possibly be lessened, helping one to grow as a human through past experiences. Denis Waitley was quoted saying, “Don't dwell on what went wrong. Instead, focus on what to do next. Spend your energies on moving forward toward finding the answer.” I find this to a very important quote to keep in mind when discussing the “dwelling” process. As I had previously stated I had mostly connected the act of “dwelling” with negative thoughts or experiences. I have now come to understand that through my process of “dwelling” I have furthered my own life in a positive way. By reflecting on my past experiences and talking with my mom I have come to learn some altering life lessons that have made me the person that I am today. Also, by going through this I have come to realize what things in life make me happy and how to expand on those feelings/experiences. This just goes to show the importance of the “dwelling” process, that without it we would not be able to grow as humans. One distinct memory that I have where my “dwelling” process has helped me to make positive future choices was when it came to choosing a career and which college to attend. Originally, when I started looking at colleges, I was only interested in one aspect of each school, what the volleyball program was like. I had big dreams that I would be playing volleyball all throughout college that I started to disregard the actual academic programs that each school had to offer. I started my volleyball career at the University of Dubuque under head coach Cole Tallman. Tallman was a well known coach with many connections to much bigger universities such as, the University of Iowa. Starting every single varsity game as a freshman, and with an ever growing ego, I thought I was good enough to play at a higher level. Coach Tallman made many phone calls and finally the University of Iowa invited me to practice with them, which meant moving to Iowa City. My mom and dad were very upset with me and the fact that all I was focused on was my volleyball career, they encouraged me to stay at the University of Dubuque, but I had other plans. I decided that I was going to enroll at the University of Iowa and move at semester. My parents, completely against the move, decided not to help financially, I was on my own. With the thought of playing division I volleyball I moved my life to Iowa City and enrolled in whatever classes would work around volleyball and not take up a lot of outside time. I began practicing with the team and realized that I quickly went from being one of the top players, to barley existing. There was way more work involved than I had ever even begun to realize and not only that, but my grades were terrible and I was absolutely broke. When practice season came to an end, and preseason was about to begin, the Iowa head coach Cindy Fredricks, gave me the option to stay and practice with the team to possibly earn a “traveling” spot. Basically what this meant was that I would only practice with the team until they felt I had reached the potential to also possible travel with the team, no playing in games, or even sitting on the bench. This was the biggest dilemma yet that I had been faced with, and I began “dwelling” on the positives and negatives of each decision. I finally decided that a professional career is what I really needed, but where did I even begin? Since I had not paid any attention to the academics at Iowa, when I was faced with that reoccurring question of what I wanted to major in, I had no clue. Turns out that when I had finally decided, I just happened to picked on of the toughest programs they had to offer, Civil Engineering. I had always found physics, and science in general, really interesting so I just assumed that I would

enjoy the program, and be good at it too. Oh boy was I ever wrong!! After struggling through various math and science classes where you are lucky if the professor even gives you the time of day, yet alone know that you are even in their lecture, I decided I needed a change. I took a variety of different introduction classes to see if anything even slightly interested me, when I finally fell in love with two classes, Introduction to Teaching and American Literature. The outcome was simple; I would go into Secondary English Education. Turns out, it was not so simple after all. Since I had completely disregarded my first two years of academics, my grades were terrible, so terrible that there was no chance that I would get into the School of Education at Iowa. This is where my “dwelling” process came into play. I remembered what it was like when I first was looking into colleges and what they had to offer, and decided to go back and redo the entire process the right way this time. My mom was more than encouraging and helpful when it came to looking at the various English and Education programs each school had to offer. Along with that, I had to “dwell” on my financial situation. In the past I had taken out many loans to not only cover my tuition at Iowa, but my living expenses as well, and once I had cut volleyball out of my life and finally got a job, all my money was going to paying off those loans. Finally, together with my mom, I made the decision to go back to the University of Dubuque, were they have a very strong Secondary English Education program, to finish my studies. Going through each one of these transfers I had learned many life lessons, which I believe is why I now am on the right track to finishing a successful academic career to becoming a teacher. I know that if I had not gone through each “dwelling” process, that I could have easily made another impulse decision leading me down an unsuccessful path again. By going through the “dwelling” process, I have noticed that I have achieved an ability to almost predict or perhaps at times, prevent certain situations or experiences from happening or encouraging more positive ones. “Dwelling” is so powerful that it could at times completely destroy one if they allow it to. At one point or another we have all experienced some kind of hardship in life. Whether it is losing a loved one, heartbreak, financial or health difficulties, of perhaps something as simple as dealing with the stresses of everyday life, we have all experienced it. The key is to have gone through and recognized, the “dwelling” process enough that you know what it takes to have the courage to overcome such thoughts or experiences. Being prepared with the necessary tools and strength when these attacks are coming in full-force will allow an individual to armor themselves with positivity. Looking back on various aspects of “dwelling” helped me to form my own definition of it. As I had previously stated, I believe that “dwelling” involves having a connection to something or someone. I also think that it involves memory and mind function and thinking back on past experiences or situations. Something kind of positive or negative lesson can be learned during the “dwelling” process that will assists in an individual‟s developmental growth as a human. It is obvious that, to me, the “dwelling” process involves various elements that can occur individually or simultaneously. It also is necessary to recognize that the “dwelling” process that one may go through in younger stages of their life will be different from that of current stage or future stage. It is an evolving process were each time the process is completed it will have an effect on future “dwelling” processes. Questions for Discussion 1. What do you think that most individuals first think of when they are asked to ponder on the idea of “dwelling?” Do you think that most individuals focus on a specific place? If not, what else would one connect “dwelling” with? Is it connected to more positive or negative aspect?

2. It what ways has or hasn‟t your individual “dwelling” process changed over the years? Do you predict that it will change in the future? Writing in Response 1. Think back to a specific experience or situation that you had to “dwell” on. What was your “dwelling” process like? What various elements were involved in your “dwelling” process? Describe the situation, how you “dwelled” on it, and the outcome.

Where I Didn’t Want to Be

About the Author

Renae Alexandra Main, formerly Renae Bishop, was born in West Union, IA a small town in which her family was prominent farmers. A writer and artist among farmers Renae left the family‟s farm to pursue a degree in Computer Graphic Design and English. In her pursuit of her interests of art, animation, and medieval history she found herself dressed as a pirate at a Renaissance Faire where she met Matthew Main, and within a year they were married. She now spends her time continuing her education, drawing commissioned artwork, writing fantasy fiction stories, and playing ridiculous amounts of videogames with her loving husband.

Abstract

This essay examines how a person‟s idea of dwelling can be drastically altered by a change in location or life style. A persons home is very important to their own identity and when it is gone, whether they liked their home or not, there self image is damaged. Here the author details her own struggle with loss of place and her eventual recovery.

***

I cannot count the number of times I trudged across my family‟s farm and grumbled with heartfelt vehemence, “I hate this place”. My home for eighteen of my twenty years of existence was a large, family run, dairy and crop farm exactly 6.5 miles from the nearest civilization, if you could call it that. My parents had worked harder and longer than I dared to consider creating this immense valley of fertility for me and my siblings… and from an early age I knew, it was not where I wanted to be. I was an artist, a writer, and a thinker; I was not some down home country bumpkin, I was meant for great things. At least that was what I kept telling myself as I grew up, worked hard in school, went to college, fell in love, got married, and dove headfirst into a world of interesting places and people who welcomed me with open arms and I thought at long last I would feel like I was home. Instead I felt lost, torn between the home of my youth and the new life I was struggling to make with my husband, I felt like a migrating bird that had lost all sense of direction. I had expected to find joy with this new freedom, not this heart wrenching transition that felt far too close to grief, and I‟m sure I‟m not the first person to get hit with this unpleasant surprise. We all have a place where we dwell, whether it is our home, a place we are comfortable, or in my case a family and farm that I wished so fervently to be rid of. We seldom consider how strongly affected by these places we are, even when they are places we do not wish to be, or what will happen when we suddenly decide to make a drastic relocation. It can be a very emotionally troubling process, one I have been struggling with for nearly a year now, but in facing it and considering my Ideas of place and home this torn up emotional territory can be leveled out.

I cannot tell you that my childhood home was a terrible place; it had its moments of both wonder and wrath as most homes do, and as any farm kid will tell you a farm possesses both qualities to an overwhelming degree. In one day I could go from climbing trees in a green valley between cornfields, writing or drawing among the branches as I watched the world go by, to wading through knee deep cow manure and burning to death under the hot sun while tossing itchy hay bales nearly as big as me from a dangerously high barn window. Before I left, it was the bad that outweighed the good to the point where I envisioned the farm as a barrier to my future growth into the person I wanted to be.

I can‟t count the number of times I finally had a free moment to go to my room and curl up with a sketch pad or my computer and a would instantly and with out fail receive a phone call from my dad telling me the cows were out again and he needed me right away. To tell you the truth, most often I blamed the cows. I‟d run out to the barn yard in a huff, too big dairy boots slipping around my feet and a small notebook sticking out of the back pocket of my jeans, to find my dad and two younger brothers chasing a herd of the horrid ugly creatures at full speed towards me, the huge eyes laughing at the interruption they had caused. I would raise my arms, a tiny little girl standing against the mass of unstoppable beasts, but with a gaze that radiated fiery rage. Within minutes the cows would return to the pens, their bodies shaking and their once laughing eyes would roll in terror as I slammed the gate shut behind them. I was the best at herding cows. Probably because I hated them so much while the rest of my family saw them as our livelihood or even big, dumb, pets.

Years later I was sitting in my apartment with my husband discussing a book I had been reading, something I never could have done with my family, when I got a call from my mom. She was distraught, her voice straining like she was holding back tears. I had expected this call. Today was the day my parents were selling the cows. Hailstorms had hit my family harder that some, decimating our entire crop. Hundreds of acres of corn and beans, whipped out in ten minutes of merciless ice, thousands of dollars, all barrowed, devoured by the elements. It was a financial hit my parents could not take. There would be know profit on beans that year, and there would be no corn to feed the cows. My family could afford to farm no more. Mom sobbed and sent me a picture message. It was of the last cow to leave the lot, looking at the camera with sad eyes, no longer mocking or afraid, but full of sorrow. I cried.

