The House That Built Me

The House That Built Me

I know they say you cant go home again.
I just had to come back one last time.
Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.
But these handprints on the front steps are mine.
And up those stairs, in that little back bedroom
is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.
And I bet you didn't know under that live oak
my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years.
From 'Better Homes and Garden' magazines.
Plans were drawn, concrete poured,
and nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama's dream.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can.
I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQYNM6SjD_o

Cloudy days, like today make me feel ... the word escapes me. It's not exactly "homesick" but in a way it is "homesick" for a certain time in my life. This song strikes that particular note. It's appropriate for today's mood.

Miranda Lambert - The House That Built Me

Different people

We are different people, so to speak, depending on who we surround ourselves with.  I believe that it is unavoidable and has been bred into us. Humans are like chameleons, in the fact that we want to blend into our surroundings, to not stand out, and to appear to be part of the natural environment. It is an unfortunate reality that stems as far back in human history as the first tribes or otherwise described groups of people (whatever you may choose to call it). It was originally a necessity to group together for the sake of surviving or at least evening the odds of man vs. wild by a bit. Now, it is so much a part of how we react to each other within our cultures, that many people are completely unaware of the often subtle differences in demeanor that they exhibit in varying circumstances.

I believe that we all tend to display this course by degrees but, that we do all, indeed display it. Many will dispute this by saying that he or she is not influenced by others, as if that person, very nearly alone, is immune to the psychological effects of society. I imagine that some people may truly believe this objection to be true. That only tells me that he/she is likely more unaware of his/her social status than others. In times past, the odd man out, so to speak, often fell prey to something higher up the chain. To group with similar beings is an instinctual response to not be noticed or ‘picked out’. Like most other characteristics of far earlier man, these instincts have evolved in varying manners to suite today’s more superficial needs.

What was once a necessity is now merely a social stigma. People often justify the action of taking on another person's traits or likeness by comparing it to the need within the food chain. It is not uncommon to hear someone speak of survival of the fittest or to use the phrase kill or be killed in reference to merely social situations where neither of those circumstances actually apply. A parallel is drawn between the natural world order and the social hierarchy of modern times.  Two things are apparently clear to me: One is that there is no need to justify what we all instinctively do; Also those that feel the need to justify themselves in this behavior may suffer the feeling that they are lower down the ranking than they wish to be.  

I don’t attempt to suggest that this “mirroring” of sorts is a sign of weakness, nor do I wish to endorse the belief that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I am of the opinion that most flattery is unwillingly given and over eagerly taken. I am intrigued by the fact that we as people have so very many mannerisms that go unnoticed in ourselves or undetected in others.

… … …

Perhaps I will finish this thought another day. For now, I’m drawn away from it by another thought… Some other being must find it interesting to watch human beings interact. Are we as fascinating as I think we are or are we only fascinating to ourselves?  

Nineteen is Wiser than Sixteen

I remember when we met. I wanted nothing more than to be your desire.  I usually got what I wanted. It wasn’t hard to play the puppet master. I flirted and you followed. It was a game of hide and seek or a poorly performed dance. It was fun for a while, just carefree fun.

It didn’t take long for me to get bored with you. Most sixteen year old girls get bored easily; I was no different than most. I had won you and moved on to my next conquest (the bigger and better so to speak). Never being one to like it when someone else used my old toys, I just kept you in my pocket for a while to see what might happen. Perhaps, I’d like to play with you again on a rainy day.

I was careless and indiscreet, so obviously, in a small town like ours, it didn’t take long for you to unearth my little secret.  You were always so proud. I never understood what you had to be so proud of. Pride is a dangerous thing. That dirty little word can really cost you sometimes. With your pride in tow, you turned your back on me.

Young girls like me, girls who think they are a woman, also have pride. I had too much pride to be snubbed by someone like you, someone I felt sure was beneath me. So, the dance began again and this time I had a challenge because you were apprehensive. Still, the fight was minimal. I won round two.

If you had been able to simply forgive and forget, the game probably would have ended then and there or shortly thereafter with me simply losing interest and moving on. You became obsessed and obsession among teenagers spreads like mono at the prom. You were controlling and jealous. The game was getting twisted and I lost the upper hand. I felt sorry for you. I felt remorse, not because I really cared but, because no one else seemed to care for you either.

Love-struck boys can be every bit as manipulative as us girls are made out to be and in some cases even more (no one expects it from you). Somehow, you learned to make things about you. You picked fights and acted out to get my attention, like a child desperate for mothering. It was the old play seen over and over again by elementary school teachers worldwide, ‘any attention is better than no attention’, written and directed by none other than you. I’ve always thought of myself as an intelligent person but I must confess that looking back on it now, I feel very stupid. I fell for it, and my common sense walked right off stage left.

