Drifting off

I'm up writing a paper on Iron Smelting during the Renaissance. This history of science and technology class is a lot more technical than I expected. I guess, it makes sense that in order to understand the history you have to understand the technology, Duh. I am working on a paper about Moby Dick. I was really apprehensive about this book but I am really enjoying it. Melville was totally brilliant. I love my American Renaissance class. French is a pleasure to learn. It feels good when I say the words and I love to read things in French. I read to my kids from the Book of Mormon in French occasionally. Its cool. Creative writing is going well. My workshop for my story was really positive and I got a lot of helpful feedback (from my dear friends who read it too, thank you). Russian Literature is...fascinating. I love the class. I love the lit. It is really human and sorrowful but with satire and humor. I'm amazed at the Russians in general too. Their society in the 19th century was somewhat static and it was a challenge to effect any changes. I'm reading about Oblomovism this week. It makes so much sense to me. Dostoevsky is my favorite though (from this period). Here is one of the best quotes from Notes From Underground:

"Suffering, for example, is inadmissible in vaudevilles, I know that. In a crystal palace it is even unthinkable: suffering is doubt, it is negation, and what good is a crystal palace in which one can have doubts? And yet I'm certain that man will never renounce real suffering, that is, destruction and chaos. Suffering--why, this is the sole cause of consciousness. Though I did declare at the beginning that consciousness, in my opinion, is man's greatest misfortune, still I know that man loves it and will not exchange it for any satisfactions. "

He's making a case that man creates suffering so as to not be bored. I don't know if I would go that far. But I will close this post with what I thought about it in about the 10th grade.

Eternity

The inexplicable triumphant end is waiting,
Beckoning me and yet
I have no desire to return from whence I came
I am content in my present state
For it is the rock upon which salvation is built
Mortal existence in its human form,
Exquisite and unique
I am here for a divine purpose
And for that purpose is eternity
Yet I would rather stay mortal
Strife, my good friend, has meaning in this life
And none in the next.
If I am to leave him
I shall have no challenge
Or great purpose to conquer him
What shall there be but a dull bliss
Then what is life for;
We shall only return complete and yet not whole.
For imperfect we are ourselves
Perfect, we are reformed with no eternal goal.

It isn't the best poem that I have ever written but it really expresses how much I love being alive. And while it would be true that I have created trauma and suffering in order to keep things interesting, I have an immense well of joy that lives with me. As a more mature person, I realize now that that joy isn't even close to full. I cannot fathom what it will feel like to have an immortal body that can realize the full impact of that feeling. It makes me giddy to think about it.