An image of the farm, windswept and empty, a husk without life, troubled my mind for weeks. My home was dying, and I was miles away, happy in all that I had accomplished in my new world. Yet I felt like a negligent caretaker, like I had abandoned my family, my home, and those sad stupid animals. Yet it was not my home any longer. My home was my husband, my books, and a circle of friends. Many of my ties to the farm of my youth had snapped like rubber bands the moments I left for college, but those that remained hummed a song of grief, guilt, and neglect.

Several months before the hailstorm, was my wedding. A small affair that was, at the insistence of my parents, in their backyard. For a farm with all of its ugliness as I often saw it, this had been one of the places I found beauty and peace in my former home. It was a huge grassy hill, spotted with trees my parents had planted long before my birth, and a huge garden with a vine covered trellis and a sweet little brick path. When my mom planted that garden I had been right alongside her, marveling at the beauty we were creating. There she told me that I was not the only one who longed for culture, civilization, and excitement. She often felt confined by the farm, but it was what dad loved, and she loved him, so at the farm she stayed. I thought it fitting that it was this garden were I would be married to a man who loved what I loved. My wedding was both joyous in what it was, and broke my heart in what it meant. This was the last severing of ties; I had intended to get them all. It was painfully, standing before my family, the house, the backyard, the horse watching over the fence, and our dog Goldy who fallowed me down that aisle and in saying my vows, I no longer be home. But as my new husband and I headed off for our honeymoon, which was a weekend at the renaissance faire, and I found myself talking farm, and realized it didn‟t work.

I found myself in a rage, that pain now completely forgotten. I had cut the ties, left home, got married, and for months after a found myself randomly spouting farm talk like some kind of horrible emotional backlash. My husband would catch me in it and laugh affectionately, like he found the blurted nonsense endearing, but I felt like I had broken some mental seal in my brain, keeping my farm girl self contained. Around my husband and my close friends I was embarrassed to speak for fear of what would come out of my already socially awkward mouth.

After the hailstorm however, I found I had a different perspective. As a cried over the cows into my ever so patient husband‟s arms, I told him about the farm; tale after tale I sputtered until my tears at last ceased. I told him about my adventures building secret forts from my sibling, galloping across the field on my grandpa‟s fiery appaloosa horse I wasn‟t supposed to go near, and waking up at five in the morning to milk cows only to get distracted by a dark winter sky and showed up late with the excuse to my dad that the aliens made me do it. My husband cried with me, but he laughed too. And when I was all cried out he marveled at what a great childhood I had had. Sheltered and hard yes, but exciting and full of wonder, and I knew he was right.

The remaining ties to the home of my youth, that horrible place that I didn‟t want to be, quieted from their sorrow eventually and began to sing out of the joy I had once had their, though for years I was blinded to it. For most of my life I longed to be away from the farm and what I saw as its crushing of my dreams. I wanted to go and start my life, a life I was sure would be everything I wanted it to be. Yet there was something that never occurred to me. Without the farm, without the trials of growing up, and the struggles of being so different among my family, would I have wanted the same things? Would I even be the same person I am today?

After my wedding when my farm girl got out and began reeking havoc on my conversations, I apologized to my husband for boring him with all the farm talk and I could never figure out why he laughed and smiled at me in such an adoring way. Now I realize it wasn‟t something that suddenly started, it was something I had always done and never noticed before; I had always talked like a farm girl, because that is what I am. My husband was smiling because he loves me for what I am.

I had always thought that life was all about balance, but I thought it was something I needed to achieve, not something I already had. My childhood was though and my home hard but the moments of joy and the ideas it left me with makes me who I am. Without the farm, my first home, my dreams of greatness would not even be possible, because I would not have the dreams. I would not have become the person who I am so proud to be. I owe so much to that place I didn‟t want to be, my precious home, I only wish I had realized it before it was gone.

Discussion Questions 1. The author eventually discovers that who she is has been defined by her experiences and her

home. In what ways do you define yourself by your place of dwelling? 2. In thinking about your childhood, can you identify any event that that at the time was awful, but

with retrospect was an important even to you growing up? 3. Can you identify a moment in growing up when you began to feel the disconnect from your

home and family? How did it effect you?

The Eternal Essence of Dwelling

The Breathing Box

About the Author

Michael Finn has been a student for the past two years at Northeast Iowa Community College. Upon Graduating from this college in December 2009 with his Associate in Arts degree, he transferred to the University of Dubuque where he is currently an English major. Originally from Louisville Kentucky, Michael now resides in Dubuque Iowa with his family. His reading and writing preferences include science fiction, animal rights issues, biology, and environmental science. As an ardent vegan of 19 years, he feels passionately about the welfare of animals in his community and the world. Although he hasn‟t graduated yet, his future aspirations include gaining his MA in English and becoming a freelance writer, a journalist, or perhaps a teacher.

Abstract

The breathing box is intended to symbolize the guilt a compassionate heart experiences upon contradicting its moral beliefs. The concept of dwelling is impressed upon my interpretation of home, wilderness, past, future, city, nature, human, and animal. I delve deeply into emotions of sympathy and empathy, and challenge the reader to see life from an inferior animal‟s point of view, in this instance, a mouse. I include other humans perspectives of impatience and disgust, both of which I think plague our society wholeheartedly when concerning the issue of animals seen as pests. The essay is supposed to conjure the sentiments that we are not the only important creations of God, but that all animals were created equal and deserve our respect. It reflects the conflicts within oneself upon being forced to betray this agreement as well. The essay targets my mental and physical dwelling, the dwelling of the mouse, and the difference between city and nature and how they all influence each other.

***

It was in the cold month of December when I realized for the first time what it felt like to kill somebody. It was also the first time I found out that even the heartless can have a heart. Although I never defined myself as evil before this incident, I now reflect upon myself as such. I sit here today guilty of a crime I did commit. My dwelling place consists of the physical and mental senses combined. I do not dwell in one place, but in several places which are extensions of one universal being. The mistakes and successes of my past, present, and future manufacture so much emotion that I dwell everywhere. What ensued on this particular December day was unlike any other I have encountered before. It has changed me spiritually and I see life in a different manner now. Although this December day has become my past, I reflect upon it in the present frequently. It comes creeping up behind me when I least expect it. Coming back to haunt me with memories of the horrible things I had done. As troublesome as it is, I‟ll attempt to tell you the story of how I committed murder, but before you judge me, hear my tale.

December 14th, 2010

As I looked out my front window into the nasty whitened world before me, I shivered in

discomfort at the thought of venturing into it. Throngs of cars filled to the brim with impatience passed my eyes upon the busy street. Their beeping horns and sporadic veering patterns conveyed to me how humanized this area of the universe had become. All forms of past and present to those

erratic beeping machines seemed lost in the alluring word future. I on the other hand did not join the gallantry that morn, for I shamed the reasoning of my departure into the land of dreariness. I was nevertheless obliged.

With hat, coat, sweater, sweatpants, and snow boots on, I prepared to exit the place I dwelled into a dimension of mist upon my body and mind. On my hands I wore the thickest gloves money could buy. The winter knows I‟ve learned from the mistakes of going without them in the past. They coursed over my palms with magnificent thickness, impervious to any frosted breeze the season could possibly implore. As I took my gaze from the window, to my chest, to my hands, I witnessed a small see through box containing breathing holes and a small slanted door with no welcome sign hung above. “I apologize my dearest wild friend,” I heard myself say with hesitancy to the box. “I am sorry for what you have forced me to do.” After a few seconds of deep contemplation, I sighed the deepest sigh ever in existence. By the time the sigh had lived and died, I too had expired my stay at home. Silently uttering goodbye to my dogs who were sleeping on the couch, I exited my quarters into the uncouth world no longer known as nature. In my hands I brought with me, “a living breathing box.”

Immediately after departing the warm embrace of my home, I was greeted by the callous winds of the wild earth. They traveled thousands of miles to greet me, yet I grimaced with its companionship as they blew upon every exposed portion of my skin. I pushed an anguished breath out of my lungs. Hastily I closed the front door to my home, alarming my two dogs. They rose from their slumber. Looking back as I walked down the snow riddled steps of my residence, I saw them watching with tiny repenting eyes at my writhing body which sunk deeper into the careless world. Cradling the small box close to my chest, I felt a heartbeat pulsate from it. I felt hypocritical for betraying the innocence known as the breathing box. Its tenant was a small diminutive creature, but I soon learned that looks can be deceiving, because this small individual did something amazing. It made the inanimate box‟s heart and veins sing and flow with the wonderment of life. I felt a frown and smile exchange their vows as I came upon my car which was shrouded in snow. Tightly I grasped the box in one hand and with the other jumbled around in my pocket for the keys. I unlocked the door and crept inside with swiftness. I sat down in the vehicle with gratitude for being in a familiar place once again, and thought about how my home and my car were merely extensions of one another. Outside was a dimension I was still trying to understand. I set the breathing box beside me in the passenger seat and started the engine. The gnarling and humming voice that followed instantly reminded me of the sense of betrayal I would shortly unleash upon the box. It appalled my heart, and in my soul was an apartment complex for the guilt that would reside there for a lifetime. The shame of killing the breathing box made me cringe in disapproval. After removing the snow from the windshield, I threw the car into drive and proceeded. Within a second I became another nothing amongst the masses of vehicles on the road. I was driving somewhere, but I on the contrary wasn‟t in a hurry. With thoughts of the past, I joined the many living for the future, although my destination was hardly that of a positive note. I must say, however, that the bite of guilt dwelling in my heart had succeeded before the box began breathing. Prior to purchasing the box, my irrational self wandered astray from what my soul describes as human compassion. Once upon a time I had been angry. I had been dreadfully upset and insistent on harming the tenant inside the box, who once upon a time was free. It wasn‟t until I had seen the world though its eyes that I reposed. I had lived and dwelled in its skin and it made me feel such sympathy. Empathy overwhelmed me with brilliant lights of color and glorious sounds and tastes of summer. This was my dilemma in full fold. How could I feel right when I knew I was doing wrong? I felt pity for the creature and the box, for they certainly could not live without one another on such a winter‟s day. Again I sighed, but this time it physically hurt as well as emotionally. I drove

onward musing about past incidences and future ones until I became unaware of my surroundings. Suddenly, in an instant surge, my inhibitions took over after “SLAM!” I swerved and inadvertently hit a large chunk of ice strewn upon the street. I jumped in my seat and to my dismay, the breathing box jumped from its seat as well. The car filled with harrowing squeaks. With the cries I was reminded of how lifeless the box really was and how real the creature inside it is. “I am not a good man,” I thought in deep mulling. I was an assassin. I was an accomplice to murder. I knew this because the squeaking voice had told me so. I heard it with my own two ears. The story it told was not one of survival and perseverance. With eagerness I leaned closely to listen, and somehow in my mind I heard a whispering voice so loudly and clearly scream:

“Don‟t be presumptuous sir, for I came from the woods human. I came from a woodened place so distant and unfamiliar to you no meditation could ever foil the secret. I dodged gnarled teeth. I ran beneath shadows of feather and talon. I scavenged your waste and I fed my young. I tricked your dogs and I burrowed your home mine. Generations of my kind both living and dead have prevailed on this earth without your assistance. Our tale and our tails are of heritance and of strength. I am not afraid of what you will do of me. I have escaped you several times giant being, and I can outsmart you and the woods again.”