Things would from time to time calm down and seem “normal” or normal enough at any rate. Just when I would catch a glimmer of the real you, who was pulling my strings, you would cause a distraction. There is any number of ways to start an argument with me and I believe you used them all. I was never able to walk away. God only knows the true extent of my temper and be thankful that you do not. I do not like to lose a fight; it’s not something I do often. We fought so frequently that looking back on those days, it’s hard to tell where one argument ended and another began. It feels like those years of my life where a constant string of battles. After each battle there was of course that brief period of (not contentment but…) satisfaction. The satisfaction was of course because in my own mind I always won the fight. In my mind the fight was never really about the topic of discussion. In the end, it always came down to not losing control. That is what our ‘relationship’ was really about; who was in control. You would attempt to take it and I would fight to maintain it. I didn’t have an opportunity to get bored with you again for a very long time.

We spent quite some time together. I use that term together loosely. For every step I took forward, you took two or three back and we spun each other around and around like the world spun on us and not its own axis! The details are irrelevant and frankly at this point in my life, boring. The outcome, however, has become the highlight of my life. Circumstances presented themselves, that allowed me to escape. I was out of town, out of the picture, and out of your control. Fate just so happened to put us in the right place in the right time with just the right argument to release me from my confining sympathies and I took my chance.

I was older by then. I was only nineteen but nineteen is wiser than sixteen just as 25 is wiser than 21. I was less interested in playing the game than I had been before. Although, I can’t say that any woman is without the desire to be desired or the desire to know it, and so, a newer more subtle dance began with someone else. It’s time had much more rhythm. When we spun the world around, this time it was with laughter and happiness, not anger and fire. All of the passion was there with my new dance partner without the tug of war to keep me engaged.

It has been ten years now. Since you and I played our last match. I have stayed away. I have no reason to revisit those days. I am happier now than I ever could have dreamed I would be. I do however, have some curiosities. Our little town holds many people who still pass on bits and pieces of news of you when they arise. I’m still sorry for you, more than I ever was, really, not in the same way that I was. I don’t feel sympathy for you because no one cares for you but because you don’t care for yourself. You still seem just as proud but now I am sure you have no reason to be. I could list all of the ways that I feel my little life is superior to yours. At one time I might have just for the sensation of having won one more score against you. But I won’t. It wouldn’t be right; I’ve already won in ways you cannot imagine.

ODE – Arthur O’Shaughnessy

We are the music makers,
    And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
    And sitting by desolate streams; --
World-losers and world-forsakers,
    On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
    Of the world for ever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
    And out of a fabulous story
    We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
    Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
    Can trample a kingdom down.

We, in the ages lying,
    In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
    And Babel itself in our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
    To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
    Or one that is coming to birth.

A breath of our inspiration
Is the life of each generation;
    A wondrous thing of our dreaming
    Unearthly, impossible seeming --
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
    Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
    And their work in the world be done.

They had no vision amazing
Of the goodly house they are raising;
    They had no divine foreshowing
    Of the land to which they are going:
But on one man's soul it hath broken,
    A light that doth not depart;
And his look, or a word he hath spoken,
    Wrought flame in another man's heart.

And therefore to-day is thrilling
With a past day's late fulfilling;
    And the multitudes are enlisted
    In the faith that their fathers resisted,
And, scorning the dream of to-morrow,
    Are bringing to pass, as they may,
In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
    The dream that was scorned yesterday.

But we, with our dreaming and singing,
    Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
    Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing:
    O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
    A little apart from ye.

For we are afar with the dawning
    And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
    Intrepid you hear us cry --
How, spite of your human scorning,
    Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
    That ye of the past must die.

Great hail! we cry to the comers
    From the dazzling unknown shore;
Bring us hither your sun and your summers;
    And renew our world as of yore;
You shall teach us your song's new numbers,
    And things that we dreamed not before:
Yea, in spite of a dreamer who slumbers,
    And a singer who sings no more.

Passage from The Horse and His Boy

“I do not call you unfortunate,” said the Large Voice.
“Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta.
“There was only one lion,” said the Voice.
“What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and-“
“There was only one: but he was swift of foot.”
“How do you know?”
“I was the lion.” And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you.”
"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?"
"It was I"
"But what for?"
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."
"Who are you?" asked Shasta.
"Myself," said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again "Myself", loud and clear and gay: and then the third time "Myself", whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.
The Horse and His Boy – Chapter 11

I love this passage. It's a reminder that God has his hand in all things/is all things/controls all things and that it is not for us to be concerened with how or why. We only have to trust that God has planned out for each of us a unique path.

"Oh, of course there's a risk in marrying anybody, but, when it's all said and done, there's many a worse thing than a husband."
— L.M. Montgomery (Anne of Avonlea)