With this I recoiled. Had my human emotions bid me presumptuous? Mesmerized, I brought my head back to watching the road and remembered with a smile…“Ah, the day I realized I had mice living in my home was equally a sullen day as today.” I remembered resting in my living room in the silence of evening when suddenly my Cairn Terriers, Shorty and Yogi, jumped from the couch and rushed with vehement baying and bleating into the kitchen. They ran so fast that their claws made them slip and slide upon the tile like a character on a Saturday morning cartoon. “What in God‟s name are you guys doing?” I stupidly exclaimed, as if asking them would suffice an answer. As they continued screaming at the top of their lungs, I too rushed out into the dimly lit room and saw with my own eyes, for the first time, a beautiful mouse residing on my counter. It sat there just as carefree and leisurely as I had seconds previously upon my couch.

Startled, I bounced back and shouted an exclamation of shock and surprise. This seemed to alert the dogs with even more intensity, and they began jumping up at the sides of the cupboards in desperate measure to locate and destroy the invader. Their instinctive minds hollered, “Chase and kill,” while my feelings of awe and sensitivity contrasted completely. Upon sighting me, the tiny grey mouse scurried into the space between the ranges on my gas powered stove. It vanished into the caverns of darkness, but remained somewhere inside my house. I thought about how his mind was probably full of self-satisfaction and complacency for escaping another onslaught against his kind.

The first encounter with the mouse had begun, but it would not be the last. I called some friends and family to tell them the news of my new uninvited houseguest. They met the idea with distaste and suggested I exterminate the pest at once. A glue trap, a snap trap, some poison some suggested, but my heart was not appeased with such a brutish endeavor, for I had seen its glimmering eyes and had heard its hungry stomach growl. After little consideration of their suggestions, I returned to the living room. I sat and pondered in the evening night, not in silence now but of prowling dogs and thoughts of shaggy mice. I felt a sense of responsibility to protect and shelter the mouse from the awful winter. Like a wild pet it was to me. I therefore allowed its life to continue out of unique human compassion. The place I dwell is a place of putting myself second.

This is what led me to my complicated predicament and what ultimately caused me to steal another‟s life. Inside that breathing box was a mouse I had caught. Inside that box was a pair of eyes just like mine, a hungry stomach just like mine, and a yearning for shelter and warmth just like I possessed. That beautiful little life was at my mercy and it brought me much sadness, because I had to dispose of it. I would not kill the animal intentionally, but by releasing it back into the woods I was depraving it of safety and health. I doubted its survival and that made me guilty of its death,

despite the outcome. This reality brought me such grief. After I release the diminutive animal, I shall return home, but it shall no longer have a home to call its own. In any event, I was and still am, responsible for the demise of the breathing box.

As I gingerly drove down the road, a red light stood before me, and for the first time in my life I was glad to be stopped in the path of my journey. Was God telling me to turn around and reconsider the eradication of this animal? I felt an immoral persuasion upon my shoulder, not bittersweet, just plan bitter. Waiting for the light to turn green, I recalled additional memories involving the apprehended bandit.

I recalled the day in which I was more famished than ever, and I had little resources to buy myself something to eat. Although I had already scoured the fridge and cabinets for an alternative, I seemed to find myself there again and again. Finally after some ridiculously long searching, I located some plain bagels that were seemingly hidden from view on top of the refrigerator. Without thinking, I opened the package and devoured an entire bagel, and within a second I had consumed a half of another. It was at that moment when I realized a burrowed hole in the bottom portion of the uneaten ration I held in my hands. My eyes widened like vasodilating arties and I dropped the contaminated bread at once. Quivering, I stared at it in disbelief. With supreme tenacity I inspected it and the remaining bagels in the sack. I nearly vomited from the sight in which my eyes beheld. Tiny bits of mouse excrement lay strewn inside the bowers of the package. Multiple holes in the remaining bagels glared at me as well like a jester smiling wide mouthed at the fool he so easily tricked. At that moment I swear I heard a shrilling high pitched laughter coming from inside the wall. I had befallen a ghastly scam and now in all probability had ingested the inedible; I had eaten the quintessential nightmare of all contaminated food. I in all logic and rationality had eaten more than bread, but bread with raisins in the form of scat that expanded when wet. The thought of this caused me to gag incessantly like a man overdosing on liquor. I immediately ran to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, gargled mouth wash, spit, and of course gagged continually. The war began. My sympathy for the mouse had reached the summit of my tolerance. Retribution was on my mind. This mouse needed to go. The compassion I once harbored was trampled upon, left to lie bloody and foolish in the path behind. I understood for the first time that kindness has limits in certain incidences. A part of nature had been a guest of mine and was making a mockery of my generosity. My dwelling was becoming ruined, both literally and metaphorically. As the thoughts of this fiasco rekindled in my mind, I stared off blankly into the dreary winter sky. I failed to realize the red light before me turn green, which caused the cars behind me to honk with frustration. I was an inconvenience to their future aspirations. “How ironic,” I thought. I had forgotten I was here for a second. How the powers of the mind can take one to another place in time, in spirit, and location. There seemed to be a gigantic difference between home and public. Moreover, there seemed to be an enormous gap between city and nature. The fast paced life style of mass consumption and cheap deals does not stand back to enjoy the scenery. For it did not yield to the delight of my day dreaming on this particular December day, nor did it care I momentarily forgot about the guilt that plagued my soul. I proceeded forward with contempt for the impatient slug behind me. Looking into my rearview mirror, I saw the culprit of my frustrations, a middle-aged woman with the thickest glasses, a disengaged countenance, and hair the color of spaghetti sauce on a brand new white shirt. “That‟s what she is,” I declared. A stain on the pure thought I had been so deeply entrenched upon a second ago. What a selfish human being she was for being constrained to her future alone. Ironically, I thanked her in my own way. She had nonetheless made me forget about killing the box. I remembered how hard it can be to love your enemies, which is a belief that is still paramount to my existence.

As the box and I approached the dilapidated building where I planned to free my wild friend, a menagerie of repenting sentiments swirled within my brain. They caused a headache to come and go without notice or warning. I prepared myself to free the small animal into the frozen unkind world, which meant that I slowly began to slay the breathing box. With devilish eyes as cold as winter night, I looked up the scaling wall of the huge brick building known as H & W. With thoughts of owls, hawks, cats, raccoons, and other predatory animals that may be lurking within the shadowed lots and ominous entryways of the building, I thought about the lonesome mouse and how he must fend for himself against such giants. Those monsters were undoubtedly void of empathy and sympathy like I was. A tear almost shed from my eye, but I remembered my wild friend‟s speech. “He‟ll be fine,” I said, but my wrinkled brow betrayed me.

That day was winter on the last day of summer. Like one must say goodbye to life, I had to say goodbye to the mouse and the box. Our friendship would become a memory of the past, a memory to fathom at red lights and evening nights at home. We drove on, sliding slightly as we turned on the road leading to the woods behind the building. We slid like one does on a fair ride, at peace amongst the tender gentle summer zephyrs. This was our last day of summer in the winter month December. This ride was our final ride together. We were out of tickets, so we had to say farewell . . . This event I would dwell upon occasionally for the rest of my life.

Eventually we pulled behind the large building. I unfastened by seatbelt and picked up the breathing box. I opened the door, but we all three stepped out. The world outside was freezing. With each footstep I created a cracking sound of breaking ice. As I approached the blood colored bricks of the building I could feel the beating heart of the box increase with frequency and intensity. My eyes turned to the sky, looking for predatory birds, but I saw none. I knelt upon the frozen ground and said to the box, “Godspeed little friend.” As I slid off the top compartment of the humane mousetrap, I heard the last breath from the breathing box push out in one huge gust. . . And with that the breathing box was dead, and my soul became tainted with irreparable sin. With sad desperation the small grey mouse lunged from the lifeless box and ran swiftly away. His small tail was high in the air, showing that the creature was obviously saturated with fear. I sat and watched him scramble to the building. When he reached it he found a small crevice and entered it. I would never see him again.

The drive home was uncomfortable to say the least. I wondered what would become of the mouse in the untamed world of nature. Was he already killed by some other hungry creature? The mystery of its life had become as unapparent as the understanding of nature itself, but I would nonetheless dwell on both forever. When I finally returned home, my dogs were enthralled to see me. They acted like I had been gone for years. In a sense I had. I threw their ball and we played until the sun had set. That night as we all three rested, I heard squeaking in the distance again. The dogs ran vehemently into the kitchen like they did before, their claws sliding on the tile like a character on a Saturday morning cartoon. I sat in my chair this time not getting up. . . I didn‟t know what to do. Questions for Discussion

1. How does the author include the perspectives of the mouse into his own? How does this implicate empathy if the mouse was not afraid of being released into the wild again? 2. What feelings or sentiments are conjured by the author about compassion? When is it acceptable to overlook our feelings of empathy and sympathy if ever?

Writing in Response 1. Think of a time you felt conflicted upon doing the right thing even when you knew in your heart it was wrong? How does this situation compare to the scenarios in this story? Make a list of the pros and cons of your situation and determine whether what you did was morally right or morally unsound. How does your situation differ from the author‟s? How did this experience change the way you dwell?

Life’s Journey: To the Eternal Dwelling

About the Author:

Rochelle Greenwood was born in Dubuque, IA on April 17, 1989. She lived most of her life in Dubuque except a brief period when she attended the University of Northern Iowa. Through this experience she learned a lot about herself and life. She is now attending the University of Dubuque and majoring in English- writing concentration and Literature with a minor in Communication. Her passion and drive comes from her family and close friends who are the most important aspect of her life. Although she isn‟t sure yet what she will do after college, she is open to any new experiences.

Abstract:

There is a place that makes me feel safe, free, and lets me take a deep breath and just be myself. For some it‟s a fast-paced sport, for others it‟s the solace of their own bedroom. This place is where I can let my mind run free and allow my heart to be open and unguarded. The crossroads that journeys often yield influence the person I am and what pathways I will continue to trudge my way through. A dwelling is what connects the past, present, and future. It‟s the common thread that gives hope, lets me know I‟m still alive, and is a reminder of the person I was, am, and will always be. For me a dwelling is a feeling; a feeling a place, a person, an environment gives you.

***

There is a place that makes me feel safe, free, and lets me take a deep breath and just be myself. For some it‟s a fast-paced sport, for others it‟s the solace of their own bedroom. This place is where I can let my mind run free and allow my heart to be open and unguarded. The crossroads that journeys often yield influence the person I am and what pathways I will continue to trudge my way through. A dwelling is what connects the past, present, and future. It‟s the common thread that gives hope, lets me know I‟m still alive, and is a reminder of the person I was, am, and will always be. For me a dwelling is a feeling; a feeling a place, a person, an environment gives you. A few years ago the place where I dwelled symbolized hope and encouraged me to dream. Anything that seemed to weigh heavy on my mind would always end with a trip to what I always referred to as my favorite place. I so often went there my family began to know exactly where it I was going when I said I was going to my favorite place. It was so much a part of my life that important gathering such as my graduation took place here. I would drive up a windy black pavement road and park my beat up gold car, walk down a dirt path that usually encouraged a stumble, and would perch myself on a bedding of huge stones in a circle. This was it when I could finally breathe. I was in one state yet could see another connected by a thick strip of brown water. The overwhelming of green combining with the blue of the sky balanced by the tan of the hills seemed completely untouched yet perfect. Yes, there was a wonderful view and it made life seem like it could be perfect even if it were only for a few seconds, but it was the feeling I craved. I was free, I was young, and I had my whole life ahead of me. Everything could be put into perspective and the things that seemed life ending didn‟t seem so bad, there was life beyond my little house, beyond a broken heart, beyond a life that was just not good enough. Anything could be obtained. In high school I had no direction in life. I could get by with good grades doing practically nothing. All I wanted to do was get by, I had no dreams, no aspirations; I merely did what was expected. In many ways I was told what I had to do which did not leave much, if any, room for my own interpretations. What I had to do was very clear, but what I wanted to do was not. This place

let me have my own opinions, my own dreams. I could do anything, it didn‟t matter what was expected, and I could just be myself. As I had more experiences in my life, and my directions and passions changed so did where I chose to dwell. As life keeps going on it reshapes you, but somehow the past, present, and future flow together in a beautiful way. The changing factor between the present and the past is my journey at the University of Northern Iowa. I left everything I knew and everything I was comfortable with. I left my comfort zone, my physical dwelling as well as my mental dwelling. The loss of my dwelling was a loss of focus and killed my spirit. I was left without passion, motivation, and strength. I felt trapped and had never felt such an urgency to leave a place in my life. I was there for one semester and never found that feeling a dwelling created. The only thing that school and town held was a black whole of the reality of life slowly closing in around me. There was no fun, it was merely life. Everything I did there was something I had to do. There was no happiness. I have had moments of this in my life since this time, but the difference is, is that I can leave this depressive place and escape.

My life now seems unrecognizable. I moved from Cedar Falls back to Dubuque and started going to the University of Dubuque. Somehow along the way I ended up in a small town about thirty miles from Dubuque that is made up of mostly farmers. I ended up loving it there. A little outside that town on a short stretch of highway there is a gravel road, the gravel road connects to a lane and down that lane is where I dwell today. I stumbled upon this place by accident. One of my best friend‟s from high school moved to this small town. I went up there one weekend to see her and have been going up there almost every weekend since. It maybe because school and work are out of sight and thirty miles away, but nonetheless this is where I am the happiest; when I am here I am surrounded by green, rolling fields with little hints of purple in the distance. The air is fresh, pure and the only sounds audible are those of animals seemingly having their own conversations about life and love. There is a freeing aspect of nature and a beauty in dwelling among it, it seems like you are part of something bigger, bigger than yourself, your town, your world. It gives me a feeling that there is more to life than work and school. There is a place out there so different from the world I live in, and it‟s an elating feeling. In this dwelling there is an abundance of nature. One of the most freeing things here is riding horses. The feeling of being on such a beautiful, strong animal moving with it as one gives me a mixture of feelings, of anxiousness and excitement. It‟s a feeling of being comfortable, yet not totally in control with a steady rhythm that is reassuring. The air is crisp, fresh yet heavy with heat. My heart is racing, my palms sweating while grasping to the reins as the horse strides ahead with incredible speed. My nerves are balanced with exhilaration as the green hills fly by in a coherent blur. This feeling is what a dwelling is all about, the solace of being only you and this strong animal, yet feeling a part of something bigger, a feeling of being truly alive, and free. A dwelling for me is tangible; it moves, twists, changes and distorts itself. The constant about a dwelling is it‟s peaceful, happy, and most of all hopeful. The change in dwellings seems to mirror the world. The world is constantly changing and it can be unsettling but always knowing there is a special place you dwell gives a sense of hope. The world seems to be a mere stepping stone in the process of life. I believe that the dwellings we have in this life are what make us strong and get us through to our eternal dwelling place. There has always been this place in my mind that is constantly thinking about the future. I wonder about everything from what my skin will look like in 20 years to what my children will be like and the black whole of death. Death was always the ultimate end. In my mind it rang in clear, it‟s when your life is over and there is nothing more. I had always thought death was just as it was before being born, non-existence, nothingness. This all led me to believe the ultimate dwelling was death.

This all came to an end not very long ago. As my grandmother was laying in her hospital bed in an agonizing amount of pain I watched in horror thinking to myself, is this really it. Is this really what you get from living a good life for 84 years? Within a matter of a couple days her appearance changed drastically, she was unrecognizable. She was so restless thrashing back and forth and reaching upward constantly. Then clear as day she rolled on her back, opened her eyes wide looking at the nursing home ceiling, and said, “I want to go up there.” My dad was holding her hand and asked her where she wanted to go. She repeated, “Up there, with dad” (her deceased husband). My dad told her to go up there. She replied, “I don‟t know how to get up there, I‟m trying.” My dad responded that he (her husband) would come and get her. With that she closed her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest began to slow. She drifted away peacefully and no doubts in my mind my grandpa came and got her. I had never believed in a true life after death until this point. It seemed when she was so restless in her last hours was a debate within herself between staying here with us or going to be with so much of her family that she has lost. As soon as she knew it was okay for her to leave us, she became calm and passed away within a matter of minutes. This experience completely changed my perspective on life. This gave a glimpse into a life beyond this one. As I stood there and watched this raw demonstration of life take place there was an uncanny mixture of sadness and happiness that took over my body. It opened my mind and gave me a sense that anything is possible. No matter the circumstances or distance anything is possible. As I have experienced more in my life, loved and lost, I think everything in this world leads up to an eternal dwelling place. I think this is a combination of all the things that we love here on earth. This eternal dwelling place doesn‟t necessarily have to be connected to religion, but just a spiritual place where you are reconnected with all the people you lost and where there is eternal happiness. 2 Corinthians 5 shows this idea of dwelling after death:

“Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.”

Dwelling is what connects this life to the next and one dwelling to the next. There are always ups and downs in life and the promise of better days within this life and within the next gives comfort and hope. A dwelling describes who a person is and what is important in their life. It‟s what gets you through this life, a stepping stone to the future. I relate a dwelling to a past, present, and future ring. Three stones connected together in a beautiful way tying all your life experiences together in a coherent way. Not only does a dwelling connect our lives here on earth together, but this life to the next. It‟s a place in the heart, a place in the mind, a place that‟s all mine, to do with as I choose. It‟s something that no-one can take from you and will be with you in life, and in death.

Questions for Discussion 1. Do you think dwellings can change and how do life experiences affect that?

2. Do you think a dwelling can be both a physical and mental place?

Always Want the Ball

About the Author

Erica Harris was born in Skokie, Illinois on December 29, 1988. Her family currently resides in Mundelein, Illinois and Erica definitely gets much of her inspiration from her little sister Sarah. Erica‟s greatest passions in life are writing, softball, and animals. She has played softball ever since she was eight years old and continues to do so as a varsity player today. She is going for a degree in English with a concentration on writing, as well as a coaching minor so that she can continue to coach travel softball back in her hometown. She also has three dogs and volunteers at the Humane Society where she hopes to make a big difference. Erica hopes to one day be involved in the writing business wherever it may take her, continue to help animals, and affect the lives of younger children when it comes to athletic ability, academic determination, and living life to the fullest.

Abstract

This essay examines dwelling in the context of metaphors and how they affect the human mind. Bell hooks once stated that our bodies can only become sacred to us when the earth is sacred to us, which is a common goal that all individuals strive for. Through metaphors and my love of softball, I have been able to overcome many challenging times in my life and become the person I am today. By dwelling in a physical spot through metaphors I have acquired a unique way of looking at life.

***

“Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game”. Ever since I first started playing softball, I have lived by this quote. The interesting part is that not only is this quote an encouraging phrase towards softball, but it is a metaphor for life as well. The quote states that you should never let something you are afraid of doing hold you back from reaching your dreams. Metaphors are great because they can go in many different directions. A metaphor is defined as, “A figure of speech in which a word or phrase that ordinarily designates one thing is used to designate another”. I feel the idea of metaphors fits perfectly into our topic of dwelling that we have been talking about thus far in class. My favorite definition of dwelling is, “to live or continue in a given condition or state”. By combing metaphors and dwelling within the same idea, I have found my personal place of dwelling. According to Emerson, “Dwelling is a metaphor of the human mind”, which I couldn‟t agree with more. My place of dwelling is a softball field, a place where I was basically born and raised and have continued to thrive even to this day. There is no better place to dwell then one where you can feel comfortable in, grow from, and escape to when you feel the need. I use the metaphors of softball, along with my reality of everyday life, to help me take the next steps in my life that I may be afraid to take. A wise man once stated, “When the earth is sacred to us, our bodies can also be sacred to us” (bell hooks). For me, a softball field is my place of comfort and is sacred to me, and I feel this is one of the reasons why I can feel so comfortable in this spot. By allowing the softball field to feel sacred, I can allow myself to feel sacred as well. Although many people emphasize that dwelling on the past can be a negative thing, without focusing on the past enough to get over it, you can never truly move on. By focusing on the softball field and the game, I am able to overcome many fears and obstacles throughout my life. “We will live for tomorrow and come out tomorrow ready to play”, John Rittman (Sanford Coach). I use this quote when dealing with a loss. Now, the best thing about words is that there are always multiple meanings. In high school, when we lost the “big game”

my junior year, I used this quote as a way of making me stronger for the next game. However, when my best friend died in a car accident my junior year of high school as well, this quote went from relating to softball, to helping me get through one of the toughest times of my life. “What I love about the game is that the game doesn‟t know who is supposed to win”, Sue Enquist (UCLA Coach. I feel this quote deals with the idea that from the moment we are born, we all have an equal opportunity to survive and succeed. Not only does this quote stand true with softball and the equal opportunity to win, but life as well. Looking back on my past and the games lost, the friends who have passed, and how I have changed, I have learned that dwelling on these things through the metaphors I live by has allowed me to appreciate myself more and become a stronger person. What I find interesting today, is I continue to dwell in the same place, because it is my place of comfort and I know it will always be there. “It‟s always about wanting to one-up myself from the day before. There‟s never an absolute 100% perfect performance, but going out and striving for that perfect performance is what keeps me going”, Cat Osterman (Pitcher, Team USA). Where I am in life right now, being in college and trying to find my place in the world is a state of absolute confusion. I‟m pretty sure that every other day I question my motives with my major and everyday activities. The one thing I am sure of though, is that these quotes, or metaphors of life are so important in my life today, such as the one above which stresses achieving self-success. In softball, there is no such thing as perfection. You have to go out there every day fearless, there is no defeat no matter how many mistakes you make. This is the same in life. People say we have to make mistakes in order to know what we want; this couldn‟t be more true. However, just because we make mistakes, does not mean we should ever give up what we are striving for. “Love it, experience it, and when you step on the field just do what you do”, Kirk Walker (Oregon State Coach). This is also a statement on life. Things happen, and instead of dwelling on them forever, take the amount of time you need and get over it. In softball, if you were to go on the field nervous every time, you would achieve nothing. You wouldn‟t be having fun, you would be making errors, and this thing you love would become your worst enemy. It‟s the same as life, if you stress about every little thing, don‟t take the time to have fun, and never learn from your mistakes, then you will look back years later and see everything you missed. I feel this quote helps encourage being your own person. No matter where your place of dwelling is, you have to allow yourself to stand out in the crowd and do things you never thought you could. Metaphors leave open so many options and so does dwelling. “I make my weaknesses my strengths and my strengths stronger”, Lisa Fernandez (Pitcher, Team USA). We learn from our mistakes. Especially today, it is hard to pick up and move on when you make an error that you feel can alter your future. In softball, you may feel that an error can cost you the game, yet there is always something you can do to make the situation better. When my grandpa passed away recently, I felt horrible because I was supposed to go home the weekend before to spend time with my family, but I chose not to. I felt guilt, but to make up for it I spoke at his funeral about all the good times my siblings and I had with him, and it made all the difference because I know he appreciated it. I made a weakness within myself stronger; by taking the steps I needed to take to do so. By dwelling on these situations I have been able to learn and grow and take control of my own life in ways I never thought I could. “Play every softball game like it‟s your last”, anonymous. I feel this quote should be pretty self-explanatory, “Live every day like it‟s your last”. I have learned through the death of my grandpa, best friend, and even losing games, that taking things for granted is something none of us can afford to do. I feel this is where I really currently dwell towards the future. My place of dwelling is preparing me to expand my walls as I grow and this is something I look forward to.

We also have to remember that no matter where we dwell, we are never on our own. “As teammates, we are always there for one another…everyone has everyone‟s back”, Whitney Barrett (infield, University of Nebraska). For those who have ever been let down, here‟s a story in my softball background that reassures me that no matter where I go in life, someone will always have my back. Two teams were playing each other in what appeared to be a championship softball game. Western Oregon was up 1 game to 0 against Central Washington. A player for Western Oregon stepped up to the plate at hit her first homerun ever. However, when she reached the bag, something gave out in her knee and she was unable to continue running. The umpire told her coach that he was allowed to put a substitute runner in for her, but her homerun would be erased. Then, to make matters worse, her team was also not allowed to help her around the bases to get her homerun. At that moment, something magical happened, a girl from Central Washington ran up to the Westerner and along with another player on the Washington team helped the homerun hitter reach every base. Washington had helped Oregon win the game and had shown an act of sportsmanship unlike any other.

Taken by: Blake Wolf Source: ESPN.com Archive Central Washington softball players Liz Wallace (left) and Mallory Holtman carry Western Oregon's Sara Tucholsky around the bases after she blew out her knee after hitting a home run Saturday in Ellensburg, Wash. If this sort of sportsmanship is seen in a competitive sport, who‟s to say it can‟t happen in real life? When my grandpa passed away, I had family there to support me more than ever, and when my best friend passed away I had some of my old friends who I didn‟t even really speak to anymore help me through my time of need. It‟s these memories I dwell on, on the softball field, using softball metaphors, because I can see the beauty and the hope in life through it all. “Go hard every play. You don‟t want to leave anything behind and regret it years down the road that you didn‟t give it all when you could have”, Ashley DeBuhr (pitcher, University of Nebraska). This is the epitome of living life to the fullest with no regrets. “I am now, and will always be me. But when it comes time to step out onto that field, me gets a little more dedicated, a little more serious, and nobody stands in my way”, Caitlin Sumpter (catcher, Kansas). We all need to have fun in life but know when to be serious. Having a good

balance in life is what makes all of us happy in the end. You have to have a determination of the true you in order to succeed. Dwelling is a metaphor of the human mind, for each individual. It represents the physical and mental aspects of a person as he or she grows throughout life. For me, the softball field is my physical place of dwelling, and the softball metaphors are what I dwell on. I live with no regrets and a great outlook for the future and I have my place of escape to thank for that. There is no better place to dwell then one you feel comfortable in, can grow from, and can escape to when you need to. By experiencing each of these factors, you are being true to nature and yourself. It really is as hooks states, once the earth becomes sacred to you, that‟s when you can truly learn to appreciate yourself. Or as stated in softball terms, “Always want the ball”. Discussion Questions 1. We all have some physical place that we can go to where we can get away from reality for a bit. How did

you begin to become so comfortable in your first physical spot of dwelling

2. What experiences can you recall having used metaphors or “life” quotes to help get you through

and what were they?

Writing in Response Create a metaphor that relates to where you are in life right now. Explain how this metaphor can both physically and mentally allow you to better understand yourself and your surroundings.

Music Takes Me There

About The Author

After growing up in Camanche, Iowa; Lindsay Bonnell is now a full-time student at the University of Dubuque in Dubuque, Iowa. Double majoring in English and Communications, it is no secret that Lindsay enjoys writing. Having a collection of over fifty books in her resident hall room, Lindsay also doesn‟t hide her love for reading. Having written stories, and other works before, Lindsay hopes to continue to keep reading and writing a major part of her life.

Abstract

This essay allows the reader to enter the mind of an average student on the University of Dubuque campus. The narrative told through the majority of the essay puts the readers in the shoes of another, and allows them to view music as a way of escape. Rounding out the rest of the essay is a closer look at how music works to achieve a new definition of the word “dwelling”.

***

I‟m in that perfect place. I‟m absorbed in the warmth of the sand surrounding me. I can feel the ocean breeze gently brushing by me. The sun is grinning down on me and warms me with his rays. I can hear the sound of the steady waves slapping against the shore, and then slowly receding back to their home. Nothing can be more perfect than this. Yet the sound of the waves is soon competing for my attention. There‟s a small beeping that seems to be growing louder and louder. It battles with the waves and craves for my attention, but what is it? The beeping grows louder and louder and soon the waves are no match for it. I begin to look around trying to find the source of the noise. It‟s getting stronger by the second, and soon it‟s all I can think about. Suddenly I jolt up in my bed and look around my dorm room. I shoot a knowing glance at the alarm clock next to my bed. Another perfect dream ruined by the real world. Is there a way I can get away from this noise?

Before I know it I‟m sitting in a bare classroom. I can hear the teacher up front, but I‟m not listening. I steal a glance at the other students around the room. In the front of me are those suck-ups that absorb every word the teacher says. You know the ones I mean. I turn slightly glancing towards the back of the room and see a couple girls attempting to hide their cell phones. Are they really that stupid that they don‟t think everybody in the room knows what they‟re doing? How typical. I feel a tap on my right shoulder and I quickly snap back to class. It‟s funny how as soon as you feel a tap on your shoulder you automatically assume it‟s the teacher. I can‟t help but laugh a little when I look to my right and realize the teacher is still oblivious to my thoughts and it was just my best friend that tapped me. She smiles a smile of satisfaction knowing she just sent me through a few seconds of shock. Suddenly I hear those two magical words; the only words that could break me away from my moment with my friend. “Class dismissed”.

Walking out of Blades, I immediately notice all the students passing by on the mainland of campus, the Quad. Okay, so maybe they‟re not just “passing by”, they‟re making a scene. The girls from class have once again reunited with their other clueless friends and are gabbing about the most pointless things. You‟ve also got your typical jock football players who think they‟re pretty close to being the toughest thing on this planet. I continue passing through the Quad and pass several more little cliques. They‟re all so loud and are apparently trying to attract the attention of anybody that passes by. How can I get away from this noise? Minutes later I‟m crossing the street and passing through the parking lot. I no longer hear the giggling and outbursts of random students; now I hear

the roaring of the cars passing by. Horns are honking, tires are screeching and people are yelling as one car almost backs into another. The crossing of this lot may be the only thing that has me on constant look-out today. How can I get away from all this noise?

Tuesday and Wednesday pass by just as Monday did. Another week has started off just as all the others. I follow my daily routine; I follow the same path through the Quad, through the parking lot. As usual, I see all the students running around like they don‟t know up from down, but then I notice him. This guy walks ahead of me, following the same path I also intend to follow. He passes through the Quad keeping his head straight, paying no attention to the scattered cliques. How is he doing that? I can‟t seem to understand. The wind gently blows by and I instinctively pull my arms closer to my body, trying to maintain the warmth. I notice other students doing the same, but the wind doesn‟t seem to affect him at all. He continues to walk his path with his head held high. I quicken my pace to see if I can catch up to this guy and get a better look at his face. The wind continues to blow and I notice the snowflakes beginning to swirl down from above. I draw my arms closer to my body and fasten my pace even more, while still trying to not be so obvious. Seconds later the mystery guy stops and grabs the arm of another student passing him. I watch as Mr. Mysterious bends down and picks up the notebook the student had just dropped. He gently hands it back before continuing on his walk. I notice the shocked expression of the student he had just helped as I also pass them by. As the wind continues to spin in every which way the mystery man‟s hoodie swiftly falls from his head. I stop and watch as he quickly pulls the black hood back over his head and continues on his way through the parking lot. For the first time since I started my little adventure, I noticed something about this guy. He has something that I don‟t; well … besides the obvious. As his hood fell down, Mr. Mysterious revealed to me the massive set of headphones he was wearing. The black headphones big enough that they completely covered his ears, preventing any sound other than the music playing from his iPod, to make it inside his head.

I watch as the guy continues through the parking lot, then seconds later disappears behind a row of cars. I change my course and head into the library. I walk past the students quietly studying and head towards the back of the room. There I slowly pass the rows of books and begin to think about what I had just seen. When I first saw this guy outside of Blades, I had questioned how he was able to tune out all the people. How he was able to ignore the weather and continue on his way with no interference. Thanks to the wind, I now had my answer. I never really thought about it before …but is music really that powerful? Is music truly strong enough that it can put me in my own world and tune out every other outside force? I question these thoughts to myself as I head to the floor above me and continue on with my classes.

As I wake up Friday morning, I once again begin my daily routine. As I take a couple steps out of my dorm room a new thought comes to my mind. I backtrack just a bit and sneak back into my room to grab one last thing. It takes a few minutes of searching, but finally I find my bright blue iPod Nano. I haven‟t used it in a while, but I‟ll just take it and see what happens. I stuff the small blue player into the open pocket of my book bag and continue on to my first class. Once again I see the silly girls in the back of the room, and once again my best friend taps my shoulder just to see me freak out for a second. As the class ends, I immediately jump up and anxiously rush out of Blades to see if I might catch a glimpse of Mr. Mysterious again. I don‟t see him. I continue on to the parking lot and the busy street – still no sign of him. Having reached the door to my building I breathe a deep sigh as I realize I left my book in the classroom. Mentally punching myself in the face, I turn and slowly trudge my way back through the snow towards campus.

The chattiness of the cliques has quieted down more and more as the snow continues to fall, but the annoying conversations still spread over campus. I‟m surprised to see the students still gathered in their groups on the Quad. Apparently that‟s the cool thing to do. After it feels like forever, I reach out and grab the handle to the door of the Blades building and pull it open.

Noticing the giant puddle of water that has formed from the students‟ snowy shoes at the doorway of the building, I make my way to the stairs. Ten seconds later, stupid me somehow didn‟t put two and two together and didn‟t realize that the steps were probably wet from the tracked-in snow too. Instantly I‟m on the ground. I try to laugh at myself as I quickly stand up and make sure nobody just saw that little episode. Luckily nobody is around, and I snatch my bag off the wet floor and head upstairs to my classroom. At I step in the dark room. I see my textbook and hurry towards it. I slow my pace as I step towards the book and I begin to think of what an interesting thing it is to be in a darkened room. It‟s so quiet and peaceful, yet it still has a creepy factor to it. I feel a shiver run down my spine, but I can‟t help but think of it as a comforting thing…

Pushing these thoughts out of my mind I grab my book and immediately leave the room. As I reach the top of the staircase, I‟ve learned my lesson. Holding on to the railing I begin my descent to the main door, with the coldness waiting for me outside. As I step on the bottom step, I notice my blue IPod lying on the ground. Once again I mentally punch myself and quickly pick it up. It must have fallen out of my bag when I made my graceful spill on the slick steps earlier. I hold my IPod in my hand for a moment and remember that this little device is what Mr. Mysterious was using earlier. Now I‟m not stupid. Obviously I know it‟s an IPod and it plays music, but this is the same thing the guy used when I saw him the other day. I turn the music player over in my hand and begin to unwind the headphones wrapped around it. I wonder...

Suddenly the power of rock music fills my ears. The strong lyrics burst forward and in a rush take me to another place. Before I know it, I‟m in the world of the band Fireflight. “I wanna go there, this time I‟m not scared. Now I am unbreakable. It‟s unmistakable. No one can touch me, nothing can stop me.”

These words repeat as the chorus continues sporadically throughout the song titled “Unbreakable”. Moments later I hit the pause button and suddenly figure out that I have not moved from my spot at the bottom of the stairs inside Blades. I realize now that a number other students have passed me and stared at me curiously, wondering to themselves what in the world is wrong with me. I guess I can‟t blame them. For a couple minutes there I was a living statue, frozen by lyrics. The questions I asked myself earlier in the day come flooding back into my mind. Maybe music really is as powerful as Mr. Mysterious led me to believe. I breathe a sigh of relief as I hit the play button on my IPod. I push the doors wide as I step out of Blades and into the cool air. The song “The Hunger” by Fireflight is the new habitant of my mind. The words “you think you know me, but you‟ve changed me into somebody that I don‟t ever want to be again. I‟m letting go now of this burden I‟ve been holding, I‟ve been hurting myself now for way too long” send me back to Fireflight land.

I question these lyrics to myself and before I realize it, I‟m at the door to my building. How in the world did I get here so fast? Just seconds ago I was across campus, and now I‟m here? Did music really just help me escape reality? I can‟t recall noticing the cliques of students, the rush of the wind, or the people passing by me as I made my way back to my building. Maybe Mr. Mysterious is right. Maybe all it takes is just a little music, and then you have control. This is how I can escape the noise. “Class dismissed.” Finally now that classes are done for the week, I head to buy a new, updated version of my music player. Using the money I originally intended to use for a new game system, I eagerly browse the shelves for my new IPod. It doesn‟t take long before I have it in my hands, the slick, black IPod. I make my way down the aisle and pass a glance at the customer a few feet away from me, who is also looking at the new IPods. I can‟t help but smile when I see Mr. Mysterious grinning back at me, with the same new IPod in his hand.

. . .

Though I won‟t reveal if this narration is coming from my imagination or my past experiences at college, I‟ll admit there may be more than just a personal touch. Through this short narrative, I have come to my own understanding of what the word “dwelling” means to me. As a noun, dwelling is defined by the dictionary as “a building or place of shelter to live in; place of residence; abode; home.” However as a verb, dwelling is “to lie or stay as a permanent resident” or “to live or continue in a given condition or state.” Neither of these really seem to fit my image of the word “dwelling”, and who said that you can‟t work to create your own definition of a word? I best use examples as a way to define words, and I use the word “music” to define the word “dwelling.” As the student in the story saw, music has a way of controlling people. Mr. Mysterious had music to help him block out the world around him. Our unnamed narrator doesn‟t grasp that idea of music as an escape until they tried it personally, thus showing that the idea of dwelling is more than just the word. It takes action and personal involvement.

Working more with the word “dwell” itself, one has to understand that it is in his/her own control whether they achieve a dwelling place or not. I believe dwelling is more about a place you go to mentally, versus a place you go to physically. A physical dwelling place exists for many, I‟m sure, but I also believe you can‟t have some physical dwelling location, without some sort of dwelling mentality about that place. As our narrator told us, sometimes dwelling is a place for escape. It‟s a place to get away from the real world, and almost create one of your own. It may be harder for some more than others to create this world, but the path to this world all starts in the same place for everyone: our head. In the story we see our protagonist yearning for a way to escape the noise of the real world. Living day by day with the same distractions, it isn‟t until Mr. Mysterious shows up that our narrator begins to question the power of music. With the constant nudge in mind, it takes a day or so, but eventually the narrator tests out the forgotten IPod.

I think it‟s important here to highlight that the idea of music and dwelling combining into one wasn‟t the narrator‟s idea. There was another force that demonstrated the power that music held; we know him as Mr. Mysterious. When it comes to picking a “place” to dwell, there‟s nothing wrong with having a little help. This is how we as humans learn for the majority of the way in our world today- through the help of others. On the contrary, I find that a place of dwelling is a personal thing, and though the sources of a dwelling location may be the same for many, the meanings are most likely completely different. For our narrator, the intentional use of music as a dwelling place was to escape the factors of the real world. Unfortunately what we never find out is if that attitude changed after the music was experienced personally by our hero. I believe music is used by many people as an escape, and this narrative is just a description of one use of music.

Our narrator tells how they were whisked away to a new world as soon as the rock music flooded their head. The power of the music, the strength of the lyrics gives confidence to our hero; enough so that a new IPod needs to be bought. This leads to my last point about music as a dwelling place. I believe we not only work on our dwelling place, but that our dwelling also works on us. Say by chance the first song heard by our narrator was a sad song, rather than a rock out song. That same strength and power may not have been there. With music specifically, I think it can be a tricky thing using it as a dwelling for this exact reason. Sometimes we can‟t help what song plays on our IPod next and that one song that happens to play could change our attitude completely. For example, there could be a song that was dedicated to a friend that passed away last year. This would more than likely put anybody in a semi-depressed mood almost immediately. On the contrary, you may here a song that reminds you of a fun experience you had with a friend. Again, that mood could be changed immediately. This is why music is such a powerful thing in my eyes. The uses for it are limitless, yet strong. Music works on us, just as much as we do on it.

So how do these ideas work together to form one definition of “dwelling” for me? Focusing on the idea of the statement previously made, “music works on us, just as much as we do on it:” I

believe dwelling is a place we go mentally, that allows us an escape from the real world. This escape could be slightly changed among different people, yet I believe it holds true for all. The idea of dwelling among music lovers varies from person to person, just as much as the definition of the word “dwelling” varies from writer to writer. Questions for Discussion 1. Our narrator needed a little help from Mr. Mysterious to understand how to achieve a sense of dwelling through music. To achieve an understanding of “dwelling”, in most cases, is it typical to have an influence? What are some possible influences? 2. What other sources are there that can lead to a sense of “mental” dwelling, other than music 3. We see Mr. Mysterious stop and help a student he passes on his walk through campus. Apparently this kind gesture completely shocks the student. Once we‟re in a place of dwelling, how much do our attitudes change, if at all? Do we do things that we usually wouldn‟t, such as helping a stranger? 4. Darkness and the color black have played a role in this narrative. What might that significance be?

A Fishing Story

About the Author

Aaron J. Matthews is a student the University of Dubuque and is majoring in Secondary English Education.

Abstract

This essay explores what dwelling means to me on a personal level. The title is simple, “A Fishing Story,” but to those familiar with them, there is so much richness and complexity that exists beyond these simple words. They are a time of growth, adventure, and experience mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I would not be the person I am without my dwelling on my fishing experiences. My dwelling in nature is such a defining attribute of my identity, I would cease to be who I am without it.

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It creeps up on me when I least suspect it. I can be cooking a meal for the family and it can call out to me as a ghost from beyond the grave, or the reincarnation of a fond memory. A familiar smell can trigger the spark that brings back the tranquil memory of that specific place, a place that is sacred. It is more than just a physical place; it transcends the concrete and becomes abstract; it becomes more than just a wooded stream. I will not divulge the exact location of the stream, for it doesn‟t matter. First off, chances are you have never heard of this place. Secondly, it doesn‟t matter that the exact place of my dwelling is known, for we all dwell in what we call nature, or our own places of escapism. Third, as a fisherman, we never reveal the locations of our favorite places. Fishermen are a selfish bunch. We want to catch not only the largest fish, but the most fish in the stream at any given time. We each have our own place that we go to. It is mine, and you cannot have it. But I will describe it and take you to this place so you can approach it mentally, but not physically. It is my dwelling. I am a dweller. Dwelling can be viewed by many different definitions. Although it seems a little redundant to dwell upon dwelling about a dwelling, it is a fond redundancy. The action of having these images, emotions, thoughts transcend over your mind is like the soothing, constant, massaging flow of the stream itself. Merriam Webster‟s Online Dictionary contains three main definitions of dwelling that examine the different aspects of what dwelling means to me. 1: To remain for a time. The creek is a place of pilgrimage that I travel to from one to four times a year. 2: To live as a resident. My father who knew this place as his home long before my time, brought me here and has shown me more than he will ever realize. It is our real home, our place in Dubuque is just a temporary residence. 3: To Speak or write intensely upon. I am a writer. Whether I speak directly upon it or not, my writing has been affected by my connection to nature, and this creek acts as the epiphany of my communion with nature. Although the dictionary brings a solid definition, it does not fit so perfectly where I dwell. When I dwell on any subject in life I find it important that I take any experience in life, good or bad, and I learn something from it. If I don‟t learn something new from the experience, especially if the experience is bad, the moment was fruitless and a wasted portion of an already short life. A visit to this stream is more than just a fond walk in the woods. It is healing, rejuvenating. I have a saying: I don‟t go to church, I go camping. Just as it is to visit a church or take a pilgrimage to a holy land, this stream is where the sins of the civilized world are forgiven, where no wrong can

be committed. This stream is where I find my place of spiritual guidance and relief. The troubles of my life disappear somewhere walking along that grass road kept clear of debris for the stock truck to fill the streams with fish. As I walk down this path that seems to be made especially for me, my financial debt, my troublesome woes at the unforgiving hands of whatever woman is dominating the space of my mind at the time, the strains of friendship forgotten, and all other stresses of life are put on pause. They are taken somewhere where they cannot be heard as if the birds mute them, and they are bleached and paled with light as the sun‟s rays that pierce through the canopy as I walk in God‟s grace trying to catch a fish possibly for dinner, or just the sheer sport of it. The place is not one of worries or cares, for it seems as if no evil can touch the place. What once was the Devil‟s church has been reclaimed by man and entitled as a place of Holiness. We have taken it back and proven it is where God‟s beauty shines. Nature is man‟s church for God, it is where we can have conversations with God, not the man made infrastructures of the city that traps their words. In nature man‟s praises of God are left free to fly to him like the notes of the song the bird sings. Does it not make sense that God can be found in his own creations rather than man‟s? In every part of nature God speaks through because it is perfect. In man‟s world, things are flawed, needing repaired, they leave the world in worse condition than what it was. When my Dad and I are talking around the house a stranger might find it strange to hear about us discussing about a possible trip home as soon as we are able. I live throughout my life and sleep under the roof of my home in Dubuque. I thrive, I breathe, I live in every sense of the word a place much farther away. There are two adjoining streams that run into each other. Both have stretches of fresh, spring fed water miles long filled with bountiful fishing. It is not uncommon to see over ten, twenty, thirty trout huddled together in the crystal clear water eyeing your worm or spinner that tauntingly rides the current towards them. The stream has a variety of trout havens from long, deep pools, turbulent runways, narrow, shallow, grass filled runs, wide, circular pools with that rock where if you are lucky a glimpse of a trophy size fish might be held, and if you are blessed, that fish will take whatever you are throwing at it. The stream is surrounded by trees. Each individual tree having individual character, each of them accenting the surrounding of the stream bank, some even make the stream. A tree fallen in a deep hole can create a false sense of security for trout against predators, but against an agile angler, the scenery is as enthralling as the catchable fish. There is just something mystical, something heavenly about racing the first sunlight to the streamside, being equipped for a full mornings fishing journey. Every part about, no matter how small is mesmerizing. It starts with the smoke of the smoldering fire from last night washing over you as you stir the coals and add more wood to the fire so that when you return there will be a fresh set of coals to cook a hearty breakfast. Then the grabbing of the pole from the vehicle and putting on the tackle vest to walk down the grassy stock road while dew soaks your shoes to the socks before you get to the stream. The crisp, morning, country air has its own unique, unrepeatable scent and taste that is more than enough to satisfy the soul until breakfast. The people say that the outdoors are quiet, I say they do not listen. The morning is loud, not in resemblance the obnoxious city life, but in a beautiful symphony. The birds that chirp act as the flutes, the constant sound of the stream are the auxiliary percussion, the woodpecker hammers on the drum tree, crickets play their violas, and the animals and trees fill in the rest of the instruments depending on the encounter. If one is lucky enough to get to the stream early enough, the symphony is accompanied by a mist that hovers over the water, adding eerie dream like imagery to make the moment even more beautiful. This is the place where I can say I truly live in every sense of the word.

Above all of the times I have gone fishing I will always vividly remember one weekend. Even though the best times are usually when the three mile stretch of stream is left for just my father and I, the best time happened when it was rather crowded. Even though it was over-run by the plague of bucket fisherman who catch recklessly keeping all their bounty, and the best holes had

to be fought for, we are Kings, and we rule that land. Not only were the number of fish that we caught in great number, but the largest fish I would ever see caught were made by the two of us. The hole was only accessible by parking on the side of the road. Most places had a large gravel circle that was used for camping or parking, sometimes both. This place had only the side of the road to park at, but the fact that a stock truck went down the long path that spanned two football fields was apparent. Spots were hard to find, and this one had not been touched in a long time. Most people, even the locals would go somewhere else, somewhere more familiar, somewhere more accessible with a shorter walk. We had a few options too, but something about that long grassy path with those distinct truck markings seemed to call to us and lure us as if a rope were tied to us and pulled us along the path. We parked the van and did the usual preparation. We opened the back of the white painters van and grabbed the gear. The shoes were taken off and the waders were added, the fishing vests that contains all of the tackle was donned, the collapsible poles were put strait. We were ready. We closed the door and walked around the iron gate that blocked the road. As we walked down the path, each of us following the tire and studying the grass bent with eyes to see how recent the truck had been here. It was clear that we were the first people that were to walk this path since the truck had been here. This was a gold-mine for fishermen. It was clear that fish would be here, hungry, undisturbed. Our trout fisherman instincts were strong and our intuition knew that if we followed the road we would come up on the hole the wrong way. We saw that how along the valley side there was a steep incline where the trees were spaced in the right way, and the pool had rock sediment making a good hole. We took our course of the path to the left and walked through the field that by summer would be filled with weeds higher than our heads, at the time it barely reached our knees. Patches of green came through the tan, yellow, dead foliage from winter‟s deathly grip now restrained. It was late in the month of April. Just as the snow had recently left, it would not be long before the grass grew to the knees, and by June it would be at shoulder height. We finally saw the stream, but kept our distance waiting to approach it the correct manner. Approaching a stream correctly means a lot more than just a few tasks. The stream flow was running from right to left so we crossed towards the stream much like we cut across the field. We then looked upstream and surveyed the possible fishing area. Before me was a funnel like mouth to a pool with a large rock that was perfect for a deep hole that would hold large fish. The clear water must be scouted for fish in groups and numbers to ensure that one does not spook it. If a fish sees you, or notices your presence, the game is over and you might as well go somewhere else. All of these precautions are to be taken not one at a time, but almost all at once. This is just a portion of why trout fishing is much superior to sitting in a boat drinking beer, it takes skill. This is where it happened. Whether your follow life from a deterministic perspective of follow the idea of team free will, the actions that led to what was about as uncanny as winning the lottery. Upon coming up to the hole my dad, who has a keener eye for spotting trout in the water, spotted some larger fish. His instincts knew there was at least one large fish in the pool, what we didn‟t know was that there were even more. My dad knew that fish that big linger on the bottom and rarely go for spinners, if we were to catch the big ones we needed worms. I had only a few left in my container and there were over two dozen left in the car. My brain racked for a million reasons for not going back to the van, but my dad already knew he was going to be the unfortunate one to travel all the way back to the car to get the worms. Everything happens for a reason. I sat there with a worm waiting for the next fish to come, half contemplating switching to a spinner until I noticed the line that extended from the end of my line to the water move. The current will naturally make it move, along with wind variations, in any direction. What makes the movement uniquely a trout biting at the end of the line is the snake like way it moves. The thin, transparent monofilament line comes alive and slyly slithers across the top of the water. I reeled slowly,

patiently, cautiously. If I go too fast and the fish notices and strange movements, it will get weary and take a second thought. If I set the hook too early I would pull it right out of the mouth and only if the fish was extremely hungry would it even think about going. I cautiously reeled in more and watched the line straighten and felt the slight pull at the end. I pulled straight up and hooked the fish. I pulled it in to find the treasure of a brook trout. The brook trout are my favorite trout. They were the only native trout to Iowa, and are the most majestic and beautiful. They fight unique to any other fish. They do not rise and jump out of the water, they do not run like brown trout, they thrash and pull along the bottom of the stream. I fought the fish, as the fish fought me and I pulled it to shore. I grabbed my pliers, paused to admire the beauty of the fish, the white accents along the fins, the brown color, with yellow spots along the body. It was a beautiful creature. I unhooked the fish and let it go back among its friends. By the time my dad returned I had released the beautiful fish. My dad specializes in spinner fishing, I specialize in worm fishing, and when the bites became too far and few between for my dad to keep his patience here he tried, for the kicks of it a spinner that he had not tried in a while. Of all the events to unfold, the worms left in the vehicle, my catching the fish, the spinner that he chose, the time he chose to change the way the cast hit the water, the time he let it sink before he retrieved, all led up to the moment. That one, fateful cast. I was too busy preoccupied of the frenzy that the spinner brought out of the fish to be paying attention to know what was happening. Just like any other cast my dad had some followers immediately, but then it changed. They scattered as the behemoth came out of hiding. The spinner acted as an annoyance, a threat to their territory, and it would not have it. Jaws himself might as well have swooped past that spinner startling my dad to the point he stopped for a split second in shock of the size of the fish that narrowly missed the spinner, he continued to reel just for bringing it back for another throw, but then the fish turned around and swam with a vigor of a raging bull towards the spinner with its mouth agape, ready to fall into the trap. It was hooked, but the fight and just begun. It was the equivalent of two Kodiak bears thrashing against each other. The great fisherman and the great fish matching their wits and bronze against each other. If my dad allowed the fish to rise and thrash in the air it would be easier for the hook to be dislodged and the mystical beast would be set free. If he would keep the line too tight the line may snap or the hook may be pulled out of the mouth. The fish must be allowed to run where it wants to but no more than the fisherman would allow it. The great ran across the pool scattering the fish in its way. Like a bull fight, the beast grew tired and my dad slowly brought the fish to shore. It was like seeing a dinosaur. My dad had filled my head for years full of adventures of finding large fish with his friends in the seventies and having them go to great lengths to catch them. Sitting at pools for hours only to have another friend come up and catch it in five minutes, hooking the fish, loosing it and then going in the water after it and actually successfully pulling it out of the water onto shore. The trout program was much better funded then, and less fishermen were there to catch and keep. I thought that the days of the giants were over, that even though they still stocked brooders, I would never be able to come across one in my life. It was seeing a creature that was rare, I was looking upon sasquatch of fish. It was a colossal rainbow trout. The normal trout spans ten inches. This trout was almost three feet long! It had a long, bulky belly. The red stripe along the center of the fish shone through the brown, gray, and black speckles along the side of the fish‟s body. It was a was a powerful creature and we had the gift of seeing it. The fish even had a long gash along the side that was beginning to heal along the right side of the back. Whether it was the wound from the scrapes against the concrete in the hatchery it grew up in, or the warning notice of being an unwelcome trespasser among a hole full of large browns was unclear, but it wore the scar like a wounded soldier, proud and strong. With all the grace in the world, my dad and I awed at the beauty of the fish, took a few pictures and I slowly waded in the water and let the fish go. I

wanted to keep that fish more than anything, but it was my dad‟s catch and he wanted to let it go. It staggered for a moment, but then regained its strength as oxygen was once again allowed to pass through its gills. It picked up strength and swam to the bottom of the hole hiding under the rock in order to regain strength and to come out in the open to defend itself against predators once again. The next few days were almost like Groundhog Day and I was Bill Murray. We woke up, found that most of the fishing holes have been invaded by bucket fisherman so we remembered the hole that we had caught the mammoth at. There were plenty of other fish in that hole, even if the large on was not going to bite. The possibility of such a large fishing being yanked from the very world that they knew would spook them for quite a while, but the urge to go back was far too great to listen to reason. So each day we returned, and each day my dad caught yet another fish of large size. The next two days he caught two beautiful German Brown Trout. These trout are particularly beautiful. The brown siding pales to a tan color as it turns white upon the belly. The sides are speckled with spots of red, brown and black as if God took a paintbrush to each fish and painted each one personally. They were smaller than the rainbow but easily spanned over two feet. Although it was a great spectacle to see my father catch three large, beautiful fish it was frustrating as well. A man who has caught this glory in the past already was receiving it again thrice fold where I would suffer the ever present possibility that I would never in my entire life catch a fish as large as this in my entire lifetime where my dad caught three. The rarity of this stream holding this many large fish, let alone this hole was an uncommon, rare unique even that may never happen again, or if it does humanity may not have the grace of stumbling upon it. I was disenchanted and near the end of the trip I was feeling as though it was more torture than pleasure. The packing of the camp at the end of the trip was a crude reminder of the potential happiness that I could have achieved flaunted in front of my face. I don‟t think I have ever packed a tighter sleeping bag since. Feeling my frustrations, my thought we should try one more time. We knew nowhere else to go but to return to that hole. Three large fish had been caught and released there. It was unlikely that they would bite, but we knew exactly where there was a large number. I was doubtful, but determined. We approached the hole around ten o‟clock. It was the last window for catching fish with worms, around noon it would die out and spinners would be the lure of choice, but we would not be there that long. I don‟t know if it was my first cast, but it was definitely the only one that I remember that day. About twenty feet upstream from me the current ran strong on the opposite side of the bank with a depth of about one foot. There were strange swirling motions along the current, the sign of a fish moving in the water. Just at the point where the narrow running water began to flow into the mouth of the deep hole. There was a lingering doubt in my mind that this would all be a waste, that I would leave empty handed. Nonetheless, I could never turn down an opportunity to catch a trout, no matter the size. I opened the bail of the real and my index finger gingerly hung on to the line. With the extension of the forearm and the flick of the wrist I sent the large, juicy worm hurling through the air. My arm held steady in the release position as not to throw the worms trajectory off course. It landed about five feet into the narrow rapids. I closed the bail and let the worm take its natural course. It was as perfect of a cast that could be made, but I could easily screw everything up. I have a saying, put it in and forget it. This is important for the natural presentation of the worm. I waited, for a long time letting the worm sit there. My dad was growing impatient and wanted to leave shortly. Then I saw it. Just as I was about to reel in the line for one final cast, I saw it. There was a flash in the water of a fish turning sideways with something stuck in its mouth. There was so much slack for me just putting it in and forgetting it that I did not realize there was a bite. I reeled in the line and tightened just at the perfect time to set the hook on the side of its jaw. Then the fight began. As God wrestled with Job, I fought this fish. My heart was racing. It was a large brooder, just as large as the ones my father had caught the previous two days. I was nervous that God would

tempt me with this treat and then the hook would pop out at any moment and let the fish free. It was mine. The fish that was flailing around in the pool was scaring fish in every direction. We wrestled until the fish finally lost its strength and I brought the beautiful creature to shore. I held the fish gingerly in my hands in awe of the gift that I had received. I had finally become a part of my Dad‟s stories of the greats who have caught brooders. It was like earning your way into a hall of fame, becoming that of a secret society that was of the elite. Then came the choice. I could let this fish go, and run free. Or I could claim this as my prize and prove to the world, I caught this. Trout makes a very delicious meal, and a brown trout, the size of this, that have lived off natural food for so long would be better than any salmon ordered in a restaurant. I chose to keep that fish and for that I have regretted it ever since. But because of that I have learned from my mistake. I know now that such a great thing isn‟t meant to be kept. It‟s meant to be shared. Some other fisherman may have come along and every one of those fish could have been caught and kept by now. Someone else would have been given that opportunity to decide, to keep it, or let it go. I murdered that fish, but it wasn‟t without waste. Good came from the bad and I now know that if I am ever lucky enough to catch a large fish I will let it go. Just as I have learned this in nature, I have learned many other lessons imperative to life through my communion with the natural world. At this point I hope that you can see what it means to say I am a dweller. It should be said proudly with vigor. Any word that describes my unyielding love for how at peace I am among the trees and a stream is fruitless to fully attest to the true meaning. It is as Mark Twain said, “The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug. “ The words cannot perfectly describe, it is a feeling that must be experienced by the self. It is a feeling that not nearly enough people can enjoy, for this world is detached from nature. Through the tough economic times, the questionable endeavors of the government overseas and at home, this generation of America is another lost generation much like after WWI. It s a confused generation that does not know what to believe in, but I am found, and I believe in nature. Questions for Discussion 1. Do you think that Aaron had a right to keep the fish? Explain why his actions were justified or not. 2. How do you feel about his last comments about this generation being lost? If so do you think nature is an adequate answer? Writing in Response 1. Through the passage we are told a specific story with nature that was rich with a lesson learned in nature.

If you have a specific place that acts as an important part in your life, what are some important lessons you

have derived from your experience there? Write your own specific tale that you have applied to a lesson in

life.